Once again everyone seems to be in the know and have reached a consensus except me.
"Ironic porn," explains Scarlett. "Everyone's doing it. My friend Maria, yeah? She's a performance artist. She's made a couple of porno movies.
You know, ironically."
"What? Sort of fucking in inverted commas?"
My sarcasm is wasted on Scarlett.
"They're really funny - crappy sets, sound quality so bad that you can hardly hear what they're saying, awful dialogue. At one point she says something like 'But I'm a good girl from a convent school, can you teach me to be bad?'" Scarlett and Zac yell with laughter. "The guy she was doing it with - he was a fine art student or something - had these like huge sideburns? And a gold medallion and she was wearing false eyelashes like, you know, spiders? And a huge blonde hair piece. It was so funny."
"And she actually had sex with this guy?" laughs Zac enthusiastically. "Full penetration?"
"Oh, yeah, shaved her minge down to a Brazilian. Did all that 'Oh, my God, my God. You're so big!' bollocks." Scarlett runs her hands through her hair, closes her eyes, opens her mouth, licks her lips and throws her head backwards, arching her back ecstatically. Zac looks on, thrilled. I've got a horrible feeling that he is turned on in a decidedly non-ironic way.
"She's like really creative," explains Scarlett, now mercifully out of character again. "They had to go all the way - it was a condition of their grant."
"Look, porn is porn," I tell them.
"And what's the moral minority going to do about it?" sneers Zac. I give him an evil stare.
"But we've had some of these girls shot specially," says Piers. "They appreciate the irony."
"Oh, she looks very ironic," I say pointing to a girl on my screen in patent leather high heels and a long pearl necklace, spreading her legs wide and grasping her huge manmade breasts as if they might just go off at any minute.
"But that's a classic porn mag pose. Mayfair, Penthouse circa 1973. 2cool readers are immediately going to appreciate the historical reference," grins Piers enthusiastically. "Anyway, those shoes are specially acquired Manolo Blahnik's. How many porn mags use Manolo Blahniks?"
I'm lost for words.
"You never done any nudey stuff then, Charlie?" asks Zac, from a near horizontal position behind his desk.
"Oh, don't be disgusting."
"Bit of skin?"
"I said no."
"What about that pic in the Post?"
I sigh deeply.
"That was to advertise a holiday. There was a woman and a couple of kids in the original photograph. They just cut them out."
"You looked kinda cute in those groovy little swimmies."
"Fancy me then do you?"
"'Fraid not bud, just wondering why they used you?"
"In that picture? Why not? I was a model."
"Exactly."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Zac flicks a pen up in the air and catches it.
"Well, why not some old guy with a beer belly and a hairy back?"
"Because...well, because you obviously use good looking people in advertising." My phone begins to ring but I ignore it and let Scarlett get it.
"Oh, right. Good looking people....showing off their nice bodies...in sexy poses?" asks Zac, innocently.
Oh, very clever.
"It's not the same, it's not obscene...I'm wearing swimming trunks," I tell him sulkily. He carries on flicking the pen in the air and smiling victoriously at me. I'm just wondering how things could get worse when fate obliges. "It's Nora Bentall for you," says Scarlett, holding up her receiver. I look round at Piers and Guy who nod for me to take it.
"Hey Charlie," says Nora.
"Hello," I say stiffly.
"How's it going?"
"Fine, how are you?" I say with an effort, aware that four pairs of ears are trained on me, however busy their owners seem to be with other tasks. This will be a test of my communications skills, and my overall professionalism, I realise.
"Good thanks. Listen Charlie, I was just looking at the site and I noticed that there's a new section on it." I can imagine that cheeky - dare I say it? - ironic smile at the other end of the phone.
"Yes?"
"Extra Curricula or something? Well, it seems kind of rude to me. I'm just doing a little piece about it, you know, the threat of cyber porn and...."
"Yes?"
"I was wondering why you'd done it? Not very too cool is it? How do you answer the allegation that you're already going down market and you've gone for the lowest common denominator - pornography."
Oh, God, I'm really tempted to agree with her. I pause for a moment just to build up a little tension amongst my colleagues. Guy so obviously isn't reading that piece of paper. "That's right, Nora, we just thought 'Fuck it! Sex sells' and decided to put lots of porn on the site but I hope you like the boots - they're real Manolo Blahniks."
I take a deep breath.
"It's obviously ironic," I say. Around me there is silent but noticeable feeling of relief as the others realise that I'm going to play ball. "Pornography is now in the mainstream - it's all around us, part of the consumer experience. You've got to remember that the 2cool audience is one of the most sophisticated on the net, they appreciate this kind of stuff for its, er..." Before I can turn to him for help and immediately Guy mouths "cultural significance" at me. "Cultural significance. They can put it into context."
"Uh huh? Really," says Nora, obviously scribbling away.
"Yeah, of course. It's not there for a bunch of adolescent boys to wa- I mean, drool over." I look meaningfully at Zac but he is tapping at his keyboard and checking something on the screen.
"So you don't think this is offensive?"
"No, because our audience gets the joke," I explain. "It's taking the piss, I mean it's poking fun at porn itself."
"Okay, ironic porn. Interesting concept."
"Interesting concepts are what 2cool is all about," I tell her. Guy gives me a thumbs up and I begin to feel that I have finally managed to beat Nora and him in one go. I decide to quit while I'm ahead. "OK, hope that all makes sense."
"Sure. If that's what you want to say".
"Yep, that's about it," I tell her.
"Okay, thanks very much, Charlie. Speak soon. Bye."
"Bye." I put the phone down.
Piers immediately gives me a round of applause.
"Well done" says Scarlett. "Wheatgrass?"
I'd prefer a drink.
When I see the piece in the paper the next day while sitting on the tube with my quote in it, I feel relieved but quite removed from the whole thing, detached, neutral.
"Designer website 2cool2btrue.com was branded 'sleazy and degrading' yesterday following revelations that it contains blatantly pornographic images. Women's groups and morality campaigners condemned the recently launched website which described itself as the coolest thing in cyberspace for featuring full frontal images of nude women and men.
Mary Fairfax of NetWatch said: "It's basically just a porn site. Children who are looking for things to buy could easily stumble across these pictures. They're also highly offensive to women."
But Charlie Barrett, the former top male model heading up the site defended the use of nudity. "Pornography is now in the mainstream - it's all around us, part of the consumer experience. These pictures are poking fun at porn itself. Our audience gets the joke."
I can't help smiling at the idea that I was 'heading up the site'. Guy and Piers will love that. But why am I still a former male model? On the other hand they can't complain about the quote. It sounds pretty good. I quite like being a spokesman. At least there are no pictures of me in it this time.
In the office I'm greeted as something of a hero. Everyone has a copy of The Post.
"Excellent publicity," says Piers, tapping the article.
"Perfect positioning," Guy tells me. "You got the message across beautifully."
"Mate of mine in the City says all
the traders are already looking at the site" says Piers. "It's all part of the marketing mix along with the Ferrari Testarossa and the Armani suits."
"I see," I say, sitting down at my desk. "Well you guys know what you're doing."
"Oh, Zac, tell him," says Piers.
The perpetually horizontal Zac, who has just got to, please God, got to fall off his chair on to his authentically distressed antique 501-clad arse, takes the floor.
"Some company IT systems have filters these days that can, like you know, sense excessive areas of skin tone in an incoming emails or websites and block them so that people at their desks can't check out porno pics at work," he explains. "But I've included this little gizmo in the 2cool site protocol to override them."
"Incredible, eh?" says Piers. "Ours is the only T & A that most of my pals on the trading floors can actually look at while they're at work."
"I'm so proud," I tell him.
"Zac, you're a genius" says Scarlett. "A gentleman, a scholar - and a pornographer."
"I revel in your laudatory portraiture," says Zac finishing off a Dr Pepper and stamping on the tin rather unnecessarily.
Did he detect her sarcasm? Was he being sarcastic in return? Perhaps she wasn't being sarcastic after all? Perhaps it was just ironic? Perhaps he was being ironic too? Perhaps she was being sarcastic and he was being ironic in return? Perhaps I've ODed on irony so much recently that I just can't recognise it any more.
Later that morning Guy tells me that he wants me to develop my relationship with Nora.
"What relationship?"
He looks slightly startled.
"Well, you've established a good working relationship with her, haven't you?"
"Erm, well I suppose so. Yes, she's a useful contact isn't she?"
"Yes, exactly. Anyway, apparently she also freelances for Esquire and various other magazines, you know, like High Life and Elle and things so we need to cultivate her a bit."
"Oh, okay."
"We've done a deal with this new bar in Clerkenwell," says Guy in his silky smooth sales voice. "Take her there one evening this week. It'll be a nice contrast to the 'Extra Curricula' section, make the point that the pictures are just one part of the package and that whatever those moral crusaders say, we're the coolest, smartest thing in cyberspace."
"Evening?"
"Yes, you don't mind working the occasional evening do you? Come in later the next day, if you want," he says as if I'm being a 'job's worth' about it.
"No, evenings are fine," I tell him. What is wrong with an evening, anyway? Just a quiet bottle of wine, bit of a chat...cosy bar, settee in the corner. Oh, for God's sake. It's just a drink for work. Like Lauren and Peter do every now and then. Somehow that doesn't make it any better. "Yes, okay," I say. "It's useful for coverage isn't it? I mean if we can get her to write articles for some other magazines it might be helpful, especially High Life, that's the British Airways in-flight mag, isn't it?" But I'm gabbling, chattering away, protesting too much.
"Just take her there for a drink at this place and you know..."
"Show her a good time," says Scarlett lecherously from the other side of the room.
Chapter Thirteen
As it happens Nora's packed diary means that she can only make that evening so we arrange to meet at 7pm at the bar Guy has suggested. She manages to make it sound like a bit of a drag. I'm tempted to say that I'm only doing it because I've been asked to but I don't. I ring Lauren and let her know that I won't be home till late. Well, not that late, quite early in fact.
"It's a work thing," I say. "Very boring. I've got to charm this reporter. Guy and Piers want her to write something else about us in another magazine or something."
"Oh, OK. I see."
"Sorry about this."
"Don't worry. If they want you to meet her you'd better do it."
"You out with Peter?" I ask, trying to change the subject but sounding like I'm making a point.
"Peter? No, he's in New York at the moment. Make sure you keep the receipt - and charge them for a taxi home."
"Will do. What're you doing tonight, then?" I'm pleased that just for once she's not seeing that twat but I'm disappointed that we won't be able to enjoy a quiet evening alone together.
"Nothing."
"Oh, okay. Why don't you give Sarah a ring or something - have a girls’ night out."
"Why would I want a girls' night out?" She laughs.
"I don't know - might be fun." Why is this developing into a row?
"No, I'll just potter round the flat. I've got to sort out paperwork, actually."
"Oh, OK, good idea."
There is a pause and I'm about to check again that she doesn't mind about tonight but then I hear her talking to someone else.
"OK, babe, listen gotta go, they're ready to shoot again."
"OK, love you."
"You too." She ends the call.
Nora is late. I'm waiting at the bar, talking to the owner who is struggling to explain the concept behind it.
"It's very now," he says.
"Yeah," I say, encouragingly.
"Its look is very much of its time, very fin de siècle."
"Yeah, looks like it."
"But it doesn't take itself too seriously. See this bar - pure antique aluminium. Came from an old brasserie in Paris - so it's fin de siècle, well the last siècle."
"Really? I love it," I say rubbing my fingers over it. He does the same. We both caress the cold, smeary metal as he tries to think of something else to say about the place and I wish to God Nora would hurry up and get here.
I listen to the music on the sound system for a while. It's a boy band:
"Babe, there's one thing you must do,
If you want to get to heaven above,
Don't ask what your love can do for you,
Ask what you can do for your love,
they sing.
The guy who owns the joint is just telling me about the colour scheme when she walks in. No apology.
"Couldn't you have chosen somewhere more inconvenient?" She smiles. "I know a bar in Aberdeen that's slightly nearer."
I ignore her remark, mainly because the bar owner looks rather upset about the idea that his place is so off the beaten track.
"This is Jim, the owner," I say pointedly. "He was just telling me about the decor."
"I was just saying it's very now," begins Jim again. I'm actually slightly relieved when Nora slams her bag down on the floor and says: "I'm sure it is. Can I have a G&T - a large one."
"Okay," says Jim slightly miffed that he won't get a chance to do his spiel. "What can I get you, Charlie?"
"I'll have a beer," I say.
He offers me some new Thai beer that is exclusive to the place.
"Very '2cool'," says Nora cleaning her glasses on her silk scarf and looking round her.
"Yeah, we've done a deal with them. A sort of synergy thing," I explain, hoping she won't press me on this as I've no idea what I'm talking about. What did Guy say again? Oh, yes. "Even though we're a virtual concept we know that we also need to have a real dimension, a physical presence." Or something like that.
Nora is looking up at me, nodding her head, slightly and giving me that knowing, piss-taking look.
"You see?" I say as Jim hands us our drinks.
"Not really," she says, taking a large mouthful.
"Well..."
"Oh, don't bother. I'm used to hearing things I don't understand and just nodding and looking interested. Anyway, I'm bored with 2cool, aren't you?"
"Er, no, not really."
"Oh, perhaps I've just a got a short attention span."
"Wouldn't surprise me. Anyway, why did you come if you don't want to talk about the site?" I ask, fool that I am.
Nora swallows a mouthful of G&T and raises her eyebrows at me.
"OK, how was your day at work? Any more embarrassing emails?" I say quickly.
"No thank goodness. I managed to go a whole day without e
mbarrassing myself - apart from a little incident with a cup of coffee which wasn't my fault. If people will leave them lying around on their desks...."
"What are you writing about at the moment?"
"Erm, I've been interviewing Lara Trewin, you know, that actress. She's set up a homeopathic hospital for animals at her farm in Sussex. Went down there that's why I'm a bit late."
"Oh, interesting."
"No. Ludicrous. I so ripped the piss out of her," says Nora taking a large gulp of G&T. "Mmm. I needed that."
We talk a bit more her writing and 2cool and I pepper the conversation with references to Lauren and our flat and how long we've been going out together and the surprise trip to Venice I'm organising for her birthday.
"Venice," says Nora, shaking her empty glass at Jim. "Ah, La Serenissima."
"Yes" I say, irritated that she can make even my wonderful, inspired romantic gesture sound vaguely ridiculous. Perhaps she's just jealous. Yeah, that's it.
"It's stunning actually. God, I'm picking that English habit of saying 'actually' every five seconds. No, it is beautiful. Don't go in the summer, though, go in the Winter when it's deserted and grey and foggy. It's sort of sinister."
"I'm not sure we want a sinister holiday."
"No, no, you're missing the point - that's the real Venice. Mysterious, decaying, inscrutable, corrupt. Hey, you should meet my friend Peta, she studied art history there. Says the place is impossible to know unless you've been there for at least a year - all the best restaurants are hidden behind closed doors, tourists never notice them."
"I'm sure we'll find them," I tell her through thin lips.
"Sorry, didn't want to put a downer on it. You'll have a great time, I bet," says touching my knee. "Hey, I'll get Peta to email you some places to go, some of those hidden restaurants. Harry's bar. You must go there. Just have a drink -"
"A bellini."
"That's the one. Don't eat there, though - it's a rip off but for a drink it's great with the waiters in their white jackets and the dark panelled walls. It was one of Hemmingway's favourites, wasn't it? Oh, you'll have a great time, I wish I was going."
Why not? I can imagine what effect that would have on Lauren.
"So why did you leave the States and come here," I ask her.
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