by Jane Lythell
10
StoryWorld TV station, London Bridge
Wednesday, and Julius was back from his holiday though he showed no sign of a post-vacation glow. He chaired the morning meeting and was not in a good mood. He was short with Lori and he was short with me. At the end of the meeting he said: ‘Liz, a word’ in a peremptory tone. I followed him to his office with a sinking feeling, knowing that a rebuke was coming my way. I had made a point of keeping the features light all week and couldn’t work out from what quarter the rebuke would come. I hate how he can still make me feel like a naughty child. He closed his door but did not sit down.
‘I don’t appreciate being phoned by Saul the moment I’m back from holiday to be told that you and Lori can’t work together,’ he said.
‘Sorry?’
‘Saul said there’s a problem. That you two had a meeting and you were dismissive of her ideas.’
‘She said that to him?’
‘Yes.’
‘I wasn’t dismissive!’
Had I been dismissive? I thought that perhaps I had been. Her ideas had been so dull and predictable. So she had left our meeting and gone and snitched on me! I took a deep breath to steady myself.
‘She wants to do in-store promotions and a roadshow with Guy Browne.’
‘And...?’
‘I tried to explain that he can’t be linked to any one brand. You remember that problem we had with Ledley and that cooking oil he kept using. You said it damaged his slot and you were right.’
He gave a curt nod.
‘So I said we’d have to think carefully about how to use Guy. Rather than tying him to a brand I suggested a young designer competition that he could judge. And as I recall she was pretty “dismissive” about that!’
‘I’m not interested in a bitch-fest between you and Lori Kerwell,’ he said.
‘That’s not fair.’
I felt my face flushing and was furious that he’d described what was happening as a bitch-fest in that high-handed way, as if he was above such conflicts. As if it was some petty competition between rival women who couldn’t work together. But was I being unprofessional? Could I have handled things differently? He looked irritable and glanced at his watch. One of his pet sayings is: ‘Don’t bring me problems, bring me solutions.’
‘How do you think we should proceed? Do we need a meeting with the three of us to clear the air?’ I said in a more conciliatory tone.
‘I’ll think about it. I wanted to hear your take on what happened.’
‘Well, thank you for that, Julius. I would like to do the young designer competition, though, and it could have sponsorship potential.’
Julius is the master at getting sponsorship deals for StoryWorld and one bit of station gossip is that he hadn’t wanted to relinquish this task to Lori Kerwell. He gestured with a flick of his hand that the meeting was over and that I should go.
‘Something else,’ I said.
‘What?’ He was barking at me now but I plunged on.
‘I saw Fizzy last night. I suggested we hold a small celebration in the meeting room to introduce Zachary to the teams. She loved the idea and would like to do it this Friday. We thought champagne and cake – can I do that out of my budget?’
‘OK, but prosecco not champagne; we’re not made of money,’ Julius said.
I went straight downstairs and out of the station towards the river. I was incandescent that Lori had reported me. I knew that if I’d gone into my office I would have exploded and ranted to Simon, and the team would have known something big was up. I needed to calm down and get things in perspective. It was windy, clouds scudded across the sky and the river was choppy. It was a particularly sore point that she had complained to Saul Relph. He and I had an uneasy relationship because last November I had finally screwed up the courage to make a confidential complaint about Julius’s behaviour towards me at a work event years before. Julius had crossed a line with me at a StoryWorld Christmas party. My complaint had come to nothing. Saul Relph wasn’t interested in challenging his trusted lieutenant and I’d dropped the complaint. It had left me feeling exposed that I’d shared a shaming secret with our cold and remote MD. I’d seen him several times since and had to assume that he had never shared my complaint with Julius but it hung in the air between us whenever we met. Lori Kerwell was Saul’s appointment, though, and he had been quick enough to listen to her complaint about me and to raise it with Julius.
I sat on a bench and considered my next steps. The River Walk is a popular spot and I watched tourists wander past pointing out the London landmarks and looking light-hearted. I felt the reverse, very down-hearted. I don’t know how to deal with Lori. It had only been a few weeks and we were already squaring up to each other. And now she had involved the bosses. Do I confront her today? Do I go back to the station and ask her outright why she complained about me? Or do I play a longer game? I think she is building an alliance with Bob. He would see mileage in supporting her on the principle that my enemy’s enemy is my friend. Here I was, thinking about Lori as my enemy. Was I overreacting?
A man who looked rough approached me. He was unshaven and was wearing a dirty grey tracksuit. He bent forward and asked me if I could give him ten pounds so he could have somewhere to sleep tonight. I rooted in my purse and found two pound coins which I gave him. The skin on his hands was red and grimy and he smelled sour.
‘I need ten quid,’ he said urgently.
‘I haven’t got a tenner, I’m sorry.’ I gave him the rest of my loose change. ‘That’s all I’ve got.’
‘It’s not enough.’ His voice was angry.
I stood up and hurried away from him as fast as I could, alarmed that he might follow me and even attack me. It added to my feeling of desolation. How horrible everything was.
I did not confront Lori. I spent a couple of hours holed up in my office feeling anxious and low. Around three, Harriet and Ziggy knocked and came in. They had worked hard on a specification for a fashion competition and they gave me a sheet of points I could talk through with Guy.
‘To keep the cost down we wondered if Ziggy could do some of the shooting and editing?’ Harriet said.
‘If we proceed. It’s only an idea at this stage,’ I said.
They both looked crestfallen and I knew that I was projecting my gloomy mood which wasn’t fair on them.
‘You’ve both made an excellent case for it. If Guy is as keen as I am I think we can make it happen.’
They brightened at that.
‘And yes, I’d like to set Ziggy loose on a camera,’ I said, smiling at them both.
I watched them leave together and head towards the staircase chatting happily. Harriet and Ziggy are close because of something horrible that happened to them last year; something that always sits at the back of my mind. Julius had persuaded them to act out a sex scene in the small studio, telling them it was a screen test. It was a vile thing to do and an abuse of power. I have the only copy of the screen test locked in a box at home and his voice is on the tape giving them instructions to take off their clothes and make out. I look on it as my insurance should he ever try to make serious moves against me.
Brooding on Lori Kerwell was a waste of time and I had to pull myself together and get on with things. I joined Martine at her desk and we discussed the party for Fizzy which we’re holding this Friday. I’d suggested Martine come to my office but she does not like to leave her station outside Julius’s office when he is in the building.
‘In case he needs me at short notice,’ she said.
There never was a more loyal assistant than Martine. She opened her pad and made notes.
‘I know lemon drizzle is her all-time favourite. She likes Eccles cakes too, her childhood, you know, though she rarely indulges in either of them, bless her,’ she said.
Martine is close to Fizzy. They both worked as PAs at StoryWorld until Fizzy’s meteoric rise to become the Queen of Live TV.
‘I know she likes those little
cat’s tongue biscuits,’ I said.
‘Oh yes, she loves those.’
Martine added langues de chat to her list.
‘And sausage rolls for the men, I think. They’re not as into cake as we are,’ she said.
‘Julius has approved prosecco,’ I said.
‘I think we should have tea too. I don’t know about you but I’d much rather have a cup of tea with my cake.’
‘Agreed.’
‘And I’m going to bring in my embroidered tablecloth to make the table look pretty.’
It had cheered me up doing this with Martine because we’ve had some difficult times in the past. Whenever I fall out with Julius it means that I fall out with her too. Last December, when Julius and I clashed on an epic scale, Martine was furious with me. But loyalty is a rare trait in our industry and I respect Martine for hers.
Chalk Farm flat, 7.30 p.m.
With Flo away I bought myself a ready-made prawn salad. I opened the French doors and surveyed my little plot and ate the salad from the plastic box without even putting it on a plate. I was still brooding about Lori Kerwell. Fenton was back from Barcelona and I called her. First I asked her about her week with Bill because it’s not fair on her that every time I ring it’s to unload my problems. Their holiday had been everything she had hoped for. They had walked around the city for hours looking at the buildings and eating late at small cafés they found tucked away from the tourist routes.
‘We talked as we walked. It’s easier to talk about difficult stuff when you’re walking, isn’t it? He opened up and I feel our relationship is deepening,’ she said, sounding happy. ‘And how are things with you, darling friend?’
‘Well, I’ve got some good news and some bad news,’ I said.
‘Tell me the bad stuff first.’
I told her how Lori Kerwell had complained about me to the MD.
‘She might have soft poodle hair but her eyes are hard, shark-like. I really don’t need this rift with her. It’s bad enough that Bob hates me, but I don’t know how to deal with her.’
‘Is there any way back, do you think?’
‘I don’t know. She’s so hard and money-driven and not my sort of person at all. She’s definitely making an alliance with Bob. I’ve seen them together. Oh God, I’m sounding paranoid, aren’t I?’
‘You sound worried. I’ve found that with people like her there is often a reason why they’ve put on that armour.’
‘You mean she may have a softer side?’
I thought about Lori and found that idea hard to credit.
‘Yes, that’s exactly what I mean. It may be a protective shell. You need to find out who she really is.’
‘You always look for the good in people, Fenton. Not everyone has a redeeming feature and my hunch is that Lori is hard as nails all the way through.’
‘I’m sorry if she is because there’s nothing worse than having a difficult colleague.’
‘Two difficult colleagues,’ I said gloomily.
‘Be careful around her and try to keep Julius onside.’
Fenton knew well how my relationship with Julius went through good and bad phases.
‘I’ll try.’
‘So tell me the good news now.’
‘I’ve got a date tomorrow with Douglas Pitlochry, the Douglas Pitlochry!’
Fenton and I ended up giggling about my imminent date before she rang off. I made myself a hot chocolate and sat down with Mr Crooks on my lap to watch Douglas do his bulletin. This is becoming an evening ritual with me, and without Flo around to observe me I can luxuriate in watching him and listening to his distinctive voice. When he interviews a pundit he swivels round in his chair and you see his profile. I like his profile less. His nose looks too blunt from the side. I chided myself for being so superficial and went to bed feeling better about things. Fenton had reminded me of my many years of experience at StoryWorld and said I could hold my own against the newcomer Lori. I often wonder what I’d do without her in my life. Since Ben and I split up she has become even more important as my sounding board, my confidante and my cheerleader.
11
Chalk Farm flat, 6.30 a.m.
I was up early trying to decide what to wear for my date with Douglas. It had been almost a year since I’d been on a date and I was as nervous as a kitten. I knew I was being idiotic, worrying so much about my outfit when men are notoriously poor at noticing what a woman is wearing. But he had seen me at my best in that marvellous beaded dress and I couldn’t stop myself from obsessing. I laid out three dresses on my bed and tried each one on. The one that looked best was my red linen dress with its flirty skirt – I love the colour red – but if I wore it all day it would be a creased mess by seven-thirty. I decided it had to be the red one, though, so I put on a black shift and carried my date dress into work with me.
StoryWorld TV station, London Bridge
Our main guest this morning was a famous author, a grande dame of the literary scene who had produced her first novel in six years. She was more highbrow than our usual guests. More Guardian, Julius would have said. I had reservations about the booking but Molly, who had secured her, said her publishers were keen to get maximum exposure for the new novel and that she had been briefed on the nature of our show and told she needed to be accessible. But she wasn’t. She came over as cold and elitist. Ledley asked her what she thought of the current passion for psychological thrillers. There was a froideur in her manner as she dismissed the summer blockbusters as plot-driven books that were more concerned with delivering a twist at the end than with creating believable characters. She and Ledley did not connect at all and he looked seriously out of his depth. I watched the interview from the gallery with a sinking heart and told the director to come out of it early. It was the first time I had seen Ledley struggling with a guest; Fizzy would have handled it better, would have found some common ground. We get tweets from our viewers during the show and during the ad break I scanned these. One viewer had tweeted:
What a snob! You write stories. You don’t do brain surgery. #StoryWorld #author
At the morning meeting, Julius was critical as I knew he would be.
‘That didn’t work, Liz.’
‘I agree. She’s a major name but her manner was awfully off-putting.’
‘She’s a snob and is well out of touch,’ Ledley said.
I was waiting for Bob to pitch in with a critical comment but on this occasion he stayed silent. Lori was not at the meeting today which, frankly, was a relief. I was still burning with the fact that she had reported me to Saul Relph.
‘I’ll make a point not to book literary writers in future. They might be big in the publishing world but they don’t work for us,’ I said.
‘But I liked the piece on how red-headed people feel they are treated. It was light-hearted but made a point too. That’s one of the things we aim for,’ Julius said.
Harriet had produced this item and I resolved to pass his compliment on to her.
I was meeting Guy Browne straight after. He had changed out of his studio clothes into cycling gear and I suggested that we have a coffee off the premises. I find that the Hub can be such a goldfish bowl. We were walking across the forecourt and he was wheeling his racing bike when I spotted Lori Kerwell approaching us. This was the first time I’d seen her since I knew she’d snitched on me and I felt my body tensing and my heart starting to speed up. She was wearing an orange suit with a large gold brooch on her lapel and it was not the outfit for a warm August day. She is a thin woman and maybe she feels the cold. Her appearance is always smart and hard and bright, like a uniform she puts on to face the world. I recalled Fenton’s comment that her hardness might be an armour protecting something vulnerable that was hidden deep inside. I still found that hard to believe. I stopped and introduced her to Guy.
‘Pleased to meet you. I’m a big fan of your slot,’ she said.
‘That’s good to hear, thank you,’ he said.
She reached in her b
ag for a business card and presented it to him.
‘It would be good to work on something together.’
Guy took her card and looked at it. He must have noticed that I was cut out altogether from this exchange.
We walked along by the river where there was a pleasant breeze. He was wheeling his bike and asked if we could find a café with tables outside where he could lock it up. Certainly his bike, made of titanium he had told me, looked like it cost hundreds of pounds. We passed several places till we found one with a terrace and he secured his wheels. We sat at a table under a rainbow-coloured parasol and Guy asked for Earl Grey tea. I ordered a pot for him and a cappuccino for myself. I handed him Lori’s presentation, being scrupulous to keep my voice neutral.
‘Here’s the survey I mentioned and a few of Lori Kerwell’s marketing ideas.’
He flicked through the pages quickly and I watched him. At the table next to ours a couple of women spoke in fervent Spanish as they consulted a guide book. The sunlight through the parasol cast a pink glow on his thin and sensitive face. He wears his hair shaved close to his skull and he has freckles over his nose and cheekbones and a full mouth. He also favours black clothing. One of my more embarrassing duties six months ago was to ask him not to wear black shirts on set. Telling a renowned style expert that our director of programmes would only allow pastels on the sofa had been excruciating. He hadn’t been difficult about it; had merely raised an eyebrow and muttered ‘when in Rome’ and since then has worn cream shirts on camera.
‘Thanks, Liz, but this is not for me,’ he said. There was a finality to his tone of voice as he pushed her presentation back towards me and poured more tea from his pot. The mean part of me was pleased.
‘There is something else,’ I said.
I sketched out our idea to run a young fashion designer competition and went through the points Harriet and Ziggy had drafted. ‘We thought the community angle was worthwhile,’ I said.