by Celia Hayes
Chapter 26
What I Really Want
You know all those clichés about the morning after? The ones where you open your eyes and find yourself in a hotel room, tangled up in the sheets with a note on the bedside table saying ‘I’ll call you’ and the knowledge that they never will?
Well it’s something like that, except for two small details: the first is that there’s no note for me, and the second is that Dave knows my number by heart despite himself.
“Can you quit eating cookies?” says Terry, trying to pull the box out of my hands, but I’m intent on protecting my treasure at the cost of my life. “Okay then, well at least give me one!” she says in the end, squeezing a hand between my arms to steal a couple. Pleased with her booty, she makes herself comfortable in the chair and starts to munch on them, ignoring me completely.
“Will you cut it out?” I beg her.
“No.”
“Terry, cut it out!”
“Or what?”
“Jeez…” I blow a lock of hair out of my eyes. “Haven’t you got anything you should be doing?”
“I’m on my lunch break.”
“At eleven o’clock?”
“I’m spreading out my meals to try and reboot my metabolism.” She smiles.
“And is there any chance of us spreading out the time we have to spend together on a daily basis?”
“Come on…” she says, raising an eyebrow in an attempt to convince me to talk.
I look up at the ceiling.
“Come oooooooon!” she says, stamping on my foot.
“I’ve already told you,” I say. “Nothing happened.”
“You’re not telling me the whole story.”
“What the heck do you want? A signed statement from my gynaecologist? Nothing happened!”
“Nine thirty.” She pulls a sheet of paper from her bag as she pops that last piece of cookie in her mouth. “Missed call. Ten twenty-two: reception reported that they saw you both going to the room. Nine in the morning: another missed call. Nine fifteen: Reception confirms that you left the room at different times. Nine eighteen: Your mother calls me almost in tears. She can’t get hold of you and asks me if you are still alive. Nine and forty-two: Dave arrives at work looking very pissed and locks himself in his office without talking to anyone.”
“Terry, have you lost your mind? You called reception?”
“Nine forty-three: Jane tells Nicholas from the second floor that she has to cancel all of Dave’s appointments.”
“What’s that got to do with me?”
Terry looks up from the sheet of paper to give me a threatening look, then goes back to reading out her notes. “Ten twenty: the subject arrives in the office with the expression of someone who has spent the whole night shouting ‘Yes, again, again, again…’”
“Can you stop yelling?” I say, grabbing the sheet of paper from her hands, balling it up and throwing it away.
“So?”
“Do you think this is a normal way to behave?” I say angrily. “You’re… you’re…”
“A goddamn good investigative reporter,” she finishes for me. “So what was it like? What’s he like? Come on, tell me!” she says, that idiot smirk still on her face.
“I…” I shake my head.
“Is he… big?”
“Jesus, Terry, cut it out!” I say, going bright red.
“Yes, he is,” she laughs, clapping her hands. “He’s big!”
“Oh my god,” I say, collapsing into my chair miserably. “How did I end up with an idiot like you for a friend?”
“So, what now? What have you decided? Are you an item?” she asks. “I can’t believe it, you beat out Madeleine Hunt, how the hell did you manage that? What did they give you to drink? I can see it now – ‘Dramatic New Revelations: Aphrodisiac Punch at the Globe Park Hotel’,” she laughs. “Tom would love it.”
“Like I love your third-rate stand-up routine,” I mutter, unable to rein in my sarcasm.
“You’re avoiding the issue.”
“You want the truth?”
“Yeah.”
“The real, dirty truth?”
“Hit me, I’m ready.”
“Are you absolutely sure?”
“I am absolutely sure – come on.”
“He left.”
“Meaning?”
“He disappeared. Vanished,” I explain.
“When?”
“This morning. I woke up and there was nobody there. Not even a note.”
“Nothing?” she says, looking shocked.
“Nothing at all.”
“He just ran out on you?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“And did he have any reason to?”
“No… I don’t think so. Not unless he decided he should never have been there in the first place, no.”
“Are you sure you… you didn’t say anything frightening. Like ‘I love you’, or ‘I secretly take photos of you while you’re eating’?”
“You know that I don’t do that any more!”
“Ah, okay, that makes everything totally normal, then…” she says sceptically.
“I’m telling you that I have! Listen, nothing happened, we didn’t say anything to each other. I fell asleep in his arms, and when I woke up he wasn’t there. That’s it.”
“And he hasn’t called you?”
“No.”
“Not even a message?”
“No, I keep telling you.”
“Hmmm…”
“But, you know, maybe it’s better this way. Maybe he had an urgent appointment and I’m just being paranoid. We work together, he can’t really think he’ll be able to ignore me and just pretend it never happened, without any repercussions. If he wanted to dump me he would have called me to tell me that he needed to talk to me. That’s how it usually works, right?” How should I know, I don’t have a lot of experience in all this.
“Generally, yes,” she confirms. “Apart from rare exceptions.”
“Wait a minute,” I cut her off – the phone is ringing. I pick up the handset. “Sam Preston,” I answer mechanically. “Ah … Dave,” I greet him, frozen in my chair.
“Who is it?” hisses Terry. “Is it him?”
I nod. Terry jumps out of her chair and comes over, pressing her ear up against the phone to try and hear. “Yup. Yup. Yes,” I say. “Yes, of course… yes. No. No, no. Okay. Yup. All right.” And I hang up.
“So? What did he say? Come on, what?” I don’t respond, just stare into space with an anxious expression on my face. “Damn it, Sam, what did he say?”
Finally I turn round and whisper, “He said we should talk.”
“Shit…”
*
I eventually enter his office after finding a thousand excuses for putting off our meeting and I find him standing next to the desk flicking through a folder with a frown on his face.
“May I?” I say, walking in. Dave raises the handset of his phone without acknowledging me, dials a number and yells, “Albert, what the hell did you write on page five? Since when has Tom Hiddelston been in the play offs? What? Of course I’m sure! Fix it right now and stop watching TV while you’re working.”
“I see you’re busy,” I say, seeing an opportunity to escape. “I’ll come back later.”
“Come back here,” he says, so I remain in the doorway.
“Err… Okay. “ I return with a guilty expression.
“Close the door,” he orders, and I, as usual, do as he says while I prepare myself to be bawled out. What can I have done? I have no idea. He seemed to like it at the time, especially that thing with his belly button… “How did the interview with Adam Graham go?” he asks casually, crossing his arms.
“Who?”
“Adam Graham, Sam. The founder of Curvy and the Beautiful Curvy line of lingerie. You wrote us an article about him, you remember?” he reminds me, sounding annoyed.
“Ah, yeah, sure… Beautiful Curvy.” I slap my forehead
. “The fact is, I never actually managed to meet him, but you said that a few lines would be enough.”
“I said that?”
“Yes, you said that… that all you needed was a few lines with the most important stuff.”
“The most…”
“That’s what I did, right? A kind of summary of the event, the people involved, a brief presentation of the project.”
Dave listens to me carefully with all that cool aloofness of his, but when I finish he throws the papers he’s holding down on the desk, snatches up one of the magazines lying next to the keyboard and walks over to me with a murderous expression on his face. “And you thought it would be a good idea to omit one or two totally irrelevant details like this, right?” he asks, holding up the magazine. I’m on the cover. Or, more precisely, I’m in a swimming costume on the cover. Strawberries on a white background pattern for the costume and a red kerchief on my head. It’s a vintage fifties pin-up look.
“Are you… Are you talking about that?”
“Yeah, that’s right,” he replies, the corner of his mouth twisting up in a bitter smile.
Al told me that the photos were for the company catalogue. Al swore it… Al…
Al was an excellent event organiser, always cheerful and loved by all, and a reference point for all of the staff. He died in suspicious circumstances which remain mysterious. His closest friends have expressed their deep sorrow.
“I can explain!”
“Goddamn it, Sam, when were you planning to tell me you’d signed up for that stupid contest?” shouts Dave, his eyes almost popping out of his head.
Al, I hope to God that your passport is still valid. “Dave…”
“What the hell were you thinking? Really, I want to know!”
“I…”
“How? How did he even get close to you? How? Explain, for God’s sake!”
“How can I if you won’t let me speak?”
“You…” he says, pointing at my nose.
“Yes.”
“You go to them right now…”
“Yes.”
“Go to them and tell them to take you off that goddamn list!”
“Huh? But… but why?” I protest.
“Because you’re a goddamn journalist, Sam. You’re a professional. You’re a serious person, and this…” he says, waving the magazine, “this isn’t serious, Sam. This is trash!”
“But… it’s not like that – it might just be a beauty contest but it’s important, believe me. It helps a lot of us, it helps us to feel better about ourselves. It’s helping me…”
“Better? It makes who feel better? What are you talking about? Does it make someone feel better to know that half a million people this morning saw your ass in a swimming costume that…” He looks at the picture for a moment, gripping the magazine angrily in his hands. “I mean, look at it, for God’s sake!” he barks, hitting the cover with one hand. “And believe me, it certainly doesn’t make me feel better.”
I feel like I’m drowning. Is this why he ran away this morning? To find out if it was true? If it was really me? They must have called him from the office while I slept and he didn’t bother to ask me in person for an explanation. I don’t know if I should feel relieved or burst out crying. Now I know that what happened between us last night has nothing to do with it, but I can’t figure out if there is still a small chance for the two of us after that photo. The only thing I’m sure about is that this is the last time I’m having my picture taken in a bathing costume. The last time I’m having my picture taken period, in fact. I will die without leaving any images of myself behind.
“Just try and imagine the comments if someone finds out. Do you want half the office laughing at you behind your back?”
“Dave, I’ll fix it,” I stammer. “Just give me an hour. I’ll try and talk to the organisers.”
“Sam, I want you out of that competition by lunchtime.”
“Yeah, sure,” I say, nodding. “I really don’t know how…”
“Hurry up,” he says, and then goes back to reading his documents. His tone is still brisk, but his expression gradually relaxes. It was just an impulsive moment, and now you have to go back to real life. Did you hear that, Sam? You’re a reporter. A professional. Somewhat disorientated, I go back to the door, open it and begin to prepare myself psychologically for calling Al and for everything he will say when he finds out that I’m throwing in the towel.
“Sam,” calls Dave, without looking up from his notes. “I wanted to do it another time, but since you’re here…”
I remain with my fingers on the door handle, back to him, awaiting the sentence.
“Listen, about what happened yesterday…”
“What?”
“I don’t… I don’t want you to get any weird ideas.”
“I don’t know. Have I got weird ideas?” I say, turning round and looking at him with a frown.
“You know, right?”
“No, I don’t,” I say, leaving him silent for a few seconds.
“Okay, I mean, it…”
“No? Yes? Dave, what are you trying to tell me?”
“Sam, you know me. You know what I’m like. It was nice. But it was just a one-off. I mean, we can see each other sometimes, hang out together. In fact, I’d really like that. But I don’t want to give you the wrong idea. We can only be friends.”
“Friends?”
“Yes, because we work together. It would be a disaster if we tried to…”
“If we what?”
“If we tried to make it something it’s not.”
“Dave, how can we make it into something it’s not?”
“Exactly,” he says with a smile. “I knew you’d understand. Listen, why don’t we see each other tonight? Come by my house, we can finish writing the article about Fashion Week. A bottle of wine, nothing fancy. I’ll take you home afterwards.”
I burst out laughing, but it’s not a real laugh, it’s more of a bitter realisation. The realisation of having done the stupidest thing in my whole life.
“I’m an idiot.”
“Sam…” he sighs. “Sam, come on, don’t do this now.”
“I’m such an idiot!”
“Sam…”
“Do you want to know something, Dave?” I ask him, closing the door to prevent anyone from overhearing. “I’ve spent the last three years thinking of you as if you were the centre of the universe. I’m not kidding, don’t look at me like that.” I’ve never been so serious. “For me, you were a god, Dave,” I confess without embarrassment. “But gods are made to stay up there in the clouds in all their perfection. And you should never touch them, Dave. You should only worship them.”
“What are you talking about?”
“They’re ideals for dreaming about – you close your eyes and you dream. But then you re-open them and they’re no good. Dave, I’ve had enough of you, because I don’t want to sit in my corner watching you shine any more. I don’t want to live in your shadow. I’ve spent three years wondering what I needed to do to be the way you want me to be, but when I asked myself what I wanted, you know what the answer was?”
He doesn’t move, just listens to me in silence, unable to predict where my outburst will end.
“The answer is I never did ask myself, Dave. Never. I was too busy thinking about you to ever think about me. But I’m here, though, I’m right here and I have needs just like other people. I want to be with a real person. Someone who will walk around the park hand in hand with me, who will eat hot dogs and ketchup with me at a Taylor Swift concert, someone who will watch a tearjerker with me while we fight because they had to miss the game. That’s right, Dave, I want to fight! I want to get angry with him because he always leaves his socks lying around. I want to slam the door in his face because he forgot my birthday and I want to find him outside my house with a bunch of flowers apologising to me. And that’s just a tiny part of the things I want.”
“It can’t happen, Sam. I’m just
not like that.”
“No, you’re not, but I only really realised that now. And I also realised that it wasn’t me who was wrong. It’s you who isn’t enough of a person.”
My words leave him frozen, but I don’t care. I just don’t care any more. I grab hold of the door handle again and open the door. “Oh, and I’m sorry if I can’t do as you ask, but the show is about to start and I don’t want to disappoint the people who actually believe in me. Maybe my future isn’t here, maybe I got it all wrong. I’m sorry, but I’m not going to call Curvy.”
“Are you saying you’re okay with being a laughing stock for the whole office just for a whim?”
“I’m telling you that I quit,” I correct him.
“Don’t be stupid.”
“I’ll be as stupid as I like,” I say, walking out of his office and into the corridor. “Bye, Dave,” I say, for the last time.
“Sam…”
Chapter 27
Just For One Day, Just With You
“Sam, are you there? Sam, come on, answer me!”
“What do you want?”
“Praise the Lord,” murmurs Terry in relief. I can hear her breathing at the other end of the line. “Sam, I was getting scared. I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for days. I even called you at home, but nobody answered. Tom wants to talk to you. He gave me the third degree and I didn’t know what to tell him. What did you do? Did you quit?”
“Yes,” I say with a sob.
“But why? Not because of that business with Dave?”
“What do you think?”
“Oh, come on… Why?” And when I don’t answer, she starts again, but more calmly this time. “Sam, listen to me, we can sort everything out. Tomorrow we’ll go to Tom, and you’ll see that if you explain…”
“No!”
“Sam, don’t be a baby!”
“I’m not being a baby… I’m just tired,” I say, and I slump against a lamp post while the world starts to spin strangely around me. “And I’m drunk,” I admit, in a slurred voice. “But I am not a baby!”