Anybody Out There - Marian Keyes (37 page)

"Look." Aidan pointed down at his crotch. He seemed to be indicating activity in that region. I
ignored it and continued. "You'd say, `We'd better get all this water mopped up before Mr.
Downstairs comes up to humble us for destroying his bathroom ceiling.'"
Aidan was still looking at his crotch. I followed his eyes to the tent-pole shape in his trousers. He
made a "shucks, honey," gesture and I said, "We've got to go to work."
"No." He unsnapped the bra I'd just put on.
"No!" I tried to put the bra back on.
"But you're beautiful." Gently he bit the back of my neck, "And I want you so baaaad. Feel." He
took my hand, and through the cloth I felt his erection, bent and springy and striving to be
upright. Under my touch it noticeably thickened and straightened.
Suddenly this was starting to seem like quite a nice idea but I made a last attempt to put him off.
"I'm wearing my tangerine knickers."
They were like boy's jocks. I loved them; Aidan didn't.
"I don't care," he said. "Just get them off. Like now." He wrestled me onto the bed, hiked up my
skirt, hooked his index fingers into the waistband of my tangerine jocks, whizzed them right
down to my ankles, and unhooked them over my feet.
Leaning over me, he pulled his tie undone, unzipped his fly, and whispered, "I'm gonna fuck
you." He tugged down his Calvins and his fully erect penis sprang out. I pushed him back on the
bed, the bottom buttons of his shirt undone, his pants down to his knees, his skin pale against the
navy of the suit and his shock of dark pubic hair.
His erection curved upward and he reached for me.
I slid myself down onto him, suddenly very turned on and, holding on to the headboard, began
rocking up and down. My button was rubbing against the shaft and my breasts were swinging in
his face. He nipped my nipples between sharp teeth, his hands tight on my hips, moving me up
and down his shaft, faster and faster.
The headboard was squeaking in time with his noises. "Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah!" Then: "Oh, fuck, no!"
With a final "AHHH!" and a shiver, he reared up into me, pulling me down to him. He gasped
and shuddered and bucked, and when he could speak again, he said, "Sorry, baby."
I shrugged. "You know what to do."
He rolled me over, slid a pillow under my bum, pushed my thighs apart, and I rose to meet him.
69

I   swear to God, I thought I could see an improvement in my scar the very next morning. I
couldn't be sure, but I took a photo of it just to be on the safe side. If Formula Twelve could
effect a visible improvement after one go, what would it be like after fourteen? It might come in
very handy for my pitch.
I couldn't decide which way to go with it, but obviously I didn't want to overlap with Wendell or
Lois.
I could guess what Wendell would propose because I knew her style: Wendell threw money at
things. Every beauty editor in New York would be off to Brazil on a private plane if Wendell had
anything to do with it.
Lois was a lesser-known quantity. Because the brand she currently worked on was a bit of a
Feathery Stroker one, she might stay with that approach and go on about the natural ingredients
and that sort of thing.
So, if the Brazilianness and the Naturalness aspects of Formula Twelve were already annexed,
where did that leave me?
Nothing was coming. No starbursts of inspiration. It was all I thought about; it filled my head
right up and left very little room for me to think about anything else. But something would come.
Something would have to.
What do you think? I asked Aidan. Any ideas? Divine inspiration? Now that you're dead, any
chance it could come in handy?
But no voice answered in my head. I stared at the little yellow jar and wondered.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Result!
After fuck knows how many weeks since started tailing her, finally got picture of Detta Big at
Racey O'Grady's house. Took loads of shots of Detta talking into gate intercom, driving in,
parking, getting out of the car, ringing front doorbell, going inside...
Printed them off at high speed! Then rang Colin and told him to collect me. I never meet
Harry anywhere except Corky's, but am not allowed to make own way there. Have to suffer
mortification of Austrian-blindsmobile and local kids mocking.
As usual Harry down the back drinking milk. I put envelope of photos in front of him.
Me: There's your proof. Now give me my money and let me off this boring job.
Harry opened envelope, shuffled through pics, then said: You're still on the job.
Me: Why?
Him: I like having you around the place.

Me: Do you?
Could have sworn he hated me.
Him (wearily): No. I don't know why I said that.
Me: I'm sick of this job. I want out.
Him: Well, you can't. I want you in.
Me: And I want out.
Him: You're very fond of your mother, aren't you?
Me (surprised): No, I'm not.
Where did he get that mad idea from?
Me: Are you threatening me?
Him: Yes.
Me: Well, you'll have to try a bit harder than threatening my mother.
Him: So who are you fond of?
Me: No one.
Him: You've got to be fond of someone.
Me: I'm not, I'm telling you. My sister Rachel says there's something wrong with me, like
I've a bit missing.
Him: And she's the shrink, is she?
Me: Yes. (I know she's not proper shrink, just acts like one.)
Him: Well, she'd know. Fuck.
Harry put head in hands. Sign that he was thinking. He looked up: I need better proof than
this. I need proof of them together, if you get me?
Me: Do you mean them riding each other?
Him (wincing): In my day women used to have some decorum. I'll double what I'm paying
you. How does that sound?
Me (desperate): It's not about the money. Look, Harry, this job has got to get more exciting.
I'm losing the will to live.
Him: Stop calling me Harry. Show a little respect.
Me: Actually, Harry, I was thinking about the whole Mr. Big thing. I've been trying lateral
thinking. Instead of focusing on size, we could try other things.
Him: Like what?
Me: How does Mr. Fear grab you?
Him (nodding slowly): I like it.
Me: Will we try it for a while, see if it catches on?
Him: Okay.

He tells Colin: D'you get that? We're going to run with Mr. Fear for a while. Put the word out
to the lads.
Because I want to get off this job, I said: Harry, you have photographic proof of your wife
with another crime lord. Why would they be meeting if they weren't up to something dodgy?
Him: Lots of reasons. Racey's mammy, Tessie O'Grady, was great friends with Detta's da,
Chinner Skinner. Detta could just be being friendly, like.
Me: So Detta and Racey are old friends! Why am I surveilling old friends?
I'm thinking, he's cracked. Cracked and mad. And insane, to boot.
Him: No, they're not old friends. Their ma and da were old friends.
Me: But still a perfectly innocent reason for them to meet up.
Him (shaking head): No. Because then there was a bit of bad blood over an arms shipment
from the Middle East and Chinner Skinner got rubbed out.
Colin: Along with most of the cr�me de la cr�me of Dublin crime.
Harry (looked at Colin really meanly): If I want your input, I'll ask for it.
He turned back to me: Yeh, most of Dublin's brightest stars--Bennie the Blade. Rasher
McRazor. The Boneman. Ironing-board Jim--all taken out in the space of a fortnight.
He sighed: The best of the best. But the biggest shock was Chinner Skinner. No one fucked
with the Chinner but word was that Tessie O'Grady took him out. No one's ever been able to
prove it like, but only Tessie O'Grady would have the balls to do it.
Me: How long ago was this?
Him: Donkeys. Twelve. Fifteen?
He looked at Colin.
Colin: Fourteen years this summer.
Me: So Detta and Racey are old friends who became enemies who might be friends again?
Fuck's sake.
Piss: Didn't entirely mean it when said I wasn't fond of anyone. Quite fond of you.
Pissssss: Not just saying that because your husband died.
70
I   couldn't come up with a pitch for Formula Twelve. For the first time ever, all my inspiration
had deserted me.
Franklin asked how it was coming along.
"Good," I said.

"So tell me."
"I'd rather not," I said. "If that's okay. It's not fully there yet and I don't want you to see it half-
assed."
With sudden anger, he said, "Are you fucking with me?"
"No, Franklin, I swear. Trust me, I won't let you down."
"Because I took a risk on you with Ariella."
"I know. I appreciate it. I'm good for this."
But I wasn't.
By Sunday I'd still drawn a blank, so at Leisl's I jokingly asked the gang for help.
"If anyone comes through for any of you today, will you ask them what I should do for my
pitch."
"What've you done so far?" Nicholas asked.
"Nothing. I've come up with nothing."
"Isn't that telling you something?" Nicholas asked.
"Telling me what?"
"To do nothing."
"And get sacked? I don't think so."
"How do you get the goose out of the bottle?"
"What goose?"
"It's a Buddhist thing. There's a goose trapped in a bottle--how do you get it out?"
"How did it get in, in the first place?" Mitch asked.
Nicholas laughed. "That doesn't matter. So how do you get it out?"
"Break the bottle," Mitch said.
Nicholas shrugged. "That's one way." He looked at me. "Any other suggestions?"

"Smoke him out," Barb said. "Heh, heh, heh."
"I give up," I said. "Tell me."
"This isn't a riddle. There isn't a straight answer."
"What? So the goose stays in the bottle?"
"Not necessarily. If you wait. Wait long enough and the goose will be thin enough to slip out of
the bottle. Or if he gets fed, he'll grow and break the bottle himself. But all you have to do is
nothing."
"Little one, you are wise beyond your years," Barb said.
"I don't know," I said. "I was hoping for more practical advice."
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: "Result!"
Dear Anna,
I hope you are keeping well. Well, we have finally "nailed" the old woman. I brought the photos
to golf and no one knew her but we "hit pay dirt" at bridge. Dodie McDevitt identified her.
Funnily enough it was Zoe the dog she recognized first. She said, "That's Zoe O'Shea, as sure as
eggs." When she said "Zoe" I thought I might topple off my chair. "Yes!" I said. "Zoe, Zoe! Who
owns her?" "Nan O'Shea," says she.
Dodie was even able to give me her address--Springhill Drive, which is not that far away,
although it is a long way to make a small dog walk every day. I am not sure what to do now. I
might have to "beard" her in her "den." "Front" her "up." But whatever happens I will keep you
"in the loop."
Your loving mother,
Mum
The Formula Twelve pitch was all I could think about but I hadn't come up with a single idea. I
had never experienced a block like it. I knew that if it came to it, I could do a pitch similar to
Wendell's--private plane to Rio, fancy hotels, half-day trip to the favelas--but my heart
wouldn't be in it. I had to come up with something. In the past I had always managed to pull the
rabbit out of the hat. But, to my horror, still nothing came and I only had six days left...
...five days...
...four days...
...three days...

...two days...
...one day...
...no days...
T    he morning of the pitch to Ariella, I wore my only sober suit, the one I'd worn the first time
I'd met Aidan, when he'd spilled coffee on me. It might help me be taken seriously. I almost died
of shock when I saw the usually �berchic Wendell.
She was wearing a yellow suit. Yellow. With feathers. She looked like Big Bird. She must be
pitching some carnival-type theme. Quickly I looked over at Lois, who was wearing a sleeveless
khaki gilet with loads of pockets, just like Professor Redfern's. Her pitch must be going the
explorer route.
At five to ten, Franklin gave us the nod and led Wendell and me to the boardroom. Coming from
the opposite direction were Mary Jane and Lois. Wendell and Lois had storyboards tucked under
their arms. I had none.
All five of us met at the door, where Franklin and Mary Jane fronted each other in a hostile face-
off. Out on the floor, everyone craned their necks and stared; this highly confidential pitch was
one of the worst-kept secrets of all time.
"Please enter," said Shannon, Ariella's PA. "Ariella is waiting inside. I will be guarding the
door." To keep us in, rather than anyone else out, I thought.
"Siddown, siddown," Ariella said from the head of the table. "Now, amaze me."
Wendell went first and what she proposed was no great surprise. She wanted to showcase the
Brazilianness of Formula Twelve by flying twelve superselected beauty editors to Rio for Mardi
Gras. "They'll have a blast. We'll fly them down in a private plane." I knew it! Private plane! I
knew it!
She revealed her first storyboard, which was a photograph of a small executive jet.
"This is similar to the plane we would fly them in," she said. "Then we're gonna put each editor
in a suite in a five-star hotel in Rio--so many to choose from."
Here she unveiled her second card--a photograph of the Rio Hilton. Her third card was a picture
of a large hotel room. And so was her fourth. "This is an example of the type of hotel they would
stay in. Then we'll get them fitted out in fabulous carnival costumes."

More cards were produced. Pictures of lithe tanned women in skimpy yellow bikinis and massive
spangly, feathered headdresses.
"Let me guess," Ariella said. "These are the type of costumes they'll be wearing."
Wendell's smile never wavered. "Absolutely! This will be a trip they will never forget. The
coverage will be beyond."
I smiled encouragingly and felt it would be mean-spirited to mention that Rio was thousands of
miles from the Amazon Basin and that there wouldn't be a Mardi Gras for at least another six
months.
Lois was next, and as I'd suspected, her pitch was a little po-faced. She proposed to take the
beauty editors--twelve of them, just like Wendell--with Professor Redfern, to meet the
indigenous people who invented Formula Twelve. "We fly to Rio, where we take a light aircraft
to the jungle." She unveiled her first visual: a photo of a plane. It looked very similar to
Wendell's plane. It was probably exactly the same; they probably downloaded them from the
same executive jet site.
"After landing in the jungle"--a photo of thick jungle was thrust before us--"we will then trek
for half a day. The editors can see the actual plants that are used to make up the product." A
picture of a plant was produced for our inspection.
"Trekking in a jungle?" Ariella said. "I'm so not loving the sound of that. What if they get bitten
by an anaconda and we have a freaking lawsuit on our hands?"
"Leeches, I've got a thing about leeches," Franklin said, almost to himself. "And bats. They get
stuck in your hair." He shuddered.
"We'll have guides," Lois said, speedily producing a picture of a half-naked, smiling, black-
toothed man.
"Nice," Franklin murmured.
"Everyone will be given appropriate clothing. Like this." Lois pointed to her gilet. "It'll be
totally safe. This will be great, something very different. Those girls are so spoiled with glamour
and luxury that they're blas� about everything."
I agreed with that.
"They'll feel proud that they survived the jungle--we'll make a big deal of it, we'll tell them
afterward that we weren't sure they were tough enough--and they'll appreciate having
connected with another culture."
It was good. Better in a way than Wendell's, although Wendell's was safer.