Page 110 of Kissing Games
Half an hour later,Sam was in Soho being shown into her agent’s office. Sandra Billings was in her sixties. She’d been there, done it, and had the photos and the gravelly voice to prove it. The walls were covered in black-and-white headshots of her clients over the years and press shots of them holding awards. Each signed with a gushing message thanking Sandra for their success. Sam looked at her own, remembering how excited she’d been to land the part of Bethany onElm Tree Lane. Yet now, less than a year after being on the soap, she wanted more.
Sandra pulled her in for a kiss, then gestured for Sam to sit on the other side of her desk as she reached for a chrome and diamanté e-cigarette. Sandra sucked deeply on it, accentuating the lines around her mouth, then exhaled a plume of sickly sweet vapour. Sam hated the smell of cigarettes but wasn’t sure if this was worse. It was as if someone high on ecstasy and unicorns had staggered into a lab and instructed a minion to mix as many E-numbers as they could until they came up with the smell of pink. The stench from the real cigarettes Sandra used to smoke had seeped into every piece of furniture. It was now in a three-way fight for supremacy with the cloying vape and the heavy punch of Cacharel’s Lou Lou that Sandra had been marinating in since the eighties. No matter how many painkillers Sam popped before a meeting in preparation, she always left with a headache.
As they exchanged pleasantries, Sam tried to stay calm. Sandra’s secretary had called her in for the meeting with the promise of ‘something big’, and her imagination had been running wild with possibilities. Eventually Sandra put her vape to one side and leaned forward.
‘Right, love, I’ve got you the biggie.’
‘Strictly?’
Sandra shook her head. ‘Not this year, it’s Lorraine’s turn. You’re too new. Give it a couple of years.’ She paused for effect. ‘I’ve got you another commercial.’
A few months ago, Sam had done an advert for a brand of instant coffee. The money and exposure had been good, but it wasn’t as high-end as she wanted. Doubt pricked at her stomach. ‘It isn’t the thrush medication again? I told you, there’s no way I’m doing that.’
‘No, love, I’ve got you the one every hot young thing wants.’ Sandra sat back looking satisfied.
Sam’s brain went into overdrive.The Christmas advert for the John Lewis store? One for Coca Cola?
‘What is it?’
Sandra smiled enough to reveal two rows of yellowing teeth. ‘Mopeoke. I’ve gone and got you Mopeoke, love.’
What the fuck is that?‘Er, Mopeoke?’
Sandra clapped her hands together twice. ‘Yeah. Didn’t you see the pitch onThe Bear Pit? They literally got into a fight over who was going to invest. Come on. You must have seen it?’ Sam struggled to think. She was so exhausted with the long days on set she rarely watched TV. Sandra reached forward and spun her laptop around. Sam stared at the screen.
‘It’s a mop.’
‘And…’
She looked closer. ‘Is that a microphone at the end of the handle?’
Sandra nodded. ‘Syncs via Bluetooth to any device. Mop one end, karaoke microphone the other. Mopeoke. Fastest start-up since Trunkis and Loom bands.’
Fuck right off. She fought to buy time. ‘Er, why me?’
‘You’re the target demographic: lower middle class, in your thirties, young family, house to keep clean, dreaming of stardom. Plus you’re a household name now and I told them you could sing.’
‘I only turned thirty last month,’ Sam spluttered. ‘I’m single, childless, and my entire family are doctors.’
Sandra sat back, her smile gone. ‘Yeah, butyou’renot a doctor, are you? And millions of people every week don’t hear your Home Counties accent. They hear Bethany, who’s rough as a badger’s arse.’ Sam stared at the edge of the desk and rubbed her forehead. The headache had arrived and was dancing the cancan on the inside of her skull. ‘Look, are you interested or not?’
No, no, no, no, no.‘Can I think about it?’
‘You’ve till the end of the day.’ Sam nodded, and Sandra sighed. ‘What do you want, Sam?’
She looked up. ‘You know what I want. I want bigger. I want films. I want more.’
Sandra dragged on her vape and engulfed Sam in a fog of overripe fruit. ‘You need a stronger platform before we make that move. You’ve got to start small. Your contract withElm Tree Laneis up for renewal in a couple of months. Don’t rock the boat. Take the Mopeoke gig. Trust me, it’s the best thing in your life right now.’
Sam pushed openthe door to the basement studio with her backside, holding coffees for her co-stars, Lorraine and Ian. They were filming a love triangle storyline onElm Tree Laneand were doing a photoshoot for the cover ofSoap Firstmagazine that would go out when the plot aired the following month. The shoot wasn’t complicated, just portraits of the three of them looking sufficiently angry or aroused, so they only needed a green screen backdrop and a few lights. The studio was small, old and damp. She repressed a shudder as she felt the soles of her shoes sticking to the tacky floor.
A door at the end of the corridor opened and Lorraine rushed out. ‘Sam, how’s your hair? I’m so sorry about earlier. How did it go with Sandra? What’s the big job she’s got for you?’
Sam pushed the coffees towards her friend. ‘I’m fine, sweetie, can you take these?’
‘Are they for us? You’re a diamond.’ Lorraine read the sides of the cups. ‘Bethany.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Loz, yep, like it. And... Dickhead?’ She giggled. ‘He’s not here yet so we can drink these while we wait.’
They entered a small studio and perched on a cheap and uncomfortable sofa that had once been red but was now a muddy brown.
