Cents and Sensibility

by Maggie Alderson

  ‘Morning, Timothy,’ I said, with an edge in my voice.

  ‘Morning, It girl,’ he replied.

  I slumped into my chair.

  ‘Not you as well, Tim,’ I said. ‘I’ve already had a roasting from the bloody subs. You’re supposed to be my friend, remember?’

  ‘I am your friend,’ he said, retrieving the article from the bin and smoothing it out so he could carry on reading it. ‘That’s why I’m here. So what’s all this about? Are you really dating Jay Fisher? I don’t know about the Family Fortunes side of things, but if he’s as cute as he looks in these pictures, I wouldn’t blame you.’

  ‘No, I’m not dating him,’ I said firmly. ‘I met him at that Jericho launch and we did go out dancing, but I’m not dating him.’

  ‘So how come Rita tells me you’ve been seen at the River Café with him, since these pictures were taken, and that you left there without finishing your meal and went back to his place and didn’t leave until after ten the next morning, when you came out wearing the same clothes you had on the night before?’

  ‘How the fuck does she know all that?’

  I didn’t have to pretend with Tim. He really was a friend.

  ‘Her boyfriend’s a paparazzo. He was probably trailing you all night. Or one of his pals was.’

  I just sat there and let it all sink in. I knew they did that. I may have worked on a broadsheet newspaper that would never have lowered itself to such base forms of journalism, but I knew that freelance paparazzi did stuff like that all the time. It was hardly an industry secret.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ I said. ‘Do you think they stake him out all the time?’

  ‘Anyone who has been seen up close and personal with Jericho is immediately a marked man, obviously. But they’d probably keep a bit of an eye on him anyway, wouldn’t they, considering how rich and handsome and single he is. Didn’t that occur to you?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘I didn’t really know who he was,’ I said quietly.

  Tim looked at me for a moment, in disbelief, and then threw his head back and roared.

  ‘Oh, my little hard-news wannabe, you are hilarious. You write about luxury and you didn’t recognize Jay Fisher? He’s a luxury brand in human form and you really didn’t know who he was?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘You don’t read Hot Stuff!, do you? Or Hello!, or any of them. Do you, Stella?’

  ‘Sometimes in the hairdresser’s…’

  ‘Who is the president of Afghanistan?’ he said suddenly.

  ‘Hamid Karzai,’ I said.

  ‘Uzbekistan?’

  ‘Islam Karimov…’

  ‘What was Pope Benedict’s name before he was pope?’

  ‘Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger…’

  ‘Paris Hilton’s last fiancé?’

  I shrugged.

  ‘Oh, Stella,’ he said. ‘You are hilarious.’ Then his face went serious again. ‘Don’t worry about this rubbish, it will all blow over when Jericho’s linked to someone else, and dating a billionaire will be marvellous for your reputation in the world you work in. You’ll be seen as an insider – and a possible customer – not just a hack. Tamara Mellon is probably planning to invite you round for drinks as we speak.’

  ‘I’m not dating him,’ I said quietly.

  ‘A quick fuck and a fuck you?’ said Tim, referring to his own preferred style of relationship.

  ‘Yeah,’ I said emphatically. ‘I was just fooling around. He is bloody cute, like you said.’

  Tim looked at me thoughtfully.

  ‘Well, just keep your eyes open for men on motorbikes with cameras, OK? They’ll probably watch you for a while now, in case you are the future Mrs Fisher – and Jericho’s love rival is a fairly prominent role in its own right.’

  He put his hands on my shoulders and looked right into my eyes.

  ‘And do try and be a little less naïve, Stella. You were playing in a very high-stakes game for a moment there. It can be dangerous in that world. And read the bloody trash mags every week, not just New Internationalist. Right, lecture over. I also came over to say goodbye. I’m going back to Iraq this afternoon. What’s the name of the president there, by the way?’

  ‘Jalal Talabani,’ I shot back.

  He roared with laughter again, kissed me on the cheek and left.

  The office teasing carried on for a day or two and then it calmed down. That was the great thing about newspapers; every day really is a fresh start and nobody who worked at the journal had much to speak of in the way of an attention span.

  But out of those confines, I didn’t feel so secure, because Tim had been right – the paparazzi were trailing me. Only a couple of them, but they were there. They were waiting outside the office when I left at night, on their motorbikes. They tracked me back to Notting Hill and then sat outside my place, presumably waiting for me to leave to meet Jay, or for him to turn up there.

  I continued to decline invitations, and whenever I was forced to be on the street I made sure I was dressed down, with my hair pulled back in a ponytail and shades on. It was my attempt to stay inconspicuous, and after a couple of days of me going into my house and not coming out again, they appeared to give up on me.

  One night, exactly a week after the story had come out in Hot Stuff! I was sitting at my desk working late when Ned loped over.

  It was the first time I’d seen him since he’d tipped me off about it. I’d been over to his desk a couple of times to try and find him – I’d wanted to thank him – but he’d never been there.

  ‘Hi, Ned,’ I said. I’ve been looking for you.’

  ‘I know,’ he said. ‘Rita told me.’

  ‘Oh, you can rely on Rita,’ I said. ‘She’s more reliable than a front-page lead in the Journal if you want to get a story circulated.’

  ‘I’d figured that,’ said Ned. ‘What did you want to say to me, anyway?’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘Thank you for showing me that horrendous thing in Hot Stuff! It was so humiliating and if I hadn’t known about it before I came into work that day, I would have been mortified – well, even more mortified. But tell me, how come you had an early copy? Are you a subscriber?’

  ‘My girlfriend works there,’ he said. ‘She always bikes it over to me as soon as it comes in from the printer, in case I can get a story out of it.’

  I nodded. ‘Well, thanks to both of you.’

  ‘Are you OK?’ he said. ‘It must have been pretty weird to find yourself suddenly the subject of journalism – especially that kind of crap.’

  ‘It was horrendous,’ I said. ‘But I’m OK now. It’s all rubbish anyway, I’m not dating him. I never was.’

  I didn’t care if Rita had told him all the gory details about the River Café and all that; I wasn’t dating him and that was that.

  ‘Shame,’ said Ned. ‘Most girls would dream of being with a guy like that.’

  I just looked down. I suddenly felt a bit teary. I didn’t want Ned to see.

  He stood there for a while, saying nothing, in that way he had.

  ‘So,’ he said after a moment. ‘If you’re not dating a billionaire, how would you like to come out with some ordinary people? You’ve been working late every night again. People are talking about it – and not just Rita. So why don’t you give work a rest for a while and come out? A crowd of us are going to the Amused Moose to see a few acts, so why don’t you come with us, have a laugh, get out of yourself?’

  I knew the Amused Moose was a comedy club somewhere in Soho, but I’d never been there. But it so wasn’t my scene, it suddenly seemed a really attractive prospect.

  ‘When?’ I said.

  ‘Now,’ said Ned, smiling sweetly.

  I thought for a moment. Why not? Why shouldn’t I just go out after work with my colleagues, like any normal person?

  I was even appropriately dressed for it. Normally I had to get a bit togged up for work, because I was always off to The Wolseley for lunch, The Berkeley for te
a, and cocktails at Claridge’s, but in my present low-key persona, I was wearing cord jeans. Perfect for a comedy club. No one but me would know they were Sevens and cost nearly £200. I’d fit right in.

  ‘You know what?’ I said. ‘I would really love to.’

  And I turned my computer off with a flourish.

  9

  When Ned had said ‘a crowd of us’ were going to the Amused Moose, I’d thought he meant a crowd from the office, but it turned out to be a group of his non-work friends.

  It was rather strange to be out with a load of complete strangers, but actually quite wonderful. I felt completely free of expectations and after all the ribbing I’d had to put up with at work – plus a lifetime of being Ham’s daughter – that was a very pleasant relief.

  They were nice enough people, as far as I could tell, but comedy clubs don’t give you much of a chance to make small talk, so I didn’t really get to know any of them. And I didn’t have to tell them anything about me. Excellent.

  Whoever they were, none of them looked like Hot Stuff! readers and they didn’t seem to recognize me. They were so different from the people I normally mixed with, whether through the luxury world, my family, or friends from university, it was almost like going on holiday in another country. Everyone drank beer, in pints, smoked roll-ups, and wore cheap clothes. The women and the men.

  And the really funny thing was that, in my jeans, with my hair simply pulled back – I usually had it blow-dried at John Frieda, but I hadn’t bothered that week – I fitted right in. I wasn’t even carrying a major statement handbag, for once. I’d put my wallet and keys in my pocket and left my Bottega Veneta tote in my locker at the office. It was almost like being in disguise.

  The other thing that made me feel protected was that whenever there was a break in the show the person I ended up talking to was Ned. He sat next to me the entire evening and was very solicitous, in his easy way, so I didn’t feel left out, or exposed.

  As the evening went on, he seemed to sit closer to me, I noticed, and after a while he casually put his arm along the back of my chair.

  I was a little surprised by his attentions, especially as I had expected his girlfriend to be there. Considering her connections with Hot Stuff! magazine, I was rather glad she wasn’t, but I had been interested to see what she would be like. Ned was so enigmatic, it was quite hard to picture what his type would be. In the end I just came out and asked him about it.

  ‘Where’s your girlfriend, Ned?’ I said. ‘I was looking forward to meeting her.’

  ‘Oh, she’s out with her mates,’ he said, moving his arm off my chair. ‘We don’t live together or anything, we’re not like a really couple-y couple, we lead our own lives.’

  I nodded. I could relate to that. That was how I liked to conduct my relationships too.

  ‘So you don’t have a boyfriend yourself?’ he said. ‘Apart from the odd date with a billionaire?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘I find that very surprising. You’re the kind I’d expect to see with one of those City types, in a Porsche and all that.’

  Jay’s car popped into my head, whizzing past all the Porsches on the M23. I just smiled weakly at him.

  ‘Mind you,’ he said. ‘That wouldn’t fit in with the Woodward and Bernstein side of your personality, would it? Guess I’m just buying into your superficial luxury persona here – perhaps you’d be more likely to be carrying on with a bit of rough instead, eh?’

  He smiled, to show he was teasing and I hoped my eyes hadn’t popped open in surprise. I wondered what he’d think if he knew what I got up to with Jack. But maybe he wouldn’t be as shocked as I might think. I found Ned very unsettling sometimes.

  ‘Well, I’m quite surprised that you’ve got a girlfriend who works on a gossip mag,’ I countered. ‘If you want to talk stereotypes, I’d see you more with a social worker, or maybe a human rights lawyer you’d been going out with since you were at university.’

  Ned laughed.

  ‘My last girlfriend was a lap dancer,’ he said, and before I had a chance to pursue it, the next act came on.

  My night out in a different world had almost been like going on safari. The novelty gave me a real boost and Ned’s cheeky comments, about being able to picture me with a bit of rough, put the idea of Jack into my head.

  A little rendezvous with him was just what I needed to get me fully over Jay, I decided in the cab home from the Amused Moose. I was surprised I hadn’t thought of it sooner, really, so the next day I called him up.

  ‘Wotcha, Posh,’ he said, which stalled me for a moment, until I remembered that was what he had always called me – he wasn’t referring to the piece in Hot Stuff!

  ‘Busy?’ I asked him.

  ‘I’m busy now,’ he said. ‘I’m a hundred and twenty feet above the ground fixing the pointing on this here steeple, it’s in a right old mess. But I’m not busy later. Got anything in mind?’

  ‘You,’ I said. ‘Six thirty?’

  ‘It’s a done deal, darling.’

  ‘Don’t fall off, Jack,’ I said.

  ‘Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’m an expert with tall erections, as you know.’

  I hung up, with a big smile on my face.

  Just talking to Jack put me in a good mood. Even apart from his talent and enthusiasm for sex, which were considerable, the whole notion of him turned me on. I liked his rough hands and his cheeky humour – and I loved the secrecy of our arrangement. It made me feel like some kind of wicked eighteenth-century courtesan.

  Looking forward to meeting him was a big part of the thrill, and I left work early to go home and pick up some of my sauciest underwear for his delectation. He loved all that corny old stuff in a really unapologetic way. Jack just loved totty, full stop.

  But from the moment he walked in that evening it wasn’t right. Nothing was different on the surface. I had arrived first, showered and changed, had a vodka from the mini-bar, draped a scarf over the bedside lamp, slipped into my lingerie and arranged myself seductively on the bed.

  Jack arrived in his work clothes, nice and dirty, and after admiring me for a while, from various angles, he took some of them off, while quietly telling me, in the filthiest terms, what he was planning to do very shortly.

  I looked at him bare-chested, in his dusty jeans – which he was just pulling down over his hips – and I could see how sexy he was, the gay fantasy of the hunky construction worker, complete with the steel toecapped boots, but I just wasn’t feeling it.

  I’d been in a state of heightened excitement all day, thinking about him, but now he was here, I felt nothing. Just a bit stupid really, in my stockings and balcony bra.

  Jack got on to the bed and slowly worked his way up my body, with his usual finesse – very surprising, if you judged only by his appearance – and I went through the motions, thinking the rush would kick in at any moment, but then suddenly he stopped.

  ‘It’s not happening for you, is it, Posh?’ he said, sitting up.

  I shook my head. ‘How can you tell?’

  ‘I just can,’ he said, shrugging.

  I should have known. Jack had some kind of sexual sixth sense when it came to my body, of course he would have known.

  He slapped me gently on the buttock and smiled at me, a bit sadly.

  ‘Go home, Posh Totty,’ he said. ‘What are you doing here with me anyway? A beautiful girl like you. It’s been great, Posh. I’ve been a very lucky man, but it’s time for you to go and find yourself a nice bloke. You’re too good for this, darling. So do yourself a favour, OK?

  ‘I’ll miss ya,’ he said warmly, as he got off the bed and zipped his jeans back up. ‘It’s been great.’

  He pulled on the rest of his clothes and then he leaned down to kiss me on the cheek. He stayed there for a moment looking into my eyes with a surprisingly caring look.

  ‘And another thing,’ he said. ‘Don’t go shagging no more men on trains, all right? You were lucky with me, Posh, I’m a nice
bloke, but there’s lots more out there who ain’t. I’d hate anything bad to happen to you. Promise?’

  I nodded. And after one last slow look at me, he left.

  My disastrous assignation with Jack left me feeling so hollow, it was all I could do to get up the next day. Although he had been so nice about it – and I knew deep down inside that he was right – I still felt cheap, rejected and stupid. Between him and Jay, I found I was left with a very low opinion of myself.

  In fact, I felt like a complete slut.

  I decided I wasn’t going to have sex with anyone for a very long time, because it seemed like whether you did it as part of a loving relationship – which is what I’d foolishly thought I’d had with Jay – or simply for the physical release, you still seemed to end up feeling used afterwards.

  Ham was right. All men were bastards and I was much better off without any of them. Except him, of course.

  I spent the whole weekend cocooning in my little house, with my mobile switched off. I’d picked up some food at Fresh & Wild on my way home from work on Friday and I didn’t leave once, or speak to anyone, until Sunday afternoon when my phone rang.

  It was Chloe.

  ‘We know you’re in there, Stella,’ she said, laughing. ‘Come out with your hands up.’

  Then she turned a bit more serious.

  ‘I need your help, Stella,’ she said. ‘Henry feels really bad about your friend, Jay. He thinks he’s made the whole thing much worse for you by telling you about the family and how ghastly they are. So will you come up and have dinner with us all tonight and cheer him up? Please? It’s been like living with a depressed Fozzie Bear for nearly two weeks now and I can’t stand it. And I’d like to see you as well, of course,’ she added.

  I loved Chloe, and while I still really didn’t feel like seeing anybody, I couldn’t refuse her.

  When I walked into the house, though, I wished I’d paid more attention to her exact phrasing. The place was empty, but when I saw the dining table had been laid for eleven people, I remembered that Chloe had specifically said the words: ‘Have dinner with us all…’