by Amy Huberman
I was kind of hoping Gavin would be there, but I had a feeling it might not be his scene. Then Laurence told me he was stuck in Belfast, finishing his preparatory work on the next project he was doing for Lights! Camera! Action! before he left us for good. Gradually he was slipping further away from me and soon he’d be gone altogether.
Just as I was thinking I was ready to pack up for the day and go home to beautify myself, Fintan landed at my desk with a very scary look on his face. ‘Well, Isobel? What possible explanation do you have?’ he fumed, his face all red and sweaty.
‘Sorry, Fintan, I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ I stammered. Christ, I’d never seen the man so angry.
‘I’m going to be the laughing stock of BCM, thanks to you!’ he bellowed, making me shrink in my seat. I racked my brains to think of what I could possibly have done. Perhaps he’d seen the guest list and knew only too well that Stephen and Deirdre weren’t Bono’s offspring. Or maybe he’d overheard me saying to Geraldine that I was going to fleece the goodies in the bathroom at the Shelbourne.
‘How could you do this, Isobel?’ he demanded.
The room went quiet and I could see Geraldine and Laurence blinking at me like two scared rabbits.
‘Er, sorry, Fintan,’ I said cautiously, after a few moments of silence. ‘What have I done?’
Even by the time I’d walked the whole way home, I was still trembling with anger. How could she have done that to me? How could she have blamed me like that, when it had had absolutely nothing to do with me?
Keelin and Susie were both at home when I got in. Keelin was on the couch French-plaiting Dermot’s fringe and Susie was sitting on the floor with a bucket on her head. I raised my eyebrow at Keelin in the hope she would enlighten me.
‘She read online that meditating in total darkness can help you exorcize your break-up demons. She couldn’t find her eye mask, so she’s using the bucket from under the stairs instead. She’s hoping to get in the zone before she goes on her trip.’
Susie removed the bucket and said hello.
‘How’s it working out for you?’ I asked.
‘Not great. I’m still so angry about it. As much with myself as Aidan. Maybe you really need to use an eye mask to make any sort of progress.’
‘You’re looking a bit frazzled, Izzy. Maybe you should wear the bucket for a while,’ Keelin suggested.
I slumped down on the couch and told them about the nightmare that had just unfolded at work. Eve had been in charge of organizing the posters for the film, but there’d been some mix-up with the order, and it had turned out they weren’t going to be ready by tomorrow night. But instead of Eve owning up and admitting to her mistake, she’d told Fintan it was my fault because I had placed the order. And now they couldn’t even get hold of the designer to ask him to run a few copies from the original. I felt so helpless. The more I’d tried to defend myself, the angrier Fintan had got. And when Geraldine and Laurence had tried to stand up for me, he’d told them they could leave if they had a problem.
Obviously this had been a serious fuck-up. And Fintan had kept ranting that he’d never been to a première in his life where the film’s poster hadn’t been on display. I’d stared at Eve, imploring her to do the right thing and own up. All she could do was straighten her fabulous Roland Mouret dress and gaze out of the window, avoiding my eye.
And now here I was, stunned, hurt, angry and potentially unemployed. Susie and Keelin were both outraged and Keelin said she was going straight to Eve’s house, wherever it was, to read her the Riot Act. I told her she lived in Castleknock. Then Keelin said she wasn’t sure how to get there but could you get the number fifty-six from Eden Quay? I told her to leave it, that Eve wouldn’t give a damn – she’d just slam the door in her face. Just as Susie was trying to convince me to wear a hidden tape recorder into work tomorrow and get Eve to confess to the crime when we were alone my mobile rang.
‘Hello, Izzy?’
‘Yes?’
‘It’s Jonathan.’
‘Jonathan Ride Cunningham?’ I asked. Had I just said that? Out loud?
‘Sorry?’
‘Eh, hello. Can you hear me? The connection’s breaking up. Who did you say was calling?’ I winced, hoping to God I could come out of this with my decency still some way intact.
‘Isobel, it’s Jonathan Cunningham,’ he said loudly and clearly.
Oh, God love him. ‘Ah, yes, Jonathan! I thought I heard you say that! How are you?’ This was awkward: the last time I’d spoken to him, I was whipping off my bra and flinging it across his bedroom.
‘Listen, Isobel, we’re in the shit here, big-time. Fintan told me about the poster fuck-up.’
Oh, no. I was semi-naked in both our minds’ eye, and now he was firing me as I stood there with my tits out. ‘Jonathan, you have to believe me. I had nothing to do with posters.’
‘Don’t worry about that now. There’s nothing we can do about it at this stage. What we need is a replacement.’
‘Right. A replacement for me?’
He laughed, and for a second I thought he was an awful arsehole, even though I had denied him sex at the last minute so he was sort of in his rights to be a little rude to me. But then he told me that I’d misunderstood, and we urgently needed a replacement poster.
‘And that’s where you come in, Izzy.’
‘It is?’
‘Remember you were telling me you were into art and graphic design and that you’d helped your friend out with some storyboards?’
‘Yeah – but, Jonathan, it’s only a hobby. I’m not qualified in anything like that!’
‘Who cares? If you can do it, you can do it. And you know the film better than any freelance designer we’d find this late in the day.’
‘What – where – how many – why?’
‘Isobel, will you do it?’
Well, why not? What was the worst that could happen? If I failed, I couldn’t be any worse off than I was right now. And maybe, just maybe, there was a chance I could pull it off.
I got off the phone and ran back into the living room. I told Keelin to get on with her plaiting and Susie to put the bucket back on her head: I was locking myself into my room to sort my life out and I probably wouldn’t see them until tomorrow.
Keelin threw her eyes to heaven. ‘The two of you and your mad new-age self-help strategies.’
* * *
‘Please!’ I wailed, holding on to the Spanx for dear life. ‘Why are you doing this to me?’
‘Mother of God, Isobel, you’re the biggest drama queen I’ve ever met. Now let go!’ shouted Keelin, slapping at my hands.
‘No! Please! Just let me wear them!’
‘No!’
All of a sudden Keelin and Susie flipped me on to my back and wrestled them off me. I lay on my bedroom floor, feeling worn-out and violated. ‘Why?’ I whimpered. ‘Just tell me why.’
‘Because you don’t need them, that’s why,’ Susie answered. ‘Now, on your feet! Snap to it!’
Well, I needn’t have worried about Susie regaining her confidence after Aidan, that was for sure.
‘Fine,’ I sulked, dragging myself to my feet.
‘Arms up! Up! Up!’
‘Susie, that fitness bootcamp you’re going to is having some serious side-effects.’
‘UP!’
I screamed and put my arms up obediently. She slid the dress over my head, and pulled it down my body, fixing and straightening it as she went, then zipping up the side deftly. Keelin started clapping like a seal and Susie’s face came over all trance-like. Great, did that mean she was going to ease up on the shouting? ‘Look at yourself!’ She took my shoulders and twisted me towards the mirror.
Oh. My. God.
I inhaled sharply and clung to her for support. The dress was stunning. I couldn’t speak for the first few moments so I just stood there grinning at myself like a simpleton. I hadn’t a clue when I’d get an opportunity to wear such a fabulous dress when I’d bou
ght it in Brown Thomas all those months back but now here I was. And I loved it even more than I had when I’d bought it.
‘You like?’ Keelin asked.
I nodded emphatically, still unable to find my voice.
‘See? You don’t need those Spanx. Izzy, you look amazing,’ she said, smacking my arse.
I looked at myself again.
The dress was exquisite: a corseted bodice that cinched in perfectly at my waist, only to slink back out again with layers of oyster silk puffing their way to my knees and a surface layer of fine gold lace. The effect was simply breathtaking. ‘I can’t believe it’s mine,’ I whispered dreamily.
We whizzed around the house, applying our final layers of lipgloss, making sure we had our hairbrushes, eyeliners and lipsticks in our bags. Keelin made us knock back the cocktails she’d invented earlier in honour of the night: Dublin Whores, she’d named them. She thought they might catch on, but I wasn’t sure that peach schnapps and crème de menthe mixed together too well.
On the way to the cinema, we dropped off our stuff at the Shelbourne. Keelin and Susie were bunking in with me but I’d bagsed the toiletries in the bathroom just to avoid any last-minute misunderstandings. We were meeting Emma, Caroline, Marcus, Will, Stephen and Deirdre at the after party. I’d even managed to sneak Simon on to the guest list at the last minute as a celebrity dog-trainer.
I still didn’t know what was happening on the poster front. I’d told Jonathan I’d leave my design into the Lights! Camera! Action! office first thing in the morning and someone could collect it when I’d gone as I didn’t want to see anyone. And all I knew was that I hadn’t been fired.
By the time we got to the Savoy Cinema on O’Connell Street, we were running a bit late so we scooted in through a side-door because I spotted Edna McClodmutton getting her photo taken out on the front steps. Cian was with her and, for the first time ever, it didn’t bother me in the slightest. Anyway, it was hard to feel anything except nausea with him dressed in that navy blue velvet suit. The girls reckoned he was a shadow of his former self and miserable to boot. I’d say he was probably fed up that he was Saffron’s arm candy and she was stealing the limelight.
Inside, the Savoy was jam-packed, with hordes of people fi ling into Screen One. We squirrelled our way to an usher to ask where we could get the popcorn and the pick-and-mix before the film started. He looked at us as if we were serial killers, so we took this to mean that it would possibly be a touch uncouth to gorge oneself at a première. Shite – I’d been looking forward to some fizzy worms.
We followed the stream of people into the auditorium, and I kept my head down in case I saw either Eve or Fintan – I didn’t want to talk to either of them. My blood was still boiling over Eve’s lies and accusations. Why had Fintan taken her side so quickly and not even considered that I might be telling the truth? Eve was such a two-faced bitch.
We located our seats in row M and gossiped about who was there and who wasn’t. Then Geraldine scooted down the row after us, polishing the people who were already seated with her bum as she shuffled past them. She gave me a big hug. ‘Izzy, Laurence and I are ignoring Eve. And I managed to get her seat moved so she can’t sit beside us. And, just so you know, I plan on spilling red wine all down the front of her dress later.’
All of a sudden the room went quiet, the screen lit up and the opening credits were rolling. We sat back and watched the film that had taken over our lives for the past year. A year of my life that I would never get back.
* * *
What a pile of crap. The bit where the mum throws her boyfriend over O’Connell Bridge? Or the bit where the old man comes on to the girl who works in Clery’s? Or the bit where Saffron’s character stabs the thug with the heel of her shoe? Christ. It was like watching Days of Our Lives with Irish accents. With a bit of Pulp Fiction thrown into the mix, and a soupçon of fourth-year school play to finish it off. And Edna McClodmutton’s acting?
Shocking.
At the end, all I could think was: Was that it? I wondered if everyone else was as disappointed, confused and all round mentally abused as I was. But they were applauding. Lunatics. Maybe they were pissed.
Keelin and Susie were crying and clapping wildly. Well, that wasn’t too much of a shock, I suppose – Susie had cried for a week when Ailsa died in Home and Away. The director took to the podium to thank everyone for coming and the crowd went crazy. Mentallers. What had I been doing, spending the majority of my waking hours contributing to something I honestly didn’t care about? I’d known it was going to be no Shawshank Redemption, but I’d hoped I’d feel proud of it. In that moment, I was overwhelmed by how unfulfilled I felt and how fed up I was with my job. It really wasn’t me at all. Roll on the graphic-design course.
What was me, however, was copious amounts of champagne and a live jazz band in a beautiful function room at the Shelbourne Hotel. Two huge Christmas trees stood in the lobby, dripping gold and silver decorations, while red velvet bows curled their way up the magnificent staircase. The red carpet that had been laid out for the party was sprinkled with specks of pearly white glitter like snowflakes under the chandelier.
The guests spilled in for the party, occupying every corner, perching on chairs at large round tables covered with crisp white linen tablecloths, forming neat queues at the bar to avail themselves of the free drink, and clustering in small groups to chat and laugh and enjoy all that an evening of pure indulgence had to offer.
Keelin, Susie and I claimed a spot close to the bar and toasted ourselves with champagne. Shortly afterwards, the others arrived and promptly joined us. And the more we toasted, the more the world became this shiny happy Christmassy place full of people I loved. Stephen was telling a story about how Deirdre had fixed the boiler system in her flat and wasn’t that amazing? I loved Deirdre. I had yet to get to know her properly, but what was there not to love? And she was handy in a DIY crisis. And there was Keelin, wrapped around Simon like a python, smiling so much I wondered had she given herself lockjaw and was too embarrassed to say. And just when I thought I couldn’t possibly feel any more warm and fuzzy inside if I tried, who comes and pisses all over it?
Edna McClodmutton.
‘Fuck!’ I said, jumping at the sight of her. The others gave a communal yelp behind me as I gawped at her. She peered down her nose at me and I remembered how intimidating she was up close.
‘Nice dress,’ she said disparagingly. ‘So, anyway,’ she cooed breezily, ‘I thought you should know I’ve dumped Cian so you can have him back if you like. No hard feelings.’
‘But you arrived with him?’
‘So? Doesn’t mean I have to leave with him. There are some very interesting options in the room, and I have to put my career first.’
Wow. Harsh!
No hard feelings? Was she for real? I started to rack my brains for a comeback, then realized I didn’t give a shit any more. I was so over the both of them. And it hit me how foolish I’d been wasting so much of my time obsessing over this woman. And you know what? I could see what the girls meant about her not being beautiful. She looked as if she was trying too hard – the overtanned skin, the false eyelashes, the sequined dress that was cut too low.
‘So, your friend Gavin, is he here?’ She cocked an eyebrow at me. ‘He’s the talk of the industry. He’s going places, that guy. Maybe we could all meet up and go out for a drink some time.’
I stared her square in the eye and spoke with icy calm. ‘I’d rather have my eyes gouged out and fed to a tank of sharks.’
She recoiled as if I’d slapped her face. ‘Huh! Well, fine. I don’t give a shit. I have bigger fish to fry, sweetheart. Colin Farrell’s here.’
‘He’s welcome to you, Bernie. Go knock yourself out.’
I’d finally caught her out. Saffron Spencer wasn’t her real name. I should have known it was a stage name all along. Laurence had shown me her actual name on one of her pay-slips during the week and I’d almost burst with joy when I saw it – B
ernie Hoare. Bernie Hoare! Edna McClodmutton had actually been a step up for her!
I thought nothing could top that until Geraldine bounded up to tell me that a producer had just asked her to be the lead in a new feature film. She dropped her voice to a whisper and said it was going to be a Celtic soft porno called Queen Maeve and the Bullocks.
Before I’d had a chance to digest this outrageous piece of information, the crowd hushed and I saw Jonathan Ride Cunningham standing on a podium at the far end of the room. Sorry, Jonathan Cunningham. He tapped his microphone loudly and asked for silence. ‘Now most of you probably didn’t know this, but yesterday we were thinking that this première night might not happen,’ he started, ‘largely because our posters for the film were nowhere to be seen. And who has a movie without a poster? They’re a vital advertising tool.’
I shrank with panic and apprehension as I listened to him, stomach churning like a cement-mixer. I glanced around to see if I could spot Eve or Fintan. Had they used my design? Maybe they’d sourced the original and had it printed off.
‘So without further ado, ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you, fresh this minute from the printers, the poster for Snog Me Now, You Dublin Whore.’ The crowd parted and a giant mobile poster unit was wheeled into the centre of the function room… with a huge copy of my design emblazoned on it.
Emma caught me just before I fainted. She propped me up and forced me to drink something – more champagne, which only made my head spin faster. Everyone was clapping.
‘Izzy, congratulations! It’s amazing!’ Keelin, Susie, Orla, Marcus, everyone flocked to me, each passing me to the next when they’d hugged me.
Then Jonathan was standing beside me. ‘Congratulations, Izzy. They all absolutely adore it. We scanned your design this morning and it’s being printed as we speak so we can send it off around the country first thing tomorrow morning.’