Serve Cool

by Davies, Lauren

  ‘Oooooh big deal,’ Maz shouted, stretching to her full height above the little Italian. ‘Who are you gonna get, the Godfather?’

  I didn’t like to cause a fracas with the neighbours, as I had been lucky to get such a good flat in the first place. It was situated in the newly developed quayside area of Newcastle and was brilliantly close to work. Mrs Diasio was a particular threat due to her undoubted connection with the landlord. She had also never been particularly fond of me. I guessed it had something to do with the time Maz had come over for an especially raucous girls’ night in and had puked on Mrs Diasio’s white Persian cat. The poor, hairy thing had never looked quite the same since.

  ‘We’re actually busy at the moment, Mrs Diasio,’ I said politely, trying to calm the situation.

  ‘Beezy, huh! Doin’a what? Dressing up as clowns?’

  I didn’t quite grasp her intended insult so I brushed it aside.

  ‘I’m sorry but I have to make an important phone call,’ I replied.

  ‘Mooove it!’ she screamed.

  ‘Ah piss off ya mad cow,’ Maz interjected.

  At that, my neighbour flew into a Latino rage. Knowing the average length of such outbursts, I went for gold, there was no time to waste.

  ‘See ya,’ I said and slammed the door in her face.

  Maz and I took one look at each other and burst out laughing. We paused momentarily then I made a dash for the telephone. Before I could dial Jack’s number, Maz pressed the play button on the answering machine.

  Beep … ‘Hello there, Jenny, it’s Jack here. Everything fine I hope? A little less hysterical now perhaps? I wanted … um … to come over and see you, if possible. It’s just, I … er … think I left a rather nice new shirt at your flat and I want it for this week. Um … well … Vicky and I are going on a date and I need something to wear, to impress, you know. I hope you don’t mind but … um … I’d love to have it for the night. Yes, well, I guess I’ll see you in the office, Jenny. Happy New Year by the way. Bye.’ Beep.

  I stared open mouthed at the machine as if it was lying to me. My feet were stuck to the floor and my whole body was weak. In the space of thirty seconds, I felt as if my heart had been ripped out and trampled on by a herd of stampeding rhinos. How could he? Jack, my Jack, was going on a date with Vicky, my secretary. My Jack who, less than twenty-four hours ago, had told me he needed space, that he didn’t want the commitment right now. I wanted to deny it but it was there in front of me on tape. The same man had broken my heart twice in the space of one day.

  I felt an arm on my shoulder and glanced up to see Maz looking down at me sympathetically.

  ‘I tried to tell you, Jen,’ she whispered, ‘but you went all hyper on us.’

  ‘I’m so stupid,’ I moaned, as tears began to trickle down my red-stained face.

  ‘Shush now, pet, you’re not stupid. He isny worth it. He’s just an arrogant tosser. Howay, let’s sit doon.’

  Maz kept a protective arm around my shoulder and guided me back towards the living room.

  ‘I hate this year already,’ I moaned.

  ‘I know,’ Maz replied, ‘but it cannat get any worse eh?’

  I forced a smile just as we passed the mirror in the hallway. I happened to look up and caught a glimpse of my reflection. I stopped dead and stared in horror.

  ‘My hair!’ I screamed. ‘What’s happened to my hair?’

  ‘Oh,’ Maz stuttered. ‘Um, it isny that bad.’

  ‘Not bad!’ I shrieked. ‘Oh my God, Maz, it’s luminous orange!’

  Things had just got worse.

  Chapter Three

  2nd January, 8:15 a.m.

  His hand brushed mine as he reached across the desk for the brief. He glanced up, his dark eyes penetrating my own with breathtaking intensity. I gasped and looked away coyly, sensing his gaze as my hair cascaded sexily over my pronounced cheekbone. After a short silence he spoke.

  ‘We must win this case, Jennifer, for the sake of the firm and for our incredibly wealthy clients.’

  ‘Yes.’ I blushed and nervously shuffled the papers on the table in front of me. Tom, the beautifully toned, highly intelligent and stunningly rich hotshot American attorney on this case, fiddled with a baseball bat (found randomly in a corner of the room) and stared fixedly at our complicated flow chart of the facts.

  ‘Gee, I know we’re missing something,’ he said pensively, ‘but I’m darned if I know what it is.’

  We were running out of time. The lives of our clients hung in the balance yet the answer eluded us. If only I could find the missing link. We would be victorious, I would be the sultry heroine and surely Tom would find me completely irresistible. Suddenly, my mind cleared and an idea sprang forth like an apparition. That was it, the missing link!

  ‘Tom,’ I purred passionately.

  He turned provocatively to face me. We were all alone in the meeting room and I could feel the chemistry between us. We were powerless to stop it. I took a deep breath, opened my mouth to speak the words, the music building to an alarming crescendo, and —

  RING, RING!

  ‘Shit.’

  I woke up with a start as the noise almost perforated my eardrum. I always got interrupted just as I reached the good bit. Blimey, I couldn’t even get satisfaction in my dreams.

  ‘Can’t a girl get any sleep around here?’ I muttered, reaching for the phone. ‘Jennifer Summer speaking,’ I yawned.

  ‘Peregrine Bottomley-Glisset,’ bawled a voice at the other end. ‘Just checking to see how the documents are coming along.’

  I woke up instantly and replied in my best alert/interested voice.

  ‘Oh perfectly, almost done, absolutely no problems at all.’

  Jesus, I’m surprised I didn’t end the sentence with ‘old chap’. I could get an ex-pat part in Dad’s Army with that voice.

  ‘Excellent. Now be sure to check every page from top to bottom won’t you? This is a very important matter and the meeting is this morning. Any problems and I’ll be on the golf course.’

  There was no time for pleasantries as my boss rang off and, no doubt, headed for the nineteenth hole.

  ‘Oh, the life of a trainee solicitor,’ I sighed to myself.

  I grabbed the next document in the seemingly bottomless pile.

  I had wanted to be a lawyer since career week in the fourth year at school. The gorgeous, almost edible older brother of one of my classmates had come in to give us a talk on life as a solicitor in Newcastle. From that moment on, most of the girls set their hearts on legal careers, for all the wrong reasons of course. (The boys seemed to go for the nursing option. It could have had something to do with the young nurse’s rather minimalist uniform.)

  The fantasy had stayed with me all through GCSEs and A-levels then on to university. I had visions of living my life in the fast lane of a John Grisham movie set. The reality, of course, was a far cry from that Hollywood ideal. I was still waiting for ‘Tom’ to walk into my office and ask me to get on his case. We didn’t sit around in trendy bars ‘bouncing’ ideas off each other or indulge in convoluted brainstorming sessions as we sweated sexily in the gym. You could say that was obvious but I couldn’t help it if my mind chose to live in a dream world while my body trudged around in grim reality.

  Over the twenty-three months that I had spent with the firm, I had learned to think like my colleagues: to live my life in the future, looking forward to the day I made Partner and got the rich pickings. That would not be for at least seven years, if at all, but everyone in our hierarchical, grey little world seemed to find that sufficient motivation.

  At this point, though, I was nothing more than a female trainee. In a profession existing in its own bizarrely archaic world, I was the lowest of the low, valued less than the cappuccino machine. No job was too tedious, no hour too sacred. I could proofread with one eye, photocopy like a demon and make a cup of tea that Earl Grey would be proud of. I was kept going by the fact that my training was almost complete. In just f
our weeks, I would qualify as a fully fledged solicitor and, if Glisset & Jacksop agreed to keep me on, I would step up a rung on that career ladder.

  I read the same paragraph about four times as I tried to assimilate the facts and make any relevant changes.

  5.5: All products referred to in Annex 3 hereof shall remain the property of the aforementioned television company, hereinafter referred to as ‘The Vendor’ … blah, blah … forthwith shall be delivered … rhubarb, rhubarb … shall be returned in their original condition … waffle, blah, blah … as referred to in clause 3.6 hereof … the purchaser … yawn, waffle … as referred to … Jack, waffle, sigh.

  Damn. I had the concentration span of a retarded goldfish. I couldn’t get Jack out of my mind, and having to read incredibly dull documents wasn’t helping at all. The words were beginning to float on the page and they didn’t seem to make any sense whatsoever. Of course, I couldn’t possibly blame my poor brain capacity on the outstanding amounts of junk food and alcohol I had consumed over the past two days. I decided I must be coming down with something.

  Thinking back to the disastrous start to my year, I realised how glad I had been of Maz’s company. If it hadn’t been for her surgically removing me from underneath my duvet and kicking me into the shower, I definitely would not have made it to work this morning. I would probably still be snuggled up in twenty-four togs with my mind wandering along a distant, romantic beach. I didn’t know whether to love her or hate her.

  Food. I needed calories to get me through this. Maz had brought over a batch of homemade muffins from one of the regulars at the pub, which I had skilfully removed from the flat as I left for work. I grabbed one and began extracting the blueberries before shoving the entire sumptuous mass in my mouth. Only 8:45 a.m. and I had already reached number four on the cake count. Seeing as they were a present, I felt obliged to eat my way to muffin-induced obesity. I like to support the view that food cures most ills, including stress. I wasn’t exactly feeling stressed, though, more like totally spaced out, away with the fairies, out there on a planet with Anthea Turner.

  ‘Cute headscarf, babe,’ whispered the voice in my ear. ‘Auditioning for The Sound of Music, are we?’

  ‘Piss off,’ I muttered, glancing up to see Matt, the other trainee in my department, looking at me with some amusement.

  ‘If you’re going for the innocent, virginal look, darling, don’t bother,’ he giggled effeminately. ‘We all saw you in action at the Chrimbo party.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I asked, trying to think back to my last day in the office before the festive break. With the events of the past two days preoccupying my mind, I had completely forgotten about any previous misdemeanours.

  ‘Oh come on, Jennifer,’ Matt laughed. ‘You were pissed as a fart.’

  (Uh-oh.)

  ‘I think the bar had a lower alcohol content than you had.’

  (Not good.)

  ‘Jacksop nearly had a heart attack, the doddery old fool.’

  (Help!)

  I grabbed Matt’s arm, pulled him into the nearest empty office, and quickly shut the door.

  ‘OK, talk!’ I yelled and braced myself for the gory details.

  I was always slightly uncomfortable at office-dos. I never seemed to know quite how to behave in a social manner towards people whom I would never choose to associate with, but on whom I relied for my monthly pay packet. Faced with a room full of ancient Partners and aspiring bright-young-things, I turned from one of the latter into a bumbling, brainless, curly-topped bimbo, apparently incapable of engaging in any form of intellectual conversation. Unfortunately, I was also a great believer in the virtues of Dutch courage and, hence, usually formed an intimate relationship with the free bar. I wasn’t totally surprised, therefore, by Matt’s report on my recent festive behaviour.

  Bit by bit, the night’s events came flooding back as my bemused colleague recounted the tale.

  Me, telling everyone that Jack and I would soon be husband and wife.

  Jack spending most of the party engaged in deep conversation with the lovely Vicky.

  Me, debating alternative childbirth methods with the Senior Partner and discussing suitable colours for a nursery.

  Jack seeking refuge behind the eight-foot tall ice sculpture … with the lovely Vicky.

  Me, trying to catch Jack’s attention by dancing seductively in the centre of the room … with the Senior Partner.

  Jack trying to drag me outside for air … with the help of the lovely Vicky.

  Me, choosing to audition for work as a table dancer, slipping on the artichoke salad and landing head down, M&S knickers up, in the lap of Mr Jacksop … the Senior Partner.

  I was mortified. The night Jack had dumped me, he had mentioned my ‘periodic outbursts of outrageous and completely unacceptable behaviour’. I had thought he was totally unjustified and put it down to a spur of the moment insult, but now I was beginning to see his point.

  I looked at Matt, who was clutching his stomach and laughing hysterically. He appeared to be slightly out of focus but I thought that was probably just a symptom of the shock I was suffering.

  ‘Oh no, it’s true,’ I groaned. ‘I am a total disaster area. No wonder he doesn’t want me, I don’t deserve someone like Jack. I do have “outbursts of outrageous and completely unacceptable behaviour”.’

  ‘Hey don’t worry, darling.’ Matt put a well-manicured hand on my shoulder and shook his head sympathetically. ‘You’re great, Jenny, and you gave the rest of us a good laugh.’

  He laughed loudly and made for the door.

  ‘I’d just steer clear of Jacksop for a while, hon, you wouldn’t want to kill the poor man off.’

  He clapped his hands together and wiggled out of the door, leaving me standing alone and feeling foolish.

  ‘Oh great,’ I said aloud, ‘I’m totally outrageous and a right “laugh”. Hardly the tough, professional, lawyer-like manner I was aiming for.’

  I suddenly felt rather light-headed and needed to sit down. My mind was racing and I felt queasy. I blamed it on hunger and headed for the muffins.

  ‘My office, Miss Summer,’ boomed the voice. ‘Two minutes, and bring the documents.’

  Peregrine Bottomley-Glisset stormed past my desk, sending papers flying in all directions as his portly rear tried to squeeze into the relatively small space. As a result of his unmistakable presence, secretaries, trainees and less-senior solicitors rushed around frantically trying to look busy. Personal calls instantly metamorphosed into serious business matters and all idle banter drew to a hasty conclusion.

  ‘Sure thing, Perry,’ I said dreamily into thin air, lolling back in my seat and slapping my feet on the desk in front of me. I began to gaze at my computer monitor.

  ‘Wow, that screen saver’s cool,’ I said after a while.

  I stared at the monitor and was transfixed by the computer-generated images of fish that swam around the screen. The blue angel fish wiggled in and out of focus while the orange piranha’s repetitive movements made me feel slightly seasick. I slowly came out of the daze and shouted to Matt across the corridor partition.

  ‘Matt, hey, yo!’

  ‘Yes Jen,’ he replied hurriedly, looking up from behind a huge mound of work.

  ‘These fish are really cool!’ I shouted.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Fish. I said fish. Aren’t they cool? They just swim about all day with not a care in the world. What a life, eh? Don’t you reckon, Matt? Matt?’

  ‘Um, yeah. Yeah, sure, Jenny hon, whatever.’

  He looked over at me and shrugged his shoulders then returned to his work.

  After a pause I shouted, ‘Great colours. Really vibrant. I love bright colours, don’t you, Matt?’

  No reply.

  ‘Oh well, suit yerself.’

  My mind was racing and I had a bursting urge to talk and laugh. I still felt slightly sick but was also experiencing a strange calmness. I returned my gaze to the monitor and tried to focus o
n the images. Wowza, the colours were brilliant.

  Suddenly, a large red fish swam to the front of the picture and wiggled his fins. I say ‘his’ because, as he did so, he winked at me provocatively. As I stared dumbfounded at the screen, the fish’s lips appeared to move and I heard a muffled voice say, ‘Hello, Miss Summer.’ I jumped backwards, knocking the documents off my desk with my feet. They scattered across the floor, surrounding my desk with a papery moat.

  ‘Wow!’ I shouted. ‘It spoke to me. I heard it speak.’

  ‘Miss Summer!’ I heard again, this time a little louder.

  I stared open-mouthed at the screen and tried to focus. I felt like I was losing track of reality. This was all just too bizarre.

  ‘MISS SUMMER!’

  The voice boomed in my ear, only this time, I could feel the hot breath that went with it sliding down the back of my neck. I spun around in my chair to see the burning red face of Peregrine Bottomley-Glisset dangerously close to mine.

  ‘TRAINEE!’ he yelled. ‘What the blazes are you doing?’

  I couldn’t think clearly. I didn’t know what to say.

  ‘I called you into my office twenty minutes ago. Twenty! I do not expect to be kept waiting! Are you stupid or just completely mad?’

  I shrugged my shoulders.

  ‘Where are the DOCUMENTS?’

  He was perilously close to boiling point. I pointed to the papers underneath his feet.

  ‘Good God woman!’ he shouted. ‘This is not good enough.’

  He brought his face closer to mine. I could feel the heat radiating from him and could see the veins popping out of his thick neck. I could almost count each pulse as it hit the surface. I held his gaze as we faced each other in silence and I brought my feet slowly to the floor. It struck me how comical he looked, a huge mass of bubbling anger. I opened my mouth to speak but suddenly felt an irrepressible urge to laugh. I tried to suppress it but it seemed to come from nowhere. I started to giggle, then to laugh. I wanted to stop but I was out of control. My boss’s face took on a look of astonishment. He straightened up to leave but I whacked him on the back.