by Anita Notaro
‘I can do it.’ Lindsay smiled. Alan Morland nodded gratefully. ‘I just need help with the audience and then I’m free to mind them.’
‘Thanks.’ Alice looked relieved.
They all adjourned for a quick tea and it was back for the dress rehearsal. Things really started to hot up.
Tom Watts wanted everything and he wanted it now. He clearly wasn’t in good form and the researchers bore the brunt of it. Nothing seemed to be going right. Tempers were becoming frayed. Tom barked at every one of the production team he encountered, who in turn barked at everyone else they came across.
Lindsay hovered, taking it all in, helping out where necessary, learning what the hiccups were.
At eight the audience arrived and they were treated very well from the moment they stepped into TV reception. For most people it was a once-in-a-lifetime experience and they were very excited.
Each week, one of the researchers did the introduction, outlining the format of the programme and asking for the audience’s help, explaining that they were the vital ingredient in the show and it was really important that they were lively and interested and up for anything. Members of the team who were available mingled and tried to answer any questions. Monica and Lindsay had their plan and they roamed around looking for young faces. Once they spotted someone they approached them and asked if they were willing to help. They always were. The two girls then brought them into studio and sat them in prominent positions. As a reward they were invited for a drink with the crew after the show, which was the icing on the cake as far as they were concerned: a chance to really mingle with the rich and famous. Lindsay noticed that time, as usual, was against them so she looked to Kate for help.
‘Kate, would you have time to help us with the audience?’
‘Not really, Tom wants me to sort out his cards.’ Kate was cool. No, she was icy.
‘OK, well as soon as you can, I need help and as you’re the only researcher who doesn’t have a guest tonight, I’d be really grateful.’ It was the wrong thing to say.
‘I said I was busy, Tom comes first.’ Kate swanned off.
Lindsay was furious but kept her temper, not wanting to make an enemy of anyone at this stage. She followed her.
‘All right, that’s fair enough, but if you have any time at all between now and the beginning of the show, I could really use a hand. OK?’ Lindsay stared at her then returned to the task in hand, knowing she wouldn’t get any help from Kate.
It seemed they got the audience in with seconds to spare. Suddenly the atmosphere changed. Tom Watts appeared to tremendous applause, his earlier mood forgotten. He did a quick warm-up, explaining what would happen, hinting at special guests and generally working the audience into a frenzy.
Within minutes, the sound of the opening animation filled the studio; the floor manager announced ‘We’re on air’ and suddenly all the tension evaporated. Everyone was too preoccupied with keeping it all running smoothly. ‘Live’ meant that any mistake was seen by the viewers and everyone was determined to do their utmost to ensure it was perfect. It felt wonderful to be part of it all and Lindsay’s heart raced and didn’t slow down until the credits rolled at the end of the show.
The boy band performed to a rapturous welcome. The Page Three model was booed at every opportunity. It made for great television. Tom Watts, however, clearly didn’t think the interview was worth doing and Lindsay wasn’t sure about his approach. He constantly made references to cosmetic surgery and the model became more determined not to talk about it and clammed up entirely in the process. It was fascinating to watch. Towards the end of the interview Tom invited questions from the audience, which hadn’t been agreed with anyone in advance. Alice panicked. ‘I wish he’d told me he wanted questions, I could have put in a few people with strong views on both sides.’
A good-looking twenty-something guy, wearing an earring and grinning, asked the obvious question, which clearly was what Tom Watts had intended.
‘I’d like to ask you, like . . . have you had a job done and if so, what size are you now?’ The audience burst out laughing.
‘I do not wish to discuss that, it’s personal and I refuse to comment.’ She was clearly furious.
‘Well, whether you have or haven’t, I think you’ve got great knockers.’
Alan Morland, standing beside Lindsay, nearly had a heart attack, knowing they’d come under fire for that remark. He signalled to Tom Watts to move on. Tom ignored him.
‘How many people in the audience would have cosmetic surgery, if money were no object?’ Only a handful were prepared to admit to it.
‘The lady in red in the second row with her hand up, what would you like to have done?’
‘I’m a size 36 double D so I’d have my boobs reduced. I’m fed up with men making suggestive comments every time I pass by.’
‘Is this a problem you have?’ Tom asked his guest.
‘No.’
‘But surely, you must have comments made about your appearance all the time?’
‘Nothing I can’t cope with.’
On and on it went until Tom was forced to end the interview and go to a commercial break. His guest didn’t even wait for the applause, she stormed off and Lindsay knew there would be a row. She saw Alan go to talk to Tom, who looked very pleased with himself. She knew it would be strictly business until the show was over. Repercussions would come later. It seemed like only ten minutes before Tom said good night and the credits rolled. It was eleven o’clock and everyone breathed a sigh of relief. It had gone relatively smoothly, except for the Page Three model who’d had a screaming match with poor Alice before storming off.
The guests and crew adjourned to the hospitality room for a drink. Lindsay spent another half-hour making sure all her audience members who had been promised a drink were looked after. Suddenly she realized she was absolutely whacked.
‘It’s the same every week.’ Geoff saw her yawn. ‘You’re on a high and then suddenly you’re knackered. Then, when you get home, the adrenalin is still pumping and you can’t sleep. Have a drink and relax.’ Lindsay knew he was probably right so she headed for the bar.
‘You look like you need a large glass of wine. Red or white?’ Julie, one of their hostesses, grinned at her.
‘White would be great. Is it always so busy after the show?’
‘It’s actually very quiet tonight, almost too civilized.’ Julie smiled as she handed her a large glass of chilled white wine, which was surprisingly drinkable, Lindsay thought. She had been told to avoid the wine at all costs. ‘It’s usually plonk and it’s always warm,’ were Geoff’s parting words, but in fact tonight it was neither. Anyway, she couldn’t have cared less. This was fun.
Alan spotted her and came to chat. ‘You were a great help, took a lot of pressure off me and thanks for all you did with the audience, it really made a difference.’
‘No problem.’
‘Here comes Tom, I need to talk to him before we all have a few drinks. I’ll catch you later.’
Lindsay was content to sit and watch and relax. It had been an exciting day. It was her first real programme and even though she hadn’t been given a credit at the end of the show, she felt part of it and was happy.
Chapter Twenty
LINDSAY LEFT THE studios at twelve forty-five, having polished off a second glass of wine. She stopped at her local service station and bought all the papers she could find. She loved getting the Sundays on Saturday night on her way home, it always made her feel she had a head start on the coming day. Charlie was very pleased to see her and lay beside her in the bathroom as she removed her make-up, something he didn’t normally do. He even accompanied her to the loo, sniffing at her bottom as she sat down, making her laugh so much that she couldn’t go. She put on her childish, fleecy PJs and curled up on the sofa, not in the least bit sleepy, exactly as Geoff had promised. She skimmed all the papers and drank a mug of hot milk to help her on her way. She was laughing to herself at a funny artic
le when she remembered that last week she would have read it aloud to Chris.
What a strange few weeks it’s been, she thought and suddenly remembered Tara’s date.
She dialled quickly, glancing at the clock. It was one-thirty.
‘Hello,’ a sleepy voice answered.
‘It’s me, can you talk?’
‘Hi, Lindsay.’
‘I’m just in, are you in bed?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Are you alone?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Are you asleep?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Right, just tell me did it go OK?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Good, call me first thing, hon. Nite nite.’
Typical girlie conversation.
After half an hour Lindsay gave in and went to bed herself and was soon dreaming of more television disasters, in which she played a starring role.
She woke to the phone ringing. It was eleven-thirty. She struggled to answer it, knowing it had to be Tara.
‘I want to hear everything, but wait till I put some clothes on,’ she laughed as she answered.
‘If you insist, but as I can’t see you what difference does it make?’
‘Hello?’
‘Hi, it’s Chris.’ Cue stomach flutters.
‘Oh, hi, I was sure it would be Tara. I phoned her at one-thirty last night and I thought she might be getting her own back.’ She spoke fast because she felt nervous and didn’t know why.
‘Want to call me back later?’
‘No, hang on . . . now, that’s better, I’m back in bed so I’m not freezing my ass off. Thanks for your text, I was going to text you back this morning.’
‘That’s OK. I really did enjoy Friday night. It was very relaxing.’
‘I thought maybe you’d been bored to death. Not a very exciting night, when you think about it.’
‘Well, it would be hard to top the Friday before for excitement, but no, it was exactly what I needed. I never seem to get time these days to just sit and relax, with no pressure. So, thanks.’
‘My pleasure.’
‘How did last night go?’
Lindsay made him laugh telling him of the drama behind the scenes.
‘Did you see our Page Three girl?’
‘No, I was out but I taped it and I’ll run it while I read the papers later.’
Another date? She wondered but didn’t ask.
‘What are you up to today?’
‘Nothing, except a walk with Charlie and a drink with the girls later. I intend to have a long bath and be lazy. How about you?’
‘My mum’s in town so I’m taking her to lunch in Café Caprice. Then a friend’s having a dinner party later and I’ll probably go there for a few hours. Apart from that, not much, might go to the gym and I have to swing by the office later.’
‘Wow, sounds like a lot to me, I’m tired just listening to you,’ Lindsay grinned. ‘I think I’ll have a cup of tea and go back for a snooze.’ She realized it was the first time they’d talked on the phone. It made him seem more real somehow and she felt close to him. She still had this mental image of a ‘celebrity’ and was always surprised to find that he was quite ordinary really. He was also a nice person; you sort of knew he cared about people. He didn’t seem to be self obsessed, like most good-looking men. Hell, like most men, in fact.
‘Lazy thing. Listen, about Wednesday, could we put off the cooking till another night? I have to go to London again tomorrow and I might not get back until Wednesday evening.’
‘Yeah, sure. Want to give me a call during the week?’ Lindsay was proud of herself for keeping it cool.
Well, we could go to the movies on Wednesday evening anyway and then I could cook another night. How does that sound?’
‘Great.’
They arranged to meet in town at seven on Wednesday as he was coming straight from the airport. Lindsay hung up and snuggled down under the sheets, glad he’d called.
She was suddenly awake.
The phone rang again.
‘Hello.’ She was less sure this time.
‘I can’t believe you rang me at two o’clock in the morning, I was fast asleep.’
‘It was only one-thirty. Tell me all. No, wait, let me get up and put the kettle on. I’ll ring you back in five minutes.’
‘No, because we’ll be on the phone for an hour at least, then I’ll have to do the same with Debbie and then you’ll both want to hear it all again tonight anyway. So, you’ll have to wait until later.’
‘Bitch.’
‘I know, see you half-eight in McGivneys.’
True to her word, Lindsay did absolutely nothing all day, except veg and watch TV and read and nibble. It was heaven. Charlie made several attempts to interest her in a walk, then gave up and simply sat by the back door for an hour, hoping she’d notice. She resisted all his efforts at emotional blackmail – holding the ball in his mouth, chasing around under her feet and nibbling her toes, looking longingly at the hook where his lead hung limply.
After a snack of chocolate biscuits and crisps, she adjourned to the bath where she soaked in juniper berry and ylang ylang essential oils then did her nails and applied moisturizer lavishly to her lazy body, revelling in the luxury of time off. She refused to even think about Christmas, which was almost here. Somehow it didn’t matter so much this year, because of all that had happened. She wondered what Paul would be doing and felt the old familiar longing, but for the first time thinking of him didn’t bring him close. Somehow he’d slipped out of her net and he felt far away.
At eight-thirty she met the girls in one of their locals, near enough for Lindsay to walk to, snuggled into her sexy black shearling coat, which had cost a bomb but made her feel filthy rich.
They were waiting, Debbie almost hysterical because Tara wouldn’t say a word until the three of them were together.
‘Sorry, sorry, just let me get a drink and I’m with you.’
‘You don’t need a drink – here, have half of mine.’ Debbie was desperate.
‘What are you on? I’ll only be a second. Anyone want anything?’
Lindsay was already halfway to the bar.
Three minutes later they were ensconced in the corner, deep in conversation, oblivious to everyone.
‘It went well, we had a few drinks and just talked—’
‘Whoa, girl, don’t do this to me.’ Debbie had missed the build up because she’d been flying for the past two days. ‘Start at the beginning. What were you wearing? Did he collect you? How did you feel when you saw him . . . ?’
It transpired that Tara and Michael had a lot in common and he was quite shy. ‘He asked me a lot about myself, which is almost unheard of, if the guys I’ve been out with are anything to go by. Normally they talk about themselves or sport or politics.’
‘Or sex,’ Debbie laughed. ‘Honestly, the number of guys on my flights who talk about women and getting laid . . . I swear they’re obsessed.’
‘Well, I’d say he hasn’t even thought about sex since he and his wife separated,’ Tara said naïvely and the other two howled.
‘God love your innocence. He might not have mentioned it to you but he has definitely thought about it, maybe even done more than that,’ Debbie winked. ‘How’s his eyesight?’
They fell about laughing, getting some very odd looks from the regulars.
‘Every ten seconds, that’s how often men think about sex.’
Suddenly, they were off on another tangent, the drinks flowed and the three of them revelled in the gossip and scandal and companionship. They were very impressed with Chris and his text and awarded him another ten brownie points. They had a long discussion about breasts, brought on by an argument about whether the pair at the next table were Jordans or genuine.
They finished up at eleven-thirty, having discovered that Michael had left Tara to her taxi and kissed her briefly.
‘On the cheek.’
‘What?’
‘I liked it, it was sort of sweet and I felt really comfortable with him. Safe, I suppose. But nicely safe, not boringly safe.’
‘God, how did I ever end up with you two as best friends?’ Debbie wondered. ‘One likes a kiss on the cheek on the first date and the other bonks her guys senseless.’
They kept it up as they walked back towards Lindsay’s house, from where the other two would call a taxi. They stopped for fish ‘n’ chips en route, resolving to keep them until they reached the warmth of the kitchen but unable to resist the salty, sodden potatoes as soon as they caught the smell.
They had very little left by the time they reached their destination but tucked into the remains and drank copious amounts of hot tea and kept the buzz going. It was warm and easy.
Thirty minutes later Lindsay was in bed, as tired as if she’d worked all day.
Next morning, Lindsay was glad not to have to go into the office, as the team worked from Tuesday to Saturday unless there was an emergency. She checked in by phone just in case she was needed, then gave the house a minor tidy up, did some more Christmas shopping, met Debbie for a quick lunch and called to see her Mum on the way home. Miriam Davidson was rushing around as usual, but she wanted to hear all about the new job. Lindsay chatted freely, but somehow didn’t mention Chris, even when her mother remarked on how well she was looking. This was most unusual. Her mother was normally too preoccupied with everything, well mostly herself. She didn’t notice much about her children or grandchildren, which sometimes let them off the hook and other times hurt a bit.
‘I don’t suppose you’ve heard anything from Paul?’
‘No.’
‘Pity. I always liked him.’ Lindsay somehow felt it was her fault that he’d left.
‘So did I.’
‘No need to be sarcastic, I was only asking.’
‘I wasn’t. I just feel you think it was somehow my fault that it ended.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, of course I don’t.’ Somehow the words and the tone of voice didn’t fit and today it rankled.
‘Well, it turns out he didn’t want to get married after all, at least not to me. But he had met someone else and he’s going to marry her.’ There, it was out.