Chapter 32
Dylan put the phone down and pondered. Well, that was a turn-up for the books. He had planned on going to see Seamus today, but his agent had given him food for thought. An advertising agency had contacted his agent, enquiring if he would be interested in starring in their new commercial for aftershave, aptly named ‘Racer’. Dylan quite liked the thought of appearing in an advert, and his agent liked it even more when they told him what they would be offering. Dylan’s eyes widened at the fee proposed. Money to help him set up his own training yard, he thought. Dylan earned a pretty penny with various companies, wearing a certain watch or suit in interviews, drinking a certain energy drink, being a member of a particular gym, even driving a specified car, but actually appearing in a TV commercial – that was something else. The more he thought of it, the more it appealed to him.
‘Don’t hang about, Dylan,’ his agent had advised down the phone, the excitement and greed in his voice evident. ‘They’re approaching Lance James too.’
Lance James was the latest Grand Prix winner, not as prominent a figure in the sporting world as Dylan, but even so, he didn’t want some racing driver pipping him at the post. What had he to lose? The extra money would be more than useful. The old stable block would take some converting and Tobias wouldn’t rent him the land for fresh air. Plus he needed to pay staff, not to mention offer enough to entice Flora to be his assistant trainer. Yes, he would do it. He rang his agent back and within the hour a schedule had been set, for the very next day. Hell, they were keen, thought Dylan, and his agent was beside himself with joy.
‘This will really put you on the map, Dylan,’ he practically purred down the phone.
‘I’m already on the map, Connor,’ replied Dylan, rolling his eyes. He could just imagine his fat, little agent rubbing his chubby hands together, pound signs blinging from his beady eyes. Dylan didn’t particularly like Connor, but knew he was good at his job. He suspected the prompt schedule was more to do with him than the advertising agency. Connor wasn’t going to let an opportunity like this slip through his grasping paws. Within a few hours the contract had been signed, sealed and delivered.
Dylan was to meet with representatives of the advertising agency in London. They had arranged for a car to pick him up from home to take him straight there. Not sure what to wear, he opted for casual jeans and a jumper, assuming they would have clothes for him to wear in the commercial. How wrong he was.
On arriving at the agency, he was greeted by a young girl with long dark hair and large brown eyes, which she fluttered at him. ‘Good morning, Mr Delany. Please follow me.’ He was led to a large studio with cameras, lights and various people buzzing about with clipboards. A small, bald-headed man wearing purple trousers and a red waistcoat scurried over to him.
‘Dylan! Dylan! So good to see you.’ Dylan blinked – did he know him? He appeared ever so familiar. ‘I’m Richard. Please call me Dickie.’ He ushered Dylan onto a white leather sofa at the side of the studio and sat next to him, far too closely. Dylan could smell his breath as he gushed, ‘We’ll put you in make-up first, then try a few shots for light.’ His hands rapidly moved as he spoke. Dylan struggled to keep up with the whole scenario. ‘You will look am-az-ing!’ Dickie slapped his shoulder with glee.
Dylan closed and opened his eyes. Was this really happening?
‘Come, come, this way, lovie.’ Dickie then put his hand on his back and practically pushed him into a small, bright room, where apparently, ‘Tamsin was going to touch him up’. Dylan assumed he meant make-up, but on seeing Tamsin he was open to offers.
Tamsin smiled widely and held out a large brush. ‘Let’s apply,’ she said cheerily and patted the chair in front of her. ‘Make yourself comfortable, Dylan.’
Dylan plonked himself down and winced at the bright bulbs surrounding the huge mirror directly opposite him. Suddenly a massive pair of boobs faced him, nearly taking his eyes out. Tamsin was examining his hair, pulling at it from all angles. ‘We’ll just freshen this up a bit.’ She bent down to look at him. ‘I’ll give you a good blow.’ Dylan stared back, speechless. The next thing Tamsin set about him with a super-strength hair dryer, pushing his curls into place. ‘Right now, let’s look at skin tone.’ She moved closer, giving him a close-up of her cleavage. Dylan struggled to keep a straight face when seeing a cotton wool bud had lodged down there. ‘Hmm, let’s see…’ she moved his face back and forth, ‘I’d say medium to dark, wouldn’t you?’
‘I’m in your hands,’ he smiled back.
Unscrewing a white pot, Tamsin delved her fingers inside and started smearing Dylan’s face with it.
‘Just to give you a bit of colour,’ she explained, her chest shoving into him, ‘to make you stand out.’ Dylan was already starting to stand out. ‘Now then, let’s get those beautiful blue eyes to shine.’ She held a blue eyeliner; Dylan leant back a little. ‘Don’t be alarmed, I’m just going to gently stroke…’ she bent down again; Dylan sat still, ‘the insides of your eyes.’ He could feel her breath on his face as she lightly swept the pencil along the edge of his eyes. She had beautiful blue eyes, too, and full voluptuous lips. He glanced down her top again. ‘Right, face done, now for the body,’ she beamed.
‘Sorry?’
‘We’ll need to give you a bit of colour there, too.’
‘Pardon?’
‘It’s a shower scene. You’ll be wearing only a towel.’ She spoke very matter-of-factly. ‘Didn’t Dickie mention it?’
‘No… he just said I’d look amazing,’ Dylan replied faintly. Tamsin gave him the once-over and licked her lips.
‘I’m sure you will,’ she winked.
Damn Connor, thought Dylan as he stood butt naked, save for a small, blue towel only just managing to cover his modesty. Never any mention of this, he cursed under his breath.
‘OK, let’s roll, Dylan. So you’ve just come out of the shower, you make your way into the bedroom, pick up the bottle of aftershave, splash it all over and say…’
‘Never be pipped at the post,’ quoted Dylan through clenched teeth.
‘Oooh, a bit livelier, lovie!’ chirped Dickie, clapping his hands, ‘and then, you turn to camera three for that all-important close up and say…’
‘I always win, wearing Racer,’ Dylan supplied.
‘That’s it!’ Dickie clapped his hands again, ‘and what do you do for that final shot?’
‘Wink,’ replied Dylan flatly.
‘Magic!’ Dickie bellowed.
