Faking It

by Lotte Daley

  ‘Heaven knows where he gets his energy from, Katie; did you know he is pushing late fifties?’

  ‘No, no I didn’t.’

  ‘Ah, well he is … and another thing, if that’s not bad enough, I don’t know if I can forgive him for standing me up in the café that day I went bananas at him on the phone. You know, that was supposed to be the day he pulled up with his car jammed full of his man-things, ready to begin his new life, with me, and he failed.’ Danielle stared wistfully out of the window.

  ‘On the other hand,’ she continued, ‘I was a fool to believe it would only be a matter of time before he located his balls and did the right thing.’

  ‘And then I guess once he stood you up, he promised it would be within weeks that you could start your superduper new life together, yet those weeks turned into months and those months into years?’ I queried.

  ‘Got it in one,’ she said.

  ‘So,’ I said, taking a sip of my drink, ‘how many years has he been saying that now?’

  ‘Three,’ she said, sipping hers. ‘Nearly four.’

  ‘And he’s still married?’

  ‘As far as I know.’

  ‘And the gifts?’ I queried, knowing that there would be many, a girl who’s addicted to her soaps knows these things, you see.

  ‘Tiffany, Cartier, fresh flowers almost daily, love letters, poems … the man pursues me with the hunger of a vulture circulating a fresh meat carcass.’ She looked forlornly at her near-empty coffee cup.

  ‘Ah, but you’re so much prettier than a rotting piece of flesh!’ I said jovially, in an attempt to lift her bad mood.

  Eventually, we swapped numbers and began to go places other than the café. We became firm friends and I have seen her through two boyfriends since Stewart, an event well remembered in any girl’s emotional calendar. First, we had Joe, the Wanker Banker, who liked a finger up his bum and cocaine up his nose, and then there was Seth, at the other end of the wild spectrum. Seth was a librarian whose only dream in life was to abscond to Scotland with Danielle and live in a croft with a menagerie of animals. Both men had failed to ignite the same amount of passion as I saw flowing from her perfectly manicured square-tipped fingernails the day she broke up with Stewart-small-penis.

  Unfortunately, Danielle still saw Stewart-small-penis in the biblical sense now and again, even when she went through man detox, which involved changing her mobile number, her MSN and her hair colour, in an attempt to reinvent herself and extradite him from her life. As a result of this, Danielle only ever had two contacts in her phone (myself and her mother), a succession of Hotmail accounts to check for wayward ex-boyfriends’ emails and split ends from all the hair dye it took to go from blonde to flame-haired and back again. Yet she continued to see Stewart and then she would get sick of his indecisive no-balls behaviour, scream at him, they’d part and the whole shebang would begin all over again.

  Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Bailey had led me to a darkened room and for the second time today sexual thoughts crept into my mind.

  Must. Not. Think. Rude. Thoughts. I chastised myself. It was way too soon to be imagining another man naked next to me, let alone someone sent to take care of my needs.

  ‘Whoooooo,’ I squealed, as I accidently tripped over my own feet into the dimly lit basement room.

  ‘Steady there, Katie,’ Bailey said, reaching out a hand to catch me. ‘Mind how you go, you’ll have a crocked leg if you’re not careful.’

  ‘Oops,’ I said, feeling my cheeks flush, ‘silly me!’

  ‘Right, OK, here is the bed area if you need a lie-down. I bet you must be so tired, what with all the excitement.’

  ‘Excitement?’ I said, wondering whether Bailey had read my thoughts.

  ‘Yeah, you know, from Magenta, the fashion guys, crazy bunch they are …’ He shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘Yes, a bit excited, and tired, very. Now, where is the phone?’ I said.

  ‘Here,’ he said, pointing towards the kitchen area, which was neon pink with white tiles, fifties themed, très cool.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said, as I dropped my rucksack on the floor and made my way into the kitchen.

  ‘There’s vodka to calm your nerves and nibbles to line your stomach in the fridge, and Sky telly over there on the wall. Go make yourself at home, I have to nip out and pick up some clothes from Harrods for Magenta, I’ll be back by five,’ he said, as he backed out towards the door, threw me a devastating smile and turned on his heels. As I flopped myself down on the sumptuous bed, I stared right up at the ceiling and counted the spotlights above. I wondered just how much of my life was going to fall under one very big spotlight …

  Chapter 5

  Jack took my hand in both of his and pulled his lips on to my fingers, kissing them gently one by one. I sighed dramatically. I had to pretend I was over him, even if I wasn’t.

  ‘I love you, Katie cakes,’ he said, as he then blew gently into the palms of my hands. ‘It’s all over now,’ he said, his scent overpowering me. It’s Acqua di Parma … mmmm … ‘It’s all over now, baby,’ he says, stroking my hair.

  ‘Katie?’

  ‘Hmm …’

  ‘Katie? Are you there? Wake up, Katie? Katie!’

  ‘What? What!’ Oh fuck, I realized, I was dreaming, Jack isn’t here and the screaming of my name wasn’t coming from his lips but those of Danielle.

  I sat up bolt upright and attempted to spit and smooth my crazy hairdo which hadn’t seen a pair of GHDs for nigh on two days. My head was fuzzy from one or two, OK, six calm-me-down vodkatinis in the kitchen whilst watching a bit of Oprah. Between her and Dr Phil I had rested against the plush furnishings and fallen asleep.

  ‘I’m coming, I’m coming,’ I said, with what sounded like a mouth full of socks. I unlocked the latch and slowly opened the door to Danielle, looking frizz-free and fully made up.

  ‘Hey, you,’ she said gently, before pulling me in for a hug.

  ‘I smell,’ I said, ‘plus I’m hairy. Please don’t look at me unless you have to.’

  ‘I brought you some brand-new, top of the range, very plush designer make-up,’ she said with a wink, as we moved into the kitchenette. A half-empty quarter bottle of vodka and umpteen empty packets of honey-roasted peanuts lay strewn across the table.

  ‘Stewart-small-penis?’ I mumbled in reference to the personalized bag. I took the brand-new, baby-pink, Juicy Couture leather make-up pouch engraved with her name from her hands.

  ‘Good afternoon?’ she said, ignoring my Stewart quip and taking in my food carnage.

  ‘Uh, I just had a dream about Jack,’ I said, rubbing my temples.

  ‘I’d say that was a nightmare,’ she chuckled.

  ‘Very funny. What time is it?’

  ‘It’s four o’clock.’

  ‘Shit, I have to be upstairs in the big posh meeting room with Magenta and her assistants for, like, five, with a contract, ideally signed.’

  ‘So, what’s the deal, then, Katie?’

  ‘The deal is this: some madcap idea that I, size fourteen Katie Lewis, could outstrip Jessica bright-eyed and bushytailed size zero Hilson, and thus win my Jack Hunter back and achieve world domination.’

  Danielle’s face said it all. It was an outrageous idea. Completely unbelievable and what a waste of time and energy on every single person’s part.

  ‘Amazing!’ she said slowly, before breaking out into a sunny smile. ‘Katie, this is just fabulous; you are so going to nail that bitch from here to kingdom come. And as for Jack? Well, yeah, toads like him will always come crawling back if they think they can get something out of it so you will not, I repeat NOT, go anyplace near him, you understand me?’

  I nodded unconvincingly.

  ‘I’m serious, Katie, he’s bad for you, and he has as much sincerity as finger-bum Joe!’

  ‘Not a lot, then,’ I giggled.

  ‘Bordering on being a soulless creature from the deep!’ she grimaced.

  ‘Seriously, you are well r
id of him.’

  ‘Then why does it hurt so much?’ I whinnied.

  ‘Because love sucks. Now, where can we smoke?’

  I smiled. We moved on to the bed and flopped back against the giant pillows as I pulled a chrome ashtray from the bedside table.

  ‘Loving the bed,’ Danielle murmured, as she settled herself into the plush duvet cover.

  ‘Yeah,’ I agreed. ‘You want to see this guy who’s ferrying me around, Bailey his name is, God, he is beyond gorgeous, stunning in fact, could very well be a tight-pants model in his spare time.’ I made a mental note to ask him about that.

  ‘Good …’ she said, ‘takes away wasted thoughts about Jack.’

  ‘Oh great, thanks, now I’m thinking of him.’ I pulled a face and reached into my rucksack for the contract.

  ‘Here,’ I said, thrusting it into her lap. ‘This is the contract. Basically, if I sign it, they’ll make me gorgeous, and if I don’t, I get eaten by the press.’

  ‘You’re already gorgeous, Katie, so I’m not sure what you mean by “making you” gorgeous.’

  ‘They mean they’ll fix up my face, my clothes, my hair and my teeth.’

  ‘But there’s nothing wrong with you! OK, you want to make the most of what you have, I get that, but don’t go crazy, OK?’

  ‘Sure,’ I said, already planning my first boob job. I looked down at my pair of modest 34B boobs; I’d love a D cup! And a nose job. Ever since I got smacked in the face by a netball in PE when I was twelve, I had a small bump in the bridge of my nose. My teeth had seen better days too.

  ‘OK,’ Danielle said, as her reading glasses perched precariously on the top of her nose. She studied the contract intently. ‘So, it seems that by signing this you’re giving up all rights to go elsewhere with your story, including that of your makeover and your weight loss.’

  ‘Weight loss? So they do think I’m fat!’ I said, clasping my hands to my mouth.

  ‘Ahem,’ Danielle said, coughing.

  Bailey stood in the doorway.

  ‘Hey,’ he said casually, the way cute guys do in the movies, all sexy and smouldering.

  ‘Hey,’ I replied, the way girls who fancied boys in the movies do, all ridiculously high-pitched and silly.

  ‘I know I’m a bit early, it’s just I got off the hook from Magenta. Seems I got it right first time with the clothing deal, so no sweat, huh?’

  ‘No sweat,’ I thought, apart from my armpits, I so needed a shower.

  ‘Listen, Bailey, this is Danielle, my friend,’ I said gesturing to her, as Danielle did what I imagine most girls did in the presence of Bailey – a coy smile, girlish giggle, with her fingers elongated into a cute little wave. Bailey, seemingly oblivious to this, continued to stare across at me intently. He must be able to see the massive spot on my chin. Self-consciously, I covered said spot with my hand.

  ‘Danielle is a lawyer,’ Bailey’s eyebrows raised high in admiration, ‘and she’s looking over my contract right now so …’

  ‘Could you maybe go do something else,’ Danielle interjected, ‘and come back here at five?’ she said sweetly.

  ‘Okey dokey!’ he said, and saluted us farewell. ‘Till five,’ he said and backed out of the door, closing it gently. Danielle’s face said it all.

  ‘Sex,’ she said, fanning her face with the contract, ‘on legs.’ And with that she threw the make-up bag she brought for me at my lap. ‘Slap up, girly, he’s gorgeous.’

  ‘What are you talking about, you silly woman!’ I cried. ‘He’s not that special,’ I lied.

  Danielle raised her eyebrows at me and I knew she could tell that I actually fancied Bailey quite a lot.

  ‘I don’t fancy him!’ I squealed, as I hit her with a pillow. ‘I’ve only just split up from the man I love. Jack is the only man who makes my heart flutter.’

  ‘But he’s not the only one who gives you goosebumps!’ Danielle said, pointing at my arms, which now resembled plucked chickens despite the warm temperature of the room.

  ‘And even if I did fancy him, I’m hardly going to get anywhere looking like this, am I?’ I said, sighing dramatically. ‘Maybe,’ I added, ‘he’ll fancy me when I’m all made over and looking impossibly fabulous,’ I mused.

  ‘Maybe,’ she said, ‘you should take a chance and see if he likes you just the way you are.’

  ‘You’re insane, clearly,’ I laughed, peering at my reflection in my little compact mirror. ‘My hair looks like I’ve stuck my fingers in a plug socket, my eyebrows are close to becoming a monobrow and I nearly have a small beard.’

  ‘Those, my darling,’ Danielle said, throwing first a pair of tweezers, then her mini handbag-sized GHDs in my direction, ‘are easily fixed.’ She sits there grinning at me as I throw my hands up in the air.

  ‘You’re right,’ I say, before jumping off the bed and heading into the bathroom.

  ‘Wait!’ she says urgently.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You can’t do anything to your face or hair, according to this contract.’

  ‘Well, that blows that plan outta the window!’ I say.

  ‘No, what it says is YOU can’t do anything … it’s all going to be done for you …’

  ‘Great doing business with you, Katie,’ Hanna said, as she shook my hand firmly, accidentally digging her long red talons into the palm of my hand. I winced.

  ‘Good!’ I said, rubbing my hands on my bum cheeks to take away the sting.

  ‘You can sleep in the guest room here tonight, darling. Here,’ she said as she shoved a large cream canvas tote bag with two giant handles towards me, ‘gifts for you.’ She gestured for me to look inside. Hanna and I sat around the giant oval table whilst Bailey hung back in the corner of the room, surveying the sweeping panoramic views of the city of London at sunset.

  ‘Breathtaking,’ I said, as I reached into the bag and pulled out a pair of brand-new pink GHDs and a selection of the most sumptuous shampoos, conditioners, body butters and other designer cosmetics I had ever seen. I delved in further and found silken underwear and a cashmere jumper.

  ‘Gorgeous things for a soon-to-be-gorgeous girl!’ Hanna said, clasping her hands together.

  ‘Oh, wow,’ I said, as I found more goodies in the shape of CDs, DVDs and a miniature bottle of champagne.

  ‘May I suggest you get yourself an early night tonight, Katie, because Bailey will be driving you to your first appointment at 8.30am sharp? Tomorrow will be the first phase of Project Katie.’

  ‘Which is?’ I asked gingerly.

  ‘You’ll have to wait and see,’ she winked and lay back in her reclining chair. Her phone trilled, she picked it up. ‘Hanna Frost,’ she said, as though she was gnawing on ice, and with that, she wafted her hand at me to leave the room. Bailey and I got back into the lift for what felt like the millionth time today and rode twelve floors down to the basement.

  ‘So, I guess I shouldn’t really tell you this, Katie, but tomorrow …’

  ‘Yes, yes, yes!’ I squealed. ‘Tell me everything! I have to know or I may just simply die right here on the spot in this lift and you really don’t want blood on your hands, do you, Bailey? It really isn’t attractive,’ I said, immediately regretting it, as we both knew that I had spent all of today looking like one of the ugly sisters on purpose. Now I understood why. After seeing myself transformed in the look book, and having been traumatized by the glamour puss who’s shagging my boyfriend, plus seeing my massive bum splashed across the pages of a newspaper, not to mention my moustache and my massive spot on my chin, aaaaaaaaaaand my lack of make-up, using the word ‘attractive’ was a really bad idea. I would now do anything to look as hot as I did in the look book. I knew Bailey would be looking at me thinking I was anything but. The look book was designed to show me how Poets Field PR could redeem my dishevelled self and turn me from not into hot. And it worked. At 5pm sharp, I signed on the dotted line and sold my soul to the Devil. Looking over at the beefcake in his tight, white t-shirt, my cheeks flushed
red with shame. My mother was right. Why did I have to look such a midden all the time? Surely I could have used ‘natural’ make-up, if there was such a thing. No wonder Hanna et al were all twirling around at the thought of giving me a makeover. I caught sight of my reflection in one of the mirrored windows in a corridor down to the power room and grimaced. It was a total nightmare. I made a mental note never to listen to anyone who tells me it’s a good idea to go out without make-up on, no matter what the circumstances surrounding that may be. Not even death will come between me and my make-up bag, ever again.

  ‘Well, if I told you I’d have to kill you,’ Bailey joked with me. Was he flirting? I couldn’t tell. I was so out of the loop when it came to chatting up hot guys, having been in a long-term relationship with Jack for the past two-and-a-half years. A lifetime, it felt. As we made our way to the end of the corridor, Bailey smiled at me. He didn’t stare at my chin too much and if he noticed my hairy lip, he never said anything. Thank God. His cute dimples and deep gaze had me melting every time he looked in my direction. I hoped like crazy that he may consider coming in for a drink or two … When drunk he would be at a disadvantage and from then on in, I could work the charm that had landed me Jack Hunter. I was the girl with the bubbly personality, I was funny, I was bouncy and I had an in-depth knowledge of film trivia which made me a very handy asset at a pub quiz. We stood by the guest room, me slightly behind Bailey, admiring his pert bottom whilst he fumbled for the keys. I was still wondering whether I should invite him in.

  I mean, we weren’t on a date, obviously, but we had just spent nearly an entire day together and he had seen me display a full range of interesting facial expressions and emotions, ranging from sheer horror to complete surprise and everything in between. Just what was the etiquette for trying it on when you’ve been scooped up by a leading PR agency to transform you into a celebrity, because your boyfriend’s done a runner with a movie star and you quite fancy the guy who’s been sent to take care of you? Who knows … I guess I will have to just make-up the rules as I go along. Here goes …