Havana Adams - Remember My Name

Wearily she stood up and grimaced as she caught sight of last night’s make-up now smeared all over her face. She’d been too exhausted to wash it off when she’d finally rolled in, dropped at her front door by a black cab after three in the morning. Thinking about last night brought a smile to Talia’s face. The Gilded Cage, a top London club that routinely welcomed celebrities from all over the world, had played host to the summer party of Encounters , the highest-rated soap opera on television. Talia as a storyliner on the show had been there, albeit with some reluctance. She hated parties; she’d often told herself that she simply didn’t have the party gene. She could never hear above the music, never knew how to approach people and start off conversations, and she didn’t drink enough for alcohol to save her either. She might have found an excuse not to go but one of her closest friends, Simone, who also worked in television, had extracted a promise from her that she would make an effort and turn up, if only for her career’s sake.

Darting through the throng of paparazzi and autograph hunters determined to catch a glimpse of the show’s stars, Talia had planned on staying only an hour or two, get her face seen and then leave but surprisingly she’d found she actually enjoyed the party. No expense had been spared, from fire eaters, to stilt walkers to fortune tellers, and she had been glad that she’d forced herself to put on the only sexy dress in her wardrobe, a Diane von Fürstenberg, a gift from her best friend, Helena, which she had never worn before. Even Tamara, the show’s resident bitch both on and off screen, had paid her a compliment.

“Darling, what a transformation, very dramatic.” Tamara had smiled, air kissing in her general direction before disappearing through the crowd, leaving Talia dazed in a heavy cloud of Chanel No 5.

The DVF dress, a dramatic statement against her brown skin, was a distinctive print of vibrant yellows, reds and greens, the kind of bright colours that Talia usually shunned, but from all the compliments she’d received the night before, she’d realised that perhaps colour should play a larger part in her wardrobe. She’d teamed the dress with the high Charlotte Olympia heels. The heels also came from Helena who, as an editor on style bible Époque, had access to an apparently limitless fashion cupboard, which meant she was constantly pressing beautiful designer accessories on Talia. Between Helena and Simone, Talia often found herself being lectured about her refusal to engage with fashion.

“I’m not into pain and all these clothes are just not comfortable or even practical,” Talia had once told Helena, but her friend had simply snorted and the gifts continued. It wasn’t that Talia couldn’t see the beauty in designer clothes; it was simply that her budget didn’t stretch to the frothy, outlandish garments that were a part of Helena’s world. For Helena, fashion was life. But for Talia, nothing was more important than her career at Encounters . She liked comfortable, practical things and, as she’d found, tottering around in the platform shoes the night before, fashionable and comfortable didn’t seem to go hand in hand.

Nevertheless, she had actually enjoyed the party and danced to every song on the dance floor. Once during the night, she’d found herself pressed against a wall by an insistent First Assistant Director from the show.

“You look so fucking gorgeous in the dress, I should have talked to you before now.” The drunken confession had been followed by a very wet kiss. For Talia this was pretty much unheard of and she allowed a small smile. She could practically hear Helena’s voice now – “You should have gone home with him.” She might not have followed Helena’s standard advice but Talia still allowed herself a small pat on the back at her small progress. She’d not pushed the AD away immediately; she’d allowed him to kiss her for a moment, never mind that the smell of beer on his breath slightly turned her stomach.

In the room next door, Nina and her lover had finally subsided and Talia flicked on the radio then moved to the small desk in the corner of her bedroom. She powered up her MacBook, as she did every morning without fail. As the laptop loaded up, Talia pulled some clothes out of the wardrobe, paying slightly more attention than usual to what she picked out. It was appraisal day today and she wanted to look smart. She’d already been prepped for what to expect and Talia felt a shiver of excitement, which she quickly banked down. As the sound of the computer starting up rang out, an image appeared on the screen for a moment and Talia felt a buzz of appreciation run through her. It was a photograph of a bag; a bag of the finest burnished leather, an oak-coloured Mulberry Bayswater designer handbag. Though she usually had little interest in high fashion, something about this bag had captured Talia’s imagination and she had decided that she would buy herself one, when she received her promotion. That day was today. All her slogging on the story team, all the late nights and early mornings, would finally pay off. Talia thought back to the conversation she’d had last week with her boss.

“So, Martin’s decided to move to LA and write movies.” Rick had strolled into her office drawling the words with a confident smirk as Talia had paused in her typing to look up at him.

“What?” she had squealed. “He has a contract.” Rick had smiled then.

“Don’t worry, he’ll be back. We pay them well, they get too big for their boots, think they’re going to LA to run things.” Rick had snorted. “Martin is very well looked after here, he won’t last in LA for long, being a very small fish writer from England in a very big pond.”

Talia had nodded. Rick was right but it didn’t solve their immediate predicament. “But what do we do while he finds himself? We’re already a writer short on the core team and we’ve got some major storylines coming up. Martin knows this show better than anyone.”

“Not better than you,” Rick had fired back at her. Talia looked up at him confused.

“What do you mean?” she’d finally asked, her heart already racing.

“I mean that you’re getting what you wanted. As of next week, after your appraisal, you’ll be the newest member of the core writing team.”

“What!” Talia had spluttered, shocked, even as she was filled with nervous excitement.

“Tal, you’ve rewritten half the scripts for the last two years and ghosted the other half. You’re a great writer and it’s what you want, isn’t it?” Rick had shot her a challenging look.

She’d nodded. It was what she wanted, more than anything. Finally she would be a writer, writing on the show that had consumed her life the last few years. “I won’t let you guys down. I promise.”

Talia leaned back in her chair as the image of the designer handbag disappeared. Today, that conversation would finally be made official. She clicked an icon on the computer screen and watched as the story document loaded up. She tapped in the obligatory password that the screen demanded before she could access the confidential storylines that marked out the next year of stories on the show. Even after four years in which she’d battled her way up the ranks, she still felt a frisson of pride and excitement whenever she typed in her password. She’d always been good at keeping secrets and there was something potent about knowing how stories would play out, how characters loved by the entire country would be doing in one year’s time. Though many had tried, Talia was scrupulous about never giving anything away and eventually her friends had stopped asking for hints or spoilers.

Within minutes, she was lost in the world of Melanie, Jordan, Eloise and Carlos and the other workers at the Encounters boutique who kept TV audiences spellbound and kept the show at the top of the ratings. These stories, which would be her last as storyliner, promised a bombshell Christmas revelation; she’d definitely saved the best for last. After today, she was heading for the writers’ room. Not merely devising the stories but now actually writing the dialogue, the scripts – the whole nine yards. Talia smiled, imagining her rosy future, and then she gasped, leaping to her feet as she caught sight of the clock. She’d miss her train at this rate.