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Apocalipstick - Softcover

Margolis, Sue

 
9780440242963: Apocalipstick
Softcover
ISBN 10: 0440242967 ISBN 13: 9780440242963
Verlag: Bantam Books, 2005

Inhaltsangabe

Aspiring journalist Rebecca Fine struggles to make ends meet by writing a beauty column, while dealing with a Jewish dating service, her widowed father's engagement to an unpleasant classmate, and a sexy new coworker.

Die Inhaltsangabe kann sich auf eine andere Ausgabe dieses Titels beziehen.

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Sue Margolis was a radio reporter for fifteen years before becoming a novelist. She is the author of three previous novels: Breakfast at Stephanie's, Neurotica, and Spin Cycle.?


From the Trade Paperback edition.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Chapter 1

Rebecca was fiddling with the tuner button on the car radio. She'd been sitting in the monster traffic jam on Camden Road, engine off, for the best part of fifteen minutes. For the last two she'd been trying and failing to find some traffic news that might explain what was going on.

". . . still offering huge discounts on our exclusive range of Lazee Dayze recliners . . ."

Fiddle:

"Here's Brotherhood of Man, with Save All Your Kisses for Me . . ."

Jab this time:

". . . and my Alan was just lying there, completely limp--not even the faintest sign of life. So, I did what anybody would do. I got down on the floor and started giving him the kiss of life."

Rebecca found herself stopping to listen.

"And isn't that a cheery, feel-good story to brighten up this drizzly a.m. in the capital? Jacky from Borehamwood, there, talking about her house fire and how she successfully resuscitated Alan, her iguana."

Her nose wrinkled as she imagined puckering up to some slimy reptile. Not that she hadn't puckered up to one or two in the odd drunken moment. The only difference was, her reptiles had worn tight leather pants and called her "babe."

Fiddle:

". . . so best to avoid the Camden Road area if you can. More traffic news in the next hour. Caroline Feraday, 5 Live Travel . . ."

Rebecca Fine, newly appointed beauty columnist of the Daily Vanguard Saturday magazine, now let out a tiny yelp of frustration and switched off the radio. The monthly beauty, fashion and lifestyle meeting was due to start in half an hour, and unless the traffic freed up in the next few minutes, there was no way she was going to make it on time. It was her first meeting and she'd been so anxious to make a good impression. Her only hope was that other people would be driving in from north London and they would be late too. For now, all she could do was sit it out. She picked up her bag, which was lying on the passenger seat, and went rummaging for her lipstick and mascara.

She was staring into the driver's mirror, finishing her lashes, when the car behind her let out three long blasts of its horn. The first made her jump so violently that her mascara brush shot upward, leaving a gash of black from her eyebrow to her hairline, which made her look like some kind of unihorned devil. As the honking continued, she saw what had happened. A broken-down lorry, which had been causing the holdup, was now being towed away and the traffic was moving. Clearly the driver of the car behind her was more than a tad put out that she hadn't noticed. Her hand flew to the ignition, but the car refused to start. Honk. Honk. A twenty-yard gap had opened up in front of her.

"All right. All right." She was getting flustered now. Looking down, she saw the automatic gear lever was in drive. She shoved it into neutral. Honk. Honk. Honk.

As she turned the ignition key a second time, her eyes darted back to the rearview mirror. The honker was some guy in a flash sports car. No surprise there. Before she had a chance to move, he began pulling out to overtake her. He couldn't get up any speed because he was squeezing between her and the oncoming traffic. As he drew level with her, he leaned across the sports car's passenger seat and lowered the window. Rebecca lowered hers.

"My apologies for disturbing you," he smirked. Plummy voice, expensive suit, floppy Hugh Grant hair. Posh estate agent, probably. "It's just that some of us have jobs to go to."

"Look, I'm really sorry, but there was no need to blast me like that . . ."

Just then her mobile started ringing.

As she picked it up off the dashboard and pressed OK, the sports car roared off.

"And it's Mr. Subaru Turbo," she said in a singsong voice, "who wins the award for the smallest penis, this drizzly a.m."

"Hi, Becks. It's me," the voice on the end of the line giggled. "Listen, have I disturbed some kind of intimate moment? I mean I can always call back."

It was Jess.

"No, you're fine," Rebecca said, her tone brightening. She put the phone between her shoulder and chin and asked Jess to hang on while she pulled away. It was a difficult maneuver, since all the cars behind her had followed the Subaru and nobody was allowing her to rejoin the stream of traffic. Finally somebody let her in.

"God, he'd have thought twice about intimidating me like that," Jess said when Rebecca had finished telling her about the hooray honker.

"He would?"

"Too blinkin' right. You see I've got this brilliant new bumper sticker that says: 'I'm out of estrogen and I've got a gun.' "

Rebecca burst out laughing. "So," she said, "how's the baby?"

"Oh, you know," Jess said with a sigh, "fine, but knackering. In the two months we've had him I don't think either of us has had more than three hours' sleep on the trot." She paused. "Then there's my Bagpuss."

"Oh, sweet. Bought it for the baby?" Rebecca asked, assuming quite reasonably that her best friend had been to Toys "R" Us and bought the furry TV character for the baby.

"No, you dope, Diggory hasn't got it."

Diggory. Jess adored the name. And since Rebecca adored Jess, she pretended to love the name, too, but secretly she worried that the poor child might grow up to become a bearded botanist in a cardigan.

"What, so you bought it for you? Getting in touch with your child within. Nice."

"Oh God. Becks, listen. I haven't bought Bagpuss. I've got it. Let's put it this way, since giving birth, my pencil-gripping days are definitely a thing of the past."

"What? You could do that?"

"I don't know. I never tried. But if I could, I wouldn't be able to do it now. And I know Ed's noticed. Why else would we have only done it twice since the baby? The second time it took him ages to get a hard-on. He doesn't fancy me anymore. I just know it."

"Oh, come on," Rebecca soothed, "Ed's crazy about you. Always has been. He's not going to go off you simply because you've gained a millimeter or two in the pussy department. You've got a new baby. He's exhausted like you are, that's all. Sex is hardly going to be what it was, not for a while anyway. You of all people should know that."

Jess was the agony aunt at Femme magazine. It always amazed Rebecca how she seemed able to get a handle on everybody else's problems except her own.

"Just keep doing the pelvic floor exercises," Rebecca went on, "and I'm sure everything'll spring back into shape."

"Yeah, you're right," Jess said, cheering up. "Look, you don't fancy popping round tonight, do you? Ed's got to work late on the news desk and I'll be all on my own with the Digsbury. I'm longing to hear how the new job's going."

"Great," Rebecca said. "I'll bring pizza."

The moment she hung up, her mobile went off a second time. She pressed OK, desperate for whomever it was on the other end to be one of her few friends who wasn't pregnant or recently delivered and with whom she could still have an above-the-waist conversation.

". . . still leaking when she sneezes . . . Hello? Rebecca?"

Rebecca's brow furrowed.

"Gran?"

"Sorry, darling, I've got Esther here. We're off to the sales. I was in the middle of telling her about my cousin Doreen's bladder operation. I didn't think you'd pick up so soon. So, did you see it?"

"What, cousin Doreen's bladder operation?"

"No, silly....

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Verlag
Bantam Books
Erscheinungsdatum
2005
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
0440242967
ISBN 13 
9780440242963
Einband
Taschenbuch
Anzahl der Seiten
323
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Verantwortliche Person
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