Master J remains a mystery, but there’s one secret we’re happy to share. Pussy Paws now contains a secret ingredient that knocks fleas dead!
The label on the can is clearly visible: PACKS FLEAS A PUNCH.
Below the photograph is the disclaimer.
* No advertising executives were harmed during the taste-testing of this delicious product.
I’m heading on to the gym when Harry calls my mobile to say a number of agencies have approached him wanting us for their marketing campaigns. With a chuckle, he informs me he’s also fielded a few calls from heavy breathers happy I’ve taken it on board to get my booty into skimpier clothes and would I mind a bit more of it for our regular recordings, too.
I’m still amused by the thought when I hit the weights with Nikolai for another gruelling and most-excellent workout.
On the way out, between the endorphins from the exercise and that things are falling into place for me everywhere I turn, I’m walking on air.
I’m heading into the studio when I think to call Jordan.
He answers his work line on the first ring.
‘Jordan Piper.’
‘Hi, Jordan. It’s me, Grace.’
‘One minute.’
The last time Jordan and I spoke was during the photography session for Pussy Paws, where plenty of other people from SC6 and his agency floated about for distraction. I’m on hold a long time before he picks up the line.
‘Sorry, I’ve popped into an office. It’s, ah, hectic out there.’
His girlfriend is listening?
‘I’m just calling to say thanks.’ I jump straight into the purpose of my call. ‘I presume you’ve seen the ads. I just want to say, they got me out of a very sticky situation. I imagine it wasn’t easy to swing Pussy Paws on such short notice, but you did it. Thank you, Jordan. I hope they’re pleased?’
‘Oh, no problem. Yes, the ads are brilliant. The client’s thrilled.’ He pauses. ‘I’ve been promoted to director.’
I congratulate Jordan on his news, insisting it’s a well-earned promotion for his hard work and effort over many years. I’m delighted to say that, without a hint of resentment, I mean it.
‘By the way, I liked your postscript, in the ad. “No advertising executives harmed by the taste-testing.” Very funny.’
Jordan laughs heartily. ‘I thought you might like it.’
A month ago, he was storming out over the cat food-eating incident and I was throwing his stuff to the rubbish. Today, it’s a funny story we can laugh about.
‘It’s nice to talk to you, Grace.’
‘You too. How’s Rhiannon?’
After a short – but not uncomfortable – silence, Jordan says, ‘I don’t think we should discuss her.’
‘No, you’re right.’
‘I best get back to my desk. Thanks for calling. Take care.’
‘You too.’
Which is a pleasant enough finish to a pleasant enough conversation – things could have gone worse. Yet as I enter SC6, my feet aren’t as light on the ground as they were earlier this morning.
After my conversation with Jordan, it’s some time before the spring in my step returns.
32
On set to record our tenth and final episode of the first season, today I get to showcase sexy South American Carlos as my first ever on-air date.
Small hiccup is Carlos isn’t here yet and he should be.
I’m increasingly concerned Carlos didn’t understand my instructions regarding the shoot. It was probably also a mistake not to answer any of his numerous calls yesterday and last night – I’ve been cooling things off with our private arrangement, but my timing was perhaps ill-conceived. While the orgasms are incredible – I can’t overstate the importance of restoring my self-esteem, my mojo, after Jordan flatlined it – the thing is, Carlos is starting to grate on my nerves. My appetite for him is, regrettably, waning.
It’s the little things.
How he hums salsa tunes incessantly – even, sometimes, when we’re in bed.
And leaves the toilet seat up after he pees.
And doesn’t close the door on his other ablutions.
The sex-stained boxer shorts strewn across my pillow.
Used condoms in my bathroom sink.
Pubic hair in my soap.
Bless him, but Carlos’s cheap aftershave plays havoc with my sinuses.
There’s also the somewhat delicate matter that, sometimes, sex with Carlos is too uninhibited. I don’t want his spunk over my face. Ever. Nor his attempts, on more than one occasion, to put things that don’t belong inside me inside me. How he screams in ecstasy ‘CRAZIE,’ every time he comes, so loud I worry we’ll wake the neighbours.
If all that wasn’t enough, I’m increasingly concerned he’s angling to move in with me. From his broken conversation, I’ve learned he shares a studio apartment on Leicester Square with three other grown men. He’s already ceremoniously moved his toothbrush into the glass beside mine – I suspect it’s only a couple of white T-shirts and a spare pair of black trousers to make it official.
I’ve only known him a week.
When I called Faith last night to dissect the good and the bad, she laughed voraciously. ‘You’re getting sex, darling. Orgasms, no less. What did you expect from someone you picked up at a dance club?’ She told me it’s the sort of nonsense she put up with for years. For all our in-depth conversations about her romantic life, for all my envy about her raunchy affairs, I never knew.
When I talked to Poppy this morning, she’d warned me I have only myself to blame. Apparently, it’s my fault for seeing Carlos so regularly – thereby breaking the rules of the buddy system. I tell her I don’t think I am cut out for casual sexing. In my heart, I know I’m girlfriend material. I need more than meaningless orgasms.
Whether I dump him as my sex partner now or later is one thing. But if Carlos is a no-show on set, I may be forced to drag Pugsy, the man with the face of a pug, in front of camera as my inaugural love interest – scarcely the ego or ratings boost I or Joanna are after.
Then in he waltzes – bronzed, strong and looking sexy – Carlos.
‘Ola, Crazie,’ he shouts happily.
I disengage respectfully from Harry, who’s had his arm casually around my waist. We’ve been like this recently. Warm, friendly, tactile.
‘Carlos, I’m pleased you made it.’ I narrowly avoid Carlos snogging me in front of everyone with a deft turn of my head. His lips land moistly on my cheek.
‘Harry, this is Carlos. Carlos, this is my agent, Harry.’
‘I pleased to meet you,’ Carlos says, shaking his hand.
‘Carlos, pleased to meet you,’ Harry says. Harry knows only that we met at the salsa club and he is my date for today.
Carlos is several inches taller than Harry. He clasps his long, strong fingers around mine. He’s wearing his white T-shirt and tight black trousers. Joanna, speaking with the crew, gapes her mouth behind his back. Carlos is a hit.
‘You are Crazie’s boss?’
‘I’m her agent,’ Harry says.
‘Her servant?’
‘Yes, I’m her servant.’
‘Harry, behave,’ I growl.
He grins mischievously.
‘I meet Crazie at dancing,’ Carlos carries on. ‘She es great dancer. Very sexy. We dance together all the nights.’
‘Do you now?’ Harry looks at me, trying not to laugh. ‘Well, that explains her joie de vivre of late.’
I’m trying not to laugh now, too. I’m not even sure what’s funny. ‘Stop, Harry.’
‘Har-i,’ Carlos repeats, practising.
Poppy rushes over.
‘Carlos, sweetie,’ she squeals, lavishing kisses on Carlos’s chiselled cheeks. He drops my hand to lift Poppy’s tiny frame off the ground. When she enquires if we are still dancing together, Carlos sweeps me into an impromptu shimmy across the studio.
I protest at once, stopping us dead immediately. ‘No, Carlos. We
’re not at the club. Work, okay? No dancing.’
‘We no dance on TV?’ Carlos is bewildered.
‘No, Carlos, cooking. We’re here to cook, remember?’
I wanted to finish the series as the one with the date. Now that Carlos is here in all his attentive gorgeousness, I don’t think I can cope with the spectacle.
Poppy offers to show him around set.
‘Poppy, that would be most helpful,’ I say, grateful for her intervention.
‘Carlos, honey.’ She links her tiny arm around his muscled bicep. ‘Come with me, I’ll explain how everything is going to work today.’
‘Sí, I am working for Crazie.’ Letting go of my hand, he tags along.
When they’re out of earshot, Harry whispers, ‘So, Crazy…’
‘It beats him calling me Tolerancia.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘It means grace, in Spanish,’ I explain, sighing.
‘Tolly for short? I quite like it. Does he call you that in bed?’ Harry doesn’t bother to suppress his chuckle. His eyes cloud as he contemplates me. ‘All that dancing, every night.’
‘Let’s just say Carlos and I were spending an inordinate amount of time dancing, but then…’ I can’t bring myself to admit things aren’t exactly working out with my sizzling piece of man-candy.
‘You haven’t tired of all that hot Latino loving already?’ Harry says.
‘Not that it’s any of your business…’
‘But?’ Harry has a teasing smile.
‘But I can do without it. From Carlos. To be honest.’
‘I see,’ Harry says, and we both fall silent.
‘I’ll tell you a secret,’ I say, to lighten the mood. Harry leans in close. I breathe in the smell of him. Sandalwood. Vanilla. Leather. And … Harry. ‘Although the hot loving, as you put it, with Carlos has waned, it was, for a while, so hot, I actually called him my shag buddy. Harry, is that too awful?’
Looking unexpectedly aghast, Harry asks me, ‘Not to his face, surely?’
‘Of course not to his face. Just with Faith, and Poppy, and now you.’
‘Dear me, Tolly,’ Harry sighs. ‘I’m pleased I’m not your rebound man.’
‘It’s not – what? No, it’s not like that.’
‘But you’ve no feelings for the man?’
‘It’s not about feelings, Harry. The whole concept of a shag buddy is nobody gets hurt.’
Harry glances over to where Poppy is showing Carlos around the kitchen. The crew is busy setting up the equipment. Noticing us looking, Carlos waves vigorously and blows me a flurry of little kisses.
‘I think Carlos may have feelings for you.’
‘I picked him up in a salsa bar. We can barely understand each other. I’m sure he’s as happy with our arrangement as I am.’
‘You’ve reduced him to a walking penis,’ Harry suggests.
I burst out laughing. It’s a crude thing to say. But I suppose I have.
When we first met, I’d thought if Harry was a girl, he’d be Faith. I wondered if they’d hook up. Instead, Harry’s become another best friend for me.
At the kitchen set, Carlos knocks a metal bowl to the floor. There’s a loud clang, clang, clang as it skims across the concrete. Carlos shrugs an apology and picks it up.
Harry and I try not to giggle.
He enquires about my plans for the TIARAs. ‘I heard a rumour you haven’t made arrangements for a date?’
With only three nights until the event, I haven’t invited anyone. I thought, initially, Carlos. Then I got cold feet. As the clock ticks, it starting to strike me as a damn fine idea after all.
‘I don’t know what rumour you’ve heard—’ Agent or not, why does Harry go so far out of his way regarding my personal business? Poppy still hasn’t sorted who she’s bringing. He isn’t bothering her about it.
Carlos sidles up beside me and clasps my hand. His grip is strong. His looks are stunning. I could do a lot worse than to be photographed arriving with Carlos for these awards – I could arrive alone.
‘Harry, I’m afraid you’ve been misinformed. Carlos is attending the TIARAs with me, aren’t you, sweetie?’ I give Carlos’s hand a little squeeze. ‘Hmm, we’re going out this Saturday, sí?’
On cue, a beaming Carlos repeats daftly after me, ‘Sí. I go with Crazie, all the day.’
33
Carlos leaves the station merrily, a print out of details for the TIARAs in his hand – I couldn’t find my invitation, but the press office promise to assure my smooth entry on the day. I leave with a golf-ball-sized lump in my throat. Though he was fine on the show, with his broken English and high-energy actions, I regret asking Carlos to such a public occasion. Later, at home, it occurs to me it won’t be at all funny if he rocks up to the TIARAs in his too-tight black trousers. In a state, I call Poppy to check if she wouldn’t mind taking him shopping for a new suit, at my expense. Poppy isn’t as keen as I’d hoped.
‘Angel, why ever did you invite him?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘He won’t fit in.’
‘He’ll fit in even less wearing his salsa outfit. Please, Poppy, will you help?’
I flop onto my bed. I told Carlos not to come over tonight, as I need my sleep. It’s nice having the flat to myself.
‘All right,’ Poppy says. ‘But you’re not coming with us. No offence, but you’re a grumpy shopper and you’ll only be a nuisance.’
By noon the next day, I owe Poppy a small fortune, but it’s worth every penny to hear her relay how the whole shop gasped as Carlos paraded his new Tom Ford tuxedo. He will, at least, look the part.
I thank her profusely.
Meanwhile, I’ve squeezed in a training session at the gym and a painful waxing session with an overzealous beautician named Gretchen. In the afternoon, I attend the hairdressers and have my first facial at a private medical clinic on Harley Street. When I’m done, my body is fighting fit and fuzz-free. My locks are perfectly trimmed, and a soft semi-permanent covers the niggling grey hairs that have been popping through. My complexion is like porcelain.
In the morning, I attend the final fitting for my trouser suit. I’m delighted to find it’s in at the waist – the tummy crunches have paid off.
I’m running the last of my errands for the big do tomorrow – the lymphatic-draining, anti-cellulite massage isn’t half as relaxing as I anticipated and the manicure and pedicure gobble more time than I planned to spare – when Joanna calls to say she’s heard I’ve invited Carlos to the TIARAs and she thinks it’s a terrible idea.
‘He’s your first date. I want you to film a whole other season with more. It’ll look like you’re a couple. Can it.’
I’m in a jewellery shop on New Bond Street, collecting a diamond necklace on loan to me via arrangements with SC6, when she puts the phone down on me. I’m standing there, wondering if Faith might possibly know anyone who can escort me as I’m certainly not going to embarrass myself by asking Harry for his help at this last minute, when my mother calls.
‘Mummy, hi, is everything okay? Why are you calling my mobile?’
‘I dread to think what it’s doing to your brain, dear, all those radioactive waves, but I haven’t been able to catch you at home all week. Grace, about your invite, I’m so excited! Thank you for choosing me. I can’t believe it, dear.’
‘It will be lovely, Mummy. I’m so pleased you can make it. And of course, who else would I bring? Daddy would hate it. It’s definitely a mother daughter thing.’
‘Oh, dear.’ My mother’s voice is soft. She’s touched. I’m… busy.
‘Mummy, I’m sorry I haven’t called you to make arrangements, I’ve been ridiculously busy. These TIARAs take a lot of preparing for.’
‘Yes, dear!’ My mother says something to my father with her hand over the mouthpiece. ‘Right, I don’t want to talk too long on your mobile, but am I meeting you inside or at the station, Grace? Your father wants to be sure I won’t get myself in a muddle.’
‘Mummy, if you could meet me there, that’d be great. Get a cab directly from the station and I’ll meet you inside.’ The assistant behind the counter is pretending not to listen. We’re alone in the shop. ‘Mummy, I have to go. I’m in a shop about to sign my life away to borrow some very expensive diamonds,’ I whisper.
‘I’ve bought a new dress,’ my mother exclaims. ‘Second-hand new. But Grace, it’s stunning.’
Rambling on to describe her frock in great detail, I don’t have the heart to stop her. Full-length, navy satin, sequinned and with matching clutch, it sounds far too posh for a Sunday luncheon date, even if it is at Fortnum and Mason.
‘Mummy, it sounds divine. I can’t wait to see you in it. But I can’t chat just now.’
‘No, dear, you’re collecting your diamonds!’
In the background, I’m alerted to another incoming call. Checking the screen, I see it’s Carlos. Apart from a short call to put him in touch with Poppy, we haven’t spoken. If Carlos is on his way to the salsa club, I won’t be able to reach him until after midnight. I have to answer and let him know, delicately, because Carlos hasn’t done anything wrong to deserve this, that my invitation for him to escort me tomorrow is cancelled.
‘Mummy, bye. I can’t wait to see you in your fancy frock. I love you.’
‘I love you, dear. See you at the do! Bye.’
I pick up with Carlos.
‘Ola, Crazie.’
‘Hello Carlos.’
‘Crazie, I have new suit, thanks to you so much.’
‘You’re very welcome, Carlos. I hear you look very handsome in it.’
‘Es very good suit.’
‘Poppy is quite the magician.’
‘Es magic?’
‘Carlos, never mind.’
‘For flower, what colour your dress?’
‘Actually, I’m also wearing a suit. A silver suit.’
Look At Me Now Page 25