‘I just don’t know about you girls. I mean, what is it you want?’
‘Do you really have to ask?’
‘Not you. Women in general – and you, I guess. What do you want from us men? I mean, I’ll be fucked if I know.’
I smiled at him. ‘We want what we’ve always wanted. Tall, handsome, considerate, funny, not too smelly, good dress sense, good job, good in bed. That’s all.’
‘Christ, I must be bloody perfect, then. I fit all that.’ Thomas beamed.
‘Yes, you do.’
‘Why do women get periods?’
‘What?’
‘Because they deserve them!’ Thomas chortled all the way to the bar.
‘Are you still in love with Sophie?’ I asked, when he returned.
‘Ru, you can’t say that,’
‘I can.’
‘Yes, of course I am. What sane man wouldn’t be? But she’s a mate. How scary would it be, me being with her with Jess and Sarah around?’
‘Yeah, it must be scary for any man, but Ben did it.’ I still felt a pang when I said his name.
‘But I’m sure they’ve got scarier since then.’
‘Probably.’
In true Ruthie tradition I got very drunk and Thomas and I went for a curry. ‘I love a curry. I’ve missed it, you know,’ I said.
‘I know.’
‘I mean, the guys were rowdy, but I loved going out with the boys. I really miss him, Thomas. I know I’m being a pain and I promised myself I wouldn’t do this anymore, and I know I’m boring and stupid, but I still really miss him.’ I managed a sad smile.
‘I know, baby, and I wish I could do something.’ Thomas shrugged, and we ordered our food.
I knew that one day the pain would go away, but now I wanted that day more than anything.
***
I had a job interview to go to. I was on the verge of leaving the accountants and now, according to Sarah, I was ready to take on a permanent job – one I couldn’t leave quickly. Actually, I wasn’t as horrified by this idea as I’d thought I would be, I quite fancied some stability in my life. Perhaps that was what I needed. The job was PA to one of the partners in a property-management company. I was to be interviewed by Tom Fulhurst, of Fulhurst Properties, my potential boss.
I went to their offices in South Kensington, which were really smart. Tom shook my hand enthusiastically and looked kind. We went through my CV, then Tom explained that Fulhurst Properties was owned by him and Charles his brother. I asked politely what a property-management company did. Tom said, ‘We buy, sell, develop, rent, renovate, search, all sorts, really, but we’re not estate agents.’ He smiled at me and I still didn’t know what they did but, then, I wasn’t sure he did either. I decided I wanted the job. I liked the idea of working for a man who owned a company but didn’t really know what it did. I turned the charm on full blast. It worked. I was offered the post of Tom Fulhurst’s PA, and I was to start on Monday.
***
I got to the company at half past nine on the Monday morning. A very nice girl called Jenny showed me around. ‘There’s the coffee machine, there’s the photocopier,’ and so on.
She had just introduced me to my desk when in bounded another girl. ‘Bloody District line. Stuck in a tunnel for fucking ages,’ she said.
Jenny gave a tight-lipped smile and introduced us. ‘Katie, this is Ruth. She’s working for Tom and I’d appreciate it if you showed her the ropes.’ She didn’t wait for an answer, she just left.
Katie had long dark hair scraped back in a ponytail. She didn’t have on much make-up, but she looked smart in her pencil skirt, cardigan and flat shoes. She looked at me with one eye open and the other shut. ‘I haven’t got a squint, it’s just that I’ve got a hangover and only one eye works,’ she explained. ‘I’ll get you a coffee.’
When she came back, I tried to show keen by asking about the job and the company. ‘Well, there’s not much to tell, a bit of typing, a few calls, it’s really cushy. Both Tom and Charles spend most of their time out of the office. I work for Charles. Tom’s last PA was really old. She used to do my head in, always moaning and bringing in plants and telling me what to do. I think it’ll be much better now.’ She smiled.
I smiled. ‘I don’t have any plants,’ I said.
We chatted for ages. It turned out that Katie had been working there for a year, and although she’d had to work with this woman she didn’t like, she’d stuck with it because it paid quite well and allowed her to keep up with her social life, which I discovered was the equivalent of four normal social lives. She also told me that there had been nothing wrong with the District line. She’d woken up to find a man from last night in her bed and it had taken her half an hour to wake him up. She also told me that Jenny was the office manager. She was really superior and always looked like she’d got a very sharp pencil stuck up her bum. I was warming to Katie: she was funny, uninhibited and, although I was quite sure I hadn’t met anyone like her before, I thought we could become friends. If I played my cards right, she might even be kind enough to share her social life with me.
During the first week I discovered much about Katie’s social life, but not much about Katie or the job. I saw Tom twice: he came into the office for about half a day each time; Charles came in twice at different times. It was Friday and I wasn’t sure who would be in today. In fact, neither was. I booked a couple of restaurants, tickets for the theatre, typed four letters, all personal, and ordered Tom some new golf clubs. I still didn’t know what he did, apart from eat, go to the theatre and play golf. I discovered that Katie was a law unto herself. She was always late, not by much, but always late. She was always hung-over. She had stories to tell from the night before, always involving men, usually involving drink and the odd drug. She didn’t mind telling me these things, although at first I was shocked, and she wasn’t boasting either; she thought her life was normal.
Katie had always lived in London, she didn’t mention her family, she had dropped out of art college, due to lack of inspiration, and decided to become a full-time party girl. Katie knew everyone in London, or so it seemed, could get into any club for free and was always being invited to parties. I called her Katie Party and I thought she was trendy and cool, as opposed to me, a sad loser. Although I knew nothing about her past, I wanted to be like her.
‘Katie, it must be fantastic to know so many people,’ I said.
‘Not really. They’re just people.’ That was all she said. I told her my unglamorous story. How I had moved to London, how I had only four friends, how I never went out and that I wanted to meet men (sorry, I couldn’t help it.) I told her how I had recently lost the love of my life—God, I sounded really sad. I poured out my heart to her. She looked a little shocked.
‘That’s, um, really bad,’ was her response. Not the one I was after either. I decided to take a different tack.
‘What are you doing this weekend?’ I asked.
‘There’s a new club opening tomorrow night.’
‘Really? Where?’
‘Soho.’
‘That sounds great, loads of fun.’ I pulled my best smile.
‘It’ll be all right, I suppose.’ This wasn’t proving easy.
‘I don’t have any plans. I’ll probably stay in and dye my hair or something.’
‘Really?’ Now Katie sounded surprised.
‘Yes. All my friends will probably have plans, so there you go. It’ll be all right, I’ll have a bottle of wine and a takeaway.’ She had to invite me now; I’d given her my best sob story and my best smile.
‘If you want you can come to the club.’
‘I’d love to, thanks.’
‘It’s no big deal.’ Yes, I wanted to scream, yes, it is a big deal, well, it is to me.
At the end of the day I took her phone number, arranged to call her the next day, and went home excited. I was going out somewhere cool. I was going out with someone cool. It was fantastic.
***
Al
l Saturday morning I was feeling hyped up. I can’t tell, you how much I was looking forward to going out with Katie. That girl had already bewitched me to the point where I wanted to be her. She didn’t worry about anything, she did what she wanted, she didn’t care what people thought. She was also intelligent and down to earth. Her view of men was that they had been put on this earth to amuse and pleasure her, and they were quite good at mending cars. She said there were so many about that she couldn’t entertain the idea of just having one. She equated settling down with a man to getting a mortgage, buying a sofa and admitting you were too old to party seven nights a week.
I was so excited about going out that it didn’t dawn on me until lunchtime that it was also very scary. I mean, apart from the fact that I didn’t get out much, when I did I was hardly a hip, slick, millennium chick. I did not qualify as trendy, or cool, or interestingly quirky, which I guessed everyone else Katie knew did. What if I looked wrong? What if I sounded wrong? What if I danced wrong? Actually, I was bound to dance wrong. I had bad nerves. I also had about seven hours of bad nerves to look forward to until I was due to meet Katie.
When I called Katie, she suggested meeting me in Soho, but I persuaded her to let me go to her flat. She couldn’t understand why I’d want to do that, but I didn’t know Soho very well and I knew I’d feel safer going with her. I told her she was on my way so I might as well pick her up. I was still nervous when I hung up: I felt like I had the Kirov Ballet performing Swan Lake in my stomach.
To distract myself I thought I’d decide what to wear. I trawled my wardrobe for something suitably cool. When I had eliminated my work clothes, my student clothes and my fashion mistakes, I was left with two pairs of black trousers, three boring short skirts, a silk blouse, a chiffon blouse and my evening dress. And I couldn’t wear my evening dress. My drawers yielded no better. The stuff was OK but it hardly screamed ‘trendy’, ‘cool’ or even ‘marginally interesting’. I was in despair and I was alone. There was no one for me to turn to. I lay on my bed in best thinking position.
The only member of our household who was trendy was Sophie, and the only part of my anatomy I could squeeze into her size eight clothes was perhaps my foot. Sarah’s wardrobe, even if she had been my size, was in an even more dire state than mine. Which left Jess.
Jess was a follower of fashion, but not a very good one. She bought whatever was the thing of the moment, even if it looked dreadful. Cropped tops that barely covered her boobs, trousers so tight they left nothing to the imagination, dresses so shapeless they left everything to the imagination and only a creative imagination at that. The other problem with Jess’s wardrobe was the keep-out notice pinned to it – figuratively speaking, of course. Jess loved her clothes and did not love other people stealing them. In fact, if I borrowed from her without asking and she found out, I would be killed, a horrible-slow-death sort of killed.
But I was desperate and Jess was away. Even if everything in her wardrobe made me look hideous, at least I would be dressed in the right century’s fashion. So I did it. I walked calmly into Jess’s room. There was a lot of pink, which isn’t my best colour, but who was I to be choosy? I pulled out a pink crocheted top with a big gape at the front and tiny straps. It looked like a leaves-nothing-to-the-imagination top. I tried it on. It showed a bit more flesh than necessary but it was my only hope. When it was time to get ready, the pink top with my black satin trousers and my high-heeled boots seemed to work. I clipped back my hair, put on as much make-up as possible and surveyed the results.
So, I looked like a Spice Girls’ fan, but at least I didn’t look like a Spice Girls’ fan’s mother. With my stomach still churning I grabbed my jacket and left the house.
***
I went to Katie’s flat in Victoria – she had said living centrally was essential to her lifestyle. When Katie opened the door I thought for a minute I’d come to the wrong flat. The girl who stood there did not look like the Katie I saw every day at work. The first thing I noticed was her hair: it had somehow become very big and stuck straight out from her head. On closer inspection I saw that it was also decorated with glitter. Her top was glittery too: she was wearing a silver sparkly boob tube. Luckily her boobs were quite small so she could get away with it. Then I looked down and noticed her belly-button ring, looked up and saw her pink fairy tattoo on her shoulder, then looked down again and saw her black suede patchwork skirt, which was so short I could almost see her knickers. Despite it being the middle of winter, her legs were bare from thigh to mid-calf, and ended in bright blue platform boots. They made her almost as tall as me.
I tried to regain my composure as I went in but, God, compared to her I was like a Spice Girls’ fan’s grandmother. She had a nice flat, very neat, which surprised me: for some reason, I had expected her to be messy.
‘Ruthie, have a glass of wine.’ I took it and was also handed a joint. I smoked – after all, I’d done that at university, I wasn’t totally green. The trouble was I knew I shouldn’t smoke much because I always pass out if I do.
‘Do you want to go to a bar before we go to the club?’ Katie asked me.
‘OK.’
We left.
Unsurprisingly the bar we went to was trendy – glass everywhere, sofas instead of chairs, and low tables. It was stark and looked bigger than it probably was. Even the bar staff looked as though they were made of glass. Once we were seated in a huge sofa, me drinking wine, Katie drinking red wine and Coke, I started talking. In fact, I didn’t stop talking – the effect grass had on me. I told Katie about my horrible lack of ambition. ‘You see I haven’t got a clue what to do with my life.’
‘Most people haven’t, Ruthie. They all think they do but they don’t think at all. You’ll find it one day, but until then, just relax about the whole thing. I know I’m never going to have a career and I can’t see myself married and I don’t know what I want to do with my life, maybe travel, maybe go back to art college. But what you must remember is that there is always more than one option in life, and whatever you choose to do, you can do. If it doesn’t work out, so what? You just go and do something else.’
Katie was usually a little wild, but now she had become the most sensible person I knew. I tried to find out more about her and art college, but she wasn’t forthcoming. Although she cracked jokes and made me laugh, it was going to be hard work finding out who she was.
It wasn’t long before she was surrounded by people. There were so many and although she introduced me to them I couldn’t keep up. Most of the men were gay, which she had to point out to me because I was trying to flirt with them, but I didn’t mind. It was so refreshing to meet new people, talk to new people, just to see new people. When the crowd had dispersed I turned to her. ‘You’re so lucky to have so many friends.’ I was impressed: she knew more people than I had met in my life.
‘They’re not exactly friends.’
‘But they were so friendly and nice, Katie. What do you mean they’re not friends?’ Katie almost scowled, and I was annoyed with myself for upsetting her before I had had the chance to make her like me.
‘Ruth, I go to parties, that’s what I do. These people do the same. We have that in common. We talk, laugh, joke whenever we see each other, but they don’t have my telephone number, they don’t know where I live, they don’t even know my last name.’
‘Why not?’
‘They don’t ask and I don’t tell them. That’s the way I am.’ Katie indicated that this subject was closed by grabbing her jacket and ushering me out of the door.
We went to the club. Katie had put us both on the guest list – being such an unhip chick, that made me really happy. I felt important and I felt special and I also felt a little bit smug when I saw that the queue was about a mile long.
The club was huge and light: it looked as if it was owned by the same people as the bar. Mirrors everywhere, which I found a little disconcerting, chrome bars and the biggest dance-floor I had ever seen. It was fairly full of people.
A few were already dancing, more were at the bar and some sat at small chrome tables that ran along the side of the room.
The people were wild, wearing outfits I couldn’t quite fathom, cheek-kissing and seeming to know everyone else – women looking sexy, drag queens, men looking sexy all in one room, mixing and having a good time. I was overawed by the scene but excited at the prospect of becoming part of it. I wanted to be part of it. We drank, danced and Katie took some pills, but when she offered me one I declined. I met more people and I was really enjoying myself.
‘Katie, baby,’ a guy shouted, and ran over to her. His friend followed. Within seconds Katie and this guy were playing Swap the Tongues. I looked at his friend, who shrugged.
‘They’re old friends,’ he said.
‘I’m Ruth,’ I said.
‘Philip. Ruth, can I buy you a drink?’ He led me to the bar and I looked at him properly. He looked nice, tasty even. Tall, long blond hair and slim. He was wearing blue velvet trousers and a sweater vest, although I guessed it wasn’t called that. It turned out that he worked in advertising, he was a creative something, and he did look quite creative. I told him I was between inspirations at the moment and left it at that. I thought that sounded a bit more interesting than the truth. We got drinks then Philip led me to a table in the corner. Katie and his friend hadn’t come up for air yet.
I was really pleased, a little drunk, and sure that Philip was going to seduce me. Instead he started lining up cocaine. I was shocked. I mean, it was dark, but we might get arrested – I might get arrested, and what would my mother say? I kept looking around to see if anyone was coming but they weren’t. I tried to calm down; being cool was going to be harder for me than I had first thought.
Philip offered me some cocaine, but I declined. Actually, I’d only smoked grass and I didn’t want to risk making a fool of myself with a handsome stranger. He snorted, and I tried to concentrate on not being paranoid. After a couple more lines, Philip grabbed me and started kissing me. It was very nice actually, and he seemed to enjoy it. He invited me back to his place and there was no way I was going to refuse.
Rubber Gloves or Jimmy Choos? Page 19
