Jemima J. (10 page)
Authors: Jane Green
Tags: #Contemporary Women, #General, #BritChickLit, #California, #london, #Fiction
Card number two represents the present. It is The Empress (reversed).
“Vacillation. Inaction. Lack of interest. Lack of concentration. Indecision. Delay in accomplishment or progress. Anxiety. Frittering away of resources. Loss of material possessions. Infertility. Infidelity. Vanity.”
What a load of bollocks! Infidelity? I should be so lucky. Vanity? Please!
But I carry on reading anyway, the final card, the Knight of Wands, representing my future.
“Departure. A journey. Advancement into the unknown. Alteration. Flight. Absence. Change of residence.”
Well, this
is
a load of rubbish, but I don’t want to go home just yet. Maybe I’ll go back to the LA Café, at least I know how to find the bloody thing. Ah, who’s here today?
Suzie 24
=^..^=Cat
Honey
Candy
Explorer
here4u
Luscious Lisa
Ricky
Tim@London
Brad (Santa Monica)
Who first? Should I talk to Tim@London, given that I sort of already know him, or should I be adventurous and start chatting to someone I don’t know? Luckily the decision is taken out of my hands, because the computer suddenly bleeps three times and a box flashes up, with
Brad (Santa Monica)
written at the top.
p. 70
“Hi, Honey.”
“Hi,”
I type back. Now
this
is more exciting.
“Do you have time to chat?”
“Sure thing.”
“So where are you, Honey?”
“London,”
and then I think, hang on, he
’
s American, he might be a bit thick, so I add
“England,”
just in case.
“Really? I was just there!”
“Oh? Whereabouts?”
“In London. I stayed in the Park Lane Hotel. It was business.”
Now this
is
more like it.
“What kind of business?”
“I’m your typical Californian beach bum who’s made a living out of what he loves best. I own a gym.”
“So you’re revoltingly fit then?”
Oh God, I
’
m feeling inadequate again, but this is the Internet, I mean, this guy could never know what I really look like.
“LOL. Revoltingly. I like that. What about you?”
Oh God. This question was bound to come up sooner or later.
“I’m pretty fit but I work too hard to exercise as much as I’d like.”
“What do you do?”
“I’m
—”
I stop. Why be a boring journalist when I could be anything in the world?
“I’m a television presenter.”
There. Glamorous, exciting, and conveying that I’m probably pretty stunning if I’m on television.
“You must be stunning. You sound like an O:-).”
“What’s an O:-)?”
“An angel! Unlike myself. I consider myself more of a }:->. That means a devil.”
“LOL. I’m no angel, but I don’t do too badly.”
“Are you new to this?”
“Yes, I’m new, is it that obvious? Are you here a lot then, if you know I’m not here all the time? You can’t be that fit if you’re sitting on the Internet all the time .”
“Ah ha! Actually, the computer’s in my office and I just sit here
p. 71
and mess around if I’m stuck at my desk. It keeps my mind off work!”
“What time is it there?”
“10
A.M.
I’ve been in the office two hours. Before that I went running, and this afternoon I’m going Rollerblading.”
“I love Rollerblading.”
Careful, Jemima, don
’
t get too carried away.
“Yeah. It’s a great sport. Good exercise and sociable at the same time.”
“You must be meeting hundreds of gorgeous California babes if you’re out Rollerblading all the time. What are you doing trying to pick up single women here?”
“Who says I’m trying to pick up single women?”
“Oops. Sorry. Aren’t you?”
“Maybe just this single woman. You are, aren’t you? Single?”
“Yes.”
“How come? You sound way too gorgeous to be on your own.”
If only you knew, I think, suddenly deciding to borrow Geraldine’s life for a little while.
“I just ended a long relationship,”
I type.
“He wanted to marry me but he wasn’t the one.”
“How do you know he wasn’t the one?”
“Good question. I suppose, naive as it might be, I just think that when I meet the right one I’ll know.”
“I don’t think that’s naive. I think that’s probably right. I feel the same way and I’m still waiting for that bolt of lightning to strike. But poor guy. He must be devastated. But lucky me
“Indeed.”
“So what kind of show do you work on?”
Think, Jemima. Think.
“It’s like a British version of
Entertainment Tonight
.”
“No kidding! Are you like the Leeza Gibbons of British television?”
“No.”
Even in this world of make-believe I know this would be pushing it.
“I’m a senior reporter.”
p. 72
“That’s still fantastic.”
“So what about you? How did you get into the gym business?”
“Left college, studied business, didn’t know what to do, and moved to LA to hang out. Hardly anyone in LA is a native Angeleno, we’re all from someplace else.”
“Did you want to be in the movie business?”
I remember what Geraldine said about people who live in Los Angeles.
“LOL. No way. Too much pressure. I just wanted to find something I loved doing that would make me a lot of money. I started going to a run-down gym every day, and the owner told me it was up for sale. I managed to raise the money, bought it, and haven’t looked back.”
“So do you make a lot of money then?”
“Put it like this. I’m *very* comfortable.”
“What kind of house do you live in?”
Now, before we go any further, I think I just have to make it clear that I
’
m not being a gold-digger here. I just find it incredible that I
’
m talking to this man in Los Angeles of all places, somewhere I
’
ve never been, somewhere I
’
ve always dreamed of going, and I want to know everything about his life. I want to know if he really does live in a world of golden sands, palm trees, and open-topped cars blaring rock and roll.
“A nice house! What kind of house do you live in?”
“A not so nice house. I was going to buy last year,”
Lord, forgive me for stepping into Geraldine
’
s shoes once again,
“but then it all fell through, so now I’m renting until I find somewhere nice again. I live with two girls.”
“I think I’ve died and gone to heaven! Any space for a guy?”
“Afraid not.”
“So how old are you, Honey?”
“I’m twenty-seven and I have to tell you, Honey’s not my real name. My real name is JJ.”
“I like JJ. I like twenty-seven even better. I’m thirty-three.”
“So how come you’re still single, Brad? Or do you have another name too ?”
p. 73
“No. Brad’s my real name. I date quite a lot, but, as I said, just haven’t met the right woman yet.”
“What kind of woman would be the right woman?”
“I wish I knew. I keep hoping I’ll know when I meet her.”
“I know what you mean!”
Except, naturally, I don
’
t.
“Oh damn. The phone’s ringing. Listen, I have to go now, but I’ve really enjoyed talking to you, JJ. Can we meet here again?”
Call me cheesy but my heart skips a beat.
“I’d love to. How about tomorrow?”
“Same time?”
“Perfect.”
“Okay. I’ll bring the sunshine, you bring the smiles. Take care.”
“Bye.”
I sit back and turn off the computer, and crazy as it may sound I
’
m excited about this and it takes the longest time to wipe the smile off my face.
p. 74
Ben had a hell of a week this week. Really, we wouldn’t wish Ben’s job on anyone. First of all he had to interview a woman who had the misfortune to have a thirteen-year-old crack addict tearaway as a son, trying to coax the story of his upbringing out of her.
Then he was out on other stories for the rest of the week, he hardly saw anyone at all, didn’t have time for chats, just kept his head down and kept working.
But Wednesday night was a bit of a bonus. Ben was home earlier than usual and both roommates were out, so he had the place to himself. He could kick off his shoes, read the
Guardian
he’d saved from Monday
and
watch the news. Just generally chill out.
He was settling back into the sofa, the television on to provide background noise, some early evening quiz show that Ben would never dream of watching, and he was flicking through the
Guardian.
An ad on page 16 caught his eye but, perhaps more importantly, caught his imagination.
p. 75
TELEVISION REPORTER
London Nights
is a new daily show from London Daytime Television. Entertaining and informative, we need three reporters for on-screen work. A minimum of three years’ journalism experience is required, with no television experience necessary. An interest in show business and entertainment, news and politics, or health and beauty is essential.
Screen tests will be held.
Please send your CV, a covering letter, and a demo tape or photograph to . . .
This is it! thought Ben, sitting up with excitement. This is my big break. A reporter specializing in news and politics, this job has my name written all over it. He didn’t hesitate, because Ben, after all, is a doer rather than a thinker. He reached for his pen and scribbled down the first draft of a letter.
A photograph, he thought, where can I get a decent photograph? Ben only has decent photographs, but a picture of him in sunglasses and a baseball cap is hardly the right image to project, and, as Ben well knows, a television image is essential.
He pulled a box from under his bed and sifted through the hundreds of photographs. Eventually he found one that was perfect, a photograph he sneaked out from the picture library at work. A photograph of him in a suit standing next to a local celebrity.
Screw the celebrity, Ben, this is your career, and Ben duly whisked the scissors out of the kitchen drawer and snipped the photograph cleanly in half, the celebrity gently floating to the grubby gray carpet.
He finished his letter, attached his CV, and slipped the photograph into the envelope. Now all he can do is hope.
Funny how my appetite seems to have decreased recently. It’s lunchtime and I feel no desire to have a huge plate of food.
p. 76
This salad, a proper salad, is fine, and I’m quite happy sitting in the cafeteria with my nose buried in a magazine.
I bought this magazine this morning. Not my usual glossy fashion mag, I grant you, but one of the cover lines was about Internet dating, and I’m just really curious about this, so I bought it and I’m learning all about Internet cafés.
I didn’t even know these places existed. This café, Cyborg, is in the West End. The picture shows metallic surfaces, banks of computers around the walls, and beautiful people sitting at the tables in the center, sipping cappuccinos and eating ciabatta rolls stuffed with sun-dried tomatoes, mozzarella, and fresh basil.
Internet dating, apparently, is the hottest thing since, well, since the Internet. According to this article, and it has to be said I take it with a slight pinch of salt because I know you can’t believe everything you read, but according to this people are meeting and falling in love all over the world.
And not only that, Cyborg has become an “in” place, a place to see and be seen, a place where, should you not be lucky enough to find your soulmate on the Internet, you might just meet his eyes gazing at you over the top of your computer.
“That looks interesting,” says Ben Williams, towering above me as he puts his tray on the table opposite. “I’ve heard about that.”
My heart starts pounding and already I can feel the faint flush on my neck. Surely this is the perfect opportunity, how can I ask him whether he wants to go, how can I make my voice sound casual when I’m all choked up inside?