Unknown - Game Over

‘Daz or Dazza?’ I smile icily.

‘Darren,’ he confirms without the slightest hint that he’s taken offence. I wonder if he realizes that I am trying to be rude. He doesn’t seem stupid. He grins at me. Exposing a row of teeth which the Osmonds would be proud of. How can anyone be this gorgeous?

‘Well, Darren, to business.’ I sit next to him and accidentally bang my knee against his. His touch blisters through my Joseph trousers. I actually flinch. Shaking, I reach for a glass of water.

‘You OK?’ He moves quickly, reaching the water before I do. Genuinely concerned, he hands me the glass. I’m incapable of telling him I’m OK. The glass slips an inch. He thinks I’m going to drop it and so guides it to my lips, watching me the whole time. His eyes bore right into me. Is he reading my mind? Does he know my knickers are in flames? I take a gulp of the water. And place the glass back on the coffee table. ‘It is hot in here,’ he comments and springs up to play with the air conditioning switch. He is so confident. So in control. And I’m…? I’m so lost. Maybe I’m sick. I glance at Fi. She’s grinning. This brings me back to my senses with a jolt.

‘Something funny, Fi?’ I glare at her. She shakes her head and retreats to a corner of the room. I force myself back to my guest notes and back to Darren. Only one of those actions presents a problem. ‘As you know, Marcus Ailsebury is about to marry your ex-girlfriend, Claire Thomson, on Valentine’s Day. Just over two weeks’ time. Marcus wrote to us to tell us that he feels’ – I correct myself – ‘fears that Claire may still hold a torch for you.’ I blush. This script, normally adequate, suddenly appears to be exactly what it is. Bloody awful. I hope Darren doesn’t think I’d normally use an expression like ‘hold a torch’. Regardless, I carry on. ‘Marcus needs to know whether his fears are founded. Now are you familiar with the format of Sex with an Ex?’ I look up at him.

‘Sex with an Ex? Sadly, yes.’ He nods seriously. His hair falls over his left eye. I can’t think of anything more attractive. He blows out of the side of his mouth. Except that. The hair almost magically falls back into place.

‘Good, well, what we need you to do is—’

‘Look, I’m sorry to interrupt, but I don’t want to waste any more of your time than I already have.’ I smile, quite happy to engage in a conversation with him. Answer questions and queries. He can have all evening. I want to hear everything he has to say.

‘I’m not going to do this.’

Except that.

‘I don’t want to be on your show.’

I stare at him, amazed. Arsehole.

‘I feel terrible that I’m letting you down and that I’ve probably inconvenienced a lot of people, but I had no idea, when your studio invited me here, it was for Sex with an Ex.’ He spits out the title with undisguised contempt.

‘Didn’t the private detective explain it all to you?’ I ask bitterly.

‘No. She just said that Marcus needed some help with the wedding preparations. I thought I was being invited on to a show similar to Surprise Surprise.’

I consider this. It is possible that our researchers and detective deliberately misled Darren. Or at the very least kept him in the dark. They too must have recognized that Darren would be great for ratings.

‘Nothing on this earth would induce me to be on Sex with an Ex.’

‘Why not?’ Frankly, I’m stunned. He’s saying no. No to the opportunity of being on TV. No to the opportunity of seducing an ex. No to me.

‘Because you are undermining everything I hold dear. Love, marriage, fidelity, constancy. I can’t do it.’

I’m amazed. A man who owns up to feeling these things must be gay. But I know he’s not. I mentally shake myself. Fuck. Twat. I haven’t got time for this. I’m busy. I don’t need some half-average-looking bloke, who has too high an opinion of himself, screwing things up for me now. I glare at him. I breathe deeply.

‘But Darren, why not? Marcus wants this,’ I say reasonably.

Then Marcus is wrong.’

‘He wants to test her.’

‘He’d do better to trust her.’

‘You’re joking, right?’

‘Deadly serious.’

I check my watch. I have to speed this along. I still have the other guests to meet. First interview of the New Year and I run into a hitch immediately. If I were the superstitious kind, I’d think it was an omen. But I’m not.

‘Look, Darren, is this a question of money? You see we can’t offer our guests hard cash, our lawyers won’t let us. But we can make this worth your while in expenses. Clothes, travel, entertainment, etc.’ I mentally calculate what I can up the budget to. We normally expect an outlay of up to £600 per guest.

‘It’s nothing to do with money.’ Darren rests his head in his hands and leans back against the sofa.

‘We can go up to eight hundred pounds.’

‘I just think it’s ignoble.’

‘Fifteen hundred.’

He shakes his head fractionally. And casually crosses his legs. They are extremely long. I take a deep breath.

‘Two thousand.’

He doesn’t acknowledge my offer. I make a quick calculation. This man is extremely intelligent, sensitive, stunningly good-looking. Even I, fleetingly, had found him attractive. Until he started arsing around like this. Now I realize he’s a wanker. But, generally, people aren’t as perceptive as I am. Audiences will like him. Bale will love him. How much?

‘Four thousand pounds.’ I hear Fi gasp. Darren smiles pleasantly, too astute to be insulted. He looks extremely confident. He shakes his head. I lean close to him. My mouth is only inches away from his ear.

‘It’s my final offer,’ I whisper. He smiles. I look closer. He’s resolute. Damn.

‘Big prick,’ I comment to Fi, as I charge out of the room. I don’t even check if the door has banged shut behind me.

‘Almost certainly has,’ she comments.

I glare at her. ‘I wasn’t commenting on his equipment,’ I snarl. ‘More his manner.’

‘I thought he was utterly charming,’ she confesses, blushing.

I sigh, irritated. ‘What exactly is charming about fucking up our shooting schedule?’ I rage. ‘Do you think Bale will be charmed?’

‘Guess not.’

I begin to charge down the corridor towards the other interview rooms. We are on an extremely tight schedule. We’ve moved Sex with an Ex from the Monday slot to Saturday, which has cranked up the pressure by one more near infeasible notch. We have to complete the interviews tonight. For both liaisons, pre and post advertisements break. We have to choose the location for the temptation scene. Tomorrow we have to arrange all the logistics for all the parties in each liaison. Film on Wednesday and Thursday and then edit on Friday. The entire team regularly work at the weekends. I don’t need spanners in works. I don’t have time for mistakes, misgivings or misjudgements.

‘So who do we have on reserve? Give me the briefing notes.’ I hold out my hand waiting for the relevant file.

‘Err.’ Fi looks a bit shamefaced. ‘We haven’t one.’

I stop abruptly. ‘What?’

‘We did have. But we don’t now. Mr P. Kent marrying a Ms L. Gripton were in reserve but he called the wedding off. I actually think he was using the show as a way to get rid of her. But he found the courage to do it without us.’ Fi smiles brightly and I consider murdering her. I don’t have time. When did she become stupid?

‘How fabulous for him. What a shame for Ms Gripton and what a bloody disaster for us.’ I’m not shouting. I’m too angry to shout. ‘We always have two reserve options. Who are the others?’