Billy and Me

by Giovanna Fletcher

  ‘Don’t you look gorgeous,’ Billy says as he approaches me and leans over to kiss me.

  ‘Great show tonight, Bill!’ says Paul, slapping him on the back.

  ‘Paul, I didn’t expect to see you here!’

  ‘I’d completely forgotten that I had two tickets booked for tonight. I was going to cancel them but Coco rang to say she was in town.’

  ‘Coco?’ he says, turning to the blonde beauty. ‘Coco!’ He grabs her in a tight embrace. ‘How long’s it been?’

  ‘Too long, darling!’

  As the two of them talk about the last time they saw each other, Paul leans into me and quietly informs me, ‘Billy and Coco go way back – both of their careers took off at the same time, although Coco’s in modelling. I always hoped they’d hook up, it would’ve been headline heaven – but Billy had his own ideas.’

  ‘Right,’ I respond flatly, miffed as to why he would share this information with me.

  Billy looks at his watch. ‘I’m so sorry, guys, but we have a table booked for dinner at J Sheekey.’

  ‘Leaving poor Coco so soon? Oh, I wouldn’t stand for that, my dear,’ Paul stirs, giving her a little nudge and causing her to pout at Billy.

  Billy gives them an apologetic look and turns to me with a shrug. ‘I’m sure we can get a bigger table …’

  ‘Great!’ beams Paul. He takes Coco by the arm and starts to guide her towards the restaurant.

  ‘Sorry,’ Billy mouths at me as we start to follow our meal-crashers along the pavement.

  If at the start of the night I was in any doubt that Paul had engineered the whole evening in a bid to try and sabotage our romantic meal, I’m not now. He has somehow managed to work it so that I’m stuck next to him, in some tediously awkward conversation, while we look across the table at Billy and Coco who are engrossed in chatter about their mutual friends. All of whom I’ve never heard of.

  ‘So, I’ll get someone to phone or email a few places tomorrow to see about getting some dresses sent to you,’ says Paul, as he dabs the side of his mouth with his napkin.

  ‘Thank you, that’s kind of you.’

  ‘Not at all. If Billy’s insistent on taking you we can’t have you going in any old thing. You have to make a good impression,’ he smiles tightly – the warmth disappearing slightly. ‘You’ll be amongst people like Coco here … although, saying that, she’d look good in a bin bag. Not everyone would.’

  ‘Are you talking about me, Paul?’ Coco drawls from across the table.

  ‘Only nice things!’

  She raises her eyebrows at him before turning her attention back to Billy.

  ‘Just look at her. That face, that body, that smile. She just oozes charisma. The sort of girl anyone would be lucky to be seen with.’

  He isn’t directly saying anything nasty about me, in fact he hasn’t referenced me at all, he is simply gushing about Coco, but it’s as though he is listing all of her finer qualities to show me exactly what I lack.

  ‘I’ve always been amazed by the chemistry between these two,’ he continues.

  ‘What are you saying now?’ asks Billy with a tinge of irritation in his voice.

  Paul flounders for a moment at being overheard.

  I enjoy seeing him squirm, even if it is just for a nanosecond.

  ‘That I can’t believe you’ve not been cast opposite each other yet.’ He says, recovering himself. ‘You’re a natural fit!’

  ‘Oh, Pauly!’ says Coco, blushing.

  ‘You know me, my dears, always thinking business.’

  ‘But you’re a model, aren’t you, Coco?’ I ask, a bit confused.

  ‘Yes, Suzy,’ she starts, while leaning across and patting my hand.

  The wrong name causes Billy to turn to me with a quizzical look.

  ‘But I can’t do that forever. Looks fade,’ she says with a sad shrug.

  ‘Not yours,’ chimes in Paul.

  ‘Oh, Pauly, you are sweet to me. No, I’ve just started to have a few meetings to see where that takes me,’ she explains to Billy and me. ‘Actually, Billy, I was almost cast opposite you in The Walking Beat.’

  ‘No way!’ Billy exclaims. ‘That’s the film I was telling you about today.’ He says to me.

  ‘Yeah, it would’ve been fun, but I just got word this morning that it didn’t go my way. I’m bummed. I’d have loved to have played your leading lady.’

  I’m secretly relieved. The thought of Billy going to work in the presence of Coco every day would be too much to bear.

  ‘Can I interest anyone in desserts or coffees?’ asks the waiter.

  ‘Ooh … yes please!’ I start, salivating at the gorgeous gooseberry crumble on the menu.

  ‘No thank you,’ answers Paul. ‘Perhaps just a pot of green tea?’

  ‘Same for me,’ echoes Coco.

  ‘Double espresso for me,’ says Billy.

  They all turn to me to see what I’ll order. There’s no way I can order the crumble now they’ve all decided against one.

  ‘Yes, a pot of fresh mint tea for me please,’ I smile.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want a dessert?’ asks Billy. ‘I’ll share if you like?’

  ‘No, no … I’m good. Thank you.’

  As the waiter leaves, and Coco turns to ask Billy a question about another mutual friend, Paul leans in towards me.

  ‘Good idea,’ he whispers. ‘All that fatty cream?’

  Again, nothing is actually said. It seems Paul has decided to go for a new approach with me, and that’s to leave the unsaid words to linger in the air suggestively.

  14

  It’s a very surreal experience when, two weeks later, dresses of all shapes, colours and sizes get dropped off for me to try on, as well as shoes, bags, bangles, necklaces and earrings to complete the look. Paul has decided to come over and assist Billy and me in picking out the perfect ensemble. I did try and suggest I’d be more comfortable trying on the dresses alone, but neither man took the hint.

  The good thing is that Paul decided to bring his PA Samantha with him to help me get in and out of the dresses with ease. I must admit that, although I wasn’t keen on having her here (and seeing me in my underwear), she’s been a godsend. I’d have had no idea how to put on half of these outfits without her, with all their clasps, wraps and fancy lacing – in fact, even the weight of some of them has been a struggle for us both to deal with. I’d never have coped.

  Samantha hardly speaks as she changes me from one dress into another, and doesn’t walk out with me when I show Billy and Paul what I’m wearing. Instead, she stays in the bedroom preparing the next outfit for me to try on and hauls the dresses around the room, which is no easy task for her tiny five-foot-one frame.

  ‘Bill, I think this is too much,’ says Paul, shaking his head at the heavily beaded cream dress I’m currently wearing, as he walks around me to take in the whole vision.

  At the start of the afternoon I felt self-conscious every time Paul walked around me like this, examining every detail with a frown on his face – but now, after trying on twenty or more dresses, I’m starting to get used to his scrutiny.

  ‘But she looks perfect,’ exclaims Billy.

  ‘Oh yes, she looks great, gorgeous even, but it’s too attention-grabbing,’ Paul says, shaking his head at me and the dress. ‘People will assume that she is purposefully trying to steal the limelight from you and it could backfire on her. You don’t want that.’

  I didn’t realize picking a dress to attend some awards-show thingy would be so political – if a dress is too revealing or eye-catching then it’s perceived that you’re trying to pull a Liz Hurley and making it ‘all about you’; if it’s nothing special then you’re unsupportive and a sap. You’ve got to strike a balance and this is obviously why Paul felt we needed his insight.

  ‘But I want her to have the limelight. I want people to notice her,’ argues Billy.

  ‘Actually,’ I say, butting in on their discussion and reminding them that I too have an
opinion. ‘I’m not so sure about this one. I like it, but I don’t love it.’

  ‘Well, in that case, take it off, my darling,’ says Billy with a theatrical finger snap in the air, becoming more like Franck Eggelhoffer from Father of the Bride. ‘If you “like” it you take it off and we never speak of it again. If you “love” it, you wear it!’

  I laugh as I head back into the bedroom.

  ‘It’s coming off!’ I shout to the men as I turn around and let Samantha unhook me from it.

  I peel myself out of that tight number and turn my attention to the rails of dresses lined up in front of me, which Samantha has kept in order so that we know how far we’ve got. I’ve already tried on at least half of them, but nothing has stood out to me yet. They’re all gorgeous, of course they are, but I want to wear something that keeps me looking like me, and just turns me into a glammed-up version of myself. All of these dresses dazzle on their own, but I want to be the thing that dazzles. Quite simply, I don’t want the dress to overpower me.

  Samantha pulls out the next one for me to try; a dark teal, strapless dress. Figure hugging to the knees, it then flicks out dramatically with a trail. It’s a real statement piece. I squeeze into it and breathe in as Samantha does up the corset at the back, followed by a trail of tiny buttons leading from my shoulder blades to just below my bottom. I look at myself in the mirror, letting out a little sigh, finding the tight fit extremely over-exposing and restrictive. Even though I know I’ve lost weight lately, to me, my hips are my worst feature still and this dress accentuates them and draws attention to that problematic area. I notice that even Samantha is frowning at it slightly. I decide to let the judges have a look anyway and so waddle out to Billy and Paul, feeling like a mermaid gone wrong.

  I’ve got my tongue stuck out of the side of my mouth and am frowning heavily as I concentrate on how to walk in this difficult fishtail design – it’s not easy. The only way that seems to work is to flick my feet with each step, helping to move the heap of material lying on top of them. It’s too much effort for someone like me who likes her comfort.

  I can’t help but laugh when I look up to see the men gawping at me. They look as confused as I feel.

  ‘Gosh, we definitely don’t want that face on the red carpet,’ declares Paul with a mortified expression.

  ‘Not my favourite …’ admits Billy, although he looks pained to say anything negative.

  ‘Yep, I agree. Awful!’ I tut. ‘I don’t want to have to worry about how to walk in the blooming thing. I’m going to be nervous enough as it is!’

  As I turn to leave I hear Paul say quietly to Billy, ‘Good job. Did you realize it’s quite similar to the one Coco wore to the Oscars last year – when she looked sensational? It would be horrific if people compared the two.’

  Horrific for me, I think. What normal girl would want to be compared to a model, after all?

  I don’t bother waiting for Billy’s reply. I just want to get out of this dress as quickly as possible.

  I huff my way into the bedroom, ready to try on what feels like the millionth dress, to find that Samantha has the next one laid out on the floor, ready for me to step into. It’s what I would call vintage pink. Not so pink that it screams at you in a sickly sweet Barbie type of way, instantly making you look like a three-year-old – it’s more subtle than that and less garish against my skin tone. The actual design is floaty and free, with one piece of fabric going over one shoulder, leaving the other shoulder bare. It’s fitted at the waist – without the need of a corset – and then has multiple layers of fabric in various lengths making up the lower half of the dress, like waves, making it free and whimsical. It’s stunning, elegant and feminine and makes me feel like a princess the moment I slide into it.

  Before walking out to show it off to Billy and the dragon that is Paul, Samantha stops me and hands me a pair of light grey shoes from a box beside her. Surprisingly, they don’t look too high, and, once she’s helped me into them, they’re comfortable enough to make me think I might get away with staying upright in them. Looking at the complete ensemble in the mirror I can’t help but smile at my reflection.

  This is the one.

  I won’t have anyone else tell me differently.

  I feel extremely beautiful and special in it.

  I quickly glance at Samantha, who’s standing behind me, and notice she’s also smiling. Catching her eye, I give her a wink and a little giggle before walking out to Billy and Paul with pride.

  ‘That smile says it all!’ beams Billy. ‘It’s perfect!’

  ‘Nice,’ says Paul.

  ‘Thank you,’ I say, not caring that he doesn’t sound overly enthused. ‘I love it,’ I gush, unable to remove the grin from my face.

  ‘You “love” it?’ queries Billy, using his weird Franck accent again, causing me to laugh and nod my head. ‘You wear it!’ he booms.

  I can’t help flinging my arms around in the air with excitement.

  ‘And I must say, you have remarkable taste for someone who supposedly knows nothing about fashion – it would’ve been the most expensive of the bunch,’ Paul informs us. ‘It’s designed by none other than Vera Wang.’

  ‘Ooooh! Good choice!’ says Billy, knowingly.

  I smile at them both, without a clue who this Vera lady is … although I do love what she’s done with this dress!

  One evening the following week, I’m at home cleaning out Billy’s food cupboard of the various cans and jars that are past their use-by dates when the house phone rings. I pick it up to find Paul on the other end.

  ‘Billy’s at the theatre, I’m afraid,’ I say, trying my best to remain cheerful and friendly even though I know he’s not my biggest fan.

  ‘Yes, I know that,’ he says with a hint of annoyance. ‘I was calling to speak to you actually.’

  The fact that he has waited for Billy to be at work before calling is not a good sign. Neither is the fact that he is calling me when he never has done before.

  ‘Oh, OK. What’s up?’

  ‘Nothing …’

  The silence that comes from the other end of the line unsettles me. While I wait for him to speak I start to peel the label off a jar of pickles, trying to distract myself from how uncomfortable I feel.

  ‘Is there something I can help you with, Paul?’

  ‘No.’

  OK …

  ‘But I thought we could have a quick chat about next weekend.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘I had a call to say you can keep hold of your dress as a thank you for choosing to go with the Vera number,’ he says flatly.

  Although I’m delighted that I’m allowed to keep it, I’ve already been told by Paul and Billy that I can only wear the dress once – so, what am I meant to do with it? Wear it to clean the house? Do the weekly shop in it? Or perhaps float around in it on my walks around the park? Nope, the reality is that it’ll just sit in my wardrobe, sadly gathering dust.

  ‘That’s great! Thanks for letting me know,’ I say, hoping to get off the phone as soon as possible.

  ‘I’m sure it’ll make quite a classy addition to your current wardrobe,’ Paul adds.

  Deciding to ignore the dig, I remain silent.

  ‘Also, you might want to wear your shoes around the house.’

  ‘To stop them from rubbing? Yes, I’ve already been doing that.’ I say politely.

  ‘And to practise being elegant.’

  Ahh …

  ‘Is there anything else, Paul?’ I ask, my patience deserting me.

  ‘Yes. There is,’ he says, his voice failing to hide a sour tone. ‘I just wanted to tell you that there’s nothing to worry about. It’ll be busy, loud and manic there – but try and enjoy it. Billy should be with you every step of the way. But then, obviously, for him this is work. It’s not all fun.’

  ‘I know that, Paul.’

  ‘Good. It’s an important night.’ He sighs before changing his tone to a seemingly warmer one. ‘Sophie, I know you have a ten
dency to feel self-conscious and to panic – you shouldn’t worry. On Sunday all eyes will be on the A-listers around you. Not on you.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Obviously, I would love to say that I’d be there if anything were to go wrong but, well, as you’ve taken my ticket – you’re on your own.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Paul, but is there a problem here?’

  ‘Not at all, Sophie. But one thing …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Don’t fuck up,’ he says, before hanging up.

  Later that night when we’re crawling into bed I decide to talk to Billy about the conversation.

  ‘Paul phoned tonight,’ I start.

  ‘Yeah, he said.’

  ‘He did?’

  ‘Yeah. Great news about the dress! I bet you’re thrilled.’

  ‘I am …’ I turn to face him. ‘Billy, have you told him about my panic attacks?’

  ‘Not really – just about how we met,’ he says with a shrug.

  ‘Why did you tell him that?’

  ‘Why shouldn’t I? He’s my manager. I tell him everything.’

  ‘But this isn’t your thing to tell, Billy. It’s personal to me. I really don’t want Paul knowing that sort of thing about me.’

  Billy’s top lip curls up under his nose, clearly confused.

  ‘I don’t understand what your problem is with Paul. He’s nothing but nice about you. Why are you so off about him?’

  ‘I’m not!’

  ‘You are. Sophie, you have to understand how important Paul is to me.’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Paul phoned to check you were OK and comfortable with the plans for the weekend – that’s the kind of decent guy he is.’

  No, he didn’t, I think to myself. It seems that Paul’s main purpose was to make me aware of what he knows and to rile me enough so that I would say something to Billy – ultimately causing friction between us. How clever.

  ‘I was just shocked he knew,’ I say, trying to alleviate the tension between us.

  ‘To be honest, Sophie, I don’t even know much about your panic attacks – only what I saw when we first met. Every time I ask you about them you clam up.’