Dear Madam,

Thank you for your letter asking me for the name of my favourite film. My answer is my own films, of course. I’ve tried to watch other people’s films, but they don’t have me in them, so I lose interest.

Kind Regards,

 

Jude

I wake up in the middle of the night to feel liquid hitting my face. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not the first time. But it’s usually semen and not fifty tons of ice-cold, dirty water.

“Fucking hell!” I shout out, and half-leap, half-fall out of bed, only to trip over Dean’s boots and jeans which are lying on the floor. I land hard on my arse and look up in time to see a gap opening up in my ceiling. More water pours through it, slowly at first and then faster, until it’s cascading down my walls along with dust and dirt and fuck knows what else. The hole widens inexorably with an ominous, creaking sound, before there’s an almighty crash and something falls through, rapidly followed into my bedroom by the rest of the ceiling.

A gigantic dust cloud billows up making me choke and cough, and then there is just complete silence, apart from a groaning noise and the odd plink as bits rain down into my now open plan bedroom. I sneeze hard and sit for a second, feeling gobsmacked, and staring at what appears to be a bath in my bedroom. Then my bed partner stirs.

Yawning prettily, he stretches and sits up languidly, all the muscles in his body displayed I’m sure for my viewing pleasure. Nothing pleases Dean more than to peacock about in front of a man. He placidly takes in the sight of me lying on the floor by the bed, naked apart from a thick layer of brick dust, and then, incredibly, he smiles.

“Mmm, morning, gorgeous. Is it time to get up, or have we got time for one last fuck?”

I stare at him, open mouthed. Then he pauses and looks around, a faint wrinkle appearing on his perfect brow, before saying slowly, “Was that bath in here last night?”

“Yes,” I snort, brushing myself off and getting to my feet. “I prefer not to walk too far when I need to wash.”

He stares at it. “I’m not sure it’s very hygienic, babe, and it really doesn’t look good in here.” He looks around, and somehow I know he’s not seeing the devastation that used to be my bedroom. His next words confirm that. “It’s in entirely the wrong place anyway. It totally spoils your Feng Shui.”

For a second I’m absolutely convinced he’s taking the piss out of me, which is not an unfamiliar feeling when you’re with him for longer than ten seconds. Some of it must be because he’s permanently stoned, but the truth is Dean’s brain really does work on a different frequency from anyone else’s. He really is that oblivious and self-absorbed.

I shake my head. “It was in Vogue last month,” I finally say, and instantly the troubled look clears.

“Well, what Anna Wintour doesn’t know about home decorating isn’t worth knowing.”

I look around at the bomb site, formerly known as my bedroom. “I think even Anna Wintour might have a problem with this one,” I mutter, but it falls on deaf ears as he’s sparking up a blunt.

Three hours later, I thank the building inspector and close my door. I only manage to do this after I clear a small mountain of debris from where the hall wall has come down in the doorway. Apparently, my upstairs neighbour has managed to destroy my flat with just one overflowing bath. Panting and sweating, I stare nonplussed at Dean, who appears to be doing tai chi in my lounge.

“You alright there, Bruce Lee?” I mutter, grabbing a towel and rubbing at my arms where I can still feel the itching from whatever was in the ceiling.

He stops his elegant movements and looks at me. “You’ve got my name wrong, babe,” he says cheerfully. “It’s Dean, not Bruce.”

“Oh, no I meant -”

He shakes his head pityingly. “I’m not bothered. We’re not exclusive after all. It’s just a bit bad mannered not to remember the name of the man who was drilling your arse last night.”

“I’m so sorry, Emily Post,” I mumble, and then hold up a hand when I’m sure he’s going to lecture me on the fact that he isn’t called Emily.

When I first met him on a photo shoot, I was dazzled by his long legs, slender, toned body, and those full lips that looked like they could rival a hoover for sucking potential. I completely failed to realise therefore that Dean’s workable brain cells are quite lonely. He’s staggeringly self-possessed, and selfish to the point of mockery, but he redeems himself by his unfailing affability and careless kindness. If you chopped your leg off, he probably wouldn’t even notice and would walk on by. But if you were in his way, then he’d definitely fetch you a stick.

“Never mind. It doesn’t matter,” I say, crossing to the sofa. After removing a pile of ceiling tiles, I settle onto it with a weary sigh.

Dean carries on with his graceful movements, but shoots me a look out of the corner of his eye. “You alright? You look fed up.”

I shrug, staring at my flat helplessly. “This is going to take forever to clean up.”

He stops and looks around. “It is a bit of a mess. Thank God it’s you and not me. I’m just glad I’m off to Geneva.”

I throw my head back and laugh. He charms me in an odd way. “Yes. Thank God, Dean. I’d hate for you to be inconvenienced.”

He looks at his watch and exclaims. “Shit. I’ve got to go. The flight’s at seven and I haven’t packed yet.” Then he stops. “You going to be okay?”

I must look bad. I shake my head. “I honestly don’t know, Dean. The building inspector wants us all out as soon as possible so he can survey the property properly. Only problem is I’m not sure where to go. I suppose I could get a hotel, but that only works short term. I haven’t got enough money to pay rent on two flats.”

He stares at me beadily. “Where does your money go, Jude? You should easily be able to afford two flats with some of the modelling jobs you’ve pulled lately.” I shift awkwardly because I forgot the only area Dean excels in, is money. He can sniff out an anomaly on a contract faster than a bloodhound can find steak. I really don’t need him poking his nose into my money situation.

However, I needn’t have worried because he’s now wracking his brains over the problem. I know he’s doing this because his nose always twitches slightly at the power of thought required. Then he brightens. “What about Dylan and Gabe?”

I shake my head. “I don’t want to interrupt the usual sexual Olympics they have going on. I can cope with it for a couple of hours or an overnight stay, and then I’m torn between decency and an awkward hard-on.” I think hard. “I’ve got jobs for the next month in London, so my mum and dad’s place is out of the question because it’s too far away.” I’m struck with a brilliant idea and look up at him. “Is your flat free? Could I stay there while you’re away?”

“I’m away for a couple of months. I’m in New York after Geneva. Of course you can stay there,” he says happily, and I relax and sit back. Then he groans. “No. Sorry, you can’t. I’ve sold the place.”

I stare at him. “And that slipped your mind, how?”

He shrugs prettily. “It’s only bricks and mortar, Jude. You’re far too tied to possessions.”

“If I was tied to this one I’d have been washed out of the window,” I say sulkily, and then make myself smile at him. “Never mind, Dean. Thanks anyway.”

“No, wait,” he shouts excitedly, making me jump. “I’ve had a great idea.”

I’m a little worried about this, as the last time it happened, he decided to go vegan and then made a huge fuss in a vegan restaurant because they forgot the chicken in his salad. However, I don’t get a chance to question him because he immediately taps buttons on his mobile, and within seconds he’s talking animatedly to someone.

Trying to avoid snooping, I make my way into the bedroom and stand with my hands on my hips. The whole bedroom looks like something from the set of ‘The Terminator’, and I feel tired just looking at it. Shaking my head, I open my wardrobe doors and assess the situation. Only a small portion of my clothes seem to have escaped a soaking, so I grab a bag and start packing. It’s a small bag. The other wet clothes I sling into a couple of bin bags to take to the laundrette.

I’ve been folding for a few minutes when Dean comes in, shrugging into his jacket. “I’ve got to go, babe.” He passes me a piece of paper. “This is my stepbrother’s address. He says you can stay with him for a bit.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that, Dean,” I say immediately. “I don’t know him. It would be really awkward.”

He stares at me. “Why? You know me. We’ve fucked each other, after all. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

“It’s not quite the same thing. I’ve fucked you. It didn’t create an immediate, miraculous bond with the rest of your family. That’s not how it works.”

He laughs happily. “You’re so funny, babe. Really, it’ll be fine. It’s a huge house, and Asa says it’s fine with him.”

“Does he want rent? I can pay him something. It won’t be much though,” I say slowly, thinking of my outgoings for this month and wincing.

He immediately shakes his head. “He won’t take your money. I know him. He said his assistant’s just left and he’s not having much luck with temps, so if you want to help him out in that area you can stay for a while.”

I stare at him, my brain working busily. “But I’ve never been an assistant. I don’t know the first thing about it.”

He takes my shoulders and gives me a brisk shake. “You should have more faith in yourself, Jude. You read a lot. It’ll be fine.”

“I mainly read historical novels. I don’t think it qualifies me for much.” Then I soften and give him a hug. “Thanks for doing this, Dean. Are you sure it’s okay with him?”

He waves his hand airily. “It’s fine. Asa’s a little eccentric and sometimes he can be a bit impatient, but -” He pauses before saying slowly, “There’s really something else I need to tell you about him though.” He furrows his brow, but obviously the thought can’t navigate across the wide, empty expanse of his brain, because he settles for shrugging. “No, it’s gone. I’ll ring you if I think of it.”

An alarm sounds on his phone, and immediately he springs into action. “Shit. I’ve got to go. I’m on a flight with Jay Parker, and if I’m lucky we could fit in a fuck in the bathroom. I hope I look good enough for him.”

“You always look good, Dean. Too good for Jay Parker,” I say affectionately, his rare moment of self-doubt touching a soft spot somewhere deep in me.

He stares at me. “Well, of course I look good.” I make a mental note to bury the soft spot slightly deeper next time. He continues. “I was speaking metaphorically.” I open my mouth to explain what speaking metaphorically actually means, but luckily for me he shakes his head. “I’ll ring you sometime, Jude. Bye.”

Then he’s gone, the dust swirling gently around in his wake. I look at the paper where he’s written the address in his large, looping handwriting. There’s also a time that I presume is when I can turn up. Hmm. Clifton Hill, St Johns Wood. Nice part of the world.

It’s highly unlikely this will pan out, and it’s even less likely that I’ll ever get used to living somewhere like that. I stuff the note into my back pocket, and return to packing my remaining salvageable possessions.