Anything? Henri wondered if that included dropping the enigmatic Jess. Behave! Even her newly discovered lust could not justify that sort of deal!
About to say no for the second time, Henri stopped herself. Hang on, what else was she doing, now that she’d quit the bingo hall? It was unlikely the Calinkos would throw her out into the street, especially if she was helping out Jess’s ‘gal pal’, so accommodation probably wouldn’t be an issue.
Holding out her hand, Henri smiled. ‘Half, we’ll go halves. That way I can pay some rent to the Calinkos.’
‘That’s unbelievable, thank you Henri. We are going to be huge, I can feel it.’
‘Hmm, we’ll see.’
So, Henri Prime, previously top-rated star of London radio, agreed to become the doyenne of a Queens’ garage.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
WHEN HE HAD GONE TO VISIT HENRI, and discovered two people he later identified as Raelene and Jess sitting outside the huge church hall. Peter had asked them bluntly what the deal was.
‘What deal?’
‘I’m looking for my sister.’
‘Aren’t you Peter Prime?’
‘Yes, honey. Now, my sister . . .’
‘You sister is a bingo caller,’ the girl with the corkscrew curls had said brightly. ‘She’s busy calling bingo.’
Oh come on.
‘You’re fucking shitting me.’
‘You heard her.’ The scowl on the face of good-looking guy, who looked about ten years younger than Peter, told him that there was no love of radio there.
Shit, this was bad. Henri was actually calling bingo. Peter decided something needed to be done, but his stupid sister had rejected his offers of money and a job numerous times.
‘She doesn’t look like you?’ Raelene observed.
‘Doesn’t swear like you either,’ Jess added.
Peter immediately disliked Jess all the more: he was that guy, the one all the girls feel in love with, despite the fact they were two-bit losers with no education and no income except for what the government doled out.
‘So, you two girls know exactly where she is located?’
Jess stood up. ‘That kind of talk really isn’t necessary.’
Peter groaned inwardly. Ah, the imbecile who felt it reasonable to pass comment on others, and couldn’t take the heat when it was turned back on him.
‘Well may I suggest you keep your fucking opinions to yourself? Now where is my sister, or have you hicks got her bound and gagged in the cellar? Along with a stack of head-banging vinyls from the Seventies.’
The girl stood and deftly deflected the bad feeling. ‘I’m a huge fan of yours, you know.’
‘Really?’ Pity she was obviously with the long-haired freak. The little cutie would make a nice distraction..
‘Yeah, I’ve got my own radio station around the corner, proper equipment and everything.’
Peter would have happily showed her his equipment, given half a chance.
Except he preferred blondes.
Like Eva Claire.
Shit.
Stop thinking about her. Been there, done that.
Wait a minute, what did she say?
A station around the corner.
Hmm. ‘Why don’t you show me this little place of yours, then?’
Jess immediately stepped in. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘Back off hairy, I’m an industry professional. You can come along too, if you want. Always up for a threesome.’
No way was Peter up for a threesome that including a guy, but the look on the pretty boy’s face was worth any fallout from the statement.
‘How about we just view the studio?’ Jess suggested.
Throwing him a cheeky wink, Peter stood back to let Raelene show them the way.
Minutes later, looking over the incredibly well-equipped studio had an idea.
When he exited the small garage in Queens, Peter was certain he had a way to get Henri back.
He called a mate he’d gone to Harrow with, who was now making a fortune in the US selling rubbish paraphernalia to brides with no taste.
‘Mate! How are you? I need a favor. What? No, it won’t cost you a thing, I promise.’
Afterwards, Peter stopped himself from calling Henri and making yet another offer to come back to Ten Reasons.
No.
First let her see how bad the garage gig was.
Then he’ll make the call.
And everything would be back to normal.
Heaving himself in a newly leased Lexus, Peter thought about calling Eva Claire for a drink, but stopped himself.
Pondering the possibilities in the crawling traffic back to Manhattan, Peter Prime put thoughts of sex and the pouty blonde out of his mind. Fish and chips and a bottle of red in front of the telly would be a better bet. Lest the woman got the wrong idea at the offer of a second date.
‘I think it’s great you’re doing this thing with Rae.’ Jess finally spoke to her first and Henri almost passed out with shock.
Wearing the latest ‘Attract Jess’ outfit: a thigh-length navy shirt and light blue tights with navy pumps that accentuated her long legs, she managed a response. ‘Um, yes, well, first we have to come up with a concept.’
Jess plonked himself down on the sofa opposite her. As usual, her tummy leaped into her throat at the sight of his meaty thighs in those blue jeans. No way was that shade of blue fashionable, but like the western shirts, Jess made it work.
As predicted, the Calinkos had insisted on Henri staying with them, for free, as long as was necessary. A new conscript – a handsome fifty-something with a toupee – was seconded for the bingo, and the patrons seemed happy with his clichéd patter.
Meanwhile, Henri and Raelene had three days before they launched their new show on Friday night, and although TheRightStuff had paid for the first month, there was still no firm idea to hang the programme on.
Right now, Em was baking her famous meatloaf in the kitchen, and Amy was getting in the way.
Paul was out tidying up the bingo hall, which left Henri and Jess sitting in the living room, staring uncomfortably at each other.
‘So it has to be a wedding theme, then?’ Jess said the word wedding as if it was a disgusting idea he couldn’t quite fathom.
‘I suppose so. But it’s a Friday night show – not really the right time to be doing a full on bridefest.’
They stared at each other a little longer. Then Henri decided to ask the dreaded question. ‘So, you were doing law at Harvard?’
‘Yep.’
‘You didn’t like it?’
‘No. Nothing like that. Circumstances beyond my control.’
This was new. From what Pastor Paul and Em said, Jess left voluntarily.
‘Oh.’
When he didn’t elaborate, Henri babbled on about Raelene being a nice girl and that they made a nice couple.
‘We are not a couple.’
‘Oh.’ A one night stand, then?
Jess stood up. ‘I’d better see if they want me to set the table.’
Henri hadn’t seen anyone leave a room so quickly without a pressing need to use the loo.
Well, the plot thickens. Jess the apparent saintly son was thrown out of Harvard, and was screwing his way around Queens with family friends.
How come Henri felt more, not less attracted to him, then?
Honestly, the way she was acting, her ex-hippy mother would be proud of her.
Peter called her that night and thinking it might be Raelene, Henri picked up without looking at the caller idea.
‘What’s happening, sis?’
Against better judgment, Henri told him about the new radio show.
‘And where is this great new avant garde station?’
‘Queens.’ No need to elaborate, was there?
‘Come back, Hen. I’ll give you half my contract.’
Technically, it was her contract. Once again, Henri told him no.
‘Look, you can be part of a great team, a
great show, or you can dither around in that little garage embarrassing yourself. Come on, come back.’
Little garage? How did he know that? She’d never mentioned the garage.
‘What else do you know about my new job? Are you stalking me?’
‘You’ve seen the size of me, sis. How the hall could I stalk anyone, expect from behind a slow moving lorry?’
‘Have you ever heard of a company called TheRightStuff?’
‘No,’ said Peter, a tad too quickly.
Hmm. Henri’s mind shot to Raelene’s sudden benefactor. TheRightStuff was a legitimate site, but that didn’t mean Peter wasn’t somehow involved. No doubt that meaty million he was earning for being revolting on MNC made the manipulation of his sister and her friends nice and easy.
Bastard!
Suddenly, all bets were off.
If her brother was determined to stuff up her life, again and again, then it was time Henri took her revenge.
And one way was to steal Peter’s thunder.
Directly from under his tubby little nose.
‘Look, I’ve got to go, behave yourself, Peter.’
‘Never! That would be admitting I wasn’t perfect to start with. Peter Perfect, remember?’
‘Peter Perve, maybe.’ Before he could reply to that, Henri hung up.
Did she dare? Should she?
Why not? Living like Little Miss Goodie-Two-Shoes all the time was becoming really, really old.
Henri dialed Raelene with determination.
‘It’s me. I have a format. And it can’t fail.’
Rae was somewhere loud and busy. ‘What? How’s that?’
‘Tried and tested, trust me.’
‘Henri, are you okay?’
‘Never better.’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
‘I’VE GOT IT!’ HENRI burst into Raelene’s garage the next day, the day of their debut, and spun her new associate around in a circle. There was some pimply-faced youth in the booth, spinning tunes about ‘mo-fos’ and the like. Raelene tried to keep the station live from six until midnight every day – no easy task when you’ve got to earn a living on the side.
‘Whoa, girl. I get motion sick! And what have you got?’
‘I told you last night. Our idea. For the show.’
Raelene clapped her hands. ‘Let’s hear it, then.’
Henri took a deep breath: ‘Ten Reasons to Say I Do.’
Suddenly, her partner’s face fell. So much for the ‘ta dah’ moment. ‘Henri, we can’t do that.’
‘Why not? It was technically my idea as much as Peter’s. And it’s not the same thing. We will be advocating love and marriage. Promoting unions, not breakups.’
Face frozen, Raelene looked horrified. ‘But we can’t. Listen, Henri. This guy who is paying us, he doesn’t want to be caught up in some plagiarism issue.’
Thinking again about who was, in all probability, paying for the whole gig, Henri’s blood boiled. ‘I wouldn’t worry about that. Listen, I promise to take the rap if it all goes wrong; even put it in writing if that’s what you want. But we have to do this. It will work. Think about it. It can be focused on getting married, on love, on making things work. And we can stick it up my brother at the same time.’
Henri’s face felt flush and by the way Raelene was staring at her, it looked it too. ‘Are you okay? You don’t usually say stuff about sticking it up people.’
‘I’m fine, never better. Trust me, this is going to get your client publicity like nothing else.’
‘Henri, I think we should come up with something, well, less likely to get us sued.’
Knowing that she should tell the poor girl that her brother Peter was behind the whole wedding show, but reluctant to burst Raelene’s bubble in terms of a real live person paying her proper money to do a proper show, Henri chose to smile and say nothing.
Except: ‘Trust me. I’ll keep saying it until you believe it. We won’t get sued, and you might even get more advertisers.’ The least Henri could do was give Raelene’s little venture a bump in the right direction.
With the help of Peter’s money, of course. Henri’s head was beginning to ache with thoughts of her brother’s machinations.
‘If you think . . .’
‘I know. It will work, now come, let’s get our first caller lined up. Who do you know that we can set up for show one.’
‘Set up?’
‘Just in case we don’t have any real callers. No offense, but I don’t think you’ll pull too many callers in the first five minutes of a brand new show. I mean, how many regulars do you have in any case?’
Raelene blushed. ‘A few. Maybe less.’
‘Well, hopefully that is all about to change, but in the meantime, lets get a backup caller with a made up problem.’
‘And this made up problem will be?’
‘Semi-saucy but with the emphasis on love.’
Raelene was finally coming around to the idea. ‘Oh, like someone who is a virgin in his 20s and doesn’t know whether to have sex before marriage, or something like that?’
Did she know? Surely saying that couldn’t be coincidence? But no, Raelene was still staring at her trustingly, eyes wide, waiting for an answer.
Which made Henri feel all the more of a loser.
Particularly as the concept of an old virgin seemed to attract hilarity from the pimply faced youth, who was playing a Bon Jovi track for the second time just so he could overhear their conversation.
‘Get out, who the hell is still a virgin in their 20s? I lost mine three years ago.’
Henri’s head began to throb. No wonder, with all the talk of virgins.
‘More information that we needed, thanks Johnny.’ Raelene pulled a face, no doubt at the thought of the poor female who coupled with the effervescent Johnny.
‘What about him?’ Henri nodded at Johnny.
‘Yeah, count me in. I have heaps of problems with chicks.’
Raelene and Henri looked at each other and giggled. Well, it couldn’t be helped. Johnny and chicks should be, for all intents and purposes, an anathema. Yet, here he was, in his unadorned and foul glory, speaking of hook ups with numerous hapless gals.
Whilst Raelene extracted the information they would need, Henri wondered, for about the 100th time that week, why the hell she hadn’t just bonked someone in high school and gotten it over and done with.
If manky Johnny could do it, surely she could.
Morals and religion aside, there was no excuse for being a sad old virgin, was there?
Suddenly, she felt the pounding coming on in waves and that meant one thing, a bloody migraine. The tablets that provided immediate relief were back at the Calinkos.
‘See you in an hour or so, she called, telling Raelene she would be back in time to prepare for the show.
Jess was sitting on the front steps as Henri raced past him.
‘Hey, feel like a beer?’
Finally, some alone time with the great man, who just seemed to have discovered she was alive.
Which was a pity, as she couldn’t stop to chat, given she was about to throw up her lunch thanks to the migraine.
‘Give me a minute, will you, then I’ll fill you in on this great idea for the show.’
Jess gave her a thumbs up. ‘Raelene just called, it sounds amazing. Great idea.’
‘Oh, that’s–’
And then it was all over; any chance of extracting an iota of romance gone.
Henri threw up in the bushes.
Right in front of Jess.
The plan didn’t appear to be working. Fully expecting a call from Henri, begging to come back to the mainstream fold of success, Peter Prime waited four whole days for it. When it failed to materialize, Peter rang his mate at TheRightStuff to ask whether Henri had signed up. The fellow, a chap called Ian McDuffrey, confirmed and told him there was a lot of excitement over the new programme.
‘What?’ Henri was brilliant at what she did, but even so, the possibility
of making a go of programme broadcast from a garage-based station in Queens, about weddings, for fuck’s sake, was the last thing to be expected.
His professionally-minded, anally-retentive sister should be the last person to jump onboard a show like that.
But apparently, she was as happy with the decision as a pig in muck.
Shit, what the fuck was Henri up to?
Knowing her, it wouldn’t be good, would it? Well, not good for Peter and his plan, at any rate. His sister was remarkably tenacious, like when she came up with the MNC radio show in a few seconds, under extreme pressure, with a bunch of execs looking on. Fuck knew what could be achieved with more time.
He decided to call up the Calinkos and see what was what.
Unfortunately, that surly good-looking bugger with the long-hair answered.
‘Cress, is that you?’
The Revenge Date/Ten Reasons to Say I Don't Bundle (Romantic Comedy) Page 21