by Sue Watson
“Pick up, pick up, pick up,” I said to myself. But it went to answer machine. “Astrid, I need the key for the power to open the electric gates. Where the hell is it? I need the front gate opening so I can get out. CALL ME or come back in!”
I looked out to see if she was picking up her phone but she had her back to me. I needed to get out of that gate; time was ticking on so I opened the window slightly and called her.
“Astrid... Astrid... over here,” I hissed, but she was chatting away to the reporters, no doubt giving them her latest recipe for bloody soused herring. “Astrid... Astrid, you silly cow.” I was still on all fours, my head half in and out of the window, and I was becoming very agitated. I couldn’t shout in case the press heard me and I was now officially running late. I had a live show, my driver was waiting and my stress levels were on the ceiling.
“Astrid...you... you shithead,” I hissed loudly thinking she might respond more to words she was familiar with. “Astrid, you toss-bandit...” Nothing. “Shithead Astrid,” I tried again but it was a little louder than I had intended and the press gaggle became suspicious with flashes going off and the babble of voices becoming louder. Christ, I was really panicking now. I didn’t know what to do and when my mobile rang I nearly leaped into orbit.
“What? What?” I snapped.
“Tanya we need to be on the move, we are due to RV at the front of the building, where are you?”
“Arthur I’m trapped, all the press are at the back – I think they’ve got shots of me on the floor shouting abuse at Astrid and I can’t find the key to unlock the power for the electric gate.”
“OK. Calm down... let me think. The only thing you can do is climb over the gate.”
“You’re kidding?”
“Tanya, I don’t joke at times like this. It’s the only way; the press hounds are at the back, I’m here with the getaway vehicle at the front and you need to be in it.”
He was right, there was nothing else for it, so I gathered my stuff together and headed for the front of the house. Once outside, I stood and looked up at the huge gates and wanted to cry.
I took a deep breath and locking my fingers into the wrought iron, and hitching my skirt, began the ascent. The gates were over twelve feet high, Italian designed, handmade and installed to keep the nosy press out, but as I took each tricky foothold, I regretted the day I’d commissioned them. The gaps where my feet went in were wide apart and along with the physical challenge, I couldn’t help but think how undignified I must have looked. I had almost reached the top and was precariously balanced on the filigreed hand-wrought iron when something very disturbing happened: the gate started to move. It was opening and I was astride it, high in the air, black Gucci skirt high over my thighs, the world’s press within spitting distance.
“What the hell? Arthur!” I yelled, clinging on for dear life. The gate was gaining momentum as it opened backwards. There was nothing for it – I would have to jump off when it stopped. I waited until it fully opened, then just as I was starting to lower myself, the bloody thing started to shut again.
“Noooooo! What is going on?!” I shouted. By now, Arthur was out of his car, yelling at me.
“Jump, Miss Travis!! It’s the only option!”
“I am NOT jumping from a twelve foot, moving gate!” I snarled back. “Make. It. STOP!”
The gates clanged shut again, but like some demented fairground ride, they started to open almost immediately.
““Help me someone, for the love of God!” I was starting to feel really dizzy now, and I screwed my eyes up tight so I wouldn’t fall. And when I opened them – there, before me, with cameras flashing, were the assembled press.
“Tanya! Tanya! Over here! Are you stuck, Tanya? Show us your face! Is it true your boyfriend’s a sex-addict, Tanya? Is it true you’re a sex-addict Tanya? How do you feel about being stuck on a gate Tanya? How do you feel about your boyfriend’s baby news Tanya? Tanya, are you gonna jump? Is it a suicide bid? Are you a cougar Tanya?” Stupid questions were hurled at me as the gates grinded slowly open and closed again and again.
I turned my face away from them towards the house, to see Arthur in a tussle with Astrid. As the press had left her to join me, it seemed that Astrid had finally listened to the message on her phone telling her I needed the gates open and she had found the key. And now she was pressing every button on the ‘shit-controller.’ Typical Astrid, she was standing firmly by my instructions to open the gate and refusing to hand over the remote control to Arthur.
“Astrid!” I shrieked, hysterical now. “Give him the fucking remote! Just give it to him! Fucking give it to him!”
She reluctantly handed it over, and after everyone had got their shot, Arthur finally stopped the swinging fairground ride. I was now very dizzy, my heartbeat pounding in my ears, my thighs poking through the elaborate iron scrollwork and decorative brass finials as they gripped for dear life. My eyes lost their focus and I could see Arthur running in slow motion towards me, his distorted voice shouting “Hold on!” My palms were sweaty and slippery on the wrought iron and I suddenly felt weak. Then everything went blurry and with the photographers snapping away as if their lives depended on it, I lost my grip and fell towards the ground.
I must have blacked out, because the next thing I knew, I was in the thick leather interior of the car, which was purring its way towards the studio.
“Don’t worry, you silly old dick’s head, I am here,” came Astrid’s voice, which was less than reassuring after the morning I’d had so far. She was next to me in the limo, holding my hand.
“Fucking Bruce Willis driver caught you,” she said, shaking her head in awe. “And now he drives like crazy cop to get you to the studio on time. He is some shit, Tanya Travis.”
I closed my eyes again. Some shit, Tanya Travis. The last person who’d said that to me in the back of this car was Nathan. A single tear slid down my cheek and the rest of the journey passed in silence.
TWEET: @TanyaTruth On way 2 studio with my PA 4 gr8 show after relaxing morning preparing 4 show! #DaytimeDarling #TruthWithTanya
10
Frothy Lattes and Frizzy Ends
Once at the studio, Astrid and I headed straight for my dressing room, avoiding the over-friendly faces and patronising smiles. They would all be desperately trying not to mention the latest instalment involving my disgraced boyfriend. I was keen to avoid their sympathy and Astrid’s own take on the matter, which she would no doubt share in no uncertain terms with the whole production team.
For the first time ever, there was no sign of Georgina when I arrived. Instead, the first person to accost me with manic hugs and tearful sympathy was Judith. She meant well and I’m sure she really was upset, but I was still in shock from ‘Gate-gate’ and if ever I needed brisk efficiency, it was that morning. I was in pieces and didn’t need Judith – another crumbling person – consoling me. One look at her veiny forehead and frizzy ends and I almost erupted into tears.
“Tanya, you look good. I mean... you always do, in spite of everything... and...that lipstick is... lovely on you,” she said, like it was a consolation. Your partner has made another woman pregnant, but your lipstick’s lovely.
“Thanks Judith it’s by Dior, it’s called ‘Sex Addict,’” I snapped, swishing along the corridor towards the dressing room.
“Ha!” Astrid huffed at my side.
Judith put her head down, swallowing hard. “I’m sorry about everything, Tanya.”
“Judith, I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable so I won’t go on but I just want to say, Nathan denies it all. The girl is telling lies and we may end up in court if she tries to get money out of us... out of him.”
“Oh Tanya, I can only imagine how awful it is for you,” she said, holding open my dressing room door for me. “When I read about it this morning...”
“It’s fine, Judith. Really,” I lied. “The baby isn’t his. As soon as we can, we will get a DNA test to prove it.”
; “It is big shame because Tanya is so old,” added Astrid, tactfully. “Her ovaries, they all crispy dry... and this girl is very young so when she has the sex...”
“Yes, we get the point, Astrid” I snapped, feeling a sharp stab. “And anyway, it’s nothing to do with my age. Once and for all I don’t have dry ovaries!”
“Ah Tanya, don’t be sad because we see Dr Christian and he look right up your...”
“Oooh, Tanya Travis, who’s talking dry ovaries? We don’t want any dried-up old ovaries on Daytime.” It was Ray, right on cue.
“And you won’t have any, Ray. All the onscreen ovaries will be pink, ripe and fecund,” I said sharply. He blushed and Judith’s skin exploded into hives.
“I’m sorry, but I was just saying to Judith that I don’t want people to feel they can’t talk about the car crash that is my love life. It’s out there – I called Georgina and she tweeted it late last night before the papers could put their own spin on it.”
“Yes, the papers have spun quite a tale as it is. Georgina’s already drafted a statement for the press office, saying you’re not saying anything.”
“Georgina person is saying you not saying anything? That is stupid... She is a silly old toss.”
“Thank you Astrid. Er… Ray this is my...PA, Astrid, and Astrid – this is my boss.”
Astrid stood straighter, proffering her hand to Ray and slowly moving her head up and down. She probably thought I’d just promoted her. I could hardly tell Ray I’d brought the cleaner in with me because I’d just fallen off the twelve-foot gate I’d been straddling and needed assistance to get in and out of the car.
“Georgina’s great,” I said, as much for Astrid’s benefit as Ray’s. “She always knows exactly how to pitch it. She composed that tweet so well that when I read it I wondered what all the fuss was about,” I sighed. Ray and Judith shifted uneasily. Astrid huffed again and plonked herself on the sofa.
“Oh come on, it’s OK. I’m upset – devastated in fact – but the show must go on.” I said with a sad smile.
“Absolutely!” Ray enthused, glad that I wasn’t sobbing on his shoulder – and no doubt relieved to cling to a familiar cliché in such an awkward social situation.
“So, let’s get on with it. Where’s Georgina? I’ve checked the script and running order,” I announced briskly, keen to get on with all that was familiar and comfortable amidst the uncertainty.
“I’ve just been informed she’ll be working in the gallery this morning, so someone else will be looking after you,” Judith muttered.
“What? I’m sorry, but I can’t do without an assistant this morning” I said, horrified.
“I will look after Tanya. I am PA now,” Astrid piped up.
“Oh no. Not today Astrid, thank you. If ever there was a time I needed Georgina it’s now. Why does she have to be in the gallery?”
Judith looked at Ray and he looked blank.
“Perhaps she’s thinking of changing her job?” Judith offered.
“I hope not. I couldn’t cope without her – she’s my own personal angel. I’m serious Ray – I need her today.”
“But Tanya I am angel now... I tidy your desk, yes?” Astrid said, and began to shuffle my papers importantly.
“Ray, I hope you aren’t telling me that you are taking Georgina away from me?” I said, trying to scare him and not to be distracted by the chaos Astrid was now causing in my dressing room.
“Now, let’s not be selfish Tanya. Georgina has to have some career development,” Ray said, in his usual, unfathomable way. “She is a lovely tree whose roots need to embed, she needs to grow and spread her branches and the delightful Hermione has stepped in. She’s wearing her spurs and she’ll just grab those reins and ride you into the... Well...”
“I don’t think the analogy stretches that far Ray,” I said shortly. “In fact it’s beginning to sound vaguely indecent.” I was irritated that Georgina wasn’t there. Putting her in the gallery during a show meant that Ray was keen to see her in another role – producer? I didn’t want to stop Georgina’s career moving upwards, but it really wasn’t the time to leave me in the lurch with someone I’d never met called Hermione. There was a knock on the dressing room door and without waiting for a response from me, Ray flung it open.
“Ah, speak of the devil. Meet the fragrant Hermione,” he announced, putting his arm around a tall, skinny girl and ushering her into my room. “She is the middle daughter of our esteemed boss Dickie Truelove and with a degree in Art History, she’s clever as well as beautiful. Hermione comes highly recommended, Tanya. Dickie will be watching the show today so it seemed like a perfect time to show her the ropes.” Dickie’s daughter would be treated like royalty by Ray and the message was loud and clear: I had to do the same.
“Lovely to meet you, Hermione,” I went to shake her hand, but she held hers in the air.
“OMG it’s the Tanya Travis – aaagh!” she squealed waving jazz hands in mock delight.
I smiled back, not quite sure how to take this. I think she was being amusing.
“Now Hermione, I won’t need your help as I have my own PA with me today,” I said sweetly, gesturing towards Astrid, who at this point had unfortunately abandoned her new role and was lying full-length on the sofa, snoring. “She is just resting her eyes and gearing up before the show,” I offered, beginning to tidy up the mess she’d made on the desk. “She will make sure I have everything I need in Georgina’s absence, so you will have the opportunity to observe.”
“Well actually, Tanya,” Hermione started with a big smile, “I’ve been told to look after you so I can learn the awesome job of being your assistant for a few weeks, before I help Daddy,” she said, her plummy tones jumping around the room like a bloody kangaroo. “So I shall stay by your side this morning; I am your Siamese twin.” She had way too much energy and confidence for someone so young. I looked over at poor, crumpled Judith who positively shrank before my eyes. Hermione’s hair was long and fashionably untamed rather than Judith-frizzy and she had a definite trust-fund style, sporting an effortless look of oversized, chunky jumper with a rope of (real) pearls around her neck. I wondered if they would snap if I tried to strangle her with them.
I smiled, unsure of what to say next.
“Nice pearls.”
Ten minutes later, my nerves were still frayed from the events of the morning and Hermione had stuck to me like a bloody leech, ruining my washing plans, my timing and irritating me beyond human endurance.
“Judith, are you ready to go through the script with me?” I asked.
She absently handed me a script which was stained with coffee-cup rings and well thumbed. Not like the ones Georgina handed me first thing each morning, all fresh and clean and unsullied.
“Actually Tanya, Ray asked if Hermione could go through the script with you,” Judith looked at me, waiting for the explosion. I stared at her evenly then looked at the grinning, gangly Hermione. I didn’t explode, I just dialled Ray’s office number.
“Ray, can you please tell me what the hell is going on around here? First, you take Georgina away on a morning where I really, really need her, then you say Judith can’t do the script it has to be Hermione. She’s new, and – forgive me Hermione – she isn’t a producer and won’t have a fucking clue.”
“Tanya, Tanya. Bear with me. I meant to say earlier that today we are looking at ways to refresh the brand and I need all hands on the deck of this trusty old vessel while we move the seafaring crew around.
“Oh?”
“Yes, in fact I wondered if you and I might have a chat about it after today’s show.”
“Chat about the show, you mean?”
“Yes, I thought it might be a good idea for you and I to have a healthy mind-mapping session over frothy lattes on my roof garden.”
I agreed and put the phone down, uncertain of what to make of the conversation. By seafaring crew, Ray meant staff and I had a horrible feeling that Georgina was leaving me for pastures n
ew and that he was going to break it to me that Hermione would be my new assistant. I was furious – but I wouldn’t be able to object as she was ‘Big Dickie’s’ daughter. I pushed the thought to the back of my head and tried to focus.
Then it struck me what Ray was trying to tell me in his crazy code. Georgina was being groomed for Judith’s job, right under her bloody nose. That was why he wanted to ‘mind-map’ and ‘frothy latte’ with me on his roof garden. My assistant was becoming my producer, and Judith was history. No wonder she was stressed out – poor old Judith was about to be sacked for someone younger and brighter, with sparkly scripts and smoother hair.
Poor Judith, poor, weird forty-something, past it Judith with her ageing hair, kids at university and husband long gone. How I hated Ray for doing this to her.
“Hermione,” I said, turning to my soon-to-be assistant. “Why don’t you go and fetch us all a nice coffee. I’ll have a double tall extra-hot skinny latte with a sugar-free caramel shot and Judith will have an organic Chai, made from spring water, no milk. Get one for yourself, too,” I added sweetly, handing her a tenner.
“Er, OK” she said and skipped out of the room.
Once on our own, I sat down with poor Judith. I didn’t have long before I had to go to make-up, but I could always find time for the needy and this morning I made time to hold Judith’s gnarled fingers and look into her baggy old eyes. Judith looked as rough as one of my guests and it felt like a rehearsal, me sitting there all poised and caring while she looked like hell.
“Judith. I know.”
“You do?” She let out a huge sigh. “Oh Tanya, it’s awful, I haven’t slept.”
