Second Hand Jane

by Michelle Vernal

  Jess knew when she was beaten. “Well, I have to go when you put it like that, don’t I? But I’m warning you, Nora, I will make you suffer if he turns out to be a freak of nature.” She took a slug of wine. “And you have to come shopping with me this week, Brie. I have a feeling I won’t get away with wearing my trusty old 1960s rose print cocktail dress.”

  “You most certainly will not!” Nora exclaimed.

  “I didn’t think so. Looks like I shall have to splurge if I am going to find a dress worthy of being seen out with the halter neck.”

  “Ooh, goodie! I love shopping.” Brianna grinned. “Especially when it’s someone else’s credit card getting a hammering.”

  Nora smiled too and raised her glass. “Thanks, sweetie; you’re the best. To the One—you never know.”

  “To the One,” they chorused.

  Harry joined in clinking his lemonade against their wine glasses so enthusiastically that he managed to slop half of it over the wooden table top. “Whoopsie.”

  “Never mind, love; it was an accident.” Brianna produced a roll of paper towels from her bag.

  “My God girl, have you got the kitchen sink in there as well?” Nora asked in disbelief.

  “I was in the Girl Guides—I’m always prepared,” she replied, mopping up the sticky drink. “So come on then, tell us a bit about this Ewan. What does he do? And more importantly, what does he look like?”

  “He’s an actor and he’s not bad-looking at all.”

  “Oh? Anyone we would have heard of?” Jess asked. Nora had dated actors before—bit part players she’d come across at the various premiers she got to attend in her role as cinema manager for the Movie Max chain. Jess had always found them to be a bit self-absorbed for her liking.

  “His name’s Ewan Reid.”

  There was a split second’s silence as Jess and Brianna digested the name that had just been dropped in a big way. Then both girls screeched, “EWAN REID! As in The Suburban Man star Ewan Reid!”

  All heads swivelled their way to see what all the excitement was about. “Shush, you two! Honestly, you’re worse than a pair of star-struck tweenies. Yes, Ewan Reid, star of smash hit film The Suburban Man.” Then Nora broke into uncontrollable giggles and wrapping her arms around herself, gave away her own excitement. “And he’s absolutely fecking GORGEOUS!”

  “What’s he like in real life, how did you meet him, and more to the point, how come it’s taken you so bloody long to tell us? We’re supposed to be your best friends, for goodness’ sake!” Jess shrieked, now on her second wine, having downed what was left of the first one in one large gulp at the shock of it all.

  “I’m sorry. I really, really wanted to tell you but I didn’t want to jinx it. I felt like if I said the words, ‘I have a date with Ewan Reid’ out loud, I’d wake up and find I had dreamt the whole thing. To be honest, girls, I could hardly believe it myself when he asked me out. I mean, he’s a movie star and I’m, well, I’m…”

  “You’re Nora Brennan, gorgeous, successful career woman,” Brianna put in loyally. “So come on then, tell us—how did you meet him? Was it in a book shop? I saw him interviewed on Graham Norton a few weeks back and he said that he’s an avid reader.”

  “No, you eejit, that was in the movie Notting Hill and anyway, he’s far better-looking than Hugh Grant, and I am hardly Julia Roberts.” Nora laughed. “We met at the after party for the Irish premiere of The Suburban Man. Honestly, girls, he is lovely and so normal—not at all like some of those other affected actor arses I’ve been out with in the past. Apparently he asked his agent, Maria, to find out who I was and introduce us. We got talking and basically didn’t stop talking all night. He even ignored that skinny cow, the one who looks a bit like Victoria Beckham, from Big Brother when she came over and tried to stick her set of tennis balls under his nose!”

  “He didn’t!” Brianna’s eyes were like saucers. “Ooh, she wouldn’t have liked that.”

  “She didn’t.” Nora looked pleased with herself as she glanced down at her own pair of natural 34C cups. “I’ve always said a boob job won’t get you anywhere in this world.”

  “Maybe but it would be nice if mine didn’t have such an up-close and personal relationship with my belly button these days—bloody breastfeeding,” Brianna lamented.

  “So what did you talk about then?” Jess wanted details, details, details; it was the writer in her.

  “Well, it turns out he’s a bit of an adrenaline junkie, like me.”

  “Nora!” she couldn’t help but exclaim. “The only remotely adventurous thing I have ever seen you do is a spot of rock climbing at Clondalkin Leisure Centre when we went there for Harry’s birthday last year. That hardly even counts as abseiling, let alone as an adrenaline rush.”

  Nora’s expression grew petulant. “The instructor said I was a natural and for your information, I’ve always wanted to go white-water rafting.”

  “Come on you two, we can talk about Nora’s penchant for thrill-seeking at home. I need to get Harry back for his tea and there’s a packet of chicken sausages with your names on it sitting in my fridge.” Brianna got to her feet and began helping Harry back into his coat.

  At the mention of food, Jess and Nora suddenly realised they were ravenous and followed suit with Nora talking non-stop about the delectable Mr Reid and what she would like to do to him all the way back to Brianna’s.

  ***

  “Thanks for a lovely afternoon and for the sausages,” Nora called, picking her way down the darkened garden path later that evening. She cursed as she narrowly missed tripping over Jerome the Garden Gnome the girls had bought Brianna and Pete as a housewarming gift on her way to the front gate. “If I have a headache in the morning, it will be all down to you, Brianna Price!” she tossed back over her shoulder.

  “Don’t worry. I am sure all that protein you’re eating will soak up the alcohol! And I don’t recall having to twist your arm to open that second bottle of vino. Be sure and ring me, won’t you, after your big date?”

  “Of course I will.”

  “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do! And for goodness’ sake, buy yourself some De-Gas pills!”

  There was a snorting sound followed by something unmentionable from the footpath and Brianna giggled.

  “Easy for you to laugh when you’re not the one having to sit next to her on the train for the next thirty minutes,” Jess muttered. “I couldn’t believe the one she dropped in the Dart on the way back from Greystones. The poor chap opposite us looked like he was going to pass out and then she had to go out and make out it was down to me! Typical Nora—she always looks like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.” She finished shaking her head before making the arrangements for Tuesday morning. They’d meet up at St Stephen’s Green for a spot of serious shopping after Brianna had dropped Harry at the little Catholic school he’d started back in January.

  ***

  It was later that night as Jess sat curled up on her couch that she realised Brianna had indeed given her an idea for her column. She would be going on a double date with a Hollywood Movie Star, so why not write about what it was like to hang out with a celebrity in Dublin? Pleased the pressure to come up with something pronto was off, she began idly channel surfing and it was then that she spotted Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs lying on the coffee table where she’d left it. Picking the little book up, she opened the cover and gazed thoughtfully at the names scribbled inside it. She was getting that tingly sensation she always got when the seeds of a potentially brilliant idea for her column began to germinate.

  Chapter Three

  “Does my bum look big in this?” Jess wondered how many conversations she had started over the years with that sentence whilst trying on clothes with Brianna or Nora—too many to be counted on one hand, that was for sure! It was ten thirty on a Tuesday morning and the two women were holed up in the changing room of the third exclusive boutique clothing shop they’d happened upon in the labyrinth of streets surrounding t
he city’s main shopping hub of Grafton Street.

  She had come to the conclusion that the less a shop had in it, the more hideously expensive the little it did have dangling from its rails was likely to be and the more skinny and hoity-toity the shop assistant was likely to be. Another reason she preferred charity shops—the people who worked in them were genuine, kind-hearted souls who quite often volunteered their time, not like Shop Girl No. Three.

  When Jess had audibly gasped at the price tag hanging off the dress she was currently wearing, the underweight little madam had told her, “Well, it is Italian.” She’d left the what did you expect, you South Pacific commoner? to hang in the air unsaid between them.

  “No, not at all.” Brianna answered her friend’s question in a pitch just high enough to bring her back to the present and to let her know that she was telling a little white lie. She smiled to herself, thinking that if it had been Nora who was with her, she’d have said something along the lines of, “Good God, yes! Get it off before you split the arse out of it!”

  As she wriggled her way out of the fitted green dress that had looked absolutely perfect on the hanger, she couldn’t help but sigh—it was bloody hard work, all this getting dressed and undressed business. She wished she hadn’t opted to wear her old Levi’s because it would have been much easier had she donned a sack suitable for whipping on and off.

  “Was the garment to madam’s liking?” The angular redhead standing behind the counter studying her blood red talons sniffed when she emerged from the cubicle, clutching the dress.

  She tapped her own un-manicured nails on the counter until the woman finally looked up with her bored expression firmly in place.

  “Nah, it wasn’t,” Jess drawled in her best put-on Aussie accent, “’Cos it made madam’s arse look humongous.” She tossed the dress down on the counter and stalked out the door.

  Brianna hurried after her, sniggering. “Did you see her face?” She linked her arm through Jess’s.

  “Snooty so-and-so. I reckon that plumy English accent was a put-on. I am ninety-nine percent sure I could detect Liverpool undertones creeping in! Anyway, it was probably a good thing the dress didn’t look right, otherwise I’d have had to of taken out a second mortgage to pay for it.”

  “Mmm, you’re right; it was on the pricey side. Why don’t we try good old Debenhams instead?” Brianna suggested as they turned the corner back onto Grafton Street.

  “Okay. I usually have far more luck at the Goodwill Thrift Shop on Capel Street, though, but if you recommend Debenhams, then Debenhams it is. Although I don’t know why I’m going to all this bother of trying to find a new dress anyway because I bet you this friend of Ewan Reid’s will probably be the Beast to his Beauty.”

  “So what if he is? At least you’ll get to go out on a Friday night looking gorgeous—I can’t remember the last time I got dolled up for a night out.”

  Jess was about to make a mental note to offer her babysitting services when she was distracted by the strains of a Coldplay tune. “I love that song,” she said, elbowing her way through the semi-circle of people gathered round the busker who’d set himself up outside Marks and Spencer’s. He had a mouth organ and a guitar and was doing a surprisingly good rendition of “Clocks” despite the lack of a piano. The girls clapped along with the rest of his audience when the song came to an end and flicked him a couple of coins before making their way down to Debenhams’ Henry Street shop.

  It was on the second floor of the department store that Jess spotted “the Dress.” It was like a beacon in a sea of nondescript change of season fashions as it beckoned to her from the Jacques Vert designer collection. Racing across the shop floor, she whipped the brick red cowl neck off the rack and holding it out in front of her, admired the way the thousands of tiny beads stitched onto it shimmered under the bright lights. The dress had a 1920s feel to it—very Mary from Downton Abbey, she decided, calling out to Brianna to come and have a look. “What do you think of this one then?”

  “Wow, it’s gorgeous, so it is, and it’s definitely your colour. Go and try it on.”

  Two minutes later, Jess stepped out of the changing rooms and did a pirouette for her friend.

  “Oh yes, that’s definitely the one! It looks amazing! You remind me of your woman out of Downton Abbey. You know, the one who was supposed to marry the chap in the wheelchair—go on, do a curtsey!”

  “Lavinia?”

  “Yes, that’s her; she’s got the same colouring as you.”

  Jess was pleased with the verdict, even if she would rather have been likened to the elegant and austere Mary because from what she could recall of the television series, Lavinia had not gotten her happy ever after. Still, she wasn’t superstitious and the dress—even if it was brand new—had felt right the moment she’d slipped it over her head. It helped that it was on sale, too! When she’d taken a step back to look at her reflection in the dressing room mirror, she’d realised that it was definitely a Cinderella dress. So who knew? Maybe this friend of Ewan’s would turn out to be a bit of a Prince Charming after all. Stranger things had happened and she was due a bit of luck on the man front.

  “Best of all, it’s under a hundred euro! So shall we head to the café for a spot of lunch—my treat?”

  “Great—I’m starving.”

  ***

  “Shopping is surprisingly hard work, isn’t it?” Brianna said, not really expecting an answer as she flopped down into her chair.

  Jess nodded, laying out their well-earned sandwiches and coffee. “It is when you are looking for something in particular. That’s what I like about op-shopping—I just happen across really cool stuff. Do you know what I was thinking earlier when I was busy getting dressed and undressed?”

  “What?”

  “That I wish to God someone would open a shop with fitting rooms that are dimly lit. I hate those horrible fluorescent lights that show every lump and bump. It’s not good for one’s psyche.”

  “What lumps and bumps?” Brianna was indignant. “You wait until you have a baby—then you’ll know all about lumps and bumps, my girl! You want to see the muffins Harry’s left me with?” She reached around the back of her jeans and squeezed two imaginary pockets of fat. “It doesn’t matter what size I get down to; the only way I’ll get rid of these blueberry babies is by lipo.” Picking up her rather delicious-looking gourmet sandwich, she took a greedy chomp out of it.

  Jess looked glumly down at her own meagre low-fat bean sprout veggie sarnie and silently cursed all dressing room mirrors.

  “Don’t you have that Cajun cooking class tonight?” Brianna mumbled through her full mouth.

  “I do. I’m looking forward to it. Apparently we will be making jambalaya, which sounds vaguely familiar and very exotic.” She frowned. “It also sounds calorific, which is why I am on the bean sprout sanger. Next week, I’m doing a cod fish casserole, which doesn’t have quite the same ring to it. It’s a Portuguese class and I know nothing about Portuguese cuisine apart from the fact they eat a lot of fish.”

  “Well, I can’t help you there. We’re having Gran’s bangers and mash for dinner because I’ve got a PTA meeting tonight—good old plain, hearty tucker; you can’t beat it. My Gran says all men need a good serving of potatoes on their plate each night in order to fill them up.”

  “So that’s what you do to keep your Pete happy, is it? Serve him up loads of spuds. Anyway, it’s alright for you and Granny Dierdre to advocate bangers and mash because you’re both built like whippets. It sucks—I so much as sniff mash spud and it goes to my waistline, whereas you eat what you like and never put a pound on.”

  “It’s running around after Harry. Have a baby, Jess, and you’ll never have to worry about your figure again except for the post-birth muffin overhang, of course, and the sagging boobs and stretched stomach skin,” she lamented.

  Jess subconsciously crossed her legs under the table. She was fairly sure Brianna wouldn’t be getting a job as a Weight Watchers advocate
in the near future if that was the best dietary advice she could dole out.

  “Have you had any more thoughts on your column? What you’re going to write about once you have finished the cooking school series and had enough of stuffing yourself silly on jumbaywotsit and Portuguese cat fish casserole?”

  “Cod fish, not cat, and I have had a couple of ideas, as it happens. I thought I could write about the celebrity lifestyle in Dublin now that one of my best friends is dating a Hollywood Hottie. Actually, it was you who gave me the inspiration.”

  Brianna looked pleased. “When I told you to write about the blind date you were doubling on?”

  “Yeah, except we didn’t know then that the other half of the double date was a major celebrity, did we?”

  “I know and I still can’t get my head around the fact Nora kept it quiet and that our best friend is actually dating Ewan Reid.” She pulled a face. “It’s not fair you get to meet him first.”

  “Yes, but we don’t know at what cost yet, do we? I may have to suffer through an evening with a Gollom clone.”

  “Or—ha-ha,” Brianna snorted, “he could be one of those weird Trekkie guys in a giant nylon baby-gro.” She giggled, giving Jess a Vulcan two-fingered salute.

  Jess gave her a two-fingered salute of a different kind back. “Yeah, thanks, that’s not helping. Anyway, I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I had another idea as well I wanted to run past you. It’s to do with a name in a book.”

  “You’ve lost me. What name in what book?”

  “Well, remember the Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs book I bought for my collection not long ago?”