Look At Me Now

by Simone Goodman

‘Jordan, what’s happened to us?’

  I’m calm.

  ‘It’s just been a while,’ Jordan replies. Not shouting. Which is, perhaps, an indication that all is not lost between us. That in his mind, we’re simply in a bit of a lull. But Jordan makes no move to get closer to me. To hold me in his arms. Or take my hand.

  I sink back onto the sofa, wondering if he’s referring to the bad birthday shag, our mutually non-orgasmic sufferance, when Jordan reflects on how much of a while it’s been since we were romantically engaged.

  ‘We can’t go on like this. I don’t want to,’ I persist.

  I’ve imagined this moment a thousand times over, crippled with dread. Now the words have slipped from my tongue, it’s not as bad as I’d feared. My eyes don’t well up. There’s no cold sweat. I’m just numb.

  There is a knock at the front door. ‘That’ll be Robert,’ Jordan says. He answers and Robert steps through.

  ‘Hello there, Gracie,’ he says. Sensing tension, he looks sideways at Jordan. ‘You’re not still grumbling over the show, are you?’ he says, a cheerful rebuke. ‘I told you, everyone’s impressed you’re dating a celebrity.’

  ‘Not everyone,’ Jordan says.

  ‘Yes, well, not everyone matters.’ Robert’s holding sticks with feathers attached on ribbons and a packet of plastic golf-sized balls with bells inside. ‘Is this a cat box I see here?’

  ‘It is indeed,’ I say, running with the diversion. ‘I believe Benny is somewhere that-a-way.’ I nod towards the kitchen and basement area. ‘I’m sure, eager to get you both cat-acquainted, whenever you’re ready.’

  I glance at Jordan, who doesn’t respond.

  ‘We’re ready now,’ Robert says. ‘Thank you, famous Gracie Porter.’ He heads towards the stairs. ‘Come on, mate. We’ve work to do.’

  Jordan follows him downstairs without a word.

  I’m too physically worn out to ponder it now, but it’s an interesting thought, Jordan protesting we still have a sex life. How long must we be celibate until it’s more than ‘been a while’?

  Is Harry flirting with me because it’s harmless?

  I hear Jordan asking Robert if he’ll pick up the cat first and Robert is cooing sweetly to Benny, just as Faith does.

  I close my eyes. Within minutes, I’m fast asleep again.

  I wake in the middle of the night shivering on the sofa, despite that Jordan, presumably, has covered me with a blanket and Benny the cat is snuggled in the crooks of my knees. I’ve woken from a nightmare. In my dream, I broke up with Jordan and went boldly forth to declare my love for Harry, who promptly confessed his love for Faith. Faith! When in real life, I’ve never seen him give her as much as a single lingering glance.

  I know dreams aren’t real, but I feel it so intensely – the humiliation. I’m irrationally furious, at Harry and at myself, at the events that just played out inside my head.

  I slide Benny gently off my legs onto the sofa.

  I’ll admit, my subconscious was carried away with my mother’s fantasy about what it would be like to fall in love with someone who wants to take care of me. Who makes me laugh. Who coaxes out the best in me. Who kinda makes me swoon. But after my dream, everything is clear. Of course, Harry is kind to me – he’s literally taken me by the hand and settled me into the new show, as he’d promised. As any good agent would. Ignoring the silly-heart nonsense, I’m sincerely grateful. As for anything else, we haven’t had a single conversation pertaining to romance. It’s all make-believe inside my head.

  I pull the blanket up around me. Starting tomorrow, I need to sort myself out. No more foolish notions about anyone. And no matter what’s not right at home, no more jokes on television about my boyfriend – Jordan is upset I’ve made a public spectacle of him and I don’t blame him. It was fun and games in the studio, but what was I thinking? Perhaps, he isn’t the only one who’s selfish and career-obsessed?

  The bad dream has shaken me. I decide, best to sleep out here on the sofa.

  Benny curls against the back of my thighs and begins to purr.

  16

  In the morning, my neck has a crick from a restless night without a proper pillow or a comfy mattress. Dragging myself up from the sofa, I begin my day by banishing all thoughts of me running off with Harry – and Harry running off with Faith. I resolve to give it one last shot to recapture the magic I once had with Jordan. To summon the courage for an honest discussion, wherever that leads.

  In the kitchen, the milk is out, lid off. Crumbs of Weetabix are over the table and a half-drunk cup of coffee is by the sink. It makes me rethink my last-shot plan. But no. Things weren’t always like this. Or if they were, Jordan gave me so much more in return, I didn’t mind.

  Benny creeps out from the pantry. Having abandoned me at some point during the night, it seems he’s been sleeping in my potato stacker. He welcomes me with a rumbling purr. I crouch down and tickle his chin. I drop a handful of Royal Canin pellets in his cat-bowl.

  Jordan is downstairs, working from home today.

  ‘You up, Grace?’ he yells up, hearing me pottering. ‘I can’t find the cat!’

  ‘He’s right here eating!’ I clear the table.

  Jordan races up the stairs. ‘What? Oh, no. I need him to try the Pussy Paws flavours, so I can choose the best one for the ad.’

  Benny doesn’t look up from his bowl. ‘Let him have his breakfast, Jordan. Also, Faith warned me he probably won’t eat anything but his special pellets.’

  Jordan darts over to Benny and lifts him, gently, but awkwardly, away from his bowl. ‘Come on, furball, you want to try some delicious Pussy Paws canned food?’

  Benny squirms out of his grip and bolts into our bedroom.

  ‘Jordan!’ I hand him a stick with a clump of yellow feathers on the end. ‘He’ll be under the bed. Go and coax him out with this. And please don’t do that again. Let him finish his food and try to tempt him later.’ Two straggling tufts of yellow plumage dangle from the ribbon, the rest of the feathers scattered around the flat. Presumably, from Benny playing about last night.

  Jordan sighs. ‘I don’t think Benny likes me. I’ll wait ‘til Robert gets here.

  ‘Cats are fickle, Jordan. Perhaps you will win him over with the taste-testing.’

  ‘Thanks for arranging this, Grace. I appreciate it. It will be helpful.’

  I’m reminded of Jordan waving at his clients as they whirred, bare-chested, under the disco ball the night we first met. His dedication to his work was so endearing. Maybe, it still is?

  ‘I’m sorry about what I said on the show. I should never have put you in such a position.’

  ‘I remember, you tried to warn me.’

  ‘Still. I’ll be more careful from now on.’

  Jordan clears his throat. ‘It’s not all bad. One of the partners asked if I can could get a cheap sponsorship deal with SC6. I’m on his radar.’

  This morning in the kitchen, the light’s just right.

  ‘I’ll see what I can do re a sponsorship of our show. Anything else to make it up to you?’

  I don’t say this suggestively, just brightly. I hope Jordan doesn’t misinterpret. It’s too soon for us to jump into bed. The magic will have to build first, this time.

  ‘We cleared the freezer out of sausage rolls last night,’ he grins. ‘You could top them up again? They are the best.’

  ‘I’ll do some baking this evening. Sausage rolls, mini quiches, anything else?’

  ‘Those prawn things in filo?’

  ‘Deal.’

  ‘Maybe those chocolate dipped nut things?’

  ‘My home-made florentines? I think I have a tin of them stashed somewhere.’ I check the pantry and pass the tin to Jordan.

  ‘Amazing. Thank you’

  ‘Pleasure.’

  We exchange awkward smiles.

  Jordan disappears downstairs. Where else?

  After I clean the kitchen and set Benny up for the day with sufficient water and clean litter, I h
ead into work, determined not to make a mockery of Jordan, or our relationship, for our fourth recording. When we finish, I’m satisfied I managed not to mention my mystery boyfriend. Joanna, however, is not best pleased.

  ‘What was that?’ she barks at Faith, Poppy and me as we huddle on set after the episode has wrapped. Alex Sutcliffe is here. Harry is not. He had other business to attend to. I missed him today. But, given my terrible dream last night, it’s probably good he didn’t show. He’d sent me a text, Remember, you’ve got this. H. ‘You have a hottie from Love Island as a special guest and – somehow – this episode lacks anything remotely steamy?’ Joanna determines.

  The hottie was the guy Faith met at Soho House. I’ve not seen Love Island, but Poppy told me the contestants have sex with each other right in front of the cameras – Faith didn’t sleep with Jerry, nor was she planning to, but we all agreed he’d make an interesting on-screen date. Jerry was well up for it throughout the planning process, though Poppy had warned that many ex-Love Islanders require psychological counselling after they exit the show. Today, on Eat Me, this poor hunk froze. The chemistry fell flat. Alex hadn’t helped by suggesting, right before we started, that comparisons could be made between his gonads and pieces of fruit in the bowl. ‘Will it be the oranges, the plums or will these saucy ladies be popping your metaphorical cherries in a bit, mate?’ he’d quipped. For food, we’d cooked spaghetti bolognaise.

  ‘I’ll see what can be done in post-production.’ Joanna rolls her eyes to the ceiling. ‘Perhaps the animators can sprinkle some thought balloons to cover those silent patches...’ She packs up her things to leave. ‘And you were supposed to be an observer. Nobody asked for your opinion,’ she swipes at Alex.

  ‘Completely my fault,’ Alex grovels. ‘Joanna, I’m so sorry. I will of course make it up to you. I’ll do a special feature, some extra publicity, before the episode airs.’

  ‘Yes, fine. Good. You can run ideas past me in the morning,’ Joanna sighs. And out she marches.

  Alex is the first to speak. ‘Pub? Perhaps we can put our heads together for ideas over a drink?’ I noticed he smelled of whiskey when he’d arrived on set early this morning. I’d thought fondly of Howard, and less so of Alex. Extra publicity or not, I’d trade this two-bit journalist Alex in for Howard nicking my cooking sherry any day of the week.

  I’m meeting Liz Martin at 5 p.m. today. At some point, I have to go home, collect Benny and all of his accessories, and return him to Faith. After all that, I’d quite like to sort things out with Jordan, once and for all. If we have to brainstorm story ideas, I’d sooner do it here and now and get it over with.

  ‘Pub,’ Faith agrees. ‘Come on, Gracie. I need a wine.’

  We catch a cab for the short ride from Soho to the Lamb and Flag pub, located in Covent Garden, almost below Faith’s flat.

  Alex gets a round in. ‘Well, cheers to that.’ He raises his pint of beer.

  ‘Cheers,’ Faith says, more cheerily, clinking her glass of wine.

  I oblige with my tumbler of cranberry juice. ‘I’m afraid I don’t have any publicity ideas,’ I kick things off with.

  ‘I do,’ Faith says. ‘I’ve been thinking, how about we run a competition in Chit Chat to find my next date? Wouldn’t that be a bit of fun. Would that work, do you think, Alex?’

  Alex’s lips pull back to reveal his bleached white teeth. His nostrils flare. It’s interesting how someone so undeniably handsome can appear so utterly unattractive.

  Faith flicks her long, tousled blonde hair. She’s still made-up from filming. Eyes smouldering. Lips juicy red. Her outfit is a sexy rock-chick ensemble from All Saints. In this quaint little pub in the heart of Theatreland, her local, she stands out by a mile.

  After we finished, I got changed into my own stretchy black trousers (that one might call leggings) and an oversized sweater. The outfit Poppy dressed me in for the show was a pretty blue dress, but it wasn’t comfortable. My make-up had melted under the big lights and it was a relief to wipe it off before we left.

  ‘That’s a fabulous idea,’ Alex says, having finished his Jack Nicholson, The Shining, impersonation. ‘The public can’t get enough of you, Faith, of course it will work. Look at you!’ Instead, Alex glances slyly at me.

  ‘Oh, stop. Only because Poppy keeps dressing me in these skimpy outfits,’ Faith laughs.

  ‘We could run a scoop on your mystery boyfriend. “The Unmasking of Master J”.’ Alex shoots me a cunning grin. ‘What do you say, Gracie?’

  ‘You want to interview Jordan?’

  ‘Do you have another boyfriend?’

  It annoys me when Faith bursts out laughing.

  Seeing my scowl, she answers on my behalf. ‘No. She doesn’t.’

  ‘You’ve let slip enough dirty sex secrets to make it interesting,’ Alex carries on. ‘We could do a saucy photo shoot of you both.’

  Dirty sex secrets. The grubby git.

  ‘Firstly, Alex, what we do and say on air is not real,’ I state. ‘Secondly, my boyfriend is supposed to be mysterious. Exposing Jordan won’t win brownie points with Joanna. It’s a terrible idea.’

  ‘No photo of your fella, then.’ Alex smirks.

  ‘Jordan isn’t obliged to expose his private life in some silly magazine,’ I snap. ‘Even if I am.’

  Alex sizes me up. But he merely murmurs, breezily, ‘There’s no need to be scrappy.’

  ‘Oh, but Gracie can be brilliantly scrappy,’ Faith laughs. ‘It’s part of her charm.’

  ‘I have to go,’ I say, glaring at her. Faith’s never referred to me as scrappy. What exactly does that mean?

  ‘Darling, we’re only teasing,’

  Alex is clever enough to agree. ‘Of course.’

  I smile charitably at the pair of them. I wonder if, tonight, they’ll go home together and shag?

  ‘Scrappy or not, I have to go. I have to fetch Benny. After I drop him off, I’ll rustle up more dirty sex secrets with my mystery boyfriend.’ I put on my coat.

  ‘Benny is stopping with you one more night,’ Faith says.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘The boys called and convinced me to agree. I must say, Robert is rather charismatic. Is he as gorgeous as you’ve always said?’ Faith asks.

  It’s stopped me in my tracks, learning that Robert, and Jordan, have spoken directly with Faith.

  I remember she had included a note with her number and a copy of Benny’s insurance with his things. Benny is her cat. This is Faith’s business. But it pinches me, nonetheless, that I’ve been cut out of the loop.

  On the set today, I’d noticed, again, with a small twinge of something not entirely pleasant, that lots of people pop by our studio to speak with Faith.

  Am I jealous? This has never happened before. Not in all our years of friendship. My nightmare last night hadn’t revealed how she’d responded to Harry’s declaration of love, what Faith had done when I lost him to her charms. It’s obviously making me act a bit mental today. I shake off all such thoughts from my mind.

  ‘I also have an interview with Liz Martin. Sorry, but I do need to go. So, I’m returning Benny to you tomorrow, Faith. That’s the revised plan?’

  ‘Tomorrow morning. Give Benny a big cuddle from me will you please? I miss him so much.’

  ‘Of course. So, we’ll tell Joanna we’re agreed on a dating competition tomorrow? Are we done?’

  ‘Gracie, we’re done,’ Faith says. ‘Go, darling. We have our plan.’

  ‘Same again?’ Alex asks, his hand around Faith’s empty wine glass

  ‘Yes please, same again,’ she says. ‘Bye, Gracie. Enjoy your evening!’

  I recall Harry’s warning that we should watch our backs around Alex.

  In the corner, a trio of brass players assembles and strikes up the first notes. The tune is annoyingly familiar but it’s only when I get outside that I realise what they were playing: There May Be Trouble Ahead.

  I meet Liz without fuss, and am pleased to share the new programme rec
ipes with her. Returning home, I’m barely through the front door when Jordan flies up from the basement. An unexpected greeting, I wonder if Jordan’s taken our talk this morning on board.

  ‘Thank God you’re home,’ he sighs. ‘There’s a problem with this cat.’

  I gasp and hold my breath until Robert emerges up the stairs carrying a most contented-looking Benny.

  ‘It’s hardly a problem,’ Robert counters cheerily.

  ‘Robert, it’s a disaster!’ Jordan insists.

  ‘Will one of you please tell me what’s going on,’ I say, dropping my bag onto the table. So much for Jordan simply being pleased to see me. ‘I’ve had a long day, and I’m running on three hours of sleep.’

  ‘This cat won’t eat anything,’ Jordan goes on. ‘He won’t try a single bite of the Pussy Paws samples. Not one.’

  I’m with Robert on this. This isn’t a state of emergency. Meanwhile, Jordan hops from one foot to the other in some sort of a traumatised shuffle.

  ‘Jordan, I warned you twice that Faith insists Benny is partial to his own special pellets. I’m sure it’s nothing to do with your client’s food.’

  Benny snuggles his head into Robert’s armpit, not bothered in the least.

  ‘Our entire campaign is premised on Pussy Paws being irresistible to all cats. It’s a medicine, but it’s delicious. That was our pitch.’

  ‘Perhaps you need a professional advertising cat?’ I suggest. ‘Like, the Whiskas cat, the sweet silver tabby, with the golden eyes? Perhaps Harry could put you in touch?’

  ‘We have people who can do that,’ Jordan snaps at me. ‘But those cats cost a lot of money. This isn’t for the production. It’s for ideation. And this cat is causing a problem because he’s completely disproving our pitch.’

  Robert and I exchange looks.

  ‘Could you give Benny his own food and pretend he’s eating Pussy Paws?’ I venture to say.

  At that moment, the hallway cupboard door flies open under the weight of the shopping I stored there yesterday. Bags of new clothes tumble out. I meant to take them into the studio with me this morning. I walk over and cram it all back inside. I close the door and everything falls straight back out. I set the bags neatly to one side.