Chapter 6
It takes all my strength to keep my head held high when all I want to do is let it sink to the table beneath me, press my forehead against the cool marble, and think about my life choices.
But this is a nice bar, with a dress code, and rules of conduct.
You can’t have an existential crisis here; it’s not the vibe.
JJ arrives – effortlessly carrying two drinks in each hand by the stems of the glasses – before I can sink any lower.
She looks fire, in a red jumpsuit with matching red lipstick and pumps with huge heels. Of course, as always, her best accessory is her self-confidence.
‘So, how did it go?’ she asks. ‘Well?’
‘I think your ponytail is too tight,’ I reply, pulling a face. ‘I messaged you a frog – that only means one thing.’
‘Froggy style?’ she offers up through a daft grin.
‘This is why I’m the writer and you’re the agent,’ I say, playfully wincing at her joke. ‘And also why you’re going to get me a book deal, because the date was awful.’
‘Awful is a big word,’ she replies as she lifts her Martini and takes a delicate sip. ‘There’s a whole spectrum between awful and ecstasy.’
‘I mean, I’m ecstatic to be alive,’ I reply. ‘He basically talked about how he was going to choke me.’
‘Whit, a lot of people are into that sort of thing, I think you need to cut him some slack,’ she replies.
I simply stare at her for a few seconds and slowly blink my eyes.
‘Erm, we don’t knock things until we’ve tried them,’ she reminds me. ‘And we don’t kink-shame.’
‘Let’s just put a pin in that line of thought and get back to the actual matter at hand which is that he talked about strangling me,’ I explain – because it turns out I need to. ‘All he really wanted to talk about was his book—’
‘Did you talk about yours?’ she asks, interrupting me, her gaze suspicious.
‘Not as much as he talked about his,’ I insist. ‘Do you know what he’s working on?’
‘Some kind of historical Sherlock Holmes kind of thing, I think,’ she replies. ‘Why?’
‘He told me he’s writing about a crime writer who murders romcom writers,’ I practically squeak. ‘And he was talking about a blonde victim called Britney.’
She snorts.
‘He will have been having you on, Whit,’ she replies. ‘I thought you liked a joke…’
‘Jokes are funny,’ I tell her. ‘He was not.’
‘I mean, it all sounds kind of hot to me, like role play—’
‘Like serial-killer role play,’ I correct her.
‘And to each their own,’ she insists with confidence.
‘Have you ever thought about becoming a lawyer?’ I ask, keeping my face straight as I sip my drink.
‘Well, if Kim Kardashian can do it – I’ve always felt we had a lot in common,’ she replies.
No comment.
‘You have issues,’ I tell her.
‘Fun issues though,’ she replies. ‘We all have issues – yours are boring.’
‘Pah! This will be good,’ I say. ‘What issues?’
‘Well, you compare every man you meet to your best friend,’ she replies. ‘Your second-best friend, I should say. You could do a lot worse than me.’
‘But not much,’ I tell her before blowing her a kiss. ‘And look, if I do compare men to Andy, that’s only because he’s a great friend and a guy. So good guys do exist.’
‘That’s the problem though, you cannot compare a date to a mate,’ she insists.
‘He’s your mate, he cares about you, you live together.
So you know if he invites you to dinner, it’s because he thinks you’re hungry, or if he catches you dashing from the bathroom to the bedroom in those big knickers you wear, it doesn’t matter. He’s immune.’
‘Erm, I do not wear big knickers,’ I protest. ‘Just because you won’t wear anything that doesn’t double up as a sex toy…’
‘I’m a busy woman,’ she replies with a laugh.
A big part of our friendship is teasing each other. We both get such a kick out of it – plus, it keeps us on our toes. This proves my point though – you should always compare potential dates to your friends. That way you’ll always get someone who deserves you.
I slump back in my seat.
‘Ahh well, to Pete,’ JJ jokes, raising her glass. ‘May the authorities finally catch up to him.’
‘To Pete,’ I reply, clinking her glass. ‘And to no more dates.’
JJ quickly removes her glass from her lips.
‘No, no, no, I’m not drinking to that,’ she says. ‘You owe me one more date.’
‘You owe me not getting murdered!’ I clap back.
‘Fair enough, I’ll try not to pick a murderer this time,’ she says – which kind of makes it sound like she didn’t try that hard last time. ‘Just, come on, give me one last shot? I’m bored.’
‘Well, if you’re bored,’ I reply, unable to hide my sarcasm.
‘One more shot,’ she says, setting her drink down like she means business. ‘But this time we’ll do things differently. Tell me exactly what you’re looking for in a man and I’ll actually listen.’
I open my mouth, then close it again. What do I want?
I write romance, so I’m forever dreaming up romantic leads – those guys always seem great. Perhaps I should request my own leading man. I should dream big and, well, if JJ can’t deliver then even better, to be honest.
‘I want a novel-worthy man,’ I tell her.
‘You had one earlier,’ she jokes. ‘Unless you had a specific genre in mind?’
I drum my finger against my chin as though I’m pondering it.
‘Hmm… maybe romance?’ I offer up.
‘Someone from one of those “Dating My Doctor” kinda books?’ she says with a wiggle of her eyebrows. I thought she was going for a Mills & Boon vibe, but her eyebrows are giving nothing but spice.
I’ve written male leads. I’ve spent years crafting fictional men, giving them flaws and charm and devastating jawlines. I can tell you exactly what my heroines want. But me?
‘Someone who feels like he’s been ripped from the pages of a romcom,’ I specify. ‘A walking, talking trope of a man.’
She glares at me.
‘You’re being unrealistic on purpose.’
‘I am not,’ I protest. ‘I just want someone really special. Someone who, if this were a movie, would walk in slow motion while eighties music plays. Someone with a sexy job, like a fireman or a soldier, wouldn’t go amiss though.’
‘How about a single dad or a billionaire?’ she asks – now it’s her turn to be sarcastic.
‘If you can find me a billionaire…’ I say with a smile and a shrug.
‘Right, well, I’m not sure where I’ll find a cowboy in London at short notice, but thanks for your input,’ she tells me. ‘But I can’t promise slow motion or eighties music or romantic gestures or kissing in the rain.’
‘To be honest, I’d be delighted if you could find me someone I like who is capable of texting back or not threatening to choke me,’ I say.
‘He didn’t want to choke you, he wanted to choke Britney,’ she says with a laugh. ‘Totally different girl.’
‘I just want someone… worth the effort,’ I tell her, my words suddenly feeling much heavier.
‘You want a romance worth writing about,’ she replies.
‘Is that sooo much to ask?’ I reply in a silly voice. ‘Or do I have unrealistic expectations?’
‘I think you have expectations generally,’ she replies. ‘I recommend ditching those. Otherwise, the men outside the books – the real ones who will actually shag you – will seem… underwhelming.’
‘I only want a good plot twist,’ I say. ‘A leading man. No side characters. No red herrings. Just a nice, predictable romance.’
‘Then stop picking them,’ she insists.
‘I’m not picking them,’ I remind her. ‘You’re picking them.’
‘Semantics,’ she says with a bat of her hand. ‘You were doing a shit job before I got involved.’
She leans back, stretching her legs out under the table, inadvertently booting me with her big shoe. God, I wonder what she’s powering up for.
‘Okay. You want someone big, cinematic, tropey. Prince Charming crossed with a sexy cowboy, maybe with an accent. Tall, good hair, wounded past, secret soft spot. Essentially a walking cliché whom you will then try very hard not to fall for because you’re stubborn and you don’t like being told what to do.
Does that sound like the elevator pitch to how this is going to go? ’ she asks, her smile verging on smug.
‘Sounds perfect,’ I joke.
‘Are you being unrealistic on purpose?’ she asks, being serious for a moment. ‘Because if no one can live up to your fantasy, then you never actually have to let anyone in.’
‘No, not at all,’ I insist. ‘I just… I want it to be special. Is that so wrong?’
JJ’s expression softens.
‘No,’ she says. ‘It’s not wrong. It’s very you. Mildly irritating for me, but very you.’
I can’t help but laugh.
‘Okay,’ she says, drumming her long nails on the table. ‘Challenge accepted. One more date. I will find you a man who feels like he would’ve been played by noughties Matthew McConaughey.’
‘I’ll take any decade McConaughey, if he’s free,’ I assure her.
‘Wouldn’t we all,’ she says with a sigh. ‘But, okay, I feel like I know what I’m doing now. We have a baseline – no murderers – and we can go from there.’
‘The only way is up,’ I reply.
Truly.
‘So it’s on?’ she checks.
‘One more shot,’ I insist. ‘One date. But if it’s a stinker then I never have to listen to you again, deal?’
‘I mean, you still have to listen to me professionally, I’m your actual agent,’ she reminds me. ‘But, romantically, sure, if I strike out, I’ll back off.’
I wonder if she means that.
I know I’m putting in a big order. I also know that I didn’t actually ask JJ for help.
The thing is though, I know I’m lucky, to have someone who cares.
Andy never sets me up with any of his friends (he says it would be too weird – and too awkward if it didn’t work out) but JJ is adamant she’s going to get me my happy ever after.
Or my ‘happy ending’ as she calls it. I’m pretty sure we’re talking about the same thing.