She Just Can't Help Herself. Ollie Quain

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СКАЧАТЬ continue to be offloaded to other staff during half-term and other school holidays, parents’ evenings, and random departures from the office when precious has fallen ill or off their pony …’ He flops back into his seat. ‘… or quadbike. Don’t you think?’

      I shrug and stare down at my lap. I am wearing a pair of Rag & Bone ripped and faded jeans. They are skin tight. I’ve worn denim like that since I was teenager. My mother always wore a pair of voluminous dungarees, even though she was smaller than me. They made her look like a farmyard cartoon character. That look put me off non-snugly fitting denim for life. Whenever bell-bottom flares or a sailor-style cut reappear in the collections, I say no.

      ‘That said,’ continues Fitz, ‘at least with Ogilvy out the way for a few months, we might start getting some decent material in the mag again. Don’t you think this issue is even more vanilla than the last? There’s not one piece I was excited to see in print. Your column is funny, naturally, but the subject matter … I mean, seeeeeeriously, Jacobs, you shrew. I used to DIE for all of it.’ He flips the issue open at my page and runs his finger down it. ‘Latex as daywear, Russian doll surgery, grime chic, Caroline Vreeland and the rise of the multiple-threat Insta girls—okay, fair enough—but knuckle tattoos, stylist lexicon, spike epaulettes, the new mephedrone and e-cigs? E-cigs? I am choking! But I am deffo not dying!’

      Even I cringe. ‘Catherine wanted the topics to be more mainstream.’

      ‘And you didn’t argue the toss? We’re playing too safe. There’s no grit. We’re turning into the magazine equivalent of Miranda Kerr; looks fabulous—no denying that—but the personality, well …’ He sucks in his cheeks. ‘I find it astonishing that our sales haven’t slipped.’

      I shrug again. ‘Yeah, well … they haven’t, so …’ I sigh. ‘Anyway, does it matter?’

      ‘Does it matter?’

      ‘Or rather, do we matter anymore, Fitz? We put out one magazine every month to share our collective views, but each one of our readers has a way of expressing their unique point of view in every single moment of every day. Our generation was the first to grow up with the Internet—we were meant to be in control of it, but we’re not. And it’s going to get worse. I thought it would affect us, but we could never have predicted this … I am starting to feel like what is the point? Is there a point to it? Us?’

      Fitz leans back and eyes me as he chews the end of his biro. ‘Woah! Where has all this come from?’

      ‘They’re trying to prick us from the outside, you know,’ I mutter. ‘We’re not safe in the bubble.’

      ‘O-kaaaaay.’ He laughs. ‘I’ve got two qwezzies for you, Jacobs. The first is not one I like to ask anyone, as it always gets misconstrued, but, are you okay? I’ve been concerned. Ugh. There. I’ve said it.’

      ‘Why are you worried?’

      ‘I said, ‘concerned’, not worried. Worried would imply this is about you. But this is about me.’ He raises an eyebrow at me. ‘Recently, you’ve not exactly been full of the joys of Spring/Summer or Autumn/Winter. ‘I’m concerned because how you are acting is affecting my general enjoyment in the work place. The truth is, you’ve been behaving in a peculiar fashion. Not fashionably peculiar. You have been and are being … boring. I can see a pattern of said banality forming both in the flesh and online versions of you. Your Instagram account used to be a relentless and shameless exercise in showing off without ever quite making you look pleased with yourself. No mean feat. And as for Kat Moss, she could have been the new Choupette! In person, you haven’t instigated a round of the I DIE FOR game in an age and now this … questioning the essence of who we are? We are fashion, Jacobs. Don’t ever question that. Something is definitely up. Where has my vicious shrew gone? Spillez les haricots, pronto.’

      I crumple a piece of paper in my hand. I am acutely aware that it could be considered odd I have not told the person I am closest to (other than my husband) that I am in the middle of a separation. Indeed, that the ‘process’ is already at the stage where our legal representation are conferring and are sorting an ‘arrangement’. But it’s not as if I have lied, I’ve simply been airbrushing the truth. I throw the crumpled-up piece of paper at Fitz.

      ‘I’m perfectly fine.’

      ‘Prove it, then,’ he says. ‘Prove you are not a fun sponge.’

      ‘How?’

      ‘Come to a party next Saturday. I introduced myself to Frédéric Lazare’s painfully fit PA at Noelle’s launch. Get this … he’s called Jesus! Talk about if the cap fits … if He is the Second Coming, it was well worth the wait. Anyway, he told me, Lazare’s having a twenty-four-hour bash next weekend at his penthouse on the river. Expect a crowd of acerbic fashion whores off their tits on whatever dirtbag narcotics they can get on speed dial by tapping their acrylic fingernails against limited-run chrome Samsungs … then dancing the night, following morning and possibly the next arvo away to a re-lent-less disco beat. In other words, it’ll quite possibly be …’

      ‘… the best party ever?’ I suggest. This is one of our in-jokes. Every industry bash always has this potential revered status.

      ‘Up for it, Jacobs?’

      ‘Maybe …’

      ‘Bring Zach, obviously.’

      ‘Ah, I doubt he would be able to make it. He’s still preparing for that big pitch at his agency,’ I say, quickly. ‘Oh, and let’s not forget he absolutely loathes disco.’

      Fitz tuts. ‘Yawn! Straight men really are a strange breed, aren’t they? I can just about understand them not wanting cock. But glitter balls?’

      I force a smile, but I am already imagining about what would happen if I went to the party. I’ll drink, get drunk … then sober up way too quickly. When I do, I’ll be looking in a mirror, in a bathroom, in a home I have never been in before. That’s when I have to face myself because the reflection never lies.

      ‘Jacobs?’

      ‘I said, maybe. Anyway, what was the second question you had?’

      ‘Ah, yes. That dizzy cow who chucked her drink over you at the book launch. She threw me such shade as she was leaving. I mean, serious attitude! Is she someone?’

      ‘No. She is no one.’ I say, very slowly. ‘No one at all.’

      ‘Anyway, did the Wang recover?’

      I exhale deeply, collecting myself. ‘The dry cleaners are going to do what they can, but they couldn’t give me an answer for sure. You can never tell what the long-term effects will be after that sort of damage. I should know more in a day or so. Best we can both do is let the experts do their thing … and pray.’

      Fitz laughs. ‘That’s better, darling. Almost funny. Keep this up and I may not replace you. I was even considering Bronwyn earlier as my new office bf.’ He throws the paper ball back at me, then checks his watch. ‘Right, I’m off. Am nipping to that do which Oil Denim are putting on. They’re celebrating the release of their new ethically sourced boyfriend jean. That would be nice, wouldn’t it? An ethical boyfriend … oooooh, I bet Jesus has a social conscience. He’d have to … with a name like that.’

      ‘I’m СКАЧАТЬ