Acquired Tastes (25 page)

She shuddered involuntarily. She had even found herself having involuntary sexual fantasies about Fergus. As far as she was concerned, fantasies were for old maids and the sexually frustrated, and neither description could possibly be applied to her. Yet no matter how much she told herself that Fergus was physically repulsive, her body responded to his in a way it had responded to no other man's, and she hated him for it.

As the gooey remains of her face mask were wiped off, Vanessa amused herself by imagining ways of getting Fergus to sign the contract, all of them painful.

'Would Madam like her eyebrows tidied up?' the girl asked rather uncertainly, a pair of tweezers in her hand.

Vanessa glanced at her watch. It was nearly midday.

'No, Madam would not. Have you finished?'

The girl had.

Half an hour later, Vanessa was toiling up the three flights of stairs to the Right Pryce offices. She was so close to success she could almost taste it, and she had no intention of letting anyone, least of all Fergus, stand in her way. The moment he signed that contract, he would be out of her flat and out of her life.

She paused outside the office door to catch her breath and compose her face in a confident smile, but it was wasted on Heather, who sat plugged into her personal stereo, typing slowly with one finger.

Vanessa put her bag down on Heather's desk.

Heather continued to nod in time to the music.

Vanessa leaned forward and yanked one of her earphones out.

'Coffee, black and very strong, and type these notes for me -
now
,' she ordered, banging a file down on the desk.

Without looking up, Heather dropped Vanessa's typing into her filing tray. 'Mr Pryce's work has priority.'

Vanessa glowered at her, but was ignored. 'Is Vijay in?' she snapped.

Heather replaced her earphone and pointed wordlessly at the boardroom door.

Vijay had his head in his hands when Vanessa walked in the door. The boardroom table was piled high with letters and many more had spilled on to the floor.

'Replies?' asked Vanessa, rustling as she walked over a carpet of paper.

Vijay looked up, blinking through his round granny glasses. When he saw it was Vanessa - the cause of his misery - the look on his thin face turned from one of despair to intense dislike. His voice was accusing.

'I'm trying to divide them into categories, if that's the right word.'

He looked down at the list he had written.

'Sado-masochism and bondage; sex in exotic places; sex with strangers; with more than one partner; with someone famous and/or a character from a soap opera; with inanimate objects including household and other electrical appliances; wearing uniforms; wearing leather, rubber or other fetishistic materials; sex with animals, oh, and we mustn't forget sex with aliens,' he intoned like the case for the prosecution. 'Then there are a whole load which defy specification completely, and most are too disgusting for words.' He indicated a pile of videos in the corner of the room. 'And I haven't even started on the home videos yet.'

Vanessa's eyes lit up at the four-foot high mound of videos. 'I'll take responsibility for viewing them. I have a feeling they could provide one of the high points of the programme. Look what they've done for Jeremy Beadle.'

She picked up a letter and began reading. 'Now I know why donkeys need sanctuaries,' she laughed. 'Are they all like this?'

'The animal section is one of the largest,' Vijay replied, scowling. 'I've broken it down into horses and donkeys, dogs and household pets, farm animals, and gorillas and other wild animals.'

'Sounds like Fergus's research is right on cue,' said Vanessa. She indicated another pile of letters in the animal section. 'What's this one?'

'Miscellaneous animals.'

'This one I've got to see.' She hunted through the pile.

Heather came in with two mugs of coffee. She banged one sloppily down beside Vanessa, and placed the other carefully down in front of Vijay, together with a conspiratorial smile and a chocolate digestive.

Vijay gave her a grateful look in return. They seemed to be getting on really well and had fallen into the habit of spending their lunch hours together. If the weather was fine they sat, surrounded by pecking pigeons, in Soho Square enjoying their sandwiches, and if it was not, they perched on a stool in their favourite Italian sandwich bar drinking cafe latte.

Although Heather was only nineteen, she had a sophistication Vijay envied. She'd had lots of jobs, most of them in the music industry, lived in a flat with five other girls, and went clubbing nearly every night. Vijay had been thinking about asking her out, but had made the mistake of mentioning it to his younger sister, Arundhati. He swore her to secrecy but she had run straight to their mother. To his horror, his mother had turned up at the office two days ago on the pretext that she was shopping in Oxford Street. Since it was “only round the corner”, she thought she would drop by with some of his favourite Indian sweets, just in case he was feeling peckish. He thought he would die of shame. Twenty-five years old and his mother still brought him sweets! He had bundled her, protesting, out of the office, but not before she had taken a good look at Heather.

When he got home that night his mother was waiting for him. She had declared that if he insisted on going out with a girl who not only shaved her hair at the sides, but who painted her finger nails black, she would immolate herself - as she should have done when his father died, because Vijay had proved such a terrible, uncaring son.

However Heather had thought his mother really cool, walking round in a lime green and gold sari and showing her midriff at her age, so perhaps he still stood a chance.

The friendly looks between Vijay and Heather had not been lost on Vanessa. She held up one of the letters from the miscellaneous animals pile.

'Does anyone know how snakes breathe?' she asked. 'Because if they can't hold their breath for very long, there could be a lot of dead ones around.'

She looked pointedly at Vijay. 'You should know the answer to that one, Vijay. Don't you have a lot of snakes in your part of the world?'

Vijay flushed an angry red. 'I don't have to listen to that sort of thing.'

'Are you by any chance offering to resign?' asked Vanessa swiftly, 'because if you are, I'm sure we'll be more than happy to accommodate you.'

Vijay opened his mouth to reply, but Heather put a restraining hand on his shoulder. 'Don't rise to her bait, Vijay. At the rate we're going, we're all going to be out of a job soon, so why not hang around for the redundancy pay.' She looked at Vanessa. 'And for your information, Vijay was born in Tooting Bec.'

With a toss of her shaven blonde head, Heather marched out of the room, pushing past Hugo, who had just opened the door.

'We are on our high horse today, aren't we?' Hugo drawled, raising an eyebrow at Heather's back.

'That expression takes on a whole new meaning if you read some of these letters,' said Vanessa meaningfully.

Hugo pushed a pile of Vijay's carefully sorted letters off the table and put his mobile phone and electronic organiser down. He waved a languid hand. 'Are
all
these letters in answer to the advert?'

Vanessa nodded. Hugo picked one up and began to read.

'I don't believe it. This man's got to be pulling our leg,' he exclaimed after a few moments. 'Nobody would want to do it with a goose. We used to keep them as watchdogs. They're worse than Rottweilers. They can take an arm off with those bloody great beaks of theirs.'

'Some people like big peckers,' Vanessa murmured, and they both started to laugh.

'I hope we have good cause for all this merriment,' said Philip walking in.

'Hugo and I were just discussing changing the name of the show to Old MacDonald had a Farm,' laughed Vanessa, '
had
being the operative word. '

Philip looked from one to the other, a smile on his face, hoping to be let in on the joke. Hugo handed him the letter.

Philip read it and paled. 'Are they all like this?' he gasped.

'A lot of them,' said Vanessa dabbing her eyes. 'I think we'll have to have an RSPCA inspector in the studio.'

This set her and Hugo laughing again.

Philip scurried round the table picking up letters from different piles, and scanning them with increasing desperation.

'Oh, my God,' he groaned and sat down, 'this is awful. I'm finished.'

'Oh, come on PP. It isn't awful, it's wonderful. We have enough material here to make a dozen series,' said Vanessa.

'A dozen porno movies, you mean,' Vijay interjected sourly.

'Vijay's right. We can't show people doing those things on television,' Philip waved a despairing hand at the letters. 'I'm beginning to think I may have made an error of judgement about this whole business. I've already been summoned to a meeting of the Committee for Media Morality. If any of this has reached their ears, I'm in deep trouble.'

Ever since the invitation to meet the new head of the CMM had arrived the day before, Philip had been alternating between blind panic and hot flushes at the thought of coming face to face with Sir Norman Fluck again.

The note claimed that it was merely 'an informal exchange of views and meet the new chairman' occasion, but Philip knew a summons when he read one.

'Trust me, Philip,' Vanessa said soothingly, 'there's plenty of material here that we can use without causing riots in the streets.' She fished around among the letters. 'For instance, here's a variant on the old scantily clad girl leaping out of a cake theme. This is from a woman who actually wants to be a cream cake. She wants to be covered in double cream, decorated with fruit and then carried on a silver platter into a room full of men dressed in evening clothes, who then lick her clean. I'm sure Hugo can film that very tastefully, can't you Hugo?' Vanessa's mouth twitched.

Philip looked like a man in a catatonic trance.

'Or how about this? Another woman has written in to say she likes to make love on the back seat of a Morris Minor, because that's where she lost her virginity so she has the back seat of her car in her bedroom. We could have a whole section of a programme asking people which car they first made love in called “Fantasy Cars”.'

'I can see a lot of potential in cars,' Hugo added enthusiastically. 'They are a potent sexual symbol. Think of all the television adverts: men controlling sleek, throbbing cars as they power their way along narrow, winding mountain roads, or women abandoning men but keeping the car.'

Philip looked like a man who had been thrown a lifeline. 'I think you may have something there,' he said, the colour beginning to return to his face. 'I'm sure there is some sort of psychological analysis that could be made. Perhaps Dr Archibald could enlighten us. He is fully on board with us now, isn't he, Vanessa?' he asked anxiously. 'The subject matter we are dealing with has enough potential for legal action without someone suing us for infringement of their copyright.'

'Don't worry about a thing, Philip darling,' lied Vanessa. 'You know you can trust me.'

'I like this one,' Hugo announced waving a letter, 'it's full of visual possibilities. Some middle-aged bank manager wants to be dressed up in nappies and frilly baby clothes and sleep in a cot. I can really conceptualise this one,' he continued excitedly. 'We could build a giant nursery but give it a slightly nightmarish quality - more Angela Carter's
Magic Toy Shop
than Disneyland. Check that one out for me.' He threw the letter across the table at Vijay, who picked it up between two fingers as though it were soiled.

Philip swallowed hard. 'There does seem to be a certain amount of potential here, if we are careful in our selection of the subject matter.'

'We could have a section called “Housewives' Choice”,' Vanessa laughed. 'A lot of women seem to have intimate relationships with their washing machines and vacuum cleaners. Or even better, how about a consumer advice slot?
Very
Channel 4. I can just see it: how to remove baby oil from black satin sheets; where to buy size 13 stilettos; or how to complain if your vibrator doesn't give you satisfaction. And can you imagine Gabriella giving advice on how to repair punctures in inflatable dolls?'

Philip looked stern. 'I suggest you think about mending bridges with Gabriella rather than inflatable dolls, Vanessa. She is not very happy about working with you after your behaviour at lunch last week. I have, of course, done my utmost to convince her that you are the best person for the job, so I hope you won't let me down with any lamentable lapses in taste.'

He left the room.

Hugo raised an eyebrow at Vanessa. 'Who's been a naughty girl then?' he asked, following Philip out of the room.

Vanessa turned savagely on Vijay. 'I want this lot sorted out by the end of today.'

She scooped up her handbag and swept out of the room and past Heather's desk.

'I'm out to lunch,' she called over her shoulder, as she exited through the main doors.

Vijay gazed at the greasy film on his tea. His
Guardian
newspaper lay unread on the ketchup-blobbed, formica-topped table in front of him. Every few seconds, the windows of the cafe in which he was sitting rattled, as yet another juggernaut thundered past on the Al.

Vijay sighed. Somehow this was not how he had imagined life as a television researcher. He had pictured himself doing a Bernstein and Woodward, revealing corruption in high places, or maybe grabbing his flak jacket as he rushed off to catch the last flight into some war-torn country, where he would sit in the bar of some bomb-blasted hotel, cracking brittle jokes with the other battle-hardened journalists. At the very least, he had hoped to doorstep the odd villain or two.

He sipped his tea and grimaced. It was strong and treacly sweet. The customers of Fred's Place clearly liked their tea ready sugared.

The woman behind the counter had gazed at him a little oddly although not altogether unkindly, when he asked for lemon tea. Pushing her straggly hair back off her forehead, and wiping her large, rough hands on her purple nylon overall, she considered his request.