Free Remind Me Again Why I Need a Man by Claudia Carroll

autographs in blood. We even have a nickname for her: ‘Good Grief O’Keefe’.
    â€˜I just want to stay married to you, Sebastian,’ she’s saying, mouthing her lines in a way I swear she’s copied directly from Julianne Moore. ‘I want nothing more from this life than to be happily married to the right guy.’
    It’s a sign. Not a very well-acted sign, but it’s a sign.
    I turn the sound down on the monitor and pick up the phone again. How hard can this be? I’m a TV executive. When I was on current affairs, I used to produce shows that interviewed government ministers and asked them really difficult Jeremy Paxman-type questions. I’m not joking; we once had the Minister for Finance close to tears. Big ratings hit. OK, so I’m only deputizing on
Celtic Tigers
but I still make big important decisions about … oh, I dunno … cast coffee breaks and whether they should have digestive biscuits or Jaffa Cakes on said breaks, every day of the week.
    My point is that if I can do all that, then I can make this one simple, albeit embarrassing phone call. If I’d put half the energy into finding my husband that I did into my career, I’d have been married years ago and now would probably be worrying about getting places for my kids in posh boarding schools.
    Right. That’s it. Decision made.
    I’m poised, just about to dial, when my mobile rings.
    â€˜Hey, Amelia babes, just HAD to fess up and tell all about my close encounter of the nerd kind on Saturday.’
    Jamie. Straight to the point, as always. There’s never any kind of preamble on the phone with him, nothing as mundane as a ‘hello’ or a ‘how are you’, he just cuts right to the chase.
    â€˜So José Miguel asks me out for dinner after the audition and he takes me to that new fifties theme restaurant on Talbot Street. Well, all I can say is, the Hard Rock Café has better crap.’
    â€˜Jamie, number one, I’m in work and number two, the Lovely Girls are barely speaking to you after you so callously stood us up on Saturday.’
    â€˜Oh dear, I was hoping the bitch fest would be over by now.’
    I smile in spite of myself. It’s impossible to stay mad at Jamie for very long; he just uses charm and humour to get around me. With one hundred per cent success every time.
    â€˜So we’re sitting in this car crash of a restaurant eating chunky chips and cremated burgers and José Miguel says’ – at this point he launches into a very passable impression of Manuel from
Fawlty Towers
– ‘ “If I cast you, you must have
passion,
real
passion
.” So I say, “I
do
! I do have passion. I have passion for the play, I have passion for the part,” and I’m about to say, I could very easily be persuaded into having passion for you, when he says, “No, no, you no understand. You must have
passion
with my English.” Geddit?’
    â€˜Passion, passion …’ I reply absently. ‘Oh, he meant
patience
.’
    I can almost hear the sound of Jamie’s eyes rolling. ‘You’re like quicksilver. If I ever get on
Who Wants to be a Millionaire?
will you be my phone-a-friend?’
    â€˜So did you get the part?’
    â€˜Won’t know till later today. I’ll call you the minute. I think he fancies me though. Well, could you blame him? He’s only human.’
    â€˜OK. You need to get off the phone now, honey. I’m about to call Teri Taylor and you’re eroding my resolve.’
    â€˜Oh my Gowwwwd! And what’ll you say if she answers the phone? Hi, remember me? Your son was my first boyfriend all of twenty years ago and I’m trying to track him down so I can figure out where I’m going wrong with all my exes. Be sure and tell her you’re sane, won’t you? She could so easily get the wrong idea.’
    â€˜I know, I know,’ I reply, nervously doodling on the