24. Melanie
Melanie drained her coffee and rinsed her cup.
‘Why are you all dressed up?’ Joni’s voice rang out.
Melanie jumped. She’d thought everyone was still in bed. She turned to face her daughter, who was covered head-to-toe in a fluffy blue onesie. ‘Hi, Joni, how come you’re up so early?’
‘We have to be in early for rehearsals.’
‘For the Christmas show? But it’s only mid-November.’
‘It’s a big deal and we have a lot to cover. Janis and I have pretty big parts.’
‘I know, yes, that’s great.’
‘Do you, Mum?’
Melanie’s phone buzzed. ‘Do I what?’
‘Know what parts we have?’
Melanie paused. What was the play? She knew it – they’d talked about it. It was Grease … No, that was last year. Damnit. Her mind froze. What the hell was it? Footloose? Yes!
‘It’s Footloose .’
‘And what parts do we have?’ Joni’s arms were folded. She reminded Melanie of her mother’s stance when she’d once got a C in maths. ‘There is no place for Cs in this house,’ her mother had warned her. Melanie had never got another.
What parts did they have? Melanie rattled her brain.
‘You’re part of the main gang, you’re one of his friends and Janis is one of the girlfriend’s friends.’
Joni snorted. ‘Wow, Mum, nice try. I’m Reverend Shaw and Janis is Rusty, Ariel’s best friend.’
‘Yes, I remember now. It’s the part Sarah Jessica Parker played in the movie.’
Joni pursed her lips. ‘A weak comeback, but at least you were half listening.’
Melanie smiled. ‘That’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me in ages.’
Joni shrugged. ‘We just feel that work always comes first with you and sometimes it sucks.’
‘I know, but with Nancy not at her best there’s even more pressure on me to bring in money.’
‘You also love it. I mean, you’re borderline obsessed.’
‘I enjoy what I do and I don’t think I should apologize for that. I hope you and Janis find something you love to do, too.’
‘I’m never going to work. I’m going to marry a guy with a great job and stay at home with my kids.’
Come back to me in ten years’ time, Melanie thought.
‘It’s hard on anyone when they’re the only breadwinner.
It puts a lot of pressure on them. Also, I think as women we should always have our own money.
I’m not saying you have to work as much as I do, but always earn some money of your own.
Work part-time, if you like, but if you earn nothing, you’re completely reliant on your partner.
What if you break up? You have to protect yourself and, also, I think it’s good for both partners’ self-esteem to contribute to the household. ’
Joni poured cereal into a bowl. ‘Jeez, Mum, it’s a bit early for the big lecture. Let me wake up fully before you give me the life-lessons talk. You may have had your coffee but I haven’t.’
Melanie ruffled her daughter’s hair and kissed her head. ‘Fair enough. Okay, I have to fly.’
Joni batted her mother’s hand away and fixed her hair. ‘Hey, you never answered my question, why are you so dressed up?’
‘I have a posh lunch with a possible new writer.’
‘Is he cute?’
‘No!’ Melanie lied. ‘Good luck with the rehearsals.’
Melanie discreetly sprayed perfume on her wrists under the table as she saw Petrus walking past the window, and then into the restaurant. He looked really well – tanned, fit and beautifully dressed in perfectly tailored grey trousers and an expensive-looking teal shirt that matched his eyes.
She stood up to greet him, and as he kissed her cheek, she got a waft of his musky aftershave.
She felt her libido spring to life. Get it together, Melanie.
He’s a prospective client, not a date. But it had been a very long time since Melanie had felt any attraction to anyone.
She’d assumed her libido was dead, buried under years of disuse and inattention.
But right now, she had the urge to rip off Petrus’s shirt and have sex on the table.
What the hell was going on? Was this what happened when your sex drive suddenly reignited?
‘So,’ Petrus said, ‘what are we drinking?’
Melanie’s normal answer would have been ‘Water. I have to go back to the office’, but she felt like breaking out and not doing what she was supposed to do. What the hell? She’d have some nice wine.
‘Let’s order some wine, shall we?’
Petrus took charge of the menu and ordered an eye-wateringly expensive bottle.
Not wanting to have to deal with Nancy nagging her about the extortionate cost of the meal, Melanie decided to put the wine on her personal card and the food on the company credit card.
She’d make the cost of the wine back in spades once she’d signed up Petrus.
They drank and chatted. Melanie laughed at his stories, which weren’t all that funny, but it felt good to let go and be a bit silly.
He reacted to her attention, leaning in and telling her inside gossip, which she lapped up.
The wine flowed, a lot more for Petrus than for her, but she was still feeling looser than normal and a little giddy.
Petrus slated his old agent and his former editor and told her he wanted a makeover.
He was ready to make radical changes. New agent, new publisher, new editor, and he had just started to write a ground-breaking and original novel.
Melanie danced inwardly. A new bestselling literary book, yes!
‘Can you tell me a little about the new novel?’
Petrus leant forward, taking her hand in his.
Melanie felt an electric shock run through her.
Petrus, his eyes glazed with alcohol, explained, ‘It’s about a woman from a tribe in the Amazon jungle who menstruates constantly and how the blood that spills from her vagina becomes known far and wide as a river of life that people come to drink from.
It has healing powers that can cure all kinds of disease and deformity. ’
Melanie tried to keep her face impassive, but she knew she was failing to hide her shock.
Was he insane? Was he delusional? A middle-aged white man writing a book about a tribal woman who bleeds constantly and people drink her menstrual blood …
Christ above! Her mind whirred, trying to find a workable angle.
Perhaps if she could get him to drop that idea and do something that people would want to read and wouldn’t get him cancelled, he was still worth signing.
Knowing how precious his ego was, she trod lightly.
‘Amazing, right? You’re amazed, yes.’ His smile was so self-assured.
‘I’m amazed all right and it’s certainly original but, I have to be honest, Petrus, I feel that people will not react well to a man writing this story.’
‘To hell with that bullshit. A good writer can write about anything, and a good actor can act any part. The whole point of art is that we inhabit our characters and create stories. I’m so sick of this cancel culture and appropriation bullshit.
Am I only allowed to write about a fifty-year-old white South African man?
If that was the case, Follow the Sun would never have won the Booker Prize! ’
‘To be fair,’ Melanie said, ‘that book was set in South Africa and it was about a white South African farmer.’
‘Yes, and I’m not a farmer, and I wrote from the point of view of the wife and the son too.
I hate this new world where you can’t say what you think, you can’t write what you want and everyone has to be so “woke”.
I won’t play that game. I’m going to finish this book and it’s going to be a masterpiece. Women will weep when they read it.’
Weep? They’ll have your balls for breakfast .
Melanie was beginning to get a wine hangover. Petrus’s attractiveness was suddenly waning. His book would die, that was certain. She had to get him to park the idea and come up with something that editors would want to publish and people would actually want to read.
‘So that’s one of your work-in-progress projects, but I’m curious to know if you have any other ideas on the backburner.
I’d be happy to help you brainstorm. I’m not saying the book you’re writing won’t find a place in the future,’ she said, lying brazenly, ‘but right now, no publishing house will touch it. I think the follow-up to The Path to Nowhere has to have a wider appeal and a more resonant story that readers will find immediately compelling.’
Petrus pulled away from her and folded his arms, pouting like a child. ‘When a writer is inspired and compelled to write a particular story, there is no room for any other ideas. I will not be persuaded to write anything until this masterpiece is finished. It’ll win me a second Booker.’
Maybe it was the wine headache, maybe it was the fact that her little frisson had disappeared and she was furious that he’d ruined her very welcome sexual awakening, but Melanie was angry now.
She felt like a deflated balloon. She’d wanted so badly to sign him, it would have been a huge coup, but now she just wanted to throw the contents of her water glass over him and tell him to cop the hell on.
She wrapped up the lunch and paid the stupidly large bill.
Petrus, oblivious to what had just happened and still living in his ‘Petrus the genius’ bubble, put his arm around her. ‘Send me the contracts and I’ll have my lawyer look over them.’
Melanie gently removed his arm. ‘I’m sorry, Petrus, but as I said, no one will touch this book. I just don’t think you’re a match for our agency at this time. But if, down the line, you’re open to writing something else, I’d be happy to have a chat.’
She left him open-mouthed in shock and walked back to the agency feeling completely dejected. Her big star signing had fallen flat on its face.
She was staring out of the window when Frank came into her office.
‘Well?’
She shook her head. ‘His ego is bigger than his talent. The book he’s working on is a car crash. I couldn’t sell it no matter how hard I tried, and I wouldn’t want to.’
Frank came over and sat beside her. ‘I’m sorry. I know how much you wanted him on the books.’
She exhaled deeply. ‘Yep, I really did. I thought if I signed Petrus, I’d have really made it. People would take notice and it would make me one of the top agents globally.’ She suddenly felt as if she wanted to cry.
Frank reached over and held her hand. ‘You’re a legend in my eyes, Melanie. You already have a big prize-winner in Sloane. And you’re inundated with manuscripts. Don’t worry, you’ll find a Booker Prize-winner, and you’re already hugely respected.’
Melanie smiled at him. ‘Thanks.’ Frank had always known how to reassure her when she had a wobble. It was one of his super-powers – empathy oozed from his every pore.
They sat in silence and then Frank said, ‘Actually, there was something I wanted to talk to you about.’
Oh, no. When Frank wanted to talk it was usually about her needing to spend more time at home or with the twins …
‘I think it’s fair to say that we have been drifting a bit.
I miss you and I miss us. I feel that the intimacy in our relationship could do with a boost. So I’ve booked us a private Tantric sex class.
I know it’s out of your comfort zone and I promise you it’s not naked guided sex or anything like that.
This practitioner is all about helping couples to reconnect with each other.
If at any point you feel uncomfortable, we’ll stop.
I think it’s worth a try to help us find each other again. What do you say?’
Melanie would normally have dismissed it, put it off or just said no.
But she was tired and feeling down, and Frank was so kind and good, and he was right: they had drifted miles apart and sex was a distant memory.
She had just felt her sex drive spark up and die again, but at least she had felt something, even if it had been for another man.
She did not want to do this, it most certainly was out of her comfort zone, but she felt guilty for giving Frank so little time.
She owed it to him, and to their marriage, to give it a go.
She squeezed his hand. ‘You’ve caught me at a weak moment. Okay, I’ll do it, but if it gets in any way weird, I’m out.’
Frank wrapped his arms around her and she snuggled into his shoulder. He smelt familiar and comforting.
Her phone buzzed.
Frank pulled back and stood up. ‘Go on, I know you want to get it.’
‘Thank you!’ She smiled at him.
He left the room and she opened the email.
It was from a children’s author called Ruby Rose, asking to meet for a chat about Melanie possibly representing her.
She said in her email that she lived in London, but she wanted the meeting to take place at the Fitzroy Agency office.
Curious, Melanie typed ‘Ruby Rose’ into the search bar and clicked. A string of images filled her screen.
Melanie sat back in her seat, shocked. Oh, my God!
She recognized her immediately. It was her!
It was the woman she’d seen Ross arguing with at the Goldstone awards.
The woman who’d slapped him across the face.
And she wanted to come here, to the office.
Melanie stared at Ruby Rose, smiling out at her from behind her latest novel for children. What was going on?