Saffron

It's been an appaulingly long time since I updated- real life tends to get in the way. Anyway I've left Cassie in bed in Paris, Bex by the side of a pool in Sussex, but it was Saffron who's getting rescued from her seat in a London wine bar today. Thank you to Shez, Scary BH and Sara for reviewing- any comments are very welcome, the bad as well as the good- it's the only way I'll get any better! I totally PROMISE smut next chapter!


Oh fuck.
With considerable effort I manage to pull my eye-lids apart, then I notice that there appears to be river-dance style tap dance going on on my brain because that was the only way to explain my headache. That or the vast amount of alcohol I'd managed to consume last night. I sit up and yawn, streching my arms all the way out, they hit somthing- “Ouch- careful Saff!”

With surprise I turn to see where the words came from. Next to me, sitting up on the side of my bed, fully clothed and surprisingly chipper looking, was the Director. “Oh my God. What happened?”

He laughed, “I had no idea what a light weight you were... you must have had, three glasses of wine? And you were totally out of it.”

“I'm so sorry.” I start to stand up but the tiny room lurches and starts to spin and I can't quite deal with it so I lie back down, staring at the sloaping ceiling above my head, willing it to stop swirling. “How did I get- What did I? Oh fuck, we didn't... Did we?” My questions come streaming out. Oh bugger. If I've gone and shagged my boss and I can't even remember it!

He laughs at me again, but kindly. “No, no darling, though you were being quite... pursuasive.”

I catch a climse of pink lipstick down his neck. “What did I do?”

“Well, I managed to bundle you into the cab and get you up here at which point you offered me a cup of tea, which you then tried to turn into a lapdance, and then you tripped over my leg, banged your head on the table and poured tea down my leg.”

I put my hand over my mouth, I'm scarlet with embarrassment. “I'm so, so, so sorry!”

“Then I tried to put you to bed and leave but you, uh, started singing Bob Marley and begging me to stay, so I slept on the sofa.”

“You have no idea how sorry I am, really, honestly, I'm ridiculously ashamed of myself. I didn't really eat yesterday, and when it comes to alcohol I am a bit of a lightweight...” I tried to get up again, “Oh, god my head,” I moaned.

“Hung over?”

I nodded, and then regretted it, this really hurt.

“Well, if you will drink...”

“You were drinking!”

“I know my limits.”

“Smug bastard.” I looked at my feet sulkily.

“Saff, a sore head is no reason to act like a brat.”

I pout, “I'm not being a brat. What time is it?”

“Ten.”

“What time is rehersal?”

“Eleven thrirty”

“Oh bollocks. Can I phone in sick?”

The Director looks unamused. “No you will bloody not! Now I'm going to the studios to do some work, I expect to see you there are eleven thirty, sharp.”

I groan and chuck a pink satin pillow at him. “Sadist.”

He smiles, “Oh and Saff, I should probably mention that you're now banned from the HaHa bar at Charing Cross.”

“Oh God, why?”

“They don't really encourage table dancing. But the blokes were very happy about it.”

I don't know whether to laugh or cry. “I can only apologize.”

He smiles again. “Drink lots of water and be at my rehearsal on time and there won't be any need to apologize.”

“Sure thing. What day is it?”

“Friday.”

Friday. Friday, there's something about Friday. It's nagging at the back of my mind as I slowly slide out of bed and wander into the shower. I adore my flat. It's totally teeny and right at the top of a really tall Victorian building, my bedroom looks out over the railway, high up above London.
I look down on Spittlefield's market. The flat it's self is tucked away in the eaves of the house, all of the ceilings slope right down to the floor, and when I say teeny I'm not exaggerating. I have a little cooker and sink in a room with a sofa and a coffee table, my bedroom leads of it and barely has space for my bed, a mini double with white wrought iron bedstead and my chest of draws. The bathroom has a shower and a loo with a mirror that's too high up for me to reach, you can't open the door to the room and the door to the shower at the same time.

When I first moved in it was so ugly that the landlord said he didn't care what I did to it, so I bought lots of rolls of pale powder blue wall paper with white spots and a huge vat of wall paper paste (this was before I had any furniture but a mattress.) Then I spent a whole weekend wall papering, listening to Billie Holiday and Edith Piaf and eating spaghetti hoops, straight out of the can. That was a scary time, I'd left school with no friends or contacts in London, little contact with my parents (although the £250 standing order to my account every month wasn't to be sniffed at.) After that weekend I realized how easy it was to be alone. In forty eight hours I hadn't spoken to a single person. After seven years of boarding school, that was novel. The second thing that I did after moving in was buy a huge bottle of carpet cleaner and scrub the carpet that covered the whole place so that it was returned to it's natural cream color instead of the stomach turning grey. Once I'd opened up all of the windows and let the spring air through it, it was like a new place, totally fresh, totally girly and homely but most importantly, totally mine.

Over the last few months it's become one of my greatest pleasures, adding things to the flat, pictures, rugs, cushions, anything that made it home. Of course it all sounds very idealistic, it has it's downsides. Straight out of the boarding school bubble I didn't realize that a flat in such a prime location must have a catch, and it did. The noise of the trains. At night it's not so bad, they stop running early enough, but in the mornings, I used to wake up at four thirty driven mad by the noise. I've got used to it now. I guess you can get used to anything.

The nice thing about a small bathroom, I think as I massage conditioner into my hair and then use supermarket brand conditioner as shaving foam on my legs (it really works) is that it gets so warm and full of steam. Many a time I've not been able to pay my heating bill, being this warm is a luxury. I sit on the sofa and eat a slightly stale almond croissant in my kimono, then I look at the cheap plastic school style clock above the cooker (I might have stolen the clock from school. My head of sixth form said that I wasn't very good at time keeping...) Shit. It's already eleven, and I'm still in my PJ's. Oh bollocks, today is so not my day.

I pull my new dress over my head, it's a short tunic dress with a white puff sleeved shirt underneath and it was £8 from primark. Oh god, now the hunt for a pair of tights. Pair number one has a huge hole in the crotch. Pair number two has become magically tiny and now only reaches my knees. Oh bloody hell I don't have time for this! I just grab a pair of high heels, jam them on to my feet and reach for my hand bag, run out of the door, lock it with my key (which I wear on a necklace, otherwise I'd loose it.) And clatter down what feels like endless flights of stairs, fall through the outside door and fly out into the street, My hair is still wet and I've only had time for mascara, I feel a mess.

I stand on the side of the street with my arm in the air and a taxi comes to a screeching halt. The one thing I'm good at- getting a taxi. “Winsborough Theater, stage door” I ask breathlessly of the driver and then collapse on to a seat. I put my shoes on properly, run my hand through my hair and carelessly rim my eyes with a purple MAC pan stick, then, with trepidation I take a glance at my watch. 11:34, and if the traffic didn't get any worse I'd be there at 11:40, ten minuets late, that's not bad- is it?

At 11:41 I wander, some what ashamedly, into the rehearsal studio, I stick my head around the door and see Gay Alex (The Actor) Chloe (she plays the maid) and The Director. “Hi, guys, I'm so sorry that I'm late!”

Chloe and Alex look up and smile. “No probs, gorgeous, We're just discussing Chloe's shitty love life.” I laugh. I love Alex and Chloe, Alex is so wonderfully camp and Chloe is so magically giggly and ridiculous.

I laugh and the kick off my heels. “Anyone want a cup of tea before we get started?”

“Actually I'd like to see you outside, Saffron.” The Director's face is like thunder, his eyes even darker than usual, his height menacing.

“Oh, right.” I leave my shoes off and looking down at the stripped laminate floor, I wander out of the room and wait outside the doors. A moment later he joins me. I'm suddenly very conscious of the height difference and wish that I'd got my heels on.

“I'm really sorry, but I was only ten minuits late!”

“The only thing that I asked of you was that you be on time and you can't even manage to do that! It's pathetic, Saffron.”

“I've said I'm sorry! God, get over it.”

“Saffron! I put my faith in you by hiring you and this is how you repay me? I put my neck on the line because I thought that you were not only talented but dedicated but not only did you get totally wasted the night before a rehearsal but you also failed to turn up on time.”

I wanted to answer back, but I felt so guilty that I just hung my head. “I'm so sorry.”

He handed me a card, a business card with his address on it.

“You remember what we discussed the other day?”

Shocked but numb I nodded.

“If you're really serious about this I want you at my apartment at seven o'clock. Sharp.”

“Yes sir,” I said mockingly, under my breath.

“Oh you have no idea Saffy.”