It’s ludicrous - the way my Mother and sister go on. Honestly, you’d think they were a couple of teenagers - what with their shrieking and giggling about the stupidest things. I’ve been listening to Jennifer for the last 35 minutes from my bedroom. I’ve been trying to reorganise the room in a bid to create a calm space. It looked a whole lot better as soon as I moved the weeks discarded clothes from the floor and into the washing bin. As much as I’ve been determined NOT to ear-wig on their conversation, it’s impossible. Jen is raucous and from the one-sided chat that I’ve been listening to I already know about Mum’s ‘new best friend’ Bobbi Jo and how she’s now going overboard on the orange theme. It reminds me of a weekend I had in Amsterdam where everything was orange, but that’s another story. Jennifer’s been laughing about the orange-iced wedding cake, the orange juice fountain and the orange fairy lights. It stands to reason really though, that if my mother wanted to go for a hideous orange theme, she wasn’t equipped to do it in a STYLISH way. And then I hear Jennifer stop laughing and make a feeble attempt at lowering her voice,
“Noo, she’s still the same. Yeah. No. Not at all. Yep, another 3 months to go I think. Ridiculous, I agree. I CAN’T sort her, Mam. Chalk and cheese, darling. Yes. Of course. Well I think I’ll probably head back home after your wedding. No. Nothing really to go back for. Yeah, I have loved it here. London’s fab. And the sunbed shop job HAS been fun. Oh, Mam, how mad! I’ve just realised I’m working for a place that TURNS people orange and you’re having an orange weddiiinnngg!!!“
When I emerge from my bedroom an hour later Jen is still on the phone, although I can tell by her husky drawl that she’s not talking to our mother. She stiffens up a little when she realises I’m in the room, shuffling herself into an upright position on the sofa, and I’m SURE I see her move her hand from beneath her skirt! Yuk! How sick? She whispers a low,
“OK baby. Yeah baby. Bye bye Big Boy,“ into the phone before disconnecting it and trying to avoid eye contact with me. Probably that awful guy she met at the sunbed shop.
“So,” I ask with a forced air of nonchalance, “how was Mum?”
“Oh,” she flicked her hair and pretended to watch the muted television, “you know. Excited, hyperactive, a hundred miles an hour. The usual.”
“So it really IS going to be orange.”
“Yep,” she nodded, “it really is. And the hen party was orange and the caterers are cooking orange-themed or flavoured foods, the marquee furnishings are going to be orange. You name it, it’s orange.”
“Great,” I hiss, “our mother’s marrying the man from fucking Del Monte!”
“Ha, yeah,” Jen laughs, “bloody shame he said ‘yes’!”
And we both curl up and laugh.
Together.
For the first time in years.
*
Ben Scott was on his fifth Jack Daniels and had a massive hard on. He was reclined on his sheepskin rug dressed in La Perla lace knickers, suspenders with silk stockings and 3 inch high black patent stilettos. They looked ridiculous, cutting into the flesh on his thighs - his black leg hair thick and squashed beneath the stockings; his bony, knobbly ankles leading down to the size 9 shoes. A glow from his laptop was the only light in the room which gave a soft-tone blue tinge to his naked flesh. Looking out at his balcony doors he could see the night lights of London sparkling in the icy night air. His breath was short and fast and he could feel his pulse beating in his neck and chest. The feel of the tight knickers really turned him on but the sexy messages that were hitting his ‘inbox‘ were certainly upping the pace. He‘d hooked up with his new cohort months ago, when Sophie Regan had become London‘s new ‘favourite‘ and launched her stupid project. Little had he known then what a sexy bitch this new ‘buddy’ was and how her evil streak was her sexiest feature. As he waited for her to reply to his MSN instant message he continued checking his friends-friends-friends. He adored Facebook and since hearing how all the media types were on there and the potential for networking he hadn‘t hesitated in loading his entire portfolio of publicity photos and give it his best shot. At his age he couldn’t afford to miss the opportunity to comb through everyone else’s ‘friends’ and the networking opportunities were endless. It bothered him that Sophie might reveal his ‘secret’ and it if wasn’t for this new woman and her wickedly sexy ideas then he’d surely be finished on television. He’d seen it all too many times; the nations ’darling’ pulled through the shit, their career in tatters and beyond repair. Take his good friend Michael Barrymore - what an horrendous time he’d had and then there’d been Jade Goody for her rants on Big Brother. It had left them both in tatters and it was all so unfair and unjust. He couldn’t risk the same for him, which was why Sophie had to be silenced and if that meant framing her as a fraud, then that‘s what he‘d have to do.
His television contract had only been renewed for another year and he knew that he was in constant danger of being cast in the shadows by the new influx of presenters filtering up from the children’s TV channels and onto the mainstream, Saturday night shows. Then there were the ex-radio jocks moving into the daytime chat-show arena. He’d felt sick when he’d been told that Charlotte Church had been given her own chat show. He felt truly saddened that the old pro’s - the Michael Parkinsons, the Jay Leno’s, the Terry Wogan’s were being spurned for a gobby cow with NO experience. But ultimately he was terrified that Sophie had the potential to spill the beans on his fetish for women’s clothing. He’d felt ill when she had first found him wearing the cotton sundress as she’d walked into his flat without knocking. That had been nearly 2 years ago now but he remembered it like yesterday. She’d been shocked but they’d talked it through and she SEEMED to understand! It had taken her a couple of weeks to tell him that she respected his pleasures, but that she couldn’t continue to see him in a sexually attractive way. She’d even hugged him and said that they’d remain friends! And he had believed her! The sex between them had always been explosive and she was an extremely uninhibited filly in the bedroom. He’d always thought it such a shame that she constantly nagged him about his communicative skills and that she found his penchant for Agent Provocateur a turn off. The fact remained though, that she was the ONLY person in the media world that knew about his secret and since her catapult into public eye with the Staying Single story he wasn’t so sure that he could trust her. He clicked to open the MSN menu to check whether his sexiest closest confidante was online.
Angela Johnson was.
Excellent.
If it wasn’t for her, he’d have NO idea that Sophie was planning to humiliate him on national television . It was just as well he had something on her to sling back. And, thanks to AJ, he was now going to be her 4th, and final, Sophie Dilemma date – which was to be filmed live. This would give him the perfect opportunity to embarrass Sophie live and online. That should lay to rest any wicked ideas she might have about mentioning the odd suspender belt or lycra mini skirt that he had tucked away in his secret drawer at home….
Chapter Fifty Eight
Chapter Sixty
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