"Mobile phone scare; Risk of cancer" is the main headline in today's paper. Hardly an auspicious start to the day; my mobile phone is a practically permanent fixture on my right ear. Waking up in the varied places that I do, it is a necessary evil. The man at the taxi place recognises my voice the instant I say hello, though the address is almost always unfamiliar.
It may well sound as if I am either terribly disorganised, feel myself above public transport, or that all I do is socialise, but this is not, at least technically, true. (Though nothing is too much effort in my desperate attempts to avoid the horrors of the Tube). I do have a job, poorly paid and boring though it is. I freely admit that I am paid what I am worth - I am in PR, a useless job if there ever was one. I am not good at what I do because I don't care about what I do. Don't get me wrong, I could be, I am an intelligent person, but television (my chosen field) is as hard to break into as it is reputed to be, and after eighteen months I was prepared to take something, anything, simply to pay the rent. Three years later, I am still here, even if I do expect to get sacked at any time.
I got into work this morning horrendously late, as is usual. Despite the time, and my low opinion of people who do this job, I tried to look busy and competent as I hurried past the office of what must surely be Satan's most treasured minion, Julia, who started two months after me, but is doing immeasurably better in terms of promotion, pay rises, respect et cetera. She is a rising star, a real woman for the nineties, full-time job and two perfect children as well. Snotty cow.
Of course, if Julia is a woman for the nineties professionally, I can, I think safely, claim to be one socially, or at least horizontally. Sexually emancipated in the eyes of a militant feminist - next best thing to being a lesbian, darling! - but in the eyes of most people, simply a slapper. Promiscuous. Hated by women, loved by men, respected by no one. God bless the double standard, right?
My first meeting this morning was, regrettably, in the company of Julia, who delighted in embarrassing me in front of the client by asking me for various bits of information which I quite blatantly didn't have. I responded by quite sweetly asking after her husband, who I have heard is having an affair with his secretary. She glowered at me, which I took to be part affirmation. Naturally, Alyss and I will discuss this later during our cigarette break, and others may happen to join in our conversation. We smokers generally have the best information. And the worst reputations for gossiping.
Lunch was the high point of my day. I escaped from the office for a few hours and went to a small caf� in town, where my best friend and I talked at length about her dysfunctional brother, whose third wife has just left him five months after the wedding. Maria is upset for her brother. Knowing something about what the woman probably went through, I am happy for her.
My afternoon was uneventful; there was a small amount of quiet excitement when the typing pool had a computer crisis, but it was quickly resolved by our resident expert, who then noticed my handling of the computer and proceeded to lecture me, a wasted effort as I tuned him out almost instantly. This didn't deter me from spending another two hours engrossed in computer Solitaire (an ex-boyfriend, a psychologist, declared my Solitaire-playing as a textbook addiction, which is laughable, though I did check for a Solitaire-players Anonymous), before it finally being a time when I could respectably leave.
I met Maria, Jack and Harmony in Andromeda, a snug little wine bar just around the corner from my flat. After a couple of drinks, we moved to a larger place to meet up with a few more friends. Cassandra, a woman I basically dislike but have known since I was at grammar school, had brought along a new colleague, Adam. I saw him and drooled (mentally). He was exactly the type I find most attractive - a walking clich�, tall, dark and very, very handsome. And, as I noted with pleasure, he was a good dresser (I really go for a man in a black suit, very sexy). I hate to use the word 'flirted', it sounds so teenage, but once I had his attention, I'm afraid that's what I probably did. I became very conscious of the image that I was presenting, and laughed a lot, a sure sign I'm interested in someone. I got the evil eye from Cassandra, who had obviously brought him hoping to get lucky herself, but I ignored it in favour of Adam's charmed expression.,br> At the end of the evening, Adam offered to drive me home. I accepted demurely, and slinked (I don't usually even consider slinking, but he was gorgeous, and I know he was checking me out from the back) over to Maria and bent over to kiss her on the cheek. She looked up at me, concerned but resigned, "Do you really want this?" I smiled reassuringly and said, "I'll call you tomorrow, okay?" She hesitated, then nodded. I pecked Jack and Harmony and walked back to Adam, who helped me into my Donna Karan (and a gentleman!) and guided me out to his car (silver Porsche, top marks). At my flat, he leaned over me to unlock my door. I invited him up for coffee.
He was already gone when I woke up. He must have to be in his job early, he's a banker in the City, terribly high-powered and important. I had actually woken up quite early myself, so I should have scored brownie points at work. Unfortunately, I became a gibbering wreck when unable to locate my mobile, drinking coffee (virtuously resisting temptation to make it Irish) and chain smoking, until it occurred to me to ring it on my land phone. It was in the fridge, which is a strange place to leave it even for me.
I slipped out of work early so I wouldn't be late for my appointment with Trisha, my therapist. She is scarily similar to the nutty psychiatrist on Ally McBeal (my heroine, a close second to Bridget Jones). She is very good, and I consider myself much improved from the screwed-up self I was eighteen months ago. Today Trisha annoyed me by recommending 'The Rules' for the seventh time. Quack.
Despite this morning swearing to stick to my much-abused resolution to stay in more nights, I found myself out again. Maria and I saw a film, then sat in a bar and complained about how bad it was. She refrained from enquiring after what happened last night - if it were anyone else's behaviour, she would think it was disgraceful, but because I'm her friend and she loves me, she tolerates it and keeps hoping I'll find some sense of 'self worth', which is ridiculous because I have plenty of self-esteem. (I actually took a course last year. Maria knows that, as it was a birthday present from her, but she thinks it didn't work, as I still haven't developed a grown-up relationship). However, the exciting news of the evening is the man Andy brought with him - Sean Giles, an executive with Alicorn Productions, a company which has made some of the most successful television programmes of the last five years! When I started talking to him, I could see Maria giving me her patented disappointed look, but I was truly fascinated with what he was saying - I managed to get him talking about his job, and spent much of the time inwardly screaming, why not me? I think a part of him sensed this, and he was ever so sweet, so I poured out all about my dead-end job and total disillusionment with the television industry. He offered to put my CV up for a shot at the researcher post that has just gone up in his department. I became slightly hysterical. This is my dream job; I can do this well! I'm not too fond of the way he was staring at my legs as he offered, but I'm sure it was nothing. He was keen, but I do have a policy not to sleep with men I work with, so in case I do get the job I have to stay away, and anyway, I'm not that attracted to him.
I woke up alone this morning - it was actually rather pleasant to have all that room instead of sharing it with a man, the memories of a man, or a hangover. It was also a Saturday, which meant a chance to get on with the decorating I was trying to do in my living room. It's terrible, the dustsheets have been up for ages to try and kick-start me into doing something about it, but I haven't started yet. Once it's been painted, I intend to have a go at feng shui-ing it, to help me control my life. If I can find the Cosmo issue it was in.
Sean called from the office - obviously one of those terribly dedicated people that works weekends. I'm not, of course, but I think I might become one if I do get this job. He didn't mention anything about it, until I said I would bring my CV to dinner tonight. He called to ask me to a very exclusive place, where you have you book ages in advance, unless of course you happen to be like Sean and be someone quite important in a prominent company. I don't think I have anything suitable to wear for a posh dinner � deux - have to ring Maria for an emergency shopping trip. Hope my bank balance can handle it.
Woke up alone again. I could get used to this, it's very peaceful. The dinner last night was great - Sean took my CV and promised to pass it on with some choice glowing praise of all my wonderful natural talent and the surety of my being able to learn new abilities super quickly. I thanked him fervently and spent the rest of the evening on a high. He was lovely - insisted on paying for absolutely everything, had sparkling, witty conversation, and didn't mention how drunk I got. I'm pretty sure I made an embarrassment of myself there, but he made sure I got home safely. He looked a bit offended when I only gave him a little kiss goodnight, but we're just going to be friends. And possibly colleagues!
I actually did get a bit of that painting done on Sunday, in between long calls to friends about the possibility of a career change. They all thought it was excellent; Maria ruined my mood a bit by warning me to be careful of Sean, but she's only said one or two words to him, and I have to appreciate the way she is trying to look out for me. I was in a good mood still at work, the possibility of escape seeming real for the first time.
Sean just called; I had to keep it short as I was in the office, but his bosses want me to interview! I alternated panicking about clothes to imagining myself as a smart, successful businesswoman. It will happen. Kismet: I can feel that this is my time, has to be my time. I am owed this.
A succession of pre- and post-interview long phone calls has gone a long way towards convincing me that I did the best job I possibly could. Now I just have to wait two weeks for them to get back to me. I am sure Sean will keep me posted; he has been great, very supportive and helpful. I am getting to really like him, though there is still no sexual spark. I sometimes think that he would like there to be more between us, but I know from experience that if it's not there, it's not there (though he has become practically the sole man in my life since I heard about my interview).
One week to go. Sean is refusing to tell me anything about my chances - he claims not to know - so I am as one of the common crowd, who lies awake at night replaying her interview and wondering what else she could have done to clinch it. I was so confident after the interview, but with Sean's obstinacy I am worried. But even if I don't get this job, all this has made me realise that I can't go on where I am, so my resignation is now more 'when' than 'if'. However, I am just hanging on to see whether I will be going from job to job or job to cattle market, though the former seems more unlikely every time I speak to Sean, which incidentally is often. We see each other most days - we have a friendly date tonight to watch videos.
Sean and I were watching a film, 'Sleepless In Seattle', and I was crying at the end. He put his arm around me to comfort me, I thought, so I leaned into him a little. Then he put his other arm around me and pushed me back onto the couch, bending over me and trying to kiss me. I laughed nervously and pushed him off me, then struggled upright. He looked at me, amazed.
"What's wrong?"
"What?" I replied, confused. He grinned and reached for me again. I evaded him, scrambling backwards onto the cushion. Now he looked confused, and angry. He grabbed me and pushed me down. Breathing hard, but trying to keep calm, I said, "Sean, get off me, please." My voice trembled. He just laughed, frightened me. He seized my blouse as I desperately tried to get out from under him. It ripped in his fingers. I screamed, "No! Get off me!" He grasped my hair and pulled my head back. He kissed my mouth roughly. I pulled away, crying, "What - the hell - do you think - you're doing?" I gasped. He laughed, seeming surprised that I didn't already know.
"Payment for the interview." I stared at him in shock. "What?"
"The interview. Come on, don't tell me you didn't realise. Success has a price, you know, darling. Something for nothing is a myth." He was scornful; the weary adult scolding an errant child.
I was totally speechless. He took that as some kind of affirmation, assumed it meant my agreement. I easily avoided his snatch for my waist and straightened up slowly. "You're saying that I won't get this job if I don't sleep with you." It was more a flat statement, spoken in dead tones of disbelief, than any kind of question. He scrutinised me for a moment and then nodded, briefly, dismissively. I felt the comforting, familiar, flame of anger rise within me. I knew that it would not last; but here, now, it would stop me from being swamped by the betrayal and hurt and deal with him. I gave him the most seductive smile I could manage and said casually, "You thought I wanted the job that badly?" He smirked at me, pleased by my apparent change in attitude.
"I figured you'd sleep with me anyway." I spluttered, but disguised it as a cough. "Why?"
He leered at me, "You have a reputation for it."
I froze. Then I walked over to get my bag and get the hell out of there, "I don't want to see you again."
He jumped up to block my path, "Doesn't work like that." He stood in front of the door. I stared up at him, "Get out of my way." He sneered at me, "Come on! You want it." I shook my head and glared at him in contempt. "I think I'm ready to leave now. Thanks for a lovely evening." He slapped me violently and hissed, "Not 'til I've got what I want!" He tripped me up. I fell full length on to the floor. He straddled me as I screamed shrilly and snarled "Why not me, huh? You're open enough to everyone else, you little slut! Come on, this is who you are, isn't it? Whore extraordinaire! Don't be shy!" Panting with fear, I grabbed my bag from where it had dropped by my feet. I scrabbled through it frantically. The contents spilled out onto the floor as I tried to find anything that could serve as a weapon. My fingers touched a metal nail file, lost it. As I choked with disappointment, then my hand alighted on a ballpoint pen - not as good, but good enough. Sean ripped my shirt open. I brought my hand up and stabbed him viciously with the pen, not caring where my blows landed, but feeling deeply satisfied at his squeals of pain. I clambered up and stared down at him, heaving. He stood up, his face contorted with fury, "Kiss goodbye to the job, babe. I think I'll recommend that you would no doubt be a bad influence." He raised his hand to strike me. Suddenly strong, I punched him, an untutored right hook, but with all of my rage behind it, he never stood a chance. I kicked his unconscious body a couple of times, and then, calming down, I gathered up the innards of my bag and walked out, slamming the door hard. Striding down the hallway, I muttered "Don't call me babe."
The day I started at Alicorn, I searched the halls anxiously in case I saw Sean. I didn't actually see him until he delivered my post that afternoon. Of course, the management had to let him go when he was convicted.