Page 77 of Alice Carver Manifests Her Perfect Life
Then Drunk Stephen got really arsey and said there was no diversity quota and she would have got through the same wayevery other person did, because her parents knew someone or knew someone who knew someone, and definitely because her parents could afford to subsidise her existence.
And I said, ‘That isn’t true because my parents don’t know anyone at Carsons. I did it all on my own.’
And he said, ‘Alice, don’t be a twat. How did you first get into publishing?’
‘I can’t really remember, that was years ago when I was in my mid-twenties and I was desperate and so I got that assistant job at Granta.’
But Drunk Stephen wasn’t letting it go. ‘How did you get that job?’
‘Well, through Mum’s old school-friend, Worthy Glenda – I did an internship, but—’
Drunk Stephen cut me down with a hand gesture. ‘No buts. Not everyone, Alice, can afford to take on an unpaid internship. I’m literally the only person at Carsons who came in through the front door, and who isn’t privileged or fucking awful. And you can pretty much count the non-hetero and non-white employees on one hand.’
It wasn’t like Drunk Stephen to get this worked up, and it was reminding me uncomfortably of the time Astrid and Matthew fell out. She’d dragged an unwilling Matthew along to a dinner in the summer when everyone was back from uni, and there were a ton of old St Hilda’s people there. It was quite an expensive restaurant, and everyone went to town, getting increasingly drunk and then Hugh or someone had insisted on ordering a bottle of vintage champagne to end the meal. Matthew hadn’t been drinking, and had been unusually quiet all evening; Astrid kept jostling his elbow and telling him tocheer up. When the bill came, someone suggested we split it equally. Astrid could see Matthew was looking uncomfortable and pulled him aside. And he told her that this was why he hadn’t wanted to come in the first place and that he deliberately hadn’t drunk, and had chosen his meal carefully, so he would have enough money to buy the set textbooks for next term. And Astrid, who was pretty drunk, got defensive and made out that he should have just said earlier, and she would pay for his meal tonight and that it didn’t need to be a big deal. But Matthew shook his head and said in this really quiet voice that it wasn’t for Astrid to decide whether it was a big deal or not.
Drunk Stephen said he didn’t know how much longer he could sit through meetings listening to people who were fundamentally out of touch talk authoritatively about the current market. ‘The irony of the ivory-towered deciding what diversity in publishing looks like no longer amuses me.’
I said, ‘But what about me? I’m not like that.’
‘Alice, you went to St Hilda’s. You’re entirely privileged.’
‘Well, what about Clyde? He went to a school with cages in Hillingdon.’
‘Clyde’s on security.’
‘Yes. But technically, that means you’re not the only one.’
‘And that, Alice, is why you’re fucking awful.’
And because I was a bit pissed by then, I said, ‘I know. But at least I own it. I hadn’t really thought about the internship thing. Sorry.’
‘It’s not your fault,’ said Drunk Stephen. ‘It’s like the sea and you’re a fish, you know?’
And then we both laughed because I did know but also it sounded like nonsense.
Then we did a few tequilas like we usually do, and Drunk Stephen stopped being so annoyed. I told him in full detail what had happened last week with Guy Carmichael and how I’d been on edge this week, wondering if he was going to make good and ask me on a date or not. And Drunk Stephen said, ‘Seriously, Alice, you saw what happened to Charlotte. Do you want to go there? It will all be on his terms.’
So I said, ‘But Charlotte kind of sucks and I don’t. Plus I haven’t had sex since last year and Guy Carmichael is consummate seduction,’ and Drunk Stephen couldn’t really argue with that.
‘If you sleep with him, check the grey herringbone suit label. I’m sure it’s Dege & Skinner.’
Drunk Stephen is obsessed with Guy Carmichael’s fierce suit collection.
I promised Drunk Stephen that when I was shagging Guy Carmichael, I’d not only check all his suit labels, but get him to give Drunk Stephen a raise. Drunk Stephen told me that if I successfully managed to shag Guy Carmichael and keep my job, then he had every confidence I could also get him a raise.
I was more than a little bit pissed by then, so I said, watch me, and then manifested it. (I got quite into the cheersing in between manifestations and broke a couple of glasses, and so did Drunk Stephen because he thought it was part of the manifestation process. I hope Yaz’s parents aren’t charged for it. We also got into an argument with a real jobsworth when Drunk Stephen and I found out that happy hour was in fact happy ‘hour’ and it had ended ages ago and we therefore had a much larger bill than anticipated. Eventually, we were asked, in an unnecessarily aggressive way, to leave.)
Still. All in all, it was a fun night out.
I ask the Universe:
To do something about inequality in publishing.
To help Drunk Stephen get his raise (and I wouldn’t be averse to one myself).
Date: Friday 20 JanuaryTime: 1.50pm
My thoughts and reflections:
