MAN MAGNETS
London, England
(Three Weeks Later)
“Don’t look. They’ll be over soon,” announced Jamie. India looked. She wasn’t the type to follow instructions. Luckily for Jamie, India didn’t know who she wasn’t supposed to be looking at.
“Look at me,” said Jamie as she laughed loudly at nothing. She slowly ran her fingers through her smooth hair, which she’d taken great pains to tame with straighteners earlier that evening, in anticipation of their Saturday night out. “The guys that just sat two tables behind us. They’ll be over soon.”
“How do you know?” But India didn’t need to ask. She knew better than to question Jamie’s man-knowledge.
The girls had been in deep discussion over the female orgasm, and on their third round of Porn Star Martinis at Beach Blanket Babylon, or ‘BBB,’ as they liked to call it. Discerning enough to keep out the riff-raff but cool enough to lure a captivating audience. It had always been one of their favourite haunts, especially in its original gothic era. The candlelight offered just enough glow to filter the dark shadows of the late-night revellers, belying them as attractive as could be after a few drinks. Jamie had clocked the two guys from the moment they’d entered the bar; it would only be a matter of time before they made a move.
“Hi there, can we interest you girls in joining us for a drink?” The better looking of the two was the first to speak. Jamie and India feigned surprise at their impromptu intrusion. Ah, it was so easy. Men were predictable, and Jamie was rarely wrong.
“Hmmmm, okay, but just give us a moment; we’re in the middle of something.” Jamie liked to keep men waiting. In fact, she was professional at it. She played them like they played other women. Except Jamie played them better at their own game.
“Okay, maybe we can get you some drinks in the meantime?” The taller, cuter one seemed to be doing most of the talking, his eyes never leaving Jamie for even a second, as they both hovered, ever so hopefully, next to the girl’s table.
“Sure, we’ll have another round of Porn Star Martinis, thank you.” India had zero interest in either, but wasn’t about to turn down free drinks. The girls watched as the boys walked over to the busy bar, buying them enough time to figure out their next move.
“Ooh, he’s so your type babe. You should totally go for him.” India smiled at Jamie as she pushed her fringe, now long enough to tuck behind her ear.
“Oh, I fully intend to. Did you see those eyes? Damn, so sexy.” Jamie hadn’t met anyone she fancied in a while, and this was the type of distraction she could really go for. She made sure to keep up with the aimless laughter. Sure-fire man magnet. What man didn’t like fun-loving girls? Much less those that weren’t so easy to get.
It wasn’t long before the boys were back and bearing drinks. Four perfect Martini glasses, with black straws and a dried passion fruit piece inside the middle of each.
“Hope you don’t mind, but we added the Prosecco at the bar. Easier to carry. Is it okay to join you now?” This one had a cheekiness about him, and Jamie noticed a slight dimple on his right cheek as his smile broadened. His teeth were pretty nice, too. She looked away, not wanting to give away her interest too soon.
“Sure, take a seat.” India made room as she shuffled her seat closer to Jamie’s, taking one of the drinks and sucking the contents through the straw faster than you could shout, ‘another round, please.’
Mark and Cameron were their names. It was obvious from the start that Cameron and Jamie had the strongest attraction. Cameron was exactly Jamie’s type. Tall and boyishly good looking, with messy brown hair that she could run her fingers through and grab at an opportune moment. He had the deepest blue eyes—her favourite kind—shrouded in thick black lashes, and lips that were pink and full and just waiting to be kissed.
“So, what do you girls do?” Mark finally made small talk whilst making big eyes at India. Mark was from New Zealand. He loved to surf and had a particular liking for Diesel clothing, and now India. India, however, seemed distracted, more interested in fiddling with her outfit of the evening—a preloved silver baby doll dress she’d chanced upon in a thrift store in Paris, teamed with black Isabel Marant ankle boots she’d ‘borrowed’ from a shoot. Jamie knew the signs.
“Oh, we’re models.” Jamie smirked, as if it weren’t obvious enough. She loved the way men’s jaws predictably dropped when she said that. Somehow, their already evident interest would burst into orbit at the mere thought of being seen with cover girls. Men, so easy to impress.
Cameron was a graphic designer. At least, that’s what he said he was. He’d been working on a rather large project for a new brand of beer. The mere mention of the word ‘beer’ had him drop a few levels in Jamie’s estimation, but it wasn’t his work talents she was after. In fact, Jamie wasn’t listening too much to what he was saying. Mark said he worked in finance. Again, who knew and who really cared?
The boys had to be given credit for their efforts, as the girls weren't making it easy for them. Visibly uninterested, India suddenly piped up, with a trill in her voice, “Need to powder my nose, boys. Would you excuse me while I go to the little girls’ room? Coming, Jamie?”
“What is it with you girls, always going to the bathroom together?” Mark was agitated that he wasn’t able to secure an uninterrupted chat with the blonde bombshell. His face seemed to flush scarlet, in keeping with the strawberry blonde tone of his hair. Little did he know, India passionately disliked redheads. Mark had a snowball’s chance in hell of getting anywhere with her.
Tinkering down the narrow stairs to the toilets, under the watchful glare of the washroom attendant, India feigned sickness and ran into one of the cubicles with Jamie closely behind.
“No, girls, No. Only one person in each toilet.” The visibly despondent woman who had been sitting next to her little shop of perfume, gum, and all other manner of ‘freshening up items’ needed on a night out, stood up in panic.
“She’s going to be sick. I need to look after her.” Jamie barged her way into India’s cubicle and quickly bolted the door closed behind them. Not totally convinced, the attendant succumbed, “Oh, okay, but no funny business,” returning to her chair.
But funny business was exactly what India had in mind, as she pulled out an old rolled-up fifty pound note and a little bag of white powder that she’d stuffed into her padded bra.
Crouching down, she sprinkled some of the powder onto the loo seat and, with precision, used her silver credit card to divide the happy dust into two perfect little lines.
Just before she took her first hit, India made the required retching sound, promptly followed by, “That’s it sweetheart, get it all out,” from Jamie, for the benefit of the attendant.
Nose powdered, India looked up at Jamie. “Want some?” Jamie declined. She wasn’t into drugs. Vodka-based cocktails, yes, but so far, drugs hadn’t really been her thing, despite many models doing it. Most did it to keep their weight down. But it was also just a part of the party scene, and no-one ever seemed to question it.
“No thanks, dolly. Maybe later.” Jamie was leaning against the cubicle wall, her long legs struggling to find room. Thankfully, she was wearing jeans, so her skin didn’t need to touch anything unsanitary. Her favourite black Rag either that or they just had more money to spend on drugs.
Charles had managed to convince the girls to join him on an expedition of the seediest—correction—‘sleaziest’ joints that Mayfair had to offer. Every bar was overflowing with barely legal hookers or Eastern European titillators syphoning drinks from unsuspecting men. After India decided to carry on the party back at Charles’ Belgravia pied-à-terre, Jamie decided her own bed was what she wanted most and snuck home.
It seemed no time had passed, and suddenly Madison had stormed into her room. “Mum, when did you get back?” Her small hands defiantly placed on her slim hips.
“Arrrrgggghhhh! I’m sleeping, I’m really tired. Let me sleep. Go back downstairs, sweetie, pleeease.” That’s all she needed, Madison on her case. Next, Maria would be up and interrogating her too, as was customary after each and every one of Jamie’s nights out. That was more interrogation in her house than the local police constabulary probably got through in a week. Being so ridiculously puritanical in her views, Maria was never going to approve of Jamie’s lifestyle. ‘You should be a virgin until you’re married,’ was one of her first recommendations, but that fell on deaf ears as Jamie discovered the joy of sex—as well as every page in the Kama Sutra —by the age of sixteen.
Jamie pulled the covers over her head. Perhaps Madison would go away if she ignored her, but Madison just stood there, staring with despair at her slightly worse-for-wear mother.
“Locita. You’re just like a child, Mum. I’m going downstairs.”
The harsh reality was Jamie could not sleep in all day; she had a ten-year-old daughter to look after. Although with her head and room spinning and her heart doing ten to the dozen—one line had turned to three—she wasn’t exactly perfect mother material. If she could just get some sleep, she could deal with the rest of the day. Glancing again at her phone to check the time, she contemplated texting Cameron, but quickly cast the ridiculous thought from her mind. She was wasted, but not so much as to do something that stupid. After all, she liked Cameron. No, she would wait. He’d call later, and that way she kept the power.
As the room spun faster, Jamie thought of Kate. She missed Kate. Responsible Kate, who would never allow her to get into such a state. What was it about being back in London that made her act so differently? Was it the city? India? Her friendship with India was nothing like her friendship with Kate. It was almost as if she wore a different persona with India. She wasn’t so sure if she liked her London-self as much as her Mallorca-self. Or more accurately, the person she was with India, compared to the one she was with Kate. Ufffff, what was I thinking? Stupid drugs. Jamie made a mental note never to take them again. The aftermath just wasn’t worth it. Pulling her black satin mask over her eyes, the world started to blur again until she finally got back to sleep. Out cold.
* * *
“Mum, do we have to eat here? Why can’t we go to McDonald’s?” moaned Madison, as Jamie walked on ahead, following the young, French and rather tasty waiter as he showed them to their table at the High Road Brasserie. “But Mum, I really want to have chicken nuggets.” Madison dragged her feet in protest.
Jamie ignored her and kept smiling through gritted teeth. She didn’t want to create a scene or fuel the existing one further. Especially not with the gorgeous waiter hovering around, and especially not in the only place to be really seen in W4 since the Soho House chain had branched out to what was practically suburbia.
Madison reluctantly parked herself on the green leather banquette opposite her mother and huffed profusely. Her face was contorted into an unrecognisable demeanour, resembling someone who’d just swallowed a fly, or a slug or something equally distasteful. Jamie was not impressed. She had hoped for a lovely, relaxing afternoon, but it was clear she wasn’t going to get one.
Looking back at Madison, who was momentarily quiet and fiddling with her hair—no doubt waiting for her mother to change her mind and offer lunch at McDonald’s as she’d requested—Jamie smiled inwardly. Yes, Madison could be an annoying little brat at times, driving her to the brink of insanity, but she was still her daughter; her very pretty, manipulative, clever daughter, who she loved dearly.
“There’s nothing I like on the menu,” Madison announced loudly as she inspected the menu for McDonald’s-style items. Lovely warm thoughts about daughter suddenly evaporated.
“Well, don’t eat then.” Anything to keep her daughter quiet; she didn’t want a scene.
“But Mum, I’m hungry; do you want me to starve?” Madison’s voice grew louder to match her now saucer-sized eyes.
“Shush.” Jamie’s patience was wearing thin as she glanced around to see if anyone was staring. Her head was pounding too. What was she thinking, taking Madison out to lunch today of all days?
“You like fish fingers, don’t you? What about spaghetti or …” Jamie was still hopeful of finding a way to salvage the afternoon, and one that didn’t involve McDonald’s.
“I hate fish fingers. When did I say I liked fish fingers? God, you don’t even know what your own daughter likes to eat. I like chicken nuggets. Why can’t we just go to McDonald’s? Daddy always takes me to McDonald’s.”
Jamie pulled a face, as if to say, ‘ooh, Daddy this and Daddy that.’ So what? Did taking one's child to a fast-food chain suddenly elevate one to Parent of the Year? What about all the times he wasn’t around? Was he so great then? He certainly wasn’t the one putting food on her plate, except for the occasional Happy Meal.
“I can’t believe you, Mum. You’re just going to let your own daughter starve?” Madison had now entered into her standard theatrical mode and fellow diners were beginning to stare, as was the cute waiter. Jamie grew tense. She glared across the table at her daughter, dressed in what felt like a statement outfit, not too dissimilar to her own. Low slung flared jeans, a white T-shirt with the words ‘I’m not bossy I just have leadership skills’ emblazoned on it, a purple cap, and graffiti print Converse trainers that Jamie had bought her in Berlin. As if it weren’t embarrassing enough to have your own daughter dress like your twin—although Jamie’s top was void of any wording—the last thing she needed was to attract the attention of normal civilised people trying to enjoy an uninterrupted lunch. As Jamie tried to look every which way but at her daughter, she noticed someone looking her way.
Several tables to the left of them sat a man who appeared to be sharing the same plight. His son—Jamie assumed it must be his son because why else would he choose to spend a Sunday lunchtime with someone else’s child?—probably around the same age as Madison, she guessed, was also throwing a tantrum. Contrary to the flustered Miss King, the father appeared to be handling the situation remarkably well; he was cool and incredibly calm. Jamie was impressed; mesmerised by his patience. When he caught her looking back, he smiled a knowing smile, acknowledging their mutual predicament. Jamie smiled back; it was the first time her face had genuinely cracked since they’d arrived, and in that moment at least, no longer felt alone in her misery.
Jamie shook her head in dismay. It just wouldn’t do. She decided it was best to get out of the restaurant as quickly as possible and make a swift exit before Madison really humiliated her. Besides, she was already sacrificing precious siesta-time. She rationalised it as a ‘work’ requirement, given she was booked for a shoot early the next morning. Dark, puffy eyes would not go down well at all. Uhhh , why had she stayed out so late, and why had she succumbed to the stupid drugs? The most fun she’d had was chatting with Cameron, and then the night just went south. Speaking of Cameron, she still hadn’t replied to the text he’d sent earlier whilst she was passed out. It read:
La la la lala la la laaaa.
I just can’t get you
out of my head. One
minute we’re talking
and the next you’ve fled.
Let me take you to dinner.
Cameron - in case you’ve
forgotten already.
Cute. Very cute. He was clearly paying homage to Kylie Minogue’s classic, which she’d commented she liked, when it came on in the bar. Yes, she would reply. But later.
“Why aren’t you ordering any food, Mummy?” Madison’s tone had changed, and her face had taken on a worried expression, as Jamie was jolted out of her reverie. She was too tired for this.
“Because you don’t want to eat. You don’t like anything, remember?”
“B-b-but—” Madison tried to justify herself, but this time Jamie was the one doing the butting in.
“No buts, Maddy. You said you were starving, and you didn’t like anything on the menu here, so we’re going. You can eat something at home.”
Madison went quiet. She pulled a sad face and painstakingly kept it that way as Jamie frog-marched her out of the restaurant. Passing the father and son, Jamie shrugged her shoulders as if to say, ‘I give up.’ The man shrugged back with a look that all but said, ‘I know exactly what you’re going through.’
En route home, Jamie realised she’d forgotten her cap, but she couldn’t return now. That would be too embarrassing. She’d have to pop back the following day without Madison. She was a familiar face. She even had membership to High Road House now; for sure they’d keep it for her. Once home, Madison bolted upstairs to her room, slamming the door behind her. This alerted Maria, who went to investigate. Jamie knew Maria would only sympathise with Madison, but she really didn’t have the energy to stop her. Frankly, she was grateful for the peace and quiet, and retreated to the sanctuary of her own bedroom. Sitting on the edge of her bed, Jamie took her laptop and decided to email Kate all about her woes. Kate would be sympathetic.
Laying back onto the warm, inviting covers, once she was done, Jamie was out cold. For the second time that day.