The Exciting Life by Karen Mason Page B

film?’
    ‘ I’d like to, but his old man will probably object to me
getting involved.’
    ‘ What do you mean?’
    ‘ He’s some big wig at the BBC. I’m the son of a
villain.’
    Before
Iris could answer him, he started snoring again and the
conversation was halted. Iris just carried on smoking her fag and
thinking about the evening that had just gone. They’d had dinner at
the American Steak House with Oscar London, a rather louche young
man who used to be an actor and now wanted to move into film
production. Like a lot of young upper-class men, he was drawn to
the seedier side of life and enjoyed mixing with businessmen who
operated slightly outside the law. He wanted Patrick to invest
money in the film he was making - the dramatisation of some seedy
kitchen sink novel, which he was convinced was going to be the next
big thing. Iris had zoned out during a lot of the conversation, but
now she knew Oscar’s father was a big wig at the BBC who wouldn’t
want to be associated with the likes of Bernie Collins’ son, she
guessed he’d need convincing that Patrick was respectable and
distanced from his father’s activities. An idea formed in Iris’s
head, a way she could kill two birds with one stone. But she was
going to have to sleep on it.
    When she
awoke the next morning, Iris knew what she had to do. She checked
Patrick was still asleep and went into the bathroom to re-apply her
make-up. She’d never been brave enough to let a man see her without
full slap. Even though she was only twenty-three and had perfect
skin, she was convinced she looked pale and plain without make-up.
She wished Patrick would let her stay at his place. She'd visited
the neat little pad in West Hampstead before, but at the end of the
evening he would always drive her all the way back to Streatham.
Iris did her best to not listen to the paranoid voice in her head
that told her he was ashamed to have her wake up in his house. She
just put it down to men being funny.
    ‘ You know I'm sure you're just as beautiful without make-up,’
he called from the bedroom. ‘Come back and keep me
warm.’
    ‘ You know I want to look perfect for you all the time,’ she
called back whilst rubbing rose pink rouge into her cheeks. She
finished it all off with a dab of pink lipstick and went back into
her bedroom. She hated catching reflection of her new, classy self
in the mirror on her wardrobe door; then looking at the bed where
she’d entertained so many seedy customers – it made her feel
ashamed.
    Patrick
was sitting up, smoking a cigarette. This was when he looked the
most gorgeous and Iris would fancy him all over again. His auburn
hair was tousled and loose, and however much he tried to push it
back from his brow, a few stands would flop back down onto his
forehead. His biceps were well-defined and on his left arm he had a
tattoo of a shamrock - all the men who worked for Bernie Collins
were expected to have it. He looked rough and sexy, and Iris wished
he’d stay like this.
    ‘ Come ‘ere,’ he growled.
    Iris
came and sat on the bed, and Patrick grabbed her and pushed her
back and across his lap. She giggled and tried to wriggle
away.
    ‘ Why won’t you let me see you without make up?’ he
asked.
    ‘ Because I look a sight.’ She reached up and stroked his
stubbly face. ‘I didn’t sleep much last night. The rain kept me
awake.’
    ‘ Well I suggest you come back to bed then,’ he
smiled.
    ‘ No. I was doing some thinking about your meeting with Oscar
London last night. You say his father is a big wig at the BBC and
he won’t like you getting involved with his son’s film?’
    ‘ Yes. Even though my dad paid for me to go to Bryanston, it’s
not enough to impress the likes of Charlie London.’
    ‘ What’s Bryanston?’
    ‘ It’s a public school in Dorset. Dad paid for me to go there
when I was thirteen. I left in Forty Nine when I was
eighteen.’
    ‘ I never realised you went to a posh school.’
    ‘ I didn’t do