to place him. Oh yes, the researcher on that pop quiz show on Channel 4. I met him at a workshop several months ago. I hadn’t found him sexy at first – good-looking, yes, but not clever enough to really turn me on. I figured I could run verbal rings around him, which is rarely attractive. However, after three or four glasses of champagne I was less fastidious. It had panned out quite well. As Josh says, it’s not verbal stimulation you want in bed. I call his number. He picks up.
‘Hey, Joe,’ I murmur.
I wake up and Joe is already up. I can hear him in the kitchen, whistling and fixing breakfast. He brings up a coffee and tells me that he’s been to the 7-11 to buy croissants, that they’ll be ready soon. I tell him I don’t eat breakfast and struggle to sit up.
‘Water?’
He rushes to the bathroom and returns with a glass of water. I’m so dehydrated that I ignore the fact that this glass of water has undoubtedly passed through five other bodies before me. Joe climbs back into bed and starts nibbling my shoulder. In the cold light of day I realize that first impressions are always right. He is dumb. Admittedly, he is extremely handsome and, I suppose, sexy, in an obvious sort of way. But how come I hadn’t noticed those puppy-dog eyes shining with devotion? That overloud laugh that erupts every time I say anything, even unfunny things like my name and that nodding bloody head that agrees with everything I say. It’s nauseating. He still smells good and, thinking about it objectively, he is a shag. But he’s so certainly besotted. I try to think of the things that could put him off me. Perhaps if I showed him my cellulite or my untrimmed bikini line he’d leave the flat (unlikely). Maybe if I insist on watching Oprah, or pick the pubes from between my teeth with my toenails. I can’t think of any antisocial behaviour that is antisocial enough to discourage him. I realize that the only way to get him to lose interest is to pretend to be in love with him. I doubt I have the energy. His large legs, erotic last night, look overwhelming today. I push him away, get out of bed, locate his trousers and throw them at him.
‘Get dressed. I’ve a big day today.’
‘Bale, I have the answer.’ I charge into his office, shooing his secretary away with a single, withering glance. I decline the seat and the cigar he offers. He really is a twat. However, he is my twat boss and I want to impress him.
‘I have the Idea.’
‘I’m all ears,’ he sneers. Actually, he does have jug ears but he’s all teeth, not all ears. I resist the jibe and start to tell him about my idea. Although I’ve stormed into his office at 10.50 a.m. to give the impression of an employee who knows her worth and won’t be bullied, I have actually been in the office since 8.15 a.m. rehearsing this meeting. I have perfected a pitch that guarantees punch but appears spontaneous, that is irresistible and, most of all, assured. Besides the presentation of the pitch, I have paid immaculate attention to the detail of the presentation of the person. I’m wearing a Dries Van Noten white cotton slip dress with heavy boots on bare legs. The look I’ve achieved is naïve charm, but the boots hint at something a whole lot tougher. I’m showing enough cleavage to secure his attention.
‘OK.’ I take a deep breath. The brief was to have a high-profile programme that will attract viewers, advertising budgets and the press.’ Bale nods cautiously. ‘You want notoriety on a shoestring,’ I add for clarity.
‘I never said notoriety.’
‘But you agree we need to be noticed.’ He nods. The nod is fractional. I know this is because if there is ever a debate with the executive committee regarding this programme, Bale will deny he gave consent. Sod him. I tell him my idea.
‘It’s a bit unlikely, isn’t it?’ says Bale cautiously.
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Well, the premiss you’re working from is that we need couples who are just about to skip towards the altar but are paranoid enough to think that their dearest is not 100 per cent kosher and he fancies a bit of pork with his ex-totty.’
The analogy is repulsive. Offensive to a number of religions, vegetarians and women, but yes, basically Nigel has it.