3 It was so clean it wasn’t right. It was so clean I didn’t even want to wash my hands there let alone do dirty bodily waste practices. ‘Hold it in at Simon’s mum’s house’ was always my motto
‘Do we have to go in the bathroom?’ I whispered. Apparently we did, because he didn’t answer but just walked in and turned on the shower and the radio.
‘I’m flattered but I don’t think now’s the time for us to shower together.’
He nearly smiled.
‘I don’t want her to hear us. That’s all.’
‘No, we don’t want to upset Ruth.’ I hadn’t wanted that utterance to sound bitter and sarcastic but it did. Si looked shocked. He opened his mouth but I spoke first.
‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to sound like that. I am really trying to understand and give you space. I just, um . . .’
He wasn’t even looking at me. He had just propped his bum against the towel rail and was staring at the floor. I sat myself on the loo and started playing with the lady in the big petticoat on top of the toilet roll. I pulled her out and turned her upside down, admiring her big phallic pointy thing.
‘The lady with the massive penis,’ I mused. I looked at Simon. He half smiled and then he let his face drop completely and started shaking his head. My phone started ringing. I stopped it quickly.
‘It’s a nightmare, Sare.’
‘Come on, babe. What happened to Mr Positive?’
He shrugged.
‘She’s really depressed . . .’
My phone again. It was Eamonn calling. I ignored it.
‘Do you want to get that?’
‘No, no, sorry. Go on. Why is she depressed?’
‘It can happen when someone gets pregnant and they didn’t think they could. She’s hysterical. She thinks something will happen to the baby. She thinks I’ll leave her.’
‘Are you with her?’
He shook his head. Then he shrugged. Then he said, ‘I don’t know.’ So that was very clear. Eamonn was calling again. I turned my phone off this time.
‘Listen,’ I started. Then I sighed. ‘I found this. In Ruth’s carry-along case.’
I held out the pill packet.
‘What’s that?’
‘It’s the pill.’
He looked blankly at it.
‘The pill, pill.’
Another vacant stare. Then his phone started ringing. He looked at it.
‘It’s Eamonn.’
‘Oh, he was just calling me.’
‘Hello,’ Simon answered. He put one finger in his ear and squinted. ‘What? Er, yes, sir, I am with her. I’ll pass her over.’ Simon offered me the handset. ‘It’s a bad line.’ I put it to my ear.
‘Er, Eamonn, can I call you back?’ I shouted above the crackle and the shower. ‘What? Eamonn! I can’t . . . Something about your back?’
‘WE’RE BACK ON!!’ I heard him say faintly.
‘What?’ I shrieked and I started moving around in order to try to find some better reception. He sounded less like a robot if I stood by the bathroom door.
‘THE FILM’S BACK ON! WE NEED YOU OUT HERE!’
‘Ahhhh!’ I screamed. ‘Oh my God!’
I noticed that Simon was shaking his head and looking at me in the same way that my first boyfriend did when I accidentally spilt Crème de Menthe on his mother’s bed sheet while he was groping me. I remembered the ‘sshhh’ sign and Ruth and the fact that I was in a bathroom having a crucial conversation.
‘And you’ve got an extra scene. The writer loves your work. We’ll courier it over to you!’
I started to scream again but stopped because Simon looked like he would strangle me had it been legal.
‘Eamonn, I’ll call you back,’ I said, hanging up and giving the phone back to Simon. ‘The film’s back on,’ I told him.
‘I gathered,’ he said sarcastically.
He handed me back the pill packet.
‘Si, it’s the contraceptive pill.’
‘You what?’
‘Did you know she was on the pill?’
He squinted at me.
‘What?’
‘Did you know Ruth was taking the contraceptive pill?’
It was like talking to a foreign child.
‘I don’t . . .’
‘Did you know she was on the pill?’ I asked slowly.
‘What are you trying to say?’
‘Um.’
I hate hard questions. The fact was I didn’t actually know what I was trying to say.
‘I just thought it was a bit fishy and you should know.’
He stared at me and shook his head.
‘You know, if she couldn’t have children then why was she taking this, and if she was taking this then how did she get pregnant?’
I finished speaking and realized that he’d turned the shower off.
‘I can’t believe you, Sarah! The girl didn’t think she could have children and now she’s having my baby. She’s not playing games,’ he hissed.
Then he turned the radio off and opened the bathroom door. He waited for me to walk ahead of him.
‘Thanks for bringing the case back,’ he said, opening the front door. And before I knew it I was walking down the driveway with a clear impression that that hadn’t gone very well.
forty-four
I thought my new scene might add an extra layer to my character. I imagined a scene where Taylor, my character, went to a local hospice and donated some of her stripping money, or she saved a child from being run over. But as I carefully opened the envelope that had been sent to me, I realized that it would be better if she had a scene with her handicapped brother whose medical bills she stripped to pay for. That would give the Academy a semi.
‘I would like to thank the Academy . . .’ I said out loud.
I pulled out the contents of the envelope. But it was just one page with a tiny section highlighted.
INT – LUCKY BAR – NIGHT
Sleazy Los Angeles Strip Bar
TAYLOR (late 20s, rough and world weary but with a heart) strips for a small crowd of unconventional looking men. The tune ‘She’s A Maniac’ from Flashdance plays loudly. The men shout and leer. When the routine ends she works the crowd with a beer glass for tips.
Close up on Vince as he stares at Taylor.
I picked up my phone.
‘EAMONN!!!!’
‘Sarah! How’s my favourite actress?’
‘Eamonn, is this a piss take?’
‘What’s that?’
‘This extra scene malarkey.’
‘No, no, no, no. It’ll be discreetly done.’
‘Eamonn,’ I laughed. ‘Stop now. I’m not completely gullible.’
‘It adds a layer of grit to your character. I think we’ll go with it.’
‘Eamonn!’
‘Now, Rachel has booked you some one-on-one classes with an ex-stripper.’
‘Eamonn, stop it. I know you’re joshing.’
I glanced back at my front door, expecting a television personality with a microphone to appear and say, ‘We had you going there.’
‘Now then, because of the scheduling you’ve got the first lesson on the day you get back and every day for a week. I thought that was extreme but Rachel said she’d seen you dance and it was necessary.’ Eamonn started to guffaw. It dawned on me that Ant and Dec weren’t going appear.
‘Are you serious?’
‘Yes, Sarah, for goodness’ sake. The writer, Joel, was really taken with you. He wanted your character to be rounded.’
‘Well, she’s certainly that! Eamonn,’ I hissed, ‘I feel like showing you my bottom so that you know what a terrible mistake you’re making for your film.’
‘Darling, you’re a real woman. You’ll be wonderful.’
I took no consolation in his words. Every woman knows that the phrases ‘You look well,’ and ‘You’re a real woman,’ mean ‘You should think about WeightWatchers.’
‘Eamonn,’ I gasped. ‘You don’t
want nipples, do you? I can’t show my nipples! My dad will watch it!’
‘No, darling,’ he laughed. ‘No nipples.’
‘But Eam . . .’
‘Oh, Sarah, sorry, got to go. I’ve got another call.’
If I had to think of two things I was terrible at, without hesitation they would be:
1 looking good naked
2 dancing
I walked into my bedroom and stripped down to my knickers. Then I turned on the radio and I started to move to the music. After about twenty seconds I stopped. I looked like a blancmange in an earthquake. This was now classified as a crisis.
forty-five
I wasn’t looking forward to the return flight. I kept thinking about the pigeons and Simon and the fact that as soon as I arrived in LA I would get whisked away to a stripping lesson. And I was missing Erin. There’s something very comforting about the presence of someone more terrified than you in the seat next to you. The lady next to me on this flight was anything but scared. She was choc-ice cool. She was dressed in head-to-toe black except for whore-red lipstick. And she was wearing shades because night flights are dazzling. She looked like she’d just escaped from the set of that Robert Palmer video. She had a stack of magazines and I really wanted to borrow one.
‘Um, excuse me,’ I asked, leaning towards her.
She jumped. She was wearing shades – how was I supposed to know she was asleep? We’d only just boarded.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you, but I was wondering whether I could borrow a magazine.’
‘I need them for work.’
‘Blimey! What do you do? Make papier mâché animals?’ I asked.
She gave me a look that said, ‘Don’t be ridiculous. I am very important.’
‘Oh, never mind. Sorry I disturbed you.’
‘I’ve finished with this one.’ She held up a magazine called Nads. It featured a teenage girl in her knickers on the front cover.
‘Oh, I couldn’t possibly look at your Nads!’
Not a flicker. My best jokes were wasted on Americans. She placed the magazine back on her pile.
‘I’m a publicist,’ she said with a sigh.
‘Oh, right.’
‘You?’
‘I’m sort of an actress, waitress person.’
‘Oh, are you resting?’
Normally when I was asked this question I bowed my head and mumbled, ‘Hmmm, er, yes, when aren’t I?’ But not then.
‘No, actually I’m doing a film.’
Instant interest from publicist lady. She even lifted up her shades.
‘Really? What film? Anything I’d have heard of?’
‘The new Eamonn Nigels film.’
Kerching! She took her shades off completely.
‘With Leo Clement?’
‘Yeah, I have a scene with him.’
‘The sex scene?’ she gasped, showing too much surprise.
‘It’s a rape scene. It’s not hot monkey sex,’ I said curtly, like a professional.
‘Sure.’
‘Are you friends with Leo?’
‘I’m his publicist.’
‘Oh. Hi.’ I didn’t mention the fact that up till a few weeks ago I’d never heard of him. ‘Sarah Sargeant.’
‘Good name. Do you have a publicist?’
‘God, no! You have to go through about seven pages on Google before you get to me. Even then it’s my Facebook page,’ I blurted. Then I quickly added, ‘Not that I’ve Googled myself.’
‘I’m Palmer,’ she said, stretching out a hand. ‘Pleased to meet you, Sarah Sargeant.’ She was called Palmer. Brilliant. ‘Take my card.’
She held out a shiny black business card. I took it. I put it in my bag and fiercely suppressed the urge to whoop. A publicist had given me her card! I’d be the face of the Pound Shop and doing a reality TV show called Sarah Sargeant Stateside before you had time to say, ‘Rehab clinic in Arizona.’ I watched as Palmer refused a glass of champagne and took a glass of orange juice from a tray that was proffered to her. Then she put her shades back on and reclined in her seat. I deduced the conversation was over. The same tray was offered to me.
‘Oooh, champagne please, BRIAN!’
‘Sarah, my chosen sister. How are you, petal?’
‘A mess!’
‘Did my brilliant photography not work?’
‘Oh, Brian. You’ve no idea.’
‘I don’t believe it! Are things not going well with Banana Man?’
I shook my head. ‘You could say that.’
‘Was he having an affair with the yoga bunny after all?’ he asked incredulously.
‘No.’
‘Thank God for that.’
‘But she was carrying his baby.’
Poor Brian nearly dropped his tray of complimentary glasses of champagne.
‘Right,’ he squinted at me seriously. ‘We’ll start with this champagne and some macadamia nuts. Here you go. Now get that down you. Then we’ll have a nice chat, there’s no problem you can’t get round, remember!’
I started to protest.
‘We’ll give you a nice dinner, then you need a good weepy film, then a gin and tonic, perhaps a savoury snack, then you need a comedy, possibly with another gin and tonic. It’ll be all right, darling.’
‘Thank you. I wish you could be manufactured into pill form and got on the NHS.’
‘Darling, you need to moisturize. You’re flaking. I’ll get you some face cream and bring you another glass of bubbly.’
‘Ah, Brian, you’re not to get me drunk!’ I suddenly remembered. ‘I’m being picked up from the airport and taken to a stripping lesson.’
He raised his eyebrows and smiled. Then he kissed me on the top of the head.
‘Do you know the secret of stripping?’ Brian asked, taking a tube of something made by Clarins out of his pocket and squirting it onto my finger.
‘Have you done a bit of stripping in your time?’
‘For the lucky few.’ He smiled and did a move that looked like it came from a Britney video.
‘Tell me the secret. I need help.’
‘It’s just confidence. You are the sexiest person in the world! It’s great. Oh, and head up and shoulders back. Oh, and lick your lips a lot. And the hips, use the hips.’
I got a vision in my head of me doing all those things. It looked like I was having some sort of seizure.
‘What about getting Simon back? Any ideas how I do that?’
He thought for a moment.
‘What does Cheryl Cole tell us to do?’
‘Huh?’
‘“Fight for This Love”.’
Cheryl and Brian are right. I may have wanted to kill both of them for putting that tune in my head but they had a point. I had to fight for my love.
forty-six
Why, oh why did I let Rachel pick me up from the airport? I could have been in a nice yellow cab asking a jovial immigrant where he was from and if he’d been busy today. But no! I’d meekly accepted Rachel’s offer of a lift, so there I was in the passenger seat with a pulse higher than a priest on poppers.
I had my eyes closed. That way I couldn’t see the red lights she went through and the moments she forgot that Americans drive on a different side of the road. Voluntary blindness didn’t entirely solve my problem though. Even with eyelids locked the experience was ghastly, as I could still hear the swearing of the incandescent drivers around us. In fact, the jury was out as to whether having my eyes closed was any less scary. At least before, I knew why people were hurling expletives at Rachel. Now I could only imagine.
‘ARRRRRRGGGGHHHHH!’
‘Sarah! Shut up! You’re distracting me.’
‘Rachel! Slow down! You’re terrifying me!’
‘I don’t want us to be late.’
‘It’s a stripping lesson. I’m not in labour!’
‘I know. I found you a great stripping teacher, by the way. You should thank me. I got you a big woman. I didn’t want you to be
intimidated by the perfect physiques of some of the younger ones.’
Bless her.
‘SLOW DOWN!’
‘Oh, for God’s sake, Sarah, live a little.’
‘Actually, Rach,’ I humphed, ‘it was my intention to live a bit longer, but then you picked me up from the airport and I’m starting to feel that perhaps that goal might now be scuppered.’
I clenched my eyes tighter and increased the intensity of my prayers for it to be over.
‘So, I bet you’re looking forward to meeting Dolph Wax.’
‘When am I likely to meet Dolph Wax?’
‘He’s in the film. Did Eamonn not tell you?’
‘No.’
‘Yeah, he is one of the new backers. He’s playing the private investigator.’
‘What?’ I choked. ‘Dolph Wax as in the bloke who starred in Absolute Destruction and its twenty-seven sequels who looks like Barry Manilow?’
‘Yep, that’s the one.’
‘Jeez. What does Eamonn say about that?’
‘It wouldn’t be fit to print.’
‘I bet. What? So that poor talented bloke got sacked to make way for Dolph “I only make films with an average of fifty-nine violent deaths per minute” Wax?’
‘Yep.’
‘How’s it going with Eamonn, by the way?’
‘Ish,’ she yawned. ‘What about you and Si?’
‘Oh,’ I sighed. ‘Bit of a nightmare. Actually, full-on nightmare. You could call it the Nightmare on Camden High Street. Uncut. With bonus scenes and behind-the-scenes footage. We split up. His ex-girlfriend appeared and she was carrying his baby. And he wants space.’ As I said the word ‘space’ I did the rabbit-ear-inverted-comma-sign. I hate the rabbit ear sign but sometimes I do it for words I loathe. On that day, as I did the rabbit-ear sign I inadvertently opened my eyes. When I opened my eyes I noticed that Rachel Bird – the driver of the car – had her eyes closed.
The (Im)Perfect Girlfriend Page 16