Siobhan's sporking: Billy and me, chapter 13

Chapter thirteen I'm doing line by line again. It feels a lot like a 'Billy chapter' in that it focuses more on who Billy is at one point, but at the same time is very whiny Sophie. You'll see what I mean. I also don't know how this chapter is almost 5000 words long. Really.

The journey home is quick as I battle to keep my composure, the shock and adrenaline causing my body to shake uncontrollably.

I am already annoyed, because A is causing B. Why not say something like 'I can feel the adrenaline pumping through my veins, and I'm shaking uncontrollably. I think I must be going into shock. Time seems to slip away as I try to concentrate on just getting back to Billy's flat.'

As soon as I walk through the door I stop in my tracks and sob.

So are you walking or not?

Big fat tears spill out of me.

From where? I know she's crying, but she hasn't technically said that, and even if she did, most people at least mention the eyes in passing. I'm going to assume she's paused to pee herself.

I cry so hard my breathing becomes erratic.

I have cried to the point that I've started hyperventilating, and you don't think this blandly. It's more like 'oh fuck, I need air, I need AIR'. I've started to notice that Sophie doesn't really give much emotion apart from her emo tendencies, but she describes the emotions she should be feeling. This piece of internal monologue, or prose, or however you want to call it, is devoid of emotion. She's describing it like directions to the heart or some shit, I can't feel her upset. This is a major case of telling and not showing. And I don't know why she's upset, she hated Coffee Matters.

Billy arrives by my side in the hallway, looking dishevelled from another night out.

Hey, look, she took my dictionary definition and used it! Dishevelled in this instance is correct!

He doesn't say anything, he just holds me as the tears continue to fall.

From the ceiling? Is he now a human umbrella?

"I want to go home," I wail. "I hate London, I want to go home!"

But Sophie ... you are home *cackles*

Seriously, she sounds five years old. And don't hate on London, bitch!

The words get caught in my throat, making me sob harder.

But you finished speaking, and didn't pause for the hyperventilation you're blandly describing, so how on earth did they get caught? At least write a fucking stutter in!

When my tears start to subside Billy guides me to the kitchen and sits me down in one of the swivel chairs at the counter.

So we can describe the A to B of where the chair she's sitting in now is, but not where her tears are coming from?

In silence, he makes us both some tea, then sits in front of me and takes my hands in his.

If she's sobbing that hard, and having difficulty breathing because she wound herself up that much? She's not going to be silent.

"OK, baby. What's happened?"

Two of my biggest pet hates in this book in this one sentence. Abbreviations and acronyms are okay in manuals, or if you speak OMFG like LOL. But if you're not a retard, it most definitely is written as a word in prose. Like I have, it's four letters, o-k-a-y. And what've I said about the word baby? I can't think of anything to cheapen a relationship more.

"I've been an absolute idiot."

True story.

"What? How?"

She's been an idiot, Billy. And I don't know, her mother dropped her on her head?

Slowly I tell him about the morning's events - the horrible man at work and the vile things he shouted at me before I lost my rag and drenched him in sloppy brown liquid.

Thank you for recapping. Please do this more often ... half this shit doesn't need to be in here.

Billy sits in silence, his mouth wide open in disbelief.

*pictures this* *laughs* I did this a lot in my book, and you know what? I gutted that shit out. It's not attractive. It's not realistic. How many times do you gape gormlessly at someone telling you about something mildly out of character about themselves?

 

"So you just left?" he asks, a smile creeping across his lips.

Billy gets his way! ... Billy always gets his way.

"Yeah ... I figured that I was going to get sacked anyway. There's no way Andrezj could keep me on after that, even if he wanted to."

Because you've bothered to have a clue about what constitutes abuse or misconduct in the workplace.

Fresh tears threaten to fall at the thought of it.

Why? For the love of God, someone tell me why she wants to cry because of this?

How could I have been so reckless?

Agreed, it's not the Sophie we're being told she is. Kinda being the Sophie we're seeing though. Reckless and thoughtless.

"Baby, I'm so proud of you," Billy says, kissing the back of my hand.

If I walked out of my job because I'd assaulted someone and I told my mum? She would actually kill me. She'd make me grovel for my job, replace the gentleman's suit and handwrite an apology with a present as a goodwill gesture. She'd tell me I was fucking stupid and did I really think I could have a decent future now? So I am extra annoyed by the lack of responsibility either of these fuckwits have in regards to work and this particular situation.

"What? Why?"

I'm starting to get annoyed by the amount of speeches starting with the word 'what' for no real reason. You heard, bitch. I need more man candy pictures.

 

(OMFG, I want a Nick to my Jess!)

"Because you stood up for yourself."

No she didn't! She assaulted someone!

"Hardly! I just saw red."

Well, more of a light brown topped with white ...

"I think there's more to it than that. This guy ... was he the only one to treat you this badly?"

I take it back. I am now going

 

Treat her badly? TREAT HER BADLY? *punches the wall*

"No," I admit sheepishly, taking a gulp of my tea.

*punches and punches and punches and punches and breaks hand and screams in frustration and pain and complete rage* *gulps tea of her own while flipping her Kindle the birdie* it's not you, Kindle, it's your content. I know, I know, it's my fault.

"What? Seriously, baby, if I'd known that you were being treated so badly I'd have stopped you working there. I can't believe you've not told me this stuff."

I can, because she doesn't tell anyone shit. She just grunts and flaps, and holds out cake.

"It's not like everything about the place was bad," I try and reason. "Besides, I thought something better would come along quickly. I didn't realize I'd be stuck there quite so long."

Better how? All you have experience in is slinging cakes! You never asked Molly to learn how to do the books, or take courses in the mean time. You have nothing that stands out. Fuck. You.

"Why didn't you tell me Sophie?" he asks, as a frown appears on his face.

Because she doesn't say shit.

"You've got a lot on," I shrug.

Bullshit. I hate you so much, Sophie May.

"That's a rubbish excuse."

And it makes no sense either.

"What? You've been busy with the show - I haven't wanted to bother you with my nonsense."

'And if you didn't have the show, I'd have another excuse! We barely know each other, we've kept different hours, it's too soon in our relationship for you to see my full on bunny boiler!'

"Why didn't you tell me you were so unhappy?"

Because she put so much effort into telling you she was ecstatic. Did you forget I read the previous chapters?

"I'm not unhappy," I lie.

You always fucking lie.

"I think crying and saying you hate being in London and that you want to go home kinda constitutes being unhappy."

That Billy, his intuition is uncanny.

"Billy ..." I say, burying my head in my hands. "I'm just not very good at saying I need help!"

That makes no sense. It implies there's been no offers of help and she would have had to actively seek it yet her inner turmoil that we don't see really refuses to let her. But in reality, she's offered help a lot, and she pig-headedly refuses because she wants to be a martyr.

"Why not?"

*facepalms*

I look at his loving face and think about spilling my guts. Getting everything out there and telling him exactly what has happened to make me resist depending on others for the majority of my life.

*groans* I hate martyr complexes. *shoots dirty looks at Carter and Lambrini* if either of you start this shit, I'm going to write you getting herpes.

But Billy starts speaking again before I get the chance.

I wonder how long that silence lasted for before he felt he needed to bring her back on this planet. Like when JD daydreams on Scrubs

 

"Admit it, you've hated it here, haven't you?"

Every fucking second. Oh, sorry Billy, were you asking Sophie?

"No!"

Lying a-fucking-gain.

"I dragged you to London so that we can be closer, but then stay out late every night while you have a shitty job and spend your nights alone," he pauses to let out a heavy sigh. "I'm so sorry for being so selfish."

*stares* *stares harder* *eyeballs start to leave face*

Did ... did I not say this shit before?

"No, no, no. It's not your fault."

*screams* *pulls hair out* *remembers broken hand when intense pain starts* *screams again*

"I could've made things better."

He can fix you, he has the technology.

"It's not you. I guess it's just not been what I thought it would be like. If I'm honest, I've been lonely."

If she's honest. If.

 

Billy stares at me, silently, allowing me to continue.

Billy's probably thinking 'Bitch, you live in my house, I want you chained to the bed, and you're defying me then complaining that you're lonely? Shut the fuck up, fool!'

"Back at home I spent so much time on my own, but never once felt lonely. Here, even though I see hundreds more people each day, I've never felt lonelier. Sitting at home each night, I don't have a clue what to do with myself. Outside the streets are buzzing with excitement and I'm not a part of it. But you are."

Yeah, Billy Buskin. It's YOUR fault!

"That's why I've tried to get you to come out with me, so that you could make some friends here."

Think I made that point too.

"It's not about friends, Billy. Not really. I've never really had many of those," I say honestly. "It just doesn't feel like home."

*pauses.* *breathes* Did you read the undertones of that as well? She's implying she doesn't want friends and hasn't had many because she doesn't need them. Fuck her. Fuck her so bad.

Jodie, Charli, Cat, Kelly, Bethan, Lydia, Tom, Dale, Devon, Sammie, Sandee, and anyone else I might randomly annoy on Facebook and Twitter ... she's obviously never met anyone half as awesome as you guys, because if she had she might shut the actual fuck up.

"Yet," Billy adds.

Ugh. Just ugh.

I look up at him, his eyes big and hopeful.

 

"Molly said something interesting to me yesterday, about grabbing the opportunities life throws your way," he says.

I thought this was a crock of shit last chapter, but I've had a rethink. This is Molly projecting, saying she's going to throw caution to the wind because, Fuck Cancer and these berks are so self-centred that they miss the point.

"She said something similar to me." Perhaps, I think, she's been more tuned in to how unhappy I've been than I thought.

Or maybe, she was trying to tell you her own shit. It's not all about you, Mary Sue.

"Well, I think we should take that on board and not waste time doing something one of us hates ..."

Like each other?

I sigh, knowing what he's about to say.

But not doing anything to stop him saying it.

"Will you please stop being so proud and forget the idea of getting another job?" he asks.

Like I said, she walked out of her job without working notice, after assaulting a customer. You are good on that front, she's not going to have a job until the dole office force her to collect eggs from chickens or some shitty job my brother had to do once. Plus, like I said earlier, her CV is going to look dross. One simple job for eight years, no career progression within the job, no extra curriculars or further studying? No charity work? Re-reads the same select books? Yeah ... prize catch.

"But -"

She's really going to debate whether she can get another job?

"Just for a little while? I've only got a couple of weeks left on the show anyway and after that, well, who knows where we'll be. But I want you in my life. Actually in it. With me."

Isn't that how you conned her to live with you, Billy?

"It would make things easier if we actually spent time together," I say, giving the idea some thought.

Hallelujah!

"Exactly."

I swear, they're both morons.

"And I do have my savings, so I could dip into those if I needed to."

SO USE THEM TO MAKE UP A CAKE BUSINESS! What would the start up investment actually be, five hundred quid?

"Well, we'll see about that, shall we?" he says, raising his eyebrows at me.

That is ... sleazy.

Billy's always been amazed at the fact that I'd managed to raise so much simply from working in a teashop, so I know he'd hate to see me dwindle it away now.

She has no life. She doesn't like fashion. She doesn't read outside of the Bronte's or Austen. She eats at work. I don't think she paid her mother rent, so what does she have to spend her money on?

"I just want you to realize that what's mine is yours," he continues. You don't even have to ask - just take one of my cards and keep it with you."

*gobsmacked* So, she can't spend her money, because the precious few thousand she's racked up in eight years might disappear and that would be a travesty for hard-earned money, but of course she can take his black Amex and go to town on the thing, because there's a couple of hundred thousand minimum spend per month or some shit so she might as well waste his cash.

I ... I can't ... IT DOESN'T MAKE ANY SENSE TO ME! Why? Why would he be so insistent she be so reliant on his money when they still hardly know each other and he's just made that insinuation about the worth of money?

"No! I couldn't do that!" I protest.

You shouldn't. It smells like a weird trap to me.

"Of course you could. Seriously, we're a team. I hate the thought of me eating out at The Ivy or somewhere and you stressing over whether you can afford a sandwich from M&S. It's stupid."

A team. You've spent how long together so far? And I love that he doesn't invite her to The Ivy himself. And her thousands in savings couldn't even cover a £3 sandwich.

"M&S? Do you realize how much their sandwiches cost?" I ask with a laugh - Billy's understanding of money and how much things should cost are so different to mine. "Look, it's a very nice offer but I've not had to rely on anyone else for money for a long time. There's no way I can just start now." I explain.

But you never fucked over your chances of employment before, either.

"You won't be relying on me. Just take one of my cards and act like it's yours," he pleads.

Question - say she does this. She goes on a nice spending spree with his card. The till clerk rings up a card with 'Billy Buskin' written on it. She either needs the chip and pin or the signature for it. How long until she gets hauled into the local police station on a fraud investigation?

"But what would I do with all that free time?" I ask.

Read Wuthering Heights again, I guess.

"Spend it with me? Or walk around London? Visit museums and do all the touristy things you've not done yet?" he says with a grin. "Come on. Surely anything is better than working in a place where you're not valued?"

Why does he have to be her fucking ideas person? In London no less! So she's not gotten intimate with Covent Garden, or Waterloo, or walked from Charing Cross to Euston Square? London Zoo, Whipsnade Zoo, London Eye, the o2, Buckingham Palace, Hyde Park, Camden Market, Oxford Street, Kensington Gardens, the museums, the London dungeon, the tower of London, the Thames, South Bank, London Bridge, Millenium Bridge, the globe, Ben's Cookies ...

... she doesn't deserve you, London.

"I guess so."

*grinds teeth* I'm not going into it again. The responsibility lecture I mean.

Could there be a way of this actually working without me feeling like I'm taking the mickey and sponging off Billy?

No. In short, no. Because he wants you to sponge off him. My only guess is that he wants to start beating her up. He's already isolated her from anyone she claims to care about.

Is there a way of keeping some independence and maintaining some sort of structure?

*points to Coffee Matters silently, hoping the point comes across to Sophie soon enough.*

"What about if I clean and do all the washing?" I offer.

Don't strain yourself.

Billy raises his eyebrows at me, not sold on the idea.

Me either, I bet she'd stick your dry cleaning in the wash.

"No, listen. If I do that then at least I'd feel like I'm earning my keep. I won't feel like I'm just scrounging off you."

*sighes*

"So you'd rather fill up your time with cleaning and washing?"

*refuses to talk*

"Billy, it's a two-bedroom flat - there honestly won't be much to do. I can do it all while you're at work. I've never understood why you had a cleaner anyway."

*still refusing to talk* *although, great imagery of him banging the cleaner.*

"All right, then," he finally agrees, even though he doesn't seem thrilled to do so."This means that at the moment we'll be together in the days, all day long ..."

He's just realising what he's agreed to.

"Yep," I say excitedly.

She's giving me reaction whiplash. Nothing in the prose so far has indicated that she'd get excited.

"And with no job to wake up for in the mornings you can come and meet me out for dinner or whatever after the show."

I thought they went for dinner? It's just the whatever after the show that she's removed her excuses for.

"If you like!" I say, trying to hide the fact that I'm not overly keep on the idea.

Lying through her teeth again. She doesn't want to share, Billy, do you not get that?

"But most of the time I can come and meet you back here and we can just chill?"

I think he heard her fakeness. Or she's whipped him too hard.

"Sounds perfect!"

Ugh, really?

"You know the only reason I've not come back is because I've known you'd be asleep and I haven't wanted to wake you. You know that, right? It's never been because I haven't wanted to spend time with you," he says earnestly.

Bullshit. It's because you were starting to realise you made a mistake when she got all huffy with Fiona for eating her Pavlova and daring to smoke in her Billy's her house.

"I know ..."

She doesn't.

"Promise me that if you ever feel low or unhappy you'll tell me, OK? I don't want there to be any secrets between us."

With the 'OK' again. And there's always going to be secrets between you two, because Sophie's a huge fucking liar.

"I promise. Actually, Billy, there's something -"

-that will get conveniently cut off, because that's what happens in fanfiction!

Tell me this isn't fanfiction. A famous guy has just apparently fallen head over heels in love with this girl who has no outstanding qualities and he's throwing attention and money at her. Which I've only ever seen in fanfiction. Fuck you, Mary Sue.

His mobile starts ringing, drawing his attention away from me as he pulls it out of his pocket.

Like when you're on a bad date, and the date gets an 'emergency phone call' right?

"Ah, it's Paul. Is it ok if I get this? He left me a message earlier on but I haven't called him back yet."

*coughs*bollocks*coughs*

"Of course!"

She's too perky now that Billy's bending to her whims *eye twitches*

Billy gives me a kiss before turning away and picking up his phone.

Did he put it down?

"Paul, mate! So sorry - I've only just got up," he says, walking into the bedroom.

He's lying too!

That was my chance.

And she'll never get another one. She can't even go back to Billy later and say 'Billy, there's something that's been on my mind. I haven't told you so far because I've been so happy that you're willing to go out with a girl like me and I didn't want to burst the bubble. But I have to get it off my chest, because it's eating away at me. Billy, my dad died, and I've never gotten over it.'

Oh, and hey, talking of deceased fathers, going back to Sarah Dessen? She wrote a book called 'The Truth About Forever' in which the main character, Macy Queen, witnessed her dad have a heart attack and die. You find out about the whole thing on page 8. TTAF is about 100 pages longer than BAM. Because Sarah is a freaking artist, and understands about the reveal within the climax of the main plot points.

I could have told him about dad and what happened all those years ago.

He died. You might have seen it. You couldn't stop it. Done.

Explained the struggles that have turned me into the person I am today.

Whiny and neurotic and demanding?

Argh!

I am Sophie May Longbeard, sailing the Seven Seas!

Billy yelps with joy in the other room - Paul has obviously given him some good news.

Or he was beating one out.

The moment has now passed.

She's referring to the moment to tell Billy about her dad. I think it's meant to be somewhat anticlimatic, and a bit of a cliffhanger, but I really have it by now. Her dad died. Sucks, but not a huge secret.

"You are not going to believe it!" Billy says, running into the lounge where I'm curled up with a battered copy of Jane Eyre.

When did she pull that out? And I thought her mother got her a brand new copy to stop her having that tatty thing. Oh, wait, both of them were library books, weren't they? The fuck she doing with that then? Unless, and this is a novel idea, she spends her free time reading like she claims to be big on.

I would kill to read all day, everyday.

"What's happened?"

Fuck all. Except if Rochester's Mad Wife is putting in an appearance. She was a pretty good twist in an otherwise shitty book.

"Honestly, I've never been so excited!"

Can't you tell from my giant erection?

"Come on! Out with it!"

Ewwwwww!

"That was Paul ..."

EWWWWWWWWW!

"Yeeeees ..."

Okay, we're both dragging words out now, that's just creepy. And blogging with elongated words is fine, but putting it into print is something else entirely. Use your dialogue tags, for fucks sake.

"Right, well, there are two bits of information actually," Billy says, ruffling his hair and making it stand up on end like a mad person. "OK, the first thing - I read this script a few months ago and loved it. It was this semi-biopic about a crazy rock star in the seventies - really gritty and miles away from anything I've ever done before." The words are gushing out of his mouth with such enthusiasm that I can't help but beam at him as he continues. "I really wanted to be considered to play the rock star but the producers weren't too sure about casting me in it because of Halo, they kept saying I was too clean for it or whatever - but Paul brought them in to see Dunked the other night and, well, it looks like they want me for it!"

That's a coincidence.

"That's amazing!"

An amazing coincidence.

"I know! One look at my backside and they were gripped!" he laughs. "The best bit is it's filming just outside of London, and so I'll be able to push for us to stay here and have a car and driver every day instead. I think that will be nicer for us."

*facepalms* one look at his ass and they said yes? Who is he, Kylie Minogue? Or

 

Check that ass out!

"That's brilliant!" I say. Pleased that he won't be leaving home on this job either. "What's it called?"

Well, isn't that just so convenient?

"At the moment, it's called The Walking Beat, but that might change," He takes a deep breath before continuing. "But enough about that ... the second thing is just a little bit more exciting."

That's a crap title. It sounds like he has Jason Lee's role in Almost Famous

 

"More exciting?" I repeat.

She sounds like she's picked up my I-haven't-really-got-brain-damage-from-TTP-honestly tricks there.

"Yes ... I can't believe I'm saying this," he says, a smile spreading across his lips.

Nor can I. And was he smearing that smile on like butter?

"Go on!" I urge him as he pauses for dramatic effect.

Because he's an actor. So he's all affected. And dramatic. And shit.

"I've been nominated for a BAFTA award!"

Ew. Why?

"What?" I squeal.

With the starting the speech with the word 'what' again! YOU HEARD HIM!

"A bloody BAFTA! For Best Actor!"

... Really?

I jump on him, screaming with excitement.

And then they fuck on the living room floor.

"That's incredible!" I gush.

So incredible she gushes! What is gushing? Blood? Girl juices? Tears?

"I know ... I never thought this day would come. I've always been told, 'Once a teen star, always a teen star,' but this proves them wrong. I've been nominated for a bloody BAFTA ... I can't believe it!"

At least you're not taking a wee in a mop bucket, I guess. Or piercing your cheeks and smoking weed as you plow your Merc into other cars.

"For Halo?"

The only thing she knows he's been in.

"God, no! You must be joking. It's for this one I shot last year called Twisted Drops, all about a soldier in the First World War who gets captured by the French. Gosh, I can't believe it!"

Captured by the French? In the Great War? Did they do shit like that? Catty, you're the one I know who's most passionate about history, and been to Berlin and all, is that a real thing or is he earning accolades on poor research (a little like this book!)

I just sit, smiling at him, unsure what else to say.

So no different from the usual, then.

"And I've decided I want you with me on the red carpet," he says decisively. "By my side. I don't want you shunted off somewhere in the corner waiting around for me. Like I said earlier, I want you with me. Next to me."

Because I'm Billy Buskin Bitch, and I always get my way!

"What?" I say in shock. "Are you serious?"

No, he's a fucking clown.

"Deadly."

... that seems ominous with the free-for-all on the money and her not living near her support system and not being allowed a job she couldn't get anyway.

Paul's words on Billy's opening night start replaying in my ears. He'll hate this.

Like you fucking know. And you misconstrued those words.

"Have you mentioned this to Paul?"

They were just on the phone, what do you think?

"Not yet," he says with a shrug.

*facepalms*

"I have a feeling he's not going to be too impressed with this idea ... it's going to be a big night for you and your career, Billy. It's far bigger than your Press Night and we both know that he didn't want me anywhere near you then!"

Yeah, just for Press Night/Opening Night/whatever fucked up terminology we're using.

"I don't care. I want to share the night with you and I want to show the world how beautiful the love of my life is," he says, kissing me and pulling me close.

They've known each other how long now? And spent how long together? And she's the love of his life and NOT freaked out by this?

Giovanna, you're not writing you and Tom. You changed the premise, so it does NOT work for Sophie and Billy. It's creepy. So freaking creepy.

"You really think it's going to be that simple?"

The red carpet will be. The gossip magazines afterwards however ...

"Of course ... I'll talk to Paul."

Poor Paul.

Later that day, after lounging around on the sofa for most of the morning while Billy calls his family to tell them the good news, he plucks up the courage to phone Paul and tell him that he'd like me to join him on the red carpet.

Or maybe he has a big family - which is in the canon - and spoke to them all, and when he finally got off the phone with them, he made the call to Paul.

Well, I say 'tell' but the pleading, whining and endless discussion that I can hear from Billy in the bedroom suggests he's having to work hard to get Paul to agree.

'But whyyyy can't I have my beard with me, Paul?'

He is on the phone for two hours.

Knocking one out behind Sophie's back.

"All sorted." announces Billy, when he finally walks back into the room and joins me on the sofa.

And she was doing what the entire two hours he was on the phone?

"Really?" I ask hesitantly.

No, not really.

Billy looks drained. I've never seen him so pale. His tone might be upbeat but the look on his face is one of deflation.

Maybe he had bad news from his family and he's covering up the torment by discussing frivolities like awards ceremonies with you? Also, if this is late April/early May the way the timeline works out? The fuck are the BAFTA's doing? They happen in February.

I've no doubt that Paul has spent the whole conversation trying to get Billy to uninvite me.

I hope Paul is that smart. Hope Billy listens to that advice too.

"Look, if it's a problem I really don't mind watching from home."

Fucking martyrs.

"What?"

*grinds teeth*

"I'll be fine."

'I-I-I-I, I'll be okay!' ... mcfly song.

"No way!" says Billy, scooping me up and sliding me onto his lap. "I want you with me, remember?"

Billy sounds like a cartoon, or one of the guys in that board game

'Hi, it's Billy, and I can't wait to go out with YOU, beautiful!'

"And what did Paul say about that?" I prompt.

'That he's jealous, and wants to know when it's his turn to bang you. You see, Sophie, Paul and I share a lot ...'

"He was fine with it," he says with a shrug as he starts to stroke his hand along my thigh.

Wow, we're getting off the PG rating and heading straight down the risky road to PG-13, aren't we?

"Billy?"

"Well, OK ... once he knew I wasn't going to back down he was," he says with a cheeky grin.

Ah, romance!

"That sounds more believable."

Because Paul is to be hated, for not loving Mary Sue Sophie with minimal effort.

"It's all good, though, he gets it now. He's even offered to help find you a dress."

That's mighty out of character. 'No Billy, she shouldn't go with you, or do press with you. Does she like Valentino? I'll give them a call.'

"What? Why?"

 

The thought of traipsing around shops with Paul does not fill me with delight. Yes, I know I said that I'd be willing to give him another chance in case I was wrong about him and his condescending ways - it was an important night - but does that chance really have to occur while I'm in a heightened state of paranoia dress shopping?

Yeah, I know I said I'd give him a chance but I don't want to because then I might find out I'm wrong about him, so I won't. And boy's can't go clothes shopping! I mean, duh, Billy!

"It's a special night, so you need a special dress. Paul's good with stuff like that."

*giggles* I'll bet.

"But I've already found a dress!" I blurt.

Is it black with red roses on it?

"You have?"

I'm just as surprised, Billy.

"Yep. I saw a lovely dress in Warehouse a few days ago."

Warehouse. She bitches him out about the Marks and Spencers sandwiches comment, but tries to go shopping in Warehouse. If she was truly girl-next-door-thinking-high-end, she'd mention Republic, Top Shop, Jane Norman or Monsoon.

Actually, this is true, it was a lovely black ruched number with a swooping cowl neckline - simple but dressier than I would normally go for.

I'm picturing a number 9 with extra frilly bits.

"Baby," he says with a chuckle as he squeezes me closer to him. "That is exactly why I love you."

Because you have no clue either! We're a match made in dumb heaven, even if we're both on our way to dumb pergatory. But we're both so stupid, we'll never figure it out.

"What is?"

If you couldn't tell already, I am so bored with the banal conversation. I'm trying to make my own fun. The speeches used as prompts are just. So. Dull.

"Thinking you can go to something like this wearing something from the high street."

Yeah, peasant, how dare you think that you can attend a function that happened three months ago in something as gauche as high street. Why, anyone could wear that shit.

"Why can't I? It's what I can afford," I say honestly. "Plus I don't really fancy going on a shopping trip with Paul."

How much does she have in savings, again?

Billy cracks up with laughter.

I would too, but this fanfic is killing my soul.

I look at him in bemusement. "What's so funny?"

I don't know, but the bemusement you're describing means you too find something humorous, so I don't understand the necessity for the question.

"I wondered why you looked so confused and put out about the whole thing."

It's because she's anti-social, and somewhat of a possessive bitch. Look at your ass again, Billy, she's probably Sharpie'd her name down there.

"I don't get it."

See what I mean? She could have had him do something tender, like stroke her hair or trace along her arm before continuing the explanation and we would see something of a connection between them, but instead we get that shit.

"Paul won't actually be taking you out shopping, there's not going to be a Pretty Woman moment where a snobby woman in some posh shop ridicules you for just walking in there."

Because all women, everywhere, aspire to have that scene occur. Fuck off. It reads a little bit like it's going to go:

 

"Well, that's good," I say, getting even more confused.

Easily done.

"All Paul is going to do is send an email out, or make a few calls, to a few fashion PRs and see whether they'd like to dress you for the event. They'll then send him dresses in your size to try on and wear if you want to."

Do they go past a size ten?

"But I don't want that ..."

*laughs* Sophie thinks it's about what she wants anymore!

"Why not?"

"Because I won't be able to afford those clothes and I don't want you to pay for something so extravagant."

*laughs harder*

"No, they don't send them expecting you to pay for them."

I know this shit, and I've never been involved in any awards ceremonies or premieres or any of that. How comes I know this stuff and clueless Sophie can't comprehend any of it?

"Huh?"

"Whatever you decide not to wear, you just send back. And usually what you do wear you get to keep - depending on the designer and whether they're tight or not. The stingier ones will ask you to send it back unwashed in case you shrink it. At lease, I think that's how it works for girls."

'How it works for girls' my ass. He's had this happen. Some designer ragged at Billy for the dress he wore and ruined.

"So, basically, I don't have to go out to shop because all these dresses are going to come here for me to try on, and then whatever I do wear I don't have to pay a penny for?" I say, trying to get my head around this bizarre arrangement.

We don't need any of this paragraph. It's been explained, why is it now being reiterated? How much of this book is necessary?

"That's right. The biggest question you'll be asked on the night is, 'Who are you wearing?' That's why they do it. It's good publicity for them - especially if you're standing with someone who's nominated for Best Male Actor," he says with a cocky grin.

Access Hollywood won't be there, or E! so who is going to ask that? It's not so much a British thing as an American thing. And Giovanna has lived in Essex most of her life, so where's she getting this much American shit from? This asked by a girl who goes stateside on average once a year.

Once Billy has left for work I jump straight on the phone to Molly, to fill her in on the news.

Because Molly is her only pseudo-friend. Remember, she said she doesn't have friends. What exactly is Molly to her?

"Guess where I'm going!" I blurt out as soon as she picks up.

Without any reference to the fact they're using mobiles, so Molly probably has to work out who the fuck is talking.

"Where? Tea with the Queen?"

I'm going to guess that's sarcasm while she works out who's randomly called her up.

"Not quite," I laugh.

Molly is like, so funny!

"Off to Barbados with Simon Cowell?"

Ew, why? Also, he's now a Baby-Daddy. So is Molly implying that Sophie should get knocked up by Simon Cowell too? Because gross.

"No!"

At last Sophie, we agree on something!

"That's a shame - he always looks like he's having so much fun on those jet skis. Where then?"

Yeah, just on the jet skis ;)

"The BAFTAs!"

And they're still not clued in that they happened three months ago.

"Noooooooooo!" she says in amazement. "With all them fancy people in those nice dresses?"

*speechless* did Molly just call celebrities 'them fancy people'?

"Yes!"

Apparently so.

"That'll be lovely!"

"Annnd ..." I tease.

"Yeees?"

Oh God, shoot me now. This takes up a quarter page of a keyboard Kindle. And there's no substance. And I hate Sophie and Molly.

"Billy's up for the best actor award!"

"No!"

I'm just as shocked.

"Yes!"

"Well, that's blooming exciting, isn't it, love! You must be over the moon!"

... why? Did she earn the nomination? Will she get the award herself? Billy must be over the moon, surely? But I guess he doesn't matter, because this is the Mary Sue's accolade by proxy.

"It's all a bit bizarre!"

Tell me about it.

"How are you going to have your hair?"

Shaved off. Bald. And the stubble dyed lime green.

"I haven't thought about that, I don't even know what I'm wearing yet, Mol."

Oh, what a conundrum!

"I think you should have it up in that plait style you did once - was it at Christmas? I thought that looked very pretty."

This book is now showing its age.

The hairstyle in question was to try and disguise a ghastly fringe I'd decided to give myself. It looked awful. A plait working its way along the top of my head was the only way I could get rid of it.

Or kirby grip it up, start a quiff ... and I usually leave my hair down and curly or in a bun. Yet I can think out of the hair box. Anyway, her using the word ghastly makes me cringe. Last time I heard that was the first Bridget Jones film, and that's getting a bit old now. Who the fuck talks like that?

"Actually, I think someone's coming over to do all of that."

"Really?"

"Yes, this team of people are coming over apparently, to make me look like a star," I chuckle.

So then you don't think; you know, you are aware.

"You already are a star, love. No amount of make-up or hairspray is going to make you more so. What about a dress? Oh, there are some great sales on at the moment. I saw a lovely purple number in Monsoon the other day ..."

... she's already a star? What? Because she got papped with someone vaguely recognisable in the world? Because she can make cake? Because she's now unemployable? And lol, what did I say about Monsoon?

"Actually Mol," I say, interrupting her before she runs away with herself. "Paul's sorting it all out."

"Paul? The manager who doesn't like you?"

Did Sophie ever blab this notion to Molly? I actually can't remember, but I'm pretty doubtful.

"You said not to read too much into that!"

"Did I?"

Did she? I thought that was Sophie reasoning with herself.

I can sense that Molly is disappointed.

The force is not strong in this one.

"Don't worry, he's just asking a few designers to send me dresses to try."

"Why would they do that?" she asks, equally as confused by the idea as I was.

It's like the dumb leading the dumber, isn't it?

I fill her in on the dress-loaning thing, which seems even more of an alien concept now I'm saying it out loud. It lifts her mood.

Because she's getting a designer dress in return for advertising?

"So that's how it's all done!" she says, impressed that she now has some insider knowledge into this bizarre world. "Ooh, if anything turns up in a size fourteen and you don't have to send it back, send it my way."

I don't picture Molly as slim as a fourteen. Is she saying Paul thinks Sophie is a fourteen? I'm a fourteen ... and I really, really, seriously doubt any designer is going to make a dress my size. God, the expense of that ... Molly, you're shit out of luck. Stop talking.

"And what would you do with a designer frock?" I ask, giggling.

Why, use it as a table cloth, or a doily!

"I don't know, I've never had one before ... it can be my new uniform. Or maybe I'll get buried in it."

She would bake. In a designer dress. And from the sounds of things, they're both crap because Sophie was permanently covered in flour, so Molly is just asking for a designer dress to ruin it.

And yeah, I noticed the burial comment. But it was actually well placed, considering the cancer storyline coming up. Better than the haircut hint.

"Molly!" I shriek in shock. "Don't be so morbid."

'Molly!' I shriek in shock. 'Don't hint at your storyline, it overshadows mine! That's a no-no!'

"Well," she sighs. "Oh, you'll look stunning on that red carpet, duck. I can't wait to see you on it. Is it shown live? Yes, I think it usually is! I'll have to ask your mum over to watch it with me, or maybe I could do something in the shop. That'll be nice."

It's shown the day after. In February. We're in May ... and bollocks she's going to open the teashop from 7pm-11pm in nine months time.

"No, Mol, don't go to all that trouble, they probably won't even show me."

Probably.

"Of course they will, you'll be with Billy!" she argues.

Because a camera can't ever edit out the people standing back slightly, or standing next to the celebrity. Never happened before, I guess.

I give up, knowing that once Molly has an idea in her head there's no getting through to her.

So she's that obtuse?

"I've got some news that you'll be please to hear," I say, changing the subject.

She hasn't asked for Molly's news once, has anyone else noticed? Molly is just a sounding board for how awesome Sophie's life is becoming.

"Yes, dear?"

"I no longer work at Coffee Matters," I declare, feeling extremely relieved to be able to say it.

She makes it sound like she didn't assault someone then just up and quit. And hey, you know what's going to happen with that too? The Coffee Matters staff are going to talk. 'Oh, that girl with Billy Burke? She used to work here. She was slow and got orders wrong, she was rude to the customers, and threw a drink on one of them then quit. Billy can do so much better.'

"That's brilliant!" she chimes. "What made you decide to leave so suddenly? Yesterday you were on about sticking at it for a while longer."

Which is the mature, responsible approach when you have to be self-sufficient and have nothing else set up.

"Actually, I had to quit before they sacked me," I admit truthfully.

Because she lies through her teeth so goddamn much.

"What?" Molly shrieks, enjoying the shocking news. "What did you do?"

"I may have chucked a drink over some rude man's head."

We know already.

The laughter that booms through the phone continues for the next five minutes, causing me to break into hysterics myself.

It's so funny to assault someone because we perceive them as lacking in manners!

Every time we try and speak up again the laughter bubbles up and we land up in a fit of giggles once more.

It's really not that funny. Unless, I guess, you're total bitches.

 

 Eventually we both give up trying and decide to talk tomorrow instead.

While never asking Molly about her life. So fucking rude.

That night I agree to meet Billy at the theatre after the show so that the two of us can go for a celebratory dinner at J Sheekey - a place known for its posh fish and chips.

Posh fish and chips is still fish and chips, just overpriced and there are tables in the restaurant.

I'm standing at the stage door waiting for him to come out when Paul arrives with what can only be described as a leggy blonde.

A leggy blonde what? I'm picturing a leg itself, with a Hannah Montana wig on it.

Paul is dressed in another smart suit, this time in a dark green, and his companion is in skin-tight jeans, a baggy t-shirt, a fluffy jacket and boots

Why the random mention of clothes?

 On me the outfit would look like I hadn't bothered to make an effort - but on her it looks simply stunning.

Hmmm, she's in a t-shirt and jeans, is she possibly a typical theatre goer? #justsaying.

Her bouncy blonde waves and perfect red lips add to the glamour.

I live in jeans and t-shirts, I must be so fucking glamorous.

Even though I'm sure Paul has spotted me he doesn't say anything, so, rather than pretending I've not noticed him, I walk over, reminding myself that I've decided not to hold the last time we met against him.

Or maybe he's met you once and maybe seen your picture one other time so he's mistaken you for a fan who thinks she can get an autograph if she hangs around the back door long enough. Which I've totally never done ... and look at Sophie, deigning to speak to someone first! I thought Paul had to do all the work and get bitched out for trying?

"Paul?" I say.

He looks up at me in confusion, as though he doesn't recognize me.

Because, as I just stated, he probably doesn't.

"I'm S-"

"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry. We don't usually see you here," he says in surprise.

I think this is him pausing as he works out who the hell she is. I bet Billy's been having some on the side so Paul assumed he's moved on and he wouldn't see Sophie again. I'd put money on it.

"No, I'm usually tucked up in bed by now," I agree with a smile. "We're off to dinner to celebrate."

She doesn't explain what they're celebrating. He doesn't ask.

"How lovely."

I was wrong about him, I think, as I take in his warm and friendly smile.

Yes, you were. And nice fake pleasantries there, Paul.

"Coco," he says, turning to the woman by his side. "This is Billy's latest girlfriend, Suzy."

Nice save, acting like there was never another woman *winks* and lol, Suzy.

"Oh!" I say, embarrassed that he's called me by the wrong name. Should I correct him? Would that make us both feel stupid and uncomfortable? And what's with his use of the word 'latest'?

Yes, you should. And you might feel uncomfortable for a few seconds, but it's better than answering to Suzy until someone else speaks up in your defence.

As for Paul calling you Billy's 'latest', I'm pretty sure you googled about him and came up with a string of dalliances of Billy's. Why the shock now? And it's a fair assessment for Paul, how's he to know who's a permanent fixture in Billy's life and who's a flash in the pan?

"Suzy, it's a pleasure to meet you," Coco says in an American accent as she holds out a long slim hand to shake before leaning in for a double-cheeked kiss.

This is weird. Why the two types of greeting? And I bet Sophie wet herself over the air-kiss, since she's been cussing out anyone who hasn't done that with her so far, familiarity be damned.

I'm quite taken aback by the gesture.

No, we cuss Coco out for giving Sophie what she wanted! I guess it's because Coco's semi-described as gorgeous, and is therefore a threat.

She is spellbinding.

So is Sophie having a girlgasm or what?

Out of the corner of my eye I spot Billy walking out of the theatre with his arm draped around Ruth's shoulders.

Oh, Ruth you bitch! Looking more like Billy's girlfriend than Sophie! Sophie is so out for Ruth's blood.

Spotting me, he says his goodbyes and gives her a kiss on the cheek before coming over. She waves to me before walking off in the opposite direction.

I think Billy's warned her off talking to Sophie. Sophie's clearly not right in the head.

"Don't you look gorgeous," Billy says as he approaches me and leans over to kiss me.

Does she? I have no idea what she's wearing, unlike Paul and Coco.

"Great show tonight, Bill!" says Paul, slapping him on the back.

"Paul! I didn't expect to see you here!"

"I'd completely forgotten that I had two tickets booked for tonight. I was going to cancel them but Coco rang to say she was in town."

If you were going to cancel them, then you didn't forget. You can forget to cancel them, but I guess this is a hard concept to grasp.

"Coco?" he says, turning to the blonde beauty. "Coco!" He grabs her in a tight embrace. "How long's it been?"

Blonde beauty ... I am now picturing Coco as a horse.

"Too long, darling!"

Look darling, I sound so affected, like any fanfic author believes models/actresses/assholes sound like! I totally forget that Kate Moss and Lily Cole are in the same industry and sound like any other person!

As the two of them talk about the last time they say each other, Paul leans into me and quietly informs me, "Billy and Coco go way back - both of their careers took off at the same time, although Coco's in modelling. I always hoped they'd hook up, it would've been headline heaven - but Billy had his own ideas."

Thank you for the info dump, Paul. It didn't seem out of place at all.

"Right," I respond flatly, miffed as to why he would share this information with me.

My God, she's a bitch.

Billy looks at his watch. "I'm so sorry, guys, but we have a table booked for dinner at J Sheekey."

Why would you do that after bumping into a friend you haven't seen in so long?

"Leaving poor Coco so soon? Oh, I wouldn't stand for that, my dear," Paul stirs, giving her a little nudge and causing her to pout at Billy.

Paul wants to get LAID.

Billy gives them an apologetic look and turns to me with a shrug. "I'm sure we can get a bigger table ..."

Or cancel the reservation and go somewhere else. I guess it's a little rude he hasn't even okayed this with Sophie, but also, I can see why he'd want to catch up with his friend while she's breezing through town. Plus, he knows Sophie would say yes brightly while wishing Coco would fuck off and die, so he's making sure he gets what he wants, and I'm kind of impressed by that.

"Great!" beams Paul.

I should probably say something about how it's rude they're just making assumptions, but of these four people, one is not like the other, one does not belong. Plus, Sophie might not give a shit one way or another about having and maintaining friendships, but it's something Billy is clearly passionate about, and I find myself siding with him here.

He takes Coco by the arm and starts to guide her towards the restaurant.

I bet he does. Paul is clearly all up about Coco.

"Sorry," Billy mouths at me as we start to follow our meal-crashers along the pavement.

Save it Billy, you'd be in the doghouse either way. It's just that this way, you get to see some friends.

If at the start of the night I was in any doubt that Paul had engineered the whole evening in a big to try and sabotage our romantic meal, I'm not now.

Where the hell did that come from? Sorry, but did Paul know before he bumped into Sophie that she and Billy had plans? Did he come purely with the intention of ruining her life, or was it a coincidence and this is the sort of thing that happens when you know more than three people?

He has somehow managed to work it so that I'm stuck next to him, in some tediously awkward conversation, while we look across the table at Billy and Coco who are engrossed in chatter about their mutual friends.

She's not even happy she gets to look at Billy at dinner. And maybe Billy sat next to Coco, since Coco was there first? Why is Paul such a bad guy in this?

All of whom I've never heard of.

So back to her usual cluelessness, then.

"So, I'll get someone to phone or email a few places tomorrow to see about getting some dresses sent to you," says Paul, as he dabs the side of his mouth with his napkin.

That's a good conversation starter. Personally, I'd have been like 'oh, thank you so much Paul! I was worried that, because I'm not exactly model thin, they wouldn't have anything to cater for my size. And it's so generous of you to do this for me.'

"Thank you, that's kind of you."

"Not at all. If Billy's insistent on taking you we can't have you going in any old thing. You have to make a good impression," he smiles tightly - the warmth disappearing slightly. "You'll be amongst people like Coco here ... although, saying that, she'd look good in a bin bag. Not everyone would."

He's worried about how Billy will look by proxy, and how Sophie will carry herself in a ten-thousand pound minimum dress. And he's talking up Coco, because he wants to fuck her. Sophie's not going to take it as another character getting praise, but about her being trashed. She's such a fucking Mary Sue.

"Are you talking about me, Paul?" Coco drawls from across the table.

Because she's high on drugs. Because that's the only way she'd fuck someone like Paul. Or something.

"Only nice things!"

'Like how I'd bang you in just those boots, you sexy thing!'

She raises her eyebrows at him before turning her attention back to Billy.

She knows Paul's on heat too. She's playing hard to get, right?

"Just look at her. That face, that body, that smile. She just oozes charisma. The sort of girl anyone would be lucky to be seen with."

He's so damn horny. The only negative I can draw is that this sort of shit happens in that kind of industry. Coco's success is probably entirely dependent on Paul getting his rocks off, but I don't think Giovanna's talented enough to include that in her novel.

He isn't directly saying anything nasty about me, in fact he hasn't referenced me at all, he is simply gushing about Coco, but it's as though he is listing all of her finer qualities to show me exactly what I lack.

*points* did you see that? DID YOU SEE THAT? DID YOU SEE HER MARY-SUE OVER PAUL'S PERVING?

"I've always been amazed by the chemistry between these two," he continues.

'Because their friendship is stronger than the sex-slave contract I have with both of them, and that disappoints me.'

"What are you saying now?" asks Billy with a tinge of irritation in his voice.

I don't get this. Billy and Coco are apparently having a major catch up about all their friends, but these interruptions of theirs smack of the notion that they have nothing to say to one another and therefore have to rely on the small talk between Paul and Sophie. It only serves to highlight that Billy is meant to be protective of Sophie, and Coco is meant to be an egomaniac fishing for compliments but both fall flat.

Paul flounders for a moment at being overheard.

I don't think he does. I think he's as confused by the interruption as me. And on a small table for four, you're going to be overheard.

I enjoy seeing him squirm, even if it is just for a nanosecond.

Because, Sophie, you're a ...

 

 

 

 

 

"That I can't believe you've not been cast opposite each other yet." He says, recovering himself. "You're a natural fit!"

You both fit around my dick, for example.

This story is bringing out the worst in me.

"Oh, Pauly!" says Coco, blushing.

"You know me, my dears, always thinking business."

Especially the business in my pants.

"But you're a model, aren't you, Coco?" I ask, a bit confused.

Because models can't do anything else. Which means I'm shit out of luck too, because Claudia in my story does both. Annabel in Just Listen did both. LILY COLE did both.

 

 

We're all just morons, I guess.

"Yes, Suzy," she starts, while leaning across and patting my hand.

*sniggers* I'm now picturing Sophie as Suzy, the Bassett Hound. It would explain the constant need for attention and entertainment.

The wrong name causes Billy to turn to me with a quizzical look.

'I know it's not Suzy ... but what is it again? Baby, right?'

"But I can't do that forever. Looks fade," she says with a sad shrug.

Ugh, really? She's sad about her 'looks fading'? I've never bought into that concept, because what I found attractive at ten I do not now. Tastes change, that's all. And I'd like to bring one person to the argument and then say no more about it. I won't have to.

 

"Not yours," chimes in Paul.

Because you ARE Kate Moss.

"Oh, Pauly, you are sweet to me. No, I've just started to have a few meetings to see where that takes me," she explains to Billy and me. "Actually, Billy, I was almost cast opposite you in The Walking Beat."

'But then they realised I can't act, so they told me to fuck off and try something else. Like presenting day time TV or a reality show.' *smiles* *flips hair* *sucks Billy's face*

"No way!" Billy exclaims. "That's the film I was telling you about today." He says to me.

Was it? I was going to forget such a shitty title as The Walking Beat. And wait, is Coco now being compared to Kate Hudson?

pictured: Billy and Coco.

"Yeah, it would have been fun, but I just got word this morning that it didn't go my way. I'm bummed. I'd have loved to play your leading lady."

'I guess I'll just have to keep playing Paul's sex slave.'

I'm secretly relieved.

It's probably not a secret, your tail probably started wagging.

The thought of Billy going to work in the presence of Coco everyday would be too much to bear.

Like Billy and Ruth, huh? And notice how Coco and Ruth are both blondes? She has got a major case of the Ana Steele's here, and the Bella Swans while we're at it. Must hate blondes, blondes are bad, grrrrrrrrr!

"Can I interest anyone in desserts or coffees?" asks the waiter.

"Ooh ... yes please!" I start, salivating at the gorgeous gooseberry crumble on the menu.

Ohboyohboyohboy, dessert!

"No thank you," answers Paul. "Perhaps just a pot of green tea?"

I would put that in the after-meal hot beverage category, so no doesn't work. Sophie's answer does. Dammit!

"Same for me," echoes Coco.

Master says I has to have the sames drinks as hims. Master will be pleased I has the sames drinks!

"Double espresso for me," says Billy.

So he doesn't have to sleep tonight! Good call, Billy!

They all turn to me to see what I'll order.

We must all wait in suspense for the Mary Sue!

There's no way I can order the crumble now they've all decided against one.

Or you can act like your 'yes please' was because you were so excited for coffee. You know, so long as it goes down your throat and not Paul's shirt.

"Yes, a pot of fresh mint tea for me please," I smile.

"Are you sure you don't want dessert?" asks Billy. "I'll share if you like?"

Again, I don't get this. She can act like she just really, really wanted mint tea (how fucking rude that it has to be fresh. I hope it comes bagged, bitch) so why's he pressuring her for dessert? Or did he notice her tail went down again when no one else wanted cake?

"No, no ... I'm good. Thank you."

*tears hair out*

 

Better ...

 

*bites fist* okay, I can carry on.

As the waiter leaves, and Coco turns to ask Billy a question about another mutual friend, Paul leans in towards me.

How does she know what Coco and Billy are chatting about if she's chatting with Paul?

"Good idea," he whispers. "All that fatty cream?"

How's he know what the hell she would have ordered?

Again, nothing is actually said.

It could be he has high cholesterol, or that he's in an image-conscious industry, or he's from Hollywood that gives him that kind of viewpoint. Californians are well known for their health food fixations (and their In-and-Out burger obsession, so what the hell, Cali?) so I thought nothing really of him saying that.

It seems Paul has decided to go for a new approach with me, and that's to leave the unsaid words to linger in the air suggestively.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter's finished. I'm out.