‘God, speaking of: what are you going to do about work? It’s just so massive!’
Ali ignored her and pulled up the article on branding she’d bookmarked onMedium. Turning the screen towards Kate she said, ‘This says lead with the story not the product.’
Kate nodded sagely, once more invoking her boss. ‘Marian says “define your narrative”. It’s so important. Are you bravely going it alone? Were you “trying”? Or are you going to come clean about the hook-up? It’s super relatable. Plus what’s your aesthetic and tone gonna be?’
‘I actually put together a Pinterest board last night, hang on.’
Ali handed the phone to Kate and she examined the various Insta-posts Ali had pulled together. ‘There seem to be two kinds of preggers bitch on the ’gram,’ Ali explained. ‘The yummy-perfect-elaborately-staged-bump-update-shots-mummy or the more warts-and-all here’s-my-pregnancy-acne vibe.’
‘No offence, but I’d say you’re slightly more the pregnancy-acne gal,’ Kate said.
‘Thanks.’ Ali grinned. ‘I think I’m going to go with visual perfection with occasional revelations about slight discomfort or giggling references to getting “chub rub” and eating “all the doughnuts” for relatability purposes.’
‘Some well-placed “brave admission” of anxiety or something like that would also be a good shout down the line,’ added Kate.
Ali added ‘brave admission’ to the schedule. Just then she heard the unmistakable approach of Stephan outside the prefab.
‘Ali? Ali!’ Stephan was roaring. ‘You, where the fuck is my PA?’ She could see him through the window shouting at Jay Darcy, one of the biggest radio presenters in the station, clearly not recognising him – or not caring.
‘Shit.’ Ali scrambled to put away her stuff. ‘I have to get out there. WhatsApp later?’
‘Yep, I’ll slip out in five – don’t worry.’ Kate threw a couple of air kisses her way and hung back so as not to be spotted as Ali headed out the door.
‘Ah, there you are.’ Stephan was red from the raging. ‘You realise you are holding up an entire crew and cast right now?’
‘I’m sorry. I was on break and then I lost track of time.’
‘Oh yeah, shitting out another spec script for Terry, were you?’
‘No and eww.’ Ali could feel colour rush into her cheeks. She hadn’t asked Terry to keep quiet about her writing but she definitely didn’t think he’d tell Stephan.
‘Don’t be cheeky, young one.’ Stephan stepped close to her. ‘You’re on your last chance here. You swapped shifts with Ruairí last week without a word to me, which is not part of procedure. I am trying to bring dramatic, timely and relevant stories into the homes of middle fucking Ireland. Every day I walk in here and I elevate the medium. Do you think that’s easy? With fuck-all budget and pissy little wans like you fucking around taking breaks and getting ideas above your station?’
A huge chunk of the cast and crew were standing outside Bernie’s Bets, one of the fake shopfronts, watching her public humiliation. Of course, Seamus was there doing a Sympathetic Head Tilt. Ugh. Stephan was walking back to the set, already having moved on – that was how little Ali meant around here. It was just one of many dressing downs he’d likely dispense throughout the afternoon. No one ever stood up to him because he was such a lunatic. He had no qualms about firing people on the spot and right now, thinking of her growing following and the offers of sponcon and partnerships rolling into her inbox, Ali felt reckless.
‘Stephan?’ she called after him quietly.
He turned, looking peeved. ‘Still intent on delaying us, Ms Jones?’ he sneered.
‘Sorry for holding up the “art”,’ Ali replied. ‘I just wanted to know were you always such a prick, or is it just since you can’t get your dick hard anymore?’
Gasps and stifled giggles rippled through the assembled cast and crew and Ali smiled sweetly at Stephan, who stormed over to Ruairí.
‘Call security, get this lying little bitch out of here.’
Ruairí hurried off, looking stunned.
‘Excuse me, Stephan?’ She was done now, might as well enjoy it. ‘Helloo-oo? This lying little bitch still has a few things of yours.’ She delved into her pack and began tossing his keto snacks and various meds towards him. ‘Although I don’t know why anyone would need Viagra at work.’ She shrugged innocently and chucked the pack straight at him just as security arrived to manhandle her off the lot.
That was fun, she thought. Probably the most satisfying moment of my life. And she owed it all to Insta!
12
Ali settled herself on the bus into town, still glowing from the showdown with Stephan. Who’d have thought she’d leave work on the day of being fired feeling so invigorated? It was still too early to head into Grogan’s to meet Tinder Sam but maybe she’d browse the shops. Though easy on the spending, she thought, at least until the first Insta-deal came through. She checked her balance. Hmmm, maybe I should’ve looked at this before calling Stephan a floppy-dicked prick? A little over a grand. She’d just paid rent so at least that was sorted. It’d be OK – she thought of the money she’d get for the folic acid post she’d accepted that morning. €500 to tell her now nearly twenty thousand followers how much she loved Follan’s Folic Acid!
She plugged in her earphones and brought up Shelly’s Insta-story. A nice little distraction was in order. Never mind telling strangers about supplements, she had no clear plan of what she’d be telling Tinder Sam later, and a little holiday in Shelly’s banal, beige world was always oddly comforting.
Shelly was on a holiday of her own, apparently, in a plush hotel room overlooking the ocean, giving a spectacularly dull tour of the various seaweed shampoos and volcanic body scrubs.
