The Dating Detox (5 page)

We both laugh. OK, we cackle. The two-beer buzz is delightful.

‘Uh…ladies. May I trouble you for a lighter?’

Deep voice. American. Male. Late 20s. I glance at Kate’s face, but she’s staring at Mr America behind me. I turn around, getting out my lighter at the same time.

‘Sure,’ I hand it over and he grins and lights his cigarette. Extremely cute, in a jock kind of way. Baggy pale blue jeans, Ralph Lauren Polo T-shirt, short floppy American-banker haircut. He must be fresh off the boat. American men wear very bad jeans till they realise every other man in London wears his jeans darker and tighter. Then they all buy Diesel jeans. (They never change their hair.)

‘Thanks,’ he leans back and exhales, a small smirk on his face. ‘So you like chick flicks as much as sex, seriously?’

‘It’s awfully rude to eavesdrop.’

Kate’s phone rings. ‘It’s Tray—back in a sec…’

Hmm, I have to wait for Kate and talk to Mr America. I could wait inside, if I was going to be really strict about this not dating men thing…But he’s so cute. Preppy, Ivy League and cute. Damn it, come on Sass, I chide myself. I should not be noticing this shit. I decide to finish my fag and put the Dating Sabbatical to the test. I run over my mantra in my head, more out of habit than need. After all, I’m not able to date him, so there’s no need to feel nervous. But he is kind of good looking.

‘Personally, I can get behind any John Hughes movie, so I’m with you on
Sixteen Candles.
But I’m not sure about
Overboard.
’

I look back at him like I’m surprised he’s still there. (Am I breaking Rule 3? Obvious flirting? Nah, this isn’t obvious yet.)

‘I heart Goldie Hawn. She’s brilliant.’

‘Sure, but give me
Private Benjamin
any day.’

‘Oh, I love that film! “Go check out the bathroom, it’s FABULOUS!”’

Mr America laughs. ‘Yeah, I can see that you’d like that line.’

I grin, and our eyes meet. He’s very confident. Sexual frisson, bonjour.

‘So…I loved your little speech there.’

‘The chick flick speech? I was just being silly…’

‘I like silly.’

Why can American men say lines like that and get away with it? It must be the accent. This one’s particularly cocky. It’s terribly attractive. However, I never know what to say back when someone’s coming on to me so openly, so I just smile and take a drag of my cigarette.

‘Could I get your number…perhaps we could have dinner sometime?’

I pause and smile. Shit. Time to put the Dating Sabbatical into action.

‘I know a lot of movies. I could quote ’em to you all night.’ He grins. Perfect teeth. Another attractive American trait.

‘I’d love to, but I’m not dating right now.’ (There, that was easy. Rule 1: no accepting dates, and Rule 5: talking about the Sabbatical is permitted in response to being asked out on a date.)

‘I don’t get it. You’ve got a boyfriend?’

‘No, I don’t. I’m just—I’m not seeing anyone at the moment.’

‘Did someone just break your heart?’

I laugh. ‘No! I’ve just…I’m…I’m not dating right now. I’m taking a break from uh, seeing guys.’

‘You’re gay?’ His tone is disbelieving.

‘No.’

‘You’re just…not dating.’

‘Yup.’

‘For how long?’

‘Three months,’ I say airily. ‘Possibly, probably, longer.’ I don’t
want him to think he can line up a date for three months’ time. Especially since I’d probably say yes. Saying no to this date is hard enough as it is. (See? Dating IS an addiction. Thank betsy I’m detoxing. Every time I say no, it will get easier. Just say no.)

‘That’s, like, pathetic. Some guy must have really done a number on you.’

This riles me. ‘Oh, please. I’m just not dating right now.’

‘Hey! I’m not going to fight with ya about it!’ He stubs out his cigarette and throws two finger guns at me. ‘Your loss.’

He storms back into the bar just as Kate comes back. ‘That was Tray…I’ve gotta go home. What the hell happened there?’

‘Rejection,’ I say happily. ‘My first Dating Sabbatical rejection in action. His response was “YOUR LOSS”.’ I imitate the finger guns, adding a ‘peeyong’ shooting sound for good measure. Kate and I collapse with laughter and head down towards the tube.

Right. The morning routine. I snooze till a delightful 8.25 am, and then take a long lazy shower with no shampoo or conditioner as I want fresh hair for Mitch’s party tonight and a double-wash makes my hair flop like it’s pre-product-1972, brush teeth, scrub with exfoliating gloves and body wash, shave pits and legs, blah-blah, you know the rest already.

Today Outer Self is channelling Tough Nu Wave Cookie, so I throw on pointy blue shoes, skinny white jeans, a sleeveless black turtleneck and a black blazer. As I pop up the collar of the blazer and roll up my sleeves, I wonder if I look a bit odd and decide not to think about it. I realised a few months ago that I really haven’t changed my fundamental approach to dressing since I was 13. I pick a theme and keep adding things till I get there. (Favourite outfit when I was 13: DMs, black opaque tights, jeans shorts, a black belt with a peace sign buckle, a white T-shirt and a black blazer. Would definitely wear the same outfit now, minus perhaps the peace sign belt.) Brush hair vigorously to make the day-old grease look like shiny newness and throw it into a dishevelled chignon thing. Win the daily Battle Of The Brow. Inner Self is thus ready to face day two of Dating Sabbatical. I grab my lucky yellow clutch and run downstairs.

As I head into the kitchen(ette) to grab a banana and a tin of tuna, I see Anna curled up with her duvet on one of the 60s settees.

‘Morning Anna!’ I call. She moans in reply and I look back around at her. ‘Are you OK?’

She raises her head and I see her eyes. They’re all swollen and pink like a newborn puppy. Yikes.

‘Don and I broke up,’ she says, reaching for a box of tissues hidden somewhere in the duvet.

‘Oh…dear…’ I say, and come over to perch on the side of the settee. His name is Don? No one has been called Don since 1955. ‘Is there anything I can do?’

‘No, no, I’ll be fine,’ she says, snuffling into a tissue. She looks up at me dramatically. ‘He has a wife, you know. I’m not sure if she’s the separated kind.’

Double yikes. Even I wouldn’t get into that situation. I look at Anna whimpering on the couch. She’s very pretty, about 30 or so, one of those tall girls with long brown hair and long elegant arms. I swear my upper arms are abnormally short. Anyway, back to Anna. I don’t know what to say to make her feel better. ‘That’s not…um…good.’

‘I’m just so tired of it,’ she sighs, blowing her nose. ‘The reason I went for that prick was that I was tired of game-playing single guys. He said he was unhappy and separated, and I thought that he’d be perfect for me, or else I wouldn’t have done it, I’m not that kind of person…and then last night he told me they were going to try to work things out…And none of my friends understand, they’re all in long-term relationships or married…’ Oh Jeez. Anna and I aren’t close enough to have this conversation.

‘Um, oh…’ I say. ‘You’ll be fine, Anna. Have a nice hot shower and get dressed and you’ll feel better.’

She shakes her head, staring blankly into space. I can see she’s having conversations in her head. Unhappy ones. I try again. ‘You really will, Anna…I know how hard it is. I’ve been dumped six times in a row.’

‘Really?’ she says, looking over at me with new interest. ‘How the hell have you survived?’

‘Um…I just sort of kept going and hoped for the best, I guess. And well, right now, I’m officially not dating. I’m on a Dating Sabbatical. I can’t make the right decisions, so I’m not making any at all. I can’t date men, accidentally or on purpose, for three months.’ I pause. ‘Like a nun.’

‘I love that idea,’ she says. ‘It’s the only way. Nothing else works. Nothing. You can try as hard as you like to be careful and you’ll still fuck up. I had my first boyfriend 18 years ago. I’m so tired of it all…’

‘Exactly,’ I nod. This is kind of sweet, we’ve never had a conversation like this. ‘I should leave for work, Anna…are you OK? Do you have plans tonight? My friend Mitch is having a party if you’d like to come…’

‘Oh, thanks, but I’m heading up to Edinburgh to see my mum,’ she says, pulling herself up into a sitting position. ‘I’d better get up too. The good people at Unilever won’t survive without me.’

I wonder what she does. I should probably know. ‘OK, well, have fun,’ I say. I lean over and give her an awkward hug. Her face smushes into my collarbone. Sigh. Bad hugs suck. ‘Hope you feel better soon.’

‘Thanks,’ she says, getting up off the couch. ‘Maybe I should try my own Dating Sabbatical.’

I turn to smile at her as I head out the door. ‘Maybe you should!’

On the way to work I reflect on last night’s loss of my Dating Sabbatical virginity. Mr America had been confident, cute and funny. Just the kind of guy I always like. He’d also revealed himself to be an utter brat with a bit of a bad temper. Without question a cockmonkey, a bastardo classico.

If I’d agreed to go out to dinner with him, I would have been charmed by the good looks, impressed by the confidence, seduced by the banter—and dumped in a few months when he got tired of me. I know it, because that’s what has happened every time before.
Well done me. I can handle the Dating Sabbatical. In fact, I can
thrive
on it.

I feel terribly happy all of a sudden. Strong and happy. I skippy-bunny-hop a couple of steps, and high-five myself. No, I really do. (A self-high-five involves jumping in the air and clapping your hands together, with the back of one hand facing you and the other coming up to clap it from below. It looks funny, but it feels great. I highly recommend you try it.) A guy walking by flinches instinctively as though I was going to hit him and I get the giggles. Day Two of the Dating Sabbatical is going to be good.

I get to work with my tailored-to-my-personal-tastes coffee, and, seeing that Andy isn’t in yet, sing ‘Goooooood morning!’ as I reach my seat. Laura looks up and narrows her eyes.

‘You look soooooo different today! What is it? Oh, oh, oh, I meant to tell you—though how could I have told you before when I didn’t see you! And last night I left work and I thought I saw you! Only it wasn’t you. And it looked just like you and I was thinking, what is she doing in Hackney? Because obviously you live in Putney!’

‘Pimlico?’ I say. ‘So…what do you need to tell me?’

‘Oh! Yes! Coop wants you. In his office, well, it’s not an office, but you know, at his desk. Because he’s here.’

‘Thank you, Laura,’ thunders Coop from the other side of the Chinese silk screen that separates his desk from us. It’s silly, really, as he can hear everything.

I walk around it and sit down with a cheery morning face that I’m pretty sure will annoy him. Coop was very good looking back in the 80s, I think. He had a moderately successful New Wave pop group. Then, the 90s saw him partying hard with Oasis and Blur (well, perhaps not with them per se, but certainly near them), which aged him and made him look a bit craggy and bloaty. He got into advertising at about that time too. These days he’s in love with a German woman called Marlena, a former
model and fledgling jewellery designer, who eats, lives and breathes organic and forces him to do the same, so he’s the picture of mildly irritable health.

Coop’s habitual manner is distracted and grumpy, but the minute he actually concentrates on anything he’s rather fun to be around. I think it’s because creating ads is one of the only things he really enjoys. And he seems to think I’m good at my job, which is always nice, and I think as a result I’m more confident around him than I am with anyone else at work. (As one of my primary school teachers wrote in an end of term report once: ‘She responds well to praise and approval.’ Heh.) And over the years he’s been lovely every time I come in crying about a break-up, though he always pretends he can’t remember anything about it afterwards.

‘You. Wordgirl. Explain what the hell has been going on here with these scamps.’

When he says scamps, by the way, he doesn’t mean lovable little rascals; he means creative ideas. I sit down next to him and talk him through the scamps. As I do, I hear Andy get in. Odd how even his voice makes me shudder inside.

‘Anything else to report?’ he asks, looking through the scamps one last time.

I shake my head. ‘Nope.’

That’s a lie, but he’s not looking at me and can’t tell. Thankfully. He’d worm the Andy story out of me in about one minute.

‘Good. Good to know you’re here when I’m away. Safe hands,’ he adds, writing something in the notepad he carries everywhere. ‘Do you have any holidays booked over the next few months? Weekends away?’

‘Nope,’ I shrug. ‘I’m not dating,’ I add helpfully.

He looks up, frowns, and ignores me. ‘May need you to help entertain the Germans a few times. They’ll be coming back and forth from Berlin.’

‘Me? With potential clients?’

‘Yes, and you’ll present all the award-winning work you’re about to create.’

He goes on to explain everything. The Germans, it turns out, head up a huge personal care company called Blumenstrauße—tampons and toothpaste and razors, oh my!—and they’re launching four of their most popular products in the UK next year. We’re going to work with them for a few months working out launch plans, and if they like us, we’ll get the business. Sort of a pitch-by-fire. I realise quickly that this pitch is a very big deal. It could be the making of this agency, and Coop’s career.

‘That’s brilliant, Coop,’ I say. ‘I can’t wait.’

‘Thought you’d like it,’ he says. ‘Actually, wordgirl, I want you to head up this one.’ Me? I’m speechless. He glances at his watch. ‘I’m late for a thing. Call a company meeting, tell everyone about the pitch, and that there’s going to be a lot of work for the next few months. Lots of late nights, and no neglecting existing clients.’

I have to bear bad tidings? And create another scene after Wednesday’s drama with Andy? ‘Um…’ I say, trying to think of a way to get out of it. The dog ate my public speaking voice? ‘Why not email everyone? Better coming from you?’

‘No,’ he says, standing up. ‘People never read those emails properly. Nothing beats being told in person. Scott already knows.’ That’s the senior account director, a smooth-talking Ken-doll type. ‘He’s with Shiny Straight today at a strategy roundtable. Anyway, I want you to answer any questions about the Germans and whatnot. I’ll be back later.’

I go back and hide at my desk for a minute, thinking. I have to call a company-wide meeting to tell everyone to kiss goodbye to their social life? I can feel panic rising in my chest. Why, why would Cooper make me do this? I can’t do it. I really can’t.

I look at the clock. It’s still early. I’ll just wait till everyone
has their breakfast and coffee. Then they’ll be in a better mood. I email Amanda The Office Manager about the brainstorm and Google Blumenstrauße. Lala. Procrastination. Panic-led procrastination. I feel a bit ill. Maybe I am coming down with something.

At 11 am I can’t put it off anymore. Cooper could be back any second. With a nauseous feeling in the pit of my stomach, I send an email to all staff to meet in the creative room immediately.

As the accounts people wander in, looking around for Cooper, I clear my throat and walk over to the centre of the room.

‘Cooper isn’t here, but he asked me to…’ I start. No one is listening. In fact, the account managers are chatting away about Charlotte’s new manicure. Andy is on his mobile. His underlings are looking at something on YouTube and snickering. Amanda The Office Manager is picking her breakfast out of her teeth whilst Laura is twisting her hair and snipping off split ends. She’ll end up with hair like a haystack, but now isn’t the time to tell her that.

‘Everyone!’ I say louder. Laura glances up and quickly drops her hair and the scissors. Everyone else continues as they were.

I pick up a spoon and empty glass left over from breakfast on Laura’s desk, and clink them together. The first few clinks don’t quite connect, but the last three are quite loud. Everyone stops what they’re doing immediately and looks at me. I feel the blood rush to my face.
Just get on with it.
I lean against Laura’s desk, faking a nonchalance I certainly don’t feel. Posture is confidence, silence is poise.

‘Hi, everyone…Uh, as you know, Coop’s been away for the past week in Germany…and the good news is, we are pitching for a huge German toiletries company that’s about to launch in the UK.’ The words all tumble out of my mouth in a rush, and I pause to clear my throat and calm down. Everyone is looking
at me and—surprisingly—actually listening. ‘We want to handle it all for them: from strategy for the launch to packaging to branding and online and offline campaigns and well, everything. If we win, it’ll immediately double and eventually triple the size of the agency, so it’s a pretty big deal.’

Everyone snaps to attention. For the next five minutes I answer questions about the German company. It takes Laura to get to the point. She’s probably the smartest person in the room.

‘When is the pitch? And what do we have to do?’

‘The work starts today,’ I say, and I can hear a few people groan under their breath. Oh fuck. I really, really do hate telling people things they don’t want to hear. ‘Brainstorm at 3 pm. All staff are invited, compulsory for creatives. Now, um…there’ll be weekly meetings with them rather than just the one big pitch. Coop knows the, uh, head guy, and he’s, um pitching us as the kind of agency that works as a partner, not a supplier…’ I look around. Everyone’s still paying me total attention. Gosh.

I clear my throat. ‘The good news is that there’s no one else competing with us for the job—yet. The bad news is that if they’re not happy, we will lose them straightaway. Which means the pressure is going to be pretty consistent over the next few months. Coop wants everyone to help. So there’ll be a lot of late nights and possibly weekend work…’

I hear even louder groaning. Oh shit. Mutiny.

Andy speaks up. Oh double shit. ‘We can’t do that on top of everything else. It’s not possible.’

‘Well, it has to be,’ I say to the wall, as I don’t dare to meet his eyes.

‘I’m already here till eight every night,’ he says. ‘My team and I work harder than anyone else. We need extra support. I know a couple of freelancers. I’ll call them.’