The Heat Is On

by Helen Bridgett

  ‘We need to start ordering the new equipment and also ensuring any repairs are taken care of before the season starts,’ I say. ‘Can you compile a list of what needs doing and get some quotes for the work?’

  ‘I have it here,’ she replies opening a folder and taking out a sheet of paper. ‘I’ll email it to you.’

  I’m determined to find something this woman hasn’t thought of – just to make myself feel useful.

  ‘Can you advise on any structural issues we might have with the yurts?’ I ask.

  She shakes her head and I cheer a little internally.

  ‘I’m not great on building things but I can find someone who is,’ she offers.

  At that moment Patty and Michael walk in, so we introduce them and I tell Lucille that Michael is the person who might be helping us with construction.

  ‘So if your structural expert could liaise with Michael that would be fabulous. It’ll probably go completely over my head, too.’

  Michael spends a few moments explaining what he’s looking at and what questions he has about the terrain and planning permissions we’ll need. Lucille studiously takes notes of all his points and at the end flashes him one of her beautiful smiles: ‘I’ll get back to you as soon as I’ve found out about all of this.’

  Michael thanks her and leaves us to our conversation.

  ‘Are you going to handle that yourself?’ I ask. ‘I thought you were bringing someone else in.’

  Lucille raises her eyebrows and leans into the desktop camera. ‘I was, but that silver-haired gentleman – yum – he could be my Hugh Grant – no? I could definitely become interested in foundations and those joist things if he’s handling them.’

  Of course she doesn’t know Michael is my other half and I don’t tell her. Charlie muffles a snort of laughter and takes over the conversation, telling Lucille we have to hang up now – we have a marketing meeting to chair. As soon as she signs off Charlie releases that muffled snort full force.

  ‘I’m sorry but you should have seen your face,’ he teases. ‘But I’m warning you, if we have to pimp Michael out just to keep Lucille, we’re going to do it.’

  I scrunch up a piece of paper and throw it at him in mock indignation.

  ‘Too right we are,’ I agree.

  Either the sexy supplements or that session with Lucille start kicking in, but I feel a desire to become just a little more exotic. Next to her anyone would look a bit humdrum; I mean she was far older than me, yet even via a long distance call with her I felt like a bowl of Weetabix on a breakfast table laden with juicy mango and pineapple. However, it isn’t just that she’s gorgeous, I tell myself. For goodness’ sake, we’re just about to take out a lease on a luxury island and I’m sure I shouldn’t be facing this brand new start in my twinset. If I can take a risk this big, surely I can manage a plunge neckline. I think ahead to when we announce this new venture – won’t the journalist and photographer be expecting someone just a little more – well, colourful? I think about all the famous women entrepreneurs – Karren Brady, Arianna Huffington – they’re all very ballsy of course, but there’s also something just a bit glamorous and bold about them. Maybe I need to start looking the part.

  * * *

  When I walk to work the next morning, I take sideways glances at everyone I pass. Who seems completely at home in this summer sunshine? Who looks stylish? If I were a photographer, which ones would I want to photograph? Some people – and I would have included myself in this group pre-Mercury – obviously have a work wardrobe which doesn’t really change whatever the weather. Generally navy or black and sort of shabby looking as it’s worn day in, day out. I guess they’re thinking it doesn’t matter what you wear when you’re in an office with those awful cubicles. I can spot the people who are going places and those who never will. It’s not about the most expensive clothes: it’s about flair. Patty would tell you that as a performer, when you step into your costume, you become that character. I look down at my sensible courts and know this character is definitely not an exotic international entrepreneur.

  All day long I assess the outfits coming into the store. Charlie spots me.

  ‘Why are you staring at all our customers’ shoes?’

  Rather than answer the question I ask, ‘Do you think I could wear bright colours?’

  ‘Definitely – you’re dark like Peter. Do you want to see his colour swatch?’

  I have no idea what one is but say yes and he pulls out two little wallets of mini-fabric swatches. He explains that they’ve both had their ‘colours done’ – which I’m told involves going to see an expert who tells you what you’d suit and what to avoid.

  ‘You see, I’m a summer so I wear blues and greens, but Peter, he’s winter, like you,’ explains Charlie.

  This apparently means I can wear yellow and aqua, Charlie tells me as he holds the colours up to my skin. I ask to borrow the swatches and plan to go shopping tonight. Now that things are finally looking up, it wouldn’t hurt to try on something a little more adventurous would it?

  * * *

  Later that evening, the assistant in the store agrees completely. She tells me I’m definitely ‘winter’ (does everyone know about these things?) and she brings me a selection of outfits to try. I have to say the raspberry-coloured short-sleeved top she gives me brings a glow to my face that I’m sure isn’t just a reflection of the colour. I swirl around in it checking out my reflection. This looks good and is certainly more international entrepreneur – if only I didn’t have such pasty arms. The tone isn’t too bad but I should probably stop off at the sports department and get some weights to exercise them more.

  After buying the top, I look at the store directory trying to find the sports section. Instead I’m drawn to the beauty salon on the same floor. Perhaps I should have a facial while I’m here? After all I might as well go the whole hog – Michael is coming round later, I’ve been religiously taking my supplements and it wouldn’t do any harm to look every bit as exotic as Lucille when he arrives – although I can’t imagine her ever seizing up at the crucial moment.

  I’m disappointed to find there aren’t any more appointments for facials and am just about leave when I spot the special offer running – half-price spray tans. Now, I have never had one of these before but lots of our customers tell me they always get themselves a little colour before they go away as they don’t want to look like the Brit on the Beach. I look down at my arms – I imagine they’d look more toned if they were tanned and then I might not need to do the exercises after all. It could be the upper arm equivalent of contouring. Nothing ventured, I ask if there’s a free appointment and fate must be intervening as there is, if I’m prepared to get my treatment from the trainee.

  Everyone has to start somewhere, so I go into the changing room and put on the horrid paper knickers they give me without any fuss – I don’t want to look like a tanning virgin. As instructed, I take off all my make-up and put on the shower cap – the end result better be glamorous because this bit sure as hell is not. Stepping into the cubicle, the assistant asks me how dark I’d like to go.

  ‘As if I’ve just stepped off my very own private island,’ I tell her.

  I move round as I’m told to and before long, it’s over. I look in the mirror and I’m slightly disappointed – I don’t look very different at all.

  ‘Could I go a little darker?’ I ask, ‘please?’

  I think the trainee is frightened to say no to her first customer, so she reluctantly agrees and repeats the process. She then tells me the colour will develop over the next couple of hours and that I shouldn’t go any darker. I still don’t look too dark but take her word for it, get dressed and leave.

  I can’t get washed tonight, so put on my new exotic raspberry clothing and chill the wine. I feel fabulous and know that Michael is going to find a very different woman here tonight. I even put on some slow and sexy music just to put us in the mood. The doorbell rings and I turn the music up and fling the door open.


  ‘Welcome to the new me,’ I declare.

  Michael stands transfixed.

  ‘What on earth?’

  It wasn’t the reaction I was hoping for.

  ‘Thought I’d give myself a little sun-kissed glow,’ I tell him. ‘In celebration of the island.’

  ‘You’re orange.’

  Horrified I rush inside and he follows me to the bathroom. I stare at the creature in front of me. The colour certainly has developed over the intervening hours and I definitely didn’t need a third coat – in fact I shouldn’t have badgered her for the second coat. I sink on to the toilet seat my head in my hands.

  ‘I was trying to look exotic for you.’

  ‘You’ve certainly achieved that,’ laughs Michael, lifting my face up to his ‘You’re like a glorious tropical cocktail – or the juiciest ripe mango.’

  He strokes my hair and kisses me. At least I’m no longer the Weetabix.

  ‘In fact from now on, I’m going to call you my little Or-Ang-Ina.’

  I give him a friendly punch then fall into his embrace. He gently strokes my arms.

  ‘Now,’ he says, ‘shall we go and get fruity – you little sexy citrus.’

  Smooth Criminal

  After a weekend of lurve (as Patty would call it), I can’t stop smiling. I have re-established myself as the juicy temptress of Manchester and I feel completely re-energised. I am glowing with gorgeousness and I’m sure it isn’t just that the fake tan hasn’t worn off yet (though I have scrubbed it several times in an attempt to look less Oompa-Loompa like). Today I feel like I can do anything at all. I am woman, hear me roar and all that rubbish. And the first thing I’m going to do as mistress of my own destiny is sort Josie out. There is no way that bundle of rude health was ever ill and there’s equally no way that she’d just resign, especially not via email. If she really were unhappy she’d come in and tell us to stick our job where the sun didn’t shine. Nope, this is just not the Josie we know and love.

  I know in my bones Lorenzo has something to do with her resignation, so I get up early and park opposite his shop before he opens up. I lie low in the car as if I’m on a stakeout and wait. Sure enough, within half an hour Lorenzo walks up the street dragging a reluctant looking Josie behind him. I hold my breath, poised for the pounce until I’m sure she’s going into Launch. They both look around to see if anyone’s watching, then Lorenzo takes some keys out of his manbag and starts to open the locks. I slam the car door and rush across the road yelling her name.

  A couple of years ago, I was driving to the shopping centre to get some tights and news broke on the radio of a military coup somewhere or other. It was a very dramatic report. The rebels had roused a crowd, they were well funded and organised and all the while I was parking the car, the reporters were very excitedly telling us that they were going to witness the birth of a new nation.

  In the time it took me to select a pair of tights (to my defence, they didn’t have my usual colour so I had to keep taking the boxes into the sunlight), the rebels had broken into the Presidential suite, declared sovereignty, been attacked by loyalists, had a huge battle, lost the war and been imprisoned. And all of this happened while I bought a pair of ten-denier nearly nudes.

  It feels like my own uprising today.

  I reach the door and try to grab hold of Josie. Lorenzo blocks me, pushing me away and frantically trying to get all the locks open. He finally gets the door open and tries to push Josie inside. I get hold of her sleeve and pull her the other way. She’s being torn between the two of us and just starts sobbing. She breaks away from me and runs into the shop.

  ‘What’s happened, Josie, tell me what’s happened?’ I shout through the glass door. ‘I know you wouldn’t just resign, this isn’t like you.’

  ‘Please Angie, just let me go, it’s better for you if I go,’ she replies.

  ‘No, don’t say that. We need you and you can’t prefer this place to Mercury.’

  ‘It’s not that, just go, please. I’m begging you.’

  ‘If you don’t leave my employees alone I’ll call the police – again,’ snarls Lorenzo before shutting the door on my face.

  Like a Victorian urchin I stand for a while with my face pressed up to the glass. I watch as Lorenzo pushes Josie into the back room out of my view. He comes out once more to tell me he’ll have me arrested if I don’t leave, so stunned and confused I retreat back to Mercury.

  Charlie is already there and stares at my dishevelled appearance.

  ‘What on earth have you been doing? You’re bright red.’

  That’ll be the combination of fake tan residue and frenzied warfare, I think to myself.

  ‘Josie’s working over the road,’ I tell him. ‘I tried to get her back but she wouldn’t come. I don’t know what hold Lorenzo has over her but I really don’t believe she’s there of her own free will, she was in bits.’

  ‘What exactly did she say when you asked her?’ asks Charlie.

  ‘That we’re better off without her.’

  ‘Do you think she’s done something illegal? Maybe her visa has expired and he found out.’

  We both shake our heads and sit in silence. We smile politely at the handful of customers who walk through the door but I can see Charlie’s heart is as heavy as mine. Last week ended so well with the bid win and everything, but with him over the road, we always seem to have to pay for any moments of joy. I don’t know how long I can keep this up. Or whether I actually want to. Maybe Zoe’s wrong and there is a moment when you simply have to stop pedalling and park your bike up against the wall. I love Mercury but maybe it’s time to call it a day. If we sold the business, Charlie could use the meagre proceeds to invest in the island, anyway; he could move over there, his dream would be safe. I’d still have the apartment and Michael and as it says in the song, ‘two out of three ain’t bad ’. Maybe I should retire and spend my days lunching with Patty. Lots of businesses fail when there’s new competition. I’d just be another statistic. Even Richard has closed businesses; I don’t think Virgin Brides lasted long, which is a shame really as we could have partnered up. That’s the thing though, I’m always thinking of ideas for the business. I don’t want to let it go, especially not because of some upstart toerag. I wonder how Charlie’s feeling.

  ‘Come on let’s go and get a coffee or something,’ I say to Charlie. ‘We need to talk.’

  Closing up while still desperate for business isn’t the best idea in the world but I need to get out of here. We stick the ‘out to lunch’ notice up and head to a coffee shop. We don’t talk until the cappuccinos have been served, and after a sip of froth, which seems to soothe my soul, I sigh, ‘So how are you feeling about all this?’

  Charlie pauses then begins. ‘We’ve had some great times together…’ he starts and I go cold as this is sounding distinctly like a break-up conversation. If he suggests it, I’m not sure I’ll have the strength to protest.

  ‘I remember when you first joined Mercury,’ he continues. ‘You were really smartly dressed but you had on these amazing pearlescent stilettos. I remember thinking you might be some sort of eccentric – sensible on the outside but glamour puss underneath.’

  ‘Trust you to notice the shoes,’ I reply. ‘I’d put on sensible shoes for the interview but five minutes down the road got my heel stuck in the kerb and the whole thing came off. Those stilettos were the only clean pair I had but they crippled me with every step.’

  ‘So you were grimacing, not smiling.’

  ‘Have been ever since,’ I laugh and he punches me.

  We both fall silent and then I pull myself up.

  ‘So what are we going to do about Lorenzo? How are you feeling – honestly?’

  ‘If he were playing fair,’ says Charlie, ‘I’d fight. No one has a right to customers and so we’d just have to pull our socks up and compete. But this is plain nasty and I don’t know what he’s going to do next.’

  I nod throughout as he expresses my feelings exactl
y.

  ‘If we hadn’t lost Josie, it would feel different. It’s as if he’s picking us off one at a time,’ he continues. ‘Sometimes I wonder if we’re in actual danger. I don’t want to wake up one day and find he’s taken Peter just to spite me.’

  ‘You know that would never happen,’ I tell him, but I know what he means, it does feel very personal.

  ‘Do you still want to invest in the island?’ I ask after a few minutes of silence.

  ‘It’s probably the only thing I’m still sure about,’ he replies. ‘It’s the only thing unsullied by all of this.’

  I nod, knowing exactly how he feels.

  ‘Shall I see if Josie will talk to Patty and tell her what’s going on?’ I ask.

  ‘If she’s up to it now, it can’t do any harm,’ replies Charlie finishing his coffee. ‘We’d better get back to the office and try to make it through the day.’

  I drop Josie a text wishing her every success but asking if she’ll meet with Patty. I don’t expect an answer and I don’t get one.

  We walk slowly back arm in arm and as we turn into the high street the first thing we see is a police car screeching to a halt outside Lorenzo’s and an angry mob surrounding the shop. Josie is trying to hold back the furious group of people who yell and push her. She looks tiny and defenceless against their efforts. Without thinking, I rush to help her, picking my way through the crowd until I can grab her hand and pull her to me.

  ‘What’s going on? Where’s Lorenzo?’ I ask her over the shouting.

  ‘He’s gone,’ she replies.

  ‘With our f-ing money,’ says one of the mob, ‘and she must’ve known about it.’

  ‘I didn’t, I didn’t, I promise,’ whimpers Josie.

  One of the policemen eventually parts the crowd and gets to us. He asks Josie to open the door and pushes us in. Charlie squeezes in with us while the other policeman gets the crowd to calm down. I find a glass of water for Josie and then we’re asked to state what we know, but Charlie and I have to shrug our shoulders; we’re as confused as everyone else. Josie shakily takes a sip and then tells us through the tears: