Love, and Other Things to Live For

by Louise Leverett

  I stepped into the lift of Charlie’s building and looked around at the stainless-steel doors. There was an unflattering mirror on one side, and a carpeted wall on the other. This lift had become the catalyst from the night we first met, for everything that had happened since: passion, kisses, tears, tantrums. It had been a cross-country run for the heart but up to this point always, always, followed by reconciliation.

  ‘Evening,’ I said, kissing him on the lips as he opened the door.

  ‘Hurry up,’ he replied, ‘you’re just in time for the big game.’

  I slowly walked inside and closed the door behind me. I was wearing a tight black dress and the clutch bag that he had bought me for Christmas. In my eyes it was not exactly an outfit to collapse on the sofa and watch the game in. As he made himself comfortable, positioned exactly in front of the television, I went into the kitchen and poured myself a drink. He was out of wine, scotch and even vodka. All that was left was lager, one of about ten green glass bottles left chilling in the fridge.

  ‘Could you get me another beer while you’re there?’

  ‘Yes,’ I replied, searching his drawer for a bottle opener.

  I walked back through to the living room and sat down next to him. As he watched the teams jog out onto the pitch I glanced down at my legs, my eye catching a small patch of faint blonde hair that I’d missed with the razor. Typical. I licked my finger and smoothed it over, not knowing what I was hoping to achieve by doing so. I pulled my dress down and crossed my legs, inspecting the rest of my handiwork.

  ‘You look nice,’ he said, not taking his eyes off the television. ‘Special occasion? Oh God, I haven’t forgotten your birthday or anything, have I?’

  ‘Nope,’ I said. My birthday was in a month’s time, but if he didn’t know it now, he probably wouldn’t know it then either. I picked up a magazine that had been left on the coffee table and began flicking through. ‘I’m going for a drink with my friend Jack. The guy I told you about from law school.’ I exaggerated the word friend but wasn’t sure if I’d over-egged it.

  ‘Dressed like that?’ he said, finally noticing me. ‘I thought it was just a casual work thing?’

  ‘It is,’ I said, ‘but I want to make a good impression. He might be helping me to find a job.’

  We both sat in silence for the next ten minutes as he watched the game and I read my horoscope from the back page of the magazine.

  ‘Right then, I’m off,’ I said, briefly checking the time. ‘I’ll probably stay at mine tonight.’ I kissed him delicately on the forehead as I walked past.

  ‘Woah, woah, woah…’ he said, jumping to his feet and pulling me back by my waist. ‘At least tell me who he is?’

  ‘I told you, his name’s Jack, he’s an old friend from college – but then you’d know that if you listened to me!’

  I could suddenly feel my voice rising.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Jess. Sorry if I want to ask who it is that my girlfriend’s swanning off with…’

  ‘I’m not swanning anywhere…’

  ‘Come off it, Jess, you’re asking for it.’

  For the first time in our relationship it appeared that he didn’t trust me. ‘This is about work,’ I said, calmly.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I know. I just love you, Jess, that’s all.’

  ‘You’re starting to use that as an excuse, not a sentiment,’ I said, reaching for my clutch bag.

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘I just think we might be holding onto each other a bit too tightly.’

  ‘Holding you back, you mean?’ he said loudly as he watched me leave.

  I could feel the door close firmly behind me as I stood on the other side trying to calm my breathing. I never did like confrontation and the uncomfortable feeling that I had been keeping inside of me for weeks had somehow crept out into the real world. Of course we’d had disagreements before, tiffs and squabbles, but they had always mended themselves with time. The only difference with today being, that this time, I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted them to.

  My argument with Charlie meant that I was now running twenty minutes late. I arrived through the revolving doors and looked around for Jack who I could see in the far corner, standing at the bar.

  ‘Sorry!’ I shouted, quickly walking over to him. ‘Traffic was a nightmare.’

  ‘No worries,’ he said. ‘I didn’t know what you’d be drinking so I just got my own.’

  ‘I think I’ll just get an elderflower and soda,’ I said, signalling for the bartender.

  ‘You’re not drinking?’ he asked, surprised.

  I took off my coat and slid it over the back of a bar stool. ‘Yeah, why not,’ I said, laughing. ‘Go on then, I’ll have a white wine.’

  ‘Are you okay, you seem flustered?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ I said, ‘I just ran here, that’s all.’

  I followed him over to a small round table towards the edge of the room.

  ‘This okay?’ he said, waiting for me to sit down.

  ‘This is perfect. So, what kind of law are you practising now? I didn’t ask before.’

  ‘Hold your horses, dive straight into business, why don’t you,’ he said, laughing.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, quickly. ‘Just trying to play catch up, that’s all.’

  I felt my foot touch his under the table as I shuffled in my seat. I pulled my feet tightly back under my chair.

  ‘Well, I was considering domestic but the thought of all those messy divorces and custody disputes really put me off. So now I’m doing quite a bit of community-based work. I’m actually working on some litigation with City Children’s Hospital.’

  ‘That should be fun,’ I said, sipping my drink.

  ‘Fun?’ he said, with a smirk.

  ‘Not fun, God no, course not. Just productive… rewarding! That’s the word I’m looking for…’

  I didn’t know why I was so nervous. But it was starting to show. I re-aligned the straps on my dress, purely to give my hands something to do.

  ‘So the colleague I mentioned, he said he’d be happy to put a word in for you at Condé Nast. But I can only put you in touch with the right person, mind you; after that you’re on your own.’

  ‘Wow, I completely forgot about that,’ I said, faking a small laugh. ‘But that’s great. Thank you so much.’

  ‘You just need to send through your portfolio and covering letter – all the normal stuff, really – and with any luck you’ll get an interview at least.’

  ‘Thanks, Jack, I really appreciate it,’ I said. ‘I hope it wasn’t awkward asking your colleague? I hope I didn’t put you out too much?’

  ‘Nah,’ he said. ‘He’s gay and I’ve got a feeling he fancies me.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘Tight trousers,’ he said and I laughed, spluttering into my wine glass.

  ‘You know, it’s quite strange seeing you after all this time.’ By now we had spent almost two hours reminiscing about our university days. My nerves had thankfully subsided, which I assumed was largely down to the three glasses of wine I’d had without dinner, and it felt nice to talk to someone who held a part of my past. We had a history together – something which only ever becomes of value as you get older.

  ‘Do you drink scotch?’ Jack said with narrowed eyes. ‘You know, just to shake things up a bit…’

  ‘Better not,’ I said, looking at my watch. ‘In fact, I think I should probably go.’

  ‘A small one,’ he said. ‘Go on!’

  I took a deep breath and relented. ‘Okay, just a small one.’

  He made his way to the bar. If this were a date, I thought to myself, it would actually be going too well.

  ‘Well, cheers,’ he said, as he sat back down.

  ‘Cheers too!’

  ‘You know, I have a slight confession,’ Jack said, gently rubbing the sides of his glass.

  ‘Oh yeah?’

  ‘I don’t know, I think I always felt
slightly disappointed that we didn’t ever get together.’

  ‘Jack, I think that might be the scotch talking,’ I said.

  ‘No, don’t brush me off like that. Listen, and tell me if I’m overstepping the mark here, but I just think we’d be good together. I was really glad when I bumped into you and look, I know this is going to sound pretty forward…’ He pulled his chair closer to the table. ‘…I was wondering if you fancied getting some dinner sometime?’

  He looked over as I stared down into my glass of whiskey. The ice cubes swirling amidst the liquor.

  ‘Or not, Jess, but at least listen to what I’ve come here to say…’

  I looked up into his big eyes, the sort of eyes that naturally expected me to say yes.

  ‘Jack, I’m just not very good at this kind of thing…’

  ‘I can see that I’ve thrown you through a bit of a hoop.’

  ‘No, you haven’t, it’s me. I probably should have told you before, I don’t know why I didn’t really, but I’m actually in a relationship with someone.’

  There was a pause.

  ‘Oh right,’ he said, shaking the moment off. ‘Not to worry.’

  He finished his scotch and looked over at the small, square television playing sports in the corner of the room. ‘It’s meant to be a good game. Do you watch sports?’

  ‘Jack,’ I said, gently. ‘I’m sorry. I should’ve told you.’

  ‘No, it’s fine,’ he said. ‘I’m still glad we did this. Mind me asking who he is?’

  ‘His name’s Charlie and he works for Giles and Morgan.’

  ‘Not Charlie Rainer?’ he said.

  ‘Yes…’ I nodded, hesitantly. ‘Why? Do you know him?’

  ‘Isn’t he the man who was quoted as saving the company’s balls a year ago through a major share deal? He’s basically the reason half the city’s still got jobs.’

  I pushed my untouched scotch to the side of the table. ‘Well, I wouldn’t know about that,’ I said. ‘He’s just Charlie at home.’

  ‘You must be very proud,’ he said.

  ‘This won’t make it awkward between us now, will it? I’d hate it to…’

  ‘Stop it, Jess,’ he said, putting his hand on mine.

  As his grip became a little too firm I pulled my hand away and reached for my bag. ‘I really do have to go now,’ I said, as I pulled the coat from the back of my chair. ‘It was great to see you again, Jack,’ I said, as he stood up to walk me out.

  ‘Let me know how everything’s going with the job hunt. I’ve got my fingers crossed for you.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said, as I reached the doorway. I pulled my coat tightly around me as the cold wind seeped through the door. He leaned in to give me a kiss on the cheek and lingered, closely, next to my ear. ‘Jack, what are you doing?’ I said, softly.

  ‘I just have this feeling that you want me to.’

  I could feel his hands move in around my waist.

  ‘Jack…’ I said, as I pushed his hands away gently.

  ‘Just say the word and I’ll stop,’ he said, putting his hand back around my waist.

  ‘Jack, I need to go home,’ I said, pushing him away a little harder.

  He leaned in, this time kissing me hard on the mouth.

  ‘Jack!’ I cried. ‘Jesus, you can’t just lunge at people like that…’

  ‘Fuck!’ he shouted, as the bar fell silent.

  I continued quickly through the door and out into the street but as I turned the corner towards the tube station I could feel my sandal slipping down around my ankle. I looked down at the gold, metal fastening, which had snapped in the struggle. I felt like a fool. I knew in my heart that I wanted a change: a new career, a new boss, a new in-tray perhaps, but there were some things from my past that I wasn’t willing to change.

  Some things were worth more than the flutter of butterflies or even a successful career. Some things you should value and cherish. Something like love. They say you can’t chose who, or why, or how long for, but like a wake-up call, masquerading itself as a kiss, one thing’s for sure: requited or otherwise, it’s impossible to let go of and even harder to forget.

  Our phase of familiarity had been naively confused with boredom. We were the film on the surface of forgotten teacups, left carelessly to go cold on windowsills; we had gone from sex in the morning to arguments in the evening and I didn’t know a way to fix it. But I knew I had to try. In a frantic regression I had turned a wrong corner and presumed I had wanted more. But I didn’t. In a quest for the whim of excitement, I had learned my lesson. I had flown too close to the sun and now I was left to repair my melted wings.

  Chapter Eighteen – A New Chapter

  I held my portfolio tightly in my arms as I navigated my way through the sea of commuters. I was surprised when I received the email. People always say they will be in touch when you are introduced to them at a party, but in reality they never really do. I clung onto the metal bar overhead as the train pulled away from the platform, my back pressed into the closed doors.

  I had been invited to interview at Route magazine for the position of Vincent Campbell’s photographic assistant and following one desperate phone call to Cathy and a quick search on Google, I had learned that he had made his name taking pictures of extraordinarily thin models for London’s heroin chic scene of the Nineties. My role, should I be offered it, would be to schedule shoots, prepare equipment and assist in creative direction. Perhaps it was the lack of air on the stuffed train carriage, or the inability to eat breakfast due to nerves, but deep down inside, I felt giddy with excitement.

  The magazine was casting for one of their spreads for the new season and I had consequently found myself in the waiting room amongst six of the tallest, most strikingly beautiful females I had ever had the misfortune of sitting next to.

  A lady wearing a headset glanced up from her computer.

  ‘Could you tell me where the toilets are?’ I said, in a subdued voice.

  ‘Turn right at the bottom of the stairs,’ she said, politely.

  I walked over to the door and pushed it lightly as two women chatting animatedly pushed past. I entered the empty bathroom and looked at my reflection in the small, round mirror above the sink. A strand of hair had escaped from my ponytail and pulled every time I moved my head. It wasn’t a style that I would wear in my normal life but as Melanie Griffith had once said to Joan Cusack in Working Girl, if I wanted to be taken seriously, then I needed serious hair. I wiped the corners of my mouth to erase the pale pink lipstick I was wearing and took a deep breath before going back outside.

  ‘Jess!’ Vincent said, in a loud voice that boomed from the Gods. He wore his familiar dark green cargo jacket, and was sporting his usual bushy beard. Carrying what looked to be a sandwich and a large cup of coffee, he waved me up to the top of the tall flight of stairs.

  ‘Morning,’ he said, as I reached him. ‘Thanks for coming in – it’s really nice to see you.’

  ‘Hi, Vincent,’ I said, clinging onto the banister in an effort to disguise my trembling hands.

  ‘Call me Vin,’ he said. ‘Why don’t we go into my office?’

  He led me through an open-plan office filled with light grey desks and rows of computers. Keyboards clicked to the ring of telephones. It was a glimpse into the office in its natural state: people making their way to the photocopier, others standing over their desk, glued to their phones, cups of coffee in hand. I didn’t feel like Jess who worked at Guido’s or Jess who had dropped out of her law degree. I was in the unfamiliar but that had somehow brought me a sense of home.

  ‘Reception was pandemonium, wasn’t it?’ Vin said as we entered his corner office. I sat down in the small wooden chair opposite his big leather recliner. ‘Do you want a coffee?’

  I shook my head, knowing that one more coffee that morning might send me completely over the edge.

  ‘So let’s have a look at your portfolio.’ Famous images that he’d taken of equally well-known faces lined the wall
s either side of me. I laid my folder out on the desk in front of him. He glanced over my file, my eyes fixated on him. I was listening for sounds, movements, body twitches, anything that would indicate his impressions.

  ‘So, here’s the thing,’ he said, finally. ‘I’ve been looking over your CV and was struck by a bit of a gap between your first job out of university and, well, now really. Why was that?’

  I prepared to give a rehearsed speech about life lessons and personal development, but as he sat there awaiting my answer, I decided to go with the truth.

  ‘I think I got a little disoriented, to be honest,’ I began confidently. ‘Maybe, I’d lost my way a bit. But having spent those few months putting together my ideas I’m definitely ready to move things forward.’

  I looked down at my lap, at my notebook resting gently on my knees. ‘I just want to work hard. And be the best that I can be.’

  ‘A professional rest, I’ll call it,’ he said, rubbing his beard.

  I nodded as he made some more notes on a piece of paper.

  ‘But can I just say, Vin,’ I continued, ‘I am willing to learn and I know that the skills that I do have, as varied as they may be, well, I will use them all to help in any way that I can. And all I ask in return is that you show me how to be a better photographer.’

  My brain was screaming at me to stop talking, but my heart had run away with the story. I knew that I had gone out on a limb, but with a CV that equated to tap water in an office full of Evian, I knew I didn’t have a choice.

  He put his pen down. ‘It’s hard, Jess, I know. But I’m not going to beat around the bush with you, I’m giving it to you fair and square: judging by your portfolio, you’ve got great vision and a lot of potential but you’ve simply got to raise your game if you want to work in this industry. It’s competitive and I don’t want to see you broken by it all.’

  ‘I’m ready, Vin,’ I said, defiantly.

  ‘Then you’re going to have to prove it. I was interested in working with you when we met at Saatchi’s. I’ve since read your application and your work is different to any of the other applicants I’ve seen. Your work has substance, but you’ve still got a long way to go,’ he said, leaning back in his chair, exhaling loudly. ‘It’s just tricky…’