How to Get a (Love) Life (21 page)

‘Oh right,’ I said, heart sinking as he continued.

‘I’m keeping a record of which one people like. Personally I’m a fan of forty-five. I think it says “I’m serious and should break into TV Dramas.” Don’t you?’ he asked, thrusting it under my nose.

‘Oh yes, it’s very um … moody,’ I tried.

He laid the sheets out onto the table in front of me. There must have been around two hundred photos of himself, all in black and white, all looking exactly the same as the next. He asked me to pick my favourite five. I sat staring hopelessly at all the mini-Chris heads.

‘Um …’

Suddenly the phone was beeping and he dived on it. ‘YES, YES, YES!’ he cried, punching the air.

‘Good news?’ I enquired politely, only Chris was involved in another run of frenzied texting. Just to improve my mood, the waitress chose that moment to reappear with the salmon.

‘So they did it,’ she said laughingly at Chris, while unceremoniously dumping my plate down before me. ‘I watched extra time in the kitchen. It was a great goal. Brilliant.’

Chris grinned at her. ‘I knew they’d come through.’

‘Hmm.’ I said, chipping in. ‘Great … er …’ They both stared at me. ‘Great … restaurant. Love the … decor,’ I said with a flourish of my fork.

‘Well, better get on,’ the waitress said. ‘I have got other customers, you know,’ she added, touching Chris’s arm.

Chris nodded at her back.

‘Nice girl,’ he grinned as she left.

‘Very nice,’ I nodded. After all the excitement, and the waitress and the game, I was relieved that at least Chris had forgotten he was making me judge his headshots.

‘You see, Nic, the important thing is to spend time covering a range of emotions with the photographer. Three and forty-nine are good …’

Oh no.

‘… but I am not sure about eight, or whether I need something for Spotlight that is a little more sixty-seven, or whether I should be going down the matinee idol route that twenty-nine is all about …’

Gah, kill me now.

I tried hard to look interested as he scanned through the prints and, at one point, brought out a small leather book that kept a record of the list of favourite photos that other people had liked. Apparently seven was incredibly popular. ‘It’s extremely vital to know which look one is trying for and nail it in as few shots as possible. Fabio told me I was a dream to work with. A dream!’

As he spoke, I realised that I was left with few options. It was either option a) gouge my own brain out with the remaining silverware, option b) leave and risk letting James and the company down, or option c) knock back the House White. I decided on the latter and, after a while, everything became much more amusing. Chris’s faces were funny. I liked number eleven the best.

Chris was in the middle of an anecdote about skiing with Nobby, when I saw him. James. My stomach lurched. There he was, sitting in the corner of the room, looking earnestly across at a man in a suit sitting opposite him. He was wearing the bottle-green jumper that I liked. He looked tired, stifling a yawn behind his hand as he listened to his companion. He smiled at something, his eyes crinkling in his familiar way, and I had a sudden urge to hide. I didn’t want James to see me here with Chris. But it was too late. James turned and stared directly at us both, his mouth open. I tried to smile but, somehow, couldn’t.

‘Alright, babe?’ Chris said, smiling at me over the table. ‘We best get going to this New Year’s Eve Party eh?’

‘Hmm …’ I tipsily dragged my gaze back to him. ‘Oh … of course, of course.’

My eyes flicked back without a thought. James had angled his chair so that I could just see him in profile.

My mind was a blur of confusion. Should I go over to James and explain? But explain what? That
he
was the reason I was here? That I’d agreed to go out with Chris because of the agency? I didn’t really need to explain, but something in the way he’d just looked at me had made me want to reassure him that there was nothing going on between me and Chris, at all. But as I unsteadily pushed back my chair with a screech and Chris steered me between the tables towards the exit, I realised I couldn’t.

Maybe James hadn’t actually seen me. Maybe he had been looking over my shoulder at another diner. And anyway, why did it matter that he’d seen me? Why was I worrying? Thalia was probably joining him later. We plunged outside, the cold bringing me to a standstill. I glanced back into the restaurant, searching for his table.

‘Nic, come on,’ Chris called brightly.

‘I’m coming, so sorry,’ I said, following him into the taxi.

Standing under the neon disco lights, bopping uncertainly to ‘Karma Chameleon’ and tugging self-consciously on my new ever-so-short-dress, I screamed back at the man standing opposite me. ‘AN AGENCY,’ I repeated.

I’d assumed his question was in some way work-related, but the chances of me hearing anything over the chorus ‘Red, gold and green, red, gold and green’ was frankly impossible.

He mouthed something else at me and I caught the word ‘Bar’ and nodded frantically. A drink. That would help.

The theme was ‘Celebrities’ and this New Year’s Eve Party was as ‘rocking’ as Chris had predicted. The music was blaring and the guests were drinking and laughing. There were a thousand glitzy sequinned ladies, many besuited men, one tennis player, one Elvis and two girls in Kate Middleton masks. Chris had been plying me with compliments and champagne cocktails in between dashing off to talk to newly arrived guests. There were moments where it felt good to be in the centre of things for once, to be out partying normally, without a care. And I needed to get on with Chris. We needed him to stay with the business. James’ stressed face swum into view, his ruffled hair, the deepening lines around his eyes after late nights spent buttering up future clients. Chris brought in the money and this date was a small sacrifice to keep him sweet.

He swanned over now, very much the man at the centre of things. One gorgeous blonde in a pair of teeny shorts winked at him as he passed her. He patted her bottom. I smiled nervously at him and bobbed a little more quickly to the music: an effort to show him I was getting into the spirit of things.

I was certainly getting into the spirits as the man who’d been shouting at me returned with another vodka and lime.

‘THANKS!’ I screeched, nodding at him. I sucked on the straw, gazing around the room at the other revellers, nodding my head to the beat and trying not to feel too silly and out of place.
This is good for me, character building, character building, have to get out there, have to get out there.
I chanted in my head. Chris put an arm around my waist and introduced me to his friend. ‘This is Nicola, isn’t she beautiful?’ he commented.

I knew I should have been outraged at being patronised, paraded in front of his friend like his show pony, but I felt absurdly flattered. I shook his friend’s hand, thanked him again for my drink and decided to relax. I imagined Caroline running into the place to give me a double thumbs up, and smiled at the thought. Parties were great, I mused. You could run away from awkward people, you could leave at a moment’s notice, and most importantly of all you could become anyone as no one
really
knew you. This last thought brought on a rush of liberated feelings. I was the mysterious lady on Chris’s arm. I was dressed to kill. I was having a good time.

So the evening went on, and after yet another loo visit, I realised I was going to have to strike up conversation with another stranger because Chris was nowhere to be seen. I eyed the semicircle of people at my table and smiled brightly at them. Most just ignored me and one girl with enormous chandelier earrings looked positively startled by my attempt. Raising an eyebrow, she turned to her friend sitting next to her and mentioned something about some lesbian who was around. I couldn’t hear the detail, but for some reason the friend was looking right back at me, smirking. It was at that moment a glass came crashing down on the table next to me. Liquid spilled over the sides of the table and splattered my new dress. A man in an Al Capone style pinstripe suit swayed precariously, then turned to face me, taking a couple of seconds too long to focus on my face.

‘This ish my seat where I left it.’

‘Um … yes. Well, hello.’

‘You’re gooorgeous, haven’t seen you here before. I’m Seb,’ he held out his hand then slipped and used it to prop himself up on the table.

‘I’m Nicola,’ I said, willing to overlook the handshake debacle in exchange for someone to talk to.

‘What did you say your name was?’ he slurred, not quite able to focus entirely on my face, although managing to ogle my boobs quite successfully.

‘Um … Nicola,’ I said, realising that my glass was empty again.

‘Would you like a drink, Seb?’ I asked, spotting Chris across the room, talking to a girl in a pink top and sky-high heels.

‘Alright, Nikki. But I’m buying,’ he said, producing an embarrassing number of notes from a pocket.

‘Nicola …’ I corrected.

‘Erica. I know you said,’ he called after me as I left.

I returned moments later with the drinks. Seb hadn’t moved an inch. I sat back down.

‘So, Anoushka, what do you do?’ he said, sniffing a little.

‘Well, I work for an actors’ agency in town,’ I replied, sipping my drink.

Seb slurped at his beer.

‘Interested in acting are you? I work in PR, give me a call and I can set you up with the right people. It’s just a matter of image. You know, Kristen—’

‘—I’m Nicola.’ I patted him on the arm like he was a small child.

‘No, you know Kristen?’

‘Kristen?’ I queried.

‘Stewart,’ he finished.

‘Oh right, of course, Kristen,’ I nodded, trying to keep up.

‘Yeah, she was a total nobody before she met me and then, whoosh, she went straight to the top, didn’t she? Spoke to her last week actually and she said, “Seb. Thank you. You’ve helped me so much.”’

‘Oh, right. That’s good to hear.’ I gulped the rest of my drink.

‘So, babe, just get in touch whenever and we’ll sort you out.’

‘Oh, okay, thanks. I will. Definitely.’

After a few more drinks, Seb turned into a surprisingly amusing guy. I was fairly sure we were enjoying some scintillating conversation. I had a sneaking suspicion we might become best friends. I yanked him on to the dance floor. It might have been down to childhood dance lessons or it might have been the alcohol kicking in, but either way, I suddenly realised I was one of the best dancers in Bristol. I had a talent. A BGT sort-of talent. I was skilful, everything on the beat, moves I didn’t even know I had.

I spent the rest of the night snaking around various people on the dance floor. Lucky things. Soon, Chris was on the dance floor (no doubt tempted by my moves) and wrapped himself around me, whispering stuff in my ear. I reckoned we looked good together, writhing around to the beats. I got drink after drink and danced and drank and partied and laughed and drank and danced. This was my new life, the new Nicola.

Then, suddenly, it was the New Year and I was in a SUPER FUN MOOD and I was hugging Chris and joining in the countdown to midnight. Seb had sloped off, which was a shame as we were best friends, but Chris and I had danced a lot together and he WAS nice, I thought.

‘Six, five, four, three, two, one … HAPPY NEW YEAR.’

In the midst of all the dancing and embracing, Chris turned to kiss me full on the lips.

‘I hope it’s a happy new year for you,’ he said, smiling at me with perfectly straight, white teeth. The moment was only half ruined by a brunette in a figure-hugging midi-dress grabbing him to wish him a Happy New Year too. With her tongue. But before I could react to anything much, I was whisked off my feet by an over-exuberant man in a kilt (he’d come as Mel Gibson) to dance the new year in and, suddenly, I didn’t care two jots who kissed who or where. I didn’t need to worry about it all. Mel was an excellent dancer too. There were cocktails and champagne, and Chris, and people laughing. Everything was good.

I can’t believe what I’m doing
. Chris was right behind me, his hands around my waist, his breath on my neck. He mumbled something about flowers, or super powers, it was hard to tell. What was I up to? This was so unlike me. Dazedly, I headed up to the first-floor landing, Chris still very much in tow. He nearly pulled my dress off on the way up the stairs, and not in a sexy way. He tripped and saved himself by grabbing hold of me. I heard a tearing sound and realised that some part of my blue dress might not have made it.

I got to my door and put the key in. It turned but didn’t open. I stared at it, confused, then tried again. Same thing. Then I noticed the frosted window to the side of the door was lit up, the lights were on. That wasn’t right. I hadn’t left that light on.

I pulled up sharply. ‘Oh my God, shhh!’ I hissed, inexplicably crouching down on the carpet.

Chris automatically did the same, arms wide, head swivelling left to right.

‘Ish this a game?’ he asked, his voice slurred. He started giggling.

‘Shhh,’ I hushed, frantically reaching to put my hand over his mouth and ending up hitting his shoulder, which knocked him backwards onto the floor where he looked like a beetle, his legs still crooked and pointing upwards. Then
I
started giggling. He rolled on to his side and looked at me, his eyes crossing as he tried to focus, cheek against the carpet, face squashed flat.

I stopped laughing. ‘It’s a burglar,’ I explained, mouthing the words and pointing at the window. ‘I left the lights off.’

Chris craned his neck to look up at the frosted glass. He didn’t sit up.

‘What are we going to do?’ he whispered.

‘He might still be in there,’ I said fearfully. ‘He’s done something to the door so I can’t get in. Oh my God. He might still be in there.’

‘Let’sh catch him,’ Chris said, sitting bolt upright and clapping his hands like a small boy.

‘The key doesn’t work, I can’t get in,’ I explained.

‘I’ll break in, itsh easy,’ he whispered, getting up and looking at the door. I joined him, momentarily swaying. Then, clutching his arm, I nodded.