Blokebusters Page 4

  “You,” Georgia said. “I want to try and put Matt’s idea into action – y’know, the one about testing men.”

  Fiona’s brow furrowed slightly but she didn’t speak until she resolved her internal conflict. She didn’t want more work; she’d recently changed jobs to reduce her workload. But it was a good idea – it could really take off. How could she stand by and not want to be part of it? And if Matt and Georgia were involved it could be a laugh.

  “How would you do it?”

  “All the selling and initial contact would be through a website – I know a great designer who’s short of work – then, if they’re serious, they call us and arrange exactly how they want their man tested – how flirty, how suggestive et cetera. Then, we, as in you or me, go along and try to seduce the bloke, giving the woman a full report on his behaviour. What could be simpler?”

  “Hmmm. And I might meet a lovely man out of it.”

  “Fi, have you been sniffing Tipp-Ex again? You’re going to meet men in relationships whose partners trust them so little they’re paying us to find out if it’s justified. Call me old-fashioned but that ain’t what I’m looking for in a life partner.”

  “How much would you charge them?”

  “Haven’t thought about that yet. What would you be willing to pay?” Georgia felt that seventy-five percent of whatever Fiona was willing to pay was probably a good starting point; Fiona gladly overpaid for everything.

  “Dunno. Maybe £200, for a discrete and efficient service.”

  “I thought about £150,” Georgia said, “and we could fit it round our proper jobs. Matt could field the calls and take bookings during the day – you and I could go out seducing at night.”

  “It’s a great idea,” Fiona said. “In fact, I can only foresee one problem with it.”

  “Yeah, I know it’s not exactly ethical.”

  “No, no, no. Screw ethics – I’m a lawyer for God’s sake. My problem is whether any man offered sex on a plate would ever refuse it?”

  The waiter served their lunch just as Fiona said ‘sex on a plate’ and winked at Georgia.

  “I don’t even get the respect I deserve from waiters. You got my wink – I earned that wink,” Fiona moaned.

  “Matt would refuse it.”

  “But are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m not.” Fiona’s pale blue eyes locked onto Georgia.

  “You’re not?”

  “I want evidence. Put Matt to the test. If he refuses, then I’m in. We’ll give the business a go.”

  “And if he doesn’t, I’ve ruined my marriage.”

  “But wouldn’t you rather know?” Fiona said. “Doesn’t your whole business idea hinge on the fact that women would rather know the truth than live a deluded lie?”

  Georgia glared at her, knowing she was right.

  “Who’d do it? You can’t exactly hit on him,” she said.

  “I could get Emily to do it. He’s never met her.”

  “Emily?” Georgia put her fork down having suddenly lost her appetite. Emily was Fiona’s younger sister; she worked in graphic design and had an eccentric, creative streak. Emily was dark haired and curvy in all the ways Matt liked. And she was four years younger than Georgia.

  “You arrange to meet Matt in a bar, five minutes before you’re due to arrive tell him you’re stuck at work but should be with him in half an hour. Get him to wait. Emily can have a crack at him then wait outside to give you the news.” She smiled at Georgia. “Are you going to eat those chips?”

  Georgia shook her head and Fiona scooped them all onto her plate, delighted at her unexpected windfall.

  *

  Not really remembering much of how she got there, Georgia unlocked her front door.

  “I’m home.”

  “I’m in the living room.”

  Matt was watching Emmerdale with the sound turned off, dressed only in a pair of Y-fronts and some socks, eating a cucumber. For all the phallic imagery it was a strangely un-erotic tableau. He glanced at her.

  “Are you OK?”

  “I think I should be the one asking that. What are you doing?” She tried not to giggle.

  “Me? Oh – this?” He waved the cucumber like a truncheon. “I was hungry and thirsty but didn’t want to spoil my appetite.”

  “And the Y-fronts?” She dropped onto the sofa next to him, still wearing her coat. Matt shrugged.

  “I couldn’t contain my rampant masculinity any longer. I needed to be free of clothes.”

  “Yeah – that’s what I thought. I could smell the testosterone and pheromones as soon as I opened the door.”

  “I got a bit of mud on my t-shirt and jeans checking up on my marrows. It seemed silly putting fresh clothes on – I washed it off and put my clothes on the radiator –they’ll be dry in ten minutes or so.”

  She nodded.

  “I made a few calls today,” he said, “seeing if there were any vacancies anywhere. No one’s taking on staff. Most are looking to lay off.”

  “You’ll find something.” She stroked his hair.

  “There was one good bit of news though.”

  “Really?” She fell for it every time.

  “Yeah. I dug up a beetroot. A bit on the small side but a beauty.”

  “Less is more.” Georgia had never appreciated the meaning of the phrase as much as she did right then.

  *

  Later that evening they lay in bed together. Matt was propped up on his pillows reading a magazine article entitled, ‘Manure: Is It Still The Best Fertilizer?’ Georgia had let her magazine fall on her lap; her mind wouldn’t switch off and be sidetracked by entertainment.

  She was certain he wouldn’t cheat on her. Everything about using him as a guinea pig felt so wrong. She couldn’t do it and decided to call Fiona tomorrow and tell her to forget everything… except it was a viable business. It could make money. Could she abandon it untried? Could she throw their futures and their home away because of one unpleasant detail? But as unpleasant details went, it was a humdinger. Suppose Matt ever found out? How could she explain asking another woman to throw herself at him?

  “You look serious,” Matt said.

  “Just thinking.”

  “I got excited today. Thought one of the palm seeds had sprouted.” He pointed to the collection of pots of earth on their bedroom windowsill. “Turned out to be a false alarm.”

  “Do you honestly think I give a flying toss about bloody seeds, manure or vegetables when we could lose our home? Can’t you focus on something important for once?” she barked. Shouting at Matt was a bit like kicking a puppy. He didn’t reply but his eyes widened at the unexpected eruption. She had no right taking her inner dilemma out on him. “Oh God, I’m sorry – I didn’t mean that,” she said, her anger already dissipated and disgusting to her.

  “It’s OK,” he mumbled, still not possessing the confidence to meet her eyes. When he first met Georgia he’d put her unpredictably short fuse down to her ‘time of the month’. After he’d known her for three weeks he abandoned his belief. He may not have known much about women but he knew periods didn’t last for three weeks. He forced a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

  “I am worried. I’d die if we had to sell this place. The thought of it scares me so much I’m trying not to think about it. I just don’t know what the solution is – if I knew, I’d be doing it. Honest.”

  Georgia nodded and made a decision. She’d call Fiona and arrange things with Emily. For Matt’s sake.

  Chapter four

  “Matt, I’m really sorry but I’ve been held up at work. I’m going to be at least another half an hour.”

  “You’ve got to do what’s needed. I understand,” he said raising his voice to an uncharacteristic volume in order to be heard over the din of the bar.

  “Have you got a table? Will you be OK until I arrive?”

  “I’m not entirely incapable, you know.” He was wedged at the corner of the bar. He’d been t
rying to order for the last ten minutes without success. The woman next to him dripped some of her drink onto his sleeve and he rested his mobile between shoulder and chin in order to wipe it off.

  “I’ll be as quick as I can – wait there for me.” When Georgia hung up she stared into the distance wondering if she’d ever done anything more foolish. She idly rested her elbow on the desk and fiddled with the beads of her earring, twirling them between her fingers. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, picking up the framed photo on her desk. It was one of her favourites of Matt yet she’d only taken it to try out the cloudy weather setting on her camera. He was gardening, grinning at the camera in a way that seemed to burst out of the photo.

  Jeff walked past her office and took a step back when he saw her.

  “Working late?” he said to her chest and smiled in a way that turned her stomach.

  “No. I’m off to meet Matt in a minute.” She stood the photo back on her desk aware that her palms felt sticky. This is what guilt feels like, she thought.

  “How’s his Internet empire shaping up?” Jeff sat on the edge of her desk, a little too close, and the wood laminate desktop creaked. “I’ve been studying the finance pages in the Evening Standard but they don’t seem to have mentioned him yet.”

  “He’s doing market research. Testing the product.” He was too. He just didn’t know it. Something akin to indigestion burned inside her ribcage.

  Jeff smiled and got up, the desk creaked again and he left her office with a casual wave.

  She switched off her laptop and locked it into her desk drawer, conscious that at that very moment Emily could be snogging Matt’s face off. Or worse. She tried not to look at the photo. What had she done?

  *

  Emily was waiting outside the bar scanning the pavements in all directions, unsure where Georgia would come from. Georgia spotted her straight away and Fiona next to her. The blood drained from Georgia’s face at the awfulness of her behaviour.

  “Well?” she said.

  “Yeah, come on – spill the beans!” Fiona’s voice trembled with excitement. “She wouldn’t tell me before you arrived, said she wouldn’t go through it all twice.”

  Emily smiled and flicked her hair off her face. Her coat was unbuttoned and Georgia could make out a tight, skimpy vest top and short skirt. The powerful street lighting gave her top a translucent glow.

  “Here’s what happened,” Emily said. Georgia glanced at both women; they seemed to be treating it as some kind of entertainment. “He did buy me a drink – although it took him ages to get served, I had to get the barman’s attention, we’d have dehydrated if it was down to him – but I think he only bought me one ‘cos he was too embarrassed, or scared, to turn me down.” She shrugged flirtily before adding, “I was a little bit brazen, if I say so myself. I got us a table and pulled my stool closer to his. He noticed but didn’t say anything. The second I put my hand on his knee he brushed it away. And when I bent forward to let my boobs practically fall out of my top, the bastard stared at the floor.” She flicked her hair again. It was an affectation she’d developed since an ex-boyfriend told her she had lovely hands. “Go for the kill I thought – so I grabbed his thigh and told him he was gorgeous. I offered him a quickie in the toilets. No names, no questions.”

  “And?” Georgia didn’t know whether to punch or employ her. She wasn’t sure they’d agreed to Emily offering sex… that seemed rather beyond the call of duty.

  “He went white,” Emily tittered. “He held his hand up and pointed to his wedding ring. He told me I was an attractive woman and he was flattered but he’d found the only woman he wanted. He thanked me for my offer but said the term ‘happily married’ could’ve been invented for him. He even wished me luck in finding a bloke.”

  “Oh bless him,” Georgia and Fiona said in unison.

  Fiona grinned.

  “Well. Looks like we’re in business then.” She held her hand out to Georgia.

  “Oh. Yes. I suppose we are.” She shook Fiona’s hand hoping she wouldn’t feel such a cow all evening. She’d expected to be excited at the business getting the green light, but she wasn’t. Matt always seemed to enjoy her feistiness but she knew that she’d gone too far this time. He mustn’t ever find out.

  “We’ll leave you to Matt. Are you going to mention the business to him tonight?” Fiona said.

  “No. He might smell a rat. To be honest, I feel terrible about what I’ve just put him through.”

  “Thanks,” Emily said.

  “I don’t mean you personally.”

  She went into the bar, the smell of sour hops seeming all the stronger in contrast to the fresh air outside, and saw Matt sitting at a table intently reading something. He looked up before she reached the table and beamed at her whilst surreptitiously trying to stuff his reading matter into his jacket pocket.

  “What’re you reading?” she asked, unbuttoning her coat and taking it off.

  “Nothing.” He was the world’s most hopeless liar. Plus the pamphlet wouldn’t fit in his pocket so was half hanging out. Georgia reached over and took it. It was a mail order catalogue of exotic seeds.

  “I know we can’t afford to waste money on my nonsense,” he said. “I was just browsing – Scout’s honour.”

  She kissed the top of his head and sat on the stool which barely twenty minutes ago had been occupied by Emily. She decided to try something. When he wasn’t looking she undid the top two buttons on her shirt then said, “Oh, this shoe buckle’s digging in.” She leant forward and felt his eyes on her cleavage the whole time. When she looked at him his eyes were still on her chest and he was chewing his lower lip. “I was thinking, you deserve a treat, you’ve had a hard time of it lately. Order some seeds – cheer yourself up.”

  “No, it’s fine,” he said.

  “Please. I want you to. Do it for me.”

  His eyes bored into hers with a heat that almost made her cry with guilt.

  “If you insist.” He leant closer to her. “There’s a wonderful looking new hardy variety of cotton that I quite fancy. Imagine that! Little balls of cotton growing in our garden!” He held her hand and raised it to his mouth, kissing it with such lightness that his lips hardly moved. He smiled at her. “I’ll get you a drink – the usual?”

  “You stay there, I’ll go,” she said tactfully.

  Minutes later she returned with two drinks.

  “So, how’s your day been?” She passed him his pint.

  “Fine. I contacted the local paper this morning – put an ad in for website development, can’t hurt can it? Maybe some local businesses want a freelancer. I came up at lunch time and dropped in on a few firms – nothing doing.”

  “The advert’s a great idea.” She took a sip of her drink. “I tried to get away as early as I could. I don’t suppose you got bored though – you probably went into that trance you always do when reading about seeds. Have you chatted to anyone?”

  “No,” he said a bit too quickly. She’d have known he was lying even if she wasn’t responsible for Emily hitting on him. “Can we drink up and go home please?” His right knee bounced up and down under the table.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah. Just a bit tired and down about the job scene. Nothing an early night won’t put right.”

  She knew him better than he gave her credit for. It wasn’t the job scene that had disturbed him, she could tell it was his meeting with Emily; she’d assumed that being propositioned by an attractive woman would be a pleasurable experience for any man.

  She studied his reflection in the train window on the way home; he was too big for train seats. Even though he tried to fold his legs in as much as possible they still took up all the legroom of the opposite seat. Nor could he tuck in his shoulders to stop them spreading on to the neighbouring seat. She rested her hand on his thigh and gave the flesh a gentle squeeze. He responded by holding her close to him, letting her rest her head against his shoulder. Everything would work out, s
he told herself. It would because it had to. Matt was deep in thought too, trying to decide what he could do with the fifteen marrows he had to pick at the weekend. Was marrow chutney a possibility?

  *

  The next morning, before Georgia had even sat down at her desk, her phone rang.

  “When are we going to pitch the idea to Matt?” Fiona asked, bypassing all conventional telephone greeting etiquette.

  “We don’t need to pitch it – it was his idea, remember?”

  “But we need him on board. It wasn’t the Two Musketeers or the Two Amigos.”

  “Nor the Two Stooges,” Georgia added with a dryness that bypassed Fiona. “I’ll speak to him about it at the weekend, when there’s more time.” She almost dropped the receiver as she stretched to lift her laptop out from the desk drawer.

  “I want to be there.”

  “There’s no need.”

  “I insist. I don’t want to miss any of the early planning. I’ve got loads of ideas.”

  “He might not be initially receptive to the concept,” Georgia persisted.

  “Then you’ll need me to help talk him round.”

  “Maybe talking doesn’t always do the trick.”

  “Well if it comes to that I shall willingly step back and let you take over – but I’m coming over.”

  “Right. Come Saturday – mid afternoon. Play along with whatever I suggest, he’s gonna need some serious softening up on this one.” She couldn’t stop an excited tone creeping into her voice and whispered as if wary of eavesdroppers, “I’ve checked on the Net. No one’s got Blokebusters.co.uk as a web address. We could have it.”

  *

  Matt hesitated when choosing which t-shirt to wear. Much as he was drawn to his Radiohead t-shirt it was too early to reveal it had risen, Lazarus-like, from the dustbin for the fourth time. He pulled on one of his old, slightly shrunken Star Wars t-shirts knowing that Georgia would see past the much-faded transfer of Chewbacca, choosing instead to notice the way it hugged and clung to the muscular curves of his chest and shoulders; chest and shoulders always being her favourite. He could hear her pottering around in the kitchen making breakfast and decided to look at himself in the dressing table mirror. He angled the mirror back so as to reflect his full height. No particular part of his anatomy bothered him: it all worked as it should, he had two of everything he was meant to have two of, a generous-sized helping of solo parts and that was good enough for him. He flexed his arms in classic body builder pose – he was reasonably well defined for someone who had never seen the inside of a gym. So why did no one take him seriously? He practised different expressions; there was his Marlon Brando On the Waterfront sneer, his Roger Moore suave raised eyebrow and his Robert De Niro ‘Are you talking to me?’ routine.