Serve Cool

by Davies, Lauren

  Gordon had unwillingly agreed to work in the pub for once, so Maz and I had two days to let loose, one hour of which would be on national television. All we had to do was travel into town, rendezvous with the Paradise rep at Central Station and be driven to the luxury of the welcoming champagne reception.

  ‘You must be Marilyn and Jennifer,’ beamed the bony blonde woman, holding out a thin manicured hand. Fearing it would snap if I shook it too hard, I gave her hand a feeble squeeze.

  ‘Excellent, excellent, I’m Torica. Welcome to Newcaahstle, girls, marvellous.’ We had pretended to disembark from an Intercity train at the station and headed straight for the woman who held up a large sign reading ‘Welcome to Paradise’.

  She bustled ahead of us towards the station exit, occasionally glancing over her shoulder to throw us a well-practised smile. Her tight-fitting red suit jacket and miniskirt turned most of the heads in the busy station. The pair of long, tanned legs slipped into four-inch-heeled navy court shoes turned the remaining few.

  ‘So glad you could join us, girls,’ she continued without looking at us. ‘The other guests are already here, awfully nice bunch. Very good. First time in Newcaahstle? Jolly good.’

  We didn’t even attempt to interrupt the speech.

  ‘Must dash, girls. Awfully tight schedule you know. Television, busy, busy, lots to do. Marvellous.’

  ‘You’re not from round here, then?’ Maz mumbled sarcastically at Torica’s back.

  We reached a gleaming white minibus which was parked inconsiderately across several parking spaces. A group of about ten bewildered-looking folk stood, as if awaiting orders, in a line stretching from the minibus door.

  ‘Not on the bus yet, dears? Chop chop. We must dash, awfully tight schedule.’

  We were shepherded onto the bus like a herd of unruly cattle. Hardly the chauffeur-driven limo Maz and I had been expecting. We grabbed the back seat and settled down to a bus tour of the city.

  Throughout the journey, the group remained painfully silent except for our host, who seemed to suffer from verbal diarrhoea, and Maz, who occasionally hooted out of the window at fit men on the street.

  Occupying the two seats in front of me on the left-hand side of the bus were a woman and a girl of about fourteen, who looked suspiciously like an extra from The Addams Family. Daughter was totally dressed in black, complete with a black lace veil partially covering her whitened face and black lips. Her mother fitted the image of Marks & Spencer’s number one customer. Her delicately pleated knee-length, Paisley-patterned skirt was teamed with an ivory blouse and a pale lilac cardigan. The ensemble and demi-waved greying hair wasn’t exactly befitting of the mother of one of the Evil Dead. During the journey, ‘Morticia’ toyed with the three-inch black talons on the ends of her fingers while mother gazed out of the window, sighing occasionally.

  In front of this odd pair sat a tired-looking single man, probably in his late forties or early fifties, who evidently had a thing for beige. Uninspired by Torica’s factless description of the city, beige man was engrossed in a book entitled A Marriage of Three. He made no attempt at conversation but occasionally shot rather menacing glances at the couple who occupied the double seat across the aisle. She also looked on the far side of forty, dressed totally in fuchsia with a shock of dyed plum hair. She gazed longingly through her pink eyeshadow at her much younger companion. He held her protectively and occasionally kissed her forehead or whispered in her ear. I had a feeling we were witnessing her mid-life crisis and his one and only older-woman experience.

  ‘Don’t kid yourself woman,’ I mumbled, ‘it won’t last.’

  ‘Nearly there, people!’ Torica boomed from her position at the front of the bus. ‘Lots of traffic, I’m afraid. Absolutely awful. Tut, tut. Anyway, girls and boys, let’s start with names, shall we?’

  I threw a puzzled glance at Maz.

  Torica grabbed the arm of the young man who sat at the front of the bus. ‘Come on, honey, you start. Jolly good. Let’s all get to know each other.’

  The remainder of the trip was spent learning each other’s names, nasty habits and deepest darkest secrets. After the name-badge distribution and ‘team sing-song’, Maz and I were relieved to reach the solace of our five-star hotel room.

  ‘Lock the bloody door,’ Maz shouted from somewhere inside the minibar. ‘She’s canny mental that woman! Flippin’ name badges and stuff. Jesus, we’re only here to watch the bleedin’ show. I deen’t kna if I can face it now.’

  I laughed and ripped open the complimentary packet of chocolate shortbread. ‘One more round of “The Wheels on the Bus”, and I would have had to put her under them.’ I looked at my watch. 3:00 p.m. ‘Two hours till the champagne do, Maz.’

  ‘Oh shite,’ she replied, ‘I need a drink.’

  Maz and I totally drained the minibar of alcohol, biscuits and chocolate before rolling into the Paradise TV champagne reception in the hotel lounge. I instantly spotted our ten bus-buddies, still bearing their name tags, huddled in a corner of the room. The rest of the party was made up of media types, media socialites and media hangers-on. A glamorous Torica held court in the centre of the room. ‘Yah, yah, well, I told them I wasn’t going to get out of bed for that much, you know. I mean, puhlease. I’m a professional woman … yah.’

  Maz and I made a beeline for the champagne, doing our best to bypass Torica’s verbal barrage.

  ‘Yah, well, it’s a new show, new format, new presenter. Yah, she’s marvellous, an absolute dahling. We’re very excited, totally. Can’t fail with my PR skills really, ha, ha.’

  We had almost reached the pyramid construction of champagne glasses when I felt a bony hand on my shoulder.

  ‘Marilyn.’

  ‘Jennifer.’

  ‘Jennifer. Marvellous, excellent. Enjoying yourself?’

  ‘I … uh.’

  ‘Marvellous. Come and meet some wonderful people. Mingle, network, that’s the way.’

  Torica pulled me towards the centre of the room as Maz dived behind the table of nibbles.

  ‘Peoples, meet Jackie, one of our lovely guests.’ A small crowd of people formed a circle around me and stared intently. Torica continued.

  ‘Phoebe, Amelia, Zoë, Melvin, Beth …’ The crowd nodded in unison and mumbled, ‘Yah, ahbsolutely, yah.’

  Torica wiggled off to mingle and I was left in the centre of my circle of new acquaintances. They remained silent and continued to stare. I began to feel suspiciously like a very small mouse in a very big cattery.

  ‘Jackie, Beth,’ piped up a tall, buxom woman. She had jet-black cropped hair and wore gold earrings that would have worked equally well as napkin rings.

  ‘It’s Jennifer actually,’ I said apologetically.

  ‘So, Jennifer, you’re a guest.’

  ‘Yes, I’m —’

  ‘Great. That’s super, isn’t it people?’

  ‘Yah, absolutely.’

  ‘Awfully brave.’

  I stared at Beth blankly. ‘Brave? Why do you think that?’

  ‘Well, raylay, I just think it is.’

  ‘What’s your pwoblem, dahling?’ Phoebe added.

  ‘Problem?’ My problem right now was this circle of media freaks.

  ‘Yah, you know, pwoblem. Alcoholic? Husband scarpered with the maid? Do tell, Julia.’

  ‘It’s Jennifer, and I don’t have a pwoblem, I mean a problem. I —’

  ‘Oh, we all have pwoblems hon, especially you people,’ Phoebe oozed.

  I stared at her blankly.

  ‘Phoebe hon,’ said Melvin in a peculiarly female voice, ‘don’t push the poor child, she obviously doesn’t like to talk about it.’

  ‘Yah, yah, ahbsolutely.’

  ‘Look guys.’ I felt the circle closing in around me as I tried to speak. ‘I really don’t know what …’

  ‘Should be an excellent show,’ Phoebe continued, oblivious to my unfinished sentence. ‘Très fantastic.’

  ‘Oh totally, rahlay fab. She is just
so down to earth, you know. Should raylay get all the super gossip.’ The girl introduced as Zoë waved her arms wildly as she spoke. I noticed how her long pink nails matched her Chanel suit perfectly.

  Down to earth, I thought, perhaps you should all try it sometime.

  ‘Yah, I’ve been working on her style, you know. We’ve got a fantastic look. You will love it, people. She can totally relate to these unfortunates.’

  ‘Well, Zoë, we all know how absolument formidable you are at your styling thing.’

  Zoë blushed on cue and tossed back her hazel-coloured mane of hair. I yawned and started to chew on a tatty thumb nail. The conversation dribbled on around me – each person insincerely complimenting the others and no one taking the slightest bit of interest in matters outside the circle.

  ‘Zoë hon,’ yelled Beth as she slapped her hand on my shoulder. ‘You should give Jane here a makeover before tomorrow’s show. That would be super fun.’

  I glowered up at Buxom Beth.

  ‘It’s Jennifer,’ I seethed.

  She ignored me and threw her Liberty shawl around her immense shoulders, hitting me in the eye as she did so.

  ‘Yah. Oh totally,’ Phoebe added. ‘Would that be like totallement super, or quoi?’

  ‘Yah, Zoë, and Lord knows she needs it. We can’t let the poor gal go on national television looking like that, can we peoples?’

  Ooh, heaven forbid, I look normal. Silly fat cow. Who does she think she is?

  The crowd yah’d and tittered in approval of their great plan. I glanced round desperately for Maz to come and rescue me but I couldn’t see past Melvin’s frills and the silent Amelia’s shoulder pads.

  ‘What do you think, hon?’ Beth asked, peering down at the ‘unfortunate’ below her.

  ‘What do I think?’ At last, I was no longer invisible.

  ‘Yah, sweetie,’ Melvin piped up. ‘Great idea, isn’t it dahling?’

  I shrugged his clammy hand from my arm. ‘First, I think I’m not your dahling, and if I was I’d have to seriously consider topping myself.’

  Melvin stepped back with a loud gasp.

  ‘Secondly, I think I wouldn’t let Zoë here touch me with a barge-pole if it meant I’d end up looking as much of a subhumanoid as she does …’ More gasps. ‘And lastly, I think none of you really cares what an unfortunate like me thinks cos you’ve all got your heads shoved too far up each other’s arses to take any notice of the rest of the world!’

  Stunned faces greeted my outburst and I noticed the circle gradually begin to disintegrate. I saw my chance for freedom and took it.

  ‘Au revoir, peoples,’ I chirped and made for the nearest alcoholic drink.

  ⋆

  Armed with two glasses of bubbly and a mouthful of unidentified canapés, I found refuge behind a ten-foot cardboard poster advertising the new show: ‘Real People, Real Problems, Real Solutions’ exclaimed the poster.

  ‘Real load of pricks,’ I mumbled, spitting bits of cracker and caviar in all directions.

  ‘Who are?’

  I span around at the sound of the deep voice beside me. So much for my secret hiding place. He was about six feet tall with straight mousy-brown hair that flopped over one eye in a relaxed, unstyled fashion. He wasn’t classically good looking – his nose was fairly large and his cheeks were rosy – but I couldn’t help but notice his eyes. They twinkled like pale green glass in the sunlight and gave him an approachable, friendly manner. I felt like I knew him already.

  ‘Who are?’ he repeated.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Pricks?’ He laughed an almost musical laugh.

  ‘Everyone in this room.’ I frowned. ‘There’s more pricks in here than at a thistle convention.’

  ‘Charming. You don’t even know me!’

  ‘True. But that also means I can’t exclude you because I don’t know if you’re a prick or not.’

  ‘Oh I see.’

  ‘Yep, so we better include you just in case.’

  ‘Aye right.’ His voice was lilting with a soft Geordie accent. He paused and shoved his left hand casually into his jacket pocket. He looked uncomfortable in the stiff black tuxedo.

  ‘Are you?’ he said finally.

  ‘Am I what?’

  ‘A prick?’

  ‘Certainly not! I’m probably the most normal person here.’ I said with mock seriousness and added sarcastically, ‘Blimey, I don’t think much of your manners.’

  ‘Sorry, I’m just a prick.’

  He threw me a quick glance and we smiled broadly at each other. I felt oddly relaxed in his company. Whether this was due to the free champagne or the pond life that formed the alternative, I wasn’t sure.

  He leaned back against the wall and looked down at the heavy black boots he wore. ‘I take it you don’t like these sort of dos then?’

  ‘Oh I’d love them if you could just lose most of the people. The free food and drink is great. It’s just the free doses of snobbery and insincerity I can’t stand.’

  ‘I agree,’ he said. ‘So what brings you here?’

  ‘Do you mean, do I come here often?’

  He laughed. ‘No, I mean what’s a lovely lady like you doing in a place like this?’ He crossed his legs at the ankles and reclined against the wall, impersonating a nightclub sleaze. It didn’t suit him.

  ‘Hurgh!’ I pretended to throw up.

  He grinned.

  ‘I’m just in the audience at this new show tomorrow,’ I said eventually. ‘To tell you the truth, my friend and I only live up the road but we got VIP passes. It’s a long story but my ex-boyfriend of about an hour, who wasn’t actually my boyfriend because he was gay, but not because of me … he was actually gay. Well, he got us the tickets. His cousin owns the station. I thought we’d use the offer of a free hotel.’

  ‘Cheeky but cunning.’ His eyes sparkled.

  ‘Yeah, well, I’m sure Paradise TV won’t go broke because of it.’

  ‘I’m sure it won’t.’

  ‘I hear they’re absolutely loaded after the takeover so it’s nothing to them if I grab a few freebies.’

  ‘I admire your initiative.’ He took a sip of champagne and fiddled with his starched white collar. Functions were obviously not his cup of tea. I looked at his hands. His fingers were long and thin as I would imagine a piano player’s to be. He had strong square nails that were neatly cut. Obviously not a manual worker.

  ‘What do you do?’ I asked.

  ‘When?’

  ‘For a job, obviously.’ I could tell he was being purposefully cagey.

  ‘Oh, this and that.’

  ‘This and that? Well, that’s very informative, thanks. Is that “this ’n’ that” as in doctor, sportsman, nuclear physicist, or as in Colombian powder importer?’

  He winked and tapped his nose. I felt intrigued. I wanted to know more about him.

  ‘If I tells you, I vill have to kills you,’ he said in a poor German accent.

  ‘At least I’ll die knowledgeable,’ I added.

  Finally, after much persuasion, he admitted he was doing work experience at the TV station.

  ‘You’re not still at school, are you?’ I asked, quickly looking around for a satchel and pencil case.

  ‘Na, I’m just trying to experience a few different projects at the station, first hand, and this talk show happens to be one of them.’

  ‘Lucky you.’

  ‘It’s OK. The people aren’t all that bad really.’ He didn’t sound very convincing. ‘And I get to meet nor … um …’

  ‘Normal people?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Like me?’

  He looked at his boots again and kicked his feet together. I wondered how he would choose to dress usually. Trousers and a checked shirt or jeans and a loose sweater? The latter seemed fitting but I decided a pair of neat-fitting boxer shorts and a generous covering of massage oil would be more appealing. The alcohol was kicking in. Little Miss Oestrogen was warming up.

  I s
at on the floor with my legs stretched out towards our cardboard screen. He smiled approvingly and settled down next to me. We stayed that way, oblivious to the frantic socialising and networking going on beyond the partition. We talked about everything from food to football, with none of the usual awkward silences. I wanted to say, ‘I feel like I’ve known you for years.’ It was true but it sounded too corny. He felt like a friend.

  Suddenly we realised the party crowd was dwindling as the sound of idle chatter began to lessen. I peeked out from behind the poster just in time to see Maz striding out of the lounge door with a bottle of bubbly in one hand and a tray of food in the other. Supplies. She never was one to miss an opportunity. I laughed and crawled back to find him standing up, tucking in his slightly ruffled shirt.

  ‘Better look neat,’ he said.

  ‘Just in case the boss catches you.’

  ‘Er … yes.’ He bent down and took my right hand in his left. I tried to stand up but stopped when he gave my hand a firm squeeze.

  ‘Thanks for a good night,’ he said.

  ‘Well, it was one step up from behind the bike sheds.’

  He laughed gently and let my hand drop. I didn’t want him to leave. He was interesting and he made me laugh.

  ‘Oh by the way,’ I added.

  He turned towards me and inadvertently flicked his hair.

  ‘You’re not a prick after all.’

  ‘Glad to hear it,’ he smiled. ‘I value your opinion.’

  He raised his arm and gave me a salute-style wave. I watched him turn. He walked casually out of the room with one hand in his pocket, scuffing his feet as he walked.

  Damn, I thought, I didn’t even ask him his name.

  Chapter Twelve

  24th February, 11:30 a.m.

  Rehearsals for the show were due to start at 9:00 a.m. with filming at noon. It was to be the first time that a talk show of this type would be broadcast live on the network. The new presenter had been styled, rehearsed and polished. The people who would air their problems and family feuds to the nation had been shipped in. All Paradise TV had to do was sit back and watch raw human emotions pull in the gossip-hungry viewers.