I Am Ella, Buy Me

by Joan Ellis

  ‘We’d be delighted to offer you a full-time position, Chloe,’ I tell her.

  ‘And David?’

  ‘We’d be delighted to offer you...’ I repeat.

  ‘But we’re a team,’ says David angrily.

  ‘I know and it’s hard for you to accept this decision because you’re in a relationship.’

  This is a nightmare. If making other people’s lives hell is what being a

  Creative Director is all about, Peter Richards is the man for the job.

  ‘That’s our final offer. If you’re interested, I’ve seen a very talented Art- Director who would be perfect for you, Chloe.’

  ‘I am still here,’ hisses David.

  ‘David, you’re a great designer but you’re not an art-director.’

  ‘In your opinion,’ he adds.

  ‘Let me ask around for you,’ I say flustered. ‘There may be something going in our studio.’

  He is studying me, making me feel uneasy.

  ‘Chloe, please, think about what I’ve said. You’re brilliant. This is your career we’re talking about,’ I tell her as I head back to my office.

  I need to keep them both happy. That way, Chloe’s more likely to accept my offer. If she works for Steve at KO’d, she’ll be a lethal adversary in any pitch. I buzz through to Jill.

  ‘Ask Darren to pop up.’

  I should rephrase that. It sounds ghastly.

  ‘Ella, I hear you want me,’ says Darren appearing in the doorway.

  Someone should tell him Kitty Rescue neuter randy alley cats like him for free.

  ‘Knock, next time,’ I tell him curtly.

  ‘How’s your boyfriend? He’s a singer, isn’t he? Bet he plays you like a guitar.’

  He laughs, I don’t. I saw that one coming. Darren is never troubled by original thought.

  ‘I need a favour, Darren.’

  ‘I don’t give my favours away, unlike some people,’ he says pointedly. I remember that night, with him in my bed and feel sick.

  ‘These comments need to stop. They’re not funny. You’re not funny.’

  ‘And you’re not my boss. You’re just playing at it until l Peter gets back.’

  ‘I am acting Creative Director for the foreseeable future and I’ve got the board’s full backing.’

  ‘Oh, touchy! Time of the month, is it?’

  I try to imagine what sort of a woman a man like Darren would attract. No, can’t think of one.

  ‘Do you need anyone in the studio?’

  ‘Who are you trying to off-load?’

  ‘David. He’s brilliant.’

  ‘If he’s so brilliant, you keep him. Chloe and David have only been here five minutes and you’re already trying to split them up? That’s one mighty big ego you’ve got there, Ella.’

  I refuse to let him get to me.

  ‘David’s talented, much better than anyone you’ve got in the studio. Give him a break.’

  ‘I don’t have the budget. I’m struggling to hold on to the people I’ve got.’

  ‘Okay, well, if you hear of anything, let me know, yeah?’

  ‘Don’t hold your breath, no-one’s hiring. By the way, I saw your boyfriend’s picture in Time Out,’ Darren starts to laugh, a weasely wheeze. ‘Tom Tyler, isn’t it? He knows my mate, Cara.’

  ‘I know, Darren,’ I tell him. ‘I know.’

  Chapter twenty-seven

  Check for errors

  ‘Jill, why is there a half-used lipstick in my drawer? Where is my Blue Mountain coffee? And what have you done with my French sugar cubes?’ shouts Peter as he barrels around his office disgusted by the last vestiges of my reign.

  ‘Sorry, Peter no-one told me you were coming in today,’ shouts Jill.

  She doesn’t look up but continues to type. Her shiny pink candy nails dance up and down the keys. Peter races over to her and rests his knuckles on the desk.

  ‘Get your ducks in a row and get rid of this crap,’ he yells.

  ‘Leave her alone, Peter. Your stuff is in the cupboard,’ I call as I approach the office.

  Very slowly, I go in and gather up my things. He flings his coat across the back of the chair and hurls his leather brief-case on the sofa, narrowly missing my shin. He spots the white lilies, a thank-you present from the Honeydrop director.

  ‘These stink!’ he exclaims.

  He carries the three-foot glass vase at arm’s length across the room scattering pearl-shaped petals in his wake and sets it down on the floor beside her desk.

  ‘Jill! Get Wally to dump this monstrosity before it kills someone,’ he orders.

  He looks down and blanches at the sight of the yellow pollen stain on his otherwise pristine shirt.

  ‘Go to the shop on Jermyn Street and get me a new white shirt. They know my size but it’ll need to go down one because I’ve lost weight.’

  He examines his slightly less paunchy profile in the mirror.

  ‘Jill’s too busy to run errands for you,’ I tell him. ‘She’s preparing for our hand-over meeting. I assume that’s why you’re here?’

  ‘You two running the show now?’

  He looks from Jill to me and sneers.

  ‘We’ve been keeping things going in your absence,’ I tell him.

  ‘Thought I’d been fired and you could fill my shoes? You forget, they’re very big boots and I’ve got friends in very high places.’

  He opens a pack of cigarettes and offers me one.

  ‘You know I don’t smoke.’

  ‘Thought the stress of your new role might have driven you to it. Or your new boyfriend might have got you hooked.’

  He takes great pleasure in my horrified reaction. Who told him about Tom?

  ‘Nothing escapes me, Ella.’

  I try to defend myself by putting him on the back foot.

  ‘Did you finalise the divorce settlement, Peter? Did your wife get custody of the pool boy?’

  He ignores the jibe and calmly slides a silver lighter from his pocket, putting it on the desk for me to admire.

  ‘I take it I still have a creative department? Guess there’s only so much damage you could do in the time.’

  ‘The board has no complaints,’ I say.

  Jill is standing beside me buttoning up her coat, her purse in her hand.

  ‘I’ve got everything ready for your meeting, Ella. Just nipping out for your croissant. Can I get you anything, Peter?’

  I smile and hand her a fiver.

  ‘Oh, so you two are on first name terms now, how touching. I thought you couldn’t stand each other,’ says Peter.

  ‘Get Peter an almond croissant, my treat,’ I call to her as she waits for the lift. ‘His blood sugar must be low to be so grouchy.’

  ‘Not for me. I’m detoxing. I’ve lost so much weight. You should try it,’ he suggests.

  He gives me a sideways glance. By some unfair trick of osmosis, I appear to have gained the seven pounds he’s lost. I look at him. The weight-loss doesn’t look good. It ages him.

  ‘Like what you see, Ella? For years, I was too busy to look after myself. Now, this is my time.’

  ‘Is there any other, Peter?’ I ask.

  Peter is the most self-obsessed man I know. I wonder what he knows about Tom.

  ‘When I took my brief sabbatical from this place, I was climbing the walls with boredom at home. No wonder all housewives are hooked on drugs.’

  Not all housewives, I think, only the one crazy enough to live with him. His wife took tranquilisers when they married and took him to the cleaners when they divorced. She never has to see or hear him again. Unlike me, I seem to be wedded to him for life.

  ‘I decided to join the gym in Highgate. Drive there every morning.’

  It’s two roads away from his house; he could walk it faster. And burn more calories.

  ‘It’s where I met a potential new client. We got talking on the treadmill and he was feeling neglected by his agency. He was very impressed by my credentials.’


  ‘Wearing those tight shorts again were you, Peter?’ I ask as a wave of nausea hits me like a broadside.

  ‘You can laugh but he as good as offered me his business. I told the board and they bit my hand off.’

  ‘So you bribed the agency to take you back?’ I asked.

  ‘I was taking a well-earned break,’ he says. ‘And my skill-set is irreplaceable.’

  ‘If you say so, Peter.’

  He checks the contents of his drinks cabinet before looking at me. Far from undressing me with his eyes, he mentally covers me up with a big baggy jumper.

  ‘You’ve put on weight! Get a personal trainer. I’ve got one, Daniel, ex- Royal Marines and ex-Olympic coach.’

  Add your ex-wife and you’ve got a full set, I think.

  ‘He devised a personalised work-out strategy and an individualised nutrition programme for me.’

  ‘You mean he put you on a diet?’

  ‘He came to the house and cleared my cupboards of toxins. No processed crap. I’ve bought a juicer and just throw in whatever’s hanging around – wheatgrass, alfalfa sprouts, ginseng.’

  He lights up a cigarette. Guess he also pays Daniel to tell him nutrients cancel out the harmful effects of the nicotine. He sees me looking.

  ‘I’ve cut down from forty to twenty a day. Daniel says it’s good to maintain a balance. My new health regime means I can afford one or two pleasures.’

  And the instructor can afford whatever he fancies. With Peter in such bad shape, Daniel’s got a job for life. Peter draws on his cigarette and pulls his belt in another notch. He looks down and admires his flat stomach, at least that’s what I think he’s admiring.

  ‘My counsellor says we should be transparent and not hide behind jargon. Looks like we need to get our ducks in a row and think outside the box.’

  I raise my eyebrows. He pours himself a large whiskey.

  ‘I’ve got an amazing therapist. For a woman she really knows her stuff; told me I’ve been blocked for years.’

  ‘With all that roughage you’ve been eating, surely not?’

  By keeping the flippant comments coming I avoid the real issue – what Peter knows about Tom.

  ‘How much does she charge, Peter?’

  ‘Best two grand I’ve ever spent.’

  More money than sense, as Mum would say.

  ‘Two thousand pounds? How many sessions have you had?’

  ‘Enough to create the new me you see before you. And she makes herself available whenever I need her.’

  ‘She must be on the phone to you day and night.’

  ‘Ella, you need to work through your working-class hang-ups about money.’ I earn more in a year than Mum made in her life. It makes me feel guilty and Peter knows it.

  ‘Heard you’ve been upsetting our golden goose. I don’t want Alan

  Ferguson flying the nest because of you.’

  ‘I need a word. When’s good?’ I ask.

  He leafs through his Filofax, just in case a colonic irrigation appointment has slipped his mind.

  ‘I’m free until this afternoon when I’m off to the floatation tank. It helps me get in touch with myself.’

  If Peter was any more in touch with himself he’d be arrested.

  ‘What do you want? I already know about the Honeydrop commercial and the new team.’

  He pauses before delivering his next line, ‘And I gather your boyfriend has moved in.’

  ‘No, he didn’t.’

  ‘Oh come one, Ella, we all know a good looking guy doesn’t have to find somewhere to live in London, just someone to live with.’

  ‘Who told you about Tom?’ I ask.

  ‘I was in the pub, the one in Highgate village. Got chatting to some bloke. Had no idea who he was but when he mentioned his girlfriend, Ella worked in advertising, it fell into place.’

  Peter loves having something on me.

  ‘What did he say?’ I ask, trying to sound nonchalant.

  ‘Likes a drink, doesn’t he? And the rest.’

  He sniffs exaggeratedly and laughs, looking at me from the corner of one eye and checking my reaction. He stubs out his half-smoked cigarette and immediately lights another. We both know nicotine isn’t his first drug of choice. When it comes to doing class ‘A’ drugs Peter is in a class of his own. Why else would he have clients lining up to work with him?

  He inhales and blows two smoke rings in quick succession, moving his brief-case to one end and sitting down in the middle of the sofa, his arms outstretched along the back. He pats the space next to him and motions for me to sit down. I tentatively perch on the edge of the couch making sure I keep the maximum distance between us.

  ‘We didn’t sit around talking about you all afternoon, if that’s what you think.’

  I don’t know what to think anymore. I’m still trying to figure out why Tom never mentioned meeting Peter.

  ‘Sounds like Tom is going places. Obviously, our Little Arrangement still stands; you having a boyfriend doesn’t change anything. It’s not like you two are serious, or anything. So now your face has healed, we can make a date.’

  ‘Our Little Arrangement’ as you call it, expired the day you pretended to fire me. And, my private life is private.’

  I feel my cheeks getting hotter.

  ‘Really? Apparently you had a domestic in the middle of a meeting with Josh, hardly professional. I’m just thrilled you have a private life. Thought you were frigid,’ he says.

  I shouldn’t have to take this lying down. No, totally the wrong metaphor.

  ‘Peter, this has nothing to do with work. It’s inappropriate. We need to discuss what’s happening with the new team.’

  He gives me a sly nod, content to have riled me.

  ‘I want Chloe but not David and she’s reluctant to cut him adrift. They live together so that complicates things.’

  He licks his lips and flicks ash into a nearby plant pot.

  ‘I hear Chloe is a little fleshpot.’

  As if she would be interested in him.

  ‘Peter, let me show you the Honeydrop commercial. It’s Chloe’s idea.’

  ‘Haven’t I taught you anything, Ella?’ he says reaching over and stubbing out his cigarette in the Yucca pot. The leaves wilt. ‘I wouldn’t trust a kid straight out of college to hold my pencil.’

  ‘That’s not a euphemism, is it, Peter?’

  ‘You don’t give a rookie free rein on one of our most prestigious accounts.’

  ‘They came highly recommended. Adam Hart sent them.’

  ‘Adam Hart? What the hell does he know?’

  ‘He knows what he’s talking about,’ I tell him anxious to stick up for

  Adam.

  ‘Look, Ella, this can go one of two ways. Either, Chloe blows it and you carry the can. I don’t fancy your chances with the board on that one. Or, she succeeds and covers herself in glory. That’s ‘herself’ not you.’

  ‘What’s wrong with giving new talent a chance to shine? It reflects well on everyone.’

  He leans forward and removes a stray hair from my jumper. I freeze.

  ‘You’ve got a lot to learn. You let her do the hard work and then you take all the credit,’ he says as he turns his head to indicate the raft of shiny awards lining the walls and shelves. ‘How do you think I won all these?’

  My mouth drops open.

  ‘Oh don’t look so po-faced, Ella. You’re not pretty enough to pout.’

  ‘If you’ve taught me anything, it’s to behave with integrity and treat others like you’d like to be treated yourself,’ I say allowing myself a moment of sarcasm to make myself feel in control.

  ‘Watch my lips. This is Adland not a bloody charity. I’m not into altruism unless it means I get a knighthood. God knows I deserve one.’

  This will remain forever a mystery between him and his maker. If a less deserving individual exists, I hope he beats Peter to the podium. I click on the video-recorder and press play. We’re ten seconds into the thirty second H
oneydrop commercial when he stares out of the window. The commercial has finished by the time he turns back to the screen.