One in a Million

by Lindsey Kelk

  ‘There you are,’ I said, walking over with my hands deep in my jacket pockets. ‘I thought you’d left.’

  ‘No I just needed some fresh air,’ he replied, kicking a stone with the toe of his lovely new shoes. ‘I was thinking.’

  I caught it with the inside of my left foot and kicked it back.

  ‘About what?’

  ‘You’re a good public speaker,’ Sam said, jiggling the change in the pocket of his jeans. ‘You handled the situation beautifully. You shouldn’t worry about things like that in future.’

  ‘It helped to know you had my back,’ I said. I was still on edge, still full of adrenaline. Too on edge to go back to the office. ‘Do you want to get a drink? There’s a nice little bar around the corner and I’m gasping.’

  ‘A drink?’ Sam looked at me as though I’d just asked if he’d like to smoke crack out of the carcass of a dead possum. ‘I mean, I would like to, but I’ve got so much work to do and I really should get back to the office and—’

  ‘That’s OK,’ I said, tossing my hair over my shoulder to show him just how breezy I was. ‘Totally understand. I’d hate for you to get behind.’

  ‘Right, yes,’ Sam stiffened and gave a curt nod. ‘You should stay and have a drink. I’m going to venture back. I’ll see you at the office tomorrow.’

  I stood still and watched him walk away. Something stopped me from chasing him down so we could travel back to work together, but I wasn’t entirely sure what it was. I didn’t move until he’d been swallowed up by the crowds headed to Trafalgar Square.

  ‘I don’t want to get into another conversation about Fifty Shades of Grey,’ I told myself, fiddling with my headphones and slowly, very slowly, setting off in the same direction. ‘Today has been rough enough as it is.’

  Really, what other reason could there be?

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Friday, 20 July: Fourteen Days to Go

  ‘Annie?’

  I looked up to see Zadie in her giant glasses, blinking at me from the far end of the banqueting table.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Do the menu cards go on top of the napkins or are we tucking them into the napkins?’

  ‘On top,’ I replied, attempting to hang Lil’s light-up neon logo on the wall without breaking it. Neon tubes shattered like nobody’s business. I would know. ‘And place the napkins on the plates so that the folds are downwards. Lily hates napkin folds.’

  Lily hated a lot of things.

  ‘And where does this go?’ Nat asked, puffing underneath the weight of an enormous potted palm tree.

  ‘Next to the flamingo and the cactus,’ I instructed. ‘And don’t forget to wrap it in fairy lights. There should be loads of battery operated ones in that big box over there.’

  It was the morning of Lily Lashgasm’s annual summer beauty bash. Lily was one of our first clients and one of the biggest beauty bloggers in the world. She was also a stickler for details and liked everything done a certain way which was a really polite way of saying Lily could be a massive bastard when she wanted to be. Every summer she had a huge party for all her friends, a few chosen followers and most importantly, her enemies. It was beyond me.

  People loved to slag off YouTubers and influencers and the like but in my experience, they were some of the hardest working, most genuine humans I’d ever met. All our clients worked every hour god sent, they had to be brilliant writers, fantastic photographers and self-taught filmmakers all rolled into one while being amazingly creative, thoughtful, caring and collaborative sweethearts at the same time.

  And then there was Lily.

  It was like when people said they hated cats because they’re all super anti-social and scratchy when really, they’d only encountered shit cats. I had to assume everyone who said influencers were all entitled, freebie-grabbing slackers with no real life skills had somehow come across Lily.

  ‘The room looks sick,’ Zadie said, slipping the last menu card into place.

  ‘Lily’s going to be furious,’ I replied, comparing each place setting with my seating plan. It had taken hours to get it right and I wanted to trust the girls had everyone in the right seats but I couldn’t not check. ‘She wanted to hold the party outside this year.’

  Zadie looked out the window, her confusion magnified by her massive glasses.

  ‘But it’s pouring it down.’

  ‘And Lily is going to want to know why we couldn’t fix the weather,’ I replied. ‘Did you get the goodie bags?’

  ‘Shit!’ Nat exclaimed, pricking herself on the cactus. ‘Miranda is bringing them over?’

  ‘Fairylights on the palm tree, not the cactus!’ I bellowed, beginning to lose my cool.

  The day was not going especially well. Miranda, Brian and I had spent the morning working on the SetPics pitch but nothing seemed to be working. So far, the best idea we had was a ‘turn yourself into a unicorn’ filter that already existed on basically every platform ever or a time machine. At that very second, I would have taken the time machine in a heartbeat. On top of that, my mummy blogger had accidentally posted a shitty direct message, slagging off her potential publisher to Twitter so that was a lucrative deal down the toilet and somehow, without even trying, @TheHipHistorian had lost seventy-five followers overnight. There was no rhyme or reason to it, they were just gone. And now our summer bacchanal on the roof of Shoreditch House had become a cobbled together shindig in a meeting room. But as Miranda always said, if in doubt, throw fairylights at it and that was exactly what I was doing. So what if we didn’t have the swimming pool? Who cared if there was no room for the photobooth? An automatic swing that created a gif that was sent straight to your phone as you swang? Swing-schming. We had enough strings of lights to illuminate the Eiffel Tower and enough rosé to get an elephant off his tits, it was going to be fine.

  And if I said that another fourteen thousand times and drank some of the rosé myself, I might even begin believing it.

  ‘Don’t panic, I’m here, everything’s going to be OK.’

  I turned so quickly at the sound of a male voice, I slapped myself in the face with my ponytail.

  It was Charlie, peering out from behind three big cardboard boxes.

  ‘Miranda asked us to bring these over,’ he said, dropping them next to the cactus and causing it to shed a shower of needles all over the carpet. The door slammed behind him and Zadie jumped, dropping a bundle of rose gold cutlery. ‘Where do you want them?’

  ‘There is amazing, thank you,’ I replied, almost crying with joy as Nat instinctively picked up her Dustbuster. ‘Where’s Miranda?’

  ‘She said she had to make a last minute call and asked me to run these over.’ Hands on hips, Charlie surveyed the room. ‘Nice. Very pink.’

  ‘It’s a “very pink” event,’ I said. ‘Thank you, Charlie, I appreciate it.’

  ‘No big deal,’ he said, picking up one of the menu cards and nodded as he read each course out loud. ‘Girly party is it?’

  ‘It’s hosted by a woman and most of the attendees are women, if that’s what you mean,’ I replied. ‘I really appreciate bringing over the boxes and don’t want to be rude but we’re very busy, I can’t really chat right now.’

  ‘I get it, I get it,’ he replied with a wink. ‘And you’re welcome. You can buy me a drink and make it up to me later.’

  ‘Excuse me, could someone open the door?’

  Another muffled male voice called from the hallway.

  Charlie gave it a push only for a tall, skinny blond man to stagger in, carrying twice the number of boxes.

  ‘Oh shit, Sam!’ I ran over to take the top two boxes off his stack before he dropped them all. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Miranda asked if I could assist your friend here,’ he said, pulling down his shirt over the waistband of his jeans as he set his boxes carefully on the floor. ‘Is there anything else I can do?’

  ‘I would love to stay and help but I’ve got an accounts meeting,’ Charlie leaned in to
place an unexpected and unprecedented kiss on my cheek. I jerked back slightly, stunned if not entirely displeased. ‘Good luck with your party.’

  ‘You don’t have to stay,’ I said to Sam, watching Charlie wander off down the hallway with his hands in his trouser pockets. ‘Thank you so much for bringing the boxes over, I really appreciate it.’

  ‘Well, I’m here now,’ he said stiffly. ‘If you could use a hand.’

  ‘If you’re sure?’ I turned my attention back to the people in the room. ‘Nat, I need you to make sure all the digital Polaroids are working. Zadie, can you put the decals on the mirrors in the loos?’

  They both nodded and immediately went about their appointed tasks. Sam scratched his stubble, looking incredibly out of place in the middle of it all. Flamingos, palm trees, cacti, rainbows, flower crowns – it looked as though Coachella had thrown up in East London.

  ‘Dare I ask?’

  ‘We’ve got stickers that say hashtag Lashgasm2018,’ I explained, holding up one of the stickers for his approval. He immediately gave it a thumbs up. ‘And branded soap dispensers. And hand towels. And toilet paper. And napkins. And umbrellas. And tote bags. And tampons.’

  He flipped from a thumbs up to a thumbs down.

  ‘Everything is an Instagram moment,’ I said with a shrug. ‘If you really want to help, I need to fill the goodie bags.’

  ‘I can do that,’ he agreed, clapping his hands and rubbing them together. ‘Where do we start?’

  I whipped a Stanley knife out of my toolkit on the table and tore into one of the boxes he had delivered.

  ‘You sir, are my saviour,’ I said, coiling my ponytail into a bun on top of my head. When I looked up, I saw he was blushing. Tipping the contents of the box out onto the table, I smiled.

  ‘I’m not quite sure about that,’ Sam muttered, opening one of the other boxes. Ahh, good. It was the branded tampons. ‘But I do my best.’

  There really was no arguing with that.

  ‘You mean to say, you set all this up and then you disappear?’ Sam asked, seemingly still confused about what I actually did for a living.

  I nodded as I dropped the last eye shadow palette into the last goodie bag and placed it on the chair of a famously flamboyant makeup artist who I hoped would be able to stay sober long enough to get through the party.

  ‘Amongst many other things,’ I nodded. ‘I plan the event, I organise the event, I make sure everything goes to plan. Brian designs everything you see with #Lashgasm2018 on it, Miranda orders it and then I put it into place. I make sure every part of the room is Insta-perfect and then I hide in the back corner and let Lily look like the host of the century, all while taking millions of photos, videos, Instagrams and Snapchats. I’ll tweet as we go, we might even do a quick Facebook Live. I’ll tag all the sponsors, thank the venue and at the end of it, I’ll clear the place up. Then go back to the office, edit together my videos to make the perfect vlog and post it for Lily’s millions of followers tomorrow evening.’

  ‘If they like her they must love you,’ Sam commented as he tied a surprisingly perfect bow on the handles of Lily’s special goodie bag.

  ‘Most of them don’t even know I exist,’ I said with a smile. ‘That’s kind of the point.’

  ‘All that work for so little recognition,’ he replied, shocked at the very idea. ‘That would be like me putting out a research paper I’d spent years on and leaving off my own name. It’s utter madness, Annie.’

  ‘I get recognition.’ I crossed my fingers behind my back, hope hope hoping the TechBubble gods could hear our conversation somehow. ‘Someone’s paying attention to the work we’ve been doing or they wouldn’t have asked us to do all this SetPics stuff.’

  ‘If they saw this room, I’m sure they’d give you the account no questions asked,’ he replied. ‘I think it’s marvellous.’

  Even though I knew he had literally no frame of reference for what a good influencer event looked like, I was still pleased. There was nothing like a truly heartfelt metaphorical pat on the head for a job well done. And it wasn’t just the Lashgasm event I was feeling smug about, my boyfriend bootcamp was really starting to show results. I couldn’t imagine Sam coming out with such a thoughtful, spontaneous compliment a couple of weeks ago.

  ‘That said, I’m not altogether convinced by the cactus,’ he said, pushing his glasses up his nose. ‘Could be a health and safety disaster.’

  So close and yet so far away.

  ‘Come on,’ I said, grabbing my phone from the table. ‘Let’s get a photo of you in front of the flamingo. For Facebook, I mean.’

  Shaking his head, Sam stood in front of his new inflatable friend, arms placed in front of him, one hand on top of the other.

  ‘Oh, come on, loosen up,’ I ordered. ‘You’re stood next to a massive pink flamingo in a meeting room in London in the pissing rain and you can’t even crack a smile?’

  ‘It’s absurd,’ Sam mumbled, rolling his eyes as I snapped away.

  ‘Exactly,’ I agreed. ‘Now smile at Fred and give me something to work with.’

  ‘Fred the Flamingo?’ He looked the plastic bird in the eye and frowned. ‘Annie, I don’t want to alarm you but this is definitely a Florence.’

  I looked at him through the lens of my camera.

  ‘Is that right?’

  ‘I’m one hundred per cent certain,’ he confirmed. The flamingo’s head bounced as he patted it.

  ‘Two PhDs and a Masters degree in sexing inflatable flamingos,’ I commented as I snapped the winner pic. ‘Very impressive.’

  Suddenly, the door to the room burst open, Zadie and Nat both running in with pink cheeks and the fear of god in their eyes.

  ‘S-she’s here,’ Zadie stammered. ‘She’s early.’

  ‘Oh, shit,’ I muttered, dusting off my jeans and re-tying my ponytail. ‘First time for fucking everything.’

  Before anyone else could comment, a tell-tale clicking of high heels stopped right outside the door that was still swinging on its hinges.

  ‘It’s in here?’ I heard her ask.

  ‘Close your eyes,’ I heard Miranda say. ‘You’re going to love it.’

  Bless Mir and her confidence, she hadn’t even seen the room herself yet. Mostly because she was three shitting hours late but still, it was nice to have your partner’s full support in a time of need.

  ‘But we’re supposed to be on the roof?’ Lily whined, still outside the door.

  ‘It’s hammering it down, Lily,’ Miranda replied. ‘And besides, this room is far, far fancier than the rooftop. It’s not like you were planning on getting your extensions wet anyway, is it?’

  Slowly, the door opened and I held my breath. Zadie and Nat were hidden behind the inflatable flamingo and truly the look on Sam’s face was priceless. He looked more afraid than anyone.

  A tiny, platinum blonde with flawless makeup and eyebrows that could have launched a thousand ships walked into the room.

  ‘This,’ she said, stepping right into the middle and taking it all in. ‘Is nice.’

  Me, Miranda, Zadie and Nat all exhaled at once.

  ‘I like the cactus,’ Lily added before looking Sam up and down. ‘And I like him. Who is he? What does he do?’

  ‘He’s a historian,’ I answered. ‘And he’s just leaving.’

  ‘I should read more history books,’ she said, openly licking her lacquered lips. ‘My history teacher smelled like cheese and onion crisps and always tried to play football with the boys at lunchtime. He was totally sad.’

  ‘I’m not a teacher,’ Sam said, moving closer to me as Lily continued to look at him like he was a full, three-course meal. ‘I’m writing a book on—’

  ‘Sam’s got to leave,’ I interrupted, turning my back on her to give him my biggest, most grateful smile. ‘Thank you so much.’

  ‘Yeah, can you give me a minute so I can get some selfies before everyone gets here?’ Lily said. It should have been a question but it wasn’t. ‘Don’t tell me
you haven’t got a ring light.’

  ‘There’s four of them,’ I said, as Zadie and Nat dashed over to the selfie stations, ready to spring into action. ‘We’ll just be outside.’

  Lily perched herself on the edge of the windowsill and searched for her perfect angle as our interns descended on her with two halos of blinding light. She looked like a goddess.

  ‘I think I will go back to the office now,’ Sam said. It was fair, he’d seen a lot. ‘Unless you need me to stay.’

  ‘No, it’s fine, thank you so much,’ I said, reaching up to give him a huge hug. For the first time, he didn’t even flinch. ‘Couldn’t have done it without you.’

  He smiled tightly, nodding at Miranda before setting off down the corridor, whistling as he went. Miranda looked at me with one raised eyebrow.

  ‘What?’ I asked, flicking chunks of pink glitter off my black T-shirt.

  ‘We’re hugging now, are we?’ she asked. ‘You and your “project”?’

  ‘It’s all part of the bootcamp plan,’ I told her, rolling my shoulders and trying to get them back down out of my ears. ‘He’s doing well, don’t you think he’s doing well?’

  ‘He could very nearly pass for a normal human being,’ Mir agreed, somewhat seriously. ‘When I asked him to help Charlie bring the boxes over, he only had to think about it for three minutes.’

  ‘That is improvement, believe it or not,’ I said. ‘Anyway, where were you?’

  She groaned and I immediately knew it wasn’t good news.

  ‘I’ll tell you later,’ she said with a sigh, pulling out her headscarf and wrapping it around her wrist, her honey-coloured afro running wild and free. ‘But to cut a long story short, the money that should have been coming in from Coast’s Bear Beard collab, isn’t coming in any time soon.’

  ‘Is it coming in ever?’ I asked, my heart sinking.

  ‘It is not,’ Miranda replied. ‘They’ve gone under. Coast is furious.’

  ‘Mir,’ I said slowly. ‘I would like to leave, go and find a dodgy old pub and get very, very drunk.’

  ‘Soon, my love, soon,’ she promised, squeezing my shoulders as she spoke. ‘Shitting hell, Annie, it’s like you’ve got a bag of marbles in here. You need a massage.’