Chapter 35 Margot
Chapter 35
Margot
I’m in no mood to celebrate the realisation of anyone’s dream by the time I reach Liv’s studio.
The last three days have been awful. Nicu has made me – although he’d claim he ‘encouraged’ me to – accept a job. I only agreed because I hoped he might see how hard I’m trying to repair our relationship. And as a result, I’ve been locked inside a television studio in Elstree, with a gaggle of fame-hungry nobodies who now believe they’re celebs because a few bored kids have favourited their banal videos on social media.
Each had a virtually identical appearance – the girls with their fake tans, fake lips, fake hair, fake teeth and fake tits, and the boys with their pumped-up pecs, sleeves of tattoos, and bodies so waxed they resembled china dolls from their steroid-plumped necks down. Aside from me, the only person over the age of thirty was an actress I vaguely remember from Casualty . But she took an instant dislike to me before we’d even been formally introduced.
The title of the pilot show is Help! I’m In The House From Hell! and it is every bit as much of a rip-off of I’m A Celebrity ... Get Me Out Of Here as the title suggests. Inside the studio they built a ‘haunted’ home, and producers paired us up and locked us in different-themed rooms, with names like Deadly Dungeon and Fright Night. And once inside we were forced to face our fears, find a key and escape. The girl I was paired with spent so much time screeching, I’ve developed tinnitus.
I deadpanned my way through much of it, so much so that the director had a word with me off-camera and asked if I would play up the drama more.
‘If you wanted an actress, you should have hired Dame Helen Mirren,’ I told him.
‘Our budget was for McDonald’s, not The Ivy,’ he hit back, and was out of earshot by the time I could muster up a catty retort.
Hopefully word will get back to Geri that I’m worth more than this demeaning crap. I need my tank filled with something more in tune with my skillset, because on shows like this, I’m running on the fumes of my talent. One saving grace is that I doubt the programme will ever see the light of day anyway. Pilot episodes rarely amount to anything. And even if it does air, it won’t be on a mainstream channel.
The car park outside Liv’s studio is almost full, so I make use of an empty disabled space. I check the rearview mirror and refresh my lipstick. I’m still wearing the make-up they put me in for filming, so at least I look on point. I wish Nicu was with me, but I’m flying solo, no surprises there. His tour begins this month and he’s rehearsing seven days a week now, so I barely see him.
Inside, I push my way towards a waitress and help myself to two glasses of white wine, pouring one into the other. Then I head for Drew and Anna. Drew and I avoid eye contact.
‘How are you?’ Anna asks. ‘Good day?’
‘Fine, thanks.’ I want to say my body is here but my spirit has departed, however that would only provoke more questions. And I’m unwilling to admit just how far down the showbiz ladder I’ve fallen.
‘I love how contemporary it is,’ she continues, looking around and easily impressed. ‘Liv’s done a great job, hasn’t she?’
‘Liv or her interior designer?’ I ask.
‘Did I hear someone mentioning my name?’
Liv has appeared from behind us and I almost don’t recognise her out of sportswear. Tonight, she’s wearing a sky-blue chiffon long-sleeved midi dress and nude high heels. Her make-up is even better than mine. Must she always be the centre of attention?
‘I was just saying what a wonderful eye for design you have,’ I say quickly, my eyes bypassing Anna’s. ‘I love how contemporary it is.’
‘Oh, that’s so sweet of you.’ She looks genuinely flattered as she places her hand on my arm.
‘It’s ... neat,’ I add and smile to myself.
She takes a big sniff. ‘What are you wearing?’
‘Coco Mademoiselle. Kind of my signature scent. Expensive, but gorgeous.’
‘I’d always assumed it was created for the younger market. I didn’t realise it was multi-generational.’ She turns to Anna before I can defend myself. ‘And what do you think of the place?’
‘It’s amazing,’ Anna fawns.
‘Oh, and look.’ Liv lifts her necklace in her fingers. The pendant is flame-shaped and in two shades of blue.
‘It matches your dress perfectly,’ says Anna, beaming.
I’d take the compliment with a pinch of salt from someone whose floral dress reminds me of a well-kept grave.
‘I really appreciate you making something bespoke for me,’ Liv says. ‘Are you sure I can’t pay you for it?’
‘No, absolutely not,’ Anna replies. ‘My orders have more than trebled since your friend included them on her Instagram page.’
‘Just wait until those bracelets appear in Grazia . You’ll need to take on an apprentice to keep up with demand. You’ll have to train Margot.’ She laughs, but I know there’s a dig somewhere. ‘Do you have any skills we don’t know about, Margot?’
‘Is cynicism a skill?’ says Anna a little too quickly.
‘More of a blessing,’ I retort. ‘Actually, I just started a job myself. A little reality show that studio bosses think might be a hit. They needed a name to get it off the ground, so they begged me to ...’
But before I can sprinkle unicorn glitter over bullshit, Liv’s eye is caught by something over my shoulder and she makes her excuses and leaves.
As she wanders away, I catch Brandon’s eye. He’s chatting to the mayor – well, if it’s not the mayor, then it’s a man with questionable taste in gold necklaces. Perhaps he could be Anna’s apprentice. Brandon is casually dressed in white Converse trainers, smart blue trousers, a blue tux-style fitted jacket with a white vest underneath. I bet it was Liv’s idea to coordinate their outfits. She’s made them look like the mid-1990s Beckhams.
I linger on Brandon perhaps a little longer than I should, but he’s far more interesting than listening to Anna blathering on about a new line of jewellery designs. You can tell by the way he carries himself that he’s a confident man. There’s also something quite sexy about a stay-at-home dad. He makes his way over to us, and as he kisses my cheek, I recognise his aftershave immediately – Acqua Di Parma Colonia Essenza. My pulse quickens. Nicu used to wear this scent a lot. He might still do, but he never comes close enough for me to get a whiff of it.
‘You must be very proud of your wife,’ I say.
‘I am. Whatever she puts her mind to, she gets.’
‘Does that include you?’
He laughs. ‘I suppose so.’
‘I don’t think I’ve ever asked her. How did you two meet?’
‘A mutual friend’s leaving dinner,’ he recalls. ‘We sat next to each other at a restaurant and began talking.’
‘I thought you were going to tell me that you swiped left. Isn’t that how most couples meet these days?’
‘We’re a little old-fashioned, I suppose.’
‘Yet you’re the one who looks after the kids while your wife’s working.’
‘I’m in an expanding minority.’ Brandon shrugs. ‘And I wouldn’t have it any other way. It’s a gift to watch your kids grow up. But I don’t need to tell you that. You’re a mum, you know what I mean.’
If mine had been a gift, I’d have asked for the receipt and returned them by now.
‘But I’ll be sort of returning to work here, once I build up my personal-training portfolio,’ he adds.
‘Oh really? I had a personal trainer once and was thinking of using one again.’
He looks me up and down. ‘I don’t think it’d take very long to get you in shape,’ he says with a smile. ‘You already have the framework.’
Brandon looks me dead in the eye and holds my gaze until I am the first to break away. I feel myself flush. Am I imagining things, or is there a spark between us?