Free Dinner for Two by Mike Gayle

boring? Would a Louder reader write you a seven-page letter telling you why they hated one of the features you wrote on their favourite pop star? Would a Louder reader threaten to stop reading Louder because you were rude about their favourite TV programme?’
    ‘No,’ I reply. ‘They were quite a quiet bunch, really.’
    ‘Exactly,’ she says. ‘Welcome to the world of the most demanding readership that you will ever encounter. Welcome to the front line.’
    I’m amused by the idea that, after nearly ten years in music journalism, working in teen mags is considered ‘the front line’. The phone on my desk rings several times and I look at it as if I’ve never seen a phone before.
    ‘It’s a phone,’ says Fran.
    ‘I know.’
    ‘Well, aren’t you going to answer it?’
    ‘Yeah,’ I nod. ‘I’m not really expecting anyone to call, are you?’
    Fran laughs, and I pick up the phone and clear my throat. ‘Hello, Teen Scene . How can I help you?’
    ‘Is that you, Dave?’
    It’s Izzy.
    ‘Yeah,’ I reply. ‘That was my first “Hello, Teen Scene ”. Did you like it?’
    ‘It was great,’ says Izzy. ‘Very well delivered.’
    ‘How’s it going, sweetheart?’
    ‘Same old, same old. Had a couple of meetings. Had a shoot fall through for this afternoon but on the whole everything’s been okay. But never mind me. How are you coping with the world of teens? You hate it, don’t you?’
    ‘Actually I don’t,’ I say, looking at Fran, who’s now on the other side of the office standing by the network printer with her hands on hips waiting impatiently for something to come out of it. ‘I quite like it.’
    ‘That’s great. I’m really pleased for you – even if it does mean I lose the bet.’
    ‘What bet?’
    ‘I bet Jenny a slap-up meal you’d be out of there by the end of the day.’ She laughs. ‘Made any new friends?’
    ‘Not really. They’re all girls.’
    ‘No boys?’
    ‘No boys.’
    ‘What are you going to do?’ she says, teasing. ‘Who are you going to talk man things with? Who are you going to impress with your encyclopedic knowledge of obscure bands?’
    ‘I know. I’m a right Billy-no-mates.’
    ‘What about Jen? Can’t she play with you?’
    I adopt a suitably childish sulky tone. ‘She’s like you. She’s in meetings all day, doing important stuff.’
    Across the office Fran is now angrily fiddling with the printer’s paper drawer. I like this. I like the fact that she can make me laugh without using words. ‘Actually, I have kind of made one friend.’
    ‘Who?’
    ‘The girl who sits next to me. Her name’s Fran. The only thing is, I think I might’ve annoyed her by implying that she was wasting herself writing for teen mags.’
    ‘The scathing sarcastic school of making friends,’ says Izzy. ‘I know it worked with me, Dave, but I’m not sure it works with all of us birds . You should make it up to her.’
    ‘I can’t,’ I explain. ‘You know how I don’t like to have women as friends.’ I’m not exaggerating: I really don’t have any female friends who aren’t friends of Izzy’s or in a relationship with one of my male friends. I’ve never been a big fan of having women as friends: it makes life too complicated. The only one I’ve ever had I married.
    ‘So who are you going to have lunch with?’ asks Izzy.
    ‘No one.’
    ‘Oh, Dave, that’s so pitiful. It’s like the first day at school.’ She laughs. ‘D’you want me to get a cab over and meet you somewhere?’
    ‘No, honest, I’ll be all right.’
    We speak for a while longer about nothing in particular, and this makes me feel good. Talking to Izzy on the phone from work is one of the things I’ve really missed in the time I’ve not been in an office. It’s not the same when the time’s your own. There isn’t that frisson of pleasure to be gained when you really know you should be working. We chat for five minutes or so, say our goodbyes and I hang up. Seconds later