I was still wearing my stripy socks, but that wasn’t the main issue. On Alice the full skirt would have transformed her into Audrey Hepburn, but the only movie star I resembled was Shirley Temple. All that was missing was the lollipop and hair bow. I looked bloody ridiculous.
I must have been scowling, because Alice suddenly asked: ‘Do you not like it, Zoë?’
I tried to relax my furrowed brow. ‘Sorry, Alice, I’m a bit tired this morning. I’m more than happy to wear this if you like it.’
‘I want you to be comfortable, Zoë, and I’m not sure you are.’ She reached over to the rail and pulled out a full-length dress. ‘Why don’t you try this one? You’re tall and it will look amazing on you.’
She was holding an amorphous mass of pink shiny satin. ‘Ignore the colour, obviously,’ she said. ‘Just try it on for the style.’
I wasn’t sure that style and this particular dress had ever been introduced, but I didn’t want to disappoint Alice. ‘No problem,’ I said, taking the dress from her.
Back in the changing room, I unzipped the blue dress and peeled off my socks. The pink dress had annoying little eyelet hooks down one side which took half my thumbnail off as I unfastened them.
It had looked like a scrap of material on the hanger, but as I shimmied into the dress it transformed into something quite nice. More than nice, actually. I twirled in the mirror – was there a hint of Marilyn Monroe there? Or at the very least Madonna circa ‘Material Girl’?
I poked my head through the changing room curtains.
‘You might have landed on a winner, Alice.’
‘Well, let’s see you then.’
Alice now had a veil on. It trailed behind her, reaching the floor and fluttering on an imperceptible breeze that made her look like she’d just stepped out of a perfume ad.
‘Okay, now you’re going to make me cry,’ I told her.
She smiled. ‘It looks good, doesn’t it?’
I nudged her. ‘Glad you can finally see it.’
‘You look amazing too, Zoë. I knew a column dress would look great on you. You even pull off the hot pink.’
I grinned. ‘I wouldn’t go that far.’
*
With my dress chosen remarkably easily, we went to grab a coffee. I say coffee, but Alice’s digestive system was a caffeine-free zone, so it was a latte for me and a dandelion tea for her.
‘That dress shop really scares me,’ Alice whispered as we sat at a nearby café sipping our drinks.
‘Really? But you looked so serene.’
‘The first time I went, they insisted I wear gloves before I touched any dresses.’
‘You’re joking.’
Alice shook her head.
‘God forbid you defile them with a fingerprint,’ I said.
‘It helped having you there, Zoë. You never let people intimidate you. And you always know how to act in every situation.’
Is that what she thought of me? ‘I feel intimidated sometimes,’ I confessed. ‘But I make sure I don’t show it.’
‘Fake it till you make it?’
I smiled. ‘Alcohol sometimes helps.’ I was flattered that Alice thought I was some sort of Teflon-coated superwoman, but the truth was, lately, I’d been feeling more and more wrong-footed. And Simon was the reason why. Would it help talking to Alice? Her trusting eyes waited patiently. ‘I get into plenty of situations where I don’t know what to do,’ I said. ‘I’m in the middle of one right now.’
‘Has this got anything to do with a certain someone called Simon?’
For a second, I panicked that my darling brother had told Alice I had feelings for Simon, but I’d never told Pete and he wasn’t the world’s most observant sibling.
‘How did you guess?’
Alice smiled. ‘The pair of you have a fantastic energy. It’s like you both glow when you’re together.’
I felt my cheeks redden. No one had ever said anything like that to me before. ‘Is it that obvious?’
‘Only to someone who knows what to look for,’ she said. ‘What’s the deal between you?’
My coffee must have been strong, because I suddenly felt my heart beating faster. ‘I’ve never met anyone who makes me feel like Simon does.’
God, had I really just said that out loud?
Alice smiled. ‘Sounds like love to me.’
I frowned. ‘But he’s got no idea that I like him. I’ve never so much as hinted because I’m terrified he’ll run a mile.’
‘But what if he doesn’t, Zoë? What if he feels the same but is paralysed by the same fears? Your friendship means a lot to both of you, but sometimes in life you just have to take a leap of faith.’
‘I feel like I’ve got myself into such a mess, though.’
‘What’s happened?’
I found myself giving Alice a rundown of Nick’s request to get close to Jess on behalf of Marcie, and how I’d lied to Simon about Nick’s identity.
‘The problem is, Nick wants me to organise another dinner. I hated lying to Simon and I can’t bear to do it again.’
Alice took a sip of her tea. ‘Nick is holding you to ransom over this?’
I nodded. ‘Although God knows what other hoops he’ll make me jump through next.’
‘Well, I can’t vouch for Nick, but it’s obvious that Simon genuinely cares for you. He’d understand that you had no choice. I think you should just come clean.’
‘And admit I lied?’
‘I’m sure he’ll understand.’
‘You make it sound so simple.’
‘Often the simplest solutions are the ones we forget to consider.’
*
Alice was right. Why hadn’t I seen it myself? Of course Simon would understand. As I walked back to my office I rang him.
He picked up after the third ring. ‘And how is the lovely Frixiepants this morning?’
‘I’m great, Si. How are you?’
‘Excited as a puppy. I’ve been googling fancy-dress shops.’
I laughed. ‘I had no idea you had such a dramatic streak.’
‘We need to get our costumes sorted early, or they’ll only have crappy ones left. The last fancy-dress party I went to I had to go as a court jester. No one looks good in yellow and red stripes, Zoë. And my hat had fucking bells on.’
I laughed. ‘Well, we’d better get organised, then.’
‘Glad you agree. Meet me outside Covent Garden tube at six o’clock,’ he said. ‘I’ll take you on a magical mystery tour of London’s best fancy-dress hire shop.’
Our jaunt to the fancy-dress shop could not have been more different from that morning’s antiseptic expedition for bridal wear.
First of all, they were playing Pearl Jam when we entered the shop. I loved Eddie Vedder more than was healthy, but his was not the voice to serenade you while you rifled through a technicolour display of sparkly costumes. Someone here had a sense of humour, as well as excellent taste in music.
‘Where did you see PJ Twenty?’ said Simon. He didn’t need to ask if I’d seen the film made for Pearl Jam’s twentieth anniversary.
‘Westfield. You?’
‘I went to Seattle especially,’ he said proudly.
‘You lucky sod.’
‘I won’t lie, it was all kinds of amazing. I thought about you all the way through.’
I grinned. ‘Same.’
A grey-bearded assistant shuffled towards us. ‘How can I help you today?’ He was American and when he smiled he displayed an impressive set of teeth. I’d pegged him at near retirement age, because of the slow way he moved, but up close he was probably barely fifty. He wore a leather waistcoat and faded jeans and had the air of someone doing a job they loved, rather than just to pay the bills.
‘Are you Ray?’ asked Simon.
The man nodded and Simon extended his arm for an handshake. ‘I’m Simon Baxter, we spoke earlier on the phone.’
Out came the healthy teeth again. ‘Simon! Great to meet a fellow Knicks fan.�
�
‘Zoë, meet Ray. Before he opened up this place, he used to be a roadie for – among others – Jethro Tull. How cool is that?’
I shook his hand. ‘You must have some amazing stories.’
He winked. ‘You wouldn’t believe half of them.’
‘I don’t know, Ray,’ said Simon. ‘Zoë is the editor of Re:Sound. I reckon she’s heard a few of them already.’
Ray’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Always great to meet folk who appreciate good music. They just don’t make them like the Tull anymore.’
He led the way to where his best stock was hanging. The clothes on offer weren’t polyester mixes and naff netting; they were heavy velvets and finely sewn silks.
This was going to get rather expensive. But then Simon, as if he’d read my mind, whispered: ‘This is on me – to thank you for inviting me to meet your friends.’
I was about to object, but Simon held up his hand to shush me. ‘No arguments.’
‘Feel free to browse,’ Ray told us, ‘although some people prefer to look through the catalogue. It’s quicker that way.’
I thanked him and took the catalogue he was offering.
‘Can I get you a drink? I’ve got bourbon in the back.’
‘Bourbon would be grand,’ said Simon, before I had a chance to think about it. ‘How cool is this place?’ he whispered after Ray had gone to get our drinks.
‘The most fun I’ve ever had in a shop in my life,’ I said, grinning.
‘Wait till you get a load of the costumes.’
Simon wasn’t wrong. There were so many to choose from, the first thing we did was narrow it down to ones that had a film theme. This still left us oodles of options, but made life easier because we’d think of a cool film and then check if the accompanying costume existed.
Uma Thurman’s outfit from Pulp Fiction was popular, Ray told us, but Simon immediately nixed it as too plain. ‘It’s just a white shirt and black pants,’ he pointed out.
‘What’s your favourite film?’ asked Ray. I looked at Simon and we both giggled. ‘What’s so funny?’ said a bemused Ray.
‘Well, we’ve got a real favourite film and one we quote when we’re asked, to make us look cool and sophisticated,’ said Simon, whose tongue the bourbon had really loosened. ‘For example, when asked, Zoë will say her favourite film is Citizen Kane. But only I know it’s really Grosse Pointe Blank.’
‘And Simon will say his favourite film is The Shawshank Redemption,’ I explained, ‘but really it’s also Grosse Pointe Blank.’
He smiled at me, and heat spread from my toes to my ears. And that wasn’t just the bourbon.
Ray scratched his head. ‘You guys sure like John Cusack. Not sure any of those films feature great costumes. Although Grosse Pointe Blank has a heck of a soundtrack.’
We both agreed.
Ray frowned. ‘Unless you want to go as a convict, Simon?’
‘Nah, we’ll have to put our thinking caps on,’ he replied. I giggled again. ‘What?’
‘Who says “thinking caps”?’
Simon pretended to be offended. ‘I do.’
I turned to Ray and smiled brightly. ‘Do you have any thinking caps?’
‘I’ll leave you kids to browse,’ he muttered, wandering off to the back room, no doubt in search of more bourbon.
The first costume I tried on was a tan leather jacket and chaps combo, complete with gun belt and cowboy hat.
‘Who’s that?’ said Simon.
‘Calamity Jane,’ I said. ‘She’s cool.’
‘Agreed,’ he replied. ‘But something about the leather and all those tassels screams naff extra from Nashville – not what you’re trying to project.’
Annoyingly, he had a point.
Simon tried on his own cowboy outfit, which he somehow managed to pull off without looking like a country music reject. He was all set to go with it when another outfit caught my eye.
‘Si, how about this one?’ I held up a pair of brown leather trousers, cream shirt and leather hat.
‘Is that Indiana Jones?’
I nodded. ‘How cool would that be?’
‘There’s a whip too,’ he said. ‘Kinky.’
I hadn’t noticed it, and now I found myself blushing.
‘We can find you something else,’ I said, pushing the hanger back onto the rail.
Simon’s hand was warm on my arm. ‘Not so fast, Frixie.’
He gave me a look that sent even more blood to my face.
‘Why don’t we concentrate on you?’ he said. ‘I saw a rather lovely Catwoman outfit a couple of rails back.’
‘That’s just a black rubber catsuit.’
‘You say it like that’s a bad thing.’
This was not the time to mention how it would probably set my cystitis off, or be horribly unforgiving to the couple of extra pounds I carried. I needed to respond with something flirty.
‘I do like cats.’
Oh God. I’m so out of practice with this.
Simon laughed. ‘Very true.’
We carried on searching through outfits, but as time went on, the niggle of guilt that had felt like a pebble in my shoe was starting to feel as big as Indy’s boulder. I needed to talk to Simon, but didn’t want to do it here, so on impulse I decided to just go with Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz. Not the most exciting of outfits, but the ruby slippers sort of made up for it.
Ray rang up our chosen outfits and Simon offered to pick everything up on Saturday morning.
‘There’s something I want to talk to you about,’ I told Simon as we stepped outside. ‘Have you got time for a quick drink?’
‘That bourbon’s gone straight to my head,’ he said. ‘Maybe a coffee would be better.’
Another drink would have given me an extra dose of courage, but an Americano would have to do.
We found a nearby Starbucks, bought our drinks and sat down.
‘What’s up, Frixie?’
My nerves were juddering and I paused, trying to decide the best way forward – was the direct route best? ‘That night when I brought Nick along to meet Jess – I wasn’t entirely truthful about who he was.’
‘What do you mean?’
Here goes nothing. ‘He’s not a friend of mine. He’s Marcie Tyler’s publicist.’
I watched Simon’s reaction but his expression remained blank. Did he not know about the bad blood between Jess and Marcie?
‘What did he want with Jess?’
‘Jess and Marcie fell out ten years ago and now Marcie wants to make amends. But Jess doesn’t want anything to do with her, so Nick’s hoping he can change her mind.’
Simon frowned. ‘How well do you know this Nick character?’
The question took me by surprise. ‘Not that well, admittedly, but—’
‘He told you Marcie wants to apologise to Jess?’
‘Yes.’
Simon rolled his eyes. ‘And you believed him?’
He was looking at me like I was being slow on the uptake. ‘I didn’t have any reason to doubt him.’
Anger flashed across his face. ‘They “fell out”? Is that how he describes it? Marcie sacked Jess in the middle of their North American tour – and it ruined Jess’s career.’
What? ‘Are you sure, Simon?’
He laughed bitterly. ‘I was one of the first people she rang when it happened. I’d been due to fly over and see one of the West Coast gigs.’
It bothered me to hear that the two of them had been in touch over the years. But I couldn’t tell Simon that.
‘I’m sorry to hear that, but . . . I’ve been in the business a while and I’ve learnt to trust my instincts, and right now, they’re telling me to believe Nick Jones.’
He didn’t respond. Were we really arguing about this? I tried another tack. ‘Nick’s holding me to ransom. I need that Marcie interview and this is my way of getting it.’
‘And to hell with anyone else’s feelings?’
Simon’s anger wasn’t abating;
if anything he was getting more wound up. His passion in defending Jess was starting to grate on my nerves.
‘Re:Sound is in big trouble. This time next year we might not exist. We might not even make it till Christmas if we can’t dramatically increase circulation and advertising revenue.’ I paused to swallow down a ball of emotion. I needed to stay calm. ‘The targets are nearly impossible, but this Marcie interview is my one hope of securing the future of the magazine. Marcie just wants to make things better with Jess. She’s been through a lot over the last few months. She’s detoxed and she’s straightening out her life.’
Simon shook his head. ‘You heard what Jess said at dinner that night. She screwed Marcie’s boyfriend. She’s not proud of the fact, but the point is, Marcie might still hold a grudge. It’s not redemption she’s after, it’s revenge.’
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. ‘What on earth are you talking about? What sort of revenge?’
‘Making sure any comeback Jess attempts fails.’
This was getting ridiculous. ‘And how exactly would Marcie do that?’
Simon rolled his eyes. ‘You tell me, you’re the expert.’ Without waiting for me to respond, he went on. ‘Marcie’s got the ear of a lot of industry people. I’m sure it would be easy enough to convince them not to give Jess another chance.’
I would have laughed if I wasn’t so angry. Jess’s career was a speck of mud on Marcie’s shoe. ‘If what you fear is true, then Marcie could wreak any revenge from a distance,’ I said. ‘But if she wants to get close to Jess it means her motives are good.’
‘Or maybe that’s just what you want to believe of your precious Saint Marcie.’
I jerked back. That was low. ‘I want to believe the best in people – why is that such a problem for you?’
He shook his head. ‘Because your unquestioning belief in Marcie might hurt Jess. That’s my problem.’ I wanted to ask him why he seemed more concerned with Jess than with me, but he wasn’t done speaking. ‘And don’t pretend this is all some altruistic act to help Marcie heal. You’re doing this for your own career.’
That blow landed, too. But this one I wasn’t going to take lying down. ‘You’re damn right I am. I’ve worked for ten years to get here, and if the magazine fails it’s not just my career that goes down in flames, it’s the jobs and livelihoods of all the people who work with me. But maybe that doesn’t mean anything in your industry, where it’s every trader for himself.’
Love Songs for Sceptics Page 13
