CHAPTER 7
Jeremy was editing an article that, much like his mum’s cat in the morning, loved a big stretch.
It argued that television had ‘peaked’ with the latest installation of the Real Housewives franchise.
So far, it was as incoherent as it was long, but Jeremy thought that if he stripped it down and rewrote it there might be a decent article in there. Perhaps. He was having a ball.
It had been a long day. Vanessa had made one of her rare appearances in the office and, even worse, had ideas for something new.
They were so low-staffed and overworked that new ideas felt like grenades, and she was throwing them around with abandon today.
Podcasts, YouTube channels, a new vertical.
It wasn’t that they were bad ideas – it was just that there was nobody who had the time to make any of them happen, and the company was too cheap to hire anyone else.
Her current obsession was a podcast about ‘interesting things’.
Aiden had turned up in the morning wearing a slutty rave outfit that was clearly from the night before: a lime-green PVC-vest number that lit up with pulsating lights.
He’d lasted the morning meeting, slurping on a huge iced coffee before realising he hadn’t brought his laptop and had no idea where his wallet was.
He’d gone home to get them and maybe change into something less resistant to fluid stains, but that had been hours back, leaving Jeremy one writer short.
To make matters worse, Jeremy had agreed to go to the theatre tonight with Liz and Anna, a holdover from the early part of his revenge plan.
Liz and Anna, he discovered, were much more cultured than he knew, and often went to the theatre together.
In theory, it sounded like an easy way to play at sophistication, but now it was upon him after a long and stupid day, he realised he’d literally prefer sitting in his room, alone and in the dark, listening to whale noises.
A ding sounded from Jeremy’s phone, and he perked up when he saw it was from an unknown number but wasn’t spam or a fast-food restaurant informing him of a burger-related bargain.
Unknown: TONIGHT – TIME FOR YOU TO FIND A BOYFRIEND. brING EVERY SINGLE DATING APP AND COMPUTER DEVICE YOU OWN. THE WORLD WILL TREMBLE. Sam
A thrill of pleasure went through Jeremy, which was clearly because this gave him a good reason to cancel going to the theatre. He smiled and texted back:
Are you sure you’re not my mum? Obsessed with me getting a boyfriend and typing all in capitals is giving me real maternal vibes. I’m in – where shall we meet?
Sam: DARLING HELP ME CHANGE THE CHANNEL ON FOXTEL. We shall meet at my local, The Postman, at 7 sharp.
Jeremy immediately messaged his group chat with Anna and Liz.
Jeremy: sorry, big spite-pie development happening tonight, raincheck on the shakespeare or whatever
Anna: boo you whore
Liz: boo you sex worker
Anna: enjoy your date with Saaaaaaaaaaam
Naturally, Jeremy had kept Anna and Liz in the loop about the development of Sam’s status from gym nemesis to friend with benefits (the benefits being revenge). Naturally, they were enjoying teasing him about it.
Jeremy: it’s actually homophobic to assume that every time a gay man is friends with a straight man he is secretly into him
Liz: it’s actually homophobic to cancel on your friends at the last minute so I guess we’re even.
Jeremy rushed home after work to change, deciding his office wear was tainted with the hustle and grind of his job.
Besides, he needed to get himself in the frame of mind of someone who could capture the eyes and hearts of eligible bachelors around the nation.
He had a couple of outfits he tended to wear on dates, and he decided on his favourite – a blush velvet turtleneck, big pointy shoes and slouchy jeans.
It made him look long and gay, like a greyhound at pride.
When he turned up at the pub, he had the sensation of being slightly overdressed, which went hand in hand with feeling that his outfit was something of a slay.
The Postman was a nice place – less ramshackle than the Legs, and definitely cleaner, but it didn’t feel sterile.
It still felt lived in, homely. He also liked that there was a drag queen sitting morosely on a stool, sipping a drink through a straw, probably waiting to perform later that night, or perhaps just having a bad day.
Scanning the room, he heard Sam’s deep laughter booming from a table tucked behind the bar, a noise that filled Jeremy with unexpected warmth, though this was quickly dispelled when he saw that the reason for his merriment was a beautiful woman sitting next to him.
Sam was sitting casually, head thrown back as he laughed, a bright pink-and-red checked shirt rolled up to his elbows, a hint of dark stubble across his face and neck making him look rugged.
The girl – blonde bob, skirt and red blazer, the kind of girl who would look good in a beret – had a long-manicured hand resting on Sam’s arm as she clearly whispered more hilarities to him. Jeremy decided that he hated her.
He approached, and the girl looked up first, coolly assessing him, before pasting on a big, toothy and obviously fake smile.
‘Oh my god, this must be the famous Jeremy – I am already obsessed with you,’ she gushed.
‘There he is,’ said Sam, his smile softening as he got up and pulled Jeremy into a quick hug. The girl followed suit. She smelt like expensive cupcakes.
‘Hi, I’m Jeremy,’ he said with a forced smile. ‘You must be Sam’s girlfriend.’
The girl cackled, like an actual witch, and shook her head. ‘Oh my god, I wish,’ she said. ‘Everyone in the office wants to marry Sam, but he’s too hard to lock down.’ She had one of those fun British accents – not entirely Dick Van Dyke in Mary Poppins , but not quite Mrs Banks either.
‘Patricia is my colleague … maybe work-wife?’ clarified Sam. ‘We share custody of our two beautiful children: burnout and depression.’
‘Hmm, I’m at least part of the work harem,’ said Patricia.
‘It’s nice to meet you,’ Jeremy said more normally, sitting down across from her.
‘I was fascinated to meet you. I’m obsessed with your whole spite plan.’ She placed her chin in her hands and stared at him like he was about to do something spiteful at any moment.
‘I hope you don’t mind,’ said Sam, casting an apologetic look at Jeremy, ‘but I had to get Patsie’s help on this project; she’s our resident socials expert.
We’ve been working non-stop on this huge climate rally that we’re planning for later in the year – it’s kind of my baby – and because she’s the best in the biz, we were talking digital strategies, and I realised we need to get her involved here too. ’
Patricia rolled her eyes, pulling out of her bag a huge phone, a laptop and even an iPad. ‘I mean I am, yes, but the real reason is that Sam is an actual alien who doesn’t have any social media at all.’
Jeremy started, staring at Sam in mock horror. ‘Nothing? Not even a private Instagram?’
Patricia shook her head sadly. ‘No, and what a shame that is for the entire internet. It’s a struggle to get him to use his email. My dad is more internet literate than him, and he was born a thousand years ago and still calls the radio “the wireless”.’
Jeremy laughed, but also he had secretly tried to track Sam down on social media with no success, so it felt like a mystery had just been solved.
‘Yes, Sam’s fatal flaw is that he’s a time-travelling Scottish lord who doesn’t understand computers. But you, Jeremy my love, have the opposite problem. You use social media way too much.’
‘I do not!’ protested Jeremy.
Patricia calmly slid her phone towards him; it showed his Instagram, where he’d already posted a picture of the beer he was drinking, Patricia and Sam looming somewhere in the background. ‘This was from thirty seconds ago,’ she said.
‘Okay, true, but in my defence, I use social media every day for work, and —’
‘Shush, my angel,’ she said, waving off his protestations.
‘I cannot throw stones from inside my fabulous glass condo. I get it, I do. And it’s fine – except for the kind of dating-spree campaign we’re about to undertake, in service of which we need to leave some mystery, make sure you look more impressive and – dare I say it?
– normal.’ Jeremy must have looked confused, because Patricia sighed and started scrolling through his Instagram.
‘Your online presence is a little terrifying. Why do you look either sad or manic in all your selfies? Why have you live-blogged the Lord of the Rings films multiple times? Why do you constantly post a picture of a possum in a bin captioned mood ? That was rhetorical. I don’t want to know – and neither will the kind of people you need to date for this scheme either. ’
She switched to the iPad and turned it towards Jeremy.
It showed a clean Instagram profile with a neat array of pictures of Jeremy, smiling, raising a glass, even a rare photo of him at the beach not looking miserable and sunburnt.
‘I’ve made you new social media handles, which we’ll link to your dating apps – nothing weird and sad, just good vibes.
Also, you’ve interviewed quite a few celebrities – you should be showing that off more; people think it’s impressive when there’s a photo of you with Jason Momoa,’ Patricia said, tapping the screen with one long and elegant nail.
If there was one thing Jeremy was good at, it was writing celebrity profiles and interviews.
He’d done them quite a bit before he was promoted to deputy editor, and the secret, he believed, lay somewhere between not being too impressed by the celebrity and acting like a normal person.
Sometimes it was like trying to feed a very angry buffalo with a tiny spoon, but he didn’t mind. Celebrities didn’t scare him.