when I’m on screen.”
“Mmm. You sound just my type. I’m wearing my oldest pair of Levi’s, a faded blue Ralph Lauren polo shirt (it matches my eyes!!) and sneakers. I keep a suit in the office for when I have meetings, but most of the time I’m real casual.”
“So what’s Los Angeles like?”
“I love it. I love the climate, the buildings, the people. It’s unlike anywhere else in America. Have you ever been here?”
No. I’ve never been anywhere, really. When I was younger, when my parents were still together, we went to a campsite in France a couple of times. I remember the soft sand, the palm trees in Nice, the warm water, but as I grew older, as my mother tried to cope with being a single parent, the foreign holidays stopped, and the French campsite became small hotels in Dorset, Wales, Brighton. What I wouldn’t give to go to somewhere like Los Angeles.
“I haven’t but I’d love to.”
“You should come out here. I bet you’d love it.”
“Is that an invitation?.”
“Sure! You could come and stay with me.”
Blimey, that’s a bit quick, thinks Jemima, but then being as naive as she is, Jemima doesn’t know that Angelenos have a p. 83 habit of extending the arm of friendship, before whipping it back again as soon as you try and take hold.
“But we hardly know each other,” I type, wondering whether Brad is ever so slightly insane. I mean, who in their right mind would extend this sort of an invitation to someone they don’t know?
“We’d get to know each other pretty quick.”
“LOL.” I ’ m getting the hang of this.
“So when are you planning your next vacation?”
“I hadn’t really thought. Some time soon, though.”
“Just don’t go anywhere without speaking to me first! What are you up to tonight?”
At least now I can tell the truth. “I’m going out for a drink with a friend.”
“A male friend?”
“Yes.”
“:-(“
“Why :-( ?”
“I’m jealous.”
I know this is ridiculous but reading those words suddenly makes me feel good. Stupid, really, because he’s never seen me, but nobody has ever had cause to be jealous before. Of me! Jemima Jones! Going out with another man! This is amazing. New, but nevertheless amazing.
“Don’t worry, he really is just a friend.”
“Tell me he’s fat and forty.”
“Okay. He’s fat and forty.”
“. Good. Just remember little old Brad sitting in California thinking about you. Can we meet again tomorrow?”
“I don’t know if I can. I think I’m going out.”
“Okay. I’ll e-mail you instead. How’s that?”
“Perfect. I’ll look forward to it.”
“Will you e-mail me back?”
“Promise.”
“Okay, JJ. Take care, and a big hug from me.”
p. 84 “Same here. Bye.”
I gather up my stuff and while I’m getting ready to leave I’m trying to picture Brad in California, which is tough bearing in mind I haven’t been there, but I have seen it in the movies. I wonder whether he really is a golden-haired, blue-eyed Californian god, or whether he is merely doing what I’ve been doing, and reinventing himself over the Internet.
Either way, it’s going home time, and only a couple of hours, I hope, until I see the love of my life all by myself.
“I had a great day today.” God knows why I’m bothering telling them, but I need to talk to someone, so instead of simply hovering in the doorway of Sophie’s bedroom, which is what I usually do before disappearing up to my own room, I walk in and sit on the bed, which I know must seem slightly strange to them.
“Oh,” says Sophie, and then Lisa. “Great.” I can see they’re both flummoxed, having never heard me volunteer any sort of information, and never, in the history of our living together, have I walked in and sat on the bed.
“Why?” Sophie, at least, has the decency to be polite.
“No real reason, just a good day. And . . .” I pause for dramatic effect. “And,” I continue, “I’ve got
“Mmm. You sound just my type. I’m wearing my oldest pair of Levi’s, a faded blue Ralph Lauren polo shirt (it matches my eyes!!) and sneakers. I keep a suit in the office for when I have meetings, but most of the time I’m real casual.”
“So what’s Los Angeles like?”
“I love it. I love the climate, the buildings, the people. It’s unlike anywhere else in America. Have you ever been here?”
No. I’ve never been anywhere, really. When I was younger, when my parents were still together, we went to a campsite in France a couple of times. I remember the soft sand, the palm trees in Nice, the warm water, but as I grew older, as my mother tried to cope with being a single parent, the foreign holidays stopped, and the French campsite became small hotels in Dorset, Wales, Brighton. What I wouldn’t give to go to somewhere like Los Angeles.
“I haven’t but I’d love to.”
“You should come out here. I bet you’d love it.”
“Is that an invitation?
“Sure! You could come and stay with me.”
Blimey, that’s a bit quick, thinks Jemima, but then being as naive as she is, Jemima doesn’t know that Angelenos have a p. 83 habit of extending the arm of friendship, before whipping it back again as soon as you try and take hold.
“But we hardly know each other,” I type, wondering whether Brad is ever so slightly insane. I mean, who in their right mind would extend this sort of an invitation to someone they don’t know?
“We’d get to know each other pretty quick
“LOL.” I ’ m getting the hang of this.
“So when are you planning your next vacation?”
“I hadn’t really thought. Some time soon, though.”
“Just don’t go anywhere without speaking to me first! What are you up to tonight?”
At least now I can tell the truth. “I’m going out for a drink with a friend.”
“A male friend?”
“Yes.”
“:-(“
“Why :-( ?”
“I’m jealous.”
I know this is ridiculous but reading those words suddenly makes me feel good. Stupid, really, because he’s never seen me, but nobody has ever had cause to be jealous before. Of me! Jemima Jones! Going out with another man! This is amazing. New, but nevertheless amazing.
“Don’t worry, he really is just a friend.”
“Tell me he’s fat and forty.”
“Okay. He’s fat and forty.”
“
“I don’t know if I can. I think I’m going out.”
“Okay. I’ll e-mail you instead. How’s that?”
“Perfect. I’ll look forward to it.”
“Will you e-mail me back?”
“Promise.”
“Okay, JJ. Take care, and a big hug from me.”
p. 84 “Same here. Bye.”
I gather up my stuff and while I’m getting ready to leave I’m trying to picture Brad in California, which is tough bearing in mind I haven’t been there, but I have seen it in the movies. I wonder whether he really is a golden-haired, blue-eyed Californian god, or whether he is merely doing what I’ve been doing, and reinventing himself over the Internet.
Either way, it’s going home time, and only a couple of hours, I hope, until I see the love of my life all by myself.
“I had a great day today.” God knows why I’m bothering telling them, but I need to talk to someone, so instead of simply hovering in the doorway of Sophie’s bedroom, which is what I usually do before disappearing up to my own room, I walk in and sit on the bed, which I know must seem slightly strange to them.
“Oh,” says Sophie, and then Lisa. “Great.” I can see they’re both flummoxed, having never heard me volunteer any sort of information, and never, in the history of our living together, have I walked in and sat on the bed.
“Why?” Sophie, at least, has the decency to be polite.
“No real reason, just a good day. And . . .” I pause for dramatic effect. “And,” I continue, “I’ve got
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