How To Lose Weight And Alienate People. Ollie Quain

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ a Mulberry or a Chloe). A statement that they hope says emphatically: I have it all! But what it actually says is, I have a very negative image of myself but forking out nine hundred quid on a single accessory every season has a temporarily positive effect.

      As a hostess I have to wear black. Within this remit I can choose clothes that are stylish enough to give the place an aspirational vibe and slightly intimidate the non-members coming in, but not so stylish that I make the regulars feel like they are losing it or that the venue is too of-the-moment. I can get fully ready – tan, outfit, face, hair – within two hours. This may sound like a long time but as well as wanting to get my look right for work I have always stuck to a simple grooming statute: I will never leave the house unless I wouldn’t mind bumping into anyone who I went to school with. Obviously, when I say anyone, I mean someone.

      ‘What a gorgeous evening. Summer really is on its way,’ trills Tabitha, the receptionist, as I am walking into the foyer to check on … not much. (Tabitha always has everything under control.) ‘We’re going to be busy bees …’ She rearranges her tartan headband. ‘The restaurant and alcoves are all fully booked and the first-floor bar has been chock-a-block since lunchtime.’

      Tabitha is in her mid-twenties but accessorises as if she was still nine, and likes to send group emails to us all of YouTube footage showing different breeds of animals unexpectedly befriending one another. She sees the good in everyone and is always irrepressibly cheery. So much so that at first I thought this might be a front she puts up to hide a much darker side, but then I bumped into her having a night out with her friends. Were they similar to Tabs? Let’s say it would be safe to assume not one of them will go to the grave knowing how filthy an amphetamine comedown on a Wednesday can be.

      ‘Oooh, it’s your b’day on Saturday, isn’t it? How exciting!’ she squeals.

      ‘Very,’ I lie. I’m not excited. Birthdays make me uncomfortable.

      ‘Have you got the whole weekend off?’

      ‘No, I’ve got to do the breakfast shift on Sunday morning.’ Roger’s idea of a joke – making me drag my sorry carcass into work with a hangover.

      ‘Me too. But since I won’t see you on the special day itself, let me give you your gift now.’

      She reaches under the desk and pulls out a white cardboard box. I flip open the lid. Inside are six mini fairy cakes decorated with pink icing and crystallised jelly hearts.

      ‘Ah, thanks a lot, Tabs … you shouldn’t have.’ She really shouldn’t have. Later they will be placed in the big black wheelie bin outside the club. ‘So, who’s in tonight? Anyone interesting?’

      She grabs the reservations clipboard and holds it to her chest. ‘Ooooooooooh, has no one told you?’

      ‘About what?’

      ‘About who has arrived for supper?’ She claps her hands repeatedly like a delighted seal. Tabitha still hasn’t got her head round the whole pretend-to-be-utterly-unimpressed-by-all-celebrities that is a given amongst staff working in the high-end hospitality market. ‘My tummy totally did a flick-a-flack when he walked in.’

      ‘Who is it, then?’ I ask distractedly. I could do with a Nurofen. The raspberry-tinged scent of the freshly baked cakes hovers in the air between us. I bet Tabitha loves eating pink food. Personally, I stick to green, white or brown. Everyone has their nutritional colour rules, don’t they?

      ‘Hello? Vivian? Reaction, please!’ Tabitha claps again. ‘I said, it’s MAXIMILIAN FRY! He must have literally just got out of rehab … Oooooh, he is sooooo cute in the flesh. Even cuter than he was in The Simple Truth. Un-be-l-iev-able to think that what’s-her-name actually cheated on him. I tell you, if given the opp, I would never ever ever be unfaithful to him. Honestly, I wouldn’t.’

      I smile at her. ‘Very decent of you, Tabs.’

      Dane trots down the stairs holding a giant ice bucket with bottles of champagne poking out the top.

      ‘Did you see Maximilian Fry up there, Dane?’ Tabitha grins. ‘How gorge is he?’

      ‘Yeah, yeah … but it’s what’s inside that counts,’ says Dane. ‘You know he’s a Buddhist? Always cool to hear people embracing a sense of spirituality … whatever the origin. I’d love to play him some of the band’s tracks.’

      ‘I think he’s had more than enough to deal with this year,’ I laugh. But then something occurs to me. ‘Dane, how come you saw him? You only went up to the bar. Isn’t he dining in one of the private alcoves?’

      ‘Nope, he’s at the bar.’

      Tabitha checks her yellow Swatch. ‘I seated him there ten minutes ago … he said he’d prefer to wait there until his guest arrived.’

      ‘Great. Clint Parks went upstairs about five minutes before that to use the loo.’

      ‘What’s the issue?’ she asks, furiously batting inch-long (natural) eyelashes as she senses impending drama.

      I take a deep breath. ‘It was Clint who broke the story about Zoe Dano doing the dirty on Maximilian Fry. It was also Clint who printed those pictures of Fry heading off to treatment. He’s going to walk straight out of the toilet and slap bang into the one person who wants to kill him. Well, one of. Trust me, it will kick off.’

      I run up the stairs to the first floor. There is a long line of people sitting at the bar on stools all with their backs to me, but I recognise Maximilian immediately because of his footwear: textbook A-List-actor scuffed hiking boots. (All generations wear them off set. Depp, Pitt, Farrell, DiCaprio, Butler, Cooper, Franco, LaBeouf, Lautner, Lutz, etc.) As I detect the shoes and approach Maximilian, the door of the unisex loo opens on the other side of the bar. Clint Parks bowls out looking refreshed. He immediately spots his nemesis.

      ‘Well, well, well! If it ain’t Max—’ is all he manages to say before Maximilian shoots off his stool and charges towards him.

      ‘You fucking noxious lump of shite,’ snarls Maximilian. ‘How dare you screw over my life to sell your contemptible whoring rag?’ Which is language he definitely did not use when last interviewed on the red carpet for E! by Giuliana Rancic.

      Then everything seems to move in slow motion. Maximilian steams into Clint, knocking him back through the lavatory door; women at the bar start screaming, grab their drinks and jump off their stools. Tabitha and Dane come running up the stairs behind me, our head barman drops his silver cocktail shaker and tries to hurl himself over the bar in an attempt to split up Maximilian and Clint. But I get there first and find myself wedged between them. I don’t even get a fleeting glimpse of Maximilian’s face before his fist comes hurtling towards me.

      It says a lot about how strange that day eventually turned out to be when the weirdest thing that happened to me was not getting punched in the eye by an Oscar nominee.

       CHAPTER TWO

      I open the door to the flat, automatically sling my keys in the glass fish bowl on the hall table and hang my leather jacket on the back of the door. I have been trained to do this СКАЧАТЬ