Model Guy (30 page)

 
"Yes, just as I was
walking out of the building," I say, adding sarcastically: "You wouldn't
happen to know anything about it, would you?"

 
"No, Charlie, I promise.
I'm certainly not writing anything about 2cool at the moment. I'd tell you if I
was. Look, let me ring the picture desk and see if they've sent someone."

 
"Nora, if this is
anything to do with you -"

 
"Oh, for God's sakes,
Charlie, believe me. Please! Look, let me find out and I'll come straight back to
you."

 
"OK...thanks."

 
A few moments later the
phone rings again.

 
"Hi, Nora?"
I say.

 
There is a pause.

 
"No, Charlie, it's
not Nora."

 
Oh, fucking hell. It's
Lauren's voice.

 
"Hi, babe."

 
"I saw the piece
in the Standard today."

 
"Oh, God, I know.
Did you get my message? I'd have called you sooner but I didn't see it. Scarlett
pointed it out and we've had a hell of a day. The police have been round again."

 
"So, what? What's
the hell's this piece about? When were you going to tell me that you and Nora are
going out together."

 
I laugh in disbelief and
frustration.

 
"Don't be ridiculous,
babe. It's completely wrong. Of course, we're not going out. How could you think
that?"

 
"Because I read it
in the paper - like hundreds of other people we know probably have."

 
"It just bollocks,
that was a trouble making article that got it all wrong."

 
"So your new girlfriend
Nora isn't related to Piers then?"

 
"She isn't my new
girlfriend, OK? But, yeah, that other bit about Piers is right."

 
"It's also right
when it says that 2cool is going down the tubes, isn't it?"

 
"Yes, probably."

 
"For God's sake,
Charlie, just leave it will you? Walk away."

 
"I know, you're right.
Look, I'm waiting for a call from Karyn at Jet. I'm going to go back to modelling."

 
"That's very sensible.
I'm glad to hear it," she says like a mother talking to her son who's decided
he will go back to college, after all, this term. I always used to love Lauren's
self assurance, her absolute conviction, but at the moment it's just a bit annoying.

 
"First, though, I
want to find Piers and Guy and find out what is going on" I say.

 
"I don't believe
it, just forget it will you?"

 
"I told you I will
forget it - when I've found Piers and Guy and asked them some questions."

 
"Well, I can't stop
you," she says quietly. "But just stay away from that Nora woman, she's
trouble."

 
"Seeing Peter tonight
are you?"

 
"No, as a matter
of fact, I'm going out with Sarah but my work with Peter is totally different to
your relationship with Nora. He's helping my career, she's destroying yours."

 
I think about it for a
moment and then I hear the 'Call waiting' bleep.

 
"I've got to go,
I think that's Karyn from Jet."

 
"I'll see you later."

 
As I press the button
to get through to the other call I wonder why Lauren and I cannot talk these days
without rowing.

 
"Hi, it's me,"
says Nora.

 
"Hi."

 
"OK, no one at the
Post has sent a photographer and I checked with the news desk and my editor and
no one is doing a piece at the moment about 2cool."

 
"So it must be another
paper."

 
"Yep. I'll ask a
mate of mine on The Times if they're doing anything."

 
"OK, thanks."

 
"You all right, Charlie?"

 
I laugh bitterly.

 
"Oh, fine. My career's
collapsing around me, my girlfriend has read in the paper that I'm seeing someone
else, the police are visiting me almost every day and I've got no money."

 
"See what you mean.
Oh, well."

 
"Oh well?"

 
"Sorry, I didn't
mean it to come out like that. It's been a tough couple of weeks for you, hasn't
it? Look do you want to have a drink tonight and talk about it?"

 
This woman is trouble,
like Lauren says - especially after the piece in the Standard. But on the other
hand Lauren's out and if she were in we'd only end up rowing. Nora, at least, knows
what I'm going through at the moment.

 
We arrange to go to a
place near her's at seven.

I sit at a cafe and order a cup of tea and a ham sandwich because
I haven't had any lunch yet. In fact I haven't eaten much at all over the last few
days. I've had no appetite recently and Lauren normally decides what we eat even
if it's not her turn to cook. Like I say, I've always loved Lauren's self-assurance
and her no nonsense approach, wherever you are, whatever you're doing, you just
have to look at her and she'll know what to do next.

 
But now I'm doing something
different, something she doesn't approve of, doesn't understand - and she obviously
just can't cope. Like one of those big, smart hotels that will offer you anything,
as long as it’s on the menu. If you ask for something a bit odd, there is no procedure
in the customer care manual to handle it. I once wanted to go swimming in a hotel
pool in France after we'd been shooting a catalogue all day and they just wouldn't
let me. The pool and the surrounding area was empty, I'd be very quiet, I assured
them, and I just wanted to do 20 lengths or so but neither the smiley receptionist
nor her smiley manager would let me. Guest. Swimming pool. After 8pm. Access Denied.
Won't compute.

 
Perhaps that's the thing
about Lauren. You can have anything you want as long it’s on her menu, within her
sphere of competence. I think about Becky and her children. I must have broached
the subject three or four times but on every occasion I get this dismissive look
as if I'm suggesting we get a pet snake or buy a holiday home in Bulgaria. It's
not that mad, is it? I'm 30, for fuck's sake. My Dad already had two children at
this age.

 
Perhaps there are some
things that Lauren thinks are mad or inappropriate which in fact aren't. Perhaps,
amazingly enough, she might not be right all the time.

 
Oh, God, I love her so
much but I just need a bit of freedom to do my own thing after all these years.
To do something that's not on the Lauren Tate list of officially approved activities.
I realise how angry I am with her about 2cool. OK, so she doesn't think much of
it but she must see how important the thing is to me, how much I want to prove that
I can at least do my best, clear my name and not just look like another model who
tried to do something else and failed.

 
I think I deserve a little
support here.

Karyn rings me back while she's out on a very late lunch break.

 
"Hi, Charlie, sorry
about that."

 
"No problem. How's
it going?"

 
"OK, what about you?"

 
"Oh, from bad to
worse to disastrous. I was wondering, actually if I could go back to modelling,
do you think Penny would take me back?"

 
Her reply takes me by
surprise:

 
"I'm afraid not,
Charlie. We were talking about you this morning. Penny saw the piece in the Standard
and she called me in and said that she doesn't want us to represent you again because
of, well, all the bad publicity." I'm stunned. "Charlie? Are you there?"

 
"Yeah, er, yes. You're
kidding, though. I was one of her highest earning models. I've made her a shed load
of money over the years."

 
"Oh, Charlie, of
course you have, but you know what she's like."

 
"The ungrateful bitch."

 
"I'm sorry to have
to tell you that but she's absolutely insistent."

 
"Oh, don't worry,
it's not your fault."

 
"To be honest she's
forbidden me to talk to you. It's a good thing you didn't give your name to Brad.
Sneaky little queen, he knew it was you and I'm sure he's told her."

 
"I don't want to
get you into trouble, Karyn."

 
"Oh, don't worry
about me, I'll be OK. Look, Charlie, Nevs or MOT or SoDamnTuff would take you in
a second with your book, you know that."

 
"But not with my
business track record and the bloody awful publicity I've had recently."

 
"Oh, I'm sure they
won't be bothered."

 
"That's very sweet
of you to say, I wish it was true. Look, I'll give you a call on your mobile in
a few days or something."

I set off back to the office. At one point a man with a TV camera
walks along side me. I decide to say nothing and just carry on walking, trying to
look relaxed and confident, although I feel like I'm going to throw up at any moment.

 
"Cheers mate,"
says the cameraman nonchalantly, slipping the machine off his shoulder. In the office
I suggest to the others that they go home. I tell them that they should think about
other jobs. Zac informs me that he's already talking to a web design agency and
Scarlett says that she's been asked to manage a new band that could end up being
as big as someone I've never heard of.

I leave early with the phones ringing. We haven't got any money
to give to these people so why bother even speaking to them? After half an hour
mooching around at home, cursing Penny, I decide to go swimming at the health club
I'll soon have to give up my membership of. The woman at reception gives me a lingering
look and checks the name on my membership card. That's right, love, I'm the guy
from the poncey internet fiasco. Ha, bloody, ha.

 
I spend quite a lot of
time underwater, hearing my own breathing. Then I sit in the hot tub which feels
good on my stiff back and shoulders.

 
"Great thing about
this thing is that you can fart all you want and no one else can tell," says
the other bloke in there with me. I smile politely and then get out quite quickly.

 
What inspires people to
say these things?

Back at home I have a shave since I couldn't be bothered to this
morning and put on a black Thomas Pink shirt and faded blue jeans. Then I take that
off and put on combats and my favourite B52s T shirt. Then I change that for a long
sleeved ribbed T shirt and my faded blue jeans again.

 
I leave early, so that
I don't see Lauren and have to tell her that I'm seeing Nora tonight. I arrive at
where we've agreed to meet ten minutes early cursing myself because I know Nora
will be late. I pick up a paper, it's the Standard. A sense of horrid fascination
forces me to look at the article with Nora and Piers. There it is. Who could fail
to miss it? Half of our friends must think that me and Lauren have split up - which
we haven't, of course. Not technically, anyway.

Nora arrives almost on time. We've agreed to meet in a pub she
knows. It's just an ordinary pub, nothing smart, glamorous or achingly hip. Neither
is there any special treatment or any free drinks courtesy of 2cool and that's something
of a relief. I'm glad to be able to go out for a drink without being an ambassador
of cool. She's wearing peasant blouse and she looks good in it, quite normal, I
suppose, is what I'm thinking.

 
"Hi," she says,
reaching up and giving me a peck on the cheek.

 
"Hi, what would you
like to drink? G&T is it?"

 
"Double please",
she says to the barman. "Charlie, this is Cole, he's an art student."

 
"I am not,"
says Cole. "I'm studying business finance."

 
"That's very useful,"
I tell him, with grim irony.

 
"But Cole's such
a brilliant artist, he should be studying art," says Nora.

 
"Nora, just because
you'd like something to be true, doesn't mean that you can just go round saying
it is," Cole explains, dropping ice into a glass and giving me a what-can-you-do?
look. I know the feeling, mate. I order a bottle of beer and we go to a quiet corner
table.

 
"Did you tell your
girlfriend about the Standard piece?" she asks.

 
"Didn't have to -
she saw it herself."

 
"Ouch! Was she upset?"

 
"Just a bit."

 
"Oh, dear. What does
she do for a living?" asks Nora, taking a slip, quite a large one.

 
"She's a model,"
I say. "Too."

 
"Beautiful couple."

 
I laugh. Doesn't feel
like that anymore.

 
"She wants to get
out of it and become a TV presenter. But you know that, don't you?"

 
"Do I?"

 
"You said so in that
first piece."

 
"Did I?" I'm
trying to work out if she's really this forgetful or if she's just putting it on.
Under the unruly dark red hair and through the black framed specs, her eyes give
nothing away. Instead she looks thoughtful for a moment and then says: "Oh,
TV presenter. Doesn't every one want to be one these days? I was thinking that today
when I was having lunch. Everywhere you go now, people - waiters and waitresses,
shop staff, bar staff, people on the street - everyone acts like they're, well,
acting, waiting to be discovered. I was having lunch with an old college friend
who's a TV producer and our waitress must have known what he did for a living -
she was practically doing audition pieces between the courses. Anecdotes, funny
observations, chatty little asides as she took our order. If someone had had a cigarette
lighter she'd have been performing in the light from it."