Model Guy

by Brooke, Simon

  "Yes, yes," says Piers. "It is, that's exactly it."

  We crowd round the monitor in Zac's corner of the room to watch a new computer graphic which allows us to sit inside the new Bentley sports car and imagine we are being driven in it. We then 'drive' into a virtual mall and a chauffeur in the form of Oddjob from Goldfinger ("I wanted a driver who was instantly recognisable, an iconic chauffeur," explains Zac morosely) reaches out, picks up items and hands them over to us in the back seat.

  "You can sit in the front if you prefer," he says. He taps away at the keyboard and suddenly we are alongside Oddjob. "Or you can swap places with him if you'd prefer to drive."

  "Absolutely fan-fucking-tastic," says Piers.

  But Guy just says: "Great. Look, I need to talk to you Piers. Erm, let's go step outside for a moment."

  The three of us 2coolers remaining exchange glances.

  "That's incredible, Zac" says Scarlett standing up straight and wondering over to her own desk. "Even better with an E hangover."

  "Most hi res graphics look better if you're slightly drug fucked," says Zac, racing his mouse around its pad.

  "That's true. I think I need something to jump start me a bit. I'm just going to get a shot of wheatgrass," says Scarlett.

  "You've already had a double this morning," I tell her.

  "Have I? Christ I have, haven't it?" She sits down and taps away at her keyboard a bit. Then she says: "Spiruleena, that's what I need."

  "What?"

  "Spiruleena" she says. "It's a nutrient derived from algae."

  "Yum," I say.

  "It's the dog's bollocks. Want some?"

  "I'd rather have a ginger, carrot and apple". I can't believe I've just asked for this, especially as if I'm offering it as a sane alternative.

  "Sure. Zac?"

  "Doctor Pepper, please."

  "Have you any idea how much sugar there is in those things? Like a ton in every mouthful."

  "That's what keeps me sweet."

  Scarlett looks completely mystified. As she opens the door to leave Guy and Piers come back in.

  "Where are you going?" asks Guy.

  "Bikini wax," she tells him. Guy opens his mouth to say something but then just looks away, embarrassed. Piers throws himself down in his chair and stares at his desk for a moment.

  "Everything all right?" I ask, partly out of genuine concern and partly to point out that hurried meetings outside in the corridor with no subsequent explanation aren't exactly good for staff morale.

  Piers opens his mouth but Guy speaks: "Fine. We just needed to talk about the second tranche of financing."

  "Sure," I say, relieved.

  Then Piers opens a drawer of his desk.

  "Taste this," he says. He holds up a jagged piece of dark chocolate. I take it from him and put it in my mouth and let the familiar sweet, cloying sensation flood over my tongue.

  Piers is watching me: "Just imagine - something that tastes like chocolate, feels like chocolate and yet has no calories whatsoever".

  "That's incredible," I say, running my tongue over my teeth. I swallow hard in near disbelief. "Every woman in the country - and lots of men too - would go mad for this stuff. What is it?"

  He looks at me for a moment - slightly confused, slightly disappointed.

  "Well, it is chocolate actually," he says throwing the bar back in the draw. "But just imagine if you had something that tasted like that but wasn't chocolate".

  Now it's my turn to look confused and disappointed.

  "Oh, right, yeah it would be - great". I try and redeem the situation: "Very marketable".

  "It would, absolutely, very marketable" says Piers getting back into his stride. He gets up from his desk and moves over to the window. "You see, Charlie..." and he is off again.

  I spend the day making appointments to meet some of the people whose cards I collected at the party and take the opportunity to leave that evening when Scarlett does, just after six.

  "Do you think everything's okay?" I ask as we step out of the front door and into street.

  "How do you mean?" she says.

  "You know, with the company, with 2cool?"

  "Yeah. Why shouldn't it be?"

  "Well, I didn't like that hurried meeting Guy and Piers had this morning. They sounded distinctly worried."

  "Oh, that, well they both cheered up later in the day, didn't they?"

  "I suppose so."

  "Don't worry - media projects, especially major ones like this require a huge initial cash outlay. It all comes out in the wash."

  "Does it? I suppose the important thing is that the investors still have confidence."

  "Oh, yes. They're not going to pull the rug from under our feet. They know that this is a second generation ecommerce operation and has the potential to be like a major money spinner. Most of them are just busting to get back into the whole net business as soon as possible, anyway."

  "Yeah, I just couldn't help noticing how much money we're spending - like the party on Friday and things." I hadn't originally planned to say all this to her but what the hell: "And all those bills this morning. And those bank accounts in the Cayman Islands. What's that all about?"

  "Look, don't worry. It's the same in the film business. Most creative industries are like this. It's what they call the J curve, or the V trajectory or the U bend or something."

  "If you say so." I mutter, even less reassured. We march out of Old Compton Street into Charing Cross Road, our speed and Scarlett's bright red dreadlocks terrifying some ageing Japanese tourists.

  "People who are really closely involved in the development of a project often get cold feet at this stage of its development," explains Scarlett. I think about. She's probably right. "I mean, my sister, yeah?" she says. "She's a stylist, works with Dazed and Confused and does a lot of pop videos, yeah? Anyway, she's bought a cat, yeah? And it just won't go into the kitchen. Any other part of the flat - no problem, but the kitchen? It's like she's spooked or something. It's the same thing, yeah?"

  We walk along in silence for a moment. It's no good - I've got to ask her.

  "How is that the same thing as 2cool's financial situation?"

  "How's what the same thing?"

  "Your sister and her cat."

  Scarlett stops for a moment, thinks and then carries on walking.

  "Oh, shit sorry, did I say that? That's the E talking again. Don't worry I should be okay by Thursday."

  I can't wait.

  We get to Leicester Square tube station and as she walks towards the Northern Line barrier I say to her: "Bye then, see you tomorrow."

  She looks around and then apparently slightly surprised that I'm not coming all the way home with her, calls to me: "'Kay babe. Stay beautiful, yeah?"

  God, I hope no one heard that.

  That evening I go to see my Mum. It says something about my relationship with Lauren at the moment that I think an evening with my Mum would be more fun than one spent with her. I take the tube to Barnet but give up on the bus and take a mini cab into the tightly knit pattern of suburbia in which she now lives. After they split my Dad more or less gave her the family home since, thanks to the power of advertising, or its financial clout anyway, he didn't need it anymore. My sister regarded this piece of thoughtless generosity as the final insult. "Anyway, how could I live in that place without him?" pointed out my Mum as the tears dripped into her tea.

  So now she lives in a small thirties style semi in a quiet, non-descript street. It's actually so non-descript that it always takes me a moment to confirm that it really is the right house and the right street.

  She opens the door on the chain and then lets me in. She's getting liver spots on her hands, I notice - they're already beginning to have that 'roast chicken' skin look of an old lady.

  "Hi mum," I say, bending down to kiss her on the cheek.

  "Hello dear," she almost whispers.

  "Brought you some flowers".

  "Oh." She takes them from me. "I'm not su
re if I've got a vase big enough for these."

  "Oh well." I mentally roll my eyeballs.

  "Well, it's very kind. I'll put them in something. Now do you want a cup of tea."

  "I've brought some wine as well," I tell her, holding up a bottle of Australian Chardonnay. We always go through the 'Tea? I've brought some wine' syndrome.

  "Wine? Really? Oh, well, how nice," she says as usual.

  We have shepherd’s pie, peas and diced carrots sitting opposite each other in her spotless kitchen and I listen to her prattle on about the neighbours I don't know and about my brother-in-law and how well he's doing at work but how she wishes he would spend more time at home with my sister and the baby. She asks how Lauren is and I look down at my plate as I say: "Fine, fine."

  "And how's the new job going?" she finally asks as she stirs a saucepan full of rice pudding and I wonder why she never uses the microwave I bought her for Christmas two years ago. I'm sure we ate better than this when we growing up - ratatouille and spaghetti carbonara even made an appearance when I came home from university - but it's as if she has withdrawn into a sort of culinary nostalgia, resorting to the familiar comfort food of her childhood.

  "It's going very well," I tell her, as much to convince myself as anything. "We had an incredible launch party on Friday at Frederica's, this ritzy nightclub in Belgrave Square," I say, adding my own footnotes. "And now it's officially up and running. You can actually visit the site if you want to. Go and use one of the machines down at the library. Here, I'll write the address down."

  "I know where the library is," she says indignantly.

  I laugh gently. "No, I meant the address of the website, so you know what to type in."

  "Oh, don't worry. I'm not much good with computers. The woman in the post office was saying she still can't use hers properly and I said 'Don't look at me'". She laughs sadly.

  "Oh, go on, mum, have a look." I'm slightly offended that she won't even check it out. "It's incredible - amazing graphics."

  "Graphics? You mean the pictures?"

  "Yeah, it looks fantastic."

  "Oh, okay. I'll have a go. I've got to take a couple of books back anyway. Actually, there's a new - what are they called? - cypher cafe on the high street. I could go there and have a coffee - a latte or whatever is they drink now."

  "Yeah, that's a good idea. You'll love it, mum. It's incredible, what they've done".

  "Do you want jam in it?" she asks carefully spooning rice pudding into two bowls that she has heated in the oven.

  "Please. You can go virtual shopping on Bond Street or Fifth Avenue and find out what's hip in Hong Kong or Melbourne at the moment."

  "Oh, and that's right up my street, isn't it?" We both the laugh at the idea and I'm glad to see that she doesn't dissolve into tears this time.

  I get in and watch Lauren sleeping silently. I take my clothes off, brush my teeth, look at myself in the mirror and decide that with those ads for comfy cardigans and geriatric baths looming I was right to make the career change.

  Chapter Twelve

  "Sweetie, can you change the channel, I can't stand any more of this crap," I mutter at Lauren from my position on the settee.

  "Where's the controller?" she asks, curled up in a chair next to me.

  "Down on the floor, I think."

  She tuts. "If you get any lazier, you wouldn't bother to breathe." She finds the elusive remote on the floor and throws it onto my stomach.

  "Ouf! I think you've broken some ribs."

  "Good," giggles Lauren.

  But before I can switch channels the phone rings and she reaches over and picks it up. It's my mum.

  "Oh, hello Sheila. How are you?" says Lauren, looking across at me with a face which says 'get ready to take this off me very soon'. They chat briefly and then Lauren says. "Anyway, nice to talk to you, Sheila. Take care now. He's just here."

  "Hi mum," I say, taking the receiver from Lauren's outstretched hand and still looking at the television.

  "Hello dear. Everything all right?"

  "Yep, fine thanks."

  "Good, good." There is a pause.

  "What is it mum?" I ask, sitting up.

  "Well, I had a look at your website -"

  "Great, what did you think?"

  "It was er...the pictures, you know the graphics, were very exciting, like you said. Everyone in the library was very impressed."

  "Good," I smile, enjoying the idea that we had an audience in her local library - definitely the 2cool target audience. Not.

  "And those clothes - very smart. I liked one of the skirts by that Italian designer, except for the price of course - do people really spend that much money on a skirt?"

  "Oh, yeah, you'd be amazed."

  "Incredible. Anyway, we looked at what was you know trendy, like you said and then..."

  "Yeah?"

  "Well, the thing is Charlie, we went on the bit that said 'Extra Curricula" and..."

  "Sorry, which bit?"

  "The little thing called 'Extra Curricula' you know the what's it? The icon. The cursor turned into a little hand like it does and we clicked on it and then we found these pictures..."

  "What pictures?"

  "Charlie, I don't know about these things and I'm sure you know what you're doing..."

  "Mum, what pictures?"

  "Charlie, you must know."

  I sit up and reach for the telly controller. Even Lauren is watching me now.

  "No, what pictures?"

  She takes a deep breath.

  "Pornographic pictures."

  "What? Porn? On the site?"

  "Yes, dear, didn't you know?" I look to Lauren for some reason but she just gives me a questioning frown.

  "No, I didn't. Listen mum, are you sure you went to the right site?"

  "Oh, yes, everything else was there like you said."

  "2cool2btrue.com" I spell it out for her just in case.

  "Yes, you wrote down it here. I'm looking at it."

  "Somebody's hacked into the site."

  "You mean, like...like burglars."

  "Yes, exactly. Oh, God, mum. I'm so sorry about this. How embarrassing. I hope the people you with didn't see it all."

  "Oh, they did, we were all looking."

  "Oh God."

  "Don't worry, I think the head librarian was very interested in it. He spent ages you know - checking things. He was still at it when I left."

  She laughs shyly. I laugh a bit too, mainly to encourage her like we always do but also to show that it's all right, I'm a professional, I can handle this little hiccup.

  "Oh, hell's teeth. Listen, I'll tell the others. Well, thanks for letting me know. I'd better ring them now, actually. Love you. Speak to you soon."

  I click off and get up to find Guy's mobile number.

  "Someone's put porn pictures on the 2cool website?" asks Lauren.

  "Yep, looks like it," I mutter, leaving the room.

  "Oh, my God" she laughs. "Let's have a look."

  "It's not funny," I tell her.

  In the bedroom, before ringing Guy, I switch on my computer and log in just to check that my Mum is right. Sure enough, along the options along the left hand side is a new one 'Extra Curricula'. I click on the icon and am immediately presented with pictures of girls lying back exposing their crotches, grasping their tits in wide eyed amazement as if they'd never seen them before and others with men and women, women and women, and men and men having sex together. Most look like they were taken recently but some have a grainy, seventies quality and some a harsh, lip glossed, heavily blushered look of the eighties about them.

  I'm stunned for a moment. I haven't been so unaroused by naked flesh since a biology lesson. Then I ring both Guy and Piers' mobiles to warn them. I get voicemails on each of them so I leave messages telling them what I've discovered and asking them to ring me at home if they want otherwise we can discuss it in the office tomorrow.

  "Oh, yeah," says Guy when I mention it to him the next
morning.

  "So, you did get my message?" I ask, dropping my newspaper on my desk. "About the porn thing?"

  Instead of being shocked and angry as I had expected he simply refers me to Piers who says what I'm sort of dreading by now.

  "Good, eh? Zac put them on yesterday."

  "What?"

  "Zac's been sourcing them over the last few days. We've even had some done specially. He uploaded them yesterday."

  "You knew?"

  "Yeah, of course," says Piers, draining his coffee and crushing the cardboard cup with obvious satisfaction.

  "Look, I don't like this. How the hell can you say that porn pics are too cool to be true?"

  "Oh Charlie -" says Piers with a sad smile.

  "Oh Charlie nothing! Why the fuck didn't I know?"

  "Because Piers should have told you," says Guy. "Listen mate, I'm really sorry about this but sometimes thing move so quickly in this game."

  Piers is looking slightly miffed about being dumped on but finally even he realises that this is his role in Operation Keep Charlie Sweet.

  "We need to keep each other informed of what's going on all the time, after all, we're supposed to be in the communications business, aren't we?" adds Guy.

  There is a deafening slurping sound as Scarlett finishes her juice and looks meaningfully at him.

  "We certainly bloody should, but what the hell has porn got to do with our site?"

  "Thing is Charlie, porn is what drives the internet. Eighty per cent of internet searches are for pornography," explains Piers.

  "But why do we have to get involved in it?"

  "Because it's part of modern consumerism," says Guy, looking up from his computer.

  "Oh, that's so eighties!" howls Scarlett, looking at her own screen. "Look at the blusher and that lip gloss. And that one's pure seventies, I love the long beads and the afro hair and is that a Biba print in the background? Zac, these are brilliant."

  "Thing is, Charlie," says Piers and I find myself spinning back to him, "we're treating these pictures humorously. They're not for spotty teenage boys to drool over, they're part of modern day life. We're exposed to porn of one kind or another every day - just a look at a Gucci or a Haagen Daz ad, for goodness' sake. We're just having a laugh at it here."