Page 19 of Jessica Beam is a Hot Mess
Leo Frost frowns and stares down his long nose at me. ‘Tell me, what did you not like about the work?’
‘Drive Alive?’ I chuckle. ‘It doesn’t evenmeananything. It’s basically as if some goon used the first word they could think of that rhymed with drive and called it a concept. Drive Alive. Of course you’re alive when you drive. It’s a basic requirement of the Highway Code. And why is the woman driving the car wearing nothing but a diamond bikini? I just don’t get it. Isn’t she cold? Where is shegoing? None of my mates drive in diamond bikinis.’
Leo Frost swallows hard and looks me up and down. ‘That ad was my piece,’ he says in smooth, deep voice.
‘Ah. Oops. Sorry,’ I say, feeling a bit guilty.
‘Don’t worry yourself,’ he smirks, eyes travelling pointedly over my onesie. ‘It’s high-end work. You’re hardly the target audience.’
They all laugh at me and then Leo Frost gives me exactly the same infuriating wink he gave to Valentina. ‘Run along now, there’s a good girl.’
Oh no he did not.
‘What a fucking knob-prince!’ I hiss. Only it doesn’t come out as a ‘hiss’ but as an indignant shout.
The whole room falls silent. Shit. Did I just shout ‘knob-prince’ at a Booker-prizewinner’s book launch? ‘Knob-prince’ isn’t even a real swear. I just made it up right this minute! And it’s not as insulting as I meant it to be. It actually sounds quite complimentary. Shit. What a waste of the word ‘knob’, Jess.
‘Sorry, everyone,’ I say, holding my hands up. ‘Sorry to interrupt your big night. Sorry, Davis Arthur Montblanc.’ Davis Arthur Montblanc looks at me aghast. People are whispering behind their hands and throwing disgusted glances my way. Benedict Cumberbatch shakes his head at me furiously.
Leo Frost takes a leisurely sip of his beer and laughs. He laughs!
‘I think you ought to go home,’ he says, staring at me with his obnoxious green eyes before wandering off into the crowd, the group of clever, beautiful women trailing behind him.
What an absolute … knob-prince!
‘KNOB-PRINCE!’ I call out after him.
Shit! I just did it again. He turns round, a look of pure astonishment on his face. One of the women nudges him and whispers something in his ear. They both laugh super snidely, shake their heads at me and turn away into another huddle of fancy, clever people. Who does he bloody think he is?
Ugh! I march towards him, determined to let him know that he isnotas cool as he thinks he is, that it was really cruel of him to call methe entertainmentwhen I first got here, and that he looks absolutely nothing at all like Tom Hiddleston. But just before I reach him, the waiter (who incidentally failed in his promise not to let me have any more booze), carrying a full tray of champagne, appears out of nowhere. I don’t have time to slow down my indignant advance towards Leo Frost and, oh fuck, crash smack-bang into the waiter and his tray.
‘Oof,’ I groan as his unfeasibly sharp elbow digs into my ribs and I fall to the floor, legs akimbo. I can only watch, mesmerized, as the silver tray frisbees upwards and the flutes upon it sail off through the air like expensive, shit-tasting, heat-seeking missiles.
‘Oh, cockwaffle,’ I whisper, surveying the carnage from my spot on the floor. Leo Frost has champagne dripping off of his ginger quiff and into his eyes. He’s blinking furiously, using his fancy mauve tie to dab at his face. The sour-faced Indian woman has champagne on her lovely posh dress; she’s crying soundlessly, her mouth gaping open in distress. The skinny waiter is scrambling up off the floor and racing behind the bar in disgrace. Benedict Cumberbatch has a large champagne spill in the crotch area. And worst of all, the pile ofThe Beekeeperbooks are absolutely soaked through. Davis Arthur Montblanc picks one up forlornly, dangling the dripping hardback between finger and thumb and trying to shake off the liquid. Oh jeez. This is so much worse than sweating onto his manuscript. I put a hand to my head. Fuck.
Leo Frost, prying his champagne-sticky eyes open with his fingers, catches sight of me on the floor and heads my way. He holds a neatly manicured hand out to help me up. Pretty gracious of him, considering.
‘Thank you,’ I say earnestly. ‘I am so, so sorry. The Bollinger storm was a complete accident. I didn’t see the waiter at all − he just blasted into me out of nowhere. Crap. Are your eyes all ri—’
‘I haven’t a clue who you are or why you think you should be here − ’ he interrupts furiously, impressive baritone voice projecting across the room. Why is he talking so loudly? − ‘but you’re an absolute disgrace. You’re dressed inappropriately, you’re rude and … and loutish, and you have ruined a very important night for a lot of people. I suggest you leave immediately before I call the authorities.’
I blink. My stomach churns. I try to say something, anything, but my mouth just opens and closes like a PG Tips monkey. This could be the first time in my life that I’m lost for words. I don’t like it one bit. I’m usually so full of words. I love them and cherish them, yet now, when I really need them, they desert me. My cheeks glow with heat as one of the surrounding party attendees begins a slow clap in support of Leo Frost’s speech. Then a nearby woman adds her slow clap too, and soon the whole crowd is applauding.Damn it.For such a long time I’ve aspired to be involved in a real-life spontaneous slow clap, but I can hardly join in on this one when its intention is to show me what a div I am. Can I? No. No, I definitely shouldn’t.
This feels horrible. They actually hate me. So many people I admire in this room, and they hate me. Leo Frost continues his little public address, turning ceremoniously to the crowd of people, arms flung wide.
‘Of course, we mustn’t let one unsavoury character ruin what has been an otherwise wonderful evening, and I’d like to personally extend my sincere apologies for the interruption in tonight’s celebrations of my esteemed uncle, Davis Arthur Montblanc. There are many wonderful writers here tonight. Let’s just see this little diversion as potential future copy, shall we?’
A scatter of polite laughter.
Unsavoury?Unsavoury?
‘What the fuck are you doing?’ Summer spits, arriving at my side. She grabs hold of my elbow and drags me towards the door. ‘Jesus. You’re such a let-down, Jess! Why do you do this? You’re like a damn teenager.’
‘I … I … The waiter appeared out of nowhere. It was a complete accident. Where’s Valentina? I need to apologize.’ I crane my neck, trying to find Valentina in the crowd. She’s not there. Instead, Leo Frost, leaning against the bar, catches my eye and looks me up and down in a really condescending way. Ugh!
‘No way. No Valentina,’ Summer hisses, dragging me out into the busy London street. ‘She’ll never want us now! It’s over.’
