He went to the bar to get a drink and Jess came over. ‘There’s something you should know.’
‘Not now, I’m pulling.’
‘Yes, you are but, Ru, there’s something you should know.’
‘What?’
‘Do you know what he does for a living?’
‘No, I haven’t asked yet.’ I was annoyed.
‘Well, he doesn’t do anything. He’s at school, he’s doing his A levels and he’s not even old enough to drink alcohol!’ Jess could no longer suppress her giggles.
I was totally stunned. ‘Get me out of here.’ We escaped from the bar leaving Andy holding two drinks and looking devastated.
Once outside we burst out laughing.
‘Ruthie, it was obvious they were young. I mean, they were so awkward and out of place.’
I was indignant. ‘Actually, Andy was quite sophisticated.’
‘Yes, for a seventeen-year-old I’m sure he was. I wonder if their parents knew where they were.’
I hadn’t seen Sarah laugh this much in ages. ‘I’m glad you find it so funny. I don’t. Where now?’
‘We’ll go to the Fez club, I’m sure we’ll find you someone there.’ It was also dark. I guessed that Fulham revolved around being dark. We paid at the till, handed over our coats and walked in. The first thing that struck me as soon as I regained my eyesight was that it was very full. It was also hot and sweaty. Couples littered the outside of the room and men littered the dance-floor. We bought drinks, which cost a week’s income. Even Jess flinched as she handed over her money. Then we stood near the dance-floor. In the Fez club Jess was worse than anything: she was manic and went around talking to every man she saw, asking them where they came from. She moved from one as quickly as she found another. After half an hour, she had asked every single one where they lived and apparently none lived in Fulham, which made them big no-nos in Jess’s eyes. ‘I can’t believe I came to Fulham to pull and every single man I meet lives in Shepherd’s bloody Bush.’
We all giggled at her snobbery.
‘Perhaps you should go out in Shepherd’s Bush,’ Sarah suggested.
I hadn’t met any more men but by this stage I didn’t care. We drank more and had a good dance, and Jess abused every man she met. We fell into our flat sometime in the middle of the night. I was snogless and manless, but too drunk to care.
***
Saturday night had been fun, but on Sunday the gloom of the impending Monday hit. I couldn’t stop thinking about work. I figured out that the reason I couldn’t be a salesperson was that I felt guilty pushing people to buy. If I detected any reluctance I had to stop, retreat, because I was too embarrassed to try to persuade anyone that they really wanted my product. That was not the sales mentality. My boss said that at the beginning of a conversation they might be a little reluctant but that was because they didn’t yet know they wanted that product, but with a little pushing from us they would realise they couldn’t live without it. I didn’t believe him. Apart from the fact that I was bored to tears by the product (the magazine), selling was just not in my nature. Salesmen don’t feel guilt, they don’t say, ‘I’m so sorry to have bothered you, ‘bye,’ when they detect that someone is uninterested. They always arrange to call again to see if the person has changed their mind. I got the hang of calling again, but I’d hang up when they answered. I was scared of selling, so I turned into a nuisance phone caller.
From the word go, my sales days were pretty much numbered. My boss had even got fed up with giving me cheery motivational pep talks every morning, (‘Sell, sell, sell, positive attitude and you’re so hungry for the deal I can hear your stomach rumbling’). Actually, he probably could hear my stomach rumbling, I never had time for breakfast I thought it was quite sweet of him to be so persistent, but then I learned that sales managers took it as a personal insult to have a new trainee fail.
In desperation, he came up with a new strategy. I was to go out to a meeting. He said that the problem might be the telephone and with face-to-face contact I might fare better. He arranged for me to take a client to lunch. The client turned out to be the son of a client, but important all the same. He was Mike Woods of Woods Construction. A son, so he must be young, father owned a big company, so rich. I was beginning to feel a little excited by all this.
The next day at work, Steve gave me a pep talk on how to handle a lunch. He told me it was a big responsibility, but he was sure that I would rise to the challenge. I was not to drink too much, to keep asking ‘open questions’, to bring the magazine into the conversation as much as possible and to come away with an order for more advertising. What could be simpler?
We had booked a restaurant in Soho. Mike Woods was from Yorkshire, so Steve seemed to think he would be impressed by Soho, don’t ask me why. I turned up at the restaurant at noon. It was quite a trendy place, all white tablecloths and French bread. Mike turned up shortly afterwards. ‘Hello there, you must be Ruth.’ He shook my hand and I noticed that he had short clean fingernails. He was tall, not gorgeous but not ugly, broad, healthy complexion and quite young – well, I think he was under thirty anyway. He had white hair and baby blue eyes – actually they were quite small and I think they were blue. The only really bad thing was his prominent ears. Still, not bad … not bad at all.
‘Yes, Mike, nice to meet you.’ I put on my best businesslike voice, with only a hint of flirtation.
We sat down, and straight away Mike ordered some wine. ‘Don’t know about you but I fancy getting drunk,’ he said.
I laughed, worried about not drinking too much. ‘So, you run a construction company?’ I asked.
‘Yes, it’s me dad’s, really, but he’s old now so I do all the work, pull all the strings, have the power, y’know what I mean.’ He winked at me – well, I think he was winking, he might have had a squint.
‘Well, you’re a very valued customer of the magazine.’ I squinted back as I flattered him.
‘What? Oh, yeah, sure. You ready to order? I’m famished.’ We ordered lunch and started on the wine.
‘The magazine is growing very fast. Its circulation figures have doubled recently.’ Steve would have been proud of me.
‘Oh, we don’t want to talk about that now. Tell me about yourself, Ruth.’ I gave up. He obviously was as interested in my magazine as I was, so we discussed other things. Like me and London and Yorkshire, and how powerful Mike was, and then we had another bottle of wine. I was feeling a little tipsy. I’m not the best drinker but at lunchtimes I’m even worse. After lunch, he ordered port and we sat smoking and getting drunk. He could certainly drink and smoke excessively. I couldn’t. I was wasted.
‘I don’t know about you, but I’ve had a lovely time.’ Mike took my hand.
‘Oh.’ I was pleased, yet a little surprised. ‘Me too.’
‘So, how about we go back to my hotel and continue the party?’ He winked at me again.
I remembered all Steve had said, and as I had broken every rule already I decided to go for it. I knew I shouldn’t but reason had left me. ‘OK,’ I said.
We got to his hotel room, which was huge and expensive. Mike headed straight to the mini-bar. I thought as I walked in that the receptionist must have thought I was a prostitute, and actually, in a perverse way, I preferred that to his thinking I was a slutty salesperson. Mike told me I was sexy, then I giggled and told him he was. Actually, he was sexy but, then, I was drunk. He touched my hair, and my stomach churned. I touched his and he kissed me. It was an insistent kiss, verging on the harsh, bruised-lip kind, but it was so nice just to be kissed. I lost control. I pulled myself out of my jacket and undid my blouse, the whole time watching him watching me. He kissed me again and, with one hand, expertly undid my bra. He took off his jacket and I undid his tie, which took me quite a while. He undid his shirt while I kissed him and pushed my breasts into his face, he took them in his mouth, one after the other. My nipples hardened and I could feel he did too. I wanted him so badly.
It
was his cufflinks that put an end to the smooth seduction. We couldn’t get them undone. First he tried, then I tried, then we both tried. He was getting frustrated and I worried about what might not happen if he couldn’t undo them. Then I remembered that he could keep his shirt on as we made love.
‘Leave it,’ I commanded, in my best sexy voice. I made a mental note only to sleep with men who had buttoned cuffs. I pulled off my skirt and he pulled off his trousers to reveal a pair of Y-fronts. I averted my eyes until he had taken them off, then gasped as I saw him naked. He had a really nice penis. He pushed me on to the bed, took out a condom from the bedside table and, without any foreplay, he made love to me. He was amazing. He started on top of me, slowly at first, then more quickly, more urgent. Then I climbed on top of him, pinning his arms down, teasing him, taunting him. I felt like I was in a movie.
Mike was an enthusiastic lover: he kept making whooping noises, saying ‘Bloody ‘ell,’ ‘Blimey,’ ‘By ’eck,’ and, well, lots of words beginning with B. Then he got back on top and we just rolled over and over again fast and furious, until he suddenly collapsed on top of me. It was over before I was ready, but I tried not to mind. I had never had sex with a northerner before, but Mike was great, he was fantastic, he was totally ‘by ’eck’.
We had an afternoon of wild sex in a hotel, I felt like a rock chick and I could see myself married to Mike with lots of wild afternoons like this in my future. I must have dozed off thinking about our future because when I awoke it was five o’clock, my hair was stuck to my face and I had a horrible headache. ‘Shit!’ I screamed.
‘What?’ Mike looked the worse for wear too. Actually, he looked horrible.
‘I’ve got to get back to the office.’ Frantically I pulled my clothes on.
‘OK, ‘bye now,’ Mike went back to sleep. He didn’t even kiss me goodbye. I felt sick, and my head was pounding. I got a cab back to the office.
Steve was in his office when I walked in. ‘Where the hell have you been?’
I thought quickly. ‘Um, Mike was really ill, something he ate, I had to take care of him,’ I said, as I realised my hair was still stuck to my head.
‘Really? Then why has his father been calling me all afternoon, saying that Mike was supposed to be at some important appointments and hadn’t shown up?’
Oh, shit. ‘Well, he was ill, I guess he forgot.’
‘His father is the organ grinder, it turns out, and Mike his monkey. Ruth, if you’ve messed this account up I’ll kill you,’ Steve shouted.
I went home and took a bath. I felt awful. Hung-over, tired and upset at Steve. He had obviously known I was lying. I put on my dressing-gown and went into the lounge. No one was at home. I cried.
I was just pulling myself together when Sarah came home. She looked at me. ‘What’s happened, Ruth?’ I burst into tears again. ‘Tell me,’ she commanded, and handed me a tissue.
‘I had a client lunch today, the one I told you about.’ I had to stop, I was crying so hard.
‘Look,’ Sarah said, ‘if the client didn’t like you, it’s not the end of the world. Not all my clients liked me at first. It took a lot of work.’ Sarah had her best sympathetic voice on.
‘He did like me, that’s the trouble.’ Part of me wanted to tell Sarah what had happened so that she could tell me it wasn’t that bad, but part of me knew she’d say it was incredibly bad.
‘I don’t understand. Now, take a deep breath and tell me what happened.’
‘I met him for lunch. He was young and northern and nice and he ordered wine and we ate and he ordered more wine, then port and I was drunk and he took me back to his hotel and we, you know, and it was five o’clock and I went back to the office and I told Steve that Mike was ill and he shouted at me because Mike’s dad owns the company and he’d been calling all afternoon because Mike had missed loads of appointments and everyone thinks it’s my fault.’
Sarah looked stunned. ‘You slept with your client?’ I nodded. ‘My God, you really had sex with him?’
‘Yes, and I’m really sorry.’ I knew she’d be shocked. Now, even I was shocked.
‘Ruthie, hon, do you know what you’ve done?’
‘Yes, I broke all the rules and now I’m going to get sacked. I’m sooo stupid,’ I sobbed.
‘I’m not going to lecture you. You look like you need some food – I’ll make some pasta.’ Sarah went to the kitchen.
Jess arrived home. ‘What the fuck happened to you? You look dreadful.’
‘Sarah’s making dinner. If you tell her you’re back, she’ll probably make you some too.’
Jess gave me a funny look and went to the kitchen. After what seemed like ages, they reappeared with food. I tried to eat, but it was the last thing I felt like doing.
‘You really slept with your client?’ Jess asked. I nodded. ‘My God, Ruthie, what happens if your boss finds out?’
I looked at her. ‘I get sacked.’
Jess looked thoughtful. ‘Well, it depends. I mean, I don’t approve of women using their bodies to advance their careers, but if your client had a good time he might increase the business.’ Jess smiled.
‘It hadn’t occurred to me that I was advancing my career. I was drunk. That’s why I slept with him. I was drunk and lonely, no other reason.’
‘All right, but let’s look at damage limitation. Tomorrow you call him, tell him you had a great time, he’ll give you some orders and you’ll be a hero.’ Jess was trying hard to be helpful.
‘It’s not that easy,’ I wailed. ‘I think my boss is already suspicious and it turns out the client is not really the client but the monkey.’
My friends looked at me confused.
‘He’s a monkey?’
‘No, his father is the client, Mike was just his son. Oh, God.’
Jess and Sarah exchanged glances. ‘It’s worse than I thought,’ Sarah said.
I burst into tears. ‘What am I going to do?’ I asked, but they just shrugged. I’d really defeated them this time and it had defeated me.
Sleep can sometimes offer clarity. I woke feeling positive and decisive. I went to work. There were two significant events at the magazine that day. I handed in my notice, and Henry Woods called to cancel all future advertising with the magazine.
***
I had opened Pandora’s box and nothing good was in there. All I could see was despair, depression, disease. Hope was nowhere. I looked hard, but the box was just full of bad things. I closed it I was glad it was Pandora’s box and not mine. I could see him up ahead, the man in Armani, and I could make out it was Ben. Ben was my man in Armani. I started running towards him, I could see him clearly now, but he was so far away. He was smiling. The faster I ran the further away he seemed, so I ran faster and faster, but no matter how fast I ran I couldn’t reach him. Then all of a sudden he was gone. I was too slow, he was tired of waiting for me. It was my fault he was gone.
I have never been one for analysing dreams. I think there’s too much in life we need to interpret, and dreams can be magical so they should be left alone. So, whatever you dream shouldn’t worry you, because when you’re awake you can snatch back the control of your imagination you temporarily lost. But that dream bothered me. Sophie was a dream expert. Well, next to me she was – she’d read a couple of books anyway. She told me that there were certain things we could look for in our dreams that help explain them. For instance, running was significant, so was Ben, so was the fact that I couldn’t get him, but more significant than anything was that he was smiling and I ended up blaming myself for not reaching him. Sophie said that logic would say he could have met me half-way, but my dream was telling me that Ben was gone, he wasn’t coming back no matter how hard I tried, and I still blamed myself for his going. Also, the smile indicated that he was happy. I wished I’d never asked.
‘Sophie, what does the Armani suit mean?’
‘Um, I think that’s just wishful thinking,’ she replied.
So, the fact that I was now unemp
loyed, or about to become so as soon as I’d worked out my week’s notice, (still on probation, luckily, so I didn’t have to wait a month), and that I’d had this horrible dream left me feeling rather restless.
Sarah and Jess decided it was time I thought seriously about my career. Jess gave me another long lecture on the joys of PR, but I told her I really didn’t think PR was for me. Sarah agreed and again brought up the career counsellor. Sophie (Judas) agreed with Sarah, and Thomas said he couldn’t think of anything I’d be good at, but not to worry because they let women do most things these days.
‘Ruth, PR is the best, most fulfilling job in the world. It stretches you, but it also gives you a social life, I could talk to some people for you.’ Dear Jess.
‘Um, that’s really kind, but do you think that maybe I should see Sarah’s woman first?’
Sarah looked triumphant, Jess looked confused and Thomas said, ‘Right, now we’ve sorted out Ruthie’s career, can we talk about sex?’
Sarah had made me an appointment for the following afternoon – she’d already done it. She’d won. I was going to see a career counsellor. I went to the appointment, as told. Sarah had armed me with two warnings. The first was that if I didn’t turn up, she would make my life a misery, the second, that if I didn’t behave myself, as it was a business contact of hers, she would make my life a misery. I decided to try to be positive but, then, I couldn’t promise anything, could I?
Rubber Gloves or Jimmy Choos? Page 9