fact he’s even considering us having some kind of future together after just one night causes me to pull a face – an involuntary reaction I have to the idea of relationships, and one that I can’t always mask.
‘Let me guess,’ Zack starts, ‘ “Even so”…’
Again, I say nothing. Nail on the head.
‘You’re a fucking bitch, you know that?’ Zack shouts as he storms out, slamming the door behind him.
‘Yep,’ I say quietly to myself before turning off the lights and climbing into my bed, alone, just the way I like it.
Despite being late for work, I grabbed my usual skinny cinnamon latte from the coffee shop on the corner by my office before hurriedly making my way there.
‘Hold the lift,’ I call out, just in time to squash myself in with all the other people. And by lift, I mean elevator. There goes Dick Van Dyke again.
As we begin our ascent to the floor I work on, I finally get to take my first sip of coffee of the day. God, that feels good. I’d gasp with delight if there weren’t so many people around who might find this odd. It is only as I examine my takeaway cup that I realise there is a phone number written on the side. I cast my mind back to the coffee shop. I was in a rush, but I definitely remember being served by a woman. Before I have a chance to consider what kind of vibes I’m giving off (I suppose I do flirt – for sport – with almost everyone) I remember the young bloke who handed me my coffee, the one with the gorgeous smile. I’ll have to remember to make a note of his number before I throw my cup away.
My appearance seems to be a hit with the male population of LA, but it took a lot of work to get like this. Back in Kent I was Mia Harrison, a chubby brunette with very few men vying for her attention, and nothing much going on in life apart from work. When I moved to the States I decided it would be the perfect time to reinvent myself (what better place to fake it than LA?), so I slimmed down to a US size six (which is absolutely no fun to maintain), dyed my dull brown locks a sexy honey blonde colour, and every morning I meticulously curl my long hair with tongs, squash myself into something sexy and step into a high pair of heels.
Now my name is Mia Valentina. I’m twenty-nine years old. I believe in taking care of myself, believe in a balanced diet and a rigorous exercise routine. OK, so I’m not really a female Patrick Bateman, but before I get dressed each day I do have a particular routine to make sure I can keep up my new look and maintain my new body.
I’m not sure if adopting a fancy sounding pen name and looking the part is helping my career at all, but let’s just say I’m not short of men vying for my attention any more. Men didn’t look twice at Mia Harrison, but Mia Valentina... she’s a hit. I don’t know why I’m referring to myself in the third person because that’s me now. Mia Harrison is nothing but a distant memory. Even when I go home to visit (which, I have to admit, is not very often) no one from my past recognises me and my family all tell me how much I’ve changed – although not necessarily for the better. In fact, the new me isn’t a hit with my family at all. I’m not talking about the way I look, more the way I am. I’m a different girl on the inside too. The old me had panic attacks. I was pushed around at work, messed around by men and ever since the birth of my younger sister even my family have made me feel like the second favourite child – please keep in mind that there are only two of us. Life before my sister Annabelle was born feels like a weird dream that didn’t really happen, because ever since beautiful baby Belle bounced onto the scene the attention has been fully on her. Sure, I achieved everything first, but Belle did it all better. It’s a horrible thing to say, but I almost feel like I was the starter child, the practice run before Belle came along. I was five years old when Belle was born, so I’ve been’ second best for the majority of my life. That’s why I love living out here, alone. No one knows the old me, I can totally be myself without worrying about the consequences – and believe me there are consequences, because these days my true self can be a bit of a bitch.
‘Good morning, Mia,’ my assistant Dalia chimes brightly, despite it being past noon. That’s the great thing about having an assistant, they go out of their way to assist you, even by making you feel like you’re not incredibly late for work when you really are.
‘Hey Dalia, what’s happening?’
‘Well, the meeting started ten minutes ago, I tried to reach you on your cell.’
Oh, shit. I wish I could say that this was a one-off, but with great success comes a great ego. Even though I know that if I just got up a little earlier on a morning I could be on time for work, I still roll out of my bed when I feel like it and spend ages doing my hair when really I should be rushing to the office to make my meetings on time.
‘Good morning,’ I say cheerily as I burst my way through the doors to the meeting, grabbing an apple from the buffet table before taking a seat with the rest of the Pink Inc. team.
‘It’s not morning,’ Molly informs me.
‘OK,’ I say, twirling my chair from side to side as I munch my apple.
‘We were just talking about the script changes,’ Savannah says, kindly bringing me up to date.
Between the three of us, we have the formula for making movies down to a fine art – although unlike me, Molly and Savannah are way into all the romantic junk that I have no time for in real life.
‘Here,’ Molly says, tapping the page of the open script on the table in front of me. ‘We need to make some changes to this line.’
At the moment we’re working on a movie called Three’s A Crowd, which tells the tale of two twenty-something best friends. Both party girls, their friendship comes under strain when one of them goes off on holiday and returns engaged.
‘I wrote that line,’ I say, almost offended. ‘What’s wrong with it?’
‘I’m just struggling to believe that when Katie’s best friend tells her she is engaged, she asks her if it’s because she is pregnant. No one would do that.’
I have a little chuckle with myself because that’s exactly what I said to my sister when she told me she was engaged.
‘OK, so what were you thinking instead?’ I ask.
‘Perhaps it should be a sweet and sincere moment,’ Savannah suggests.
We could try that. After all, we write romantic comedies, it needs as much romance as it does jokes.
‘Sure, but what?’ Molly asks.
We all sit in silence for a moment – well, almost silence. The unattractive sound of me crunching my apple can be heard all around the room.
‘OK, let’s try this,’ I start with my mouth full. ‘So, Emma tells Katie that she is engaged and Katie is shocked – she drops her cosmopolitan and spills it all over Emma’s dress, just like we wrote originally. This time, instead of asking her if she’s pregnant, the pair rush off to the toilets together to try and get the stain out of Emma’s dress. For a moment no one says anything, they just both work together in silence, Emma holding the bottom of her dress taut as Katie carefully dabs at the stain with a wet paper towel. Now, the stain isn’t as bad as it looks, and together they get it out. Then Emma leans on Katie while she dries it under the hand dryer.’
