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‘Oh cool, doesn’t she run that really cool start-up, what’s the name?’
‘BloomPress …’ muttered Elle.
‘I would love to get an interior by those guys. I mean, I’ve got the app but getting my apartment ‘greenscaped’ is a little above my budget,’ shrugged Helen.
‘Yes, yes, she’s very impressive,’ said Elle dismissively waving her hand, ‘and there she is. Melody! Over here!’
‘Oh, hey guys!’ Melody slid her mobile phone in the back pocket of her jeans, as she walked over to them. She somehow looked even prettier despite wearing thick black rimmed glasses, and even heavier Dr. Martens. ‘Oh god, I’m overdressed,’ thought Helen, as she saw hipster start-up types milling around in trendy trainers, soft jumpers, and backpacks made from recycled materials.
‘So, I put you guys down as BloomPress alumni. I’m sure no one is going to check, but just name check me at the door if there’s any trouble.’
‘Thank you for helping us out, Melody. Can I get you a drink to say thank you?’ asked Sophie.
‘Would love to but I gotta get up early tomorrow for spin, then a couple of VC calls, and anyway it’s not going to be much of a weekend, but hey I love it. Okay, so I will leave you lovely ladies. Elle let us know if you want to come over on Sunday; Emilio will pick up some of those pastry things you guys go crazy for in the morning.’
‘Yeah maybe, thank you Melody,’ Elle leaned over and stiffly air kissed Melody goodbye. ‘Vamosladies!’ And the three of them linked arms and walked in together, just like old times.
Chapter 12
‘So, are you guys part of WeWork? I haven’t seen you around here before.’ A small gaggle of men had predictably formed around Elle at the bar. She eyed them slowly, with the patience of a cat staring at a fish bowl.
‘Sort of,’ she said, and flashed a tense smile.
‘So, what does your company do?’ one of the men ploughed on.
Elle exhaled, ‘I work for BloomPress.’
‘Oh BloomPress, well that’s super cool. Who runs that? Is it Melody? She’s fierce. I heard they’ve already raised 2.5 just in their seed round! Anyways, you sound like you’ve got an accent, are you French?’
Elle’s grip on her iPhone tightened fractionally. ‘No, we’re all English,’ she said in her thickest Spanish accent gesturing to Helen and Sophie. ‘And if you don’t mind, we’re having a private conversation.’
The men looked uncertainly from one to the other. ‘Okay then. Well, have a great night,’ and began to move off. The last man to leave brushed past them, and from a safe distance, turned over his shoulder and said, ‘You’d be prettier if you smiled more.’
‘Yeah, and you’d be less annoying if you kept walking. Ciao!’ Elle held her hand up to them like she was swatting a fly, flicked her long heavy ponytail, and took a generous swig of wine. ‘Pfff, great party guys.’
‘I’m sorry. I knew this was a mistake,’ supplicated Helen. From the moment Helen walked through the door, and Brody didn’t run into her arms, she had felt herself wobble, like she was a Jenga tower that kept losing bricks.
She hadn’t even seen Brody yet. So far, they’d been squeezing themselves around the too busy ground floor of WeWork, dodging drinks being spilled at the bar, and used plastic cups crushed into the floor. Someone had enterprisingly tried to brand the party with ‘hustle harder’ flyers, which had formed a soggy layer of detritus beneath them; and, not to put a fine point on it, the room did smell of farts. There she said it. Specifically, the farts of someone who ate a lot of vegan poke bowls.
‘What an idiot,’ shrugged Sophie. ‘Perhaps we should crack on?’
Sophie had inherited a generous amount of British stiff upper lip from her mother, and tonight was running a masterclass on ‘keep calm and carry on’ as their chances of spotting Brody seemed to be getting slimmer and slimmer. She kept scanning through the LinkedIn app on her phone, trying to pinpoint True Materials employees in the crowd. ‘I think I need to go to the optician,’ she said jollily as she squinted at the pictures on her phone.
Elle had one foot cocked up at the bar, and was picking off the ‘h’ from a ‘hustle harder’ flyer from her heel. The flyer gloop was getting mashed up under her nail extensions and you could tell she was clutching tightly the reins of her annoyance that was starting to bubble over.
‘Being real with you guys, this party is full of … what’s that smell?’
‘Farts,’ said Helen blandly.
‘Well. We need to find this guy soon, or I am out of here.’ Elle looked at Helen, and her tone softened, ‘I think maybe this isn’t the night, babe. If so, there will be others.’ She was stroking Helen’s arm now sympathetically.
And that was Elle: she could get annoyed with you, the lack of phone signal, a guy daring to suggest splitting the bill, in a heartbeat, but she was also fiercely loyal. She’d grab your phone to stop you texting that guy back, tell you you looked beautiful even if standing next to her you knew full well you looked totally average, and she even once threw a drink in Jonathan’s face. He never did get that rosé wine stain out of his shirt.
‘I think that might be his CMO over there,’ said Sophie, who was noticeably staring at a short blonde woman just ahead of them at the bar. She had too much eyeliner on and was doubled over the bar on her tiptoes to make herself heard by the barman. ‘Yeah, I really think it is. Her name’s Nicky, and she’s been at True Materials for a few years. Perhaps we could talk to her about that?’
Elle rolled her eyes, walked over, and planted herself at the bar next to Nicky. The barman immediately lost all focus on Nicky, locked eyes with Elle, and started rubbing the glass in his hands meditatively. He was probably thinking of a more unique and impressive way of asking, ‘So what would you like to drink?’
Nicky turned with meerkat reflexes towards Elle, but before she had time to say, ‘Excuse me,’ Elle was off. ‘My friend …’ Elle looked levelly at the barman, ‘I think this lady was ahead of me at the bar, so you best serve her first. I think she said she wanted a mar-ga-rita.’ Elle pronounced the word pointedly slowly, only just softened by her quick pout.
