Page 120 of Jessica Beam is a Hot Mess
Chapter Thirty-One
Only one woman gets to be the belle of the ball. Make every effort to ensure that lady is you.
Matilda Beam’s Guide to Love and Romance, 1955
By the time we reach Christ Church in Spitalfields – where tonight’s awards are being held – I’m freaking exhausted. Peach totally clammed up again when we picked up a very-cute-in-his tuxedo-but-clearly-shitting-himself Gavin from his flat in Hammersmith, and he wasn’t much better either. They smiled nervously at each other in greeting and mumbled a bit before conversation completely halted and it got all kinds of awkward. Which I didn’t particularly mind, but Peach was dying. In order to fill the silence and make it all a bit less uncomfy, I talked and talked the whole way here. As agreed earlier with Peach, I pretended to Gavin that Leo always referred to me by my middle name – Lucille – and that’s what he should call me too, rather than Jess. Then I talked about the heatwave and how hot it’s been and thank God for the car’s air conditioning. Then, when conversation ran dry, I basically turned to commentating throughout the entire journey like some kind of glamorously dressed personal tour guide. ‘So here, we pass a local McDonald’s. Very busy indeed, as is to be expected on a Saturday evening.’ Etcetera. Exhausting.
At the venue, we get out of the car, hand our tickets in at the entrance and make our way to the Nave as instructed by one of the very dapper stewards. When we enter the ball space, all three of us gasp in awe. What a room for a party! It’s a converted church: the ceiling is sky-high and ornate. The room is bordered by swish oak panelling and thick, Tuscan columns, all uplit with pink and purple lighting. It’s completely majestic and exciting. The place is already busy, and the atmosphere is throbbing with expectation; an excellent big band plays Ella Fitzgerald numbers at the front of the room, guests in fancy tuxes and luxurious ballgowns mill about the huge dance floor or chatter at one of the huge round tables that are topped with extravagantly colourful flower centrepieces, twinkling lights weaved in-between the leaves.
‘Wow,’ Peach breathes. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it!’
‘I know!’ I look around in astonishment. ‘They’ve seriously gone all out. My stomach flips with excitement against my will.
‘Listen, guys, I’m going to go and find Leo. He said he was arriving with his work colleagues, so he must already be around here somewhere.’
Peach’s eyes widen in horror at the prospect that I might be leaving her alone with Gavin so soon.
‘Don’t worry,’ I assure her. ‘You two go to the bar, and I’ll find our table, OK?’ Gavin takes a deep breath and musters every drop of courage he has within him to say, ‘Come on, Peach, let me buy you a drink.’
Before they leave, I grab Peach by the arm and whisper in her ear, ‘A shot of tequila will make things easier, OK! Loosen you both up a bit. You’re ace, Lady P. Just chill out and pretend you’re talking to me. Come and find me in a bit.’
Peach nods fervently and I wave her off as they rush over to the bar in search of a little liquid courage.
As I scan the room for Leo, my insides tilt and churn in anticipation of seeing him again. What if my resolve fades and I just dive in for another one of those kisses? What if he wants to make lurve to me tonight? How will I have the willpower to say no? Ugh. I need to get this bloody thing finished. I can’t stand feeling so all over the place.
‘Lucille!’ Leo’s familiar deep tones sound out from behind me.
I spin round elegantly to face him. Leo presses a hand to his chest as he takes me in. ‘Fuck,’ he whispers, leaning in to kiss me lightly on the cheek. ‘You look incredible, Lucille. I knew you would, but this is something else.Youare something else.’
I giggle shyly and to my horror it’s not a completely fake giggle. So I’m basically a person who giggles now? Argh. I fix Lucille’s enigmatic smile determinedly on my face and clear my throat. ‘Gosh, you look rather wonderful yourself, Leo.’
I’m not lying. He’s wearing a sharp black tuxedo with a crisp white shirt and black bowtie. His hair is styled more naturally than the super-perfect quiff, a bit mussed-up around the front. His eyes sparkle in a way that I’m sure is reserved for just me.
How did I think he was weird-looking when I first met him?
He’s lovely-looking. Gorgeous-looking.
Hmm, I wonder what he looks like in the buff? I bet his willy is a really good one.
Argh. Danger-thoughts.
Must change the subject.
‘This is quite an event isn’t it?’ I purr, indicating the extravagantly opulent room. My eyes widen in awe as I notice Daniel Craig stroll past us towards the bar as if it’s completely normal that he’s here with the non-famous folk.- ‘Bond,’ I squeak. Now there’s someone who definitely looks good in the buff.
‘Ah, it’s just the brands showing off,’ Leo chuckles, as if James Bond hasn’t just breathed in the same air as us. But then, heissuper used to hanging out in celebrity circles. ‘They bring their famous spokespeople so it all looks more glamorous and important.’
At the back of the room I spot Benedict Cumberbatch – God, is there any event that guy doesn’t attend? And ooh, there’s Claudia Winkleman. I like her. I like her fringe.
Leo reaches into his inside pocket and pulls out a tiny grey velvet box. ‘Not a sick bag this time,’ he grins. I take the box from him, rub my thumb over the soft velvet and open it. Nestled inside is a tiny diamond and sapphire brooch in the shape of a Ferris wheel. It’s unusual and lovely and exactly to my taste.
‘Wow,’ I gasp. ‘You . . . you really shouldn’t have.’
‘I wanted to!’ He lifts the brooch out of the box and carefully pins it onto my dress. ‘Something to remind you of the night we met.’
‘I love it,’ I say truthfully, shame squelching around in my belly at the fact that he’s bought me this amazing present under entirely false pretences.
I reach into my clutch bag and hand Leo the package I brought with me.
