‘Eva, all I am saying is that I, well, we, don’t want to be tarred with being one sort of presenter. You know, the risqué sort.’
‘This was your brother’s idea, Henrietta. Didn’t you two discuss it before you came to see us?’
Henri couldn’t exactly admit that she and Peter went into that studio yesterday with no idea what they were going to do, could she?
‘Yes, but we didn’t expect the listeners to be so . . . upfront.’
Eva giggled. Henri didn’t think she had it in her. ‘Great pun.’
‘Hah?’
‘Never mind. Listen, we aren’t going to dictate which callers you choose. Just watch the monitor, pick and choose from whoever is on line. We can show up to five lines on our live shows. Just take your pick,’ Eva repeated.
‘Is that your way of asking me on a date?’ Peter had reappeared, coffee mug in hand.
‘I’m sorry, I like my men a little more–’
‘Bald?’ Peter asked, eyes twinkling.
A sour look graced Eva’s clear-skinned face. ‘No.’
‘Stupid?’
‘No.’
‘Ah, thin – although you do know that the size of each body part is directly proportional to stomach size, don’t you?’
‘That’s a load of rubbish, but no.’
‘What then?’ Peter had run out of attributes Eva could possibly want.
‘Sensitive,’ the exec told him, and she exited the room, throwing Henri a despondent sigh as she did so.
‘I can’t believe it!’ Peter exclaimed. ‘I am the most sensitive man I know.’
‘Apart from Dad, you are the only man you know,’ his sister pointed out.
‘Well, that means I am at least 50 percent correct.’
‘Peter?’
‘Yes, sis.’
‘Why don’t we get back to work, hah?’
CHAPTER THREE
IN THE MEAN-SPIRITED PLAYFULNESS of a brother, Peter put Rodney straight through to Henri when he called, once again, right before the show was to air.
‘Hen, please don’t hang up.’
‘I can’t do this now.’
Or ever.
‘Look, I made a mistake, things are different now and I really need to talk to you-.’
‘Two things, Rodney. One, a mistake is accidentally running over a pot plant in the drive; or washing whites with a red sock. Not getting naked and having intercourse with someone else.’
That shut him up. Henri continued: ‘And two, when I told you I never wanted to speak to you again, I meant it, so please don’t use my brother to get through to me again!’
And she hung up, gratified that he had called on the studio phone, a land line that had a nice receiver she could drop into the cradle from a great height.
Trying not to think about him, standing in his gorgeous Hampstead flat, where he worked from home, thick brown hair needing a good cut as per usual; startling green eyes staring into space as they always did when contemplating a difficult situation.
Handsome, intelligent Rodney.
How could he have not loved her enough to marry her?
‘Problem?’ Eva was sitting on the edge of the desk, revealing the fact that she actually had knees.
‘No, everything’s fine. Just an ex.’
‘We can get legal to put a stop to the calls, if they bother you?’
‘Really, it’s fine, Eva. He’s not a nutter.’
A fucker. Literally. But not a nutter.
‘Hey, knobble, pass me that highlighter will you?’ Peter called to the exec, more to rile her up than for want of a pen.
‘Knobble?’ Eva asked.
‘Knobbly knees,’ Peter pointed at Eva’s extremely un-knobbly knees.
‘Peter!’
‘It’s alright, I can handle this.’ Eva jumped off the desk and moved up close to Peter. ‘Listen, Chubby. How about you stop mucking about and start behaving yourself. Or I might have to discipline you!’
Peter’s face was a picture. Given his height and gregarious bossiness, women usually shied away from telling him off. Eva, however, had no qualms about putting him in his place, and he clearly found it galling.
‘I think I’ll call her Furor.’
Henri was horrified. ‘Are you mad? You can’t do that. That’s got to be illegal or something.’
‘God, sis, you are going to have a bloody heart attack, the way you carry on. Don’t worry, I won’t call her that . . . to her face.’
Steven called out that they were on in five from the production side of the studio, and the Primes settled down for their second show, putting their differences aside, for a while anyway.
Twenty minutes later, Henri was ready to strangle Peter once again.
They had chosen a demure-sounding guy who had a supposed financial issue with his fiancée.
1. Gary Plough. 25. Midtown. Girlfriend spending without telling him.
2. Ruth Casey. 22. Gramercy. Boyfriend in love with gay gardener.
When Henri saw that come up on the screen, she pointed at it but Peter had shaken his head, favoring the young girl whose partner seemed to have the hots for a male gardener.
Pointing at Line 1, and giving her brother what they called ‘the stare of doom’ he had capitulated, and they said hello to Gary Plough, from downtown New York City.
‘So Gary, your partner overspending, is that it?’
‘No, Henri, it’s not.’
Peter took over. ‘Why don’t you fill us in, mate?’
‘Well, I noticed, a few months ago, that she was buying something online regularly.’
‘Clothes, I suppose,’ Henri said.
The caller tried to answer: ‘But–’
‘It’s dire, women and their little habits.’ Peter added.
‘Hey, you guys want us to look good – that takes effort, and cash!’
‘But–’Caller Gary tried again.
‘Yeah, but do you really need fifty pairs of shoes?’
Henri insisted that she did.
Suddenly, the caller blurted out: ‘She’s buying porn. Really filthy stuff.’
Peter almost passed out. ‘Er, what kind of stuff are we talking about?’
‘Peter!’ Henri knew it wasn’t professional but she didn’t care. This second show wasn’t going to end up like the first. She had standards – no way was she going to be known as that sort of radio talk show host.
She’d never get her coveted job hosting her own daytime show on English TV with those sorts of credentials, would she?
The monitor in front of her lit up with callers to give ten reasons for Gary to say ‘I don’t’.
On 1. Hairy from Queens – she didn’t let you enjoy it with her.
On 2. Doc from Midtown – she could have got you to do it for free.
On 3. Julie P (anon address) – she’s the type you have an affair with, not marry.
Holding up his hands in mock surrender, Peter flipped one of the switches and began laughing and chatting with the new caller and Gary about why the poor woman, whose porn habit had been exposed to the world, should be kicked to the curb.
Suddenly, Henri couldn’t take it anymore. All the talk of sex; Peter’s gluttony; his unrepenting perusal of women; his inability to maintain the status quo – they had been working together for five years now, and it was enough.
It was enough.
Henri stood up.
‘Look out, ladies and gentlemen, I think my sister is going to defend Gary’s hapless, but veeeeeery horny, fiancée. What’s the story Henri? Will you give us our final reason why Gary should say I don’t to his cheeky girlfriend.’
Henri scowled. ‘Yes, I will. Because if he doesn’t, he risks making her life miserable. Any man who has no qualms about embarrassing the woman he loves on live radio doesn’t deserve her.’
And with that, Henri Prime walked out on her job, and consequently, her family.
At first Peter didn’t believe it, that Henri had quit.
Thought it was a joke
; the usual stuff she said and did to try and bring him to heel.
Problem was, the network loved the new stuff; didn’t give a shit about all the sex and swearing. Even though it was way, way, before the watershed.
Henri couldn’t quit. She couldn’t.
Then he called Ashley Milne and told her, thinking that their agent might be able to talk to Henri, make her see sense.
But Ashley wasn’t in the mood to discuss Henri.
And when she told Peter why, he simply hung up on her.
‘Fucking, fucking hell,’ he swore, to the silent, perfectly-styled hotel suite.
On top over everything else, this was going to destroy his sister.
And there was nothing he could do about it.
CHAPTER FOUR
“My father hated radio and could not wait for television to be invented
so he could hate that too.”
Peter De Fries
‘WHAT WERE YOU THINKING? PETER says you might both be sacked.’ Once her brother had figured out Henri was serious about quitting, he had behaved according to form, and called his parents to bring his little sister to heel.
Apparently, the network had given Peter the weekend to get Henri back in front of the mic, or else they were both out.
‘Peter doesn’t give a hoot about me.’
‘Darling, that’s not true. He got you into radio in the first place.’
‘Because that first job required two hosts and everyone else hates him.’
‘Henrietta, really. He is your brother, you know.’
‘Family should respect each other. Peter seems to think it hilarious to continually expose me to perverts and nutters. He introduced me to Rodney, for goodness’ sakes – and didn’t bother telling him that I didn’t believe in sex before marriage. But did tell me that Rodney was a good Christian boy! And when I asked why, he said he did it because he found it amusing. Mucking with my life is amusing to him.’
‘Well, dear, no one really believes in that nowadays. It’s not normal.’
‘Mother!’
‘Henri, you were conceived behind the toilets at Glastonbury. You can hardly expect me to defend your strange ways.’
‘My strange ways? Come on Mother, has it occurred to you that perhaps I have a right to my point of view.’
‘It depends on the point of view, dear. An axe murderer could well argue the same thing.’
Trying hard not to swear, Henri replied that she had to go job hunting.
‘You’re staying in New York?’
‘Well, I’ve got the visa, I might has well see what else is going. After all, there are loads more people over here. Plus, they think our accents are cute.’
‘You will kill your brother if you don’t go back.’
‘He is killing himself with the showbiz lifestyle. I’m sure he’s put on 20 kilos since we arrived.’
‘Henri, that’s cruel.’
‘But true.’
Her mother told her she had to go. ‘Karma Sutra class, darling.’
Nice.
‘Don’t let your brother down. $1 million is a lot of money just to throw away because of a little sex.’
Henri couldn’t argue anymore, so she agreed to think about it.
Which she did. For one full minute.
And then she rang Eva Claire and resigned.
Peter was standing in the living room of the suite as she dragged her suitcase out of her room.
‘You’re really doing this?’
‘Yep.’
‘Deserting me?’
‘It’s my life, Pete. I can’t hold your hand forever.’
‘I don’t get what the hell is wrong. Today’s ratings hit the roof, the network are thrilled. Were thrilled. Until you called.’
‘So they sacked you.’
He looked uneasy. ‘Not exactly.’
‘So . . .’
‘They gave me my own show, full length – three hours. From 8:00 p.m. I can be as rude as I want.’
Bastard! He had, in effect, stolen her U.S. opportunity.
‘So why do you need me, anyway?’
‘Honestly, I don’t. But you’re my sister, and I wouldn’t desert you.’
‘Peter, we always do things your way. I want to discover what it’s like not to have to march to someone else’s dirty little drum.’
‘Oooh, that’s harsh.’
‘It’s not meant to be.’
He looked sheepish. ‘You don’t have to leave. They’ve agreed to keep paying me the money. And you did arrange the whole deal in the first place.’
Oh, so kind of him to actually remember that.
‘I think it’s better for me to be alone for a while.’
‘Come on, I won’t bring girls home.’
There was a noise in the bathroom. A red-haired woman wrapped in a towel walked out, yawning.
‘I won’t bring girls home again.’
‘Good bye Peter. See you around. Don’t eat yourself to death.’
The girl in the towel giggled. ‘I don’t know, doesn’t sound half bad.’
Henri almost growled a terse goodbye.
Then she dragged her bag across the floor, and left.
Was everyone in the entire world a sex maniac except for her?
It was time she took her life back.
A nice, respectable job, some God-fearing friends, a husband, eventually, who hadn’t shagged half the world’s population.
Henrietta Prime was going to get herself a new life.
And it would come with a G-rating.
Peter walked to the window in the sitting room of the suite and looked down, nose pressed against the reinforced glass.
It was at least 20 floors up.
You jumped out of there and you weren’t coming back from it.
Looking over at the minibar (he’d nicknamed it his nemesis), he consoled himself momentarily with his favorite evening tipple – whisky on ice – and a whole, large Toblerone.
The thought of a work life without Henri was unbearable. Alternatively, the thought of being a loser without a job was equally horrific.
MNC’s PR people were due any moment, to discuss some stupid publicity shots for billboards.
They had forgotten all about Henri already. In fact, Eva Claire told him that Peter was exactly what they were looking for, whilst Henri was the sort of person that already had plenty of: polite, perky and apparently, a bit boring.
It riled Peter that the blonde bullet thought of his sister like that.
And worse, it riled Peter that he found Eva Claire attractive.
Henri had warned him not to sully the playpit again, and after the fiasco and the horror of the London employment tribunal, Peter agreed.
But it had been weeks since he’d had sex.
And Eva was a big girl.
Surely she didn’t expect a relationship.
Didn’t look the type.
So Peter Prime decided to distract himself from the worries about his sister and his career with a little fliration.
And called up Eva Claire and asked her to dinner.
CHAPTER FIVE
"The radio craze will die out in time."
Thomas Edison
THE PRIMES’ AGENT WAS LONDON-BASED, and absolutely no help at all because dear, darling Peter had gotten to Ashley Milne first and told her that Henri just quit.
Sitting with her mobile in hand, trying to convince a once good friend that she hadn’t gone loopy, Henri wondered if perhaps she had.
Her new abode was a nasty little hotel off Times Square. It stank of fish and something else that she couldn’t quite put her finger on – but if she had to hazard a guess, Henri would say it was rotting flesh.
She bloody hoped it wasn’t.
There was one room, not even square, with a tiny shower room off it. The solitary window faced a brick wall, which meant there was hardly any natural light.
Sure, she had savings, but they weren’t going to last long in Manhattan, particula
rly as there was no money coming in from MNC. That was all Peter’s now, and she hadn’t ask, nor had he offered, to share it.
‘It wasn’t quite like that, Ashley.’
‘A million dollar contract, Henri, and you walk away. How, exactly, was it, then?’
‘You know why, Ash. All that sex stuff, it wasn’t me.’
‘Let me say it again. One million dollars. For that sort of dough I would run naked down The Mall singing something from ELO’s back catalogue.’
‘Peter totally changed the whole idea of the show. I set up the deal, remember? Then my parents, and if I recall correctly, you, insisted I include my dear, disaster prone brother. After he lost me my last job! Yet, because I am a sucker for my family and friends, I say yes, sure, no problem. And you lot promise he is reformed; no more shagging the station employees then abusing them in front of other staff. No more massive consumption of booze with such a high alcohol content I had to keep him away from naked flames. Which wasn’t easy given he kept trying to smoke in the studio when he was pissed. Next, he turns up in New York late to the trial show. So late that we don’t have time to prepare. And when he actually gets a half decent idea, he has to debase it and turn it into something out of a bloody Playboy.’
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