"I cannot believe it! Who would do that? Who would have the audacity to do that?"
Adrian never really expected to receive her promised mentor sessions with Celeste. At first she assumed she would lose contact with the woman completely and slide back into her own dull world, where the most exciting thing that ever happened was the way one half of a pair of socks would always disappear into another arcane realm.
Then, the very next evening, her phone rang. No one ever called Adrian. Clumsy and unlucky she might be, but she was also dedicated and generally punctual, so work never had to contact her. Her family were all pursuing their own far more fascinating lives without needing her around. As for friends, she had no one. No one to rely on. No one to moan at. No one to confide in.
No one to interrupt her meals with an ill-timed telephone call.
She looked at her bowl. Instant noodles. She had tried to dress them up with chopped vegetables, which made the intestinal worms look as if they had some kind of disease. When she went to choose a dressing at random from her cupboard, she discovered that the same cupboard was empty but for one mysteriously unlabelled bottle. Every cupboard had to have one of these; it didn't matter how much money a person had, nor how much they stuck to a strict shopping list, they would always end up with one anonymous jar of something brown and sticky when the cupboards were cleaned out.
Anyway, she was never going to succeed in creating a gourmet meal, put it that way. Her curiosity overcame the effort she had put into the meagre pile of slimy white things slithering across her plate and she got up to answer the phone.
It was Celeste Inpax. They had talked for a while, or rather, Celeste had talked and Adrian had mumbled the occasional reply or prompt. The conversation felt as if it had lasted two minutes before Celeste was saying goodbye. Adrian returned the farewell, hung up and sighed. No one could bear talking to her for long.
When she looked at her digital clock, she realised that two hours had passed.
Two hours. She had held up a telephone conversation about, essentially, nothing, for two whole hours. To anyone else it would have ben a minor achievement, but when she found her noodles cold as well as slimy and walked into the kitchen table in the darkness, she was elated.
There were more telephone calls. Celeste rang at least once a week, if not once a night, to update Adrian on the latest news from the glittery world of managerial duties. She called after her first day with Matt even though not much happened. She called during Matt's first day on set, breathless with excitement, the only time Adrian had ever heard her cool brusqueness slip in the slightest. She called when nothing much had changed but, as she told Adrian, she wanted to meet up.
It was time for Adrian's first mentoring session. Of course, she knew Celeste wouldn't see it in the same dramatic lighting. To her it was a friendly chat over a coffee. To Adrian, however, it even deserved capital letters. The Mentoring Session. The Mentoring Session, in which Adrian Andrews would be taught Confidence and Efficiency, possibly in a concrete, subterranean bunker lit by a naked bulb.
What actually happened was this.
Adrian arrived at the staff area of Global Studios, the place she and Celeste had first encountered each other over a splendid meal of cat. Adrian fetched herself a drink without even seeing what it was and slid into one of the plastic chairs.
Ten minutes came and went. She brought out the book she had the foresight to bring with her, but a breeze pummelled the air around her and flicked the pages back and forth. It was useless fighting the elements, so she tucked it away again and looked at her watch. Fifteen minutes since their arranged meeting time.
Against her better judgement, Adrian found her mind wandering through the usual barbed thickets of self-criticism. Each new thought whipped at her, lashed against her skin cruelly. She was a fool. Had she really thought Celeste would bother turning up? Celeste was a busy woman, manager to someone who was bound to become a star. Why would she waste her time on an insignificant member of the floor staff? What was Adrian going to do now, sit there until the janitors arrived at the end of the day? She might as well, she had nothing else to do with her life.
It was even worse when tears tingled against her eyes. How pathetic could one woman get? No one else would hang around for half an hour wailing at the obviously very depressing image of cheery orange chairs and a flickering electric light.
She ought to go home. She had been stupid to think this would get her anywhere.
Then, invading the air space of the distant shouts in a rehearsal, a familiar voice stomped onto the scene. It marched recklessly through the air and was shortly followed by Celeste.
"I simply cannot believe it!"
The fewer contractions her speech contained, the more venomously she spat out the words, the less co ordinated the rest of her became. It was as if she had a permanent balance of composure which automatically corrected itself. With each clear, furious word another strand of hair would make a bid for freedom from her ponytail, and whenever she tried to tuck it out of the way her cheeks would flush a darker shade of scarlet.
"What's happened?" said Adrian. Celeste clenched her fists on the tabletop and gave the wall a glare it had done nothing to deserve.
"You know I told you about the public show I organised for Matt? The one to introduce him to everyone, get him a bit of recognition before the Nickel Samurai airs?"
A thousand reasons this could have gone wrong presented themselves to Adrian. She chose not to guess and instead went for a safe, simple,
"Yes?"
"Well, guess what."
Today was another one of those days. Adrian hazarded,
"Has it been cancelled?"
"I might very well choose to do that. No, it turns out that a rival studio has, entirely coincidentally, of course, decided that it absolutely must host an identical show for one of its own new actors on the same day."
"Who?"
"The Jamming Ninja, or something like that. I don't know him. Matt does. Apparently he's called Juan Corrida and he's an absolute bastard."
Adrian had never heard Celeste swear before. It didn't suit her. Nor did knocking over the salt cellar with one of her fists. She cursed again as she started to sweep up the condiment, keeping up a muttered running commentary on what she would like to do to this unexpected rival if she ever met him. A lot of the actions seemed to involve various violent deaths, a particularly creative one being choking him on the grass stalk he apparently chewed all the time as a trademark.
It took quite a while for Adrian to realise that she wasn't going to get a word in edgeways. She tried to get it in forwards, blatantly through the front door of the conversation, instead, talking over Celeste.
"Surely it could have been a coincidence?"
"Even so, it makes it incredibly difficult for us," said Celeste. Her hair hung in spirals around her face even though she was, gradually, returning to her normal manner. "We're going to have to compete with him for the media's attention. I knew I would have to start building up his image soon, but this is too fast and too short notice!"
"I'll help."
Adrian looked around. There was no one behind her. She must have said the words herself. She kept her head partially turned anyway, to avoid eye contact. What an idiot. What did she have to offer? She had been turned down for the job of manager, she couldn't contribute anything.
"You will? Really?"
Though it was true that she sounded startled, this was far outweighed by pleasure and relief in Celeste's voice. Adrian's eyes drifted back of their own accord and found that small, familiar smile. It didn't need to be a large one. It spoke just enough as it was through its utter sincerity.
"Of course. I mean, um, I'll try. I probably won't be much help."
"You started so well! No, Adrian, stick to 'of course'. That's the attitude you want. Right. Can we use your notebook?"
"Of course."
Celeste shuffled her chair around the table until they were sat elbow to elbow. The fabric of her jacket rubbed Adrian's bare arms, but the minor discomfort was soon forgotten. It was a clear day, but one bound together by stiff winds, and Adrian appreciated the warmth provided by their closeness. More importantly, it was the first time in a long while that she had been so near another human.
It sounded miserably pathetic even to herself when phrased in that way. For the past few years, she had had no one. Even as a child she hadn't had a best friend like all of the other children. This intimacy now was a luxury, the first taste of something entirely forbidden. She shivered with pleasure instead of the cold.
"I think you need to make him unique," she said, and stopped, shocked. Had those words really come out of her own mouth? They had, evidently, because Celeste tapped the page with a pen and nodded.
"Yes. You're right. We have to prove that he's got something new to offer, more than this Mr Corrida. He isn't just another clone of the Steel Samurai, he's new, he's refreshing."
"Could he have some sort of catchphrase?"
"Yes! Hang on."
Words scribbled themselves onto the page almost of their own accord. Adrian glimpsed snatches of them around Celeste's furiously zig-zagging hand. At the top was the name 'Nickel Samurai'; beneath it was a list of various adjectives. Celeste leaned back when she was done and chewed her lip thoughtfully.
"Which one's best, do you think?"
"I still like refreshing. It works well."
"It does. It makes me think of Mt Fuji, spring, a crisp and fresh day, that sort of thing."
The various images described could almost be seen in the sparkling of her eyes. Adrian would have sworn that sparkling eyes existed nowhere except particularly hackneyed prose, but, with evidence to the contrary glittering before her, she focused her attention on the paper. It fluttered briefly in a breeze.
Inspiration, as inevitabile as a truck on an icy road with the brakes cut, struck.
"Refreshing, like a spring breeze."
"Adrian."
"What?"
"That. Is. Perfect. Quick, quick, write it down before we forget it."
She obeyed. An hour later, when it became physically impossible to continue writing with their fingers numb and frozen to the pen, they had almost completed an outline of a campaign. When Celeste smiled, Adrian wasn't even surprised to find herself returning the expression.
"I'd better go and get this in motion. The show is in a fortnight from today. Are you busy then?"
"I don't think so."
"Then come along. Matt Engarde, refreshing like a spring breeze. It's going to be the most memorable debut imaginable and, best of all..."
"Best of all?"
Celeste paused a moment longer. The flickering fluorescent light wasn't as impressive as the proverbial burning fire of ambition, but it was right on cue as it flashed in her eyes.
"Best of all, Juan Corrida won't stand a chance."