Chapter Twenty Mo
Chapter Twenty
MO
Even though Mo knew Netta had been invited to dinner, it was somehow still a surprise to see her ensconced in Rhona’s kitchen. But there she was, rolling out pizza dough in a little black dress and sexy boots.
Netta turned around slowly, still holding the rolling pin. She was covered in flour. ‘Oh, hello again,’ she said.
‘I didn’t realise it was that kind of party.’ The left side of Mo’s mouth hitched into a half grin as he rubbed the back of his index finger under his nose.
Netta’s hand flew up to the tip of her nose, which was dusted in white flour.
Her cheeks bloomed crimson as she frantically swiped at it with a tea towel and Mo regretted the joke instantly.
Not only would she think he was rude for not leading with ‘hello’ like a normal human, now she’d probably think he was some kind of drug pig too. Perfect.
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘What I should have said was: hello, Netta, nice to see you again.’
‘Yes.’ Netta’s hand hovered over her nose self-consciously. ‘It’s nice to see you again too.’
‘Show me.’ Don gently pulled Netta’s hand away from her face. ‘Clean as a whistle. And we haven’t had that kind of party for quite some time now, Mr Maplestone,’ he added. ‘How are you, mate?’
Mo’s shoulders softened a touch as Don passed him a glass and motioned for him to pour himself a wine from the bottle of pinot on the bench. ‘Not bad, man. This all looks amazing,’ he said.
‘Like I said to Netta here, I hope you like pizza, because if you don’t, you’re going to be hungry.’
Mo grinned. ‘Who doesn’t like pizza?’
‘Psychopaths!’ shouted Carly again from the top level.
‘Does that mean you won’t be having any then?’ Mo called back.
‘Ha. Ha. Ha.’ Carly’s head appeared over the mezzanine railing.
‘Hi, Carly.’
‘Hi, Mo.’
‘Tell Miles to come down, Carly,’ called Don. ‘It’s time to make the pizzas.’
The kids clattered down the stairs and were introduced to Netta while Mo scooped them into hugs. Carly was wearing her favourite jeans again, Mo noted. Don’s laundry skills had obviously passed the test.
Don handed everyone a pizza tray and they all crowded around the bench to pile them up with toppings.
‘Rhona, can you help me take them out to the pizza oven?’ asked Don when they were done.
In a flurry of sequins and denim, expertly carrying three trays each, they made their way through the huge glass doors to the back garden, where a brick woodfire oven sat squat in the far corner, already burning.
Mo looked at Netta across the bench. She was midway through a decent gulp of wine. ‘Did you know I was going to be here tonight?’
She swallowed hastily. ‘Yes, Rhona did mention it.’
‘The thing is, I’m glad you’re here,’ he said, suddenly nervous. ‘There’s something I want to ask—’
‘Christ, it’s cold out there!’ interrupted Rhona, bustling back inside. ‘My nips are so frozen they could poke holes in my kaftan, seriously!’
‘Muuuum!’ cried Carly. ‘You’re so embarrassing!’
Rhona ignored her and motioned for Mo and Netta to join her in the front room, where a fire was roaring away within the marble fireplace and the Christmas tree filled the air with the fresh scent of pine.
‘So, I’m guessing you’re wondering why you’re here, Netta,’ Rhona said as they settled themselves on the overstuffed couches.
‘I thought I was here for dinner,’ said Netta with a nervous laugh. ‘Is there another reason?’
Rhona shifted her gaze to Mo. ‘Mo?’
He stole a quick glance at Netta. She looked decidedly nervous. He took a deep, here-goes-nothing breath. ‘The thing is, I need a date for the Christmas Eve Gala,’ he said.
‘Okay …’ answered Netta. ‘And what does that have to do with me, exactly?’
‘Well, it’s just that …’ Mo steadied his voice. ‘I know this might be weird, but I was hoping maybe you would come with me. As my partner for the night. Not for free, of course. I’d pay you.’
Netta’s eyes popped.
‘It’s not like that!’ Mo suddenly realised how his proposition had sounded. ‘All you’d have to do is the red carpet and sit next to me during the show,’ Mo said. ‘Nothing else. Kind of like an escort, I guess, if you wanted to put a label on it, but less weird. Hopefully.’
Netta’s face suggested she didn’t think his use of the word ‘escort’ was any less weird than tits on a bull.
‘Christ, Mo.’ Rhona rolled her eyes. ‘Should I go and get the shovel so you can dig yourself out of that one? Escort? Really?’
‘Yeah, fair enough. Poor choice of word. Sorry,’ said Mo, feeling uncharacteristically flustered. ‘I’m just not sure how to explain it. What it boils down to is that I’ve had some pretty bad press lately and the record company is threatening to renege on my contract and—’
‘What Mo’s trying to say,’ interrupted Rhona, ‘is that having someone lovely, like you, Netta, with him at the gala would be a good look for him at the moment, and he’s more than willing to pay you for your time, in the same way he’d have to pay for any type of marketing or publicity support.
He needs to patch his reputation up a bit or things are looking like they’ll go south very quickly. ’
Netta’s eyes crinkled and she released a half-hearted laugh. ‘Sorry. Is this a joke?’
‘No, I’m serious,’ said Mo. ‘You’d be doing me a huge favour. There’s a lot riding on the new album’s success. I can’t lose the contract.’
Netta’s eyes narrowed. ‘I’m sure you have a queue of women you could take who you wouldn’t have to pay.’
Mo hesitated, his cheeks warming. ‘That’s the thing.
I don’t, really. I was stupid when I was younger.
I got known for only dating women who looked like models or whatever and even then, never really getting into any sort of relationship.
And then recently I got drunk and made the same old mistake, and now it’s all over the internet and I’m being peddled as a middle-aged, has-been modeliser who also pushes paparazzi photographers around.
It’s not exactly the best look when I’m trying to resurrect my career with a comeback album.
’ He rolled his eyes and shook his head.
‘I don’t know if you saw the photos, but I definitely didn’t push him, by the way.
The guy deserves a star on Hollywood Boulevard. ’
‘He’s only ever taken his brother to big events,’ said Rhona, ‘so we thought it would be good PR to have a nice, lovely, age-appropriate date by his side this time. Figuratively flip all the haters the bird and hopefully put a stop to the chatter. Let them move on to the next poor target.’
‘And why have you only ever taken your brother?’ Netta served the question straight to Mo.
Mo flushed. ‘It’s just easier, I guess,’ he said. ‘A lot of women— Argh, it makes me sound like a wanker, but a lot of women just like the idea of me, if you get what I mean.’
‘And you think taking me this time would be helpful for your career?’
‘I think you’d be great. If you’re willing, of course.’
‘But I’m just … normal,’ said Netta. ‘I’m a school teacher, not a model or a celebrity or anything.’
‘But that’s exactly what makes you so perfect,’ said Rhona.
‘Right.’ Netta hesitated. ‘I’m not sure …’ She shifted her weight and re-crossed her legs.
Mo looked at his hands. ‘I understand,’ he said. ‘It’s a weird request.’
‘How much—’ Netta cut herself off, looking distinctly uncomfortable.
‘How much would you be paid?’ interjected Rhona. ‘Five thousand pounds. Right, Mo?’
Mo nodded. ‘Unless you think it should be more, Netta?’
‘God, no!’ said Netta. ‘That’s a huge amount of money as it is.’
She stared into the fire, her lips pressed together as though trying to keep what she wanted to say from escaping. Which, Mo figured, probably meant she was trying to find a polite way to say, No fucking way, you creep.
‘It’s okay,’ Mo said. ‘Forget about it. Sorry. I’ve made you feel uncomfortable.’
‘I’m not uncomfortable,’ she said. ‘I just feel a bit …’
‘Ambushed?’ joked Mo, trying to lighten the atmosphere.
Netta half smiled and released a ‘hah’ that might’ve been a laugh but was likely an agreement that, yes, actually, he had ambushed her.
‘No, not ambushed,’ she said. ‘Just … on the spot, or something. And doing something like that … well, I just don’t know if I could do it. But it’s not like I don’t need the money.’
‘Pizza!’ shouted Don, from the kitchen. ‘Would the committee members care to join us?’
‘Ah,’ said Rhona, ‘we have been summoned.’ As she stood, the firelight bounced off her disco-ball kaftan, sending little beams of light skittering across the walls. ‘We can finish this later.’
Again, Netta looked as though she was about to say something, but stopped herself. An almost imperceptible shake of her head didn’t escape Mo’s notice. It strummed at his conscience. He’d made things very, very awkward. He could see it written all over her face.