Yet again I was in my hooded-top-sarong/wall-hanging ensemble and although my skin colour would still have been described as vivid I was feeling much, much better. Also, I had the confidence of someone who looks crap but is in a strange place in a foreign country and won’t bump into anyone she knows.
I walked slowly down the central aisle, keeping my eyes peeled for a free seat. I was just about to give up and stand at the side when a lady near the front suddenly sprang up from her seat and hissed, ‘I don’t have to stand for this,’ to a red-faced man next to her. She stalked out of the conference centre followed by the embarrassed man and I slipped into one of their seats.
‘She could have done with staying, if you ask me,’ said a man’s familiar voice as I sat down. ‘Well, well, well. Of all the gin joints in all the town . . .’
‘BRIAN!’ I whooped. It was lovely Brian, the air steward from my flight over. He looked younger out of his uniform, but he had the same huge, beaming grin that couldn’t help but make me smile.
‘This has to be fate. Seeing you again. We have to be friends forever now.’
‘Hello, lovely.’
‘Sarah, darling, now what’s happened to your lovely skin? You look like you’ve been boiled in a bag.’
‘Ta.’
‘Now, quickly, because when Silas gets up there I have to concentrate. Fill me in. Tell me what happened with Banana Man. Have you made up?’
‘Nope. I’ve become a jealous freak. Hence me being here.’
I stopped then. It suddenly felt slightly strange meeting someone there. I didn’t like to ask Brian which affliction out of resentment, jealousy and anger he was there for. As if telepathic, he leant towards me.
‘Sarah, you have just uncovered a dirty, guilty secret, which no one knows about me.’
‘Cool. Give it to me. I can take it.’
‘I have a big, huge, twisted crush on Silas Anderson.’
‘How big, huge and twisted?’ I asked excitedly.
He thought for a moment.
‘I made a slide show of Silas pictures and put it on YouTube.’
‘That IS twisted.’
‘I haven’t finished.’
‘Tell me!’
‘It’s to the music of Right Said Fred’s “I’m Too Sexy”.’
‘NOOOOOO.’
‘YES!’
‘What? Is he really fit?’
‘Ultimate fitness.’
Suddenly a piercing female scream came from the back of the auditorium and interrupted us. I spun round thinking that there might be a terrorist or a rodent in the conference centre. As I did I heard another and another. I looked back to Brian but he was on his feet already and yelling too. I jumped up and followed Brian’s gaze to see a man with a Madonna in ‘Vogue’ microphone walk slowly onto the stage. The sound of screaming had reached Take That proportions.
Silas Anderson was attractive in a healthy, toned, all-American, forty-year-old man way. He was smiling and nodding and looking exaggeratedly bashful and overwhelmed while making absolutely no gestures to calm the maniacal mob.
I was working out his score out of ten when something hard prodded me on my sunburnt cheek.
‘Ah!’ I screamed. The scream was futile. No one would have noticed if I had been stabbed. I clutched my cheek and looked to my right to see what had hit me. It was only Brian’s elbow. He’d lifted up his T-shirt to above his nipples and was jiggling like he was on a Powerplate.
‘AHHHH! I LOVE YOU, SILAS!’ he hollered. I must have looked appalled because he shouted, ‘Sarah, darling, you must never tell another living soul about this,’ without taking his eyes from Silas.
It might have been as a result of Brian’s nipples but Silas finally raised his hands to quieten the mob and began walking confidently around the stage, looking at us all. Brian and I sat down.
‘Your secret’s safe,’ I assured him.
There were a few more whoops, which were subsequently silenced by shushes from the flock. When we were all silent, Silas Anderson roared, ‘THIS COULD BE THE GREATEST TIME OF YOUR LIFE! THIS COULD BE THE GREATEST TIME OF YOUR LIFE!!!! THE GREATEST TIME OF YOUR LIFE. DO YOU WANT THAT? I SAID, DO YOU WANT THAT?’
‘Yes!’ the crowd shouted.
That’d be nice, I thought.
‘IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT? DO YOU REALLY WANT THIS TO BE THE GREATEST TIME OF YOUR LIFE?? DO YOU? ARE YOU SURE?’
‘YES!!!!!’
I did a little church mumble along with them that time.
‘SO IF YOU REALLY WANT IT, ARE YOU GOING TO WORK FOR IT?’
‘YES!!’
I did another mumble then. I’ve never been that fond of work.
‘ARE YOU GOING TO MAKE THE CHANGES IN YOUR LIFE THAT COULD ALLOW THAT TO HAPPEN?’
‘YES!!’ I surprised myself by actually shouting that time. Brian nodded at me with pride.
‘SO THAT YOU CAN MOVE FORWARD CONFIDENT THAT YOU WILL BE ABLE TO CONTROL FEELINGS OF ANGER, RESENTMENT AND FEAR WHEN THEY ARISE?’
‘YES!!!!’ And then I was panting. I couldn’t help it. There was so much electricity in the room I thought I’d get a bill from EDF.
‘ARE YOU SURE?’
‘YES!!!!!!’
‘Great, well, I’ll be in LA holding weekend courses for the next four weeks and if you sign up today it will be only $500,’ he says.
Everyone cheered and then he walked off the stage.
‘Huh! Is that all?’ I asked Brian.
‘Yeah. They often do this as a taster so you fall in love with him and give them all your money.’
‘Oh. Are you going to do it?’
‘No, darling. I doubt I’ll be here. I have done one of his courses though.’
‘Any good?’
‘Darling, I was fantasizing rather than concentrating. But he is rather brilliant. He’s motivated some big names.’
‘Should I do it though? Seriously, Brian. This photo thing is really doing my head in.’
‘No. Save your money and I’ll take you for lunch at Venice Beach and teach you all I know about the green-eyed monster.’
‘Really?’ I whooped.
Brian took my hand.
‘Do you know I also wrote captions on my slideshow?’
‘Oh God. What did they say?’
‘Do you want it? Do you really want it? Do you really, really want it? Yes, yes, YES!’
I laughed.
‘Tell no one, Sarah. No one. Ever.’
He led me away from the people who wanted my money and into a taxi outside.
twenty-five
Brian and I went to Venice Beach, which only turned out to be the place they filmed the Leonardo DiCaprio Romeo and Juliet. It felt a lot like Camden by the beach, with all the mad people and people trying to sell me drugs and the fact I had to keep an eye on my bag the whole time. We sat outside a café and ordered beers and burgers and, true to his word, Brian told me everything he’d learnt about jealousy on the course.
‘You see, darling, you’re insecure.’
‘Oh great.’
‘They told me that on the course and I didn’t like it.’
‘Insecure, jealous. I sound like a right laugh.’
‘You’re gorgeous in every way. Although can I say something to you, Sarah?’
‘Anything you want.’
‘It’s about your clothes.’
‘What? Why? Oh, it’s a wall hanging from my friend’s rented house. We thought it looked like a sarong.’
He shook his head in incredulity. ‘Sarongs make me very glad to be a gay man.’
‘It’s because of my sunburn!’
‘You’ve got a lovely figure. And all I’ve seen it in is a bloody wall hanging and a pair of pyjamas. No wonder you’re insecure. So when the sunburn’s healed and I see you again, I want to see cleavage, let the puppies out for some air, and a waist! Darling, I need to see your waist, you shouldn’t be walking around like a sack of potatoes. You’re in LA. In a movie. Dress like a movie star.’
/> I smiled at him. I was in LA. I wasn’t quite a movie star. But I was the closest I’d ever been to it.
‘So this whole insecure thing. You don’t need it. So what if this bitch can touch her toes? Lordy! I bet she can’t do a cartwheel as well as I can.’
Brian jumped up from the table, hurdled over the low fence and stood on the beach path. He stretched his arms up and closed his eyes for a moment. He nodded to himself a few times as though practising the cartwheel in his head. Then he did the tiniest cartwheel I’ve ever seen. It was a crawl with a kick. But he got up and flung his arms in the air and arched his back like a gymnast who’s just landed without wobbling.
‘Ten from the English judge,’ I shouted as I clapped.
‘See, I bet naked yoga woman isn’t doing a Hollywood movie and hanging out with a handsome, athletic man . . .’
‘Who’s that then?’
‘I think they told us to throw our insecurities in an imaginary bin or something,’ Brian said as he sat down. ‘You only feel jealous because you are insecure about yourself. You need to love Sarah Sargeant like everyone else does. OK? And I shall help.’
‘Stop being so nice to me! I’m embarrassed.’
‘No, darling. You’re in LA. You should be saying, “I deserve everyone to be nice to me because I am the bollocks.”’
‘Hardly.’
‘I AM THE BOLLOCKS! Come on, repeat after me. I AM THE BOLLOCKS.’
‘Brian, shhhh, please, this is very embarrassing.’
‘Repeat after me. I am the bollocks.’
‘No. Brian!’
‘I AM THE BOLLOCKS! Come on, say it. You’ll feel great. I AM THE BOLLOCKS!’ The tables around us turned to stare. I hung my head in my hands.
‘Oh, save me, please.’
‘I’ll carry on until you do! My apologies, everyone.’ He smiled at his audience. ‘But my new friend Sarah here is the bollocks and she just doesn’t realize it. Come on, poppet. Repeat after me.’
‘Noooooo!’
‘I AM THE BOLLOCKS!’
‘I am the bollocks,’ I whispered.
‘YEAH! SHE IS THE BOLLOCKS!!!!!!’ he roared.
The two people at the next table clapped. And I had to smile at my new lovely friend. Then I looked at the sea and smiled. I smiled when I thought of my other two lovely friends, Erin and Rachel. I smiled when I remembered that I had a wonderful boyfriend in London. I smiled to think of the following day when I was going to shoot a scene in Hollywood. And I suddenly felt like the happiest girl in the world.
‘That’s better, Pop Tart,’ Brian said when he saw my grin.
twenty-six
I was insecure. Brian was right. I Googled ‘jealousy’ when I got home and had it confirmed. The jealousy you feel alerts you to your own feelings of inadequacy, apparently. I saw a photo of Ruth in her pants. Her thighs were smooth like an aubergine. But I had cellulite. Someone looking at my thighs might think I’d been sitting on Lego for a long time. And I remembered Ruth’s pornographic vocals and began to think I was dull in bed. Google suggested improving those areas of your life in which you feel inferior in order to rid yourself of jealous feelings. Which basically meant I needed to sort my bottom out and get more wanton. Hence, I did something unprecedented the following morning. I decided to go for a walk at 6 a.m. But not just any old walk. It would be a walk-slash-jog. Although I wasn’t going to put too much pressure on myself to do the jogging bit. I thought I might even practise saying the word ‘cock’ out loud as well.
I’ve always had a dysfunctional relationship with exercise, largely due to a lack of coordination. People laugh at me when I run. It looks like I’m trying to negotiate a pebbly beach in bare feet with a wasp up my T-shirt. But I felt safe leaving the hotel at 6.15 a.m. because no one would be around.
I sauntered past the concierge and out of the hotel. I stepped onto the beach path.
‘Arrrgggggghhhh,’ I screamed.
‘Arrrgggggghhhh,’ screamed a lady cantering along with a buggy, whom I had nearly killed by walking into.
‘Bloody hell,’ I said to myself, as I staggered to seat myself on a concrete bollard. I looked about me.
Not again! I thought the mad fitness people only came out on Sunday. But here they were again, on a weekday at 6 a.m.! The place was heaving with Lycra and swinging ponytails. It was like the Tour de France meets Starlight Express in a Jane Fonda workout video. It was terrifying. Camden at 6 a.m. on a weekday was empty save for a couple of people waiting for buses having their first fag of the day.
I stared at a group of women nearby. They were clinging onto benches and doing dips.
‘Join us!’ shouted one to me.
I shook my head.
‘It’s an easy morning,’ they panted like they were giving birth.
Everywhere I looked there were diehard fitness fanatics. I felt like die-lard. They were really pushing themselves. I couldn’t remember ever pushing myself like that. Actually, I could: the Last Man Standing Tequila Contest I did with Julia and two sisters from Devon.
‘Sarah!’
Oh my Lordy Lord. It was Leo Clement, cantering like a stallion towards me. He was topless except for a rucksack. The dog was chasing him, his tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth.
‘Leo!’ I waved, expecting him to gallop past me. He didn’t though. He stopped.
‘I haven’t seen you down here before,’ he smiled.
‘Have you not? That’s probably cos I’m sooo quick,’ I said, but I had to look down at my trainers because I knew if I looked at a topless Leo Clement I would blush, have a paroxysm and faint, in that order.
He laughed and flopped down on the seat next me. I was still looking down but I got a whiff of his fresh man sweat.
I looked up. It seemed a bit rude keeping my eyes on my rarely worn trainers. But I squinted my eyes so I could barely see him as a precaution.
‘Sarah, do you want to meet and practise our scene this week?’
‘I’d love to.’
‘Cool. We could grab a bite as well,’ he said casually. He stood up and started to bend over and touch his toes a few times. I stole a glimpse at his rippling back muscles.
‘Oh, yeah, great,’ I said, but there was a lot of moisture in my mouth suddenly.
Grabbing a bite with Leo Clement, the handsomest man on the planet, was a terrifying thought. I could barely speak in his presence, let alone eat. Leo sprinted off and I skipped back to the hotel. I planned my morning. Shower, twenty-six poos and then I would be ready to film my first Hollywood scene.
‘Oh, excuse me, are you Miss Sargeant?’ asked the suited man at the concierge desk.
‘I am indeed,’ I smiled.
‘I have a message for you.’
‘Oh, thanks.’
He held out an envelope. It was six feet away from me. I jogged towards it. The sum of my early morning exercise was a six-foot jog. But on a positive note, it was something to improve upon.
‘Please, Simon, not today,’ I muttered to myself as I ripped open the envelope.
I pulled out a sheet of paper. I stared at the few words scrawled in biro on the page. Then I slowly closed my eyes.
‘Bad news?’ the man asked when he saw my frowning face.
I looked up at his concerned expression and shrugged.
‘Um, yes.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said kindly.
‘Shit happens,’ I philosophized.
‘It certainly does, yes,’ he answered efficiently.
I looked back down at the piece of paper and shook my head.
Filming suspended. Backers pulled out. Call Eamonn ASAP.
twenty-seven
‘Turn to the camera, please, Sarah.’
I turned to face the camera obligingly.
‘Hold it up to your nose.’
I raised the imaginary bowl that was in my hands.
‘Great. And sniff.’
I took a big, long, heavenly sniff.
‘Now say the line
.’
I eyeballed the camera with a dreamy smile.
‘Pedigree Chum. Because they love it.’
‘Cut. Thanks, Sarah,’ the director said.
You can always tell if you’re in with a chance by the way the director speaks to you after your commercial audition. If he or she says, ‘Cut, and thanks,’ without looking at you, like this chap did, then there’s no way you’ll get the job. If they like you, you know because they ask you whether you are in any other commercials at the moment. You see, Pedigree Chum wouldn’t be happy if this director had cast me and shot the commercial, and they then found out that I was already the face of Winalot or Chappie.
‘Thanks,’ I smiled back.
I never get adverts. I’ve had a lot of auditions for them. It feels as though I’ve spent a significant portion of my life imagining that washing powder makes me moist or that I’ve got indigestion. But I never get the job. I can think of two reasons for this:
1 I don’t have the sort of face that sells stuff. I have the sort of face that would put you off buying stuff. You look at some girls and you imagine that they eat Special K or use Nivea Visage, so therefore they would be suitable to sell these products. But if you look at me and ask yourself the question, ‘What products does she look like she uses?’ the answer would be sambuca or Biscuit Boosts or Cornish pasties. But even they would prefer models to endorse their products, not Sarah Sargeant
2 Every time I’m in a commercial audition I have to fight terrible urges. I find it very hard to focus and do what they tell me. I think it affects my performance. For instance, just now, when I had to sniff the dog food and smile, what I really wanted to do was to make loud choking noises and then pretend to retch
I walked out of the audition studio and back through the waiting room, past the twenty other Pedigree Chum suitors. Julia was waiting for me outside the building. Julia always met me after commercial auditions because they were generally in Soho, where she worked for a production company in the week. We would usually go to Caffè Nero. Julia took my suitcase from me while I followed her with the carry-along case. Carry-along cases always make me think of dejection. I must have looked like the tearful one at the end of The Apprentice whom Alan Sugar had just fired. However, I was still a big fan of carry-along cases.
The (Im)Perfect Girlfriend Page 10