Big Sexy Love: The laugh out loud romantic comedy that everyone's raving about!

by Kirsty Greenwood

  I follow my travel app map towards the Riverside Theatre, and as I do, the streets become less and less desirable. Where previously there were trees and fancy buildings, there is now graffiti and boarded windows.

  A group of teenagers on the corner stare at me as I walk past.

  ‘Hey look, it’s Samuel L Jackson!’ one of them shouts and they all start laughing.

  I speed up my walk and turn the corner, finally reaching the theatre. Although it doesn’t look like the upmarket theatre I was expecting. It’s an unattractive concrete building with a big green door, the paint a scuffed off to reveal splintered wood beneath. There’s a ramp leading up to the door and the metal bar at each side is rusty and covered with splats of bird turd.

  I spot a small rusted, dull plaque above the door. Riverside Community Theatre. Oh! I expected something with nice lights on the façade and posters of musical theatre stars looking dramatically into the distance.

  Hmmm. Seth is a comedy writer for a huge TV Show. What is he doing in a run-down theatre like this?

  I take down my umbrella and shake the rain off heartily onto the pavement. I prop it up against the door, step inside and wander through a quiet lobby. The right wall is plastered in notices and leaflets. Over-60s Zumba classes, bridge club, and an am-dram production of Cats). I wonder what Seth is here for. Is he in Cats? I bet he’s playing Macavity the sneaky, villainous cat. That would suit him perfectly.

  I hear joyful voices from a room down the hall. I go and look through a little window in the door.

  There he is. His too-long hair still damp from the rain. He’s not wearing the button down shirt he had on before though. He’s wearing a white T-shirt imprinted with the words West Side Knitters.

  Huh.

  I notice that everyone else in the room is aged between about thirteen and sixteen and they’re all listening to Seth talk, wide-eyed, like is he is telling them the guaranteed secret to acne-free skin.

  I stop nosying, remember why I’m here and gently push open the door. Ordinarily I would wait politely outside until whatever it is that’s going on is finished. But I haven’t exactly got a great deal of time, and whatever is going on in here can’t be as important as Birdie’s lost letter.

  I check that my beret is securely on. I can’t have all these teenagers recognising me too. I try to enter the room without drawing too much attention but my trainers are wet and they squeak on the gym floor obnoxiously. Seth and about twenty teenagers stop what they’re doing and spin around to look at me.

  Eek.

  ‘Sorry! Really sorry!’ I say, holding my hands up as I creep past. But then, remembering that it was my Mancunian accent that got me recognised in the deli this morning I decide to change it into something less recognisable. ‘Sorry!’ I say again in an Australian accent. ‘I’m sorry to interrupt, I just need a quick word with Seth?’

  Seth comes out as Sith.

  Why did you choose an Australian accent, Olive?

  I mentally berate myself. Australian is definitely the hardest accent! And I have tried every accent out in the mirror at one point or another.

  At my terrible Australian impression, Seth’s eyes widen, his brows dipping and creating a mini crevice in his forehead. He glares at me in disbelief, like I’m a hallucination. Like he cannot believe I have tracked him down to a tiny community theatre on the outer fringes of the Upper West Side. Like a crazy stalker.

  ‘Just a second, guys,’ Seth says, walking across the hall towards me.

  ‘Oooooooh!’ some of the teens shout. ‘It’s your girlfriend! You loooooove her!’

  ‘Give me some credit!’ Seth fires back. Which actually hurts my feelings. I may not look very attractive in this beret and red-cheeked from my trek through New York to find him. But still…

  ‘I need to talk to you!’ I explain when he reaches me. ‘I need your help and it’s urgent.’

  Seth bites at his lower lip. ‘This is all incredibly weird but okay… Can you wait? I’ll be finished up here in around thirty minutes.’

  I sigh, thinking of that letter on the move to god knows where. And then I get a vision of Birdie’s face when I have to tell her that whoops, I lost her letter and this was all a waste of time.

  ‘Actually, it’s really important,’ I say. ‘I need you now.’

  He raises an eyebrow.

  I tut. ‘I mean I need to talk to you now. I’ll only be a few minutes, I—’

  Seth interrupts me, an expression of irritation flitting crossing his face. ‘Look, this is the only time these kids get away from a school that writes them off, a home that’s dysfunctional or, for some of them, the streets where they hang out with an older, shittier crowd. I volunteer and they only get one hour with me every week. I already arrived late…’ He gives me a pointed look. ‘I mean, if it’s another bathroom related requested, you’re on your own. But otherwise, you can wait another thirty minutes, right?

  I feel embarrassed at my storming in here. He volunteers? That doesn’t fit with my current impression of him. He’s clearly having some kind of Dangerous Minds moment. Or maybe he’s volunteering just so he can tell people he volunteers and act all worthy about it. Yes, that must be it. There’s no way someone so self-important would volunteer out of the goodness of their heart. Either way. I suppose I can manage another thirty minutes. I really could do with his help.

  ‘Fine,’ I sniff.

  ‘In half an hour you can have as much of me as you want,’ Seth says loudly so the kids can hear.

  What a dick.

  ‘Give me some credit,’ I call back to his retreating form, to which some of the kids whoop and cheer me on.

  I amble into the corner, every squelchy footstep amplified by the acoustics of the room, and plop down on an errant plastic yellow chair.

  I take a breath and pull out my phone and earphones. Now would be a great time to listen to that meditation app I’ve been meaning to try. Thirty minutes of Still Minds sounds like a positive and sensible thing to do right now.

  I press the buttons on my phone to load it up but am soon distracted by Seth’s voice booming into the room.

  ‘Alan, Trey, Lauren. You’re up!’ he’s saying. ‘Your theme is…’ He holds his hands to his chin as if he’s thinking very hard. ‘Birthday.’

  Three of the kids step out from the crowd and form their own group.

  ‘Remember,’ Seth says. ‘Relax! It’s all about relaxing.’

  At Seth’s instruction the kids shake out their legs and arms.

  ‘Okay, go!’

  ‘I got you a gift,’ one of the kids says, pretending to hand something to one of the others. ‘It’s a really cute little teddy bear.’

  The other kid, a skinny little thing, folds his arms. ‘That’s not a teddy bear,’ he says. ‘It’s a killer drone!’

  ‘Hold up!’ Seth interrupts. ‘Okay, Alan,’ he says to drone boy. ‘The point with improvisation is that you always have to say yes. No matter what. So if your teammate starts the scene by saying that they are giving you a cute little teddy bear, they are giving you a cute little teddy bear. You have to go with it. Say yes.’

  Alan nods, his little cheeks turning a bit pink.

  ‘Try again,’ Seth says, patting him on the shoulder. ‘Go from the start.’

  ‘I got you a gift,’ the girl says again. ‘it’s a really cute little teddy bear.’

  Alan takes the invisible teddy bear from Lauren and gasps. ‘This is the most beautiful teddy bear I’ve seen in my entire life. And lord knows I’ve seen a lot of teddy bears.’ Alan pretends to look at the floor sadly. ‘Too many teddy bears…’ he says mysteriously.

  A big laugh goes up around the room and I find myself joining in.

  I put down my earbuds and watch with interest as an entire scene is created in front of me, totally off the cuff. With the guidance of Seth, the kids concoct a whole story in which the teddy bear is secretly stuffed with stolen pot.

  I watch as the kids go from tentative and nervous
to being fully into the scene, putting on voices and being silly. They make more and more outlandish suggestions each time and support each other’s choices. It’s brilliant and I find myself clapping and cheering along from my seat in the corner.

  The thirty minutes whizz by and soon enough Seth is ending the class.

  ‘See you next week,’ he says with a little wave. ‘And sorry I was late.’

  ‘You’re always late,’ one of the kids retorts.

  ‘Yeah yeah.’ Seth shoos him away. ‘And remember, guys…’

  ‘Just say yes!’ the kids call back.

  ‘That’s right.’

  As the kids file out of the hall, Seth strides over to me and takes a seat in one of the other plastic chairs.

  ‘So. Olive Maudine. What can I do for you?’

  ‘Just Olive,’ I correct him. Then I tell him about the accidental letter being posted.

  He shrugs. ‘That sucks.’

  Understatement.

  ‘You don’t understand. It’s a life or death letter,’ I tell him. ‘It was supposed to be hand-delivered. There’s no stamp on it, or address so if I can’t rescue it, it’ll probably just get chucked in the bin.’

  ‘Why is it so important? Just write another one.’

  ‘It’s private,’ I tell him, not feeling very keen on the idea of divulging anything to this guy – who knows what will show up on the TV next week if I do. ‘But please trust me when I say that this letter is the only letter of its kind and it is truly, truly important that I get it back.’

  I feel my throat swell with unshed tears.

  Seth’s cocky face softens slightly. ‘This really matters to you, huh?’

  ‘Yes.’ I nod fervently. ‘It really, really does.’

  Seth blows the air out from his cheeks. ‘I don’t want to come off as a jackass, but what do you want me to do about it?’

  ‘You are very much coming off as a jackass,’ I mutter. ‘It’s your fault I posted it. If I hadn’t been so concerned with being angry at you for your stupid sketch, then I would have been my usual organised self and I would still have the letter. So you have to help me get it back. I don’t know how. But you are responsible too now. So just help me already.’

  God, what is wrong with this guy?

  He holds up his hands. ‘Fine, relax!’

  ‘You relax,’ I spit back.

  Seth laughs, though I’m not sure why. None of this is a laughing situation. ‘Okay. I’ll tell you what to do. You have to go to the sorting office on Staten Island. That’s where all the mail gets routed to before it’s rerouted to the boroughs. It used to be Brooklyn, but the rents are so high these days that they moved it to Staten Island.’

  I goggle at him. ‘How on earth do you know so much about the US postal system?’

  ‘I get sent news headlines every week as part of my job. We use them to generate jokes and sketch ideas. The Staten Island postal re-route was a headline a few months ago.’

  ‘Oh!’ I fold my arms. ‘So some of your sketches aren’t based on poor innocent strangers who needed your help on a plane?’

  ‘I said sorry.’

  ‘Did you?’

  ‘Yeah.’ He holds his arms out wide. ‘I’m sorry!’

  ‘Well, I don’t forgive you. And I don’t even know where Staten Island is. I’m assuming it’s an actual island?’

  Seth runs his hands over his stubbled jaw. ‘Look. I’ve got to get to work now, but I don’t start until 2 p.m. tomorrow. How about I go with you to the sorting office tomorrow morning? The letters from today’s mail won’t get there until then anyway and I know Staten Island pretty well, as it happens. We can get the letter; I know a place that does a great pizza. I’ll buy you lunch. And then will you forgive me?’

  Tomorrow isn’t ideal. I could really do with getting this sorted today… But things have a lot better chance of going smoothly if I’m with someone who actually knows this place. I can’t risk getting lost or something going wrong again! And at this point I’m almost expecting it to!

  ‘Okay. Yes,’ I say quietly. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Great.’ Seth stands up and crosses the hall to grab his still damp shirt from where it’s laid on top of his record bag. ‘I will meet you at The Whitehall Ferry Terminal in Lower Manhattan. Nine thirty a.m.?’

  ‘Ferry terminal?’ I repeat, feeling suddenly sick at the thought of being on the water. I have never been on a boat in my life! Not even the rowing boats at Heaton Park. Plus, I’m a terrible swimmer. The very thought of a ferry makes me want to hurl.

  ‘Yeah’ he says. ‘It’s the best way to get to Staten island. And the most pleasant. Hopefully this rain will clear and you’ll get to see the view of Manhattan from the water. It’s really something to behold.’

  I bite my lip and nod very slowly.

  He already thinks I’m crazy. I can’t be afraid of planes and ferries. Even to my mind that sounds super neurotic.

  ‘Fine. 9 a.m. tomorrow,’ I say. And then, for some reason, I hold out my hand for him to shake. Like we are making some sort of formal business deal.

  Olive, you geek!

  ‘Fine,’ Seth replies.

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘Can we stop saying fine now, please?’

  ‘Fine.’

  Chapter Nineteen

  Text from Olive to Colin: NYC is raining, sadly. Hope it’s still sunny there in OZ. I like head massages, sounds like a good idea for our indoor date ;) Now it’s my turn to ask you a question. What makes you laugh? X

  Text from Colin: Still sunny here! About to have a BBQ. Put another shrimp on the barbie! Haha. What makes me laugh… hmmm. I really enjoy The Lad Bible. Do you know it? It’s a meme site. I love memes. All kinds of memes!

  On the walk back to the flat, Birdie FaceTimes me.

  My stomach lurches. Do I need to tell her about the lost letter? I mean, is it worth stressing her out if I’m just going to get it back from the sorting office tomorrow? I decide to tell her the truth. She must be desperate to hear my updates regarding Chuck.

  I press answer. And I find out that Chuck appears to be the furthest thing from her mind.

  ‘WATCH ME PIDDLE!’ she yells into the screen in a stupid voice. ‘Waaaaatch meeeeee!’

  ‘You saw it!’ I hiss into the screen. ‘Nooooooo!’

  Birdie laughs. ‘Seems you omitted to tell me a little something about your flight to New York. Why the hell are you being impersonated on Sunday Night Live? And why didn’t you tell me?’

  With a very red face and over the sound of her squealing laughter, I tell her about Seth and the misunderstanding on the plane. And then I tell her about people recognising me in the street, how I accidentally posted the letter, how Seth was right there in the street and how he’s coming to the sorting office with me tomorrow and that I will absolutely get it back and that she mustn’t worry. I expect her to be at least slightly upset about the letter, but she’s far more interested in that damn Sunday Night Live sketch.

  ‘I was hoping it wouldn’t make its way to the UK,’ I say, approaching Riverside Drive and walking by Central Park.

  ‘It showed up on my Facebook feed this morning.’

  ‘Noooo! I am mortified.’

  ‘It’s badass!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Who can say that they got impersonated on an American institution of a TV show? You must have made quite an impression on this writer guy.’

  ‘Yeah, peeing in front of someone will do that.’

  Looking up and noticing that the grey clouds above have cleared a little, I take a seat on a wooden bench by the park.

  ‘I hoped that you might have had a little adventure in Manhattan, but this is insane.’

  ‘I know. I’ve only been here two days and it’s been completely mental.’

  ‘Well it’s cheering me up no end!’

  ‘My misery is cheering you up no end?’

  Birdie rolls her eyes. ‘Are you really fed up? More miser
able than you are most of the time at home?’

  I’m about to protest that I’m not at all miserable at home. But I bite the inside of my cheek and think about Birdie’s words.

  Hmmm. I’m het up, and a bit panicked, embarrassed and having a complete rollercoaster of emotions right now. But I’m certainly not bored. And that’s the thing about home. I’m happy enough there, I’m not miserable, not at all, but maybe… I don’t know, I’m a little bored?

  No. I can’t be. I like my life. Everything is simple and easy in Saddleworth. These past two days have been the opposite of simple and easy. They have been crazy and non-stop. That’s not my goal state.

  I shrug. ‘It’s certainly entertaining here.’

  ‘So what are you doing tonight?’ Birdie asks.

  ‘There’s a new Aziz Ansari stand-up special on Netflix. I might order a pizza. It’s an early morning tomorrow.’

  Birdie pulls a face and mimes hanging herself with a rope.

  ‘Oi!’ I tell her off. ‘Netflix and chill! What’s wrong with that?’

  ‘Netflix and chill is a millennial euphemism for sex, you know?’

  ‘Is it?’ My eyebrows shoot up. ‘I don’t get it?’

  ‘Me either.’ She shrugs. ‘But I’d be more than happy if you plan to Netflix and Chill in that way. Might be a good method to work off some of those high-octane emotions you’re experiencing.’

  She stands up and starts thrusting saucily at her hospital bed.

  ‘Stop!’ I laugh. ‘You’re gross!’

  ‘Ooh Colin!’ she yells. ‘Make me feel like a woman, Colin.’

  ‘I’m hanging up.’

  ‘Noooo!’

  She picks up a pillow and starts pretending to snog it. ‘Colin! Oh Colin! Watch me piddle, Colin.’

  Getting cross with her, I lean right into the phone camera.

  ‘Dr BJ! Ooh Bruce Jim! Your name is so cool! What a turn-on! Ooh, can I interest you in a pleasant BJ, Dr BJ.’ Birdie snorts with laughter and it’s my favourite sound ever. I ham it up some more. I fan myself. ‘My, my, I’ve got a fever, Dr BJ! And the only cure is your peen. Gimme that peen, Dr Bruce Jim. Gimme that peen in mah sweet vajeen!’