Getting Even

“But what about Orianna and Dan?”

  “What about them?”

  “Well, they’re quite open about their relationship, aren’t they?”

  “Yes, they are now. But rest assured, Orianna and Dan kept quiet for months before going public. Ask anyone.”

  Cassie looked perturbed. Ivy guessed in the normal run of events she would have blurted to all and sundry once her relationship with Leon was a few weeks old.

  “I know what it’s like, so if you have to tell someone, perhaps tell me?”

  “OK.”

  “Good. It can make people look a bit unprofessional when things go wrong.”

  “I guess.”

  “Just imagine, Orianna would feel dreadfully humiliated if her relationship with Dan unwound itself, now that everyone in the agency is aware they’re dating, wouldn’t she?”

  “I don’t think that seems very likely—they seem so happy.”

  Ivy’s mind worked fast. “I wouldn’t count on it.”

  “Really?”

  “Oh, it’s probably nothing.” She looked away.

  “What?”

  “Well…” She hesitated as if to appear reticent, then continued, “If you remember, when you started, and Dan came to have a chat, he seemed to avoid going into much detail about how serious it was.”

  “Er…” Cassie frowned.

  “I certainly don’t think he’d consider marrying her, for instance.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because he’s Jewish, for a start.”

  “Me too.”

  “Really? That’s a coincidence!” Ivy affected surprise. Cassie Goldworthy? I mean please.

  “Yeah, my father’s Polish, my mother’s American, but Jewish too.”

  Ah, that’s where Cassie comes from then, noted Ivy. The U.S. of A. No wonder it sounds like something from Little House on the Prairie. She continued, “I don’t know about your parents, but I gather Dan’s family is quite religious—you might remember him mentioning it.”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s not the only thing.”

  “Oh?”

  “I heard something extremely interesting … just the other day. At the gym.”

  “Yeah?”

  By this point Ivy was wedged in, resting her elbows on Orianna’s old desk too. Their faces were only inches apart. “But you mustn’t breathe a word, Cass, to a soul.”

  “No, I won’t.”

  Ivy suspected however much she liked Leon, Cassie wouldn’t be able to resist a compliment, so revealed, “Because someone else fancies you—not just Leon.”

  “Wow. Really?”

  “Though I gather he is very keen, so he’s holding off.”

  “Oh?”

  “He knows it might cause a few ructions.”

  “Why?”

  “He’s seriously entangled with someone else.”

  “Oh? Who?” Ivy could almost hear Cassie’s heart racing with excitement.

  “Because it’s Dan, Cassie, that’s why.”

  “No!” A gasp. “How do you know?”

  “Why do you think he was in such a hurry to come and say hello? And so embarrassed to talk about Orianna? Think about it … He’s been around here a lot.” Of course he has, you silly cow, thought Ivy. It’s his job.

  “Er … I suppose.”

  “It’s not me he’s coming to see, let me assure you.”

  “Oh.” A pause while Cassie assimilated it all. Then, “But who told you?”

  “Rob,” said Ivy. “He’s my personal trainer. Dan’s a client of his, too.”

  20. Weigh’st thy words before thou giv’st them breath

  Dear Mr. A. B. Sample,

  As a valued customer, it is my great pleasure to be writing to offer you a new way to go about paying for your home. And indeed, all of your monthly standing orders and direct debits. It’s called an Offset Mortgage.

  Jesus, with copy this clichéd, no wonder the last agency lost the business, Ivy observed. And now I’ve been given the unenviable task of rewriting this letter in line with an idea developed by Orianna, without my input at all.

  Orianna had left her scribbled concepts and a note asking Ivy to “tidy up the headlines and write the body copy.” How insulting. Ivy checked the brief. Target Audience: B2C2 Adults. Cheers, she thought, that helps a lot.

  The letter was needed for the end of play, so she had to get a move on. In her mind’s eye she envisaged Mr. and Mrs. Middle England, living in their Barratt home on the outskirts of Birmingham, with two children, a Labrador, and a Ford Mondeo. She began to type.

  Dear A. B. Sample,

  You’ve been banking with us for many years, but that’s no reason to stick with the same old way of managing your money. Your life’s moved on—you’ve probably got children to think of, a home to manage, a car to run. With so many demands on your energies, you simply haven’t the time to bank in the way you used to. Yet you still want to be in control of your finances, enjoy the best service, and, above everything, earn the best rates of interest.

  If that’s the case, then an Offset Mortgage is right for you …

  Ivy paused and reread her version. Yes, that was better.

  She was good at this, making a convincing argument, altering the tone to appeal to certain sectors of the population. She’d written to mums about supermarket prices, teenagers about spot remedies, beer aficionados about widgets in cans, pensioners about investment opportunities. Like an actress taking on different roles, Ivy didn’t have to believe in what she was doing in order to play each part. In advertising the line between fact and fiction was always blurred, and she’d discovered telling some of the truth—“brand so-and-so tastes better than other butters” for instance, and ignoring the full picture—“it contains more salt, will make you fat, and costs more than its competitors”—was how to sell more products and thus make a success of herself.

  These lessons had reinforced those she’d learned as a child: just as her father had falsified evidence of his income to avoid paying child support so, in fact, everyone the world over lies, or avoids the truth. Over her years in marketing, Ivy had seen how easily people can be duped, and it was a small leap to altering her tone of voice on paper to doing it in person. Ivy had discovered that friends and colleagues, just like customers, could be persuaded to believe what she wanted them to.

  Less than an hour later, Ivy was ready to show the letter to her boss. Orianna’s door was open and she was sitting at her desk, eyes fixed on her computer screen. Ivy coughed, and Orianna looked up.

  “I’ve done it. Here.” She handed over the sheet of A4.

  Orianna skimmed it. “That’s great.” She smiled appreciatively. “As always. I knew I could rely on you.” She hesitated. “Er … would you mind awfully taking this down with the scribbles I gave you earlier and showing everything to Ursula? I trust you to talk her through it and I’m trying to get my head around some figures.”

  “Oh right,” said Ivy. Gone are the days Orianna and I presented ideas as a team, she noted. Quelle surprise. She was poised to leave when Orianna stopped her.

  “Ivy?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I just wanted to check—are you OK sitting with Cassie, working together and so on?”

  Ivy gleaned from Orianna’s expression she was keen to hear it was. Tempted as she was to say Cassie irritated the hell out of her, Ivy saw more potential by responding otherwise. “It’s fine. She’s very talented. I don’t mind working with her…”

  “Good—that’s what I hoped.”

  “… so long as I’m not bothered being interrupted by a constant stream of boys.” She laughed lightly.

  “Oh?”

  “Her admirers.”

  “Really?” Orianna fell straight for it. “Such as who?”

  “The guys in the studio, you know what they’re like. They’ve all got the hots for her.”

  “Doesn’t surprise me.”

  “And God knows how many of the suits.”

&nb
sp; “Well, I never!”

  “Even your Dan, he can’t seem to resist popping in from time to time.”

  Orianna paled.

  “Though I’m sure there’s nothing in it, of course.”

  “No.”

  “He’s only being friendly.”

  “Yes.” Orianna gulped.

  “That’s just what Dan’s like.”

  “True…”

  “And I have to respect a girl who can wrap so many men round her little finger. Don’t you?”

  “Er, yes.” A hesitation. “Dan was only being friendly?”

  “Orianna, sweetie, of course he was! It’s simply his way—he’s like that with almost everyone, isn’t he? Just having a laugh.”

  “I guess…”

  “He’s a normal red-blooded male, that’s all.” Ivy paused, twisted her hair. “He’s only got eyes for you. When I see the way he looks at you—it’s completely different.”

  Orianna appeared relieved.

  So, the knife. “She’s ever so pretty, isn’t she?”

  “Mm.”

  “Anyway.” Ivy altered her tone. “It’s fun working with her. Reminds me of what we used to be like. Full of enthusiasm and impractical ideas. We have such a giggle.”

  Orianna smiled wanly. “I’m glad.”

  * * *

  No, Orianna convinced herself, if Ivy says there’s nothing in it, there isn’t. Dan’s like that with everyone. She shifted her focus onto the positive—at least Ivy and Cassie seemed to be getting along well.

  See, she thought, we do have similar taste in people, and whatever others say, Ivy’s much more generous spirited than she’s given credit for.

  Orianna recalled the copy she’d read minutes ago. There was no doubt Ivy was a first-class writer; fast, shrewd, and to the point. So what if she occasionally takes a long lunch? Ivy would never miss a deadline. And if she’s a bit abrasive every so often, does it matter that much? She’s been perfectly OK with me recently, and now she’s going out of her way to befriend Cassie too, which is really sweet of her. And to think I was worried I should have let Ivy meet her sooner.

  As for Dan, Orianna couldn’t process that right now. She turned back to her computer, focusing on the figures she’d been e-mailed, and bit her lip, perplexed.

  Call me stupid, she thought, but shouldn’t our biggest overheads be salaries, office rental, print, and production? Even taking these outgoings into consideration, it seemed running an agency was bewilderingly costly. Orianna was anxious that if things didn’t look up soon, there would have to be layoffs, and she was eager to impress those members of the board who’d been cynical about her appointment—namely Russell—so she had been working harder than ever to bring in new business. Lately she’d assigned several teams to work on each project simultaneously—something Neil had never done. This had inspired some of the lazier creatives to make more effort and encouraged others who were set in their ways to look at briefs afresh. The sense of competition had increased the tempo of the department and raised standards. It also allowed her to choose the best work to present at pitches, and as a result Green had recently won two major new accounts, and several existing clients had put extra business their way.

  Yet in spite of the additional income coming into the agency, there seemed an awful lot being paid out. Math had never been Orianna’s strong point; perhaps she’d gotten something wrong. She sighed. Office politics, sorting figures, whipping people into shape who’d previously been her peers—none of these did she enjoy.

  No, what Orianna liked about advertising was it gave her the chance to produce exquisite creative work and benefit from having decent budgets to play with. She genuinely believed in the goodness of her fellow human beings and was convinced that advertising was about communicating choice. When she and Ivy had been together as a team, they’d chatted about their different perspectives, even argued, but the result was they’d often taken the middle ground. Certainly Orianna had tempered Ivy’s misanthropy, while Ivy had helped Orianna sharpen her act. Yet now that they were separated the gulf between them was widening, and Orianna the optimist was flying high.

  21. Can anything be made of this?

  That lunchtime Dan had an appointment with Rob. He got changed, and, as was customary, met Rob on the stretch mats.

  “Can we start with some sit-ups?” he asked, convinced a succession of boozy nights that had started with his birthday meant his paunch was returning. Moreover, he was hoping to lure Orianna on vacation—he was concerned she was working too hard—and he might soon have to display his torso in public.

  “Of course,” nodded Rob. They lay down alongside one another. Rob hoisted his legs in the air and folded his arms above his head. Dan followed suit. “And one … and up … and back … and down…” This was one of the toughest abdominal exercises, and after a hundred crunches, even Rob appeared short of breath. “Enough?”

  “No. Let’s do the same again.”

  “OK.”

  Next they lifted weights (Dan upped the level), rowed (Dan increased the resistance), and ran (well, sprinted) four miles. By the end of his session, Dan felt absolved by the most rigorous workout he’d done in weeks. He’d made the effort to get into work early today so he could spend extra time at the gym over lunch.

  Now’s a good moment to see if I am out of shape, he thought, so asked, “Will you do me a favor and take my measurements quickly? I’ll have to get back to the office shortly, but it’s been a few months since we last did them.”

  “Sure. Come into the staff room.”

  Dan’s weight was his Achilles’ heel, and though he knew it was OTT, he was so concerned he’d piled on the pounds that he took off his sweatshirt, trainers, and watch, hoping the scales would be kinder.

  “Hop on,” said Rob. Dan obeyed. “One hundred ninety pounds. Not bad—you’ve only put on a bit.”

  “How much?”

  “Two pounds.”

  Dan was relieved—he’d anticipated worse.

  “So how are things between Orianna and Ivy these days?” asked Rob. “Ivy’s appeared in pretty good spirits when I’ve seen her.”

  “They seem much better, actually,” said Dan. Rob’s remark only verified what Orianna had told him: that lately Ivy had been extraordinarily genial.

  “Right, now your flexibility. Sit down here.” While Dan was sitting on the floor trying hard to reach his toes, Rob continued, his voice casual, “And how about between the two of you?”

  Dan exhaled. “Me and Ivy?”

  Rob noted how far Dan could stretch. “No, no. You and Orianna. Is it going well?”

  Dan paused for a second. From what I gather, Rob hasn’t had a partner in a while, he thought. It would be tactless to bang on about how happy we are.

  Something in Rob’s tone suggested this question wasn’t as disinterested as it appeared. Dan wasn’t presumptuous—far from it—but he noticed that Rob still seemed nervous around him. So he said, “Um, it’s going fine, thanks,” hoping Rob would gather this was all he was willing to impart. There was a silence while Rob measured around his upper arm, his chest, his waist and wrote down all the figures. It was all going swimmingly—Rob said Dan hadn’t altered shape that much—until Rob bent down to measure his inner thigh.

  “Hee hee.” Dan jumped. “Stop! I’m ticklish!”

  “Sorry.” Rob sprang back and whisked away the tape. There was no mistaking it; he was blushing. “Er … do you want to do this bit yourself?”

  “Please,” said Dan. That seemed a wise idea. Yet as he reached to take the tape measure, something couldn’t help but catch his eye. Good grief, he thought. Rob’s got an erection!

  To: Chloë Appleton

  From: Rob Rowland

  Date: Monday, September 2, 8:52 p.m.

  Subj: How embarrassing is this?!

  OMG! Remember I told you that Dan may be bisexual? Well, you know me, and of course it’s only got my imagination working overtime. I will confess I had the hottest dre
am about him last night so when he came for his appointment today I found it a bit hard to concentrate, particularly as now I know he might actually be “up” for something (as the actress … ’n all that).

  So then, this lunchtime, in the gym, Dan is just looking soo gorgeous—in a white T-shirt and these satiny shorts, he’s got a body to die for—and as we were doing sit-ups, I happened to notice that he has the most enormous package. I swear, Chloë, it had to be seen to be believed.

  Anyway, I carry on, like the true professional I am—we lift weights, do some rowing, go running—and then, at the end of the session, when he would normally have to rush back to the office in a frightful hurry (we’d already been working out for a good hour) he says, “Will you take my measurements?” Can you imagine? It was all I could do to stop myself from saying, “Looks like eight inches to me!” And so we go into the staff room for me to weigh him—which is private as you know—and my God, he takes off first his trainers—I appreciate lots of people do that, though mainly women I must say, so it’s strange for a guy to do it—then his socks and finally his T-shirt!!!! And he’s standing there in front of me, virtually stark naked, with that incredible chest, and that gorgeous face, and, I mean, what is a boy to do? It was all I could do to keep from fainting.

  And I’m thinking, this is most unusual, a guy stripping off, perhaps it means he truly is gay, maybe he wants me as much as I do him. He insists I take all his measurements, his upper arms (ooh), his chest (aah), his waist (yum), and finally … his inner thigh.

  As I’m doing this I think to myself, hey Rob, maybe the best way to get him to open up to you is to ask him a few leading questions, so I inquire about Orianna, and he’s sooo evasive, he just says it’s fine, which I think is odd, considering, and changes the subject.

  At his point I get the tape measure and wrap it around his thigh—it’s all taut and a little sweaty from exercise—and I tell you, my face is almost pressed against his shorts and I swear his package is just unbelievable that close up, and I can’t stop myself feeling turned on, and all of a sudden, it’s as if he feels this huge sexual vibe too, and he jumps about fifty feet in the air and he says he can’t cope because he’s ticklish!