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hair is “rich russet red” and almost reaches your waist; if you adopt a uniform of tight trouser suits and killer stilettos; if you forgo the friendship of your equals in the office and concentrate on the people with true power.

Oh but how I missed those friendships with equals. I knew exactly what was said about me. I was a ball-breaker. I was a tough, uncompromising bitch. I was only interested in myself. Of course most of that was true. But no one ever said I could be thoughtful. No one said I was straight and honest. No one talked about the love I have for my friends and family. In fairness perhaps they never saw that side. Perhaps I was too busy furthering my career to concentrate on showing off my better aspects.

I learned very quickly that being nice didn't do it. Being nice won friends, but didn't influence anybody. I craved the influence far more than the friends, but there were times I thought I wanted the friends: when I'd walk into the office and silence would descend as if we were in a Wild West saloon; when everyone would go to the local pizza place for someone's birthday and I wouldn't be invited; when no one offered any help or assistance if, say, one of my guests dropped out at the last minute.

I told myself the benefits were worth it. While they were eating pizza, I was in a local upscale wine bar with the heads of the department. While they were getting pissed on beer and cheap white wine at a party in someone's flat, I was mingling with other television people in beautiful country houses, sipping champagne and making amusing small talk.

It's not what you know, it's who you know, my mother used to say, and nowhere is this more true, I discovered, than in the media.

Every job I ever had, every program I'd ever worked on, every promotion I'd ever been given was, directly or indirectly, as a result of mixing with the higher powers.

And that includes Mike Jones, Director of Programming for London Daytime Television, because I'd reached about as far as I was going to reach at Anglia, and I'd set my sights on something higher.

London Daytime Television.

I know all about Mike Jones, of course. Who doesn't, for Chrissakes? I've spent years listening to tales of Mike Jones's legendary drinking sessions, his womanizing, so I have to say it was something of a shock to hear him on the phone. Not an assistant, not some flunkie. Mike Jones himself.

“We need a producer,” he'd said, “last minute. Urgent as fuck. Can you come tomorrow?” As if there were anything to think about.

I contemplated one of my signature trouser suits, and then decided on more of a floaty number. Less of the power-dressing, more of the flirtatious. Less Cindy Crawford, more Pamela Anderson.

But with a hint of seriousness, naturally. I wore a camel knee-length skirt with a lace hem, a pale pink cardigan over a Wonderbra that did a wonderful job of creating a cleavage I don't really have, and the obligatory killer stilettos. In caramel, of course. Shimmery tights, as it was far too cold to go naked-legged, and my delicious red winter coat with a huge fringed collar. I was ready.

I could see immediately what everyone was talking about when they talked about Mike Jones. His power definitely makes him attractive, and I noted him giving me a slow, cool once-over when I walked in.

We talked for a while about the job. He told me the situation, that the producer in question was about to take a sabbatical and was trying for a baby, and that they were looking to fill her shoes.

There was no question about whether I could do it. Standing on my head with my eyes closed.

“We haven't actually discussed the sabbatical with the producer yet,” he said, clearly uncomfortable. “In fact, I'd be much happier if everything we discussed in this office is kept strictly between us.”

“Of course,” I said, nodding. “And what if she, um, decides not to take a sabbatical?”

He was being indiscreet. He knew it. But the television industry thrives on gossip, and he couldn't resist. “I love this girl,” he said. “I've worked with her for years and I think she's talented as hell, but she's lost the plot. She's having the sabbatical whether she likes it or not, because she's one of the best people we've got and I can't afford to lose