Famous (9 page)

He was just so sweet, I thought to myself. I wanted to pop him directly into my handbag and take him home.

The champagne and wine had already arrived and several bottles were ensconced in well-positioned ice buckets about the place. All we had to do was set the table and place glasses on the drinks trolley. It was quite surprising how long these two tasks took, considering there were three of us.

Lizzie and I set the table, as Mands followed us around repositioning the cutlery and napkins. Upon completion it looked gorgeous, especially once the four tall white candles were lit. The three of us stood back and admired our handiwork.

‘See! We can be domesticated when we want to be,’ said Lizzie.

‘Absolutely!’ agreed Mands and I, beaming at the beautiful table.

Julie and Hamish were the first to arrive. They appeared to be one of those ridiculously loved-up newly married couples who, although there’s no doubt they both used to be fixtures of style in the single world, now appeared to be sliding towards the married wayside. Julie had, predictably, managed to pack on a few post-wedding pounds. It seemed to me that every woman who got married immediately got fat. (Even stick-thin Lizzie had put on a few unwanted pounds.) As soon as they were out of their white frocks and back from the honeymoon it all turned to custard, literally. The personal trainer who had been hired pre-wedding was now unemployed and washing car windscreens at the traffic lights. The macrobiotic diet was replaced with a
whatever is in the refrigerator
regime and those three-times-a-week yoga classes were deemed an inappropriate use of time management. But it was perfectly okay to spend all the time in the world sitting on the sofa with the new husband watching HBO movies and eating crisps. And all this before the first baby came along.

It was like married women resigned themselves to the fact their bodies were never going to be the same Ever Again (at best a milk-vending machine) and that its management was simply no longer under their control. Some women blamed it on happiness, that old cliché of eating all the pies in the shop because you’re just so happy. But how can putting on thirty pounds and no longer being able to fit your single-girl clothes make you happy? I just didn’t understand it. It was just one more reason to never, ever get married, I decided.

Sean was the next to arrive, followed closely by a very nervous-looking Simon, his wife Lisa, Darcy and Samuel, Sven, Jenna, and finally, looking as though he’d caught a bus directly from the night before, Jasper Carlson.

Although the food and liquids were firmly under control, no thanks to any of us, the evening didn’t begin all that well.

‘We’re having a baby!’ announced Lisa, once everyone else had arrived and were mingling in Mands’ living room.

Oh sweet Jesus!

‘And somewhere a little girl waits,’ muttered Mands.

Lizzie’s face promptly contorted into a silent scream. She dropped the skewered garlic prawn she was holding onto the carpet. I picked it up and put it in a napkin.

‘Well,’ I replied, breaking the morgue-like silence. ‘That’s lovely. Just lovely.’

Simon looked as though he wanted nothing more than for the floor beneath to open up and swallow him whole. The fact that Lizzie was completely motionless, with fiery daggers shooting out from her eye sockets towards his head, was not helping matters. Eventually she snapped out of her trance and excused herself from the room.

Mands and I found her standing motionless in the kitchen, a large stainless-steel carving knife firmly in her grasp.

‘Whoa back!’ said Mands, attempting to prize the knife from Lizzie’s grip, without success.

‘Easy,’ I said, also attempting to take the knife from her, and eventually getting her to release it with the aid of a Chinese burn.

‘Ouch!’ squealed Lizzie.

‘Sorry,’ I apologised. ‘But really sweets, what are you doing?’

‘Thinking about what would be the best way to stab him. Not the best way as in the quickest death, but the best way as in the most painful, with the most gradual blood loss and slowest death imaginable.’

‘Right,’ said Mands and I, obviously a little concerned.

‘But then you’ll have to go to prison,’ I reasoned.

‘And you’ll have to wear one of those hideous orange jumpsuits,’ said Mands. ‘You know orange isn’t one of your colours.’

‘And a gorgeous thing like you,’ I added. ‘You’d be everyone’s favourite little cellmate.’

‘Do you think?’ asked Lizzie.

‘Absolutely,’ replied Mands and I, nodding our heads with the seriousness of it all.

This made her stop and think.

‘How long do you think they’d give me?’ she asked.

‘Definitely life,’ replied Mands. ‘Loads of witnesses.’

‘Insanity?’

‘Not a chance.’

‘Will you kill him for me?’

‘Not right now, no.’

‘Okay,’ sighed Lizzie, resigning herself to the fact that Simon was going to live, at least for the time being.

‘C’mon dolls,’ I pleaded. ‘You’ve got to put on a brave face and come back out. You’re one of the hosts, remember?’

‘Give me a minute,’ she replied. ‘And a drink.’

I left Mands pouring Lizzie an enormous glass of vodka and walked back into the sitting room, where Lisa was still talking about her pregnancy. Simon was looking even more like a recently caged animal.

‘Couldn’t be happier,’ she said to Julie, who appeared to be bombarding her with a series of my-life-will-not-be-complete-until-I-too-am-pregnant questions.

Well, that’s just great, I thought to myself. The least she could have done was stayed at home and let Simon bring along someone who was actually going to drink and enjoy themselves.

‘We aren’t having seafood for dinner, are we?’ asked Lisa.

‘Um…’ I tried to remember exactly what it was we were having ‘…Zalmon.’

‘Pardon?’ she said.

‘Salmon,’ I repeated.

‘Oh dear. I can’t eat fish.’

Fantastic! I thought to myself. Now she had the audacity to completely screw up our menu. The cow! She could eat two-minute noodles for all I cared.

‘Sammy and I are adopting a baby,’ announced Darcy. ‘A Vietnamese baby.’

Well at least that was more exotic than having one yourself, I thought to myself.

‘Fantastic!’ enthused Jenna. ‘Which agency are you going through?’

Jenna had also adopted a Vietnamese baby, although it was now five years old and more of a small-child type thing than a baby.

Darcy, Lisa and Jenna then proceeded to spend most of the evening discussing the merits of certain baby products.

‘This is
not
what we had planned,’ hissed Mands, when the three of us finally got a moment together in the kitchen, placing more of Manuel’s perfect hors d’oeuvres onto a platter.

‘Those three are completely sabotaging this night with their goddamn baby talk!’

‘Absolutely,’ I agreed. ‘We’re simply going to have to break them up.’

‘Damnshraight!’ said Lizzie, who was looking a little less like she wanted to murder someone and a little more like she might be feeling the effects of the vodka.

‘You take Darcy,’ said Mands, pointing at me. ‘I’ll nail Lisa and Lizzie can take Jenna.’

‘Agreed,’ we replied.

The three of us descended on the baby-talkers and strategically disintegrated their conversation before they knew what had hit them. I managed to corner Darcy and get him to change the subject from babies to bars, which was considerably more exciting. He was a valuable source of gossip on the who’s who of the celebrity bar-dwelling set, and provided some very useful information on the many uncompromising positions in which they had been found in the lavatories of some of his bars. The night suddenly took a turn for the better when I noticed Jasper return from the toilet sporting traces of white film around his left nostril.

At least someone wasn’t obsessed with bloody babies, I thought to myself.

After Mands had successfully ensconced Lisa with me and Darcy, I saw her make a beeline for Jasper.

He truly has the most beautiful skin, I noted, as one would expect with the thousands of dollars he invested in skincare products and treatments. I couldn’t help but overhear their conversation.

‘Jasper daahling,’ cooed Mands.

‘Mands daahling.’

‘Refill?’ she asked, holding up a bottle of champagne.

‘Why the hell not?’ he replied.

‘So, how is life in the theatre and when’s the next movie being filmed?’

She really couldn’t have cared less, but every successful networker knew the inherent value of small talk. Every successful networker was also an expert in subtle facial movements, such as the attentive and encouraging nod of the head, the yes-I-am-listening-to-you wide eyes, the O-shaped mouth, and the trusty raised eyebrows. All choreographed at appropriate intervals and matched accordingly to the right tone of voice. A successful networker did not actually have to listen to what was being said - it was quite possible to apply the various facial movements and approving comments whilst also listening attentively to other conversations in the vicinity and ingesting all relevant information (more commonly known as multi-tasking). After listening attentively, or at least appearing to, to Jasper’s very in-depth and thoroughly boring account of the differences between stage and camera acting, she finally managed to broach the subject of his famous friends.

‘Mands daahling, I’ve told them all about you,’ said Jasper. ‘Nic and Russell are waiting for your call.’

With that comment Mands’ networking for the evening was complete. But mine was yet to begin. I spotted Sean on the other side of the table, talking to Jenna and Samuel, and made my move.

‘So Sean, how is the advertising world treating you?’ I asked, pulling my chair up beside him.

‘You should know, Sam. Working like a bloody dog for fourteen hours a day without the slightest possibility of forming a lasting relationship, or even getting a shag, just because there’s a million twenty-one-year-olds out there with more energy than a six-pack of Red Bull waiting for you to yawn so they can pounce on your clients and watch you packing up your office while trying not to cry in front of your staff.’

Bloody hell, Sean had really lost his spark, I thought to myself. He could do with a dose of Tony Robbins.

‘How about you?’

‘Oh, you know, working hard too. Never a dull day.’

‘I know.’

‘So how’s Becketts going then?’ he asked. ‘Hit the slump yet?’

‘No,’ I replied. ‘Not yet anyway.’

‘We have. Going to have to lay off three account managers this month. Bloody disaster.’

Bugger! I’d be hard pushed to be headhunted when heads were rolling.

My networking didn’t appear to be working at all. Plus, Sean was beginning to depress me. He really should try to be a bit more positive if he wanted to get himself a girlfriend, I thought. Negativity was a bona fide sex-repellent.

Thankfully it was time to serve dinner so I excused myself and moved into the kitchen with Mands and Lizzie. We placed the individual entrée plates of poompkin-und-ginger-ravioli-in-zer-vite-vine-zauce into the oven and heated them up. While they were doing their thing, the three of stood with our glasses of wine and watched.

‘Done,’ declared Mands. I thought she was referring to the food.

‘What’s done?’ asked Lizzie.

‘My schmoozing.’

‘I know,’ I replied. ‘I saw you. But,’ I warned, ‘just make sure he remembers that you had the conversation.’

‘Why?’ asked Mands.

‘Because he’s off his head. Haven’t you seen how many times he’s been to the loo?’

‘I thought he just had a weak bladder,’ replied Mands.

‘I’ll be sure to follow him next time.’

‘How’s yours going?’ I asked Lizzie.

‘Not very well,’ she replied. ‘All I really feel like doing is killing Simon. And his stupid wife.’

‘You’re not allowed to kill her,’ said Mands. ‘I want the honour.’

‘Me too,’ I added.

‘Be my guests,’ replied Lizzie. ‘Just be sure to make it painful.’

‘How about you?’ asked Lizzie.

‘Terrible,’ I replied. ‘Sean appears to be a manic depressive and the agency is laying off.’

I went to seat everyone in their allocated places and then returned to the kitchen to help the girls carry out the entrée plates.

‘Looks bloody delicious gals,’ declared Jasper, as we set the plates on the table. ‘Well done!’

‘Delicious,’ agreed everyone else, once they had taken their first mouthful. I had to agree.

‘Gosh, you three must have been cooking all afternoon!’ said Lisa, who was just grateful there was no seafood in the entrée.

Not only was she highly annoying and ruining our dinner party, but apparently she was also rather stupid. Who in their right mind would spend a whole afternoon slaving away at an oven? Not us, that was for sure.

‘Absolutely divine ladies,’ said Jenna, winking at us. ‘Tastes just as good as Prego.’

After receiving more praise for the entrée which we had absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with making, we reconvened in the kitchen to heat the dinner plates.

‘What the hell are we going to give her?’ I asked. ‘She won’t eat salmon.’

‘Arsenic,’ replied Lizzie, who wasn’t being much help.

‘Hell knows,’ said Mands. ‘You know I don’t have any food here.’

‘There must be something,’ I said, opening the tiny freezer, which contained nothing but a packet of frozen blackberries and a couple of hash browns.

‘That’ll do her,’ I said, pulling out the hash browns.

‘Aren’t you s’posed to put them in the oven?’ asked Mands, as I popped them into the microwave.

‘Who cares,’ I replied. ‘She’s lucky she’s getting anything.’

‘Bloody right,’ said Lizzie.

We brought the dinner plates to the table, where they were received with similar accolades to the entrée. (Except for Lisa’s, which just got stared at disdainfully as Lizzie slammed it down in front of her.) But before we could begin to eat Simon managed to knock over a full bottle of red wine and splatter myself, Jenna and Mands in the process. Thankfully, for his sake, he didn’t get Lizzie, who was sitting at the opposite end of the table, as far away from him as she could possibly get while remaining in the same room. Simon appeared to be dealing with the fact he was sitting at a dinner table with both his pregnant wife and his furious mistress in the only way he knew how — by getting as quickly and as rottenly drunk as he could.