The Way You Smile

by Kiki Archer

  “Get in here! I really don’t like having to rely on new people, always late, they’ll be here in a minute!”

  Camila looked down at the hand that had ushered her into the room, now attached to her elbow and guiding her towards the spare seat at the large round table. “I was told to wait for my name tag.”

  “You do that in here, quickly.” The hand moved to Camila’s shoulder and encouraged her down onto the vacated chair.

  Camila succumbed before looking up at the hand’s owner, another Doug type, but this one more frantic. “Should I introduce myself?” she asked.

  “What? No! Here…” Leaning across the table the man pulled the marker pen and roll of blank stickers towards Camila. “First name only.”

  Looking around the table, in the window-less box room, Camila felt awash with relief at the sight of the other hand-written stickers. Nine women, some tapping into phones, others sipping hot drinks and one rising from her seat, lipstick in hand, making her way towards the large mirror on the side wall, but all with just their first names on show, not a single acronym in sight.

  “Ladies, will you please sit down! Phones away.”

  Lipstick woman laughed. “You’re not usually this flappy.”

  “Huge clients, huge day.”

  “We’ve still got to be honest, right? And you always say the clients are huge.”

  “They are in my world. Just make sure you participate.”

  Lipstick woman turned to Camila. “That’s why you’re here, love. He might look all nervous but he’ll fire you if he thinks you’re just after free food.”

  The woman opposite Camila piped up. “I thought we were on fashion and design today?”

  “You are!” squealed the man before morphing into a cool and collected individual who managed to stand up straighter yet looser as the door to the room swung open. “Welcome, hi, great to see you again,” he said. “Do come in. Can I get you a drink? Ladies, would any of you like another drink?”

  Camila looked at the new Doug, previously frantic, now charming. The distance between her position at the round table and his position at the door was too great to read his actual name tag, but whoever this person was he now seemed in stealth mode using that same hand, more gently this time, to guide the group of four men into the room whilst simultaneously popping a pod in the Nespresso machine and passing over a remote that looked like it might fire up the overhead projector and interactive screen at the front.

  “Kevin, I know you liked the hot chocolate last time. I’ve got that on the go. Dave, anything for you?”

  The man busy connecting his laptop to the sockets on the front table shook his head. “I’m okay thank you, Nigel.”

  Nigel? Camila looked at the new Doug. Nigel? Surely he wasn’t old enough to be called Nigel? But then again Doug didn’t seem old enough to be called Doug. Glancing around the enclosed room, which was pleasingly free from bright colours, Camila eyed the other women. She always found it fascinating to imagine someone’s name and was often shocked to find out it was something totally different to her own initial judgement. And while it was obviously going to be something slightly different as she’d not been the person to christen the woman pushing her trolley at a snail’s pace down the cat food aisle in Tesco, or the lady filling her car and staring into space at the petrol pump opposite her own, you could still often gauge a type of name. For example, lipstick woman looked like a Teri, somewhat cheap and probably quite viscous. Camila studied the name tag: Tina. Close enough. And the small woman opposite who’d piped up about the task for today; she looked like a Clare. Camila read the tag: Sharron. Nope, she’d got that one wrong, Clare and Sharron were in two completely different name group categories. The Clares were shy and mouse like, the Sharrons enjoyed a good drink.

  Looking at the other women still tapping into their phones or sipping from their plastic cups, Camila deemed her quick assessment almost spot on. There was an Asha, a Chloe, an Ellie, a Kayla, a Megan and two she couldn’t quite decipher behind folded arms, but they’d probably fall into the new name / shortened name / funky name category that rose in popularity during the late nineties, early noughties. In fact, all of these women were young. Surely this wasn’t the new batch of mum returners? Camila corrected herself. No, of course not, they’d been here before and were clearly confident enough to ignore Nigel when he’d asked for phones away, plus that Tina woman had been downright rude to him… but maybe that was just in her name’s nature?

  Camila rose from her seat.

  “What are you doing?” hissed Nigel, suddenly appearing alongside her with the stealth of a ninja as he removed the roll of stickers from the table.

  “Getting a drink. You just asked if any of us wanted drinks. I haven’t had one yet.”

  The hiss sounded again as the marker pen was swiped away too. “Too late, sit down and listen.” The voice rose in volume, accompanied by a motivational fist bang on the table. “Ladies, let’s do this.” Nigel spun to the front with pointed finger. “Team Mesh-Up, it’s over to you.”

  Sitting back down in confusion, Camila watched the women put their phones back in their bags and tuck themselves into the table, or in Clare, Asha and Chloe’s case turn their chairs to face the men at the front. Maybe the table bang was the secret sign of commencement?

  “And lights,” cheered Nigel, materialising at the door and flicking the switch by himself.

  Camila sat in the darkness. What the hell was happening? Where the hell was she? And why the hell were there no other Camilas like her?

  “Ladies, we meet again.”

  Camila glanced around in the darkness, only able to see a slight shimmer from the large rectangular mirror to the right hand side of the room.

  “And this time we have products.”

  Camila continued to stare. Where were the products? Were they glow-in-the-dark? It was definitely no-to-drinks-Dave talking, but who was he talking to and what was he showing?

  “Are you excited?”

  Camila jumped at a rather raucous whoop coming from Tina’s side of the table.

  “I said are you excited?”

  Again another loud whoop, this time accompanied by a drum-rolling table hand bang. Surely that wasn’t Sharron? Actually it probably was, because Sharron wasn’t the quiet Clare type her mask had suggested; she was Sharron and her banging was loud.

  “And one more time: ARE YOU EXCITED?”

  Camila started to panic. It was like they were at the fun fair plunged into darkness on the waltzers, about to be spun until they were sick. Or worse, pinned to the barrel wall on the rotor with the floor disappearing as they spun round and round and round. Reaching into her handbag she found her phone and swiped up quickly. One touch and there was light.

  “Who is that? Turn that off!”

  Camila held up her mobile like a detective presenting their badge. Praise be for Steve Jobs and his torch app; everything in front of her was illuminated, including Nigel’s swift retreat of hands from Tina’s shoulders. Apart from that things looked normal. The four men were standing at the front and one of them had the remote poised in the air pointed towards the projector, clearly about to press play. Dammit, that’s all they were doing, showing them something on the screen. This was Julie’s fault, always passing on her Take A Break magazines where every other page was an alien abduction or a friends to enemies murder and there’d definitely been articles about deaths in the workplace.

  “Who is that?” snapped Nigel once more.

  Camila turned the light towards the voice. He was coming her way. She flashed the beam from left to right like a child making shapes with a sparkler. Maybe he’d think it was coming from someone else. She did a quick figure of eight. Everybody did a figure of eight when they had a sparkler.

  “Is that you, Tanisha?”

  Oh yes, Tanishas were naughty. She must have been one of the arms-folded women to her left.

  “No, it ain’t me, it’s—”

  “Ouch! Turn that li
ght back on!”

  The sound of Nigel crashing into the back of a chair masked the dull thud of Camila’s now-switched-off phone as it dropped back into her bag.

  “Shall I press play?” Dave’s voice again.

  “No, you need to build it up.”

  Was that Kevin with the hot chocolate? Camila squinted. She couldn’t see, they were back to the pitch black and mirror shimmer.

  “Are you excited?”

  Tina tutted. “No. Not anymore.”

  “I’m sorry, gentlemen.” Definitely Nigel. “Shall we start again?”

  The funfair entertainer took a deep breath. “Are you excited?”

  Camila dared to say: “Yeah!”

  “I said: ARE YOU EXCITED?”

  Camila tapped on the table in the darkness. “YEE-HAH!” She’d got away with torch-gate and was feeling liberated.

  “One more time: ARE YOU EXCITED?!”

  “HELL YES WE ARE!” Was anyone else whooping? Camila wasn’t quite sure, but now she knew she wasn’t about to get stabbed to death in the dark by men who drank hot chocolate, she could relax in the spirit of things.

  “Then let’s Mesh-Up!”

  “Mesh-It-Up, Mesh-It-Up, Mesh-It-Up Boom!”

  Nigel’s voice was firm. “Tina, we spoke about this last time.”

  “What? I hope that’s the soundtrack you’ve used?”

  Fairground man’s voice had fizzled out. “Sorry, this doesn’t seem to be playing.”

  “Mesh-It-Up, Mesh-It-Up, Mesh-It-Up Boom!”

  “Tina!”

  “What?”

  “Can someone turn the lights on?” Nigel was clapping. “Tanisha get your torch back out.”

  “It wasn’t me!”

  Dave’s voice again. “Wait, I have it. Here we go.”

  “Mesh-It-Up, Mesh-It-Up, Mesh-It-Up Boom!”

  “Tina!”

  Kevin: “We’re starting.”

  Camila let out a “HELL YEAH!” in the darkness. She couldn’t help it. It was like all those times they used to play murder in the dark as children. The second the lights went out she’d get all giddy and caw like a bird. She let out another “YEE HAH!” at the exact moment the screen lit up. Shifting in her seat, Camila tried to ignore the stares and just concentrate. Not only was the room suddenly very bright but the volume of the clip showing at the front was incredibly loud, and while it wasn’t Tina’s Mesh-It-Up, Mesh-It-Up, Mesh-It-Up Boom! ditty, it was something quite similar. She focused. Women, working out. No, they were posing for photos. Wait, no, they were flirting with each other and pouting for more pictures. Hang on, they were jogging off into the sunset… and what the hell were they wearing?

  Nigel turned the lights back on as the Mesh-Up logo filled the screen.

  “So, ladies, what do you think?” It was funfair Dave, hands raised to the room. Kevin beside him was nodding. The two other men had now retreated to seats below the screen, tablets in hand.

  Tina spoke first. “Love it.”

  Camila watched the general consensus of agreement from the women.

  “Sexy,” added Sharron.

  “Catchy tune,” contributed Tanisha.

  “Outfits look great,” said the woman to Camila’s right who was wearing something similarly as scanty.

  “Is it an app?” Camila felt the need to show worth.

  Kevin halted the lifting of his hot chocolate and looked her way. “Excuse me?”

  “On their phones?”

  Nigel stepped in. “Sorry, she’s new.”

  Kevin carried on, sipping from his cup with an accepting nod before swallowing. “Not to worry. So, logo? Visible enough?”

  Camila spoke again. “The one at the end?”

  Kevin nodded. “On the clothes too.”

  “Was it?”

  The hot chocolate was placed firmly on the table at the front. “You didn’t notice the logo?”

  Camila shrugged. “I wasn’t quite sure where I should be looking.”

  Tanisha cut in. “You just feel adverts like that.”

  Again, a general consensus of nods from the women.

  “Well, I felt uncomfortable.”

  Nigel glared at Camila. One of the tablet men lifted his hand. “Go on, please,” he encouraged.

  “Well, they looked like they were wearing some sort of see-through underwear and flirting with each other.”

  Tanisha cut in again. “Fluidity’s en-trend.”

  “But taking photos of it all?”

  “They were just pouting.”

  “Why?”

  “That’s what you do at the gym.”

  “They were at the gym?”

  Tablet man spoke again. “You didn’t realise they were at the gym?”

  Camila laughed. “No! What on earth were they wearing? You don’t wear that to the gym. Okay, I got that they were lightly jogging, or sort of skipping off somewhere into the sunset at the end, but I thought the rest of it was about a photo filter or something?”

  Dave reached into the big duffel bag that was sitting next to the laptop and dropped a selection of clothing onto the table. “Mesh-Up gym wear.”

  Camila laughed. “You’ve got to be joking?!”

  Chapter Five

  Standing in the small viewing room to the side of room five, Harriet Imogen Pearson turned to Doug and whispered. “Where in god’s name did you find her?”

  “I’m so sorry. I thought she’d been briefed.”

  Harriet lowered her voice. “No, this is wonderful. Look, she’s going again.”

  Camila Moore’s voice came through the speakers. “These leggings look like the black lace curtains my mum put up when she was mourning my aunty.”

  “Must have been a sexy aunty then.” Tina was tutting on the other side of the mirror.

  “There’s nothing sexy about these leggings.”

  Harriet spoke again. “Why’s Tina still here? I told you I wasn’t happy with her last time.”

  “Nigel got rid of someone else instead. Said Tina was liked by the brands.”

  Discreetly signaling to the three men in their darkened room who were also observing through the one-way mirror, Harriet shook her head and lowered her voice. “I very much doubt any of us are liked by the Mesh-Up brand at the moment, but hey ho it’s what they pay us for.”

  Camila’s voice was loud and clear. “Fat poking out of meshing isn’t sexy. And why are the sports bras so push up?”

  Stepping closer to the mirror, Harriet watched the show that was occurring in the focus group with interest.

  “And finally she gets it.” Kevin, who’d left his hot chocolate to go cold, held up both thumbs. “That’s why we’re called Mesh-Up.”

  “It’s more like a mess up if you ask me. Four men making gym wear for women. It’s no wonder you’ve ended up with something so peek-a-boo. In fact, why don’t you have the models wearing flamboyage hair?”

  Harriet struggled to contain her laughter. This was awkward enough as it was for the men watching from her side of the mirror without her adding ridicule in this room too.

  The confidence continued. “You do know what flamboyage is, don’t you? It’s peek-a-boo. Hair’s allowed to be peek-a-boo but anything housing a woman’s thighs isn’t.”

  Harriet smiled as the criticising woman stood from her seat and started to pace.

  “What’s the purpose of the brand?” questioned Camila.

  Dave was quick to jump in with an answer. “To be worn by women at the gym.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, and that’s not a sports bra it’s a top.” Kevin was arms folded.

  “Where’s the rest of it?”

  “That’s it. Sports crop top, no need for a bra, it’s all built in.”

  “Those women had underboob!” Camila was circling the table. “Real women don’t wear this stuff to the gym.”

  Tina cut in. “They do. This is our fourth session with Mesh-Up and we’ve already established demand.”

  Camila igno
red her. “Ellie? Really? You’d wear something like this to the gym?”

  Harriet nodded to herself: clever, focus on the quietest member of the group.

  Tina’s voice was loud. “You only chose her because she’s chubby.”

  “Ellie is far from chubby,” continued Camila, “she’s simply female and most females struggle to zip up their jeans let alone squash themselves into a pair of mesh leggings like a sausage at a sausage factory. Plus, no one wants to get out of the car and walk to the gym in this ‘top’ with their mum tums and stretch marks on show.”

  Ellie gasped. “I haven’t had children!”

  Tina jumped on the insult. “She thinks you’re just fat then!”

  “Ladies!” Nigel was doing his best to calm tempers. “Camila, you’re late to the game. This is niche gym wear for the eighteen to twenty-fives. The Instagramers. The women who post their progress on social media.”

  “Oh, so they weren’t flirting with each other?”

  Nigel spoke again. “They were flirting with their phones.”

  Harriet and Camila laughed at the same time on either side of the mirror. “I’m sorry,” said Harriet, turning her attention to the guests in the darkened room, “but this can happen in focus groups.”

  The tallest man spoke up. “Yes, but we’ve used H.I.P for the market analysis, product intelligence and competitive intelligence aspects of this project as well.”

  Harriet lifted her hands. “She’s one voice.”

  “But she’s our target market.”

  Doug cut in. “No, she isn’t, look!”

  Harriet turned back to the show. Nigel had his finger pointed towards the door. “You’re thirty-five?! What are you doing in here then?!”

  “You invited me in.”

  “Clearly a mistake. Out you go. Gentlemen, I’m so sorry. This explains a lot. Anyone for another hot chocolate before we resume with the correct audience?”