Authors: Anne-Marie Hart
The rest of the afternoon dragged. If it was hard to bear before I'd made the call, this was even worse. Not only had I shown him my cards, I had to wait now for him to show me his. How embarrassing. I pictured him listening to my message with a group of his friends and laughing at how desperate I'd sounded.
To take my mind of it, I went for a run, instructing Sophia to answer my phone for me if Devizes called. Afternoon had turned into evening, and I was beginning to lose all hope he was going to call me at all, even if Sophia remained resolutely positive. I ran up to the heath and fell into a slow pace at the edge near the road. I thought about Marth, and how insistent he had been, and I felt a little bit bad that I hadn't responded to his messages. I saw people walking dogs and a handful of other joggers running through their own issues, and I thought about how my dad had managed to get a book deal so easily with such a major publishing house.
I wanted to be happy for him, and I was in a way, it was just upsetting that he'd never really shown much interest in my work, and always considered James to be the one most naturally suited to a career as an author, despite that fact that James had quite clearly admitted to writing, not because he wanted to write, but simply because he wanted to make money from it. He saw a hole in the market and he exploited it, and for that dad was much more proud of him that he ever would be of me. It was as if James had worked out the system, and that was more important than being individual, unique or creative, whether that brought success or not. James wrote books that were popular, but they were genre books, and generally pretty dull despite being seemingly well liked.
I thought about my book, 'Fallen Away', and I thought about Toby. It had been almost eighteen years since I'd seen him last, and I still had the hole in my heart that I knew would never mend. I wondered what the hell he was doing now and whether he was just as lost as I was.
I could feel myself losing rhythm as I crested the heath and ran along shooters hill road. Toby stayed with me for another few minutes until I drifted off again and focussed on Devizes. If I could actually get my book published, I'd be realising a dream I'd had since childhood. I'd finally be able to show my parents that I wasn't a worthless layabout, that I'd got talent where they were convinced I didn't, and that I'd got something to say, something someone thought was valuable enough to get people to listen to. Not only that, I might be able to finally prove to my parents that I wasn't destined for the singles bucket after all. That there was someone out there who was meant to be mine.
I fell into a sprint, too pacey to control for too long, frustrated by the thoughts my mind was deciding to throw at me, and then pulled up, completely out of breath. I have a tendency to kick off too quickly sometimes, especially when I've got something on my mind, and if I do so, I find it a lot harder to get into a rhythm and keep up the pace. I walked for a little bit, stretched out against a tree, jogged a little again just to warm down the muscles and then slowly headed for home.
Tad was at home when I got there, and Sophia and him were both sat on the sofa smoking a joint and watching hip hop music videos of girls in thongs who'd had their bums surgically enhanced. I hadn't believed it was possible until Sophia showed me a series of video clips.
'I don't suppose he called?' I asked hopefully.
Sophia shook her head. 'He will', she said.
'I'd probably leave it a while too', Tad said. 'You know, a day, maybe two. It's part of the game isn't it? To show that you're not overly keen.'
'He
did
give me his number, and I
did
leave it a week. Maybe I left it too long. I had to leave an answer-phone message.'
'I know', Tad said, 'Soph said.'
'Forget about it for now', Sophia said.
'You want to hang with us tonight?' Tad said. 'I think we're going to go and graffiti some shit on the road outside Tescos.'
'That's tempting', I said, 'but I think I'll pass, thanks though.'
'Sure', Tad said with a smile.
'I'm going to take a shower and chill out for a bit', I said. 'Put my life into order.'
What I meant by that really was panic a little bit about whether Devizes was going to call, and start to read through Fallen Away again, just in case he did, and I needed to adjust or change anything before presenting it to him.
I showered, scolding myself and freezing myself in equal measure, before I headed back to my room and dug a cardboard box out of the closet I hadn't revisited in over a year. It was a box filled with copies of my book I'd done absolutely nothing with, after ordering them proudly upon writing it.
My first novel. The cover showing a young boy and girl holding hands and walking through a park covered in a blanket of snow had cost me almost five hundred quid. I had to pay for a professional photographer to compose it, desperate to have something that perfectly represented the story, and a graphic designer to handle the layout. I must have thrown over a grand at the book in total, with hardly any success. A thousand pounds and maybe a thousand hours of writing. Ten times that to live it.
I didn't know how I felt about it now. It kind of felt like a burden, an embarrassment. A mark of shame in a career littered with other examples of failure, except I couldn't really call it a career, because I'd never been paid to do it. Maybe my parents were right, maybe I should give up and concentrate on something else.
I lay back in bed and opened it up. 'Fallen Away' by Alice Cartwright, dedicated to my mother and father, for whom love has always had a special meaning.
I smiled. I don't think either one of my parents really understood what I meant by that statement, intentionally masked as it was to be ambiguous. I folded back the spine, always a pleasure on a new book, even more so on one of your own, started at chapter 1, and began to read.
When the phone rang, it woke me up. I must have fallen asleep without realising it, but as soon as I heard the ring-tone, I leapt out of bed completely confused, wondering what the hell was going on. At first I thought it was an alarm for the morning, and then I realised it was someone calling me. The phone told me two things, it was just after ten o'clock, and the caller ID was protected.
'Hello', I said, as I answered it.
'Alice', Devizes said in a silky smooth voice that made him sound like a professional voice-over artist. 'Sorry to call you so late.'
'That's ok', I said. 'It's not late.'
'I've had a busy day, and couldn't get back to you earlier. Listen, how about dinner tomorrow night? Are you still free?'
'Dinner? Sure, I'm still free', I said. 'That sounds amazing.'
'Great. Shall we say eight o'clock?'
'Ok', I said.
'Excellent. Text me your address, and I'll send a car round to pick you up.'
'Erm, ok.' I said.
'Bring your book, and dress smart', he said. 'It's quite a fancy restaurant.'
'Smart', I said. 'How smart is smart?'
'Smart', Devizes said again. 'Think red carpet rather than playboy bunny.'
'Ok', I said, already panicking about what to wear. 'Got it.'
'Good', he said. 'See you tomorrow then. Don't forget to text me your address.'
'I won't forget', I said. 'See you tomorrow.'
Devizes clicked off, I took a deep breath and that was that. I had a date lined up for tomorrow with a gorgeous billionaire, and I couldn't wipe the smile off my face.
Is this real?
I allowed myself to think. I texted him my address immediately, and made sure I included specific instructions on how to arrive, which landmarks to watch out for, alternative transport options and emergency procedures, should he get lost at any point along the way, and clear details on the colour and location of my house. When I was done, the text message was almost five hundred characters long. It was the most I'd written for what seemed like months.
I couldn't sleep well, and I didn't know what to do with myself all day. I guess I was far too excited to sleep, even though I told myself repeatedly, that there was no point in getting my hopes up, either for the man, or the possibility of getting my book published by a real, legitimate, recognisable publishing house. I was very careful to drill that message repeatedly into my brain.
Sophia slept until well into the afternoon - I heard her come back in the night with Tad and someone else, and then Tad and that someone else and Sophia going at it until early in the morning. Had I been able to sleep, it might have woken me up, but because I was already awake, it didn't make much difference to my night. In fact it made it much more entertaining than it would have been otherwise. Sophia treated sex in such an open minded way, I felt like a prude for not jamming my drawers with sex toys, and staying up all night myself, in some even more debauched recreation of the last days of Rome.
The someone else I saw in the morning, while I was getting my breakfast with tired eyes, and I had to do a double take because he looked a little like Marth. It wasn't him, thank god, but he had the same haircut and sloppy way of walking. Tad left a little later, shifty-eyed and obviously tired still from his efforts. I couldn't work out which of the two I'd heard barking at five o'clock in the morning like a whelped dog, but Tad certainly acted like he might have been embarrassed at letting himself go a little bit more than usual.
Sophia emerged from her bedroom a little later on, smiling mischievously, like a little cherub.
'I've got a date', I said, excitedly.
'No way', Sophia said.
She picked up a packet of cereal, brought it to the couch and began picking at the contents inside.
'Eight o'clock tonight, he's going to pick me up. I couldn't sleep', I said.
'I bet', Sophia said.
'What did you get up to last night?' I said, trying to divert the attention away from me, so I'd stop obsessing nervously about the date later on.
'Tad and I picked up a drifter', Sophia said, without any idea how weird that sentence was.
'A drifter?' I said. 'Sophia, are you kidding me?'
'Yeah well he wasn't a real drifter, not like a professional drifter or a bum or anything, but he was sort of drifting a little bit when we met him. I don't think he has much of a home.'
'And you brought him back here?' I said.
'Yeah', Sophia said with a smile.
'Eeoouuww', I said.
'He showered first', Sophia said, as if that made a difference.
'Have you got no morals?' I asked.
'I don't know. It seemed like a good idea at the time. He was hot. It was Tad's idea really anyway.'
'Tad's idea?'
'Yeah. Anyway. I'm excited for you! Where is he taking you?' Sophia said.
'I don't know. We're going for dinner. I have to wear something smart. Classy', I said.
'Have you got anything smart and classy?' Sophia said. 'You don't really do smart and classy.'
'I've got smart and classy', I protested.
'You mean you've got dresses?' Sophia said, confused.
'Yes.'
'I've never seen you wear a dress in my life, unless we're at work and they've provided it for you.'
'I love dressing up', I said. 'I don't do it much, but I still love it.'
'Cool', Sophia said. 'Have you decided what to wear then?'
'Yes, sort of. I was planning to ask you actually. Would you be able to help me?' I said.
'Sure!' Sophia said.
Sophia wasn't the kind of girl that used to wear much of anything really, and I certainly hadn't seen her in anything classy or posh, but she had style, and I didn't have anyone else to help me anyway. Besides which, Sophia would tell me honestly whether I looked good or not - she wasn't the kind of person to blow smoke up my arse unnecessarily.
'Woah', Sophia said as she saw the mess I'd made in my room.
There were clothes everywhere. I'd emptied out my closet, every single drawer of the chest of drawers, and even gone through boxes and suitcases of old and rarely worn clothes, and every single one of those items sat in a heap on the bed.
'I'm having a bit of a problem', I said.
'I can see', Sophia said, tentatively lifting clothes from the pile.
She had in her hand a tie dyed mini skirt I'd purchased on a whim several years ago at a music festival and the look at her face told me everything I needed to know about what she thought about it. I snatched it away from her.
'That's not the kind of thing I had in mind', I said.
'What did you have in mind?' Sophia said.
'I don't know. Little black number? James Bond style jump suit? Mary Quant short skirt? Tartan?'
'You want to make sure you make the most of your best points. Both of them', Sophia said and held a dress from the pile against my chest.
'Sophia', I said, grabbing the dress from her and throwing it back to the bed. 'It's not all about tits.'
'You know I love your tits', Sophia said.