When Polly Met Olly

by Zoe May

  Brandon laughs. ‘So, what’s she into?’

  I tell him about Eve’s interests and the kinds of things we’ve chatted about, and I get so enthusiastic as I recount our chats that I momentarily completely forget about Alicia. I’m back in that little bubble, texting Eve on the way to work or in bed in the evenings or sitting in the office with Derek. It’s a bit tragic but I’ve felt more of a connection to Eve while posing as Brandon than I’ve felt to most of the guys I’ve ever chatted to on dating apps while being myself.

  ‘She sounds great, Polly,’ Brandon says, his voice warmer. ‘It sounds like you guys have done a lot of talking.’

  ‘Oh…’ I shift a little in the seat. He’s right. We did do a lot of talking. A lot more than I probably should have engaged in. I’m meant to just make a bit of chit chat, just enough to set up a date, before the client takes over but I definitely went overboard. Way overboard.

  I giggle awkwardly. ‘Yeah, I did get a little carried away. Sorry.’

  ‘Don’t worry!’ Brandon insists. ‘But you might have to send me a copy of the conversation in case she refers to something. Do you guys have in-jokes yet?’

  ‘A few!’ I admit, thinking back to mine and Eve’s conversation about floppy discs and hard drives.

  ‘Oh God!’ Brandon laughs. ‘Well, if she and I don’t hit it off, maybe you guys can give things a shot,’ Brandon jokes.

  ‘Honestly, if I was going to question my sexuality for anyone, it would probably be Eve,’ I admit.

  ‘Wow! If you’re as taken with her as this after a few days texting, how am I going to cope after a date?’

  I laugh. ‘You’ll probably want to marry her.’

  ‘You’d better buy a hat then.’

  I laugh again. And it occurs to me that Brandon has completely turned my mood around. I’ve gone from crying in the rain to laughing, my problems wiped away.

  ‘Thanks for tonight Brandon. You’ve really helped me,’ I insist.

  He smiles kindly. ‘Well, fingers crossed, I think you might have really helped me,’ he says, taking one more glance at Eve’s profile before handing my phone back. ‘I’ll get the letter drawn up tomorrow. Email me Alicia’s details. We’ll take her down,’ Brandon says with a wink.

  ‘Excellent!’ I reply, resisting the urge to do an evil laugh.

  ‘Now, are you sure you’re feeling better? Are you feeling ready to head home or do you want to drive around a bit longer?’ Brandon asks, cupping is hand over his mouth to stifle a yawn. Our conversation was probably the final straw, pushing him over the edge, from just about handling his jet lag, to needing his bed.

  ‘Yeah, I’m fine now, Brandon. Genuinely. Thanks so much. Just drop me off at the nearest subway and I’ll head home. Thank you. I really owe you.’

  Brandon laughs. ‘Don’t be silly. Where do you live?’

  ‘Brooklyn,’ I reply awkwardly. ‘But honestly, you don’t need to drop me home.’

  ‘I’m not leaving you at the subway,’ Brandon comments, as though ‘subway’ is a dirty word.

  Brandon leans forward to the driver. ‘Can you head to Brooklyn?’ he asks.

  ‘Oh no, you don’t have to.’

  ‘Polly, please,’ Brandon stresses, giving me a sincere look. ‘I know you Brits get awkward about this stuff but stop worrying.’

  ‘Haha, okay,’ I relent.

  ‘Cool,’ Brandon says. He gives me a tender smile as the driver weaves through the city traffic and takes me home.

  Chapter 16

  The moment I wake up the next morning and turn on my phone an email pings through from Brandon, sent at 6.45 a.m.

  From: brandon.fox@stattenjones.com

  To: polly@tothemoonandback.com

  Hi Polly,

  I looked into our copyright law files and found the standard notice we send. It’s been issued to Alicia (see attached). This should sort things out.

  Hope you’re feeling better,

  Brandon

  I open the attached file to find a tersely written legal notice informing Alicia of copyright infringement and the legal consequences. I lie in bed, rereading the letter a few times as a smile creeps onto my lips. What a wake-up call Alicia must have had. Literally and metaphorically. Maybe now she’ll realise that she can’t just push everyone around and take advantage of them. I bash out a reply to Brandon.

  From: polly@tothemoonandback.com

  To: brandon.fox@stattenjones.com

  Hi Brandon,

  Thanks so much. Talk about taking swift action! I really *really* appreciate this!

  Good luck on your date tonight with Eve

  Polly

  I get out of bed and take a long soothing shower. As I lather soap over my body and massage shampoo into my scalp, I can practically feel the frustration and sadness of last night flood down the plug hole. Sending legal notices is in no way how I wanted things to end up with Alicia, but I can’t just let her take advantage of my free labour and steal my work. It feels good to have someone like Brandon in my corner, standing up for me. I condition my hair and try to get into a good mood for the day ahead. I’m meeting up with Scarlett to go for a walk, take photos of street art and have a catch-up. It should be fun. I hop out of the shower, feeling revived and upbeat as I dry my body off and get dressed. It feels weird to be getting ready without being in a hurry to get to the office. It feels even weirder to be slinging my camera strap over my shoulder, having not touched it for days.

  I head into the living room to find Gabe is lounging on the sofa watching America’s Next Top Model. He’s still in last night’s make-up, his false eyelashes casting shadows over his cheeks as he looks up, blinking sleepily. He must have come home after I went to bed last night and by the looks of it, he crashed out on the sofa. He’s draped in a green woolly throw, but the strap of a pastel blue satin dress is visible, looping over his shoulder. His wig’s on the coffee table and his hair is slicked back.

  ‘Hey babe,’ he croaks, with a lazy smile.

  ‘Hey.’ I perch at the end of the sofa. ‘Late night?’

  ‘Yep. Wild night. We did Eighties classics. I did a rendition of ‘Total Eclipse of the Heart’ by Bonnie Tyler. Everyone went wild. It was so much fun,’ Gabe tells me, his eyes sparkling. His eyes always sparkle like that when he talks about singing. He never gets the same infectious enthusiasm when he talks about work. He never gets any real enthusiasm when he talks about work, actually.

  ‘Classic song,’ I say. I’ve heard Gabe’s Bonnie Tyler renditions and they’re amazing. Gabe has the kind of strong, pitch-perfect, emotional voice that can carry her powerful dramatic ballads. I still remember how the hairs on my arm stood on end the first time I heard him sing ‘Total Eclipse of the Heart’.

  ‘Yeah, it’s a classic,’ Gabe says, reaching over to the coffee table to grab a glass of Coke. He winces as he takes a sip and I instantly know there’s vodka in it. I used to be more onboard with Gabe doing his drag queen show every Friday night, but seeing him now, hungover and drinking last night’s booze as a morning refreshment, just makes my heart feel a bit heavy.

  ‘It totally is a classic, but don’t you ever feel like you’re too good for The Eagle?’ I ask, a little nervously. I probably shouldn’t say anything, but perhaps because of Brandon’s intervention in my life, I feel more emboldened than usual to speak up. Gabe might not want to hear what I really think, but maybe it could help him.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Gabe flinches, the comment clearly taking him by surprise.

  ‘You’re an amazing singer Gabe, and yet the only people who are hearing you sing are a bunch of drunks down at The Eagle,’ I blurt out. It comes out a little harsher than I had intended.

  Gabe sits up a bit, causing the throw to fall around his waist, revealing the sequined bodice of his dress.

  ‘What’s that meant to mean?’ he asks, giving me a hard look. He takes another sip of his vodka and Coke.

  ‘I just think you’re wasted on The Eagle, that’s all,’
I tell him.

  Gabe rolls his eyes dramatically, causing the shadows of his lashes to slide over his face.

  ‘I just think that we set the standard of our worth. It’s something I’ve been thinking about a lot this week, and do you really think you’re setting a high enough standard for your singing career?’

  ‘Are you serious?’ Gabe scoffs, with a mean laugh.

  My stomach does a little flip. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.

  ‘Yeah,’ I insist in a slightly high-pitched awkward voice. ‘I mean why not get some gigs at better places? You could get spotted by a record label or something,’ I suggest.

  ‘It’s funny, because a few months ago The Eagle was good enough for you, too,’ Gabe reminds me, raising an eyebrow before taking another sip of his drink.

  ‘Not really. I quit, remember?’

  ‘Yeah, to go and work for a dating agency.’ Gabe rolls his eyes.

  I fiddle with my camera on my lap, twisting the lens. ‘So? I’m still trying to get my photography career off the ground. I haven’t given up on it,’ I insist.

  ‘Wow, Polly,’ Gabe sighs, looking exasperated. ‘I’m lying here tired from a gig and you’re telling me I’ve given up on singing?’

  I squirm in my seat. ‘No. Not given up. I just think you could aim higher, that’s all.’

  Gabe scoffs. ‘And I think you could get a bit more realistic. Did you ever consider that you might not be the next Mario Testino? Or that I might not want to be the male Lady Gaga? Maybe I just enjoy singing? Maybe that’s good enough for me?’

  ‘Okay, fine!’ I insist. ‘Sorry I said anything.’

  ‘No really. When was the last time you just took pictures because you enjoyed it?’ Gabe presses me, fixing me with a serious, cutting look.

  I pause, considering his question. I took photos last weekend in Central Park, but I was too busy feeling homesick, and worrying about what love really means, to really get into it. And I definitely didn’t enjoy taking photos of turnips for Alicia. And it’s not like I enjoyed many of the rubbish freelance jobs I did before that. Maybe Gabe’s right. Maybe I have stopped taking genuine pleasure in my photography work.

  ‘I do enjoy it sometimes. I’m heading out to take photos now,’ I point out, lifting my camera from my lap to draw his attention to it.

  ‘Do you? Do you really? Because all you ever seem to do is complain about photography.’ Gave regards me with a cynical expression. ‘Yet here I am actually enjoying what I do and you’re judging me for it,’ he huffs.

  ‘I’m not judging you, I’m just—’

  ‘Leave it, Polly!’ Gabe gets up from the sofa. ‘My head’s pounding okay?’ he sighs.

  ‘Well, drinking vodka and Coke probably isn’t helping,’ I note.

  Gabe shoots me a look. ‘I’m taking a shower,’ he grumbles.

  ‘Okay, fine,’ I reply. ‘See you later,’ I add, but Gabe ignores me, casting a withering glance over his shoulder as he slopes off to the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

  I get up and hoist my camera strap onto my shoulder, feeling odd. I didn’t mean to upset Gabe, I was genuinely only trying to help. I didn’t expect him to take my feedback that badly. I consider calling him back, banging on the bathroom door, but I don’t want to annoy him even more. We often have silly arguments like this and they’re usually forgotten fast. It’s a side effect of having such a close and open friendship. And anyway, on some level, he’s got a point. His cutting barb about Mario Testino may have been a little harsh, but I have become so focused on trying to make it as a photographer I have lost the joy I used to take from it. It’s been a while since I just snapped away, lost in that bubble of concentration and pure pleasure, when you’re just so wrapped up in what you’re doing that time loses meaning. I think the last time I felt like that was when I did my final project at university – a street photography project – taking candid portraits of familiar local faces in the town, from a train conductor to a busker who played guitar on the sidewalk. Capturing a sense of people’s spirit in those shots was what made me want to be a portrait photographer. It was all I thought about for weeks. Real life just disintegrated into the background while I spent hours upon hours walking around, chatting to random people, getting a rapport with them to the point that they’d open up and allow me to take their picture. It was heaven. I was addicted to getting the perfect shot. These days, all I do is grumpily take photos to support other people’s projects, to further their visions and goals, while my own goals and enjoyment recede into the background.

  I grab my coat and my wallet, and I head out the front door, determined to enjoy photography for the sake of photography today. Gabe’s right. I need to enjoy myself. I need to get back in the zone.

  Chapter 17

  I didn’t realise how obsessed I’ve become with focus, lighting, depth of field and framing until I suggested to Scarlett that we just take random snaps – fun, cute shots of each other larking about in front of the cool arty murals of Brooklyn. We didn’t compete to take the most striking or professional shot; instead, we just had a laugh, just what Gabe pointed out I hadn’t been doing lately. We spread our arms wide in front of some painted fairy wings and we pretending to pick apples from a giant mural of a tree. We just snapped away. And funnily enough, without trying so hard, the pictures turned out better. They weren’t as technically well composed but they had more energy. They were more eye-catching – our spontaneity shining through.

  It was a brilliant day, and it totally helped me take my mind off the Alicia situation. However, by Saturday night, I kept finding myself thinking about Brandon and wondering how his date was going with Eve. It was a bittersweet feeling, wanting him and Eve to hit it off, for both his sake and Eve’s, while feeling a little sad that someone as kind and good-looking and brilliant as him would be even further from my reach if they got on. If I’m totally honest, I know Brandon probably only offered to help with Alicia because he saw me crying my eyes out on the street and felt sorry for me, but a small part of me has secretly wondered if perhaps he might have a romantic soft spot for me. Perhaps I’ll be the woman that breaks the mould. The untoned brunette photographer who happens to steal his heart. Surely stranger things have happened?

  Back at the office on Monday morning, I refresh my inbox, half hoping that an email from Brandon might ping through telling me the date was a total bust. But there’s nothing. Not one update about the date.

  ‘I was just thinking, shall I call Brandon?’ I ask Derek as I glance at the clock: it’s 9.45 a.m. ‘I want to know how his date went with Eve.’

  ‘No, not at this time on a Monday morning,’ Derek objects, through a mouthful of Oreo. ‘No way.’

  ‘Okay,’ I sigh.

  Derek gives me an indulgent look.

  ‘Drop him an email if you really want to know, but he’ll be busy now. And it is a bit keen,’ Derek points out with a smile.

  ‘Yeah, I’ll do that.’

  I open my emails and bash out a quick message to Brandon asking how his date with Eve went. I can’t resist adding, ‘Heard anything from Alicia?’ at the end of it either. I can’t imagine how Alicia must have reacted to a terse copyright notice from one of the biggest law firms in the city. The thought of it actually makes me a little nervous. I remember reading about a famous CEO who had a large plush white fur rug in front of her office desk so that the moment anyone entered her space, they had to adapt to the surroundings. They had to be neat, controlled and respectful so that they didn’t tarnish the expensive rug. The CEO shaped the way people behaved around her, just through that subtle gesture of furnishings. Alicia’s like that too. With her expensively bohemian clothes, exacting standards and impatient attitude, she just creates a vibe. She doesn’t necessarily force people to behave differently towards her; they just do. Around her, I succumbed to her pickiness, I acquiesced to her impatient attitude and became quick and efficient. I didn’t even think about it, it was simply how I knew I was meant to behav
e. I didn’t want to burst the Alicia bubble or rock the boat. Legal notices are never welcomed by anyone but particularly not by controlling, highly-strung people like Alicia. Even though I know she deserved it, it makes me squirm to think of how she would have responded. Of course, her online presence has given nothing away. She posted a blog last night on ‘Five reasons bananas are a superfood’, although it was probably pre-scheduled.

  To my surprise, Brandon replies pretty much instantly.

  From: brandondfox@stattenjones.com

  To: polly@tothemoonandback.com

  Hi Polly!

  Sorry I didn’t get in touch yesterday, but I had a valid reason. I’ll drop by at the office later and fill you in on everything. All good news!

  Brandon

  A valid reason? Was he sick? I read the message out to Derek and ask him what he thinks.

  ‘That’s Brandon for you.’ Derek shrugs. ‘When something’s important, he prefers to chat in person. He’s old school like that.’

  ‘Okay,’ I murmur, thinking back to Friday night. I recall Brandon’s attentive expression as I poured my heart out. He was properly listening, taking everything in. It’s not like he had one eye on his phone like most people these days. Derek’s right, he is pretty old school.

  Derek sighs loudly and reaches for the trusty pack of Oreos in his desk drawer. I’ve come to realise that if he eats more than three or four, something’s usually bothering him.

  ‘What’s up?’ I ask.

  ‘Urghh,’ Derek grunts while taking a bite. He hands me the pack and I reach for one. There are worse ways to deal with life’s stresses.

  ‘You know that guy we had in last week? The one with the strange haircut?’ Derek says.

  ‘Elliot Brown?’ I ask, recalling the guy with the spiky fringe who came in last week for a consultation.

  ‘Yeah, Elliot.’ Derek scratches his head. ‘Well, he seemed really keen. He said he couldn’t wait to meet the woman of his dreams. He seemed so keen to sign up, he even wanted a full tour of the place.’