The Other Side of the Story (33 page)

17

Saturday night, the Wyatt family home

Magda opened the heavy wooden front door and yelled at the top of her voice, 'JOJO HARVEY, you gorgeous, GORGEOUS woman. Mazie! Marina! Jojo's here!'

A flurry of blondes gathered around Jojo in her ancient black leggings, fraying red horns and red velcroed tail and showered her with love. Even Mrs Wyatt, 'Magnolia, please,' — who could have passed for another sister - joined in. 'You are SEX on LEGS!'

'What a clever idea, coming as a devil,' Magda said. Which just goes to show, Jojo thought, that some people deserve to be rich and beautiful. The Wyatt costumes had been hired — or worse yet, probably specially made — and still they raved over her cruddy horns and tail like they were the greatest things they'd ever seen.

Mazie in a white halter-dress was Marilyn Monroe, Marina with several stuffed robins attached to her ice-blue Chanel suit was Tippi Hedren in
The Birds
and Magda was tall and glorious as a
Lord of the Rings
elf-queen. 'Jojo, it's terribly funny, I've never liked my ears. They're so flat and pointy that I wanted to have surgery, but now I'm glad I didn't.'

Magnolia agreed. 'I've always said that if you hold on to something for long enough it comes back into fashion.'

Well-behaved little girls, the offspring of Magda's brother Mikhail, fluttered about. One relieved Jojo of her coat, another took the gift and solemnly told Jojo she'd put it in 'the present room' and one more presented Jojo with a champagne cocktail.

The party was as slick as if a professional had organized it, but Magda had done it all by herself and had thought of everything: a dimly lit chill space; a dining area with buffet table and squashy sofas; and a big room with a sound system and bar, 'the misbehaving room'. Trays of drinks appeared under your nose the nano-second you were over halfway through the one in your hand, you happened upon a chair at the exact moment you decided you wanted to sit down and handsome men gave you admiring glances just when you were curling up with self-consciousness at being the only person there in a home-made costume.
Everyone
had rented proper outfits. In the first five minutes Jojo clocked a gorilla, Gandalf, the Pink Panther, a knight in armour, a damsel in distress, another Gandalf, a nun, Batman, yet another Gandalf and two Marie Antoinettes, both of them men. Even Andy showed up in a Superman costume, and Becky in black skin-tight vinyl and eye-mask was Cat-woman.

Then Jojo saw Shayna and Brandon and exhaled with relief. Shayna, stick-skinny and in a brown faux-crocodile catsuit, had come as a Twiglet and Brandon, with huge, misshapen lumps of styrofoam stuck all over him, was meant to be a piece of popcorn.

'We have some lovely, lovely men for you, Jojo,' Magda said. 'First up is the man who's come as Ali Baba.
Pots
of money and really the nicest chap. You couldn't hope for nicer. There's just one thing and you must promise not to let it put you off.' She clasped Jojo's hand. 'For me, Jojo. Promise?'

Grinning, Jojo promised. She
loved
Magda.

'No one explained to him how to apply fake tan for his Ali Baba look. But he's the sweetest man and as I say,
pots
of money. Come and let me introduce you.'

She pulled Jojo across the room to a man in pink satin harem pants and red cummerbund. 'Jojo, this is Henry. I know you two are just going to love each other.'

Jojo took one look and it took every fibre of her strength not to laugh. Henry's face, beneath his saffron turban, looked like it had been tie-dyed. The badly applied kohl didn't help either.

Alagda dervished away and Henry cleared his (tequila sunrise) throat and said, 'I apologize for my streaky face. I was unaware of the correct application of a well-known self-tanning product and this is the result.'

'Hey, how would you know, you're a man.'

'They tell me it'll take a week to fade.'

Jojo nodded sympathetically.

'Which could be rather awkward for work.'

'What do you do?'

'I read the news.'

Another airlock of laughter was threatening to choke her. She clenched her fists.

'The stock market reports, not the full news. But it could still be tricky.'

Jojo wondered how she might escape, but she needn't have worried. Magda Wyatt was several steps ahead of her and reappeared with a pink rabbit. 'Henry, this is Athena, Hermione's youngest sister. I know I can rely on you to take care of her, and Jojo, I'm so sorry to break up your lovely, lovely chat with Henry but I need to whisk you away.'

Once out of Henry's earshot she murmured, Was it the fake tan?'

'No-'

'Never mind, we have lots of other lovely men on our books. Now, who shall we say hello to next… ?'

There was something about Magda: she invited confidences. 'See, Magda, I already have a boyfriend. But he's married.'

'My God, how thrilling.' But then she saw Jojo's face. 'Not thrilling? Come and sit down.'

Naturally they were right beside a window seat which was so perfectly sized it was as if it had been custom-built for Jojo and Magda. One of the nieces materialized out of nowhere and Magda instructed her to bring a bottle of champagne, which they drank while Jojo spilled her guts about Mark.

'And he's the man for you?' Magda said, when she'd finished.

'I don't know. I think so but how does anyone know for sure?'

'You know how I know if a man is for me? They have terrible shoes. Ones that I'd be embarrassed to be seen in public with. Even if they're fine in every other department, their shoes are always dreadful. And that's how I know.'

'Wish it was that easy.' And this whole thing was gathering momentum, Jojo realized. Looked like she and Mark could no longer contain it. Mark had fessed up to Jim Sweetman. And look at what had happened here — though she was crazy about Magda, she didn't really know her and still she spilled her guts to her.

The following day, Becky and Andy's place

Andy opened the door and stared at her for a moment too long. 'Jojo, you're up. You must have the constitution of an elephant. We're
dying.'

'I left while I could still walk.' She followed him in. 'Where's Becky?'

'Throwing up, I think.'

'Too much information! OK, you.' She pointed at Andy. 'You're a man.'

'Not today. Once maybe but today I'm ruined. Those bloody Wyatts.'

'It's Mark's birthday next week. What should I give him?

What do men like?'

'Unusual sex with dangerous women?'

'He always gets that. Something else, please.'

'Cufflinks?'

'Handcuffs?'

'Nyet:

Wallet?'

'Nyet:

'Clothes.'

'
Nyet
. Cassie would see any of the above and she can't be that dumb.'

'I don't know,' Andy said. 'Doesn't she eat cheese sandwiches, even though she knows they give her migraines? A backgammon set?'

'Nyet.'

'A book?'

Andy was trying to be funny but Jojo pounced, 'Now you're talking! A first edition of something. He loves Steinbeck. How about a first edition of
The Grapes of Wrath.'

Becky had crept into the room, grey-faced and subdued. Gingerly she crawled onto the couch and lay flat on her back. 'I just puked.'

'What do you want?' Jojo asked. 'A medal?'

'I'm simply sharing. But if you get him a first edition of something, you won't be able to write anything nice on it because his wife will see.'

'You were listening!' Andy said.

'I can puke and listen at the same time.'

'She wants
my
opinion. As a man. And she can write something on the book if he keeps it in the office.'

'Kids, quit squabbling. I wouldn't write on a first edition,
period
?

Becky poked Andy with her foot. 'Get me things to take away the pain.'

'Please.'

'Please. Look at me,' she said to Jojo. 'Pyjamas at three in the afternoon, pounding head, churning stomach, nameless fear. Those Wyatt girls really know how to throw a party!'

'It was totally great. Wasn't Marina cute as a button in her little suit?'

'And Mazie in her white dress?'

'And Magnolia in her
Pussy Galore
rig?'

'But Magda…' They both cooed in admiration of Magda and from the kitchen Andy made some prurient noise and Jojo called witheringly, 'Not in a sexual way.'

Andy returned with a fistful of analgesics. 'Apparently, there were five Gandalfs.'

'I think at least one of them was a Dumbledore,' Becky said. 'There were
tons
of men at it. It was a great pulling party, fantastic if you're single.' She inquired of Jojo. 'Well? I know you're not single but the men last night didn't know. So? Any luck?'

'Not bad. I slow-danced with a Gandalf, did my
Saturday Night Fever
with
a Mother Superior and got asked out for dinner by an air-freshener.'

'Air-freshener? What kind?'

'One of those pine trees that hang on rear-view mirrors.'

'Him? I thought he was a Christmas tree. Good-looking?'

'I couldn't really see. He had a beaky bit over his face.'

'And I saw you dancing with King Canute,' Andy said.

Jojo shook her head.

'You were. I saw you. Pissed as I was I remember thinking that the pair of you were really going for it.'

'No, I was entangled in his nets. We weren't dancing, that was just the two of us struggling to get free.'

18

Monday morning, opening her post

One was marked personal and Jojo thought she recognized the handwriting. She tore the envelope and tipped out the letter. 'Oh no!'

Dear Jojo,

There's no easy way of telling you this but I have decided not to return to work. I know I promised you that I would. I meant it when I said it, but I wasn't prepared for how much I love Stella and I can't bear the thought of leaving her every day with a minder. When it happens to you, you'll know what I'm talking about.

I know you're in good hands with Manoj and I hope we'll stay friends.

With lots of love,

Louisa and Stella

She loved Louisa. She was her sidekick, a smarty who always delivered. At least she had been until Childbirth Stole Her Brain. This was not good news. Right away she went to see Mark.

'Louisa isn't coming back.'

'Aaaahhhhh.'

'You knew?'

'I thought she might not. It happens.'

'She swore black was white that she would.'

'I'm sure she meant it at the time.'

'I'm sure she did,' Jojo acknowledged.

'Should we advertise for someone new, or do you want to keep Manoj?'

'Manoj is fine. OK, he's very good,' she admitted reluctantly. 'It's just that Louisa was my friend. She knew about you. Now I've no one to talk to. Guess I could always try Jim Sweetman,' she added.

Mark said nothing. He let the silence endure and Jojo was the one to crack.

'Hey, it's your birthday Friday.' She went for levity. 'Eight o'clock, my bed, for a very special gift.'

A second too long before he spoke. 'I can't.' He sounded pained. 'Cassie's organized something.'

'Oh. What?'

'A night in a country house hotel. Weymouth Manor or something. I'm so sorry.'

Jojo got it together. 'Come on, Mark, she
is
your wife.'

'How about Sunday?'

'Sure.'

Then she went back and broke the news to Manoj that he was going to be made permanent. He was so happy he almost cried. 'You won't regret this,' he wobbled.

'I already am. Pull yourself together. Any messages?'

'Gemma Hogan rang. She was wondering if you've sold her book yet.'

Jojo rolled her eyes. Gemma Hogan was an Irish woman who had sent sheaves of emails to her friend detailing her elderly father leaving her mother. When the bunch of pages arrived on Jojo's desk they weren't in book format but were entertaining and funny enough for her to be semi-interested.

So they met - and it was one of the weirdest meetings Jojo had ever had: every author who came to see her was absolutely wild to be published. But this Gemma was different and the moment Jojo realized she was offering to represent a woman who hadn't written a book and didn't want to be published she drew the meeting to an abrupt conclusion. She'd thought she'd never hear from her again but a few weeks after the meeting Gemma rang to say she was in the process of writing the book — and less than a month later the finished product arrived.

It belonged in the category of books that Jojo called the So-What?s - not special enough to be sold via a headline-grabbing auction; instead Jojo would have to approach each house individually and if they passed, carry on to the next bunch.

The heroine, Izzy, starred in a cookie-cutter love story with a little twist. It had signalled from page one that she would end up with the brooding, cleft-chinned Emmet, a hero straight from central casting; instead she falls for the quietly sexy pharmacist who has been dispensing the mom's happy pills. It was the mom's journey that was much harder to stomach. Sixty-two years of age, so ditsy and dependent that she'd never learned to drive, she was running her own business by page seventy-nine (importing Swiss skincare into Ireland, hand-in-hand with her Swiss toyboy).

It was baloney. In real life, for every abandoned wife who won Businesswoman of the Year, there were thousands of others who understandably never recovered their equilibrium. Which would Cassie be? Jojo wondered. If,
if
Mark and she ever… She sincerely hoped she'd be a Businesswoman of the Year version. Despite its flaws the book was fun and would probably sell. Sure, the critics wouldn't even acknowledge it; books like this — 'women's fluff' — flew beneath the radar. Occasionally, to make an example to the others, they wheeled one out and 'reviewed' it — although the review had been written before they'd actually read the book — and they poured scorn with the ugly superiority of Ku Klux Klan laughing at bound black boys.

Different, of course, if it had been written by a man…

Suddenly there would be talk of 'courageous tenderness' and 'fearless exploration and exposition of emotion'. And women who normally made fun of 'women's fiction' would read it with pride in public places.

Now there's a thought… What were the chances of convincing Gemma Hogan to pretend to be a man? Not to dress up as one, just to publish under the name Gerry Hogan, perhaps. But there was no way. Like many authors, Gemma was probably in it for the buzz of seeing her picture in
Hello
! and her name in the papers.

When Jojo rang to tell Gemma that she would represent her and her book, Gemma chuckled quietly. 'I'm screaming my head off on the inside, but I'm at work,' she'd said apologetically. 'So you really liked it?'

'I LOVED it.' Well, she had enjoyed it. 'Oh yeah, does it have a name?'

'Of course. Didn't I put it on it? It's called
The Sins of the Father
:

'Oh no, it's not.'

'Sorry?'

'Not as sorry as I am. Change the name, like, yesterday.'

'But it's representative of the story.'

'This is light, romantic fiction! It needs a light, romantic title. "Sins of the Father" sounds like a clogs and shawl misery-fest: pubescent girls being thrashed with riding crops by half-brothers who want to schtup her. Lame ones.'

'Who's lame? The girl or the brother?'

'I meant the brother. But it could be the girl, in fact it's probably both. How about "Headrush"?'

'But it doesn't mean anything.'

'Gemma, listen to me good. I-can-not-sell-this-book-with-that-title. Get-me-a-new-one.'

After a long pause Gemma said sulkily,' "Runaway Dad".'

'No.'

'I can't think of anything else.'

'OK, we'll use it as a temp. We need a new title but I'll start sending the book out straight away.'

'There's no need to send it to lots of people. I'd like to be with Lily Wright's publisher. Dalkin Emery?'

'Woah.' For a first-timer Gemma was surprisingly knowledgeable about publishers. Then Jojo thought about it — not a bad idea. Dalkin Emery were good with women's fiction: as well as Lily Wright, they'd made a huge success of Miranda England.

'We can try Dalkin Emery but I'll send you to a different editor. It's not a good idea for friends to share editors. You might find it hard to believe now but this could start a huge rivalry…' If it wasn't there already and she was beginning to suspect it was. '… and ruin your friendship.'

'We're not really friends. We just… know each other.' Nevertheless, Jojo decided against it — the client is
not
always right - and sent it to Aoife Byrne instead.

But Aoife rang her and said, 'Jojo, this
Runaway Dad
book is more Tania Teal's thing. I've passed it on to her.'

The weird thing was that as soon as Jojo hung up, Gemma rang for a progress report and when she heard that Lily's editor was considering her book she said, 'I knew it. I'm meant to be with that editor.'

And although Jojo didn't believe in any of that 'meant to be' crap, she was a little impressed.

For about five minutes. Tania passed. She said it was a sweet book, actually reminiscent of Miranda England's earlier work, but it just wasn't special enough.

Damn, Jojo thought. These so-what books put varnish on her nails but they were a lot of work for little reward.

Who next? Patricia Evans at Pelham. But Patricia had never really forgiven her for not accepting the
Love and the Veil
pre-empt. Sure enough two days after biking over
Runaway Dad
a standard rejection letter arrived on Jojo's desk. She'd have betted that Patricia hadn't even read it. It was now with Claire Colton at Southern Cross. So even though she had no good news, she rang Gemma. She had a policy of returning calls to all her authors, no matter how unlucrative they were — and giving it to them straight.

'No sale yet, Gemma. We've had a couple more passes. But not to worry, there are plenty of publishers out there.'

'Couldn't we try Lily Wright's editor again?'

'No, we totally can not.'

'OK. I've thought of a new name.'

'Hit me.'

'"Betrayal".'

'Too Danielle Steele. In fact… you know, maybe it's not for me to say, but could be you need to, like,
move on
. All the titles you've picked, they're a little… well… bitter.'

'That's because I am.' She sounded proud.

'OK. Whatever. Let me know when you get the right title.'