Unknown - Game Over

‘Get dressed. I’ve a big day today.’

‘Bale, I have the answer.’ I charge into his office, shooing his secretary away with a single, withering glance. I decline the seat and the cigar he offers. He really is a twat. However, he is my twat boss and I want to impress him.

‘I have the Idea.’

‘I’m all ears,’ he sneers. Actually, he does have jug ears but he’s all teeth, not all ears. I resist the jibe and start to tell him about my idea. Although I’ve stormed into his office at 10.50 a.m. to give the impression of an employee who knows her worth and won’t be bullied, I have actually been in the office since 8.15 a.m. rehearsing this meeting. I have perfected a pitch that guarantees punch but appears spontaneous, that is irresistible and, most of all, assured. Besides the presentation of the pitch, I have paid immaculate attention to the detail of the presentation of the person. I’m wearing a Dries Van Noten white cotton slip dress with heavy boots on bare legs. The look I’ve achieved is naïve charm, but the boots hint at something a whole lot tougher. I’m showing enough cleavage to secure his attention.

‘OK.’ I take a deep breath. The brief was to have a high-profile programme that will attract viewers, advertising budgets and the press.’ Bale nods cautiously. ‘You want notoriety on a shoestring,’ I add for clarity.

‘I never said notoriety.’

‘But you agree we need to be noticed.’ He nods. The nod is fractional. I know this is because if there is ever a debate with the executive committee regarding this programme, Bale will deny he gave consent. Sod him. I tell him my idea.

‘It’s a bit unlikely, isn’t it?’ says Bale cautiously.

‘Why do you say that?’

‘Well, the premiss you’re working from is that we need couples who are just about to skip towards the altar but are paranoid enough to think that their dearest is not 100 per cent kosher and he fancies a bit of pork with his ex-totty.’

The analogy is repulsive. Offensive to a number of religions, vegetarians and women, but yes, basically Nigel has it. I try to encourage him.

‘Look, I’ve done my research. There are 6.6 marriages per 1,000 population in the UK. Which is roughly 11,000 per week. It’s one of the highest marriage rates in the world, twenty-ninth highest, actually. But we also have one of the highest divorce rates too—’

‘Well, you can’t divorce unless you marry,’ says fucking Einstein. I smile icily.

‘The divorce rate is 3.2 per 1,000 population. Ninth highest in the world.’

‘And your point is?’

‘Do you know in how many cases the ex is cited in court? Thirty-seven per cent. There are countless rekindlings of old flames and remarriages to ex-partners each year. The ex is so compelling. I give you Liz Taylor and Richard Burton, Fergie and Prince Andrew, Melanie Griffith and Don Johnson.’ Bale’s beginning to be interested. He knows a good idea when he sees one.

‘Isn’t that Melanie one with that Banderas one now?’

I sweep his objections away by ignoring them. ‘Bale, we can’t fail.’

‘Would there really be people who would do this?’

I can’t believe Bale is questioning whether there are enough exhibitionist/paranoid/jealous types in the world.

‘We are looking at a pilot series of six episodes. Two couples per episode. We only need twelve couples. We have the entire British population to choose from.’

Bale nods. ‘People are so hideous.’

He should know. I fake cordiality. ‘It makes good television. Think back to 1974, Paul Rogers’ documentary The Family. You know what I’m talking about?’ The show has superstar status in the history of TV. Everyone knows of it. It was the first fly-on-the-wall.

‘Oh, the one where Rogers sat, for months, with a camera in the front room of some family from the commuter belt? The marriage broke down as a consequence.’

‘Yes. I don’t think it was simply to do with Mr Wilkins’s dislike of audio equipment. It was because Mrs Wilkins admitted on national TV that her husband was not the father of her last child.’

‘That’s right.’ Bale is leering and chuckling at the same time. ‘Dirty bitch.’

‘But ask yourself why, Bale. Why would she divulge such a thing to the entire world? Maybe it was simply stress, but she invited that stress into her home. Why would she do that? Maybe she wanted to make the confession? Maybe she wanted to blow apart her sanitized semi? Or was it to guarantee that she didn’t pass from this world to the next without her Andy Warhol requisite fifteen minutes of fame?’

‘Or maybe she wanted to teach him a lesson?’ adds Bale. ‘Hurt him? Or beg his forgiveness in a forum too public to allow him to reject her?’

‘Exactly. We don’t know. There are myriad reasons that motivate people. Think of the radio wedding a few years back. People are prepared to trot down the aisle, with absolute strangers, to get their Warhol fifteen minutes. Although in the Birmingham couple’s case, it wasn’t so much fifteen minutes as seven and a half months, 185 minutes of TV air time, 207 minutes of radio airtime and 58 column inches in the press.’

Bale taps his pen on the desk. He’s getting excited. I go for closure.

‘There are countless fly-on-the-wall programmes about marriage: the run-up to the proposal, the wedding, the first year. I’ve heard that Channel 4 are developing a documentary on consummation.’ I’m making this up, but I want Bale’s budget. I am immoral most of the time and amoral where business is concerned. ‘I’m proposing a twist to a proven formula. The contributors are to be in the studio when the actions of all parties are exposed. The live audience is key. It’s overpowering. The thing about exes is that they never go away. Even those to whom you haven’t given a second thought in over a decade, whom you’ve never seen since you parted, are important. There is always a nagging curiosity about what happened to the one that got away, or the one you threw away.’

Bale, a true businessman, sees the potential. ‘You think it will work.’ He states this as a fact rather than as a question.

‘Yes,’ I enthuse. ‘I admit that it is dependent upon the credulity, stupidity and vanity of the British population.’ I take a deep breath. ‘It can’t fail.’

‘But if it gets as big, as you say it will, how will we keep attracting people on to the show?’

‘We’ll film enough shows for a series before we go live. We’ll have watertight release forms so that the guests can’t retract their permission. Bale, I’ll work out the detail. Don’t you worry.’ I’m desperate, so I gently pat his arm.

Bale nods. ‘OK, Cas. Go to finance and work out a budget.’

I want to punch the air. He senses it. ‘Hey, don’t get carried away. I’m not a millionaire.’

That’s another one of Bale’s relentless lies. But I don’t care. I’ve got a programme and it’s a winner!

4

‘Josh, hi, it’s me. Guess what? Bale went for it! The infidelity with an ex show.’

‘And I’m supposed to think that’s a good thing.’

‘Oh, come on, Josh.’ It’s not like him to be down on me. ‘I’m back on top.’

‘Which is where you most like to be.’ Josh laughs, despite himself.

‘Both literally and metaphorically,’ I add cheekily.

‘Are you flirting with me, Cas?’ Josh asks, but not seriously.

‘I’d be flirting if it was anyone but you,’ I assure him.

‘Cold comfort.’

‘We’re going to call it Sex with an Ex. What do you think?’

‘I’m trying not to think about it.’

I sigh, disappointed by his lack of enthusiasm. ‘Look, I’ve got to ring off – there’s so much to do. I just wanted to tell you my good news. After all, you more or less gave me the idea.’