Fat Girls and Fairy Cakes (31 page)

“Stella, I’m really sorry I haven’t been there for you. Work has been so busy. I just haven’t had time.”

“I understand, Dave,” I said, coldly. “It’s nice to see where your priorities lie. Sebastian will be fine, by the way – not that you care.”

He looked hurt. “Stella, I need to talk to you. I’m sorry for everything that’s happened. It’s just that the spy doc hasn’t worked out.”

“So I gather – but I heard about it from someone else. Not from you.”

“I’ve been at my wits’ end. I sunk everything I had into that project. I had no choice; it was for our future, Stel. You know? That lovely house by the sea – you and me?”

I was unmoved. “I can understand that having no job and no money is bloody hard and I can see how you could be tempted to work with a company you don’t believe in,” I began. “But after everything you said about needing to work with people you respect, in a company with the same values, I honestly can’t believe that you’d do it. That you’d let MJ...” I trailed off, lost for words.

“I know, I know. I understand how you feel. I’m so sorry, I had no idea she’d do that. I can’t believe she sent an email.”

“What email?” I said. And then the truth hit me, square between the eyes. Bitch Rachel had never tried to wreck my business – why would she? We’d never met and it was over between her and Tom. The email had come from someone else entirely.

“MJ sent the email to Sangita about me running the company from home, didn’t she?” I said, slowly and carefully. Dave shifted uncomfortably. “I’d discounted her because I assumed she didn’t know anything about my business, but it all adds up now. She heard it all from you, didn’t she?” I felt tears spring to my eyes. Boy, could I pick ‘em! Different man, different betrayal, but a betrayal nonetheless. He didn’t answer, he just dropped his head and stared at his shoes.

“You are so weak. Why didn’t I see it before?” I said almost to myself, too hurt for anger.

“I didn’t know she’d try and hurt you. She asked about you and I told her, in all innocence. I was just being nice. I had to, she’s my boss Stella.”

“You ‘being nice’ to that vindictive, hateful woman almost cost me my business,” I spat.

“Stella, I love you. I’ll resign. I know I’ve been bloody stupid. I just panicked,” Dave said, clutching my hand.

“I’m sorry. I can never be with a man who would sell me to the highest bidder,” I said, pulling away from him. “And I can never be with a man who can’t support me when I need him the most. I have finally learnt that I’m better than that. Goodnight – and goodbye, Dave.”

I got up from the table, leaving him just looking at me with tears in his eyes. I walked towards Al and Lizzie who were waiting with my coat.

“Are you OK doll?” Al said, helping me on with my coat and looking very concerned.

“It’s over. I don’t need him. Actually, I don’t need any man,” I said. “Now, where were we?”

“Headed for New Jersey and those real housewives?” suggested Lizzie.

“You bet,” I said.

All of us had a quiet day on the Sunday after the party. Al spent time with Seb who was keen to hear all about the event and over the moon it had gone so well. He was very weak, but making good progress. Lizzie had to disappear off somewhere and I collected Grace and spent the day with her. We went shopping and watched movies – it was wonderful to spend time with her and I think we all breathed a sigh of relief that the events of the last few days were over.

I had just put Grace to bed when I heard a little tap on the front door. When I opened it, Lizzie was standing in the chilly darkness holding an envelope.

“This is for tomorrow night, babe,” she said with a grin. “Al’s coming too. Your mum is going to babysit, it’s all arranged.”

“What is it, Lizzie?” I asked, puzzled.

She winked at me. “You’ll see. There’s a cab coming to pick you up tomorrow at 6.30 – see you there!” and with that, she disappeared off into the night.

I took the envelope back into the kitchen and opened it. Inside was a ticket to the première of
Barry’s Barbie
. I stared at the glossy print on the front, puzzled. I couldn’t believe that Lizzie wanted me to attend the première of Media World’s latest project and I didn’t understand why she wanted to be there, either. But after the events of the last few weeks, I knew I had to go – she needed our support.

I was thinking about this when Al rang. “Stella, can you believe it?!” he squealed, sounding almost like his old self. “I mean
hello?
This show nearly ruined both me and Lizzie!”

“I know,” I said, “I don’t understand it, but we need to support Lizzie. She’s been there for both of us and now we need to be there for her.”

Al sighed. “You’re right doll, of course. I’ll see you tomorrow then. Seb sends a kiss.”

“Send one back,” I said, and hung up. If I was honest the last thing I wanted to do was go to
any
awards party, let alone one where MJ would be present – but it looked like that was exactly what I had to do. I went upstairs and raked around in the wardrobe until I found the navy ‘date dress’ I had worn to see Diego. It was still in its polythene from the dry-cleaner.
That’ll do,
I thought and then climbed exhausted into bed.

The taxi picked up me first and then Al and we arrived at the venue on a cool October night to be greeted by paparazzi gathering round our taxi like coiled springs. Big cars stopped ahead of us to unload their Z-list celebrity cargos at the tiny doorway into the cinema. Footballers and girls ‘who’d once slept with a footballer’, soap stars and ex-
Big Brother
contestants all jostled for position in front of flashing cameras in the early evening sunshine.

“You couldn’t actually put a name to most of the faces, but you sort of know who they are,” Al commented as we sat in our taxi waiting. When we finally pulled up outside and stepped out of the taxi, photographers were shouting ‘over here luv’ and snapping wildly on the off-chance either of us were famous, or ‘had once slept with a footballer’.

I felt quite sick but gathered together all my courage, held my stomach in and walked on wobbly heels. My magic pants were digging in under the dress, but I thought ‘tall’ as I swished into the viewing room with Al on my arm and, as my eyes became used to the light, I was disappointed to see how small the venue was. In the cramped dark, young waiters approached with corks in their hats offering pseudo Aussie-style canapés from trays and addressing everyone as ‘sport’.

“G’day!” Al said, taking a barbie titbit from the tray.

“No canapé embargo here,” I whispered. “No,” said Al, wrinkling his nose at the morsel he’d just taken, “and it’s a shame.”

 I felt nervous about what lay ahead as we watched the hungry Z-listers fill up on miniscule kangaroo-burgers and crocodile-kebabs. There was no Cristal but we were soon furnished with lukewarm white wine in cheap glasses and were asked to take our seats for the viewing, which we were told would consist of several highlights from the programme to be followed by a speech from Media World’s owner, Fast Frank.

As we waited in the black stillness for the curtain to move and the screen to flicker into life, I looked furtively around the viewing theatre, hoping no-one could see me. I noticed a few familiar faces from Media World – I think I spotted Denise the vicar’s wife – but I didn’t see Lizzie. Then I turned round and saw Tom standing alone at the back. He smiled at me and nodded, lifting his hand in acknowledgement and I waved back. It hadn’t occurred to me that he would be there – but of course, he’d filmed a lot of it so he would be invited.

People took their seats, the lights were lowered, the hissing and giggling ebbed and the curtains opened. Suddenly we were faced with a big screen and a series of glossy shots of Barry chopping salads and marinating meats. This was what Lizzie referred to as ‘pre-barbie meat prep’, which always sounded vaguely coital to me. As Barry spread his Aussie charm like thick, sweet ketchup, it was soon evident that this programme would be a winner. A fast-paced, well-filmed (thanks to Tom), well-scripted (thanks to Lizzie), life-affirming programme (thanks to Barry), which epitomised good times. The trail played out with a montage of feel-good days on the beach and family holidays, evoking memories of endless summers and warm sand between the toes.

“That was televisual sunshine,” Al said with some disappointment as the lights came up.

“Mmm, brilliant ratings and spin-offs for years to come,” I said with a hint of bitterness. It would keep MJ in work for the rest of her mean, media life.

There was then a fifteen-minute break where starlets munched on Twiglets and TV execs networked like their lives depended on it as mere mortals looked on. There was still no sign of Lizzie.

“Where do you think she is?” I hissed to Al.

“If I was her, I would have started on the vodka, doll,” he said gloomily. “With this series she’s made MJ look great.”

Finally we were back in our seats and Fast Frank was mounting the small makeshift stage for his big moment. Frank thanked Barry for a wonderful performance and, being a hard-headed businessman, he couldn’t resist a little PR for Barry’s books, T-shirts, barbie aprons and mugs, the fruits of which would all come Media World’s way. He went on to thank the production team including Tom, who’d stepped into the breach when the other cameraman was injured. He was obviously unaware that the crocodile attack had happened under the eyes of his star exec and head of the company whose official reason for being there was to ensure there were no accidents.

“Now, last but not least, I have a very special thank you for a very special person,” he announced.

My heart sank.

“She has turned this whole Barry barbecue brand into pure gold. Come up here, Mary-Jane Robinson,” he announced and clapped so hard the audience joined in. I exchanged a horrified glance with Al. MJ mounted the stage, as wiry and hard as ever but attempting ‘girlish’, hiding her face with hair and fake modesty. Frank hugged her gratefully, saying over and over again; “You’re the one who made it happen.” He went on to thank her copiously and credit her alone for saving the shoot and Media World.

Wearing a smug, self-satisfied smile, and a figure hugging white Chanel dress, MJ stepped forward to the mic. “It’s been such hard work and I’m exhausted,” she said in clipped tones with tight, red lips. “But I would do it all again, it was just so rewarding. Frankie,” she said, turning to him, “you are the most wonderful boss and Media World is lucky to have you.”

“This is obscene – like a drag version of Marilyn singing to JFK,” commented Al, loudly.

Frank approached MJ with a huge Jane Packer bouquet of deep pink roses and an overblown cheque. So, MJ was not only taking the credit for the whole programme, she was also getting a bonus. I wondered why on earth Lizzie had wanted us to witness this. Frank was about to hand the roses and cheque to a drooling MJ when he whipped them away at the last minute, grinning all over his face.

“But first, members of your team have a little surprise for you!” He said. “They have made a special film in honour of your achievement. Now I haven’t seen it yet, but I’m assured it’s a testament to your hard work. Lizzie!”

 Suddenly, Lizzie swept onto the stage and positioned herself at MJ’s side. Smiling broadly, she took the mic from Frank and gave MJ a huge, open smile. “I know Mary-Jane wasn’t expecting anything from the crew, but we just had to do this. MJ, you leave us all truly speechless. Everyone who worked on the project wanted to give you a special gift,” Lizzie said.

 “My cameraman Tom and I have been busy recording and editing those off-diary moments I think you’ll find amusing. They reveal how hard everyone’s worked and just how tough it’s been for MJ on these foreign shoots. Enjoy!” With that, Lizzie bear-hugged a smiling but bemused MJ, and added in lip-synch with hand actions; ‘from me to you’.

Suddenly on screen, there was MJ dressed up to the nines, drinking Champagne and laughing with Barry on his balcony. This was followed by fly-on-the-wall reportage shots of MJ with a clipboard, having meetings, discussing scripts with Barry and generally being the boss. The next scene was a wide shot – taken from a distance – of MJ emerging onto a balcony wearing a towel and looking a bit the worse for wear. I looked around for a reaction and in the darkness I could see the glint of fake white veneers, people smiling in anticipation. Then suddenly, into the silence, MJ was shouting over her shoulder on the balcony: “Fucking hell, I need another drink…where are my tabs?”

Al shot me a look, the audience gasped and uneasy giggles staggered across the silence as everyone waited for the punch line; but there wasn’t one.

In the next shot, MJ was joined on the balcony by Barry wearing only boxers and holding out her pack of cigarettes. They each took one and lit up, laughing and drinking Champagne from half-empty glasses on the table. This was obviously filmed with a telephoto lens, because neither of them seemed aware of the camera.

There was a low rumble in the audience; this was starting to feel uncomfortable and I could see by MJ’s frozen smile that she was horrified. The next shot was MJ kissing Barry, climbing all over him and saying in a drunken slur: “I don’t care, I want you again, now, sod the filming.” When Barry protested, she raised her voice: “Look, Frankie’ll pay for extra days on the budget. He won’t even know he’s spent it. Stupid bastard’s rolling in it. I want you, NOW!”

At this point, there were audible gasps and mutterings from the audience and, judging by the look on her face, MJ wanted the ground to swallow her up. Panic-stricken, she began pawing at Fast Frank’s arm, vainly trying to talk at him, moving him away from the screen but he was stuck to the spot, wide-eyed, as the next scene appeared.

The camera was on the ground but voices could be heard and someone was shouting. Despite not being able to see anyone, I could tell MJ’s voice anywhere. “You tell Barry’s wife about this and I’ll deny everything. And don’t even
think
about going to fat Frank. I’ll tell him you’re jealous because I’m with Barry now. One word and your career will be over,” she ranted.

Suddenly, Lizzie’s voice: “My career was over the day you came on this shoot.”

The next scene showed MJ drunkenly telling a young runner, “I shaid I wanted vodka and DIET Coke, you cretin. Get me another!” Then the sound of sloshing liquid, followed by a gasp from the doused runner. “Shtupid bitch,” MJ slurred in the darkness. Cut to MJ smoking more fags, feet up, talking about the cameraman attacked by the crocodile. “Shtupid bashtard stepped straight onto it. I wash in the wine bar, nothin to do with me.” she said, giggling as she reached for her vodka, taking big swigs and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand like a trucker.

This was followed by a montage of shots put to music (Elton John’s
The Bitch is Back
) of MJ in various states, snogging with Barry, drinking Champagne from the bottle and screaming at junior staff while lounging on a director’s chair. This was all happening during filming, while everyone else was working. We heard her shouting at runners, swearing at researchers and bullying anyone who dared to disturb her drinking, hair appointments, or afternoons of delight with Barry.

I tore my eyes away from the screen as it ended, desperate to see the look on her face again but she’d gone from the dark, empty stage, where only Frank and Lizzie now stood. Fast Frank looked lost, still open-mouthed, but had enough wits about him to put the envelope containing the big, thank-you cheque for MJ discreetly but firmly behind his back. He wasn’t that ‘shtupid’.

Al and I looked at each other, wide-eyed. “That was bloody fabulous,” he whispered. I couldn’t speak I was so surprised and still transfixed on the stage area.

“I’m soo glad you two came,” screamed Lizzie, rushing over and hugging us both at the same time. “Did you see it? Wasn’t it fab?” At this point, Tom joined us and they smiled and hugged each other and suddenly it all made sense.

Al was almost jumping up and down with excitement. “It was brilliant. MJ will be
toast
after that! Why didn’t you tell us? When did you make it? How did it happen?!”

Tom put his hand on Al’s shoulder and said: “Come on everyone. I think we all need to have a proper chat somewhere, away from here.” We went straight to the nearest pub, where, over a bottle of wine, Lizzie and Tom told us exactly what had been happening.