“Not a lot of time.”
“There never is in this industry. But I guess that’s what keeps it exciting . . . I like challenges.” His eyes flicked up and down my body one more time and I tried to ignore their loaded look.
“Why don’t you just come up with the idea and save the day? Legend has it that you’re supposed to be this creative genius.”
“It’s not really my job to come up with all the ideas all the time. It’s my job to coach others and mentor them to get the best ideas out of them and then refine them. Your last Creative Director didn’t really do a good job at that and now my creatives can’t seem to come up with any original ideas worth working with. They have potential, but they haven’t been challenged or pushed . . .” He paused and ran his hand through his hair. “Sorry, I shouldn’t really be speaking to you about stuff like that. It’s not appropriate.”
“I won’t tell anyone you said that.”
“I know.” He smiled up at me. “And like I said, the calendar shoot is the only piece of work the client actually cares about all year. And he wants to hire this Italian photographer too who is apparently the ‘best,’” he gestured air commas, “which just means some very overpaid egotistical ‘artist’ who thinks the sun shines out of his arse and who thinks he’s the most important thing since Picasso.”
I laughed out loud at that trying to imagine Ben working with someone who possibly had a bigger ego than he did.
“I honestly think it has nothing to do with the calendar at all, I just think the client likes jetting off to exotic locations and watching a bunch of scantily clad models drape themselves all over his sports cars.”
“Mmmm,” I mumbled, “sounds like something every guy wants.”
Ben took a dangerous step closer. “Some guys prefer their women inside their cars, rather than outside.”
“Stop!” I pointed a finger at him. “Why do you do that?” I stepped back. “Why is everything that comes out of your mouth so filthy?”
Ben threw his head back and laughed. “Admit it, you love it.”
“I don’t!” I retorted.
He shook his head looking amused before walking away to his car. “Yes, you do. And that’s why you’re falling hopelessly in love with me,” he shouted over his shoulder before climbing into his car and driving away.
My mouth fell open in shock and then I quickly yelled after him. “I am not! I am so not! You’re wrong!”
“Whatever, Sera.” He gave me a wave in the rear view mirror before driving out the garage and out of sight.
Later that day the second half of the Sunday routine began. Sunday afternoon is the only time that the restaurant is closed and we all go there to do a stocktake, and sometimes JJ likes to practice his new routines in peace. When I arrived they were already there mincing around the place. I stopped and watched them for a while, they looked like they were having a playful debate about where to put the new pot plant. I continued to watch them for a while longer, feeling amused, before stepping in and making the critical decorative decision myself.
“So you have a bit of a smile on your face,” Bruce finally said after we’d maneuvered the surprisingly heavy plant into the chosen position.
“It’s more than a smile,” JJ remarked, “it’s the glow of lusty-ness.”
“Oh please,” I tried to brush it off but I knew that I couldn’t fool these two.
“He’s gotten under your skin,” Bruce said.
JJ tisked loudly. “Under your skin? He’s gotten under you.”
“So what are you going to do about it?” Bruce asked, opening a bottle of wine and pouring three glasses. Another ritual of ours, Sunday stocktaking and drinking.
JJ took a sip of the wine and then let out a loud breath, as if he was about to announce something. “I’ve thought about it,” he said, “and if you really want to go out with him, I’ll forgive your obvious betrayal. Fraternizing with the enemy and all that.”
I laughed. “Gee, thanks. So generous of you. But no need to worry, I won’t be going out with him.”
“You’re not even going to entertain the idea of going on a date with him?” Bruce asked.
I shrugged. “I told him I’d think about it.”
“Okay, so who’s going to film me?” JJ suddenly asked, jumping onto the stage . . “It’sPriscilla, Queen of the Desertnight next week and I have to practice my routine.”
Bruce took out his phone and went straight to the camera. JJ often filmed his routines so he could watch them later, often inflicting them on us too. “I live to serve you, dear,” Bruce said with a smile and pressed record. JJ immediately started belting out the famous Gloria Gaynor song. He followed the first chorus with a very dramatic spin around the stage and an attempt at what I presume was meant to be a pirouette.
I laughed and shook my head. “Like I said, total gay cliché,” I teased.
