Jemima J. (35 page)

“Tell me about it.” I nodded, remembering the terrible sex I’d had before I met Brad.

“Christ, was I wrong. I now believe that there is such a thing as being completely crap in bed, and Charlie was completely crap in bed.”

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“But what do you mean, how can anyone be that bad?”

“I know. I wouldn’t have believed it myself. But,” she said leaning forward confidingly, “his dick was about this big!” She held out her little finger.

“Uh oh,” I said. “A no-hoper then?”

“A no-hoper. I mean, he really should have come with a warning. You get to know someone, you think they’re perfect, and then boom! You discover they have the dick of a ten-year-old.”

“So what did you do?”

“I put up with it for about two weeks, because I kept hoping that it would get better, and I tried not to think about it. Also
‌
—” She paused. “Also, it wasn’t just that. He was bloody crap at going down on me.”

“Oh.” What was I supposed to say? Hardly the sort of thing you discuss with strangers, is it, no matter how friendly they seem.

“Yeah,” she nodded. “You know how it is, he couldn’t find my clit if it had a big red arrow showing him the way.” I blushed, and I’m still blushing at the memory of the language she used, but she didn’t seem to notice.

“Then I started coming up with excuses, I was really tired, I had my period.”

“And he believed them?”

“Nah.” Lauren shook her head and laughed. “Eventually, the last time we had sex I just knew as an absolute certainty that this was the most pointless experience of my life. I could hardly feel anything for God’s sake, and if it wasn’t for his balls banging against my
‌
—”

“I get the picture,” I interrupted, not wanting to hear any more.

“Sorry.” She paused and shrugged her shoulders. “So anyway, the next day I told him I was moving out.”

“How did he take it?”

“Nightmare.” Lauren raised her eyes to the ceiling. “He was so upset he didn’t speak. I sat there for three hours talking at
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him and he didn’t say one single word. He just sat and looked at the floor.”

“God. Nightmare. Did you tell him why?”

“What? Tell him his dick wasn’t big enough? No, I couldn’t do that. I just came out with all this shit about how I wasn’t ready for a relationship, we lived too far apart from each other to ever really make it work, and eventually I sealed it by telling him I thought I had a problem with commitment.” She drifted into silence, obviously lost in memories.

“And now you’re here, picking up strange women in the Broadway Deli,” I said, breaking the silence.

“Exactly,” laughed Lauren. “So please tell me the sex with Brad is out of this world, because I’ve forgotten, I really have.”

“You will be delighted to hear it’s out of this world.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Give me the details, go on.”

I shook my head, because nice as she is, I’m not the sort of person who finds it easy to talk about sex, and certainly not in the sort of language she’s used to. As you’ve probably noticed.

“So is this true love? God, how I need to hear a story with a happy ending.”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure I’d even know what true love is.”

“What? You’ve never been in love?”

“Well . . . There was this guy in London I was crazy about, I’d never felt that way about anyone before, and I always thought I was madly in love with him. Not that anything ever happened, we were just friends.”

“Why? Is he blind?”

I love this woman! “No. I didn’t look like this when I was in London.” I thought for a moment, wondering whether to tell Lauren, and what the hell. I’d been so honest up until then, why stop? “If you want to know the truth I was the size of a house.”

“No way.” Lauren looked me up and down in disbelief. “No way.”

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“I swear,” I swore.

“So how the hell did you get to look like this?”

“Lots of hard work. Tons of exercise and no food.”

“It was obviously worth it. You look fantastic.”

“Thank you.”

Lauren looked at me curiously. “So has your life changed, now that you’re thin?”

I shrugged, thinking about how invisible I felt before I lost weight, and how much that had changed. “In some ways of course,” I said slowly. “You can’t even begin to imagine what it was like being . . .” I paused, wondering whether I could now say the F word out loud, and after a deep breath I managed it, “fat. It colors your whole life. Nobody wants to be seen with you, nobody notices you, or if they do it’s because they think you’re worthless.”

“Why were you that size?”

A good question, and one I’d thought about many times since losing the weight. “I suppose in a way I wanted to hide from everyone. Even though I hated it, it was my protection, it kept people away and a part of me was very frightened of people, especially of men, and my size made me feel safe.”

Lauren nodded. “I can understand that. But what about men?”

“What about them?” I laughed. “I never really had any boyfriends, just the odd fling which makes your Charlie look like an Adonis. Men were never really an issue.”

“So what about this guy in London?”

“You might know who he is actually. When I knew him he was the deputy news editor of my paper, but now he’s moved into TV. Ben Williams. He’s a reporter on
‌
—”

“Fucking hell! Gorgeous Ben Williams! I know exactly who he is, I was completely hooked on the show before I left. I’ve been trying to get a bloody interview with him for weeks.”

“But you’re the style editor, surely you don’t do interviews?”

“Not usually, no, but pass up the opportunity of meeting
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Ben Williams? Not bloody likely! God,” she said, shaking her head. “You’re something, JJ. All these gorgeous men!”

“Yeah, but Ben was never interested in me.”

“But you know him! He’s your friend! What’s he like, tell me everything.”

So I did, and before we knew it, four hours had passed, and by the time we left, we were firm friends. Lauren gave me her phone number and said if there was anything I needed, just give her a call, and I gave Lauren my phone number, saying there was no reason why either of us should be lonely anymore. Corny isn’t it, but not so corny if you think how lonely I’ve been. We walked out together and said goodbye, and spontaneously both of us reached over at the same time and gave one another a hug. A hug that said thank God we’ve found each other, thank God we’ve finally found a friend.

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The phone rings as I walk through the door.

“Sweetie, where have you been?” Bless Brad for sounding so worried.

“I met the most amazing girl today.” The excitement is still in my voice, the thrill of having someone to talk to when Brad’s not here. “And we just sat and talked for hours.”

“Where did you meet her?” Brad sounds a bit, well, a bit perturbed. It crosses my mind that maybe he thinks I’m lying, so I tell him the whole story, just leaving out the bit about the small dick because men don’t appreciate that kind of thing.

“That’s great,” he says, although if I’m honest he doesn’t sound all that interested. “Honey,” a slight digression from his usual pet name, “I’m coming home early tonight. Wanna try a yoga class?”

“That sounds . . . interesting,” I say cautiously, because let’s face it, yoga doesn’t mean losing weight, and if it doesn’t help me maintain my new slim figure then what is the point? Really?

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“Okay. I’ll be home soon, and then maybe tonight we’ll go out for dinner. I thought we’d try this restaurant on La Cienega.”

“You mean, we’re actually leaving Santa Monica?”

Brad laughs. “Don’t make it sound such a big deal, you’re making me feel guilty.”

“I didn’t mean to. Sorry.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it. It’ll be nice. I want to make a fuss of you tonight, and I think you’ll enjoy this restaurant, it’s French, so it should remind you of home.”

“Darling, I’m English.”

“I
know
that,” he laughs, “but France, England, Italy, they’re all Europe.”

“I know
that
,” I laugh back, and we say goodbye.

We don’t really need to join Brad and Jemima at yoga, just a quick peek perhaps. Suffice to say Jemima finds it strange, and more strange is the fact that there are equal numbers of men and women, all decked out in the latest lycra, all deep breathing and contorting their bodies into strange positions.

“I’m not sure whether I can keep this up,” puffs Jemima, lying on the floor with her legs over her head, straining to make her toes touch the floor just above her hair.

“You’re doing great,” Brad says smoothly, lying next to her, looking as if he does this every day of the week. “You’ll feel great afterwards. Now ssshhh. Breathe.” And Jemima does, trying to forget that she, like everyone else in the packed room, looks completely ridiculous.

“There,” Brad says when the group has finished and are standing round talking to one another. “How do you feel now?”

“Fantastic,” lies Jemima, who feels pretty much the same, has been bored throughout, and finally understands why she has never been to a yoga class before.

“Told you so,” he says, kissing her on the nose. “Let’s get out of here.”

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We go home, and, as Brad is showering, as I’m brushing my teeth, he opens the glass door and pulls me in the shower.

“See?” he says, rubbing the soap gently all over my body and setting every nerve I have on fire, “never say I don’t look after you,” and before I have a chance to reply he bends his head and kisses me.

Quickies, I think ten minutes later, can be just as exciting as long, luscious, languorous sex.

“Mmm,” says Brad, enfolding me in a towel. “Maybe we should cancel tonight and just spend the evening in bed.”

“Haven’t you had enough yet?” Does this man never stop?

“I could never get enough of you,” he says, looking deeply into my eyes until finally I break away with a kiss and go to get dressed.

We go to Le Petit Bistro, a busy, bustling restaurant, and I spend the whole evening marveling at the mix of weird and wonderful people surrounding us. Opposite us is a table of six of the best-looking men I’ve ever seen, presumably gay, because each of them stops talking when we walk in, and, instead of looking at me, which I’m slowly getting used to, they all, one by one, look Brad slowly up and down from head to toe.

At the far end is a woman like no woman I have ever seen, and for a moment I think she might be a man in drag. Throughout dinner she keeps her white fur coat on, which matches her white stetson and the enormous diamonds glittering in her ears and around her throat.

“Is she someone famous?” I whisper to Brad, pointing her out. “Nope,” Brad says, shaking his head. “Just some rich old woman with no fashion sense at all, darling!” and we both laugh. But I can’t believe what this woman looks like. She must be seventy if she’s a day, and she obviously doesn’t give a damn that she looks ridiculous. Part of me thinks, good for her, but the other part thinks, does she honestly look in the mirror before she goes out and say, yes! I look good.

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And then I look over to the right, and I nearly squeal with excitement. Finally, I finally see what I’ve been waiting to see since I arrived. A real-life celebrity. And not just any old celebrity, George Clooney! The man I used to sit and fantasize about, when, that is, I wasn’t fantasizing about Ben.

“Oh my God,” I whisper, “that’s George Clooney.”

“Where?” Brad doesn’t seem very interested, but I gesture slightly with my head and Brad turns to look.

“Oh yes,” he says uninterestedly and immediately looks away and goes back to eating his endive and heart of palm salad.

“Now he,” I say, trying to look, but trying to look as if I’m not looking, “is gorgeous.”

“Why don’t you talk to him?”

“And say what? I love you?”

“You could just tell him you admire his work. People don’t generally bother celebrities here, you see them all over the place, but if you are going to talk it’s better to be cool and just say something flattering. I love you probably wouldn’t go down too well.”

“I couldn’t say anything,” I say, which is true. I’d be far too embarrassed to approach him, but think what Geraldine will say! Think how jealous Sophie and Lisa will be!

“Speaking of love . . .” Brad finally puts down his knife and fork while I start shaking because, inexperienced though I may be, I know what’s coming next. I know because Brad suddenly has a very serious look on his face, serious but soppy at the same time. He reaches over and takes my hand, which he holds very gently, stroking my fingers with his thumb, and I watch him doing this and I wonder why I’m not feeling completely and utterly happy.

“JJ,” he says, and I look up, into his eyes. “I never thought I’d say this. I never thought this would happen, but you do know I love you.”

Well I didn’t know, actually. I mean, I know that Brad certainly says and does all the right things, and that most women probably would have thought, even after just over a week, that
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he really is in love, but I can’t get rid of this feeling that something isn’t completely right.