Remember Me?
Page 63
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“I'm fine, thanks, Jon.” I try to sound calm, like he's any other person at the party; like I haven't been fixating on him since I arrived. I turn to the Dior woman. “So... how do you like the loft?”
The couple exchange doubtful glances. “We have one concern,” says the man, in a European accent I can't quite place. “The space. Whether it is big enough.” I'm stumped. This place is like a bloody aircraft hangar. How can it not be big enough?
“We think five thousand square feet is a generous size,” says Jon. “However, you could knock two or even three units together if you need a larger space.” “Our other problem is the design,” says the man.
“The design?” echoes Jon politely. “Is something wrong with the design?” “At our home we have touches of gold,” says the man. “Gold paintings. Gold lamps. Gold...” He seems to run out of steam.
“Carpets,” the woman puts in, rolling the “rrr” heavily. “Gold carrr-?pets.” The man jabs at the brochure. “Here I see a lot of silver. Chrome.”
“I see.” Jon nods, deadpan. “Well, obviously the loft can be customized to your own individual taste. We could, for example, have the fireplace gold-?plated.” “A gold-?plated fireplace?” says the woman uncertainly. “Would that b e . . . too much?” “Is there such a thing as too much gold?” Jon replies pleasantly. “We could also add solid gold light-?fittings. And Lexi could help you with the gold carpet. Couldn't you Lexi?” 253 “Of course.” I nod, praying desperately I don't suddenly snort with laughter. “Yes. Well, we will think about it.” The couple moves off, talking in some foreign language I don't recognize. Jon knocks back his drink.
“Not big enough. Jesus Christ. Ten of our units at Ridgeway would fit into this space.” “What's Ridgeway?” “Our affordable-?housing project.” He sees my blank look. “We only get planning permission for a place like this if we put up some affordable units.”
“Oh, right,” I say in surprise. “Eric's never even mentioned affordable housing.” A flicker of amusement passes over Jon's face. “I'd say his heart isn't totally in that aspect of the job,” he says, as Eric steps up onto a small podium in front of the mantelpiece. The ambient lighting dims, a spotlight falls on Eric and gradually the hum of chatter dies away. “Welcome!” he says, his voice ringing out around the space. “Welcome to Blue 42, the latest in the Blue series of projects dedicated t o . . .” I hold my breath. Please don't say it, please don't say it... “Loft-?style living!” His hands sweep along and all the members of his staff applaud vigorously. Jon glances at me and takes a step back, away from the crowd. After a moment I move back too, my eyes fixed firmly ahead. My whole body is crackling with apprehension. And... excitement. “So, have you remembered anything yet?” he says in a casual undertone. “No.” Behind Eric, a massive screen is lighting up with images 254 of lofts from all angles. Punchy music fills the air and the room becomes even darker. I have to hand it to Ericthis is a fantastic presentation. “You know, we first met each other at a loft launch like this one.“ Jon's voice is so low, I can barely hear it above the music. ”The minute you spoke I knew.“ ”Knew what?“ ”Knew I liked you.”
I'm silent for a few moments, curiosity prickling at me. “What did I say?” I whisper back at last. “You said, 'If I hear that phrase loft-?style living again, I'm going to shoot myself.'”
“No.” I stare at him, then splutter with laughter. A man in front turns around with a frown, and as if in synch, Jon and I back away a few more paces, till we're right in the shadows. “You shouldn't be hiding away,” I say. “This is your moment. Your loft.” “Yeah, well,” he says dryly. “I'll let Eric take the glory. He's welcome to it.” For a few moments we watch Eric onscreen in a hard hat, striding over a building site. “You make no sense,” I say quietly. “If you think lofts are for rich wankers, why do you design them?” “That's a good question.” Jon takes a gulp of his drink. “Truth is, I should move on. But I like Eric. He believed in me, he gave me my first chance, he runs a great company....” “You like Eric?” I shake my head in disbelief. “Of course you do. That's why you keep telling me to leave him.” “I do. He's a great guy. He's honest, he's loyal...” For a while Jon's silent beside me, his eyes flickering in the dim light. “I don't want to fuck Eric's life up,” he says finally. “It wasn't in the plan.”
The couple exchange doubtful glances. “We have one concern,” says the man, in a European accent I can't quite place. “The space. Whether it is big enough.” I'm stumped. This place is like a bloody aircraft hangar. How can it not be big enough?
“We think five thousand square feet is a generous size,” says Jon. “However, you could knock two or even three units together if you need a larger space.” “Our other problem is the design,” says the man.
“The design?” echoes Jon politely. “Is something wrong with the design?” “At our home we have touches of gold,” says the man. “Gold paintings. Gold lamps. Gold...” He seems to run out of steam.
“Carpets,” the woman puts in, rolling the “rrr” heavily. “Gold carrr-?pets.” The man jabs at the brochure. “Here I see a lot of silver. Chrome.”
“I see.” Jon nods, deadpan. “Well, obviously the loft can be customized to your own individual taste. We could, for example, have the fireplace gold-?plated.” “A gold-?plated fireplace?” says the woman uncertainly. “Would that b e . . . too much?” “Is there such a thing as too much gold?” Jon replies pleasantly. “We could also add solid gold light-?fittings. And Lexi could help you with the gold carpet. Couldn't you Lexi?” 253 “Of course.” I nod, praying desperately I don't suddenly snort with laughter. “Yes. Well, we will think about it.” The couple moves off, talking in some foreign language I don't recognize. Jon knocks back his drink.
“Not big enough. Jesus Christ. Ten of our units at Ridgeway would fit into this space.” “What's Ridgeway?” “Our affordable-?housing project.” He sees my blank look. “We only get planning permission for a place like this if we put up some affordable units.”
“Oh, right,” I say in surprise. “Eric's never even mentioned affordable housing.” A flicker of amusement passes over Jon's face. “I'd say his heart isn't totally in that aspect of the job,” he says, as Eric steps up onto a small podium in front of the mantelpiece. The ambient lighting dims, a spotlight falls on Eric and gradually the hum of chatter dies away. “Welcome!” he says, his voice ringing out around the space. “Welcome to Blue 42, the latest in the Blue series of projects dedicated t o . . .” I hold my breath. Please don't say it, please don't say it... “Loft-?style living!” His hands sweep along and all the members of his staff applaud vigorously. Jon glances at me and takes a step back, away from the crowd. After a moment I move back too, my eyes fixed firmly ahead. My whole body is crackling with apprehension. And... excitement. “So, have you remembered anything yet?” he says in a casual undertone. “No.” Behind Eric, a massive screen is lighting up with images 254 of lofts from all angles. Punchy music fills the air and the room becomes even darker. I have to hand it to Ericthis is a fantastic presentation. “You know, we first met each other at a loft launch like this one.“ Jon's voice is so low, I can barely hear it above the music. ”The minute you spoke I knew.“ ”Knew what?“ ”Knew I liked you.”
I'm silent for a few moments, curiosity prickling at me. “What did I say?” I whisper back at last. “You said, 'If I hear that phrase loft-?style living again, I'm going to shoot myself.'”
“No.” I stare at him, then splutter with laughter. A man in front turns around with a frown, and as if in synch, Jon and I back away a few more paces, till we're right in the shadows. “You shouldn't be hiding away,” I say. “This is your moment. Your loft.” “Yeah, well,” he says dryly. “I'll let Eric take the glory. He's welcome to it.” For a few moments we watch Eric onscreen in a hard hat, striding over a building site. “You make no sense,” I say quietly. “If you think lofts are for rich wankers, why do you design them?” “That's a good question.” Jon takes a gulp of his drink. “Truth is, I should move on. But I like Eric. He believed in me, he gave me my first chance, he runs a great company....” “You like Eric?” I shake my head in disbelief. “Of course you do. That's why you keep telling me to leave him.” “I do. He's a great guy. He's honest, he's loyal...” For a while Jon's silent beside me, his eyes flickering in the dim light. “I don't want to fuck Eric's life up,” he says finally. “It wasn't in the plan.”
