by Andi Osho
Jemima wilted back onto her bed. ‘Balls.’
She opened her laptop again hoping for an insight, a spark, anything. Options that were a definite no-no included stealing from other authors, returning her advance – the last of which she’d spent on her LA trip – and volunteering for the one-way manned mission to Mars. If she’d had more time, perhaps she could take a specialised writing workshop, read some sample texts, start from scratch but she had less than a month. She needed a rock solid solution – fast. She’d already established that her love life was too pitiful to be a legitimate source. Eve would be more appalled by a draft concocted from that than the filth fest. But if she couldn’t use her own experiences, was there somewhere else she could turn? She needed detail and emotional authenticity or it just would not work. She sighed heavily. The only love lives she knew as encyclopedically as her own were Meagan and Simi’s.
For a moment, she let her mind wander, imagining what Beverly would be like if she’d had their chequered relationship history – the heartbreak, the mishaps, the highs and lows. Between the two of them, that would certainly give Beverly a past colourful enough to satiate Eve’s desire for romantic tension. But would Simi and Meagan even let her use their stories? Perhaps if the details were far enough removed from the truth, they wouldn’t even need to know… But then Jemima remembered Troy. She’d been on the same comedy course where the girls had first met. Their bourgeoning friendship with her had faltered, however, once they discovered she was spinning their private conversations into comedy gold. Not only that but she was performing her newly nicked material on the open mic circuit – for the public! She hadn’t even had the decency to change their names. Meagan had been so livid she’d wanted to eject Troy from the group quicker than a protester at a parliamentary committee meeting. Yes, they were all mining their lives for material but they were using their own stories and only sharing them in the safety of the course room not to a braying audience. After that, Troy remained, at best, a satellite friend but they never discussed anything classified in front of her ever again. Jemima speculated on what was worse, being ostracised by Meagan and Simi or demoted to acquaintance?
Her fingers froze over her keyboard as a text alert chimed.
She glanced at the screen. Miles. Again.
I miss you. Are you in London? Mx
God, he was like ants. She wished there was a powder she could put down to permanently get rid of him. She didn’t hate him. She didn’t even dislike him. It was just that every text took her back there, to the pain, the hurt. She snapped her laptop closed and grabbed her coat. She needed a break and knew exactly where to go – Nostromo. Jemima loved its shabby chic decor. She loved the old, mismatched wooden tables and cosy chairs. She especially loved the recovered airplane seats that had been transformed into a comfy two-seater sofa, quickly becoming the must-have spot. Even the light that flooded through its huge windows was cleansing and restorative. But what Jemima adored the most were the owners, Azi and Rania, a young Egyptian couple, who’d made it their mission to create a sanctuary for artists in need of inspiration. They treated every customer like a friend they were yet to make, another reason Jemima loved them and their shop. She had spent so many hours there, poring over her novels, that it had become her second home.
‘You’re back!’ Azi and Rania said as Jemima walked through the door.
Jemima smiled. This was the one silver lining to her writing predicament – having a place like this to figure things out. She took her latte and planted herself in her usual window seat, basking in Nostromo’s roughly-put-together charm and the quiet murmur of its customers. Opening up her notebook she once again pondered her dilemma. Staring back at her was one word: Miles. She scored it out with a thick, black marker and thought back to her other possibility. The girls. Perhaps they would agree if they were unrecognisable. That had been Troy’s mistake. If Jemima wrote some sample passages for them, it might help. Then again, if Simi and Meagan saw a sample and vetoed the whole thing, she would be screwed. No, if she did this and it was a big if, she had to present them with the finished article so they knew exactly what they were dealing with. Jemima began mulling over stories from the girls’ current situations. Immediately, Meagan’s ‘arrangement’ with Todd came to mind. She wondered if Beverly might have had something similar in her past. If she did, unlike Meagan, she would at least know his last name. Or maybe, like Meagan, Beverly had once loved a married man. At the time Meagan had brushed it off as a fling but when it had ended Jemima knew her feelings went much deeper than that. Parker. Jemima wasn’t sure if that was his first or last name. She only met him once. What she did know was that Meagan had loved him and since then, any man who got entangled with her was always kept at arm’s length. There was always a reason, the most hardy being Meagan’s ‘plan’. Though she daren’t say it, Jemima wondered if it wasn’t a plan at all but some kind of defence. Against what, she wasn’t sure, but there were definitely morsels she could plant in Beverly’s past. Jemima then thought about Simi and seeing her things neatly piled up in Oscar’s basement. Beverly would never have allowed that to happen… unless, thought Jemima, it was the catalyst that turned her into the solitary, work obsessive she’d become… A quiet excitement brewed as ideas coalesced. Perhaps Beverly had lived with a man once but he had never shown her the respect she deserved. Maybe the experience had hardened her. That was justification for her transformation into the single-minded insurance sleuth she now was. Jemima had to admit, that was a pretty solid backstory. As she began scribbling down more ideas her attention was taken by a medic in blue scrubs outside helping a tall, athletic-looking man on crutches into a cab. Something about the doctor captivated her. She watched how, with absolute patience and good humour, he guided the man into the car. The taxi pulled away and her heart lightened at the display of generosity. But as she enjoyed the goodwill afterglow, she saw the doctor step back into a pile of poo so big it looked like a baby rhino had deposited it.
‘Oh dear,’ Jemima chuckled guiltily.
Literally, sod’s law. The doctor turned to scrape his clog on the pavement edge and Jemima gasped, recognising him straight away. It was Chatterbox Chance from the plane. It all came racing back. His practice was upstairs! She siphoned her drink into her to-go cup and shrank down in her chair. Outside, Chance was attempting to clean his shoe by dragging it along the ground in a second-rate moonwalk. Finally conceding defeat, he tried to lob his clog into a rubbish bin with his foot. It looped up in the air and circled back, missing him by inches. If this had been a stranger, Jemima would still be whooping with laughter but it was Chance and frankly she was still embarrassed about their testy exchange on the flight home. Under the feeble guise of packing away her things, she ducked down, awaiting an opportune moment to make a speedy exit. Five Mississippis later, she peeked over the table top. With no Chance in sight, she bolted for the door, her bag thwacking several customers as she fled. And just as she was within grabbing distance of the door, she ran directly into… Chance. Milky coffee splattered over her top and his scrubs.
‘Oh my god! I’m so sorry!’ he said scrabbling for napkins.
‘It’s fine!’ Jemima said trying to flick the excess liquid from her shirt.
‘Please. Let me buy you another?’ he said, mortified.
Jemima looked at him. Despite being keen on escaping she was a little irked he didn’t recognise her. Then again it was probably for the best or next, she’d be stuck talking to him and they’d end up married… What? Where did that come from?
‘Holy shit!’ Chance exclaimed. ‘Jemima. It’s me – Chance – from the plane!’
‘The plane…’ she said pretending to search for the recollection.
‘Remember, I work upstairs,’ he said. ‘You live nearby?’
‘I’m just passing through,’ she lied.
‘Well then I definitely have to buy you a coffee if I might not see you again. This is our reunion!’ Chance beamed. ‘Hey, Azi, two coffees, hon.’<
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‘Great,’ Jemima said with the warmth of a coroner and suddenly feeling possessive of Azi and Rania.
They were her friendly neighbourhood purveyors of fine coffee. She won them fair and square in her quasi-divorce from Miles. She stewed as Chance headed for the coveted airplane seats.
‘Just like old times.’ He winked.
Jemima had forgotten how annoyingly happy he was. He’d be great for Simi, she surmised as Azi followed behind with their drinks.
‘Aaaaah. Couples are always drawn to the love seats,’ Azi sighed as she set down their coffees.
‘We’re not—’ Jemima interjected.
‘I know.’ Azi smiled. ‘Anyway, I’ll leave you to it.’
There was nothing to leave them to, Jemima wanted to insist but Azi was already gone. They were just two strangers, joined by a common coffee stain. Jemima turned back to Chance – unsure what to say. ‘So you work…’
‘Upstairs. Only been there a few months… but I have seen you around,’ Chance said, sipping his coffee.
Jemima paused. ‘Really?’
‘Yeah, well…’ said Chance, a little flustered, ‘I always notice interesting-looking people – not in a creepy way.’
He laughed, his cheeks flushing red.
‘Well, it’s not like I never come here,’ Jemima said. ‘I write here… from time to time.’
She cringed, hoping that somehow this might course-correct her earlier fib.
‘And instead of writing you got dowsed in coffee. God, I’m so embarrassed,’ Chance winced.
‘It’s okay,’ said Jemima placing a hand on his.
He looked up and she quickly moved it away.
‘I’m just getting some ideas together,’ she said holding up her notebook.
Chance looked at it as though it were a lost passage from the Bible. It intrigued Jemima how people deified the writing process when ninety-five per cent of what she produced was unusable garbage.
‘Can I read some?’ Chance asked.
Can you read stories I’ve borrowed from my friends before I’ve even asked them? Jemima thought. Errr. No.
‘I’m in the middle of a rewrite,’ she said closing her notebook. ‘I’m giving Beverly a backstory.’
Not that she owed him an explanation. Frankly, she owed him an apology. When he’d made suggestions about her book on the flight she had bitten his head off.
‘A backstory is great and do you think this backstory will include… a guy? Just asking,’ Chance said, his hands shooting up in defence.
Jemima smiled. She often forgot that fans loved Beverly as much as she did and wanted the best for her too.
Chance set his coffee cup back on its saucer. ‘In the second book she was pretty down on love but I reckon there’s more to it. My brother, Pete, says, “Cynics are closet romantics who’ve had their hearts broken”.’
The thought lingered like the scent of dying flowers as Jemima and Chance locked eyes.
‘Great, well…’ said Jemima standing, ‘thanks for the coffee but I’ve got to get back to it.’
‘Totally. Listen, sorry again. Can I make it up to you?’ Chance asked, standing too.
‘You already did,’ she replied pointing at their empty cups.
‘I can do better than that. How about dinner?’ he pitched.
Jemima looked into those warm eyes as his face broke into a sun-kissed smile.
‘I need to crack on with this draft,’ she said looking away.
‘No worries.’
Jemima said her hasty goodbyes to Azi and Rania, feeling Chance’s gaze on her. She scurried out of the door, not looking back.
Chapter 12
Meagan
Meagan was feeling pretty pleased with herself. Not only had Simi managed to drag herself to the audition that morning but now she even wanted to meet for a drink. Normally Simi went into a deep post-break-up hibernation so this was proof; Meagan had been right – as always. The audition was just what Simi needed. Meagan’s vibrating phone shook her from her self-congratulations. She stared at the screen, perplexed. It was Todd. They never spoke on the phone.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Just calling to say, “hey”,’ he replied.
Meagan kissed her teeth, making a mental note never to take a call from him again. What happened to just texting a time and place to meet? Brevity was a turn-on. Phone calls were not.
‘Todd, babes, I saw you this morning.’
‘Which was lovely. I just wanted to see how your day went?’ said Todd.
Meagan stared at her phone. Was this some kind of prank?
‘Has something happened?’ she asked.
‘No…’ said Todd.
‘So you’re just calling to, what, talk to me?’
‘Yeah.’
‘About what?’
‘Not about anything. Just to chat. All the kids are doing it. I really think it’s gonna catch on.’
Meagan frowned. Yes, she was aware some people liked chatting on the phone but Todd had failed to read the memo that stated she was not one of them. Meagan slowed as she arrived at Ripley’s. She looked through the bar’s large windows eyeing the fancy vintage decor. Jemima and Simi had nabbed a table and were studying the wine list. She stiffened. The wine at Ripley’s was supposed to be excellent. She had to end this bizarreness with Todd and get inside before the girls ordered something awful.
‘Sorry, Todd. Gotta go,’ Meagan said squinting through the glass. ‘I think Jemima’s about to order some Napa Valley swill and I’m not here for that. Bye. Text me. Bye!’
What was with him? she griped as she yanked the bar door open and strode over to the girls’ table. First snuggling and now phone calls? He’d obviously forgotten how good their deal was. No last names or sweet nothings. Just good sex and plenty of orgasms.
‘What’s up, bitches?’ She grinned, snatching the wine list from Jemima and turning to their waiter. ‘If she’s ordered Californian wine, scratch it.’
The waiter looked down at his pad and crossed out the order.
‘Hey!’ Jemima bleated. ‘That Chardonnay is delicious.’
‘It’s oaky muck,’ said Meagan as she scanned the wine list. ‘Okay let’s have the 2010 Sangiovese.’
Meagan snapped the weighty wine list closed and handed it back to the waiter who disappeared to fetch their order.
‘That’s really expensive,’ said Simi.
‘It’s on me.’
‘Oh well in that case, Chardonnay is disgusting!’ Jemima grinned.
‘It’s to celebrate your triumphant audition. Soooo, how was it?’ Meagan asked.
‘A nightmare. I’m never auditioning again,’ said Simi.
Meagan nodded with feigned empathy. Simi said this after every audition.
‘There’s something else,’ Simi said. ‘We’re doing your dating challenge thing – tonight.’
‘Wait. Back up a minute. What challenge?’ said Meagan.
‘The one where you find me a date. You’re right. I’m a disaster. I have no idea what’s best for me when it comes to men. But you do. You both do,’ said Simi.
Meagan turned to Jemima for an explanation.
‘She saw Oscar… with someone,’ said Jemima mouthing it like she was naming a venereal disease, ‘but let’s not be too hasty, Sim. I mean you don’t want to revenge date.’
‘It’s not revenge. It’s reinvention!’ Simi said flailing her arms.
Just then the waiter arrived, deftly dodging Simi’s flying hand. He set down their bottle of wine and three glasses, and popped the cork. With ceremonious flair, he presented the bottle to Meagan.
‘Just pour it, babes. Shit’s going down here,’ she instructed. ‘Simi. What happened?’
Simi bowed her head, embarrassed, as she recounted her sighting of Oscar, his auburn-haired companion and that incriminating red velvet cupcake.
‘Oh, Sim. That sucks,’ said Jemima leaning in to hug her.
‘No, Jem,’ said Simi pushing h
er back, ‘I’ve been so blinkered, I didn’t see this at all!’
‘Let’s go round his gaff. Find out who this scrub is. Get medieval on her arse,’ said Meagan, crushing her coaster.
Meagan had been waiting for an excuse to dismantle Oscar and cheating on Simi was an even better reason than his grotesque cycling gear.
‘Hang on. How do we know it’s not just a friend?’ said Jemima putting a calming hand on Meagan.
‘A friend that he goes on bike rides with… and snogs in the street…?’ said Simi.
‘Oh,’ Jemima replied.
‘So who is she?’ Meagan asked.
Simi pursed her lips. ‘I think her name’s Sophie. He introduced us once when I met him for lunch. He said she was his team leader. I checked her out on Insta. She has three thousand followers. How is that possible? She works in a bank.’
‘It’s the hair, babes. Gingers stick together. It’s like a cult. So, what do you want us to do?’ asked Meagan, hoping Simi would suggest ordering five hundred pizzas to her office.
‘I don’t want you to do anything. Oscar’s the poop. I can’t do anything about him so it’s time to make a change in me – today,’ Simi said gathering herself.
Meagan looked at Simi properly for the first time that evening. The rawness of the break-up was evident but there was also a steeliness. No matter what life threw at Simi, she always fought her way back.
‘I think there’s something in your idea about you asking guys out for me. I could learn so much just by dating someone I would never normally consider,’ Simi implored.
Jemima shook her head. ‘Darling, think this through. You’ve just got out of a relationship. The body is still warm. Why would you want to get into something now?’ she said trying to wedge herself between Meagan and Simi.
‘This isn’t about finding a boyfriend. It’s about retraining my brain to not keep making the same mistakes. If I ask the guys out, I’ll just go for another version of Oscar or Jason or Ade and the same thing will happen over and over again until I’m Zsa Zsa Gabor, dead and divorced a billion times,’ said Simi.