Would we have talked about our new babies together, in side-by-side beds? How they’re feeding like champs and sleeping worse than banshees? Would we have clinked our post-labour mugs of tea in the air in triumph, telling each other it was the best and most-earned cup of tea and slice of toast we’ve ever had?
She disappears through the hospital front door with the man’s hand on the small of her back, as they go to begin their new life together.
‘This is it, Ted. Contractions are five minutes apart. I don’t think this is going to be too long a labour,’ I’d be yelling out to him, agony ripping through me.
‘Don’t worry, we’ve got this,’ he’d say. ‘By the way, I know you said no epidural, but I won’t think any less of you if you do get it.’
‘Well, maybe we’ll go for gas and air,’ I’d suggest.
‘Only if they keep some for me.’ We’d laugh and laugh as we disappear through the doors, letting them swing behind us.
‘I need to speak to whoever looks after the MuchMusic Awards,’ I tell the operator on the TV station switchboard.
I’m out the other end of a frustrating day, sitting opposite the gym on Bathurst Street, people-watching but hoping to spot just one single person.
‘The top person, whoever that is.’
The receptionist takes a theatrical pause. ‘I’ll put you through to Viewer Enquiries.’
After a few rings, someone eager, young-sounding, picks up. ‘Who am I speaking with?’ I demand with as much imperiousness as I can scrape together. When you’ve heard Francesca talking to her childminder on the phone, it’s pretty easy to summon an air of authority. Even if she’s just ringing the butchers to sort out that evening’s dinner, Francesca sounds as though she’s running the entire country.
‘Uh, this is Jess…’ says the person who picks up at MuchMusic.
‘Jess, hi. I know this probably sounds ridiculous, but I’m looking to get a backstage pass for the awards ceremony tomorrow night, as I want to surprise my boyfriend, who is handing out an award.’
‘Who’s your boyfriend?’ I’ve got Jess on the hook, at the very least.
‘If it’s OK, Jess, I won’t say for now. He’s quite private. I get that I’m being a bit evasive, I do. But it’ll be his birthday on the night and I want to surprise him. We haven’t seen each other in a while, as he has been in Los Angeles. Iknow if I ask his family for one, they will just tell him and ruin the surprise.’
‘What about his agent? Or does he have a manager?’ Jess wants to know.
‘Well, we are kind of keeping this whole thing a secret from a lot of people,’ I say. This is too cryptic for Jess, and instantly I register the drop in temperature in our conversation.
‘I mean, we don’t usually give out backstage passes to anyone who rings up and asks for one,’ Jess starts, not sounding entirely certain.
‘Oh God, I know that! And I wouldn’t expect you to! Listen, trust me, I totally get the way these things work,’ I tell her. I’m trying to keep my tone light and conspiratorial, as though I’m talking to the Help but inviting her into this lovely orbit of ours. ‘But I was hoping that you might just be able to do us this one tiny thing. Is there someone else in the office I could talk to about this?’ As we talk, I grab my laptop and google ‘MuchMusic Awards executive producer’ and the name Chris Kasimir appears. ‘Maybe Chris might be able to help me?’
‘No one will be able to help you if we don’t know who the boyfriend is,’ Jess fires back.
‘OK, but if I tell you, you cannot say a word to anyone,’ I say. ‘It’s Ted Levy.’
‘Ted Levy the actor?’ Jess is putting the puzzle pieces together.
‘Yeah,’ I say, feeling a small glow of pride. ‘Like I say, we’re very private about it. You won’t find much about us out in the open.’
Jess, nonetheless, is unmoved. Weirdly underwhelmed, I would go so far as to say.
‘Yeah, I’m not sure this office will be able to help you with that one.’
‘Please,’ my voice says with an urgent little wobble. ‘We had a fight recently, and I just… really want to make it up to him with a big gesture. He gets very nervous ahead of these things, and he thinks I’ll be working in London that night. I know that you probably don’t believe me, and if I were you I wouldn’t, but I’ve run out of ideas here. And I wouldn’t normally ask. I know how weird I’m being here. Truly, I do.’
And then, my final card: ‘Do you have a boyfriend, Jess? Or a girlfriend? Would you not do the same for them?’
Somehow, this releases the broom from her arse. ‘Let me see if I can talk to my associate here,’ Jess says.
She puts me on hold, and the prize feels as though it’s definitely in my eyeline.Turns out I’m pretty good at this, I think.
The snap of a receiver snatches me out of my warm, glowy reverie.
