Busy Woman Seeks Wife

by Annie Sanders

  “Frankee, we have a problem. Where’s your customs clearance?”

  Frankie faltered. “My what?”

  “Well, when we send products out of the country they have to be cleared for export…”

  “Oh bugger. What am I going to do?” He could just hide them in his bag, but that scene from Midnight Express came into his mind once again. They’d find it and he’d be facedown on the tarmac, guns trained on him, and what would Alex do then?

  Melik shook his head. “There is one thing you could do, but it wasn’t my idea, okay?” He smiled toothily.

  Chapter 45

  Alex managed exactly thirty-five minutes of sleep. She didn’t leave the Brixton club until after two a.m. and was back, standing in the same spot, four hours later, the only difference being clean knickers and the company T-shirt. The time in between had involved ticking off lists, pacing, drinking coffee and worrying. Worrying about people turning up, worrying about models letting her down, worrying about food being hopeless/late/inedible. She worried about power failures, stylists making a hash of it, speakers blowing and seeing Todd now that she’d made love with Frankie. Had they made love? Is that what you call a moment of madness, even if it had been, well… electrifying?

  And she worried about Frankie. She worried about Frankie failing entirely. Somehow she knew he would do what he could—Ella had been insistent about that—but what if everything else conspired against him? She went online to check the Heathrow arrivals and then realized she actually had no idea where he had flown from and back to. It could be Inverness for all she knew.

  The number of people bombarding her with questions kept her rooted to the spot, and she peered over their heads to see if she could see Todd arriving. He’d texted to say he was on his way from the airport and was due any time. She wanted to see his face to be sure he didn’t suspect anything. When he scooped her up in his arms it would wipe the slate clean. It would be as if sex with Frankie hadn’t even happened. Wouldn’t it?

  “So, it’s your big moment?” Alex started as Peter nudged her elbow painfully. “Hear it’s going to be the food-free breakfast. Innovative idea, Alex! That’ll impress the hacks!”

  But before she could answer he had sped away towards the flurry of activity by the door and the arrival of the enormous figure of American football hero Malcolm Sanferino: one of the biggest names the company sponsored and Peter’s pet project. He had to dip his head as he came through the door, but when he stood to his full six foot nine again he was head and shoulders above his sunglassed and menacing entourage. His black face had a broad smile and, before he could really take in the room and certainly before Alex could move towards him, Peter was on him like a bluebottle, with Gavin not far behind. Alex watched as they both fawned and scraped, necks craned up at the athlete who simply smiled back benignly. As they fussed over him and moved him towards his dressing room, a familiar perfume filled Alex’s nostrils. Donatella, resplendent today in gold lamé and Burberry, was beside her.

  “Donatella, do you have the exact running time for Bettina?”

  She tapped her teeth with her perfectly sharpened pencil and consulted her schedule. “Yes, but I need her here. What time is she due?”

  “Seven-thirty. She wouldn’t come any earlier. She said it was the earliest she had got up. Ever.”

  “And her clothes? They’re out back in her dressing room?”

  Alex looked about her, hoping Frankie would swing through the doors any minute. “Er, not exactly.” She leaned in closer. “In fact, to be honest they aren’t here at all yet.”

  Donatella went white under her tan foundation. “You are kidding?”

  “Oh trust me, they are on their way with our special courier, but they have had to be done so exclusively for her that there’s been a delay.” At that moment and like an angel of salvation, Camilla came towards her, her eyes bright, holding in her arms a pile of the new range for the dancers, all bagged up. She looked fresh and pretty. How did she manage it?

  “Morning!” Camilla smiled brightly. “I’m just checking off the clothes against my list. Donatella, do you want to come with me? We can go through it all together? Alex, I’ve put gummi bears in Bettina’s dressing room and some of that special water she likes. That should keep her happy for a while at least!”

  Through the swelling melee of company press people, who had flown in from all points of the compass, Alex finally saw Todd’s head. He was taller than most and he scanned the enormous room to find her. He had a frown of irritation on his face, and from nowhere she felt a sudden urge to turn away from him. Where had that come from? She didn’t have time to think about it, but pushed aside a strong feeling of disquiet. Instead, she put up her hand and waved. His face changed to recognition when he saw her and he made his way purposefully towards her.

  “Hi there,” he said as he reached her, slightly out of breath. “Goddamn taxi couldn’t find the place, and there were holdups at the airport. Now, is Sanferino here yet? And I’ve got Vanity Fair wanting to do a British hip-hop piece. You have lined me up a spokesperson, haven’t you?” He cast about him to assess the situation.

  “And hello to you too!” She could hear the forced cheer in her voice. “Don’t I even get a kiss?”

  He looked at her as if he had only just remembered who she was. “I don’t think that would be very professional, do you?”

  “Oh, right. No. Perhaps not.” Feeling stupid, she looked down at her papers and told him what time his interviews were scheduled, and he walked off briskly towards one of the people putting out press packs near the door.

  “Alex?” Someone else came into her eye line now. “Gordino? She here yet?” It was the makeup girl. “I need her soon. Where is she?” Alex looked at her watch. Shit. Nearly eight o’clock. Less than an hour before the doors opened. She gasped. “I had no idea it was that late.” She pulled out her phone and pressed redial on the driver’s number. Unobtainable.

  “Where do you want the juices?” A short man in a logoed T-shirt that read the organic smoothie company was standing in front of her now holding a heavy box.

  “Juices?”

  “Yuppo. Juices. I’ve had an order from…” He balanced the box on his knee and looked askew at his delivery sheet. “Saffron, I think it says. Three hundred and fifty bottles of our very best smoothies. Ordered last night. Where d’ya want them, this is kinda heavy?”

  Alex’s face lit up. God bless her. One thing had arrived at least. “Yup, over there.”

  “Gotcha.”

  Alex’s mobile then buzzed. “Alex, it’s me.” Saff sounded so breathless Alex could barely hear her. Had something gone wrong? “We’re just coming down Acre Lane. Can you make sure there is someone at the door to help us unload?”

  “Will do! Are you okay?”

  “Bit tired but fine. See you in a sec.” And she hung up.

  Alex collared one of the events team who was sound-checking the music system to stand and wait by the door and, as she went to show him where, a large and flash-looking limousine pulled up. Relief flooded through Alex and she opened the rear door. But what stepped out was not the long lean supermodel she had been expecting. It was a long white-trousered leg closely followed by the pink-caftaned body of the Bean.

  “Good morning, daarling,” she said expansively and opened her arms as if she were stepping onto the red carpet at an awards ceremony.

  “But where’s Bettina gone, for goodness’ sake?”

  “I’m here. Stop your fretting!” She popped her head out, her long brunet hair tumbling over her shoulders. “I haven’t had a minute of sleep, but…” A broad grin swept over her face. “I’ve had sooo much fun.” Before she could elaborate, Donatella tottered out of the main doors and scooped her up with a broad arm, ushering her into the building and away from the crowd of onlookers, who were beginning to gather behind the security barricades.

  Alex turned to her mother. “What the hell have you been doing all night?” she asked, not sure whether
to be cross or relieved.

  “Oh, I can hardly begin to remember.” Her mother had a rather self-satisfied look in her eye. “We had a cocktail at the Ritz. Do you know, Alphonso still works there and was thrilled to see me. They served us on the house, of course. You know, I don’t think I’ve ever paid for a drink at the Ritz.” She started to walk in through the doors as if invited and Alex hurried after her. “Then we did the French in Soho—or was that next? Anyway, I found the most charming cabbie—right about my age, late fifties, and a great fan apparently—and, bless him, he took us on a tour of the places I’d filmed with Terence and Alan. That Bettina girl was enchanted. Completely mad apparently about all that Quant stuff. Made her scream with laughter when I told her we wore paper dresses! Well, after that, let me think, we stopped by at the National to say hello to some friends—they gave her a super tour backstage and we joined in the after-show party, and then New Covent Garden… some lovely man showered us with lilies—they’re in the car—followed by a splendid breakfast at Smithfield. Gosh, for a little thing, she can pack away bacon and eggs. Are we late? Only we thought we might be, but the driver didn’t turn up until seven forty-five. I did ask him but he said he’d had a call changing the pickup time.” The Bean turned to Alex. “I did think that was a bit odd, dear. Do you think it’s that saboteur again? How exciting!”

  The Bean entered the huge hall and took in the stage, now festooned with suspended logos, the company motto (adjusted to Live for Your Life, not Play for Your Life) writ large and, against the back wall, a giant screen showing a visual montage of great sporting moments intertwined with hip-hop and R&B videos, the singers gyrating provocatively. The crew were practicing training lasers on the ceiling. All it needed now was people.

  “Alex, a moment?” Todd was by her side before she could respond to her mother’s monologue. “Hello, Mother dear,” he said. “I just need to speak to your daughter.” Taking Alex by the elbow, he steered her away, though not before she spotted the outraged look on her mother’s face. “Mother dear” would not have gone down well. “Alex, I’m not happy with the short time you’ve given me for The New York Times. They have been on the phone—”

  “Alex.” Ella’s voice came from behind her. “Can you just pop this in your ear?”

  “Oh, Ella, I’ve got too much to sort out…”

  “Just do it, Alex?”

  Grudgingly Alex took the little earpiece and slipped it into her ear, where it hummed quietly. “Now, Todd, I’ve given you what I can. I promise, you have more interviews lined up than anyone else. Is there any sign of Saff?”

  “Saff? Your friend? That little thing? Why on earth would she be here? First your mother, now Saff. Is this some kind of family get-together?” His voice sounded sneering and spoiled.

  “Yup, Todd,” she said, looking directly at him. “It’s looking very much that way. They’re here to help me.” Turning on her heel, she went towards the door. It was now thronged with people all holding clipboards and talking into walkie-talkies. Alex glanced at her watch: 8:50 and still no food and no Frankie. This was a nightmare, especially as she could see Gavin out of the corner of her eye. He was clearly getting an update from Camilla, who was looking at her watch anxiously, then putting her hands to her mouth with an expression of deep concern. Behind him Ella was hovering, virtually jumping from one foot to another, and she was holding something in her hand and trying to get his attention. What on earth was wrong with the girl?

  Then at that moment the group at the door parted like the Red Sea and they all looked up, startled by the vision that came between them. Framed in the doorway was Frankie, but the only thing recognizable about him was his red face. The rest of him looked as if it had been inflated like a balloon. On his legs, just peeping out beneath the enormous Sanferino-size livid yellow American football shirt emblazoned with the company logo, was a pair of long baseball shorts that came halfway down his calves, and on his face was an expression of excruciating pain.

  Chapter 46

  Frankie struggled over to where Alex was standing, her face a picture of incomprehension. He didn’t think he could hold out much longer.

  “Frankie! Thank God you made it! Where’s the stuff? And what on earth is wrong with you?”

  “Am I in time?” he squeaked. “Where’s Bettina? Can you point me to the nearest loo?”

  “What? What are you… ? Oh, my! Frankie! You’re not?”

  “Yes,” he gasped. “Yes, I’m wearing it all! It was the only way to get it through customs without the documents. I had to put it on in Istanbul airport. I’m wearing all Bettina Gordino’s outfits under this, as well as a couple of T-shirts Melik gave me as a gift.” He gestured awkwardly at his padded body. “You might have mentioned she had more than one change of clothes. You wouldn’t believe how uncomfortable I am! What size is she, for God’s sake? This stuff will only stretch so far!”

  Alex burst out laughing, almost doubled up with mirth. She pointed over to the corner where the loos were and he waddled hurriedly towards them, stiff-legged, like a huge duckling but, as he turned away, he was almost sure he heard her say, “Frankie, you’re the best!” Frankie shrugged off the odd looks he was attracting from the ranks of cool hunters, journalists and photographers and shouldered his way through into the relative peace of the gents,’ followed closely by Ella, whom he heard before he saw.

  “Yes, I do know it’s the gents,’ thank you very much!” she snorted, pushing a man out of the way. “I’ve got urgent business in there—no, not that kind! Don’t be disgusting! Frankie! Are you all right?”

  Frankie was grappling with the first layer of clothing. The trouble was that Bettina’s outfits were so tight he could barely flex his arms to pull anything off. In fact, he seemed to have lost all sensation in his buttocks. Ella set to at once.

  “Right, can you bend over at least? Okay, I’ve got it, now puuuull!” Off came Sanferino’s T-shirt. “Oh my goodness, Frankie. What do you look like?” Ella was gaping at the tighter-than-skintight tops and shorts that he’d crammed himself into over five hours ago.

  “To be honest,” he croaked, “I’m past caring what I look like. I’m baking hot. My nuts are killing me. And I’m desperate for a wee. That Turkish coffee’s strong stuff. Just get me out of here, would you?”

  Tugging and heaving, Ella gradually eased him out of a zip-up jacket, two hooded tops and three crop tops, sympathetically rubbing the red marks the seams had left on his skin. Then she started tugging down the waistband of a pair of cropped leggings, leaning back to pull at them with all her weight while he lay on his back on the floor. As Frankie shed each layer, he felt himself expand to his normal size and shape again and, after she dragged off the last pair of shorts—especially made to cling to Bettina’s slinky form—he dashed into a cubicle in his underpants and socks to relieve himself.

  Ella rubbed the tears of laughter from her eyes and set about shaking out and folding each item of discarded clothing. “Oh, Frankie!” she called. “You’ve really changed! You’ve become so… so random!”

  “I hope to God that’s a good thing because I’m not going through that again.” Frankie stretched his arms to check everything was working again.

  “Oh yes,” chuckled Ella as she passed him his own clothing from the holdall he had trailed behind him. “A very good thing. You’d never have tackled anything as mad as this before. You’re like a new person. I’m really proud of you.”

  Frankie buttoned up his polo shirt and glanced at her reflection in the mirror. “Now I really am worried! Oooh! That feels better. But I’m not sure my tackle will ever be the same again. Come on, now. Let’s get those mikes sorted. Deliver the clothes to Sanferino and Bettina—thank God for Lycra, but give them a squirt of air freshener maybe—and Ella, leave Melik’s T-shirts in the changing room too, will you? I’ll collect them later. I might even let you have one.”

  Chapter 47

  Saff didn’t think she had ever known Max to drive so fast. He alre
ady had six points on his license but he seemed oblivious to that as he hurtled along the road and she, Oscar and Millie, all squeezed in beside him in the Offcut Productions van, simply swayed one way and another as it lunged. Saff did mutter “Watch the food,” but that was all. He had been so fantastic during the past few hours that she didn’t want to say anything else. She knew that she’d suffer for the children not having slept all night either, but for the moment the whole family was running so high on adrenaline that it didn’t really matter.

  “Right,” she’d said as soon as the enormity of Alex’s request had sunk in last night. “All hands to the oven, and I mean all.” Barking orders like a field marshal, within minutes she had Oscar manning the mixing bowls, Millie at the weighing scales and Max on his way to the all-night supermarket under strict orders to buy every muffin, brioche, pain au chocolat and croissant he could lay his hands on. He’d arrived back at three a.m., having visited eight supermarkets, while she and the children had used up every ingredient she could think of to make more cakes and muffins, including one batch of coconut-and-raisin invented by Oscar. It had been Max’s idea to commandeer the company van to transport the food, and now every tray and baking tray, plate and chopping board Saff possessed was lying in the back, the breakfast offerings on them covered in cling film. She’d let her imagination run wild, customizing the shop-bought muffins exuberantly with icing or sweet garnishes until they looked unrecognizable. She just hoped they didn’t taste that way too.

  “Pimp my muffin!” Oscar had shrieked at one point, icing tube in hand.

  “It’s just here on the right. Where all those people are standing.” Saff pointed. “Can you move please!” she shouted out the window only to have Millie dig her in the ribs and tell her to stop being so embarrassing. “My darling, we are the A-Team today and nothing must get in our way.” She smiled, curiously elated by the last frantic hours. It must have been light-headedness from lack of sleep.