Don't Tell Eve

by Airlie Lawson

  ‘Maybe don’t open with that anecdote – he decamped a few months ago.’

  ‘Lucky escape.’

  ‘I don’t think she’s feeling very lucky right now.’

  ‘Poor thing, of course I’ll say g’day.’

  ‘You are a sweetie.’

  ‘It’s what I keep telling you.’

  That’s exactly why you’re being let off the hook, thought Jess, as she watched him go.

  Just across from Kate, but with only their legs on view due to the sculptural qualities of the wall dividing the courtyard, David was talking to Phil.

  ‘You know what? I’m tired of it all, I really am – but what else can I do? It’s a good job, I love editing and I love commissioning. But you know that suicidal Sunday-afternoon feeling? The gloom that descends when you remember you’ve got another week of work ahead? I used to get it occasionally, but now it’s every weekend. My head is constantly pulsating with the white noise of anxiety.’

  ‘That’s good, better than ordinary Monday-itis.’ As Phil said this, he opened a text on his mobile, scowled and deleted it, then did the same with three more. ‘Jesus, woman.’

  It took David a little longer than a second to realise that Phil wasn’t referring to him. ‘No, it’s not.’

  ‘What? I mean the phrase, it’s good.’

  ‘Oh, thanks. The thing is, I know I should probably see a doctor, but I don’t want to take pills – and that’s what they’d give me, they always do.’ David stared mournfully at his empty salad glass.

  Phil did his best to be supportive. ‘Have you thought about sex?’

  ‘What?’ said David, puzzled. ‘Why would I?’

  ‘To take your mind off work.’

  At this David’s misery seemed to increase exponentially and Phil had a disturbing premonition that tears might be next.

  ‘Between you and me? I can’t remember when I last had sex.’

  ‘Ah.’ Now it was Phil’s turn to be confused. ‘Days? Weeks? Er, months?’

  ‘Years.’

  As David studied his shoelaces, Phil stepped back, as though such entrenched celibacy might be contagious.

  ‘I know, I know, it’s not exactly fashionable to admit it.’

  Phil thought quickly. ‘No, no, monks and nuns manage it and I’ve heard there is a weird trend towards it within that twenty-something, greed-is-good Christian set, but …’ He was feeling extremely uncomfortable now. It was fine to talk about people’s sex lives, but only if they were active. Searching around desperately, he saw Zoë through a cut-out section of the wall and mouthed ‘Rescue me’ while David stared glumly into space.

  Whether she would rescue him, Phil wasn’t sure, but it was worth a try. She really did look good.

  Zoë wondered how Phil had got in; he hadn’t been on her list. However, as hostess it was her duty to take care of all the guests and just because one happened to be a complete-and-utter-prick-bastard-dickhead-tosser – she hadn’t forgiven him for the adjective he’d chosen to describe their previous meeting – it didn’t mean she was going to be petty about his surprise appearance. That he was no less attractive than when they’d last met also worked in his favour. ‘David, Phil, so glad you could both make it.’ She kissed both, leaving lipstick prints, which she then half-heartedly tried to rub off. ‘Sorry, forgot to blot, but I really like this colour, don’t you? It’s called Siren.’ She pouted so they could enjoy the full effect.

  ‘Very nice,’ said Phil, trying to ignore Zoë’s plump, crimson lips. ‘Your timing’s perfect, we need your help – David here has a little problem.’

  David stared at Phil. What had he been thinking? This was Phil – Phil – in whom he’d been confiding. Phil was a Lothario, not an agony aunt; salads were not made to be drunk.

  ‘He’s in need of a girlfriend.’ Phil turned to David. ‘You are in need of a girlfriend? Not a boyfriend?’

  David blushed before mumbling into his glass, ‘Girl.’

  Zoë, who was wearing a vintage scarlet bias-cut satin dress, and looking as if she’d be more comfortable lying on a piano in a dark, smoky bar, licked her lips. ‘A challenge, oh, I love a challenge! Right, what kind of girlfriend are you after then, David?’

  Reluctantly, David realised he was going to have to take part in the intervention. ‘What do you mean “what kind”?’

  ‘Day-time, night-time, ornamental, temporary, full-time, long-term; blonde, redhead, dark-haired,’ here she gave her own glistening locks a flick, ‘tall, short, thin, curvy; serious, frivolous … I could go on …’

  ‘Um.’ Given the smorgasbord presented, David didn’t feel that a response along the lines of ‘Just female will do’ was quite apt.

  Sensing his friend was floundering, Phil helped. ‘Given the desperate nature of the situation, just female will do I think.’

  ‘Phil, you’re not helping. I need something to work with here,’ said Zoë.

  ‘Fair enough, yeah, let’s narrow it down then.’ Phil gave the matter his full concentration, just for a second, ‘Okay, what about we start with someone single?’

  ‘Right, good point. Mind you, that really cuts down the list. Single, who do I know …?’ Zoë thought about it. ‘There’s Jess, of course, she’s single these days – oops – not officially, but we all know it’s a secret, don’t we?’

  Phil cut in quickly. ‘Yes, we know, but be serious.’

  ‘Well …’ Ten women were named.

  Phil had slept with all of them, at least once. ‘So,’ he said. ‘They’re all single right now?’

  ‘This is about David, not you, Phil. Somehow I don’t think you need my help to find a special friend for the evening – this information is not for your personal use.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s fair but fine, I promise I won’t hit on any of them … at least not tonight.’ In fact, it wasn’t going to be a difficult promise to keep as Phil had already decided exactly who he wanted, only he wasn’t looking forward to having to prove to her that he wasn’t the bastard she took him to be.

  Not really.

  Not often.

  Not always.

  ‘And of course there’s poor Kate.’

  ‘Kate?’

  ‘Kate – you used to work with her, kids’ books. How soon they forget in the corporate jungle! David, of all people I thought you’d be more sensitive.’

  ‘No, no, it’s not that, I just wasn’t sure who you meant. How is she, anyway?’ said David anxiously, not wanting to give Zoë the wrong impression. He wasn’t a corporate warrior, that was Phil’s role. He hated the idea that she might think he was and then set up him up with a scary executive-type like … He tried to think of the scariest female exec he knew. Hilary. Eve was frightening, especially when in full flight, but Hilary had sinister on her side. She was the type who’d want to tie a person up and – David shivered at the thought. And not with pleasure.

  ‘Well, I hadn’t seen her for ages – we don’t exactly mix in the same crowd – and then I spotted her at the shops. She was in the queue in front of me at Kmart, would you believe? Actually, there was a bit of an incident.’ She hesitated. Perhaps now wasn’t the time to say that things were so bad Kate seemed to have been shoplifting, using her angelic boys as decoys – particularly when she was offering the poor woman as a possible squeeze. ‘But not anything big. Anyway, I thought she needed a bit of cheering up, so I asked her along tonight. She’s around somewhere.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have thought Kmart was one of your usual haunts, Zoë. I don’t really see you as one of the people.’

  ‘How do you see me?’ asked Zoë, defiantly.

  ‘How do I see you? Well,’ Phil ran his eye achingly slowly down Zoë’s dress.

  While Zoë didn’t blush, David, standing next to her, did. Again. ‘Um,’ he said.

  ‘You’re right, I have a job to do.’ With that, she took David’s elbow and frog-marched him into the fray.

  Pleased to have David off his hands and ready for another dri
nk, Phil made his way to the table in front of the kitchen windowsill, which was being used as a bar.

  There he found Jack, who had done his duty with Kate, and enjoyed it. He didn’t normally spend time with needy, brittle women, but he couldn’t see why people like Phil complained so much about them.

  Once the two had dispensed with football, sailing and surfing, the subject turned to the wayward Alex.

  ‘So when’s he due back?’ Phil asked.

  ‘Not sure, he seems to have settled in over there.’

  ‘You mean he’s thinking of staying in the mountains permanently?’ said Phil, thinking the monastic life seemed an extremely unlikely choice for the party-loving, regularly drug-fucked foody.

  ‘No, no, not permanently – at least I bloody hope it’s not permanently. Nah, he’ll sort himself and come back soon enough. If nothing else, he’ll get bored with the diet.’

  ‘In the meantime, I’m guessing his new book is definitely out of the question?’

  Jack hesitated, and lost.

  ‘Shit,’ said Phil. ‘I was really hoping that wasn’t the case.’

  ‘She’s going to kill me if she thinks I told you – I got into enough trouble last time.’

  ‘You didn’t tell me.’

  ‘Not technically, but she’s not going to let me off on a technicality. I can’t believe she hasn’t told you lot yet anyway but, hey, it’s not my business. I just think she’s making life difficult for herself. And …’

  ‘You’ve really got to get over her, mate.’

  ‘There’s a reason she hasn’t asked me to move out.’

  ‘Yeah, she’s using you.’

  ‘Don’t be so cynical, and it’s okay.’

  ‘Bloody hell, what you need is —’

  Before he could say what it was Jack needed, Zoë approached, smug. ‘Ten minutes – ten minutes, that’s a p.b.’

  ‘You’re not serious?’ Even Phil was impressed.

  ‘Totally, I think I’ve found my calling. Don’t you agree, Jess?’

  Jess joined them. ‘What?’

  ‘I’m thinking of opening a matchmaking business.’

  ‘You’d make more if you were a divorce lawyer.’

  Phil gave Jack a meaningful look before turning to Jess. ‘I have a question for you.’

  ‘Which I might answer.’

  ‘When were you going to tell us the truth?’

  ‘The truth?’

  ‘Exactly what you’re going to do about Alex’s book.’

  ‘Fuck, Phil,’ said Jack.

  ‘By “us” I mean your colleagues. You know, the ones at the publishing company, that little place you pop into every day between nine and five or whatever hours it is you work.’ The situation potentially involved losing millions of dollars, and Phil wasn’t the kind of guy to be impervious to the fact that a loss the size of Alex’s book could have an adverse effect on his bonus. For once, he was serious.

  ‘When I’d come up with a suitable replacement project.’ Now that it was out, Jess was surprisingly relaxed about it, relieved even.

  ‘And you don’t think you’re cutting things just a little bit fine?’

  ‘Oh, don’t sound so shocked. You knew it was unlikely to happen anyway.’

  ‘I didn’t tell him, he guessed.’ Sometimes Jack couldn’t believe Phil. What was he trying to do? This wouldn’t help his cause.

  This is for your own good, Phil didn’t say to Jack.

  ‘I’ve been waiting for inspiration, but I don’t think this is the ideal venue for this discussion. We can talk tomorrow, Phil – and Jack, I’m heading home. You happy to make your own way?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Zoë, it’s been great, as always.’

  Before anyone could ask why Jess was leaving so early, she walked away, passing a man with killer cheekbones as she went. Even without Eve’s hand in his pants, Jess recognised him. ‘Didn’t I see you at a book launch recently at that Russian bar?’ she asked casually. ‘I’m Jess, by the way.’

  ‘Um, yeah, that’s right. Chris. I’m here with a friend, who I’ve now lost and I d-d-don’t actually know anyone else and I’m not great at the whole s-s-social thing. D-d-don’t know why I said I’d come actually. S-s-stupid really, much rather be at the p-pub.’

  His honesty was refreshing among Zoë’s collection of self-assured fashionistas, media types and artistes, and as she admired his bone structure once again, it occurred to Jess that Chris was yet another person to have been screwed by Eve. Though possibly not literally, because if it had been literally he’d probably still be with Papyrus. Unless he’d performed badly. ‘I know the feeling. I’ve read your book, by the way. Terrific stuff. Really sorry that we’re not going to be publishing it.’

  ‘Oh. You work at P-p-papyrus then?’

  ‘Yep, but don’t hold it against me.’

  ‘And you liked the book?’

  ‘Shit, yeah, although liked isn’t quite the word I’d use.’

  ‘Then you have read it,’ said Chris. ‘I’ve already had another offer. David introduced me to someone at Zest, so, you know, things could be w-w-worse. Tell me, what did you think about …’ Chris, like most authors, was keen to know what Jess really thought.

  She was happy to oblige.

  ‘I’ve got one more question for you. It’s a sensitive one,’ said Chris when they’d finished discussing his book.

  For the first time he seemed embarrassed, and given he’d just managed to talk about some of the most creative sexual practices Jess had ever heard of, yet maintain complete composure and not stutter once, she wondered what he could be about to ask. When he pointed out Zoë, she understood.

  Zoë was still with Jack and Phil, animated as ever, throwing back her head and tittering seductively.

  ‘Who is she? The one in the d-d-dress,’ Chris asked.

  ‘Our happy hostess.’

  ‘Oh God, I d-d-didn’t know.’

  ‘She’s a fashion designer.’

  ‘Right.’ He continued to stare. ‘She’s r-r-ravishing, isn’t she?’

  It wasn’t the first time Jess had been told this, nor the first time she’d been expected to agree. ‘That’s the general consensus. You want to meet her?’

  ‘I’m not s-s-sure.’

  ‘What’ve you got to lose? I mean, she might bite but most blokes seem to enjoy that. Follow me.’

  Back in the kitchen Phil, Jack and Zoë had devised a plan, one they were convinced wasn’t just a plan but an inspired vision: Jack and Zoë would write a book: a fabulous, flashy, groovy, must-have book that combined the twin gods of food and fashion. At first they’d decided to make Alex write a glowing foreword as punishment for not writing his own book and forcing them to do one instead, but then they’d improved on that idea. Phil would write the foreword and Jack would ensure Alex agreed to sign it.

  ‘Dress your kitchen: think of your pantry as you would your wardrobe. What do you think?’ Phil asked Jess, as she approached.

  Behind her, Chris looked down, asking himself why he’d worn trainers, and whether it was symbolic.

  ‘You’re pitching me a book idea, right?’

  ‘I am. A fantastic one,’ Phil said confidently, empty glass in hand.

  ‘Sounds great.’ As it was clear to Jess that they were all drunk and a new project wasn’t something she wanted to discuss right now, she changed the subject. ‘This is Chris, he’s a mate of David’s and he’s just written a terrific novel which we’re not publishing. Phil, you’ve read it, I think?’

  ‘Shit, yeah.’ It was one of the few he’d bothered with, fiction not being his area, nor his interest. ‘It’s about …’

  ‘Okay, I’m really going now.’

  While Jess tried once again to extricate herself, Zoë gesticulated to a tall dark-haired figure in earnest conversation with Kate. Nodding back at Zoë, he put his hand on Kate’s shoulder, in a wait-a-minute manner, and tried to approach the object of the gesticulations, but a couple, snogging and
oblivious, blocked his way. By the time Oliver managed to get past David and his new companion, Jess had vanished.

  Chapter 28

  The front door was in sight when Jess was assailed yet again, this time by a familiar voice.

  ‘Well, well, well – Jess Johnson. It’s been a while. What happened to your hair? Which is not to say that I don’t like that whole Jeanne Moreau/Mia Farrow thing you’ve got going. Break up with someone, did you?’

  Why was it never possible simply to walk out of a party? And why had Zoë invited Justin? Where had she found him? Jess looked with longing at the door before spinning around. ‘Justin? Pleased to see you’re still with us.’ Justin was a ghost from the past, from Jess and Zoë’s art-school days. Then he’d grown a cash crop to cover the kind of debts that were normally accrued by banks buying businesses, rather than individuals without mortgages. Now everyone had silly debts – Justin had just been ahead of the game.

  ‘What did you expect?’

  Not this alarmingly healthy specimen of manhood, she thought. No longer skinny and sporting a deep moon tan, he now had the kind of plump, smooth-skinned glow that implies either affluence and contentment or regular trips to a needle-wielding beautician, or both.

  ‘Business going well, is it?’

  ‘You might say that.’

  ‘Still in the same line of work then?’

  ‘Oh that? Nah, just recreational these days, always a bit for friends of course, but I moved on ages ago. The net’s where it’s at these days, so much less work and so many more opportunities.’

  ‘A little voice tells me I don’t want to know.’

  Justin leaned towards her so Jess could smell his rather compelling aftershave. ‘I have two words for you: revenge site.’

  ‘Oh, okay, that doesn’t sound too controversial.’

  ‘You haven’t been hit. What say I give you the address, you can check it out? You might want to do it from a public computer though, and I wouldn’t use your own name when you check in.’ He reached into his pocket and pulled out a card. ‘You didn’t get this from me.’