The Dish
Page 28
From: Jess
Subject: Is there anybody out there?
You’re very quiet this week. It’s Wednesday and you haven’t sent a single picture of a cat wearing jeans and shoes. Are you OK/are you working on the Laura Parker Brand Strategy?
To: Jess
From: Laura
Subject: Copy check
I am OK. Had a good tasting menu on Monday at Ludo Brunelli – what do you think for the last paragraph?
A box of delights to finish: mini chocolate doughnuts, paper-thin buttery shortbread, and tart apple jellies were served in an old-fashioned biscuit tin, gratis. A generous end to a lovely meal.
To: Laura
From: Jess
Subject: Buying you a dictionary for your next birthday – and a thesaurus!
Don’t use the word ‘gratis’ – it sounds poncey. Or like you’re trying to be a gangster. Either way: lose it.
And what sort of a lightweight word is ‘lovely’?
Not the first that springs to mind when describing you . . . She’s right though. ‘A lovely meal’ is not a highly sophisticated way of describing dinner. But it’s all I can do to put adjective in front of noun at the moment. Oh, and I’ve forgotten a verb in that final sentence . . .
To: Laura
From: Sophie
Subject: I have your earrings
And your hair clip. And one of your socks.
Dare I ask if he replied?
To: Sophie
From: Laura
Subject: V. bad hangover indeed
I shouldn’t have texted him, but Wolfgang Wolf couldn’t have held me back at that point in the Chardonnay. If he hasn’t forgiven me, the least he could do is call to tell me I’m a bitch?
(I hope he hasn’t told his mum, I was hoping she’d adopt me.)
To: Laura
From: Sophie
Subject: Hmmm
He has no right to get this annoyed. He sounds like one of those people who re-ignites their anger from the embers of the anger-fag they’re just putting out. He’ll calm down sooner or later.
To: Laura, Dad
From: Jess
Subject: And another thing!
Why didn’t you tell us #TheDish is trending on Twitter?
To: Laura, Jess
From: Dad
Subject: You are a Meme!
I finally know what a Meme is! Immensely proud of you.
To: Jess, Dad
From: Laura
Subject: re: You are a Meme!
DO NOT want to talk about THAT.
To: Laura
From: Kiki
Subject: Fame at last! Your review is going stellar!
Have you seen page 24 of the Guardian this morning? They’ve done a piece showing how many weeks you could feed a family of four for the same price as dinner for two at LuxEris – seven weeks and six days apparently!
To: Laura
From: Azeem
Subject: URGENT
COME TO MY DESK.
To: Azeem
From: Laura
Subject: Sandra is giving me daggers
This had better be some actual work.
‘Azeem, if you show me one more singing toilet I’m sticking my head in a toilet,’ I say, keeping my voice low. (The first toilet mash-up was on Monday: Jonn Zavragin’s head, superimposed on to the lady-toilet, quickly followed by a photo of all three owners’ heads, rotating like in The Exorcist. Some other wag with too much time on their hands then programmed the heads to rap my review, and in the last two days we’ve had Gordon Brown’s head singing ‘Flush Gordon’, a purple toilet singing ‘Tonight We’re Going to Potty Like It’s 1999’; and Roger’s favourite – the toilet with a giant clock on a chain which raps to Public Enema.)
On the screen a basic 1980s computer animation appears, in the style of PacMan. When Azeem presses the space bar, a mini-stickman critic trundles into view and chomps his way through the word LuxEris, then enters a cavernous basement, where two mini-hostesses in gold knickers chase him round in a circle, trying to grab his cash.
‘The aim is to get through the meal without getting fleeced,’ says Azeem, navigating the critic to a pentagonal table, where he waits a full minute before a mini water waiter approaches. Azeem presses down furiously on the arrow keys as the waiter attempts to wrestle the wallet from his trousers – at which point the critic karate chops the waiter and runs for the exit only to be grabbed by the ankles by a giant Russian bouncer who tips him upside down and shakes his money out of him. The coins tumble to the ground as GAME OVER throbs, centre screen.
Azeem and Roger seem to think this is all great publicity – but that’s because they’re not nearly as paranoid as I am; and also because they’re not responsible for it.
To: All Staff
From: Azeem
Subject: Record stats!
Latest retweets: Bechdel – 103,000. Turkeys – 87,000. The Dish/Toilet – 201,000. Amazing numbers!
To: All Staff
From: Jonesy
Subject: Digital bollocks
Aren’t we missing a trick? Can’t we put Damian Bechdel’s head on a turkey, stick him on a toilet – and put Rihanna’s tits on him for good measure?
To: All Staff
From: Sandra
Subject: USE OF ALL STAFF EMAIL
If you are intent on sending non-work related emails during work hours, please create a separate sub-group cluster in Outlook.
To: Sophie
From: Laura
Subject: You’re right
Adam is out of order ignoring my text! Am thinking about it and am officially pissed off now . . . oh, hang on a minute . . .
To: Laura
From: Adam
Subject: Got your text
We need to talk. Can you come round tomorrow morning before work?
42
His hair’s still wet from the shower but his face looks so pale and traumatised when he opens the front door, he looks like he’s come up from near-drowning.
‘I brought us some coffee from that little Piaggio van by the station,’ I say, holding out a cup for him. He makes no move to take it – in fact he stares at it like it’s an insult.
‘Listen, Adam, I’m sorry again about everything. I hope you’re not in trouble at work because of it?’
‘Laura – I can’t talk to you about work stuff anymore,’ he says, folding his arms tightly.
‘Oh, OK, well fine.’ I hold out the coffee again but he ignores it.
‘So I take it you didn’t ask to see me because you’ve forgiven me?’ I say, self-righteousness starting to override my disappointment.
‘What am I supposed to be forgiving you for?’ His voice is calm, though there’s a spark in his eye that reminds me, scarily, of Sandra.
‘For the fact I didn’t tell you about my column earlier?’
He raises his eyebrows in mock surprise. ‘The fact you wrote the most savage review about my food imaginable, all the while telling me how talented and great you thought I was?’
‘Adam—’
‘Or the fact you repeatedly sat there and talked about the reviewer like it was someone else? For all I know, you’re not actually a secretary and you were lying about that!’
‘Oh Adam!’
‘Don’t Oh Adam me! When I first met you, I thought you were the answer. This funny, feisty girl with an appetite for life, pretty and interesting and smart.’
I can’t help but smile, but this only seems to infuriate him.
‘But more than anything, I thought you were someone who had values you believed in.’
‘I do.’
‘“Fairtrade” this, “Truth and honesty” that . . .’
‘Can you please take this cup from me? It’s hot.’
‘You are literally the opposite of the person I thought you were.’
‘Not literally,’ I say. ‘You don’t mean that literally.’
‘No, it’s true, Laura. As you know, I’m not a huge
fan of liars, from my recent experiences with another pathological liar—’
‘That is a totally different scenario—’
‘But it’s not even your lies,’ he says, wrinkling his nose as if there’s a bad smell. ‘It’s your hypocrisy!’
‘You think I’m a hypocrite? You’re having a go at me about keeping a secret, a professional secret I had bloody good reason to keep – when you kept your baby a secret?’
‘It’s hardly the same!’
‘Correct – it’s not the same at all, a baby is an actual person! A person has far greater repercussions on the future than my review of your stupid overpriced restaurant.’
‘Wow. You thought you had immunity because I was the victim of an insane woman? You could get away with trying to destroy my reputation and lying to my face?’
‘The victim, ah yes, poor you!’
‘Laura . . .’ he says, his eyes darkening.
‘Adam – I processed your bombshell like a mature adult, because that is what I am. But you? You’ve just festered all week and blown this stuff up out of all proportion in your head.’
‘The only reason you processed it like a mature adult—’
‘That doesn’t sound like my voice, Adam.’
‘—like a mature adult was because you knew you were hiding something ten times worse!’
‘Oh right! You win the prize for your secret being less horrendous than mine? What do you want? A gold-star sticker? Or a little statue of a saint with his trousers down?’
‘From the first time I met you it was clear,’ he says. ‘You even said it in St John – you hate chefs, we’re all stupid—’
‘I was joking! You laughed about it!’
‘I didn’t realise you were serious!’
‘Of course I wasn’t serious!’
‘And speaking of jokes – is this supposed to be funny? “Your Poulet de Bresse chicken was half-decent but for a hundred and thirty pounds, it should come stuffed with a PlayStation, not garlic.”’
‘It’s not supposed to be funny funny, it’s more sharp than funny.’
‘You couldn’t even fit a PlayStation in a chicken, Laura.’
‘Fine, next time I’ll stick a Nintendo DS in it – you are charging one hundred and thirty pounds for a goddamn chicken, I will say what I like.’
‘And you obviously have a major problem with men, because of your idiot ex-husband.’
‘What?’
‘Even when you talk about skyscrapers you say they’re stupid because men built them.’
‘Clearly I don’t hate men, I like Azeem, Fabrizio, Roger—’
‘Oh, Roger, yes! How could I forget wonderful Roger, Roger who can fight off blizzards and hurricanes! Roger gets the loyalty, and Adam? Adam gets “I’d rather cut out my tongue than eat his food”.’
‘You said yourself the menu is insane, you said it a hundred times.’
‘Yeah, maybe I did, but I didn’t say it in print.’
‘But I’ve told you already – that version we printed was the wrong one, it was a mistake. Have you even read the right version, the one I left with you on Sunday?’
‘I cannot imagine anything less relevant at this point.’
‘Nice. I came in with a broken tooth and paid a fortune of my own money because I was being loyal to you.’
‘Jesus, if this is your idea of loyalty . . .’
‘I tried to do the right thing by you – I even gave your guys the benefit of the doubt about your vile rip-off coffee – and you won’t even read it?’
‘You’re not seriously asking for my sympathy are you?’ he says, shaking his head in disgust.
‘Look, can you please take this cup and can we sit and talk about this like normal people?’
He takes the coffee from my hand, looks at it like it’s a bleeding dagger, then hands it straight back. ‘No, I’m not having this bloody coffee. In fact, of all the things you could bring into my home—’
‘What now?’
‘Single estate is it?’
‘Yeah, what? Why are you looking at me like that, Adam?’
‘Because I’ve only just realised that I was the one who actually told you we were serving instant coffee, and you went and put it in your review!’
I stare at him to see if he’s joking but his eyes are full of fury and two deep creases have formed on his brow.
‘Are you serious? Adam, you know what I used to do for a living, why would you even think that came from you?’
‘Because we had that exact conversation at Fabrizio’s. Or did you think I’d forget?’
‘What?!’
‘If Ivan and Erek found out I shared that with you they’d fire me.’
‘Adam: you are an idiot! You are literally a moron. I wrote that review before I even met you. Is that what you actually think? That I would take stuff you told me and put it in the piece? Adam, what sort of a lying bitch do you think I am?’
‘I think that’s obvious – one that’s standing in front of me holding two cups of coffee.’
He looks in frustration past my shoulder, as if all he wants to do is march out of his own front door but can’t because he’ll lock himself out of his flat.
‘Adam – when you’ve calmed down and this has all blown over, I’d like to think we could talk about this like adults.’
‘Laura – there is no woman I’ve ever met who is more full of shit than you. If you had ever cared for me you could not have done this.’
‘Stop talking, Adam – I know you’ll regret saying all of this.’
‘That’s the worst thing – I thought you did know me. I thought I knew you. I felt closer to you after one month than I’ve ever felt to anyone in my whole life, I thought I was in love with you, fucking hell – my mother’s almost in love with you. And now I feel like the biggest idiot in the world.’
‘That’s because you are the biggest idiot in the world!’ I say, feeling rage shake through my body all over again. ‘How could you think I would use that coffee stuff against you? I am appalled you would think that of me.’
‘Great. Moral high ground – it’s all yours Laura, go for it. Hope the view’s magnificent, you can take the lift up there on your own next time.’
‘Fuck you Adam Bayley. Fuck. You. What, so you asked to see me today just so you could insult me?’
He laughs. ‘No – I asked to see you today because, like you said, I am the biggest idiot in the world. Believe it or not, for some insane reason, I actually wanted to warn you.’
‘Warn me? About what?’
He shakes his head in exhaustion. ‘Believe me – it had nothing to do with me. But there’s something in the post for you this morning, and you’re not going to like it.’
43
Coombs & Forthmere
164 Brook Street
London W1
Roger Harris
Editor in Chief – The Voice
108 Clerkenwell Green
London EC1
10 April
Dear Mr Harris,
We act on behalf of our client, VanRek Holdings Ltd, in respect of an article appearing on pages 77 and 78 of the April issue of The Voice, under the headline FLASH IN THE PAN, (by-line: Anon/The Dish.)
False allegations raised in points 16, 49-59 & 89 – suggesting sharp practice, dishonesty, trading of poor quality goods and a lack of moral integrity – give rise to serious harm to our client’s brand and reputation and are severely distressing. We require you to take the following steps urgently:
a. Immediately withdraw the online version from your website and prevent further distribution of the offensive content.
b. Publish in the May issue a full retraction and apology, in wording to be approved by VanRek, in a space size equivalent to the offending article.
c. Pay our client damages for injury to their reputation and for the hurt and humiliation caused, and indemnify our client in respect of all costs.
If point a) of the above is not addressed w
ithin 24 hours of receipt of this letter, we will apply, forthwith, for an Interim Injunction in the High Court.
Yours sincerely,
William Coombs
‘So . . . a Beginners Guide to defamation . . .’ says Heather, placing a humongous volume of Halsbury’s Laws down on Roger’s desk. ‘A person or a business is entitled, in English law, to their good name. Laura – you and Kiki took the word head out of the phrase head chef, didn’t you?’
I cast my mind back a month. ‘That makes a difference?’
‘It means you’re not associating the cooking with one identifiable individual. You’re attacking a company – a company is not considered to have feelings, so VanRek can’t claim for aggravated damages, merely reputational injury.’
‘Reputational injury?’
‘You’ve exposed them to contempt, ridicule – made the average person think less of them by saying something false.’
‘But everything I wrote in the review was true,’ I say, feeling Sandra’s eyes fix on me.
‘Yes – but unlike in a criminal case, the burden of proof is reversed. The onus is on you – the defendant – to prove you’re not lying.’
‘Surely we just chuck Section Twelve of the Human Rights Act at them?’ says Roger. ‘Freedom of speech, freedom of expression?’
‘The ECHR doesn’t grant you licence to make things up.’
‘But I’m not making things up,’ I say.
‘Which brings me to our defence. Your review is a mix of facts and opinions: fact – the toilets resemble naked women. Opinion – this makes them vulgar. We have two defences: Justification for facts: the facts are substantially true. And Honest Comment for opinions – would a fair-minded person agree with you?’
‘It’s not going to actually go to court, is it?’ I say.
Roger shakes his head. ‘They’re doing this for column inches, guaranteed they’ll leak it to the press – their business is built on publicity. They’re far too savvy to waste money on a trial. Besides, we still have a free press in this country – otherwise we’d be in court every month.’
Heather holds her hand up. ‘Actually, there is a worrying precedent: a restaurant in Sydney took the Morning Herald to court for a scathing review, back in 2003.’
‘Ancient history,’ says Roger.
‘They spent eleven years in court . . .’ says Heather, as Sandra presses her fingers to her temples. ‘Two jury trials, two appeals, then on to the High Court . . .’