The Dating Detox (12 page)

I take a deep breath. I hate being called sweetheart by fuck-wits. I must not be emotional about this. I look at Coop again, but he’s still staring at the boards, his face utterly blank. I really think these are terrible ideas, but if I get angry I’ll cry, and if I let him or Cooper see how much this angers me—not just the casual sexism of the ads, or the shit idea, but also Andy coming
in at the eleventh hour and assuming he’ll be able to take over—then I’ll lose. And I have to win. It is time for me to win.

‘The lines don’t work, Andy—’

‘So maybe the “show me” lines need work,’ Andy interrupts. ‘It’s the idea that counts.’

‘There is no idea here. Andy, we are talking to women and they won’t respond to this…this soft porn.’

‘You may not want it to work, but it will. Sex sells. Look it up.’

Don’t lose your cool. I look him straight in the eye and keep my gaze there. (Wow, it’s not that hard after all.)

‘We’re talking to women, not men. Women aren’t stupid, Andy. Look at the Dove “Real Women” ads from a few years ago. Sales went up, like, 700%. It was an attractive packaging of the truth, it was warm and friendly…it wasn’t cold, glossy, obvious lies. Women won’t respond to this. You can’t patronise them with this “aspirational” shit. It’s
Playboy
with a shampoo bottle in the corner.’

‘Calm down, sweetheart,’ laughs Andy. ‘It’s a bit risqué but…that’ll get us the press. Remember Wonderbra “Hello Boys”? Remember “FCUK me”?’

I take a deep breath. It’s time to get it all out.

‘Yes, “Hello Boys” was fresh and naughty, but it was also a generation ago. And this
isn’t
fresh or naughty or relevant…Thank you for putting so much time in on this pitch, Andy, but these ads simply won’t work.’ I see that he’s about to argue, but I hold his gaze and continue, trying to sound as neutral as I can. ‘To be honest, they’re also really derivative. The idea of orgasm through toiletries is a rip-off of the old Herbal Essences ads. The ones where the woman is moaning and shrieking in the shower.’ I see Cooper nodding out of the corner of my eye, and I take a deep breath and keep going. ‘That started as a
When Harry Met Sally
thing. Hilarious, yes, but that was 20 years ago. Secondly, the “show me the…” line is clearly a Jerry McGuire
thing, which is also over ten years ago. It’s not something people say anymore.’

‘It could be, can’t you see?’ Andy is raising his voice slightly. ‘Look, sweetheart, perhaps you just don’t have the experience to go out on a limb like this…’

‘It’s not going out on a limb. I think, um, that the whole premise is kind of boring and outdated.’ Why the fuck isn’t Cooper talking? Is this a test? ‘Andy, the clients are due here in 18 minutes. We don’t have time for this, even if it was the perfect route which we somehow missed during the 14-hour days we’ve been working for the past few months. We have two routes that we’re very happy with, and that Lukas—who is the MD, after all—thinks the head guys will love. Thank you for your help, but we can’t use these ideas.’

There’s a long, long pause. I cannot believe how tense it is in here. I’m sweating slightly.

‘Right,’ says Andy, standing up and pulling his boards together roughly. ‘Good luck in your meeting.’

‘Thanks, Andy,’ says Cooper, standing up. ‘Appreciate all your hard work on this. We’ll see how we go this morning and get back to you.’ Fuck, he really is testing me. If my ideas fail, Andy’s are in. My stomach lurches with nerves. Mantra, mantra where is my mantra. I haven’t needed it in months, now that I think about it, but by God, I need it now. As we walk out of the room, Andy holds open the door for Cooper, and then lets it slam in my face.

‘Wouldn’t want to be sexist,’ he says snarkily.

‘Thanks,’ I beam back.

I want to kill him.

I walk straight to the printing studio area, where Laura, Ben and Danny are smoothing the last airbumps out of the replacement boards. Don’t think about Andy. Think about all the other fucking crises facing this pitch.

‘How’s it looking?’ I say.

‘Good,’ says Danny. He looks seriously relieved. I check over the boards quickly. I see that the first two are fine, but the third…

‘This isn’t the latest version,’ I say. ‘We changed that line on Monday.’

‘FUCK!’ says Danny.

‘We have 15 minutes. Fix it,’ I say. He runs to his computer to find and print the correct board.

‘I’m so so so sorry!’ exclaims Laura, turning to me with a panicked look on her face.

‘Laura, calm down. It will be fine. Take them through to the meeting room. I’ll be there in a few minutes.’

I walk to Danny’s desk and look over his shoulder till he finds the right board, then walk back to my desk and stare at my presentation notes. The words are blurry, and the furore of the past 15 minutes is playing in my head. Was I clear enough? Does Coop think I’m wrong? I think…I think it went well, actually. I said what I thought and I didn’t stammer. My head is spinning. Deep breaths. Posture and confidence and poise and breathing and—ooh, a new email.

It’s from Cooper:

Well done. Couldn’t have put it better myself. Good luck this morning. Let’s show them what we’re made of.

My chest leaps in happiness. He does believe in me. I should have trusted myself. (I wonder why he didn’t tell Andy all that himself? Never mind, there’s no point in worrying about that now…)

Danny runs over with the final board, showing it to me anxiously. I look over it quickly. It’s perfect.

‘Well done,’ I say. ‘Thank you, you’re brilliant.’

He beams. Holding the final board, I leap up and stride around to Coop’s desk.

‘Ready to go?’ I say, giving him a huge smile.

He looks up and winks, and makes a ‘shh’ gesture with his
finger to his lips. He means Andy can hear everything we say. He clears his throat and says in a businesslike voice: ‘Ready. See you in there.’

As I walk through the office towards the meeting room again, Laura calls out ‘GOOD LUCK!’ and starts clapping excitedly. Suddenly, Danny and Ben start clapping and calling ‘Good luck!’ too, and even sulky Amanda The Office Manager (who’s in the kitchen making the coffee and tea for the meeting ever so slightly late) joins in, and even the two account execs gossiping in the printing studio peer out and start cheering. I look behind me quickly. Cooper is still in his little quasi-office. They’re cheering me.

Gosh, how delightful. I can’t stop smiling.

‘Thanks, everyone…’ I say. ‘But save that until we win the account!’

‘Couldn’t have put it better myself,’ says Andy to no one in particular.

‘Thank you, Andy!’ I smile sweetly and walk through to the meeting room. Four minutes to go. Let’s do it.

Stride, stride, stride, stride, stride, skippy-bunny-hop, stride.

That went well. No, that was…BRILLIANT! I skippy-run the last few steps up the Fulham Road and into Sophie’s Steakhouse, where I’m meeting Bloomsicle and Katiepie.

An exhilarated feeling has been pounding through my chest since the meeting ended. The whole pitch is a blur now—but the smiles and handshakes at the end are on repeat in my head. Cooper and Lukas both gave me secret high-fives when Stefan and Felix had left the room at 1 pm, and the next few hours flew by as I had so much to catch up on for our other clients. There’s no news from the Germans yet, but Cooper went to lunch with Lukas, Felix and Stefan and they didn’t come back, which must be a good sign…

I suddenly find myself gazing at the bar and realise I’ve been staring into space and smiling in a slightly mad way for about a minute.

‘HELLOOOO!’ shout two voices to the left of me. I turn around quickly. It’s Bloomie and Kate, sitting at our usual little table in the bar area.

‘Vagueness! Come ON, darling, chop chop!’ exclaims Bloomie.

‘Sorry! I…’ I scurry over and sit down. ‘Sorry…I’m a bit…giddy. Good day at work.’

‘That pitchy thing?’ says Kate, leaning over to kiss my cheek. I nod.

‘Well, rah to you, darling, this is a double celebration then!’ exclaims Bloomie.

I look at the table and see that she’s got three shots of vodka on the table.

‘What’s this?’

‘Happy end of Dating Sabbatical!’ exclaims Bloomie. Kate cheers and whoops. Damn, she’s gregarious recently. I look over and notice she’s wearing a hot pink corsage on her dark grey accountant’s suit.

I start to laugh. ‘Happy END of Dating Sabbatical?’ Shit. I don’t want it to end. I really don’t.

‘Sass! Darling! We’re just happy to see you happy!’ exclaims Bloomie, grinning. ‘Now, don’t worry, I have prepared a speech on your behalf. I am going to read through the Rules, and we shall see if you have obeyed them all.’ She clears her throat and cocks an eyebrow at Kate and I. ‘Ready?’

‘I’ve got the Rules in my clutch,’ I say. They’re pretty much ingrained on my brain, but I carry them around anyway. ‘Want to read my copy?’

‘I’m all good. Now then. The Dating Sabbatical Rules. Rule 1. No accepting dates. Check. Rule 2. No asking men out on dates. Check.’

‘I never understood why that rule was in there,’ I say thoughtfully, accepting my vodka and soda from the waiter. ‘I mean, as if.’

‘Ahem! Rule 3. Obvious flirting is not allowed. Are we checking that, Katiepie?’

Kate makes a ‘tis a pity’ face. ‘I saw her behaviour that night of Mitch’s, with He-Whom-She-Will-Not-Mention.’ I frown. What does she mean? Jake? I was so well behaved at the cocktail party! And I’ve done everything I can to avoid seeing him again, too. I did wonder if he’d be at Fraser’s party last month, but he wasn’t, and—oh, pay attention. ‘But I think we can overlook it for the time being.’

Bloomie nods.‘Agreed. Rule 4. Avoid talking about the Sabbatical. Check. Rule 5. Talking about the Sabbatical is permitted only in response to being asked out on a date. Check. Rule 6. No accidental dating. Check, although I had my doubts that night in Montgomery Place.’

‘I didn’t know Jake would turn up!’ I protest. Oops. I have been trying not to mention him. I decided, you see, that talking about Jake—the man who, after all, threatened the success of the Sabbatical when it was only four days old—would encourage me to think about him as a potential love/lust interest, which is against the spirit of the Dating Sabbatical and could jeopardise my happiness. (See how good I’ve been for the past three months?)

‘Hush darling. Rule 7. No new man friends. Check again. She’s doing well, isn’t she, Katie?’

‘That’s our girl!’ grins Katie. This is the most exuberant I’ve seen her since she left Tray. I wonder if they’ve been tucking into vodka shots without me.

‘Rule 8, kissing is forbidden, doesn’t matter, hasn’t even come close to meeting a male model slash comic genius…’

‘Ah, the ol’ male model slash comic genius caveat,’ I nod. ‘They have them in pre-nups now, right?’

‘Rule 9, no visitors in the ladygarden—’

‘I should think not!’ I say primly.

Bloomie continues as though I hadn’t spoken. ‘…Check, that thing must be a forest by now, and finally, Rule 10, no bastardos. Check.’

Kate cheers. I smile at them both. ‘My sweet friends, I couldn’t have done it without you. And the ladygarden remains a neatly trimmed topiary hedge. One needs to have standards, if only for oneself.’

We raise our shot glasses and toast the Dating Sabbatical and ladygarden standards, and tip the vodka back down our throats.

‘So, now you’re over Posh Mark. Time to start dating again! Welcome back to real life!’ says Bloomie.

Posh Mark? Oh, him.‘It wasn’t about getting over some breakup, Bloomie,’ I say, stirring my drink thoughtfully. ‘It was about choosing to be alone rather than be in a shit relationship that would go wrong anyway.’ I look up, and see them exchanging glances. ‘And now, it’s about channelling my energy into my life, not just my lovelife. Reclaiming the power of singledom.’ I flash the girls a two-fingered peace-sign, though I’m not sure just how much I’m joking.

Kate laughs, and Bloomie smirks and rolls her eyes. ‘Seriously, darling…there is such a thing as taking it too far. And choosing celibacy for the rest of your life is probably the definition of taking it too far.’

‘I’m not choosing celibacy,’ I protest, though this isn’t the first time the idea has occurred to me. I do miss sex. And I do want to have sex again. Perhaps I’ll have to do the one-night-stand thing. Sorry, I digress. ‘That’s just a side-effect of the Dating Sabbatical. And of course I can go without sex. I mean, look at the nuns.’

‘Those nuns and their Dating Sabbaticals, huh?’ says Bloomie.

‘They’re crazy for them,’ I say. ‘That’s why they’re always singing.’

‘Don’t you miss talking to guys? You used to be so good at it,’ says Kate wistfully.

‘That night of the reunion at Koko—the others couldn’t believe the difference in you,’ says Bloomie. ‘Rach asked if you were a lesbian or something.’

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake,’ I say. ‘Rach spent all night trying to pick up that dude in the grey blazer, who looked like a complete arse to me, by the way…and then when she didn’t, she got in a really bad mood and just went home. Did she even have any fun?’

‘We’re not saying be like her…’ says Kate.

‘But…there’s a balance,’ says Bloomie, ‘and now that the Sabbatical is over, you can find it.’

I clear my throat. ‘No. I’m extending it indefinitely. It’s really working for me.’

‘You can’t do that, darling,’ says Bloomie. ‘It was only ever for three months. I didn’t make up the Rules. Oh wait, yes I did…’

‘No!’ I exclaim with a vehemence that surprises me. Bloomie and Kate both look shocked. ‘No…I don’t want to give it up yet. I like my life now…I’m finding it easier to concentrate on, you know, everything else.’

‘Isn’t that what they say about all-girls’ schools?’ asks Kate. ‘That girls concentrate more and get better results, because there are no boys around to distract them? But boys thrive in co-ed schools, because they’re calmer and try harder to succeed when girls are around.’

‘See?’ I say, looking at Kate delightedly. ‘It’s biological!’

‘It’s biological for 15-year-olds. Not 28-year-olds. At some point, darling, you’re going to have to declare it over,’ says Bloomie. ‘Sabbaticals, by their very nature, cannot last forever.’

I shake my head. I am not dropping the Sabbatical. I do not want to go back to the old me, to the dating-dumping-desperado. There is nothing they can do to make me change my mind. ‘Let’s talk about something else. How are you, Katie, darling? How’s single life this week?’

‘Good,’ she says thoughtfully. ‘Weird. And a bit scary. But good. I saw Tray last night…’

‘How was it?’ I ask.

‘Good,’ she says again, chewing her lip. It’s a classic Kate conversation-evasion technique. Then she suddenly blurts out: ‘He wants to get back together and I said no straightaway…He looked so upset. Now I feel sick when I think about him. He’s miserable and it’s all my fault.’

‘It’s not your fault!’ say Bloomie and I in indignant unison.

Kate shakes her head. ‘If it was the other way around, you’d be calling him a fucking bastardo cockmonkey right now and you know it.’

There’s not much we can say to this. It’s kind of true.

‘But you weren’t happy…’ I say.

‘It was the brave thing to do,’ adds Bloomie.

Kate is tearing her napkin into perfect tiny squares. ‘I couldn’t sleep last night because I was so upset about it.’ She looks over her shoulder quickly to make sure no one’s around, and whispers, ‘I was thinking about getting a vibrator. That would help me sleep.’

I laugh so hard at this that I start choking. It was the last thing I would ever expect her to say. Bloomie and I talk about sex, but Kate never does.

‘They’re fabulous!’ exclaims Bloomie.

‘They’re hell,’ I say. ‘Noisy and gross. Mine did nothing for me. There was nothing Rampant about it at all.’

‘Sass, you must have been using it wrong. I LOVE mine,’ says Bloomie. ‘Both of them…I have two I can choose from according to what mood I’m in,’ she adds defensively, as Kate and I crack up. Two vibrators? Yikes.

Kate turns to me. ‘Why do you hate it?’

I shrug. ‘I was so excited about getting it and then it was just so loud and cumbersome and…neon. It just lay in my sock drawer for ages. I called it The Sleeping Giant.’

Bloomie and Kate fall about laughing. Bloomie knows about The Sleeping Giant, but I’ve never talked to Kate about it. I thought she’d be shocked.

‘Well, maybe I won’t get one. But I can’t stop thinking about…’ she lowers her voice and whispers ‘sex.’

‘Perhaps it’s because you’re not having it anymore?’ I suggest helpfully.

‘I wasn’t having it before!’ exclaims Kate. ‘I wasn’t interested at all, I was starting to think something was wrong with me. But now it’s all I think about…’

‘I was obsessed with sex after Richie and I broke up,’ says Bloomie. He was her long-term relationship from university to about 25. ‘But I never feel like it after I’ve been dumped.’

‘It’s a libido-killer,’ I agree.

‘I think The Dork thinks I must be a nympho,’ says Bloomie thoughtfully.

‘How sweet,’ I say, as Kate gets the giggles. ‘It must be love.’

‘It is,’ grins Bloomie.

‘And marriage?’ says Kate hopefully.

‘Yeah, and having kids and moving to Surrey,’ I scoff. As if. Marriage is something other people do. Older people. Grown-ups.

Bloomie clears her throat nervously. ‘Actually, we’ve talked about it.’

I’m stunned. ‘Seriously?’

‘Yep,’ she says, glancing at us both with an uncharacteristically insecure look on her face. ‘Not the child and Surrey part, but I just…I, um, sort of know it’s going to happen. It just feels right when I’m with him. It’s not like we never argue or anything, we do, but I just…I love him.’

‘I knew it!’ crows Kate happily. ‘Iknewitiknewitiknewit.’

I’m speechless. I knew she was in love with The Dork, and that things were going really well, but I still can’t imagine Bloomie getting married. I can’t imagine any of us getting married. It seems so…so final. Bloomie seems a little surprised by her admission, too, and goes all quiet and shy. We all look at each other for a few seconds, and Kate quickly changes the subject by asking me about work today.

‘This Andy guy sounds hell, I’m glad you put him in his place,’ says Bloomie after I tell them the highlights.

‘Does winning the German thing mean free toiletries?’ says Kate. ‘Could be handy, if Bloomie and I get the sack…’

‘You’ll both be fine,’ I say, slightly untruthfully. Actually, I read in the financial bit of last week’s Sunday Times that Kate’s company has issued a statement revising expected profits and the top management dudes have all volunteered to not get bonuses this year. Not a great sign, apparently. So I turn to Bloomie. ‘Your bank just bought that other bank, right? So you must be doing OK.’

‘Mmm, but there are two people for every job now, you know?’ says Bloomie, her forehead creasing into an uber-frown. ‘So that sort of means half of us will probably get the boot.’

Ooh, I never thought of that. That’s not good.

The conversation quickly moves on to cover Kate’s hot pink heels from asos.com (‘I just thought, I am tired of wearing boring little LK Bennett heels at £139 a pop and I don’t care if these are slutty and made of cardboard and plastic, they cost £25 and I LOVE them’), and gossip: Eddie and Mitch being friends again following a month-long froideur caused by Mitch pulling Eddie’s sister Emma that night at Montgomery Place, and Fraser and Tory’s on-again, off-again relationship.

Then we start discussing our plans for the weekend after next.

We’re all going to Eddie’s parents’ place for a weekend-long houseparty. ‘Weekends in Oxfordshire are the new weekends in Ibiza!’ he exclaimed at Fraser’s birthday drinks a few weeks ago. I’m getting slightly tired of people trying to sell recession-friendly things as ‘the new’ something else. Mitch has been trying out ‘Sex with me is the new one-on-one with a personal trainer’, with limited success. Anyway, Eddie’s party weekend will be good, old-fashioned fun. Eddie’s folks have joined the twins in Spain, so the house is empty, and it’s very large with loads of room for sleeping bags (although we, obviously, as first-tier friends, have already baggsed rooms).

Bloomie and Kate tell me that the plan is a quietly boozy Friday and a loudly boozy dinner party on Saturday, with lots of messing about in the countryside in between.

I’m just taking a sip of my vodka when Bloomie says quickly and with no pre-empt: ‘Jake is coming.’

My sharp, shocked intake of breath is badly mistimed with my drinking. I inhale the vodka and immediately start choking. My eyes and nose are streaming, my chest convulses with violent hiccups and I dribble and spurt the remainder of the vodka in my mouth all over my chin, sweater and the table.

‘Holy shit,’ says Bloomie.

I look up with panicked eyes, trying to tell them this isn’t an ordinary coughing fit, and Kate jumps up and starts banging on my back. After about ten seconds of this, though it feels like longer, all the vodka is out. I’m a wet, sticky mess, I can feel the eyeliner smearing all the way to my temples, and everyone in the bar is staring at me with a mix of panic and revulsion. I take a deep, shaky breath and bury my wet face in my wet hands. How. Fucking. Mortifying.