Chapter 2
‘Look at the arse on that one,’ JJ practically growls.
I look out of a combination of politeness and curiosity to see what kind of arse provokes that kind of reaction.
‘Jesus, his jeans are tight,’ I reply. ‘That’s like… vasectomy by denim.’
‘I’d have them off him before they could do him too much harm,’ JJ replies.
‘I fear you’d do much worse,’ I clap back.
I’d like to say that having a close male friend like Andy and a close female friend like JJ means I get the best of both worlds, but JJ could make Samantha Jones blush.
So I have my deep and meaningfuls with Andy and my skinfuls with JJ – usually when she drags me out on the pull with her, although let’s just say her arms are probably a lot stronger than mine.
We’re at Charliez, a super-hip London bar – the kind where they would probably throw me out if they overheard my saying phrases like ‘super-hip’, although JJ likely has enough street cred for the both of us, so I often find my name on guest lists they have no right to be on.
It’s dimly lit, boiling hot and packed full of people who look like they make more in one year than I’ll make… Hmm, I can probably stop that sentence there.
‘Fancy another cocktail?’ JJ asks, her gold bangles jangling in my ear as she waves over a waiter. ‘It is a business expense, after all.’
‘I’m not having a hangover so you can evade tax,’ I reply.
‘First of all, I don’t evade tax, I avoid tax,’ she corrects me. ‘And I’m sure you can handle a couple more.’
‘What can I get you?’ the waiter asks.
‘Two Porn Star Martinis,’ she replies. ‘And two Zombies. Thank you.’
‘Two each?’ I say, laughing in disbelief.
‘I’m basically your boss,’ she replies. ‘You have to do as I say.’
‘Erm, you’re my agent, and that’s not at all a boss-type role,’ I point out, even though I know she’s joking.
‘Then consider it a professional suggestion,’ she replies. ‘Living a little won’t hurt your cause, you know.’
I’m sure it won’t help either.
JJ is one of the most successful literary agents in the country.
She mainly represents celebrity clientele, helping them secure their book deals to add another string to their bow, and then there’s me who writes celeb biographies, or ghostwrites the occasional autobiography, but I’m so tired of it.
What I really want to be writing is fiction – romantic comedies – but even JJ is having trouble getting me any bites.
I’m scared to even ask her tonight but, I suppose if I do, then this really is a business meeting, and the drinks can actually go on her tax return.
Maybe. I hope she has a good accountant.
‘I take it you haven’t quite got my bidding war going then,’ I say, already knowing the answer.
‘That’s another reason I’m getting you two drinks,’ she replies.
‘That bad?’
She hesitates, which is always a terrible sign.
‘Listen, it’s not you, and it’s not your book – I love it, it’s so funny, and fresh, but…
’ There’s always a but. She sighs. ‘It’s such a tough market right now, there are so many talented writers out there, so many brilliant books – so many people all trying to walk through the door at once.
That’s why, you know, the VIP entrance works so well.
If you’re already a celebrity, or an influencer, then you can jump the queue. ’
‘Ahh,’ I say, the sarcasm in my voice building by the second. ‘Thank you, I’ll try that.’
JJ laughs.
‘I’m not saying you need to become Taylor Swift overnight,’ she replies.
‘But everything is easier when you’re a celebrity.
To be honest, even being known, going viral or something, anything that gets you out there.
Ooh, or dating a celebrity – I’ve got a couple of the lads from Welcome to Singledom on my books – those reality dating show types will shag anything. ’
‘Charming,’ I reply.
‘I didn’t mean it like that,’ she quickly adds. ‘I meant that a public romance, or even just a showmance, gets attention. It couldn’t hurt.’
I wait to reply until the waiter has placed our drinks down in front of us and walked out of earshot.
‘I think I’ll stick with the old-fashioned way,’ I say.
‘Of what, meeting men or getting published?’ she claps back with a smirk.
‘Both,’ I’m quick to reply. ‘Though I’m on a losing streak either way.’
‘You’re too critical,’ she points out. ‘That’s why you’re single. You’ll end up cashing in on that pity pact with Andy.’
I roll my eyes, laughing.
‘We’re not that desperate.’
‘Not yet,’ she teases.
She’s referring to one time, at a party, when we’d all had a lot to drink, and we were playing some silly drinking game, where we both made a jokey pact: if we weren’t married by forty, we’d marry each other. We’re thirty-two, so there’s still plenty of time. We’re not at last resorts just yet.
‘Come on,’ JJ says, picking up her drinks. ‘Let’s live a little.’
‘Really?’ I reply. ‘Do we have to?’
‘Grab those drinks and follow me,’ she insists. ‘Walk this way.’
Honestly, it’s usually easier to do as she says, and I’m choosing to believe she’s asking me to walk with her, rather than like her. There’s no way I can pull off a sexy walk without falling on my face – definitely not with a drink in each hand.
Before I can stop her, she’s strutting across the bar toward a table of two men, wiggling her hips in an exaggerated way.
‘JJ!’ I call after her, but it’s too late.
The two men look up at us, standing at the other side of their table.
One is tall (I can tell even though he’s sitting down) and is pretty much broadcasting his annual income via his outfit and his watch.
He has the kind of smirk that makes me think this happens to him all the time.
The other looks less confident, less flashy and less welcoming.
It’s immediately clear who’s for JJ and who’s for me.
‘Good evening, boys,’ JJ practically purrs, sitting down opposite them without invitation. ‘Mind if we join you?’
The confident one grins.
‘Depends. You buying the next round?’ he replies.
‘We already did,’ she tells him. ‘These are for you.’
She places the Zombie down in front of the man, keeping the Porn Star Martini for herself, then looks at me, silently telling me to do the same.
‘Can I have that one?’ ‘my’ man asks, nodding towards the Porn Star Martini.
‘Erm, yeah, okay,’ I reply, even though I wanted that one.
‘So, come here often?’ JJ playfully asks ‘her’ guy.
‘Often enough,’ he replies. ‘Would you like to?’
Oh boy, best to leave them to it.
‘I’m Whitney,’ I tell the man opposite me.
‘Ben,’ he replies.
‘My friend is a professional extrovert,’ I tell him.
‘I see that,’ he replies with a chuckle. ‘She must work with my friend then.’
I smile.
JJ and her guy – James, I overheard – are already in their own world, flirting up a storm together.
Ben and I sip our drinks, making polite small talk about weather, work, the upcoming World Cup which, truly, I know absolutely nothing about.
We’re making it work, keeping the silence filled with something, while JJ and James get on like a house on fire.
‘Let’s go back to our place!’ JJ says, clapping her hands together. ‘We don’t live far from here.’
Our place doesn’t exist. My place isn’t far from here. She shoots me a look, telling me to play along.
JJ lives in Kensington, because of course she does.
I live in a flatshare with Andy, who JJ knows is away for work at the moment.
He’s always told her he doesn’t mind if she crashes in his room while he’s away, because he knows I don’t love sleeping there on my own.
I prefer it to whatever this is going to be.
‘I, er…’
‘We’d love to,’ James says, answering on both his and Ben’s behalf.
Oh, please, God, I can’t make any more small talk. We discussed the World Cup for fifteen minutes before I realised we were talking about rugby league and not football.
JJ hooks her arm with James’, leading the way.
Ben and I saunter behind them. When we arrive, JJ leads the way into my building like she does actually own the place, hanging back when we reach the door in a way that looks natural, when in fact she’s making way for me to unlock the door, given that I’m the only one with a key.
‘So, what are we—’ I start, but she’s already dragging James inside.
‘Don’t wait up for us,’ she calls over her shoulder as she and James head for Andy’s room. ‘Be a good hostess.’
I dread to think what she means by that.
I take a seat on the sofa, the living room suddenly feeling so awkwardly silent. Ben joins me.
‘So… I guess we have to amuse ourselves,’ I joke.
‘I guess so,’ Ben replies. ‘We could have some fun…’
He’s right, we should do something to pass the time, because who knows how long those two will be. And, do you know what, I have the best idea to pass the time.
‘Okay,’ I say brightly, reaching past him to grab the PlayStation controllers on the side table.
Ben, however, thinks I’m going in for a kiss – which, okay, yeah, now I see what he meant – which means he smacks his face into the side of my head. However much my ear felt that, I’m sure it was way harsher on his nose.
‘Ow!’
‘Shit, sorry,’ I blurt, accidentally dropping a controller on his lap, which apparently hurts him more than us banging heads did.
‘That’s… not what I meant,’ he replies, his voice strained as he grabs his crotch.
Well, I doubt he’s up to that now.
‘War Zombies VI,’ I blurt. ‘Ever played it?’
‘Er, yeah, a bit,’ he says, coming around a little.
‘I’ve been trying to crack this level for days,’ I tell him. ‘But without someone playing co-op, I don’t stand a chance.’
He looks at me like I’m the zombie. He lets out a long breath, half amused, half defeated.
‘Or we could just sit quietly. Talk. See what happens…’ he suggests, his undefeated half having one last crack.
The rhythmic banging and unmistakable moaning creep up on us slowly, then intensify all at once. I don’t know what’s louder, the banging on the wall, or JJ’s am-dram screams.
‘Or… yeah, okay, let’s shoot things,’ Ben says, awkwardly examining the controller like he’s never seen one before.
‘Let’s do it,’ I say, turning up the volume.
Well, that’s put him off. I don’t know if it’s the awkwardness or how high it sounds like the bar has been set, but War Zombies VI it is.
So Ben and I sit shooting the dead while JJ screams in the next room like she’s trying to wake it.
Sometimes I wish I could be more like her, that I could let go a little easier, worry about the consequences less, but I don’t know; for me, if it’s not right, it’s not right, and with Ben it doesn’t feel right.
We clearly have nothing in common, I don’t really fancy him (and I’m sure the feeling is mutual) and…
sad as it sounds, I just can’t be bothered.
I guess I’m a soppy old romantic holding out for something special – and that is not Ben…
even if I am impressed with the way he wields his sniper rifle.