It’s not that easy to walk all day long in those little Gucci boots. Not that they are uncomfortable and for the price they cost I mean you shouldn’t complain but running all around the studio, going up and down the stairs in those little heels is definitely a challenge. I felt as if as I never woke up so early in my life, 07:00 AM (definitely not the child of hard workers) I’m dressed the part but my eyes are slighty itchy. When I had arrived on the set of the shoot, at the very bottom of Paris, in places I had never ever seen or heard about before, there was absolutely no one. Even the producer had consciously let me be the first on the shoot. So after fifteen minutes I started running around trying to find someone, or just staying agitated to not fall asleep. Why not go back to receptionist in case… Who is this tall blond guy? “Charles!”. I’m very polite. “It’s me Mark, I’m the photographer today” (Good for you) “But Charles It’s me Mark!” (What’s wrong with this young man. I’m almost sure I never seen him ever in my life.)
“Mark?!?” You cannot cry in this kind of situation or even scream but perche on my little boots, boudine in my little suit, I started grasping for air. “Mark?!? But…” What the fuck Mark was doing here? “Are you the photographer’s agent?” “Charles I am the photographer, it’s me Mark Kean. Are you allright?” I take him into my arms, and hug him like I had never hug someone before. There is no way He can see the tear in my eye. The story of the talking wolves jumped straight to mind. “But Mark you changed your hair. What do you mean you are the photographer?” “I’m photographer now. You didn’t know? It’s so nice to see you. But what are you doing here, you’re shooting?” “Mark, I’m the client”.
“I really have to leave to Downing Street now, sorry guys! Darling could you be cute enough to do my make-up quickly, like freshen me up?” “ Sorry I don’t do that.” And I could tell that the first assistant of the make up was reprehened of me leaving in the middle of hair and make-up test of the show that was tomorrow. Lyndell and xxx couldn’t care less though.
10 Downing Street is not exactly as you can imagine as the street is closed by a portail but as soon as you have shown your invitation and ID it’s quite easy to go in, why wouldn’t it be after all it’s the house of all of us Britons. It is really amazing how Ben is famous. I can see her at the bottom of this funny and unusual street literally purchased by paparazzi. “Ben! Ben!” She was on the cover of the Evening Standard (ES) last week after all, for dating Sadie frost’s ex-boyfriend or why was she on the cover again? She must have done something else as well. I really like her but I don’t think I’ve ever seen her more than once, at my show, when with Joanna Preiss she crashed the first season.
“Charles!!!!!!!!!” and she starts running towards me. I feel ridiculous in my Ralph Lauren Kid Tux, she looks like sixty thousand pounds. But what is she wearing to look that good? “Ben” “You are my date tonight. Come with me” How did she immediately get that I was mortified and petrified to go through the actual 10 downing street ‘s door. Ben and I enter the most famous house in Britain, it’s all beige inside, with this big stair. The xxx starts kiking in, it has already kicking in a couple of hours ago. The carpet is so thick it’s really like walking in creme fraiche. When we arrive at the first floor, where Sara Mower is going to start the British fashion council speech, I don’t know anyone but Richard Nicholl’s and Louise gray. There’s also Mark kean and his lovely wife. It wasn’t ten minutes in the night that I had already propose them a threesome.
It’s unfortunate Jim couldn’t make it tonight. By the time his message arrived I was already at the Nelson’s head. I sit on my own at one of the four uncomfortable tables that peuple the pub and wait. I don’t come here that often, it’s not a bad place to be but there’s definitely better. Third pintes in, two tall hot guys enter the Nelson’s. It’s Mark. Great! At last someone I know. All smile, and bit tipsy, I walked towards him. I haven’t time to greet him that in the coldest manner he gave me a “What are you doing here?”. I don’t really know what to answer. “Mark I’m so happy to see you”. “Good for you Charles”. My heart broke a bit. “It’s been a while. Almost years. Are you still at this PR office -no answer- But Mark the talking wolves, do you remember, they were your favourite joke”. A tad embarrassed in front of his friend, il me balance “No idea what you’re talking about. Good night” and he stayed next to me at bar the whole night. Completely ignoring me. His hair had changed it seems. But I’m not quite sure. I would be better off The Joiners. I leave without saying goodbye.
"You're going to love Mark". No one had ever seen a guy like that. The sweetest with the most adorable haircut. He said with a lot of emphasis: "Oh Charles. I have to tell you something. More like a confession. I have never heard something as cute and funny as your joke about the talking wolves. You know the one you are doing with your hands. Oh please do it again!" I was even surprised he did remember that.
In the middle of Mayfair in this empty but cute pub we are having this conversation about the future. To make sure Mark understands it better I use my hand to mime the talking wolf I was referring to. “And then there was another wolf” that was the cue for my left hand to enter the conversation. Mark unphased by this improvised theatre asks me again “But Charles are you really sure you want to show off calendar for your first season in London? Everybody at the office is really stressed about this issue” “But Mark I don’t understand how exactly you do your hair. You said once they are naturally curly. It must take hours every morning to achieve such perfected bowl cut, right?”