A tall blade of a boy with curly blond hair piled on top of his head, like Big Bird, and a mini-Björk in double denim, a neon crop top and sand-brown brogues, were both holding out their hands at the end of ruler-straight arms.
‘I’m Gabriel. I’m Project Impressario.’
‘I’m Pippi. I’m Thought Leader and Inclusion Enabler.’
‘We’re both Sloppy!’ they chorused.
Stella was surprised to find herself giggling with them.
She followed them past the pool table (‘this is the recreation zone’, indicated Pippi), and through a kind of playpen of young-looking people all lounging around the place looking at phones and laptops, wearing headphones, one was singing ‘A Total Eclipse of The Heart’. (‘This is the creative “non-area”. There are no boundaries to creativity so we didn’t want to call it an area. Areas are so limiting.’)
‘Great tune,’ said Stella. ‘Can’t go wrong with a bit of Bonnie.’
‘Bonnie?’ asked Pippi.
‘Bonnie Tyler.’
‘I don’t know her. Is she a designer?’
‘No. Yes. Kind of.’ Oh dear, thought Stella. Beware cultural references from the Eighties.
As she was taken through to the pod at the end of the big long room, they collapsed into a circle of blue and green bean bags. Stella stood there, wondering what the hell to do.
‘Where, er, do you want me?’
‘Take the weight off. We’re all cool.’
Sit? On one of those? How will I ever get up again? She had an awful flashback to her last Pilates class when she was carried out on a stretcher, her back in spasm.
‘Cool,’ she smiled, and as casually as she could, lowered herself onto the edge of the nearest beanbag. The beads started to shift gradually beneath her like a landslide and she found her dress was caught at a bad angle and the silk fabric was stretching. Extreme forces were building across her chest and buttocks and the fabric was riding up as her legs fell open. She was relieved to be wearing the 45 deniers, but was now concerned, as she collapsed, that the gusset was under an unexpectedly heavy load. Those lacerations could easily give way and the flood gates would open. She was sweating again, and she could think about nothing apart from the sweat, and, should she slide another inch, her imminent wardrobe failure.
‘Soooooo,’ was the first word from the languid Gabriel, ‘we loved your CV. Interesting background. Unlike any of the other applicants. Tell us a bit about what you have been up to recently… we see you haven’t done anything for a few years.’
‘Oh hi, OK. Yes, well, great to meet you,’ said Stella, with a big grin, trying to conceal her absolute certainty that this was a total fail and wondering how quickly she could escape. ‘So I have actually taken a few years out to have children and…’
‘Respect,’ interrupted Gabriel.
‘Yes. Respect. Where would we be without mothers,’ added Pippi.
‘Indeed. Yes, I guess you could say that,’ smiled Stella, ‘but now I am keen to get back into the workplace.’
‘Your experience is primarily in print. Commercial, mass-market print journalism. Do you have a lot of experience in social media?’
‘Everything we do now is digital. Is that an area where you excel?’ followed Pippi, the elfin, miniature human.
‘Oh god, yes, totally,’ exclaimed Stella a little overenthusiastically. ‘Like I am massive fan of veeeeee-logging. I’ve been working on a pro bono basis with a couple of travel veeee-loggers.’
‘Veeeeee-logging?’ asked Gabriel.
‘Yes, you know, when you blog on video rather than just writing it? Am I saying it right? Do you call it something different?’
‘Ah ha, vlogging… but yes, it is certainly an important channel now. Who are your favourite vloggers? Who were you working with?’
‘Renée and Stef. They’re…’ No, Stella. Don’t say lesbians. Don’t. ‘Exploring the travel sphere from a uniquely feminine perspective.’
The sweat patches under her arms were so big she hardly dared move. She was claustrophobic and could barely breathe. Her chest was palpitating.
‘What’s their insta handle?’ asked Pippi, taking notes on an iPad with a pencil.
‘Oh, two girls, one cup— Oh god! Sorry, that just came out. I didn’t…’ Gabriel and Pippi (what an apt name, thought Stella, before pulling herself together) were stone-faced. ‘Two Girls, One Trip. That’s what it’s called. I helped them with reader segmentation, content development and reader lock-in. I think you call it stickiness now. Euw. It’s one of those words, isn’t it? Like moist.’
They were stone-faced.
‘They have 83,000 followers on Instagram.’
Oh god, thought Stella, seeing Pee-Pee – (No!) Pippi – jotting down details. I hope they don’t look at it and think I’m a lesbian. Actually, maybe that would be suitably metrosexual, now: hip, modern, fluid. Maybe that would earn her some kudos.
‘Also, I’ve worked a lot with Trinny Woodall. She’s hilarious. People like that are SO easy for me to get in touch with. She’s very close to the healthy eating space, isn’t she?’
‘Well,’ said Gabriel. ‘Our main focus is health and wellbeing. Fashion is relevant, but we see diet and exercise as part of fashion. Take your dress. That’s a vintage Westwood, isn’t it? It looks fabulous on you. You’re the perfect frame for that cut.’
‘Keep talking,’ said Stella, fighting back the urge to wink.
‘The body within the dress is part of the look. They can’t be separated. We’re selling and servicing the whole look. Inside and outside. Is that a concept that fires your imagination?’
‘Yes. You can a sculpt a look around a thin blade like you or a rubber ball like me. But you’ve got to get the styling right. AmIrite?’
‘But this Tiny Wood,’ said Pippi. ‘I don’t know her. Is she an omnivore? We need an omnivore. We’re looking at a special on omnivores.’
‘I will literally eat anything.’
‘We need a face of omnivorism. How would you sell omnivorism? Or try this: a client’s looking to sell a new lentil-based crisp to omnivores. What would you suggest for something like that?’
Shit, thought Stella. I have only bought one packet of lentils. They were French for a stew. Poo lentils. Think, she thought, think – who would possibly be interesting and interested in launching some rarely edible legumes?
They were waiting. She had nothing. She could say she needed the loo, but that would mean trying to get out of the bean bag, and that was something she really didn’t need to do twice.
Then it came like a gift from the gods of journalism.
‘There’s this guy from a boy band. Although I think he spends most of his time on his organic fish farm now.’
Stella knew him. At least she thought she did, she just couldn’t remember his name. She’d taken Dixie to the Brit Awards one year as her plus one and she’d blown him in the disabled toilets. At least she thought it was him. It might have been an actual fisherman. Actually, it might have been anyone.
Pippi spoke first. ‘There is something kind of retro and interesting about that, Stella. I like the way you are thinking. It’s got a bit of edge bringing a member of a boy band back into the public eye… most people wouldn’t take the risk. I like the kind of retro Nineties Brit Pop edge. The reinvented “Cool Dad”. It could work. It’s very retro edgy.’