“Oh, I wish.” Nadia broke into a grin. She pushed her glasses farther up her nose and paused. “Although, now that you say that, I’m sure the intern he has running down for drinks would go in on that plan…”
“Do it.” Alice grinned. “Right before a big pitch. I mean, it’s not as if he contributes anything. What was that last one you told me about, for the deodorant…?”
“Oh, God, the caveman and his harem of slave girls.”
“Mmm, original.” Alice giggled. “He’s no Don Draper, that’s for sure.”
Nadia gave a flutter of her eyelashes and faked a swoon. “Don’t even talk about them in the same breath.” She took another sip of wine. “What about you? How’s the dragon lady?”
Alice made a face. “Awful.”
“Oh?”
Alice tried to phrase her reply without revealing any specifics about agenting or the office. She didn’t like to lie, but she couldn’t risk Nadia calling Grayson Wells one day to speak to Ella Nicholls, so, to her new friend—like Carl—Alice was a supremely overqualified, if underappreciated, legal assistant. “She’s gunning for one of the associates,” Alice told her instead. It was, technically, the truth. “Trying to take credit for all her work. They both were attached to…this project, but Vivienne blocked her all the way. Now it’s a success, of course—she’s saying it’s all her doing.”
“Of course,” Nadia agreed. “And you’re stuck watching it all.”
Alice nodded slowly. She’d overheard Vivienne chat with a producer, gushing about how she’d personally saved poor Kieran from a life of obscurity with her single-minded tenacity and determination. It was all very well to keep Vivienne’s associations with her clients—since Alice could see her name still carried weight in important circles—but she was getting a creeping feeling that her own efforts to relaunch Kieran and Julia’s careers might not yet earn her the respect she desired.
“That’s the problem, sometimes,” she said thoughtfully. “You can work as hard as you want, but if someone’s not willing to recognize your achievements…”
“You can’t force them.” Nadia gave Alice a rueful grin. “Want to go halves on those laxatives?”
***
They were deliberating a second slice of cake when Alice’s mobile began to ring.
“Sorry.” She reached to switch it to silent.
“No, take it,” Nadia said, getting to her feet. “I’m just heading to the loos anyway.”
“OK. Shall I order, if the waiter comes by?”
“You’re a bad influence…”
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
She waited until Nadia was out of sight before hitting redial. “Hi, Jules, what’s going on?” Alice tried to catch the eye of a passing waiter.
“Alice, I’ve been trying to reach you for ages.” Julian sounded anxious.
“I missed your call by about two seconds,” she pointed out.
“But I tried earlier, and I’ve been texting…” His voice dropped, and he announced flatly. “It’s over. Yasmin’s moving out.”
“Oh, God, what happened?”
“It just…” He sounded weary. “I don’t know, we’ve been fighting so long…Look, could you come over? All her stuff is here, and…I just want to get drunk. Can you come?”
“I…” Alice glanced around, the waiter finally choosing that moment to materialize by her side. “I’m kind of busy right now, but later?”
“Aly…” Julian drew the word out, part pleading, and she was reminded how many times they had played out the post-breakup ritual over the years. And not just for Julian; when James stopped returning her calls, Alice had spent three days in a pair of his old pajamas, crying on the sofa while Julian provided a never-ending supply of sympathy, tissues, and homemade blackberry crumble.
“Sure, fine,” Alice agreed at last, looking up at the waiter. She mimed scribbling the bill. “I’ll be there soon.”
“Thanks.” Julian sounded relieved. “And bring vodka. I’m all out.”
Nadia returned just as she was signing the credit slip. “I’m really sorry,” Alice apologized, and explained about the call. “Can we do a rain check on that next slice of cake?”
“Sure.” Nadia was sympathetic. “Here, I’ve got the tip.” She rummaged in her bag, coming up with a handful of pound coins. “Is he going to be OK?”
Alice sighed. “I think so. I mean, he usually is. But this one lasted a while.”
“Well, usually for breakup wallowing I’d say Dirty Dancing and Pretty in Pink, but maybe he wouldn’t be into that…”
“Yes, I don’t think so.” Alice gave a grin. “Jules is more of a Woody Allen kind of a man. He’ll be sprawled out in front of Annie Hall, muttering about our inability to form meaningful relationships, I’ll bet.”
***
He was. When Alice arrived on his doorstep bearing alcohol and crisps, she could hear Diane Keaton babbling in the background.
“You look terrible,” she told him affectionately, reaching up to ruffle his unkempt hair.
“Thanks.” Julian was wearing a graying pair of tracksuit bottoms and his old university T-shirt. The wallowing, clearly, was well under way. “You brought the booze?”
Alice held up her supplies as evidence, making straight for the living room. Yasmin’s belongings were already stacked in neat piles at the edge of the room: gaps in the bookcase and a half-empty mantelpiece marked her imminent departure.
“So you’re sure?” she asked, picking up the remote and pausing the film. “It’s really over? No chance of making everything up?”
He shook his head slowly. “No. It’s done.”
Collapsing on the sofa, he gazed morosely at the screen. Woody had been caught mid-kvetch, his mouth wide and disgruntled.
“I take it Yasmin’s found somewhere else to stay?” Alice took a seat beside him, kicking off her shoes.
He nodded. “She went straight to the airport, for another bloody business trip. I guess she’ll take her stuff when she gets back.” He tipped his head back and exhaled. “Fuck. I’m too old for this, Aly.”
Alice passed him the bottle to open. “Annie Hall? Yes, I thought you’d grow out of it years ago.”