Chasing Men by Edwina Currie

explained that when we talked on the phone. Did I get your name right?’
    ‘Hetty.’
    And your phone number’s …’ He quoted it correctly. ‘I never forget a phone number. Especially when it belongs to an attractive lady.’
    ‘You flatter me.’ Her tone was faintly sarcastic, but he seemed to take it as flirtation.
    ‘A lovely dame like you must have lots of fellas wanting your private number. I bet you keep ’em hanging on, don’t you?’
    She did not answer, though the temptation to put him in his place was strong. Yet what was his place? Should she tell him she was not available? What was the language for that? She could say she was married, though that was no longer true. She could imply she was spoken for, but doubted she was a good enough liar. Instead she smiled and tried to look enigmatic. His snigger suggested she had not entirely succeeded.
    ‘D’you like my music, Hetty?’ He stroked the saxophone.
    ‘I liked listening to you. I can’t claim to know much about it.’
    ‘Well, now, you could learn. If I were to call this ’ere number and invite you out for a drink some time, would you slam the phone down on me?’
    ‘Of course not.’ This was real devotion to duty. She could maintain the pretence at least until his piece had been satisfactorily recorded. He was wearing a scent, an aftershave or spray, reeking of eucalyptus. It made her nose wrinkle.
    ‘Then I’ll do that.’
    ‘I think I’m a bit old for you, Al,’ Hetty excused herself.
    ‘No, you’re not. Don’t talk like that. I love mature women.’
    ‘That shows you have discrimination and taste,’ Hetty replied drily. She checked her watch. ‘I’d better get you and your horn into Makeup. You’ll be on in a minute.’
    He rose and lunged. She turned her head sharply sideways; he managed nevertheless to plant a wet kiss, not on her lips but on her burning cheek. The eucalyptus was excessive and made her want to sneeze. ‘Nice, huh? More where that came from. I’ll ring you.’
     
    Rosa had been held up in the gallery, checking rushes. As the programme ended she joined the crew in a briefing session for the next day’s shooting. The hair was wilder, the black skin shinier and healthier, the energy more exuberant than ever. This time she was wearing an orange silk minidress. Her legs were still those of a twenty-year-old. She reminds me of the liquorice sticks we had as children, Hetty thought: so delicious you could eat her.
    ‘Hey! What a life!’ She squeezed Hetty’s arm affectionately. ‘You enjoying yourself, hun? You seem to be making out okay.’
    ‘I’m making out, fine,’ Hetty answered. Was this another new language? ‘I love it.’
    ‘You’re brilliant at the job. The guests like you and trust you. That’s always a plus.’ Rosa gave her a flashing smile. ‘I forgot to thank you for inviting me to your party. It turned out quite a night, didn’t it? And since …’
    ‘Since?’
    Rosa nudged her playfully. ‘Oh, sure. You know. Richard.’
    ‘You’ve been seeing Richard?’
    Rosa giggled. ‘Yeah. Seeing quite a lot of him. Terrific body. Pecs like ski jumps and a butt like two walnuts. And nuts like …’
    ‘I can imagine. But I’d have thought he was a bit young – for us, I mean?’
    ‘What? Six or seven years’ difference? Don’t be so old-fashioned. Listen, Hetty, he may be kidding those teenagers in the next-door flat that he’s only thirty, but he’s closer to our age, believe me.’
    ‘Another guy who makes a career of it,’ Hetty commented, cautiously.
    ‘Say again?’
    ‘Mid-forties, still playing the field. Never stops long enough for anyone to catch him. Has a harem on the go, almost. What’s the correct description? Serial philanderer?’
    ‘Perfect. An experienced sexy bloke who’s not after my money. Who could ask for more?’
    Hetty laughed, then turned away. Rosa’s riposte seemed too ready an acceptance of standards sharply lowered. She could ask for more. A lot