Three Way (4 page)

‘Sorry, just need to get another battery,’ Phil says. I breathe out. I glance at her, she smiles, my heart thumps faster. Man, I’m never normally like this. My back feels clammy, I shift on my seat.

‘I like your shirt,’ Lauren says. I glance down at my somewhat creased affair. I should have ironed it. I hate ironing. Maybe she’s being i-ronical? Get it? Alright well fuck you, just trying to relieve the tension here.

‘Thank you, it’s M&S.’ Oh for Christ’s sake.

‘Sexy,’ she says. I look up from the shirt, surprised at her compliment. Phil looks up from...battery locating. ‘I mean, I was looking for a birthday present for a friend and I think he’d like that.’

‘Oh yeah? Well they’re pretty reasonably priced,’ I reply, glancing at Phil. Hurry up Phil. Hurry up Phil. Phil…hurry up. My eyes connect with Lauren’s again and I look down to her tits. Shit, not there…umm, up to the ceiling. No, now I’m overcompensating…uh, the window. Better. Fuck Phil, please…

‘Okay, ready,’ Phil says. I breathe out again too fast, look back at her and smile.

‘Okay. If you could just give me your name and your title for the tape,’ I say.

‘Lauren Bates, Head of Corporate Finance for United Bank.’

‘Thanks,’ I say. She swallows, maybe she thinks I’m going to ‘Paxman’ her. Which, I’m not by the way.

‘So what’s happening in the Eurozone at the moment and how does it affect Britain?’

She starts giving me her answer and I want to tell you what she said but I’m one hundred percent not listening. Instead I’m watching her mouth move and listening to the intensity and conviction of her voice. She finishes her answer in what I estimate to be around twenty seconds, which is perfect. I need to remember my next question though.

‘Uh, if this were to spread further here, could it affect jobs here and if so which industries would most likely be hit?’

Again she rattles off what I’m sure will be the perfect answer for the VT but I pay no more attention to this answer than the previous one. I wonder what it would be like to kiss those lips. That rush of excitement tearing through me. I wonder what the touch of her suit would feel like under my fingers. How would it feel to put my hands under that blouse? My heart thumps as though I’ve just broken the one hundred metres world record…or had a heart attack. She finishes her answer. I consider what it might be like to be her husband. Like, how that would actually work? We’d have to live out in the suburbs. We’d commute in together, maybe I’d even make her a packed lunch to take in with her. In the evenings we might sit in our garden sipping wine under a fading sun. Then our children might come running out. Horatio and Matilda. Horatio? Fuck, where did that come from?

‘Ollie? Is that it?’ she asks. I snap out of my daydream.

‘Sorry?’ I reply, glancing at Phil who’s staring at me with a frown and a what-the-fuck-are-you-doing look. ‘Sorry. I…well, uh. I glance down at my iPhone for the next question. ‘Uh…’ Shit, it’s gone back to sleep and I can’t find the email. She gave a couple of good answers, that’ll be okay, won’t it? ‘That’s it.’

‘Really?’ she asks.

‘What?’ Phil says, almost straight away.

‘Uh, yeah. No, that was great. Really good.’

‘That was quickest interview I’ve ever done,’ Lauren says.

‘Me too,’ says Phil, staring at me with a searching look.

‘Well, I’ve got what I need, so what’s the point in wasting your time trying to get you to say the same thing ten different ways.’ Lauren shrugs.

‘Okay, well if you’re sure?’

‘Yep, definitely,’ I say. Phil starts to pack up the lights. She stands up from the chair.

‘So, have you got many interviews to do?’ Lauren asks.

‘Not at the mo, but who knows what the newsdesk has planned for me. I’ll take this to Millbank, feed it and await my fate,’ I reply. She nods.

‘Well, I hope it works for you. So, do you have a card or…?’ Oh my God, she wants my digits. She wants to ask me out. We really are going to spend the rest of our happy lives together. Jesus Ollie, give her the bloody card. Hang on, I don’t have business cards. Shit.

‘Uh…I don’t have business cards,’ I repeat my thought verbatim.

‘Oh. Well, never mind.’

‘I can give you my phone number if you like.’

‘Oh,’ she replies. Phil glances up from ejecting the SD card from the camera.

‘And email and everything else you get on a business card,’ I say. You are pathetic, look at this performance.

‘Sure, let me get a piece of paper.’ She pulls out a Post-It notepad and hands it to me with a pen.

‘Ta,’ I say. I write my name, mobile number and email address down. I resist the urge to also include my place of birth, bank account number and Gmail password. ‘There you go.’ I hand her back the pad.

‘Thanks,’ she says, looking at it then up to me. ‘Well, it was really nice to meet you, Ollie.’

‘You too,’ I say offering her my hand. She shakes it and smiles. I smile back, trying to imprint this meeting in my memory.

‘Ready when you are champ,’ says Phil. I glance his way and nod.

‘Nice to meet you too, Phil,’ says Lauren.

‘Uh…yeah, likewise,’ says Phil, shaking her hand.

‘Well, see you soon,’ I say. She frowns slightly. ‘I mean, not soon. Just…anyway.’ I grab the tripod.

‘Do you need someone to show you out?’ Lauren asks. I frown because I hear the word ‘throw’ when she says ‘show.’ Stupid, I know.

‘We’ll be fine thanks,’ Phil says. We walk out of the office, I glance back to her. She’s staring after us with a look which I interpret as utter confusion on her face. Man…that really was the worst interview I’ve ever done.

I get home around six-thirty. As I approach the front door I detect the familiar smell of ganja drifting from Tristan, the drug dealer’s, flat.

‘Those don’t smell like cigarettes,’ I say loudly as I pass his door.

‘FUCK YOU!’ I hear Tristan shout.

‘You doing drugs in there again?’ I ask.

‘Didn’t you hear me? I said FUCK OFF!’ Tristan replies. I walk on, smiling. I get to the front door, slot the key in the lock and go inside.

As soon as I’m in, I hear the familiar sound of Grand Theft Auto coming from the Playstation. I walk into the living room and dump my bag. Parker sits in his dressing gown engrossed in the game.

‘Evening,’ I say.

‘Can’t see,’ he replies, not changing the pitch in his voice. I step out of the way. His legs rest on top of the coffee table. Next to them is a plate with toast crumbs and crusts and an empty bottle of Coke. I look at him. His concentration is intense, clicking the buttons on the controller with impressive precision. However, if he walked down Clapham High Road with that face on, I think people would take him for a puppy slayer. He pauses the game and looks up at me.

‘What?’

‘Just this…’ I say, indicating to him. He glances around.

‘What?’

‘This look, it’s not…conveying the impression of a successful young businessman.’ Parker looks down at the dressing gown.

‘I’m not trying to convey that impression.’

‘No I see that but maybe, I dunno. Maybe work might be a good thing?’

‘Can’t. Haven’t got any inspiration.’

‘Well occasionally getting out of the flat might help that.’ He sighs and tilts his head. I hold up my hands. ‘Okay, okay. Just think there’s more constructive things you could be doing.’

‘Thanks dad.’

‘Can you save it, I want to show you something,’ I say, going over to my bag. Parker hits save. I pull out a DVD.

‘Is this another one of your homemade gay porn films?’

‘No, but I think you’re going to enjoy it.’ I reply, ejecting Grand Theft Auto and inserting my DVD.

‘This better be good, interrupting my playing time.’ The DVD comes up with a makeshift menu, I take the controller from Parker and hit play.

Up comes my interview with Lauren. Yes I know it’s a bit creepy but I wanted Parker to see her.

‘What do you think?’ I say.

‘Fuck me,’ he says, sitting up. ‘Who is she?’

‘Her name is Lauren Bates, she’s some hotshot City type. I interviewed her today.’ We hear me asking her the first question.

‘Is that your interviewing technique?’

‘I wouldn’t exactly call it a technique.’

‘Neither would I, you sound like a girl.’

‘Thanks mate,’ I reply. We watch Lauren, both suddenly silent.

‘She’s very nice. You asked her out yet?’

‘No,’ I say. He looks at me, then sighs.

‘It’s been six months since Svetla,’ he says.

‘I know. I need to try something else.’

‘She looks very nice.’

‘Yeah,’ I reply. I think about what I say next. ‘She asked for my phone number.’ I look at him for a reaction. A sceptical eyebrow rises upwards.

‘Yeah?’ he asks.

‘Well, my card.’

‘Oh.’

‘Don’t say it like that, it’s a good thing.’

‘Sure mate. I’m sure she wants you. Deluded fucker,’ he says the last part quietly, as if only to himself.

‘At least try and be supportive.’

‘I will, as soon as you man up and get back out there.’

‘I’m trying,’ I say.

‘Do or do not. There is no try. That’s from Empire.’

‘Yeah I know genius. What’s for dinner then?’ I ask.

‘Whatever you’re cooking,’ he replies.

‘Come on,’ I say.

‘What?’

‘You’re the chef.’

‘I don’t think working at Harvester qualifies me as a chef,’ he says.

‘More than me.’

‘Alright shit-for-brains, what do you want?’

‘Pasta?’ I ask. He thinks for a moment.

‘Yeah, alright,’ he replies, standing and picking up the plate and bottle of Coke. He stops to look at Lauren on the screen. ‘She’s got funny ears.’

‘No she doesn’t,’ I reply, trying not to sound defensive.

‘Like, a bit too small.’ Off my look he then says, ‘I’m just saying.’ He looks at her again. ‘She’s pretty hot though, good luck.’

‘Nothing’s going to happen.’

‘Not with that attitude it won’t.’ He wanders into the kitchen. I follow.

‘I think it’s time to try at the relationship thing again, not just sex,’ I say.

‘You think this girl’s just about the sex?’ Parker replies, surveying the culinary choices in the lone cupboard.

‘I don’t know. She oozes sex appeal though. When I was in that room, man…it was tense.’

‘Wasn’t there a cameraman in there as well?’

‘Well yeah, but I think even he felt the sexual tension in there.’

‘Because of your homosexual tendencies?’ He finds a frying pan, heats some oil, then starts chopping the onions and mushrooms.

‘So you think I should just do it? Ask her out on a date? I’m so crap at stuff like this.’

‘Normally people call people up and say something like ‘hey there, fancy going out?’’

‘Not when I do it, they don’t.’

‘That’s ‘cos you’re an amateur.’

‘You’re not making me feel any better.’

‘No? Get a counsellor.’

We watch Top Gear as we eat our pasta. Parker has these trays with a cushion bit on the bottom so it sits on your lap all snug-like. At first I was like, ‘where did you get these from?’ and he said ‘what do you care, they do the job.’ Seemed like a reasonable explanation at the time.

As I put a large forkful of pasta in my mouth, there’s a knock at the door. I glance at Parker.

‘Well it’s not going to be for me,’ he says.

‘I bet it’s Tristan or one of his druggie friends,’ I say, putting the tray on the coffee table and standing up. ‘What the fuck Tristan…right in the middle of my fucking dinner!’ I shout. He’d better be overdosing or dying. I walk to the front door and open it. Standing in front of me is Ashley Morgan, another ‘friend’ from school. Except she was, on occasion, more than a friend. It’s complicated, I’ll explain later. My mouth opens. I haven’t seen her for, what…two years? Jesus. Her dark brown hair is long and she has it down. She wears grown up makeup and that lipstick stuff that makes lips look wet. The last time I saw her, she was just starting to go out with this real character (I use that word in the loosest possible way) called Gary. We kept in touch on Facebook and as I’ve said before, we were always…close.