Blokebusters Read online

  Georgia nodded.

  “But people could still find out it’s us – don’t we have to send all our details to Companies House?”

  “Yes,” Fiona said, “but we could always ‘forget’ to put the company’s name on the website. Honest mistake and all that. Makes it nigh-on impossible to link us.”

  “Hmm. I’m sure Matt can forget to do that if he tries hard enough.”

  “I’ve used a mate of mine and bought an off-the-shelf company. We are now the three directors of Gemtrex Limited. I’ve brought the forms for you to sign and then we’re in business. Quite literally.”

  “Why did you pick that name?” Matt said.

  “I didn’t. There’s a list of pre-formed, pre-named companies you can choose from. It made more sense than naming our own company – we’d pick a name that meant something to us, and it might stand out more.” Fiona pursed her lips as if to represent her thoughts. “I don’t think we should change the name. Keep it nondescript. I think we should have our website where all the business is done and we use Georgia’s name – Blokebusters.” She couldn’t help grinning when she said it. “But don’t change the company’s official name. If this takes off we won’t want people knowing it’s us. If they’re really determined to find out there’s nothing we can do. But we don’t have to make it easy for them.”

  “Blokebusters?” Matt queried.

  Georgia nodded enthusiastically.

  “Isn’t it great?”

  “Would I be right in my assumption that you two have been hatching this idea since I mentioned it, only bringing me in when you had it all sorted?”

  “Of course not!” Both women sounded indignant at the suggestion.

  “We’ll need to register the domain.” They both looked at him blankly. His confidence rose. “Your domain – your website name. You need to register it so no one else can have it.” He rolled his eyes. Women knew nothing about computers. “Come on, let’s go up to my office, we can do it now.” His chest puffed: perhaps they did need him. A cool head and logic – something a bit different to all that female emotion. He’d been harsh on himself; he was vital to proceedings.

  The house had three bedrooms but only one room had a bed. The second largest bedroom was Matt’s home office with copious amounts of IT equipment and manuals in it; shelves groaned under the weight of boxes with wires and cables dangling over the sides like tentacles. To Georgia’s knowledge they hadn’t ever been required but Matt refused to discard them. The third room was Georgia’s retreat; a box room converted into a girly office – the sort of place a Jane Austen heroine could sit and write her letters. Not that Georgia wrote any letters.

  Matt was already tapping away at the computer when they entered his lair.

  “Blokebusters.com and Blokebusters.co.uk are free. Which do you want?” he said, not taking his eyes from the screen.

  “Co.uk,” Georgia said. “It sounds friendlier somehow. More local.”

  “I think we should buy both. Even if we only use the co.uk one, it stops someone else setting up pretending to be us with a credible-sounding site.” Matt was too busy looking at the screen to notice the impressed look that passed between Georgia and Fiona.

  “Right. We can register the sites to Gemtrex Limited – what’s their address?”

  Fiona passed him a piece of paper containing all the details. Matt typed with elegant speed, always happier and more confident when he had a monitor in front of him.

  “Unless someone looks the site up on the central database they won’t make a connection between Blokebusters and Gemtrex. Most people wouldn’t know how to do it. Even if they did, I’ve chosen the Whois privacy option for the dotcom site – it’s not expensive.”

  Georgia leant on the back of his chair and he could feel her breasts pressing lightly against his back. He wanted to turn round and touch her but Fiona’s presence stopped him.

  “We need a credit card. Anyone?”

  Fiona passed him her card and he tapped away.

  “Er – how much will this cost?” she asked nervously.

  “It’s really expensive.”

  “Is it?”

  He nodded and tried to look serious.

  “It’s just that I had a bit of a splurge the other day – it might be near its limit.”

  “What have you been buying?” Georgia asked, finding the new turn in the conversation far more interesting than websites.

  “Some new clothes for work. When I told Jason we were through he retaliated that my grey suits made me look fat. It was the perfect excuse to go mad in the Prada sale.” She lowered her eyes. “I overspent – a touch.”

  “How much?” Georgia wasn’t the sort of person who asked others how much they’d spent but Fiona always wanted her to; it eased her conscience in the way going to Confession would for a Catholic.

  “£4,435.”

  Matt spun round in horror. If you added together the cost of every garment he’d ever owned it probably wouldn’t come to that amount. He thought of the volume of seeds he could buy with £4,000. It would buy tons of garden equipment and plants. He could even buy his dream: a greenhouse. Georgia noticed his open mouth and gently closed it for him.

  “Still, you can’t take it with you,” Fiona shrugged then frowned, causing a much-loathed line to appear between her brows. “So how much is all this going to cost?” She pointed at the screen.

  Matt was still too shell-shocked to continue his wind-up. “Twenty-seven fifty-five.”

  “£2,755?” Fiona screeched.

  “No. Twenty seven pounds and fifty-five pence. And that’s for two years.” He smiled, glad that they were back focusing on the website rather than suits. “They try to sell you lots of stuff with it you don’t need. I’ve got all the software to build a great site. Once the registration’s confirmed – which should be any minute now – I can start. You’ll need to tell me what you want it to look like.”

  Georgia sat on the desk. Matt disliked people sitting on desks but when she rested her feet on his knees, he mellowed.

  “We’re going to need some fixed assets,” she said.

  “Such as?” Fiona asked.

  “Clothes, make-up, jewellery – wigs!” She detected Matt’s scepticism. “I’m serious. They’d be legitimate business assets. Deductible for tax. Suppose a woman says she wants a redhead to test her man? We’d need a wig. I’m not dying my hair. Suppose a woman says she wants a tarty-looking trollop to test her man? We’d need to create the look with clothes. They’ll only be used for clients. We can depreciate them in the accounts.”

  “So we need to go clothes shopping – for the business? Seriously?”

  Georgia nodded energetically.

  “If I can bring you ladies back to the real world, aren’t you putting the cart before the horse? What about more practical things? How will you process payments? Handle correspondence?”

  Georgia shuffled forward on the desk and made the most sensual eye contact possible; he could barely hold her gaze.

  “That’s why you’re so important – you know all this stuff. I bet you know how it should all be done, you’re so clever.” She fingered the collar of her blouse as she spoke.

  Fiona watched on, aware that Matt didn’t stand a chance. He shuffled in his seat, not quite understanding why he loved being manipulated by her – but he did; he loved it.

  “Well, we could use PayPal. They’ll take a percentage of sales but it keeps it simple and fairly anonymous. I thought about a PO Box address for postal applicants but it’s an unnecessary expense – I think the women using this kind of service will be Web savvy and will like the ease of online transactions and communication. I reckon we should have a business phone line put in – so it’s not our home number. We can hook it up to an answer machine for when no one’s around.”

  “When are we going to buy our assets then?” Fiona couldn’t wait for some shopping, particularly as it technically counted as work rather than larking about.

  “Tomor
row?” Georgia suggested. “Matt should come with us too.”

  “I hate shopping – you go without me.”

  “But we’ll need your advice. I want a man’s opinion, I might think I look tarty but I need you to think I do. The clothes have to look right – and the underwear.” She knew he wouldn’t protest further.

  “I think you need to offer a two-tier service,” he said, desperately trying to stop thinking about Georgia’s underwear. “Two price options. First, cheaper option is for one of you to work your magic and just provide feedback. Second more expensive option is for you to be miked up and the woman and me sitting outside listening to it all. I could get the equipment easily.” If they were going to have some fun picking new clothes and wigs, why couldn’t he be allowed to visit his favourite haunts: the electronics shops on Tottenham Court Road?

  *

  That night in bed Georgia sensed that Matt wasn’t happy. She knew the whole idea of her seducing men was repugnant to him but didn’t understand why. She wouldn’t mind him chatting up women and getting paid for it because she’d know it didn’t mean anything. He didn’t sulk often so when he did, she humoured him. Matt was lying on his side, with his back turned to Georgia: not his usual sleeping position.

  “Are you awake?” she whispered.

  He ignored her, preferring to stare into the inky darkness of the room.

  “Well, I know you are – if I ask you that and you’re asleep you always make some weird reply.”

  He rolled onto his back to look at her and pushed the duvet down to his waist – he was eternally too hot in bed.

  “I’m awake.”

  The clouds drifted away from the moon and the room lightened. Moonlight made his eyes shiny; she could just make out the line of his jaw and mouth. She stroked it and he turned his head to stop her.

  “Matt, please. What’s wrong?”

  “What’s wrong? You have to ask? That upsets me more than anything.”

  “I know you’re not keen on the business – I don’t honestly understand why but I know you’re not.”

  “You don’t know why? Firstly, I don’t want you throwing yourself at other men. Secondly, I don’t really want to be involved with it but I’d rather be involved than have you go off and do it without me. Thirdly, you’re only doing it to bail me out – if I could’ve hung on to my job and provided for us none of this would be happening. Fourthly, I’m scared. Scared that meeting all these other men will make you question why you settled for me. Fifthly, well… it doesn’t matter.”

  “No, please go on – what’s the fifth point?”

  “Nothing. I miscounted.” It wasn’t the time to mention starting a family.

  “As if any of the blokes I’m going to meet will hold a candle to you. Come here.” She quickly deduced that he wouldn’t. He was hell-bent on being stubborn but she ignored it and snuggled up to him; feeling his body tighten at her contact. She stroked the smattering of hair on his chest. “You’re always so hot. It’s a real turn-on.” Her hand travelled further south and he pretended not to notice. But one part of his anatomy betrayed him.

  “That’s your only tactic really, isn’t it?” He intended it to sound cutting but her attentions made it breathy. “Stitch me up, make me do what you want then, when I complain, seduce me.”

  She brought her face level to his, so close that he could feel her words tattooing his skin.

  “It’s a good plan. I intend to still be using it in my seventies.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  Chapter six

  Matt unloaded the car boot in darkness, transferring their newly acquired assets to the hallway. He wondered why he still believed Georgia when she assured him that a shopping trip would only take a couple of hours. The latest ‘couple of hours’ had lasted for seven and he remained unconvinced by Georgia’s explanation that it was like American football where the clock only ran when the ball was in play, hence walking between shops and browsing didn’t count. He peered into the bags he was holding, dropping them as soon he realised Georgia was watching.

  “I’ll model anything you want me to,” she said, laughing at his embarrassed reaction. “God, shopping wears me out!” She flopped heavily onto the sofa; Fiona nodded her agreement. Matt wished it wore them out a bit quicker – about thirty minutes would suit him.

  They sat in the living room.

  “Glass of wine, anyone?” Matt went out to the kitchen and reappeared with glasses and a bottle, wearing Georgia’s newly-purchased long blonde wig, the label hanging down over his left eye. “It’s really quite remarkable – it’s like I’ve just uncovered the real me. From now on I want to be called Susan,” he said in a camp voice, putting the glasses on the coffee table and flicking the hair over his shoulder. Georgia almost fell off the sofa with hysterics and Fiona laughed so hard she brought on a coughing fit. He pulled the wig off, delighted at making them laugh.

  “It’s so itchy. I don’t envy you wearing that for any period of time.” He took the wig back to its bag in the hall and came in with his own purchase. “Look at this beauty.”

  “What is it?” Georgia asked.

  “This is how the client and I can hear what’s being said. You see this box?” He held up something the size of a small block of Cheddar. “You have this in your bag. You’ll have to make sure your bag’s on the bar or table so it can pick everything up. It’s all wireless. I sit outside with this,” he held up another small box, “and we can hear whatever you say. We can’t communicate with you but can hear you.” He frowned. “I’m not sure whether it’s legal or not, but it’ll do the trick.”

  They seemed interested so he launched into a detailed technical explanation of how he assumed it worked. “Your eyes have glazed over,” he said, giving Georgia a prod. “Too techie?”

  “Too techie,” she nodded. “But I think you’re very clever for understanding it all. Isn’t he clever Fi?”

  “Hmm. Did it cost a lot?”

  “Not much – it’s at the upper end of the mid-price range. It was £450.”

  Both Georgia and Fiona drew in breath but didn’t speak.

  *

  Later that evening, they sat in silence eating pizza and drinking Matt’s dandelion wine. They decided the rhubarb was too fierce for a Sunday night. Each ruminated on a different aspect of the day: Fiona pondering why it had taken until she reached twenty-nine before she discovered the awesomeness of Wonderbras, Georgia wondering why she felt like a transvestite when she tried on stilettos, and Matt wishing Fiona would leave so Georgia could model the black lace-trimmed bustier he’d seen in the Selfridges bag.

  Matt broke the silence.

  “We need to agree on some terminology – so we’re all using the same terms for things.” He noticed them smile at his comment, both thinking Trust Matt to want a list of approved terms. Georgia loved the earnest look on his face, set against his mad hair, black-framed glasses and Bagpuss t-shirt it gave him the air of a sixth-form sociology student.

  “Stick with legal terminology,” Fiona said. “Vendor, vendee, contractor, contractee, employer, employee.”

  “Testors,” Matt said pointing at them both.

  “Testees.” Georgia almost choked in giggles.

  “Hmm, maybe it won’t work in this instance,” Fiona admitted.

  “Call ‘em rabbits,” Matt said. “Rabbits in the headlights of the cunning of woman.”

  “Rabbits. I like it. What about us?” Georgia asked.

  “Carrots.” Matt looked very pleased with himself. “Works on both levels. Rabbits like carrots and could be tempted with one: carrots as a reward – as in carrot and stick style of management. You’re carrots.”

  “I hope we don’t look like the ones you grow,” Georgia said.

  *

  Fiona left soon after the pizzas were finished. She sat in her car and waited for the air blowers to clear the windscreen of mist before she drove away. Matt waved and shut the front door. Her car still had the smell of the show
room about it. Its seats were leather and the interior was black and chrome, yet she didn’t feel half as content as she’d felt travelling to the West End in Matt and Georgia’s battered second-hand Astra, eating toffees and joyously singing along to Georgia’s Bobby Darin CDs on the stereo. Spending time with Matt and Georgia only delayed the point where she had to go home; her flat always seemed so quiet in contrast. She longed for the day when she had a man she loved sitting next to her, and she could unwrap toffees to feed to him as Georgia did Matt. She didn’t want Matt; lovely though he was, she wanted a man with ambition and drive. But she did want someone who made her feel the same way Georgia felt for Matt. The two of them were like contact adhesive and had been from the day they met. She longed for that. It took five minutes for the windscreen to clear enough to be safe. In those five minutes all the downstairs lights to their house were switched off. Fiona sighed and switched the radio on for company before driving home.

  Chapter seven

  Georgia sat in her department meeting trying not to look as bored as she felt. It had been going on for an hour and had only recently passed the halfway point on the agenda. The room was utterly featureless – walls painted a wishy-washy mustard colour, polystyrene panelled ceiling, ubiquitous pot plant and the distracting whirr of the ventilation system. The only dash of colour in the whole room was her bright red blouse; everyone else wore greys, whites and pastel shades. She perked up when she remembered the butter mint sweet in her jacket pocket and fished it out. It came out with a piece of paper wrapped around it. A note from Matt in his distinctive slopey handwriting. He’d always referred to it as ‘examiner’s headache handwriting’ when they were at university. She grinned when she read it: ‘You’re the only one I’ll share my veg with – if that’s not true love I don’t know what is.’

  Refolding the note, she slipped it back into her pocket. She kept every note Matt sent her, not that he realised. Every note, letter and card was stored in photo albums that she had in her home office. Each utterance as precious to her as diamonds. Apart from Matt, they were the only things she’d bother to save if the house was on fire.