It was a little over a week later. Patsy was on her way to the production studios. She had persuaded Eddie to accompany her; both were wearing their trademark shades and eccentric, characteristic outfits as they strutted down a street in London, laden with labeled shopping bags.
"Are we nearly there, darling?" Eddie muttered.
"It's just here I think," Patsy replied, looking up at a tall, brick building.
They walked down a long, whitewashed corridor and arrived at a lift; there were around fifty round buttons arranged on a keypad next to it. Patsy looked at the buttons with confusion, periodically tilting her head towards Eddie as she tried to make sense of them. "What do I do here, Eddie?" she asked clumsily.
"Just press a button darling, come on," Eddie replied.
"Yeah, but Eddie which one?" Patsy asked.
"Oh darling, just hit 'em all," Eddie said irksomely, striding forwards and brushing a hand against every button. After a pause, the lift chimed a bell and the doors opened. "There we go, Pats – in we go…"
After a few moments, they arrived on a floor that was completely deserted. In fact, it looked as though it were still being built, as there were bits of scaffolding framing the space and white sheets flailing in a breeze. The floor was made of concrete.
"Well this can't be it, Eddie," Patsy said. "Where are the luxury sofas? Where is my producer? Is she behind that sheet, darling?"
"No Pats," Eddie said at once, pulling her friend back towards the lift, "this is obviously the wrong floor, isn't it?"
After several more wrong stops, they finally reached the producer's office, and were greeted by a smiling receptionist wearing a pearl necklace. "Patsy Stone, here to see Sheila T-T-Trout," Patsy said. She had difficulty pronouncing the producer's surname.
"She's funny about food – funny about food," Eddie justified, nodding at the receptionist. She patted Patsy on the shoulder and smiled in a squirming sort of way.
"Sheila T-T-Trout was expecting you an hour ago," the receptionist said, raising an eyebrow. Her tone was very dry and sarcastic. "She's a very busy woman."
"And that is why this meeting is so important," Patsy said. "So if you could kindly tell her that I am here…!"
The receptionist hesitated, but then sighed and disappeared through a door. She returned almost straight away with a haughty-looking woman wearing a stern, black suit and thick, black glasses. Her hair was blonde and wavy, but tied up into a bun to keep it out of her eyes, and her skin was exceptionally pale. "Ah, Stone. What kept you? Step into my office," she said promptly, giving Eddie a dirty look. "I hope this isn't one of the people you're interviewing…"
"No, Sheila, absolutely not," Patsy said. She giggled childishly and followed Sheila Trout eagerly into her office. Eddie stomped after her, rolling her eyes and muttering under her breath 'who does she think she is?'
"Sit down, Stone; Stone's friend can stand," Sheila said, settling down behind her stern desk and watching the pair closely.
"Very nice, isn't she darling? How dare she make me stand, sweetheart?" Eddie said hotly into Patsy's ear. However, upon seeing the look that Sheila was giving her, she swiftly stood up straight, as if out of fear of a severe teacher.
"I hope you've got names for me, Stone, I want names today," Sheila said, writing something down on a sheet of paper.
"Of course, of course," Patsy said maladroitly. Eddie gave her a swift, frightened glance, and muttered a few incoherent words under her breath again.
Sheila stared at her. "Well? I haven't got all day, let's hear them!"
"Well…well erm…see, the thing is Sheila…the thing is…see, here's the thing…"
"I think she's established there's a thing, darling," Eddie said unhelpfully.
"Yes, thank you Eddie," Patsy said. "The thing, Sheila, is this…do…do you mind if I smoke in here, Sheila?"
"If it'll exhale the thing out any faster," Sheila said dangerously.
"Oh for God's sake, Patsy doesn't have any celebrities for the talk show yet," Eddie blurted out, leaning forwards melodramatically and opening her arms wide. "Exhaled it for yah, Pats!"
"What?" Sheila said.
Patsy, who was midway through lighting a cigarette, froze in horror; her cigarette stuck out an odd angle from her mouth. Slowly, she pulled it out from between her lips and laid it gently on the desk, her expression innocent. "That might be the thing," she said shortly, "but…but there again it might not."
"You've had two weeks, Stone," Sheila said, standing up. "I gave you plenty of time and plenty of money. And yet you have nobody for your talk show?"
"Nothing in life is certain, Sheila," Patsy reasoned.
"And certainly not your talk show. I've had it Stone, I'll have to cancel and find someone else –"
"NO!" Eddie and Patsy screamed together. Patsy glanced up at Eddie at this, whose face was red and flustered.
"Well I feel I'm partly responsible for this, darling," Eddie said apologetically in response to her stare.
Patsy looked back down again, and seemed to drift off for a second; Eddie's words echoed in the back of her head, over and over again: I'm partly responsible for this darling, darling, darling…
"Eddie doesn't know what she's saying," Patsy said as she returned to the room again. "I've got my A-listers all lined up, and they will be on my talk show next week. That's a…err…promise."
Sheila looked skeptical. "You're absolutely sure?"
"It'll be fabulous, darling," Patsy replied, getting up to leave.
"But Pats, you haven't –" Eddie started. Patsy merely shoved her unlit cigarette into her mouth and pulled her out of the room.