Johnny Be Good Page 6

  ‘Yeah, yeah. Have you met his girlfriend yet?’

  ‘Serengeti Knight? God, yes.’

  ‘What’s she like?’ she asks excitedly. ‘Is she as much of a diva as the papers make out?’

  ‘Much, much worse,’ I respond. ‘I’ve had to clean up her dog’s poo on several occasions.’

  ‘No!’ Bess gasps.

  ‘Yeah, gross.’

  ‘Not all glamour, then?’

  ‘No. Well, saying that, I did go to her premiere the other night…’

  Scream. ‘No way! Ohmigodwhatwasitlike?’

  I laugh and fill her in. She’s not very impressed with me turning down the chance to ride on Johnny’s bike for fear of Serengeti getting annoyed.

  ‘That is such BULLSHIT! Whogivesacrapaboutserengetiknightanyway! You are NUTS to say no!’

  ‘Bess, keep your voice down! I have to keep holding the phone away from my ear! Aa-nyway,’ I continue, keen to move on, ‘he came and chatted to us at the aftershow party, so that was cool.’

  ‘Wow. I bet everyone in the room was staring at you.’

  ‘Yeah, I think they were,’ I agree with delight.

  ‘What about Timothy Makkeinen? Did you talk to him?’

  ‘I didn’t, actually.’ In fact, I’d forgotten all about my Timothy Makkeinen crush that night. I was too distracted with someone else.

  ‘Now, Bess,’ I say. ‘I need your advice about Facebook.’

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘Johnny has these Facebook and MySpace sites which I’m responsible for managing and I don’t have the foggiest idea where to start.’

  ‘I told you to sign up for it.’

  ‘I know, I know,’ I brush her off. ‘Just explain to me now, what the hell is a “pirate”?’

  ‘It’s just a bit of fun. You can have battles with other pirate ships and stuff like that. I bet he’s had requests to become a “ninja” too, hasn’t he?’

  I look more closely. ‘Yes, there are about two hundred of those. And a whole bunch of “vampires”.’

  ‘Has he got a Hotness rating?’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘Go to applications and add Hotness to Johnny’s page. It’s really cool. People can rate how hot you are. He’d do really well.’

  ‘Okay…’

  ‘And I bet loads of people have bought him gifts, too.’

  ‘Gifts? What are you on about?’

  ‘Hang on, I’m going to log onto his page myself. You’re hopeless. Yep,’ she says, moments later. ‘Tons of gifts. Aah, look, someone’s bought him an electric guitar.’

  ‘Really? Wow, that’s generous.’

  ‘Not a real one, you idiot.’ She laughs. ‘It’s just a cartoon picture of one.’

  ‘What’s the point in that?’ I ask, following her directions to look at the gifts myself.

  ‘You’re not supposed to take it seriously.’ She giggles. ‘Ooh, you should make him do a FilthBook test.’

  ‘What’s that?’ I ask.

  ‘It’s a really rude quiz. Check it out on my page. You have to click on it to add it to Johnny’s. I bet his purity ranking is really low.’

  Ten minutes later, I wrap up the conversation. ‘I’d better go. Should get on.’

  She sighs. ‘I still can’t believe you’ve wangled that job, you lucky B. I bet you’re actually on holiday in Croatia or something and you’re just pretending to work with Johnny Jefferson.’

  I hang up, laughing, and click back on Johnny’s Facebook page, where I immediately get two more ‘pirate’ requests and a couple of offers to buy Johnny a drink. Hang on–I look more closely–he’s already been bought over seven thousand drinks. What is that about? No, I can’t call Bess back. I’ll email her later.

  I start poking people and then give up. Surely we shouldn’t encourage this sort of behaviour. Hasn’t Johnny ‘poked’ enough girls as it is?

  I hear the front door shut and stand up, ears straining to hear if it’s Johnny returning. It is.

  ‘Hi.’ I pop my head out of the office and smile at him.

  ‘Hey.’ He smiles back, and then Serengeti appears in his wake.

  ‘Hello!’ I say, cheerfully. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Fine. Where’s Footsie?’ she asks.

  Uh-oh. Where is Footsie? He was here yesterday. Poor Rosa moaned about having to clean up after I let him sleep in the kitchen on Thursday night. She arrived at work on Friday morning before I came downstairs, which was a bit naughty of me, but I had knocked back about ten of those little red beverages the night before. Anyway, last night I put the fluffball in the laundry to sleep.

  ‘I’ll go get him, shall I?’ I smile, trying to cover up the fact that I’ve neglected her pooch for going on ten hours now.

  She doesn’t answer, so I hurry past her in the direction of the laundry. I open the door and the smell assaults my nostrils.

  Shit!

  Literally.

  ‘Has he been in here all night?’ Serengeti demands from right behind me.

  ‘Um…’

  ‘He has, hasn’t he?’ She pushes past me to get in the room. Footsie goes bonkers with excitement.

  ‘Sorry,’ I say, and genuinely mean it when I see how delighted the critter is to finally have company.

  ‘You should be!’ she says, angrily. ‘Poor, poor baby!’

  ‘It’s only a dog,’ Johnny helpfully interjects.

  ‘Only a dog? Only a dog, Johnny?’

  ‘Okay, okay. Well, he’s alright now,’ Johnny soothes, before discreetly rolling his eyes at me.

  My guilt immediately evaporates and is replaced with glee. I can’t believe he keeps dissing his A-List girlfriend to me.

  In the early evening, after I’ve whiled away the day reading and writing emails to my friends in the UK, Johnny comes into the office.

  ‘Did you get my bike back?’ he asks me.

  ‘Yes! Samuel went to pick it up. I hope that’s okay…’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, cool, man.’

  ‘Johnny,’ Serengeti interrupts, ‘can we get something to eat? I’m famished.’

  ‘Sure. Did Rosa leave anything?’ Johnny turns to me.

  ‘Yes, she’s left some chilli, I think. Do you want me to heat it up? It can be ready in ten.’

  ‘Fine.’

  Forty minutes later I’m still alone in the kitchen. I’ve had to turn the heat on the stove right down, and have been unhappily surveying the contents of the pan, convinced it’s going to spoil.

  ‘Going to have to put a hold on the chilli, I’m afraid,’ Johnny says, emerging at last. ‘Serengeti wants to eat out instead.’

  ‘At Asia de Cuba,’ she says, coming into the kitchen behind him.

  ‘Okay.’ I keep my voice upbeat.

  ‘Inside,’ Serengeti adds, plonking Footsie down at my feet. ‘By the window.’

  ‘Oh.’ I get it. ‘Do you want me to book it for you?’ I ask.

  ‘Er, yeah…’ she replies, stressing the ‘yeah’ in a way that implies she thinks I’m really quite dim.

  ‘Sure thing. I’ll do that right away.’ I switch the stove off and go to leave the room.

  ‘Don’t you want to sit outside on the terrace?’ Johnny asks Serengeti. ‘It’s much nicer out there.’

  I pause by the door.

  ‘No, JJ, you know I get too cold.’

  ‘Don’t call me JJ,’ Johnny grumbles.

  ‘But it’s so cute!’ Serengeti cries, putting her hands on his waist.

  ‘So’s Cathy, but do I call you that?’

  She detaches herself from him, sulkily. I’m guessing Cathy is her real name.

  ‘Inside is fine, Meg.’ He walks out of the kitchen. Serengeti–aka Cathy–totters after him, closely followed by Footsie.

  I manage to make a last-minute reservation thanks only to my diners’ star status, and line Davey up. Serengeti leaves me Footsie for company. Company for Footsie, not me, you understand, and after three hours of walkies, din-dins and cleaning up yet more yellow p
uddles, I finally call it a night and hit the sack. Footsie sits outside my door and howls for a while, but eventually shuts up. An hour later I’m woken by a different kind of howling.

  ‘Poor, poor baby!’ It sounds like Serengeti is actually inside my bedroom. ‘How could she leave Footsie outside again?’

  ‘Okay, okay, come on, let’s go to bed.’

  I hear Serengeti’s voice get quieter as she follows Johnny back down the landing. ‘I can’t believe she did that again’.

  I roll over, groan and struggle to fall asleep again.

  Chapter 5

  Serengeti Knight. Serengeti Nightmare, more like. It’s Sunday morning and I’m outside in the pool doing my laps. Theoretically I don’t have to work today, although I’m always on call, and anyway, I don’t have any other plans.

  It’s another hot, sunny day, and I pause for a minute by the side of the pool. I hear the glass door slide open behind me and turn around just in time to see Serengeti plonk Footsie down on the terrace and slide the door shut behind her. She doesn’t say anything to me, but I’d bet my passport that there’s a doggy surprise waiting for me somewhere inside.

  I get out of the pool and dry myself off, then tie my sarong around my waist and slip on my flip-flops. Footsie runs over to me and gives me five short, sharp barks.

  ‘Come on, then,’ I say. ‘Let’s take you for a wander around the garden.’

  He follows me quite happily, piddling here, piddling there, as we make our way around to the other side of the house. The large wooden gates start to open.

  I watch, confused for a moment, as an old green Chevvy truck pulls into the driveway. A young, Latino-looking guy is behind the wheel. He raises his hand at me and smiles, and then it clicks. The gardener, the pool-boy. Santiago, that’s right, that’s his name. I remember reading about him in Paola’s manual.

  ‘Hi.’ I smile warmly as he gets out of the car. ‘I’m Meg. You must be Santiago?’

  ‘Hey, pleased to meet you.’ He shakes my hand.

  He’s actually quite cute. Lovely white smile, nice body. A little bit on the short side, but seems sweet.

  ‘Don’t you usually work on Saturdays?’ I ask.

  ‘Yeah, but sometimes I have to switch if my mum’s working. She’s a nurse,’ he explains. ‘I have to babysit my little brother when that happens.’

  ‘Oh, right.’

  ‘Hello, Footsie,’ he says, reaching down to calm the yapping dog.

  ‘Ah, you’ve met before,’ I say.

  ‘Mmm. We’re very well acquainted…’

  I immediately sense we’re on the same wavelength regarding a certain blonde movie starlet.

  ‘So when did you start?’ He begins to unload a few tools from the back of the truck.

  ‘Last Sunday,’ I reply.

  ‘Glad to see someone’s using the pool.’ He motions to my outfit.

  ‘I’m trying to do fifty laps each morning.’

  ‘That’s pretty cool,’ he replies.

  ‘Well, I’ve only been managing about thirty, if I’m being honest, but hey ho.’

  We wander together to the pool.

  ‘Want me to help you carry something?’ I ask, as he opens up the pool shed and starts rummaging around inside.

  ‘Hey, thanks, but I can manage.’

  ‘Have you worked for Johnny long?’ I go to sit on a sunlounger and bask in the heat while Santiago kicks off his Nikes, hoiks up his beige calf-length shorts and makes his way down the pool steps with some sort of robotic cleaning machine. I hope he doesn’t mind me hanging around, but it’s nice to see another friendly young face.

  ‘About two years,’ he replies. ‘What about you? How’s your first week been so far?’

  ‘Good. Went to Serengeti’s premiere on Thursday night, which was pretty mental.’

  ‘Wow,’ he says, in awe. ‘What was that like?’

  I fill him in while he steps back out of the pool and rolls his shorts legs down again.

  ‘Hey, I need to see to the hedges round the front,’ he says after a while. ‘You wanna come keep me company?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Do you work for any other celebrities?’ I ask, opening up a black bin bag, ready for cuttings from the hedges.

  ‘I have a few on my books now, but Johnny’s my biggest client. I’ve worked for him since I was nineteen.’

  That makes him twenty-one if he’s been here two years.

  ‘So,’ he whispers conspiratorially, ‘what do you think to Serengeti, eh?’

  ‘Erm…’ I reply.

  ‘Don’t worry, I don’t think he can talk.’ Santiago grins, indicating the dog.

  ‘I haven’t really had a lot to do with her, to be honest,’ I answer.

  ‘Now you’re just being polite,’ he says. ‘If I have to clean up one more doggy do-do, I’m going to go mad.’

  ‘Do you know how long they’ve been together?’ I enquire, as he gets started on clipping the hedges.

  ‘She’s been on the scene for a month or so, now. Quite a long relationship for Johnny.’

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘Oh, yeah.’ He nods vigorously. ‘All I’m saying is the sex must be good.’

  Ew, what a thought. I move on. ‘She doesn’t really seem like his type.’

  ‘Nor he hers,’ he replies.

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘She usually goes for much older guys,’ Santiago explains. ‘Her last boyfriend? He was a fifty-year-old film mogul. And what’s more,’ he adds, excitedly, nudging me on my arm, ‘he was the one who gave her Footsie–called Footsie because he had a foot fetish!’

  ‘Now you’re just pulling my leg.’ I laugh.

  ‘No, no! I’m serious!’ he insists.

  ‘That’s hilarious!’

  ‘FOOTSIE!’ The sound of Serengeti’s voice cuts our laughter short.

  ‘Better go,’ I say. ‘Nice to meet you, if I don’t catch you later.’

  ‘Yeah, you too.’

  Footsie follows me around to the back of the house where his mistress is waiting.

  ‘I need the car,’ Serengeti demands.

  ‘Sure. Where do you want Davey to take you?’

  ‘Home,’ she says, picking up Footsie and kissing him on the top of his head. ‘Then the airport.’

  ‘Going anywhere nice?’ I ask as I open the door and stand back to let her pass.

  ‘New York,’ she says shortly. ‘Then London. More premieres,’ she explains, her voice softening.

  ‘Cool! I really liked the film, by the way,’ I tell her. Well, it’s half true.

  ‘Thanks.’

  She puts Footsie down and he runs in front of me into the office.

  ‘I’ll let you know when the car’s here,’ I tell her and go in to call Davey.

  When that job’s done, I go back out into the living room and find her there, sitting alone on one of the dark-brown-leather designer sofas, watching TV.

  ‘Where’s Johnny?’ I ask, surprised.

  ‘Upstairs in the studio.’ Her attention is focused on the telly, a documentary about lemurs.

  ‘The car will be here in twenty.’

  I wait for acknowledgement but don’t get any, so I go to leave.

  ‘Oh,’ she calls. ‘Meg?’

  ‘Yes?’ I turn back.

  ‘Did you really like the film?’

  ‘Yeah, I thought it was good fun. I loved it when you forced Timothy’s character to eat a peanut butter and jam sandwich.’

  ‘Jam?’

  ‘Jelly. Whatever you call it. And the bit where he was trying to teach you how to drive and ended up on the wrong side of the road was really funny, too.’ I laugh, lamely, before adding, ‘I guess you taught him in the end, hey!’

  God, can I not think of anything more interesting to say?

  She smiles and nods. ‘Want to watch telly?’

  I’m about to make an excuse and say I’ve got work to do, but then I see some lemurs skipping through a forest on two legs, arms up in front of th
em.

  ‘Aren’t they funny?’ I look on in wonder as I sit down next to her.

  ‘What are they?’ she asks. Clearly she hasn’t been paying attention.

  ‘Lemurs.’

  ‘Huh.’

  We sit there in silence for a minute or so, watching.

  ‘I’d love a pet lemur,’ I say, eventually.

  She giggles. ‘You should ask Johnny. He’d probably get one for you.’

  ‘You reckon? I can just see a lemur skipping around this joint. Bit of a bugger to clean up after, though.’ I can’t help it; I glance at Footsie.

  Serengeti shifts uncomfortably on the sofa.

  A door opens above our heads and Johnny bounces down the stairs.

  ‘What the fuck are they?’ he asks, coming over to us.

  ‘Lemurs,’ Serengeti and I say in unison.

  ‘Hmm. So anyway, I reckon I’ll hitch a ride with you after all.’

  Serengeti beams. ‘Great!’

  The buzzer goes. ‘That’ll be Davey now,’ I say.

  ‘Perfect timing.’ Serengeti gets up and casually takes Johnny’s hand as they walk in the direction of the door.

  ‘When will you be back?’ I call after Johnny. ‘Do you want me to do anything while you’re gone?’

  ‘Nope,’ he tells me. ‘Just chill.’

  ‘Okay. See you later!’

  Serengeti stops and looks around as she reaches the door. ‘Thanks for looking after Footsie.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’

  And then she actually smiles at me. Maybe she’s not so bad after all.

  When they’ve gone, I return to the office. I know Johnny said not to do any work, but I don’t have a whole lot else to do without a car. I wonder if I should try to rent one while I’m here?

  I sit down and log onto MySpace. As usual, loads of girls want to know if it’s the real Johnny Jefferson’s page or not. It’s a pain in the butt reassuring them all the time.

  Johnny returns later that afternoon. ‘What you up to?’ he asks, slumping down onto the black Eames chair beside my desk. His T-shirt rides up over his stomach.

  Concentrate, Meg!

  ‘Just trying to organise your MySpace page.’

  ‘It’s Sunday,’ he says, ‘you shouldn’t be working.’ He wriggles around in his chair and pulls his T-shirt down.