Entertaining at Large

[Earlier chapters will give you the full SP on the characters in this chapter; Susan first appeared in Entertaining at Home. Thanks again for the comments, suggestions and support which are both welcomed and appreciated.]

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A date with someone who previously I had only known as a nude model in a magazine but who had since tripled their body weight, was not my idea of a perfect afternoon. I tried to imagine what the scrawny boys whose posters had adorned my teenage bedroom might look like now. They weren't pretty images. But Mr J was over the moon when I told him about Mandy's suggestion they get together. I had to calm him down when he realised his son was coming in the morning to take him to London for the holidays.

'Do you think she'll think I'm playing hard to get if I don't call?'

I laughed indulgently remembering my own times as a fourteen year old desperate for a call from the boy of my dreams.

'Call her now and let her know you're off tomorrow. Tell her you'll ring her the moment you get back. She'll be thrilled.'

'I'll do that. Good idea. Brilliant.'

He hugged me and I wished him merry Xmas before squeezing his bottom. I was still thinking of Scarlett. We laughed together for a moment and he waved away my request to keep the magazine for a while. I could see he was desperate to get to his phone, so I left. We agreed to catch up once he got back.

Work the next day was a cheery affair. The place would close down mid-afternoon and everyone was demob happy. I was invited to the senior managers' end-of-year meeting. Not because of any particular skills I had to offer, but my team were going to be virtually running the place for the next week and they wanted to settle last-minute issues before flying off with families to the Caribbean or the Alps.

I got my team together immediately afterwards to divvy up the extra work and make sure they all knew their roles. It was ten-thirty; we agreed to meet again in an hour to finalise everything. Most of them left to meet managers in other departments and I strolled down to the Italian bakery to stock up on treats. My route took me past the High Street. I stared in at the window of Pilkingtons Photographers. It looked empty, so I went in.

'Sorry gorgeous, too late for last-minute portraits we're just waiting for the last few customers to pick up things that are waiting for them and then we're out of here until after the holiday.'

The speaker was a tall man, about six feet I estimated. He had dyed blond hair and a fake tan. He was wearing a flower-patterned silk shirt and a cravat tied at the neck. I hadn't seen anyone wearing a cravat since, well ever. His tight white jeans hugged a tight butt. He had a high voice with a camp intonation. If he wasn't gay, I was the queen of England.

'I just wanted to see whether I could arrange a session with you after the holidays. That's all. Have you still got a studio here?'

'Yes.'

He sounded suspicious.

'One of your predecessors, a relative perhaps, did a photoshoot about forty years ago. I wanted to reproduce it if possible.'

'Ooh, intriguing. Tell me more.'

I took Mr J's magazine out of my bag and flicked through the pages. I turned it towards him when I got to Mandy's section. A look of distaste spread across his face.

'Well it's not exactly my forte. This does look very much like my uncle's work though.'

He picked up the magazine and held it sideways.

'See here. "Photographer: Jos Pilkington".'

He pointed to the line of minute type printed along the edge of one of the photographs.

'is your uncle still around?'

He smirked.

'Dead and never called me mother.'

'I'm sorry.'

He smiled at me.

'Don't be. He was a homophobic old bigot. Missed by none. I'm Justin, by the way. Owner, manager and the nearest thing this town will ever get to producing a David Bailey.'

He held out a limp hand which I sort of squeezed. I smiled at his arrogance.

'It's like this. The model is a friend of mine.'

'Nice looking girl. Not my cup of crème de menthe as they say, but I can see what might attract others.'

'She still is. Another of my friends is her biggest fan. I thought about reshooting the poses for him as a special gift. If you think you can do it.'

He looked at the photos again and sucked his teeth like a plumber already adding noughts to his estimate. He shook his head.

'She'll be forty years older. Are you sure it's a good idea? The lights can be very unforgiving.'

He tossed back his hair and arched an eyebrow.

'No, you don't understand. I will do the modelling.'

'You?'

He looked me up and down with a professional eye, occasionally glancing back to check with the original. He asked me to open my jacket and then turn round so he could examine me from the back. I have never been mentally stripped so asexually.

'Well you've got the figure. That shouldn't be a problem.'

'So you'll do it?'

'Hold on a little minute. I didn't say that.'

He took out an eyeglass from under the counter and began to examine the pictures in detail. He shook his head and tutted to himself at intervals. After what seemed like an age he looked up at me with a serious expression. There was an air of finality in his voice.

'Sorry ducks. No can do. It's impossible. I don't think anyone could do it.'

'That's, well, disappointing. Can I ask you why not?'

He turned the magazine back to me and tapped the first picture.

'First there's the clothes. She's wearing cheap tat from the seventies. There's no way we'd be able to get hold of anything even vaguely similar.'

'That's not a problem. Mandy kept the suit. I've got a blouse and underwear which would make pass for the rest. She's even got a pair of vintage nylons she'd let me have.'

Justin beamed.

'Super-duper. That's one problem solved. But what about the décor? I've still got that leather armchair out the back. My uncle never chucked anything. But the rest of it. The wallpaper, the clock, those awful plastic flowers. We'd never get even close. Sorry sweetie.'

He sighed and pushed the magazine back towards me. I slowly put it back into its envelope and returned it to my bag. I thanked him and turned to the door. When I had my hand on the handle he suddenly called me back.

'Hold on. I've had an idea.'

He started tapping on the computer which stood beside the till. He seemed to be scrolling through page after page. He held out his hand for the magazine, snapping his fingers impatiently. He looked at the front cover this time and then went back to the computer. Eventually he let out a cry.

'Come round here.'

He beckoned to me. A couple of silver bangles on his thin wrist jangled as he did so. I went around the counter and there on the screen was Mandy. The image was sharp and clear. I could see the pimples on her backside -- obviously a family trait. Justin and I smiled at each other.

'When I took over the shop I transferred all Uncle Dick's old film onto the computer. I say I did, actually it was a rather sweet photography student from the college. Nice boy.'

He sighed with a slight smile on his face.

'The images are great. I'd like to order two prints of each on high quality paper if you can do that. But as to my original idea, I don't see how this helps.'

Justin puffed out his chest, a look of triumph on his face. He pointed to a chair at the side of the shop and told me to sit on it. He picked up a camera. It was one of those cheap point-and-shoot affairs. Nothing fancy. I did as I was told. He pulled down a green/blue blind-type thing behind me.

'Now cross your legs. Lovely. Look at me. OK that'll do.'

My first modelling session was over in less than a minute. I hadn't even heard the shutter click, though there had been a couple of flashes. He plugged the camera into the computer and started playing with the mouse. I tried to peek over his shoulder without distracting him.

'Behold the magic of Photoshop.'

In front of my eyes Mandy disappeared from the dingy office set and after one click of the mouse I suddenly took her place. I gasped.

'That's amazing'

'Aren't I?'

I looked at the picture again. There were visible white patches between my image and the background, but the overall effect was impressive.

'Of course, we can make you black and white too if you like?'

He clicked again and my image changed to monotones. I didn't like it as much.

'If I shoot you in all that awful clobber, we can size the image so that it fits perfectly. The colour stands out amazingly, I think. Cut out Mandy, paste you in, a touch up here and there et voila.'

He waved limp wrists in the air.

'We would make up a little book with the originals on one side and you on the other, if you like? Think about it.'

I didn't need to.

'When can we do it?'

He looked me up and down again and sighed.

'What are you doing next Wednesday? I have a friend, I say a friend, he's a bitch but he'll love the project. He could do your hair that morning. Then make-up, we shoot in the afternoon. I could get it ready for the next morning.'

'My hair?'

He grabbed a handful of my mane and let it drop disdainfully.

'Well I mean, if we're going to do this.'

He let the sentence end. I thought it best not to question his judgement even though I was quite proud of my hair and a bit miffed by his attitude. Maybe I had let it go a bit. And then there was the cycling of course. I pulled myself back to the present.

'Sound great. How much is all this going to cost?'

The teeth sucking and head shaking returned.

'If we say fifty for the haircut, another fifty for the shoot, then I'll charge say twenty quid an hour for my time and a couple of pounds each for the prints. Two hundred should cover it. What do you say?'

I took out a business card and wrote my personal mobile number on the back. I handed it to him beaming.

'I say, let's do it.'

He hugged me squealing. I went to kiss him almost in a reflex action, I had been becoming very continental of late. He pushed me away as if I was trying to bite him. We both laughed to ease the slight tension and then very formally shook hands.

'I'll call my friend and text you the appointment time, then we'll see each other later On Wednesday. Ooh, how exciting.'

He clapped his hands together. I smiled at him.

'One last thing. Mandy said she had to suck your uncle off at the end of the session, or maybe fuck him, she wasn't sure. I presume that will not be part of our arrangement?'

I looked at him with a straight face. He mock swooned.

'Not unless you've got a handsome brother, no it will not, you naughty thing. Toodle-oo. I'll text you.'

He disappeared into the back room and I left the shop smiling. The price was a bit steep, but I hadn't got Mandy anything for Xmas and Mr J, well he deserved it I told myself. I laughed out loud at the thought of stripping naked in front of Justin who was probably going to be my least appreciative audience ever. I got strange looks from the harried passers-by as they scurried in search of elusive last-minute presents. I didn't care.

The rest of the day sped by. Another staff meeting to settle final details of everyone's work over the holidays went a lot better with Italian pastries. A managerial colleague, clearly too important just to give the details of the work he wanted covering to an ordinary member of my team, came by for a face-to-face. I called in Muhammad, the highly-competent and over-qualified staffer who I had assigned to that department. He went patiently through the details again.

'Does that cover everything? I was a about to send my team home. We're just about finished.'

'But it's only two o'clock.'

'They are coming in over the holidays. I think they deserve a small perk.'

He shook his head disapprovingly and headed for the door. Muhammad seemed to be hovering.

'Did you want something else? Don't worry about him, I have every confidence in you. He just wanted to show how important he is.'

'It's not that.'

He stopped and started shuffling from foot to foot.

'Spit it out.'

'I wanted to invite you to lunch tomorrow. It's nothing special. My wife is always trying to make me ask you and I heard you are spending the holidays on your own.'

'That's very kind.'

I think he could tell that I was going to refuse. I had been turning down invitations from well-meaning colleagues all week.

'It's not Xmas dinner for us. Just an ordinary meal. We wouldn't make a fuss. Well I wouldn't anyway.'

'That really is very kind of you.'

I was still going to say "no". I was looking forward to a day on my own.

'My wife finds it hard to believe I like working for a woman boss.'

'Muhammad. Thank you. I'm really touched and would love to meet your wife.'

My tone betrayed me again and he interrupted.

'The other thing is, I've bought bikes for my daughters; a sort-of end-of-year present. I wanted them to see that it's perfectly normal for women to cycle. I thought you could talk to them.'

'Then it would be churlish of me to refuse.'

I don't know whether it was his sad eyes, or the thought of being used as a role-model for his children that persuaded me. But suddenly I was looking forward to it.

'What time?'

'We usually eat around one. Does that suit?'

'Perfect. I'm seeing my mother in the morning. It will give me an excuse to get away.'

We exchanged a what-can-you-do-about-them look. He turned to leave looking positively relieved.

'Muhammad. Warn your wife that I ordered you prepare just an ordinary meal. And tell her that women bosses can get very crotchety when their instructions are not carried out.'

'We look forward to seeing you at one.'

The big day dawned with me still happy not to be waking with a hangover. I made a note-to-self to quit alcohol for January as part of my new year's resolutions. Wednesday at the Crown had really left its mark. I had to admit a small disappointment to have to finally acknowledge there is no Santa. My stockings, which I had draped over a chair the night before, were empty. For the first time in months I sort-of missed Dave. We always had breakfast-in-bed, surprise presents and sex on Xmas morning. It was the tradition-thing.

I got up; showered; went for a bike ride; came home; showered again and prepared to leave the house. I had caught Mike at the local bike shop just before he closed on Xmas Eve and bought a track pump for Muhammad's girls. It had been on my doorstep when I got home. That seemed like a good idea at the time, trying to find a bag big enough to enable me to carry it safely on my bike was another matter. I was not fooled by the fact the sun was shining and packed rain clothes and my mother's present alongside the pump.

Mum was in a good mood and happy to see me. My sister and her children had just left so the house looked like a bomb had hit it. I enjoyed my first cup of coffee of the day and helped her tidy up. I expressed delight at the cardigan she had bought me again this year and she was equally pleased with the perfume I have bought her every year since I got my first job. After reminiscing for a while over Xmases past I could see she was getting impatient for me to go. I took the hint.

It sounded as if there was a riot going on inside when I knocked at Muhammad's door. A rolling thunder of small footsteps descended stairs, followed by shouted adult instructions in a language I could not understand. The melee collided with the door and I could hear some kind of fight going on as to who would open it. Eventually Muhammad's face appeared. He was grinning at me whilst simultaneously trying to hold back some children whose number I could only guess at. It sounded like twenty or so, but could have been more.

It was one of the best Xmas dinners I have ever enjoyed. The food was spicy. Muhammad's three daughters giggled as I tried to master the skill of eating with my hands. I gave up and accepted a fork in the end. We then inspected their bikes; I explained the mystery of the track pump and, tyres pumped up and saddles adjusted, we rode up and down the street outside for half-an-hour or so. Over mint tea and sweet cakes I had bought from my corner grocery Werd, Muhammad's wife and I, dissected the problems of full-time work with a young family. She was a pharmacist. I remembered I needed more condoms but thought it politic not to raise the question of a possible discount.

I left as dusk was deepening. My bike lights picked out my route along almost empty streets food, booze and excitement kept most people inside enjoying the delights of whatever blockbuster programme had been hyped to exhaustion in he past couple of months. I got home, still feeling the effects of the meal, and decided to forego another shower and

slob out.

My phone was full of messages. I went through them systematically remembering the days when thank-you notes were the bane of the weeks after the twenty-fifth. Piotr and Wot's were the easiest, whatever they had wanted me to know was in Polish and all I knew of that language were the obscenities they routinely used when missing goals; something they were quite good at. Niece and nephew were duly thanked for their thanks and Matt had his testicles metaphorically stroked; he'd thank me later.

"Don't text while you're drunk."

Dealt with Steve. He'd sent me a long, meandering text full of maudlin sentimentality. The sort of thing best saved for New Year's Eve. Luke's was more of a tease, full of unsubtle hints about spanking and golden showers. I wished him a merry Xmas too. George's solicited naked selfies; he didn't succeed with me. But Tracy copied me in to a text with accompanying pictures which simply read.

"Fucked four times already. Best Xmas ever."

I felt a slight pang of jealously, especially as it was timed at only one thirty, but mostly wondered whether it was four times with Jason or a different guy each time. I made another mental note-to-self.

Mandy's was more business than holiday. She told me she'd sent Scarlett into the attic and retrieved the suit I had asked to borrow. Would tomorrow be too early for delivery? I replied that after my ride I was planning to be in all day. Her seasons greetings were almost an afterthought. Scarlett just sent three Xs and an unhappy face emoticon. It had been sent to her whole address book. I sent back a cheery message and said I'd like to see her soon.

The cyclists all contacted me. Their messages were full of equipment-related boasts and complaints about husbands and children. I envied and sympathised in equal measure. Work colleagues and old college friends included me in their round robin missives. I only replied to the ones I liked. The only missing link was Mr J. I knew he was not a mobile phone owner so didn't worry. I was certain he was being nagged incessantly by his kids and run ragged by the grandchildren. He may even have been enjoying himself.

Television was nothing if not predictable, so I watched a couple of streamed episodes of a US series I had never heard of and went to bed. My half-awake dreams of Tracy eating her turkey whilst being taken from behind by Santa Claus necessitated the application of both fingers and vibrator before I eventually slept. Maybe not the best Xmas ever, but perfectly passable and much better than I expected.

Riding out on Boxing Day was a different experience from the day before. Everyone and their mum was heading for the shops. I had no idea where they got the cash, but less idea why they had all decided to take the road I was cycling. What had set out to be a quiet relaxing excursion turned into a nightmare of near misses, loud horns and the occasional verbal altercation. I gave it all up as a bad job after about half-an-hour and headed home. I was not in a good mood.

I saw there was someone sitting on my doorstep from the top of the street. They were hunched up playing on a mobile. Perhaps sending a text. My dark mood deepened. The last thing I wanted to do was socialise. I slammed open the gate and stomped my bike up the path. The noise made my guest look up. It was Scarlett. She was hunched up in a big coat; not Mandy-big, but at least two sizes too large for her. She had a couple of suit holders draped over her knees, probably to help keep herself warm. Her woolly hat had a distinct knitted-by-Gran look to it. Her hair fell over her face and she looked at me with dark shadows under her eyes.