Chapter 4 - The Agency

I walk over to the quietest bar in the venue, but even this one is filled with throngs of people waiting to be served, so I wait patiently for an opening.  I rub my brow as my foggy champagne-brain knocks me to one side, the heel of my shoe hitting the ground at a strange angle, and I bump arms with someone.  At least it’s someone I can talk to.  “Oh, hi Daniel.  Are you having a good night?”

 

“Yeah, great … well, aside from the bullshit being spewed in Captain America’s corner over there.”  The account director’s square jaw dimples as he smiles cynically at his own turn of phrase.  Daniel Noble is tall, blonde, good-looking, confident and one of Barrett McAllan Gray’s star salesmen.  I’ve always thought he bears a passing resemblance to Daniel Craig, but with less muscle.

 

I look over to the corner Daniel is jerking his head towards and I see that Stella and the good-looking American are joined at the hip.  “Oh, right.  He’s certainly pulled in the crowd.  Who is that guy anyway?  Is he a new client?”

 

“No, not a client.  His name is Dylan Best.  He and Stella used to have a ‘thing’ when she lived in New York around fifteen years ago.”

 

“Oh really?  Was he one of her husbands?”  Don’t be alarmed.  Stella isn’t a polygamist, she’s just a serial divorcee.  I think she has three exes … or is it four?

 

“No, I think he featured between husbands two and three.  He owns an ad agency in New York called Razzle-dazzle.” 

 

“Ah, I know Razzle-dazzle.  I interned in New York for a year after I completed my masters at Harvard.  They were an up and coming agency back then.”  I glance over to the group and see the American is holding everybody’s attention �" loudly and animatedly �" whilst telling stories I assume are captivating as everyone is laughing hard.  “Wow, he must be loaded,” I say for no good reason before quickly wishing I hadn’t.  For god’s sake Violet, don’t talk about other people’s money!

 

“Yeah, I guess he must be.”  Daniel laughs politely as a barman passes him a glass of scotch.  “What are you drinking?”

 

“Oh, I’m just after some water actually,” I say this partly to Daniel and partly to the barman who is looking at me as if I’m that square peg again.  I shrug guiltily for no reason and he disappears behind a wall of glass and bottles to get my drink.

 

“So, you got us a fabulous win tonight, congratulations.  You must be buzzing.”

 

“Thank you … and it wasn’t just my win.  Ethan too, remember.”

 

“Oh god, yes.  What is it with the Silver-fox and Ethan?  Has he caught him pissing on his pot plants or something?”

 

“You know, it’s funny, but we have absolutely no idea.  Malcolm’s always been really standoffish with him.  I thought maybe he was jealous at first, because Ethan is really talented and good at what he does and … well, Malcolm is a bit out of his depth, isn’t he?”

 

“Out of his depth?  That’s an understatement.  The guy is a virtual liability.  This agency would be in the ground if it weren’t for Stella.  She’s been covering his arse with the board for years.”

 

“Really?”  I like a bit of office gossip and its clear Daniel knows things I’d very much like to know too, so I press him further.  “What has she done?”

 

Suddenly the barman reappears with my glass of water, topped with ice and a slice of lemon.  I thank him but I curse him for his miserable timing.  I turn back to Daniel, but I already see the momentum is lost.  I can also see that he appears to be looking at me in a way he never has before.  It’s as if he’s seeing me for the first time and his eyes are staring so intently into mine that I blush and look away.  I wonder if that look is one of those ‘looks’.  You know what I mean, don’t you?  I hope with everything I have that he isn’t going to try to take me down that road.  Not tonight.  I just don’t have the energy.

 

“You know I was thinking there might be another reason why Malcolm Barrett heaps praise on you and ignores Ethan.”

 

Hmm.  Not what I was expecting, but I’m intrigued.  “Oh, and what’s that?” I ask.

 

He pushes himself forward until I can feel his breath on my neck, the smell of whiskey tingling my nostrils.  “Maybe, he sees what I see.”

 

Oh. S**t. No.  He is going down that road.  Why didn’t I go home earlier when I had the chance?  “Daniel … I, erm … I’m sure it’s nothing.”

 

He laughs as he swirls the scotch around in his glass before taking another drink.  “I’m not talking about Ethan, I’m talking about you.  You’re smart, you’re switched on �" you understand clients’ needs effortlessly, but you’re also so much more than that.  You’re one of a kind and you’re confident and … well, you’re not like anybody else.  How long have we worked together now, four or five years?  How many creative teams do you think I’ve liaised with on behalf of clients during that time?  How many copywriters have I known before I met you?  I know more than enough to see there’s something very special about you.”

 

Why can’t it be Ethan who is standing before me, saying these things?  Why is my luck so f*****g s****y?  I can feel my face blush and I try to change the subject.  “Well, that’s kind of you to say, Daniel, but I …”

 

“Have dinner with me tomorrow night.”

 

“What?”  I gasp and every word I have ever known deserts me.  I can’t think of anything to say.

 

Daniel smiles and his blue eyes spark under the bright fuchsia and gold lights of the bar.  I notice again that he’s very good-looking and I allow myself to feel a little bit flattered.  “Have dinner with me tomorrow night.  I’d be honoured to get to know you outside of work.”  His voice is steady and filled with the self-confidence and persuasiveness of a salesman closing a deal.

 

I lower my voice to a whisper and try to think of the best way to turn him down gently, but my brain is already second guessing everything I come up with.  There’s an awkward silence which seems to last forever.  “I’m sorry Daniel, I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

 

He doesn’t look disappointed and continues to talk to me as if he’s negotiating one of his contracts.  “Why, not?  Give me your reasons and I’ll do my best to counteract them.”

 

“Okay, let’s start with, ‘because I don’t s**t where I eat’.”

 

“A-ha, that’s a tough one to counter,” he says resignedly.  “I don’t suppose I have the power to fire you before tomorrow night?”

 

I shake my head and laugh.  He’s taking this well.  I’m impressed.  “Uhm, no.  No, you don’t.”

 

“Okay, well I accept that, but I’ll keep my offer open in case you change your mind.”  He stands to leave and I realise I like him.  Not ‘like him �" like him’, but like him because he’s clearly a gentleman.  “Have a good night.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

The irony of this situation is the excuse if offered.  I wouldn’t think twice about shitting where I eat if it were Ethan asking me.  In fact, ‘shitting where I eat’ with Ethan provides the entire content for every single one of my daydreams.

 

I look at my watch after Daniel walks away and its five minutes to midnight.  A great time to make my exit!  I’ve had enough of tonight.  I leave the bar, pick up my stupid glass-vomit-on-a-stick trophy and walk towards the doorway …

 

And then I’m hit by a truck.  Not a van.  Not a tow truck or a tipper truck.  Those vehicles would cause some pain, but they wouldn’t make my heart plunge to my feet, shattering into a hundred shards of broken glass.  They’d bruise me, but they wouldn’t break me.

 

No, I’m hit by an articulated lorry filled with nuclear waste and a great steaming pile of s**t.

 

I wish it didn’t hurt so much to see Ethan with his arms wrapped around someone else.  It isn’t the act itself that has blasted my internal organs out of my body �" it is the person his drunk, blind-stupid and sex-starved brain has chosen.  In a room full of beautiful and successful women why the hell did he have to choose her?  I’ve spent so long pretending I’m totally fine with the fact Ethan doesn’t see me, that his selecting somebody from the crowd shouldn’t knock me for six.  I tell myself he is perfectly entitled to date and sleep with other women.  I have no ownership over him.  Last year he dated Zoe Callaghan �" Malcolm’s personal assistant �" for six months and it didn’t hurt anything like this.  Zoe is lovely.  Okay, I’ll be honest, I was more than glad when they broke up, but that doesn’t make me an awful person.  It just makes me a jealous person.

 

But this is different to Ethan and Zoe.  My body feels like it’s bleeding out as I try to hold myself together, my head dizzy and my chest aching as the sound of my pulse rings in my ears.  I know it hurts this much because it’s her.  It’s killing me slowly and painfully because although he is completely unaware I’m standing right here (physically and figuratively), Carly’s eyes are fixed on me and she’s enjoying every second of it.  I look on as he burrows his mouth into her mouth, his hands moving all over her body, pushing up that same gold skirt that Ridley Gray had pushed up not an hour earlier.  His hands grip her thighs as he backs her up against a wall.  His body pressing her into position like a clam on a rock.  He cups her backside and he lifts her off the ground as her fingers slide through his hair, her lips placing soft kisses onto his neck, her eyes looking into mine as she smirks.

 

I walk backwards from the scene and almost trip over a group of junior staff members standing behind me.  Some of them are in accounts, some in admin and others I don’t recognise.  “Get out of my f*****g way,” I spit at them as a young guy with curly red hair steadies my arm until I find my balance.

 

He immediately let’s go.  “Hey, we were just standing here talking.  You walked into us.”

 

I raise my head and glare at him.  “Hey, well ask me if I give a f**k!”

 

Could I have been any ruder?

 

This isn’t the first time Ethan Fraser has ripped my heart out of my chest and I’m sure it won’t be the last.  I know he’ll keep on breaking it over and over again, but that doesn’t stop me hoping he won’t.  It’s a funny thing and testament to how mangled my brain is that no matter how deeply he hurts me, how often he ignores me and how much he doesn’t see me, there’s no part of me that hates him.  How can I blame him for breaking my heart when he doesn’t know it belongs to him?

 

Instead I’ll focus all of my hate onto her.  And that isn’t very difficult.

 

I clatter through the doors and walk down four or five stone steps leading onto the pavement outside, my arms wrapped protectively around my body as the cold spring night bites into my skin.

 

“Where are you going?  You can’t leave now!”

 

I turn around to see Max sitting on the bottom stone step, his long legs outstretched awkwardly in front of him.  He’s dressed only in his shirt and trousers.  I can understand him losing a bowtie earlier, but how the hell has he lost his jacket?

 

I stand shivering in front of him and I can’t think … and I can’t feel … and I can’t see because my eyes are clouded with water.  I daren’t blink because I don’t want him to see my tears fall.

 

I watch as Max’s face changes, his green eyes glazing over with concern.  He tries to stand up but he’s drunk … and probably high … and he flops back down again.  He sighs in defeat, his gangly limbs folding up awkwardly under him and he takes a lighter from his pocket and lights up a cigarette.  He takes a long drag, exhales and fills the air with an aroma I recognise as something other than tobacco.

 

“Max, for f**k’s sake.  You know that s**t’s illegal.”

 

“Yeah, but I’m pissed and I have it.  I don’t know how I have it actually.  I can’t remember where it came from.  Anyway, they’d let me off if they caught me.  They’d just think I was a twat and say, ‘off you go my Dutch friend, and be more careful next time’.”

 

“But you’re not Dutch, Max.  You’re German.”

 

“Not when I’m smoking this bad boy.  I’ve done it before.  I just told the police its legal back home and they thought I was a confused pothead and let me off with a stern talking to.”

 

“Max, you’re so far-fetched sometimes.”  I look around us and there’s a few groups gathered outside the building.  One group are having a cigarette break, another couple are arguing, one couple is making out behind a potted conifer decorated with fairy lights.  Jesus who do I work with?

 

I sit down next to Max and slot my arm in his.  “Just be as quick as you can with that thing and get back inside before somebody sees you.  There are clients here tonight, for f**k’s sake.”

 

“I’ve only got five minutes of it left.  Do you want a puff?”

 

I look at him and briefly contemplate it �" smoking Max’s dirty cigarette might dull the ache in my chest after all �" but I politely decline.

 

“Where’s your jacket, Max?”

 

He starts to laugh and his eyes grow comically wide as he says, “I have absolutely no f*****g idea.”

 

“Please tell me your mobile and keys aren’t in it.”

 

His head snaps up suddenly and he points a finger in the air as if he’s just had a ‘Eureka!’ moment.  “That’s it.  I’ll ring my jacket to find out where it is.  He-he!  I love you!”

 

“How are you going to ring your jacket if your phone’s in your jacket?”

 

He freezes as his eyes dart around in his head, his pupils ticking away rhythmically as the cogs in his brain turn far slower than normal.  “F**k.  I’m f*****g screwed.”

 

“Max, would you like me to use my phone to call your jacket?”

 

He starts to laugh, “Oh my god, yes.  You’re brilliant.  That’s a brilliant idea.  You’re so smart.  I mean, you’re really really really so f*****g smart.” 

 

“And you’re really really really so f*****g high.”

 

He puts his arm around my shoulder and plants a kiss on my forehead.  “I am and I’m happy and Jesus you’re freezing cold.  I’d be a gentleman and give you my jacket, but I’ve lost the f*****g thing.”

 

“Well, let’s get you on your feet and we’ll go find it.  But first, finish that bloody joint.”

 

“You sure you don’t want some?”  I glare at him and he holds his hands up in surrender.  “I have better stuff than this if you’d rather have that, but it’s in my jacket.  S**t.  I hope it hasn’t gone.  That stuff was expensive.”

 

“Max, I wish you’d stop taking drugs.  You’ll get into trouble one day.”

 

He flaps his hand dismissively and takes the last puff of his joint.  “I’ve been doing speed for nearly twenty years.  I club, I dance, I listen to techno music and this goes with that.  I’ve done it since I was a kid.  It’s nothing.  I only do it when I go out and I do it because I like it.  Have you ever tried dancing to techno without speed?  Yeah, well don’t because it won’t work.”

 

I squeeze him closer as the wind picks up outside and he stubs the remainder of his joint out on the ground.  “Okay, well just be careful then I guess.”  The warmth off his body is welcoming and his hug goes some way to making me feel better.  I have a good friend here and I’m blessed to have him in my life.

 

“Are you going to tell me what’s up?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I mean you came out of the party looking like you’d seen one hell of a f*****g scary looking ghost.  What happened?”

 

I can’t tell him.  I don’t want to.  I huddle in closer to him, ignoring his question.  Hoping he’ll give up.

 

“Is this about Ethan?”  He whispers the words so tenderly, but they still manage to knot my stomach until I feel bile rise in my throat.  I keep my head down, refusing to look at him in case I cry.  I close my eyes and will the tears to stay put but I can feel two free themselves and roll down each cheek leaving wet, traitorous streams behind them.

 

“Violet.  I know,” he says as he places his hand on mine, locking our fingers together.

 

What?  What the hell does he know?  I raise my head and look at him and my throat vibrates as I take in a breath of the cool, fresh air.  “What do you know?” I ask as I scrutinise his face, hoping he doesn’t mean what I fear … but … I can see it in his expression.  He has never looked at me like this before and I recoil from his hold.  I don’t want his pity and I reject his sympathy.  I don’t want Max to know this about me.  My secret is about to be exposed and I wonder if this bloody horrible night will ever just go the hell away.

 

But Max isn’t giving up.  “Why don’t you tell him?”

 

“Max … please … just leave it.”

 

He sighs.  “Okay, I am sorry.  I’ll mind my own business.  I just hate to see you tear yourself apart over him.  Has it always been like this?”

 

I sniff back my tears.  How do you admit that you love someone who won’t ever love you back without looking like a pathetic fool?  I don’t want to talk, yet I find myself opening up to my friend.  He makes me feel safe.  Somehow.

 

“I don’t want to feel like this, Max.  I didn’t want my heart to choose him.  If I could have made it pick somebody else then I would have.  I can’t tell him because he’s my friend and I don’t want to lose him as my friend.  I smile every single second of every day that I work with him because I’m lucky that we share at least some part of our lives.  But, that doesn’t stop the pain of having a friend who can’t love someone like me.”

 

I can’t believe what I’ve just admitted too and as soon as the words have left my mouth I want to grab them and swallow them back down.  Max’s face pales as the realisation hits him.  He’d suspected �" maybe he’d always suspected �" but now he knows.  He puts his arm around me again, his head resting on my head.  “If you were less smart, less talented and less beautiful then I’d love you myself.”

 

His weird logic makes me smile.  “Max that makes very little sense.”

 

“I know, but it’s the truth.”

 

“Well, thank you … I think.”  He continues to rest his head on mine and he rubs my arm.  His touch is so comforting and, again, I’m so grateful to have him. 

 

“You need to fall in love with someone who makes you thankful you’re who you are, because who you are is amazing.  I know that doesn’t help, but maybe … well, how do you know he can’t love you for who you are?”

 

“Because he doesn’t see me like that.”

 

There’s silence and I know Max knows I’m speaking the truth.  “Sometimes people need a little help to see what’s standing right in front of them.”

 

My heart skips a beat.  “Max, don’t you dare say anything to him!”

 

“I’m not going to,” he says quickly before removing his arm from my shoulder and gripping both of my hands tight.  “But you can’t move a mountain if you just sit on your arse staring at the f*****g thing.”

 

I smile at the analogy.  I thought I was the wordsmith!  “What choice do I have?”

 

“You stand up tall and proud and you start f*****g climbing!”

 

“Easier said than done, my friend.”

 

“Bollocks.  How do you know?  Get off your arse and fight for him.  You think he’s interested in that pouting, orange, spunk depository in there?  Men f**k women like her, but they don’t love them.  I think.  I mean I wouldn’t even f**k her.  She’s a dirty skank.”

 

I think of him in there with Carly Hayes plastered all over his face and I feel another tear roll down my face.  Max catches it, smoothing the wetness from my skin with his thumb.  He’s about to say something else, but then he stops, sighs and lowers his voice to a gentle whisper.  “Look, as much as I think Ethan Fraser is an idiot and a bit of a man-w***e, he knows what class is.  You’re more than worthy of him.”

 

“Thank you, Max.  I’m glad I talked to you.  And … my god … I can’t actually believe I did.  You won’t say anything, will you?”

 

He bats my arm playfully.  “Of course I won’t say anything.  What do you take me for?”  Then he grabs my sequined handbag from the step next to us, opens it up and pulls out my mobile.

 

“Now, please give my jacket a call.  I’m freezing my f*****g balls off sitting out here.”