Little Men - The E Book (7 page)

As the cheering died down, Lucy proceeded to briefly run through the rules of the game, interspersed with footage from the previous two series. The first segment of the show went well and ended with a five-minute commercial break.

Lucy smiled at the floor manager. He winked and smiled back before beginning his final countdown.

“10-9-8-7-6-5-4-3-2-1”… Cue more delirious cheering.

“Welcome back!” Lucy beamed into the camera. “Now for the moment you’ve all been waiting for… It’s… the… contestants!”

The crowd had now reached fever pitch, and one by one the ten contestants strutted from the cars to the entrance of the
Sleeping With The Enemy
house, with Lucy simultaneously running through a brief potted biography on each of them. For a few weeks the papers had been speculating about the identity of the contestants, but Slam! had kept it a closely-guarded secret in order to increase the interest around the show. Now, as the participants were revealed live on national television, it would be open season. And of course Slam! would perform a complete u-turn by actively encouraging publishers to print lurid stories about the contestants and giving them all the help they could. Anything to keep interest in the programme bubbling.

It was inevitable that the story about Kyla and Jaik Marlon would re-ignite, only this time with far more interest from the British press than before. The production staff at Slam! decided to pre-empt the mad scramble among journalists for information on the affair, and maybe even kick off a bidding war for inside information that only Slam! was party to. Even Lucy had smiled to herself when she was given the script. All hell would break loose around contestant eight, and it was Lucy’s job to introduce her.

“Please give it up for contestant number eight!” More rapturous applause erupted around the set as Kyla Andretti exited the vehicle and purposefully walked past the crowd to the house, trying to smile and wink into every camera she could. She
lived
for moments like this. She adored the attention. She got a thrill out of knowing her image was on television screens across the nation and her picture would be in all the tabloids the next morning. Kyla had no knowledge of what Lucy was about to say about her.

“Kyla is twenty-two years old. She is five foot eleven inches tall. She hit the headlines last year after a torrid affair with Hollywood heartthrob Jaik Marlon!”

Dozens of journalists simultaneously reached for the nearest phone. This was
the
story of the opening day of
Sleeping With The Enemy.
Jaik Marlon, had he been watching, would have booked a flight to Tibet as he was about to be hounded once again over a story he had thought was long-finished.

Chapter Six

Sam Bradley nervously sipped his lager. He was a few minutes early. He decided to wait by the bar so he could see Nikki as she walked in. It might take a few seconds to recognise that it definitely was her. He was having trouble recalling what she looked like, but he felt sure he would know her when he saw her. He placed his glass on the bar, being careful not to drink too much. Whatever time she turned up, he wanted to look like he had only just arrived himself. Sam always
tried
not to look too desperate.

After what seemed like hours the door of Ice Bar swung open and a small brunette walked in. She recognised Sam immediately.

“Sam, hi, how are you?” she asked warmly in a broad American accent.

“Er, yeah good thanks. What are you drinking?” He suddenly felt very aware of his estuary English and its contrast with how Nikki spoke. She ordered a dry white wine and they quickly found a free table.

She’s lovely
thought Sam. Nikki’s beauty was subtle, she had an unfussy short hairstyle and it suited her perfectly. He could tell she wasn’t one of those women that constantly obsessed about her looks, she was confident enough not to. Her skin was soft and pale and she had no need to cake a layer of make-up on, just a touch of mascara and lipstick. She dressed conservatively, blue jeans, thin black jacket with a white blouse, perhaps slightly insubstantial attire given the time of year. Her frame was tiny, but, as Sam couldn’t help noticing, she had large breasts for her size and her blouse was unbuttoned just enough for Sam to make out a tantalising outline of her black bra. She was friendly and easy-going.

“So where are you from?” Sam asked.

“New Jersey, a small town about fifty miles outside of New York. Have you ever been to the States?”

“No, I can’t say I have. I’d love to go, though.” Sam felt embarrassed that his travelling experience extended only as far as Western Europe, but she seemed genuinely interested as he spoke at length about his trips to Ibiza. They’d quickly found some common ground.
Of course she’s into clubbing
, thought Sam. He’d met her at 5 a.m. in Snake
.

They soon got on to the thorny subject of drugs. Club culture was so widespread, it reached across the world and most people under the age of twenty-five would have been touched by it in some way. But Sam was often unsure how to broach the subject of drugs with people he’d only just met. There were people who went clubbing but deplored drug use. Chris, for example. And Sam didn’t want Nikki to think that was
all
he was about, that he was some sort of ecstasy addict. It was, after all, just one of the things he was into. It was still quite a small part of his life. He could talk about music and sport and advertising and cars; as well as politics, television, food, books, education. In fact Sam prided himself on his worldly knowledge.

“I do occasionally do X,” Nikki said eventually. “I had one that night I met you. But I try not to make a habit of it, I usually stick to booze when I go out.”

Sam relaxed. He could now talk freely about his drug use, she wasn’t going to take a moral high-ground. And he smiled at the name Americans used for ecstasy.

“What’s so funny?” Nikki asked.

“The way you say ‘X’. Just seems strange, that’s all. We call them pills, or Es or cheekies… little men, little fellas…”

Nikki laughed.

“I love the slang you guys come out with. I’ve lived in London for two years now and I still have no idea about what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.” Sam took the opportunity to hint that things might go further than tonight.

The conversation flowed well with the aid of alcohol, which Sam insisted on buying for them both, despite his financial problems. Nikki was adamant that she buy the last round, for which Sam was grateful.

The conversation eventually came to its natural end.

“So what do we do now?” Nikki asked.

“I know what I want to do,” said Sam, and leaned over and kissed her tenderly on the lips.

“I’m so glad you did that.” They kissed passionately, almost forgetting where they were.

Sam arrived at work the next morning feeling elated, and it wasn’t long before his colleagues noticed.

“What’s got into you today?” Tanya asked.

“He’s got a woman, it’s written all over his face,” Sarah chimed in. They loved winding Sam up and he’d inadvertently handed them a golden opportunity.

“What’s her name?” Tanya asked.

“Nothing,” Sam said. He didn’t want to say too much about Nikki, it was still very early days.

“Don’t give me that. We’re women, we can tell.”

“Is she pretty?” Sarah asked.

“I’m not saying, I don’t want to jinx it.”

“Okay, fair enough,” said Tanya. “Just tell us her name.”

“Oh…okay, it’s Nikki,” Sam said. He had to give them something.

“Nikki, eh? Have you shagged her?”

“Course not, it was the first date, she’s classy.”

“But you got a snog at least?”

“Yeah, course.” Sam smiled again when he thought of kissing Nikki. Things were looking up. He tried to concentrate on his forthcoming interview with FPC.

Sam was down to his last pennies. He had enough food to last him until payday, but he could forget any extras until next week. It was survival rations time. He just about scraped together enough money for his train fare to the interview, at a large office block in central London.

He looked well-presentable, with a half-decent suit and a blue shirt and tie. Sam usually hated wearing suits, but he’d reached the stage where he would have changed anything for the purple polo T-shirt he was forced to wear at Energise!

He also hated interviews, and he’d been to many over the last eighteen months. He knew how confident he
could
be, he was a confident person. But sometimes, and at crucial moments, that confidence deserted him. He was determined not to let that happen today.

He had prepared thoroughly. His sudden, financially-enforced, hermit status had given him time to do plenty of research. He had been on the Internet – wecansortoutyourwholelife.com, been to the library, been through his old university notes, spoken to friends that had ‘proper’ jobs, everything he could think of. He desperately wanted the position. It wasn’t too much to ask, and Nikki would be
so
impressed that he worked for a large, prestigious advertising agency. He wouldn’t tell her that his new position was an ‘Office Junior
’
.

Sam pushed these thoughts out of his mind. He had to get the job first. As he sat in reception he concentrated and tried to relax.

The interview was the usual awkward affair. Sam felt he did okay, but it was hard to tell. The interviewer, Tristan, had little in common with Sam. He was from a privileged family, had a public school education, and been to Oxford University. This probably accounted for his age. He was no older than twenty-two, and was now managing his own department.

Sam wandered back to the station, relieved it was over and replaying what had happened in his mind. He was
sure
he’d done enough to clinch it this time, but you never could tell.

It was the weekend again. The week had gone well. Sam felt so cheerful he almost forgot how poverty-stricken he was. He was itching to go out, get away from the confines of the four walls of his flat or work. He managed to control himself on Friday, but Saturday was a different story. He was climbing the walls. As usual, his mates badgered him constantly.

Eventually it was Ian (who was known for his strong will and powers of persuasion) who got Sam to capitulate. “Look, I know you’re broke, mate, but I need you with me tonight. I’ve got a good feeling, I can tell it’s gonna be a cracker. The others are up for it. We’ll stay local, just go to The Warehouse
in Dartford. It won’t cost that much.”

“But Ian, I really don’t have a penny to my name.”

Ian was persistent. “I’ve just been paid. I’ll lend you fifty quid for the night. We’ll score some pills off Sean, He’ll do ‘em on tick for us, he likes us.”

Sam couldn’t find a way out of that one. “Oh, okay.”

“Nice one! You know it makes sense. We’ll fuckin’ ’ave it tonight, I can feel it. Right. There’s no time to waste. I’ll start getting ready. I’ll get your money out and you can speak to Sean, sort the pills out. You know roughly how many to get. They’ll all be taken. I’ll meet you in The Crown at eight.”

Ian put the phone down. Sam could see why he was doing well in his job as a salesman. Sam thought about what he’d agreed to do. It was true, he had a good relationship with Sean, but he’d heard all the stories, the savage beatings administered to those who crossed him. The man had been in prison, something that Sam could barely comprehend. It wasn’t a good idea to owe him money. But he could pay him on Friday, less than a week. Sam got on the phone.

“Sean, hello mate, it’s Sam. Can you sort us out a few cheekies?”

“Course, mate, you know me. How many?”

“Twenty?”

“No probs, you coming round?”

“Yeah, just one thing, about money…”

“You can have twenty for a oner, how about that? You’ve caught me in a good mood for once.”

“Yeah… er, the thing is, I’m a bit broke and…”

“You want ’em ticked.”

“Yeah, only till Friday!”

“I don’t normally… but, as it’s you. I know you’ll be good for it.”

“Cheers Sean, you’re a star. I’m on my way round.” Sam was shaking as he got off the phone.