"I thought it might be fun. Change of scene. Get away from a country where the 16 inch chilli dog is considered haute cuisine and where only five per cent of the population hold a passport which is, coincidentally, the same number that believe they've been abducted by aliens at some point in their lives." It sounds like a frequently repeated rant. I wonder how often she makes this kind of comment. I smile. "But mainly because my then boyfriend came over here. And promptly dumped me."
"Oh, I'm sorry."
"Don't be!" she says a little too emphatically. "I'm so much better off without him. He was a tosser, as you'd say, started working for a glossy men's magazine here and decided he need a glossy men's girlfriend to go with it."
"You're pretty glossy, though" I laugh. I'm not sure what I mean by that.
"Thanks," she smiles.
By the time we leave it is much later than I had realised and it is pouring with rain.
"How are you getting home?" I ask her.
"Taxi I suppose," she says looking in vain around the deserted rainy streets for one.
"Sure, let's find you a cab then. Where do you live?"
"Notting Hill."
"Very nice."
"Oh, I only moved there because of the film. Looked like a nice place - all those gorgeous movie stars and bumbling, charming, floppy haired Englishmen wandering around spilling things on them every five minutes. Where do you live?"
"Chiswick."
"Oh, I know it, a friend of mine who works at the BBC lives there. It's just a bit further out West than me isn't it? We may as well share a cab."
Yes, we may as well. How convenient.
We eventually find a cabby. In fact Nora finds him by throwing herself in the road in front of him. She lives in a flat in Oxford Gardens off Ladbroke Grove.
"I'll just see the lady in," I shout to the cab driver.
"Oh, how charming, how Hugh Grant. It must be the effect of Notting Hill," says Nora, opening the door. "You don't have to."
"Better to be on the safe side," I tell her manfully.
We walk up the garden path past the overflowing bins, lager cans and Sainsbury’s bags. Nora opens her bag while telling me about a diet she's doing a piece on which consists of only eating fruit in the morning and corn on the cob in the evening. She is still ferreting around in her shiny pink retro kitch vinyl handbag after some time and I look around just to reassure the cab driver and check that he doesn't give up the ghost and leave without me.
"We've got three women who have been on it for a month and we're checking their progress, one fell off the wagon last week and had a Mars bar but that makes it more interesting in a way. She felt terrible about it though -"
"Um, Nora, have you got your key?"
"Somewhere. Men are so lucky not being afflicted with these things, handbags I mean - I can never find anything in here."
I was quite enjoying watching Nora feel shy, self-conscious about me being on her doorstep. For once this bright, aggressive girl is out of her depth, not in control. Now, though, her nervous gabbling is making me nervous too. What's she worried about? I'm not coming in for coffee, this isn't a date, after all.
"Here it is," she says, holding up a couple of keys on a ring. "Phew! That's a relief. Well, night then."
"Night Nora. See you soon," I tell the back of her head as she opens the front door and disappears inside.
In the taxi back I try and decide which is worse - smart, sneering Nora or shy, nervous Nora. Both are pretty hard to deal with.
The next day we have a meeting with our new PR company.
"What happened to Simon and the Communications Game?" I ask Guy.
"They were appropriate for the launch, for the financing and corporate positioning things but now we need a luxury goods specialist," he says. "Someone who really knows how luxury goods work.
Two blonde girls called Lucinda and Annabella from a company called Glambusters arrive dead on eleven carrying Louis Vuitton brief cases and we gather around Guy's desk.
"Before we start, can I just say how thrilled we are to be working on this project," says one of them while the other agrees. "It's a dream account for us."
"Well, we're very glad you've agreed to help us," says Guy.
"And we're very glad to be helping you." says the other blonde girl, nodding vigorously.
"And I'm very glad that you're very glad about us being glad that you've agreed to work with us," I add. It's supposed to be a joke (obviously) but the others just smile and nod in agreement at me. I realise that Guy just doesn't do jokes; life is too serious for him.
We plan some more parties anddevelop a press release distribution list. I have an idea for a competition which the others really like.
"We thought you might do some surveys too," says Annabella (or is it Lucinda?)
"Yes", says her colleague. "They're always good for easy publicity we thought of one showing that 30 per cent of men these days spend more on clothes than their wives or girlfriends."
"That's a great idea," says Guy.
"It could also show that 50 per cent of those wives and girlfriends actually resent it - you know get a bit of a battle of the sexes going."
"Great," says Guy.
"Sorry, did you say, you've done this survey," I ask.
"No," says Annabella. "We'd do it and then publish the results."
"But how do you know the results before you've done the survey?" I ask.
Annabella looks at Guy for a moment.
"Well obviously you don't do these kinds of surveys unless you know roughly what the results are going to be."
"Don't you?"
"Yes, you want to find something fun and controversial and newsworthy, there's no point in doing an investigation that finds that most women like shopping and most men don't, for instance - everyone knows that."
"We'll still ask our site visitors to take part in the survey - we'll put it in the Whatscool page, I think, but we'll make sure that when we've finished it, in, say in a week's time, that we've got the right result."
"Oh, sure, of course," I agree.
"We'll do a Sunday for Monday release on it," says Annabella. She turns to the slowest ship in the convoy. "I mean we'll send it out on Sunday for the publication Monday papers because Monday is a very quiet news day and they're always desperate for something," she explains to me.
"Great," I tell her.
Chapter Fourteen
I'm cooking dinner because apparently it's my turn. Lauren is talking to guess who? on the phone. She is laughing and saying something about "No, I don't believe you. Get away! No!" As a result I'm chopping the peppers a little more aggressively than is strictly necessary and after a few minutes the inevitable happens. It's not a serious cut but it does start to bleed profusely and it makes me feel a little bit sick - especially when I hear Lauren again. "Peter! You're outrageous! What did she say? Mmm? She's got a point." Lauren giggles seductively. "Well, she has."
I wander out into the hallway and present my bleeding finger to Lauren.
"Plasters?" I mouth.
She winces at the sight of my injury.
"Listen, can you hang on a minute Peter, Charlie's cut himself. No, not seriously. It's nothing. I'll be right back. What did you do?" she says putting down the phone.
"I was just cutting these peppers. It'll be ready in a minute," I add by way of hint that she had better finish her cosy little chat with Peter.
"You know where the plasters are, Charlie." She opens a cupboard and takes out a First Aid box which I probably have seen before at some point. "What are we having?"
"My ratatouille thing with pasta." It's my special. Peter might have his chicken thing but I've got my sautéed peppers, tomatoes, onions and garlic thing.
"Great," she says putting a plaster on my finger. "I'll come and give you a hand when I've finished with PBC."
"Who?"
"Peter - Peter Beaumont-Crowther. PBC. That's what people call him."
Yeah, amongst othe
r things.
"Okay," I mutter and go back to my chopping.
True to her word Lauren comes in a few minutes later and takes over the cooking as I know she will. At the same time as she prepares the dinner she manages to make a plate of little bruschetta - some with chopped tomatoes and basil and some with creamed artichoke. I pour us both a glass of Orvietto. Has anyone, anywhere in the world been cooked for by someone as wonderful as Lauren? I ask myself as I sip my wine. And had a plaster put on by them?
"How did your drink go with that journalist?" she asks, stirring and chopping.
"Oh, fine. We didn't talk much about the site in the end....but...erm..." Oh, oh, wrong answer. I can't decide whether I'm relieved or disappointed that Lauren makes no reaction to my confession. "We might be able to give her some more stories we think. We're going to do a survey about shopping and they've already decided on the result - can you believe it? They're going to find that 30 per cent of men spend more money on clothes than their wives or girlfriends."
"That can't be right," says Lauren without looking up. "Never mind, I suppose if you're going to do these surveys you've got to find something interesting to say, something newsworthy, haven't you?"
"I'm sure Nora will be able get a piece out of it."
"Nora? Was she that slightly weird one at the launch party? The one in that bizarre Mortitia Addams dress that you were having such a laugh with?"
"Nora, yes," I say defensively.
"Was it her you were having a drink with last night then?"
"Yes. I told you."
"No, you said a journalist."
"Well, I didn't mention her name but so what?"
"This is almost ready."
The adrenaline is flowing now - I've finally made Lauren jealous.
"What's the matter? You can hardly complain after your conversation just now with Peter."
Oh, what the fuck! Let's go the whole hog.
"Charlie, what are you on about?" Lauren looks up from her cooking.
"You know - giggle, giggle!"
"Don't be ridiculous. Peter is a friend and we were just having a chat."
"Sounded like a very cosy chat to me."
"Don't be absurd. I think this whole website thing is all getting on top of you," says Lauren.
"Perhaps it is but I think this whole PBC/TV presenter thing is getting on top of you," I snap back, but it's the last word that pushes it too far: "Literally."
She looks at me for a moment.
"I'm going out," she says quietly.
I watch her go. Then I put my glass down and go out after her. She is in the bedroom putting on her coat.
"I'm sorry," I say quietly. She ignores me and opens the cupboard to find her shoes. "I said I'm sorry."
"I heard what you said." I gently close the wardrobe door. "Excuse me. I'm trying to get my shoes."
"Please don't get your shoes. Please don't go out." She avoids my eyes. "I'm sorry I said that about you and Peter." I know I'm making some progress now so I press on.
She looks up. "I don't know why you've got such a thing about him. I've got to do this for my career. I told you."
"Yeah, you said."
"Why are you so jealous of him all the time?"
"Because...because he sees more of you than I do these days."
She runs her hand through my hair.
"Oh, Charlie."
"I don't want to lose you."
"You're not going to lose me." She plays with my hair some more and begins to massages my ear gently. "But don't expect me to give up this part of my life. It's very important. Don't make me choose between you and my career, it's not fair."
"I know."
She takes off her coat again along with the rest of her clothes and, deciding that dinner can wait, we end up having great 'make up' sex. I watch us just momentarily in the mirror and think again how lucky I am.
Scarlett offers me a shot of some dark brown liquid when she gets into the office the next day.
"What's this?" I say, eyeing it with disdain.
"It's called maruca. It's made of peat extract or something."
"What does it do?"
"Gives you energy, detoxes and, erm, what else did they say? Oh, yes boosts your melatonin levels. Makes you feel good."
I shrug my shoulders and knock it back. It's sort of earthy initially but then the aftertaste kicks in - like farts mixed with rotting rubbish.
"Aaargh!" I gasp, looking round for something to rescue my taste buds with.
"Hey, that's my Dr Pepper" says Zac.
I let the sweet, fizzy liquid drink rinse away the taste of shit and rotting vegetables and then hand the can back to him. Once I've got over the experience I look up at Scarlett.
"Oh my God. How can you drink that stuff?" I mutter, still swallowing hard.
"I don't. I've never tasted it before; I thought I'd try it out on you first."
"Oh, ta, Scarlett."
She smiles sweetly and answers the phone.
"2coolt2btrue, can I help you? Guy? No, he's not in yet, I'm afraid. No, he's not either. Can I take a message. Okay, all right babe, I'll get one of them to call you. Bye"
"Where are they? It's gone ten," I ask when she's put the phone down.
"I dunno, but I'll get them to report to your study when they get in, shall I?" she says.
"All right, I'm just saying".
"What's this thing down here at the bottom of the screen?" I ask Zac a bit later. With lightening speed in response to my question he mumbles:
"What you talking about?"
"This thing, this little icon at the bottom right hand on the home page? 'Digitally Enhanced Hyper Resolution Graphics System'. What the hell does that mean?"
"It means shag all as you Brits would put it."
"Nothing? You mean it doesn't do anything? Why have you put it in there then?"
"Cos, it looks cool man. People think it’s a new bit of kit, something that no one else has."
"What? You just made it up?"
"Yup."
"I still think it should be Enhanced Hyper Resolution Digital Graphics System," says Scarlett. "Rolls off the tongue better."
"Well, you're wrong little lady" says Zac, not bothering to look up at her. "I'll do the hi-tech stuff and you stick to rolling things off your tongue."
Scarlett gives him a sarcastic smile.
"Oh, Zac, I'm sure you'll be a much nicer, more relaxed person when you finally lose your virginity."
Fortunately the phone rings and I get it. It's someone asking for Guy or Piers again. They're quite insistent but all I can do is to take a message.
"Where are they? I'm going to ring their mobiles," I tell the others.
"Give them a piece of your mind," says Zac.
Just at that moment the door swings open and Piers sweeps in.
"Sorry I'm late everybody - bit of a night of it last night."
"No problem," I say. "Quite a few people have been calling for you that's all."
"I bet they have. Well, we've done it!" he announces looking around at us excitedly.
"What? You and Guy last night?" asks Scarlett raising an eyebrow.
"No. What?" says Piers. "No, we've done it - all of you! 2cool! We've reached our two months' target of half a million hits in just three weeks."
"Excellent," I tell him. "That's brilliant."
"Cool," says Scarlett. "Too cool in fact."
Zac says nothing but since he wouldn't have had anything pleasant or encouraging to say this is probably a good thing.
"That's fantastic," I say again.
"Isn't it? Well done team." The team looks slightly embarrassed at his hearty praise. "Excellent. Yes, well done. Now I could do with something to bring me back to life after last night."
"Yeah, you look terrible" says Scarlett, obviously not just being rude on this occasion. "Have you slept at all?"
"No, to be honest I haven't much," says Piers with a slightly false, hearty laugh. "I'll go to that
place you're always off to along the road, what's it called?"
"Wild World," I tell him.
"That's right, I'll get a juice or something."
"No," says Scarlett, "get yourself a Maruca - it'll do you a world of good."
"Hey, guess what? We've beaten our target at work," I tell Lauren that evening as we snuggle up on the settee after supper. "We were supposed to take two months to get half a million hits but we've done it in just three weeks."
"That's brilliant babe," she says, turning her face around in my lap to kiss me.
"It is pretty good, isn't it? All down to the marketing of course."
"Of course. You should make sure you keep all the press cuttings and file them."
"That's a good idea. I think Scarlett or the PRs do it."
"No, I mean for your own file so that you've got something to show future employers."
"That's a very good idea. You're so sensible. Hey, let's go out and celebrate tomorrow night, I'll book a table somewhere." Lauren doesn't say anything. "What about that new place down by the river?"
"I'm actually seeing Peter tomorrow night."
"Oh, okay," I say in a small voice.
"Charlie, I'm sorry. He's been in New York for the last few days and we've got a lot to catch up on."
"Sure."
"You know this thing means a lot to me, don't you?" She sits up and looks at me. "I'm bored with modelling - you've made a successful career move. It's not really fair, is it, to try and stop me?"
"No, 'course not babe."
"Friday night, I promise. We'll do something really cool."
Chapter Fifteen
By midday the next day neither Piers nor Guy are in and I seem to be the only one vaguely bothered about it. Neither mobiles are answering this time either so I decide we'd better find them.
"Scarlett. Scarlett." I try waving at her.
"Hang on bud, I'll send her an email," says Zac, being helpful for once.
"Don't worry," I tell him, getting up.
I tap her on the shoulder and she jumps.
"What, for goodness sake?" she says taking off her headphones and switching off her Discman.
"It was just thinking it's odd that we haven't seen Piers yet this morning and we haven't seen Guy for nearly two days."
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