to extort money from someone else than the silence in the room was shattered. The phone! It was ringing! Ros closed her eyes and Bib knew she was thanking that thing they called God. As for himself he found he was levitating with relief. Ros flung herself and surfed the bed until she reached the phone. ‘Hello,’ she croaked, and Bib watched with a benign smile. He almost felt tearful. But anxiety manifested itself as he watched Ros’s face – she didn’t look pleased. In fact she looked bitterly disappointed.
‘Oh, Lenny,’ she said. ‘It’s you.’
‘Don’t sound so happy!’ Bib heard Lenny complain. ‘I set my clock for two in the morning to make sure my favourite employee has arrived safely on her first trip in her new position, and what do I get? “Oh Lenny, it’s you”!’
‘Sorry, Lenny,’ Ros said abjectly. ‘I was kind of hoping it might be Michael.’
‘Had another row, did you?’ Lenny didn’t sound very sympathetic. ‘Take my advice, Ros, and lose him. You’re on the fast-track to success here and he’s holding you back and sapping your confidence. This is your first opportunity to really prove yourself; it could be the start of something great!’
‘Could be the end of something great, you mean,’ Ros said, quietly.
‘He’s not the only bloke in the world,’ Lenny said cheerfully.
‘He is to me.’
‘Please yourself, but remember, you’re a professional now,’ Lenny warned. ‘You’ve three days in LA so put a smile on your face and knock ’em dead, kiddo.’
Ros hung up and remained slumped on the bed. Bib watched in alarm as all the life – and there hadn’t been much to begin with – drained out of her. For a full half-hour she lay unmoving, while Bib hopped from pad to pad – all six of them – as he tried to think of something that would make her happy. Eventually she moved. He watched her pawing the bed with her hand, then she did a few, half-hearted, lying-down bounces. With great effort of will, Bib summoned his mind-reading skills. Jumping on the bed. Apparently she liked jumping on beds when she went to new places. She and Michael always did it. Well, in the absence of Michael, she’d just have to make do with a good-looking – even if he did say so himself – two-foot eight, six-legged, custard-yellow life-form from planet Duch. Come on, he willed. Up we get. And took her hands, though she couldn’t feel them. To Ros’s astonishment, she found herself clambering to her feet. Then doing a few gentle knee-bends, then bouncing up and down a little, then flicking her feet behind her, then propelling herself ceiling-wards. All the while Bib nodded unseen encouragement. Attagirl, he thought, when she laughed. Cute laugh. Giggly, but not daft-sounding.
Ros wondered what she was doing. Her life was over, yet she was jumping on a bed. She was even enjoying herself, how weird was that?
Now you must eat something, Bib planted in her head. I know how you humans need your regular fuel. Strikes me as a very inefficient way of surviving, but I don’t make the rules.
‘I couldn’t,’ Ros sighed.
You must.
‘OK, then,’ she grumbled, and took a Snickers from the mini-bar.
I meant something a bit more nutritious than that, actually.
But Ros didn’t answer. She was climbing, fully dressed, into bed and in a matter of seconds fell asleep, the half-eaten Snickers beside her on the pillow.
While Ros slept, Bib watched telly with the sound turned off and kept guard over her. He couldn’t figure himself out – his time here was limited, they could find the space-craft at any time so he should be out there cruising, checking out the females, having a good time at somewhere called the Viper Room. Owned by one Johnny Depp, who modelled himself on Bib, no doubt about it. But instead he wanted to remain here with Ros.
She woke at 4 a.m, bolt upright from jetlag and heartbreak. He hated to see her pain, but this time he was powerless to help her. He managed to tune into her wavelength slightly, picking up bits and pieces. There had been a frenzied screaming match with the Michael person, the night before she’d left. Apparently, he hadn’t wanted her to come on this trip. Selfish, he’d called her, that she cared more about her job than she did about him. And Ros had flung back that he was the selfish one, trying to make her choose between him and her job. By all accounts it had been the worst row they’d ever had and it showed every sign of being their last.
Human males, Bib sighed. Cavemen, that’s what they were, with their fragile egos and sense of competition. Why couldn’t they rejoice in the success of their females? As for Bib, he loved a strong, successful woman. It meant he didn’t have to work and – Oi! What was Ros doing, trying to lift that heavy case on her own? She’ll hurt herself!
Puffing and panting, Ros and Bib maneovured her case on to the bed and when she opened it and started sifting through the clothes she’d brought, Bib realized just how distraught she must have been when she’d packed. Earth still had those quaint, old-fashioned things called seasons and, even though the temperature in LA was in the nineties, Ros had brought clothes appropriate for spring, autumn and winter, as well as summer. A furry hat – why on earth had she brought that? And four pairs of pyjamas? For a three-day trip? And now what was she doing?
From a snarl of tights, Ros was tenderly retrieving a photograph. With her small hand she smoothed out the bends and wrinkles and gazed lovingly at it. Bib ambled over for a look – and recoiled in fright. He was never intimidated by other men but he had no choice but to admit that the bloke in the photo was very – and upsettingly – handsome. Not pristine perfect like the wannabe Brads and Toms but rougher and sexier looking. He looked like the kind of bloke who owned a power screwdriver, who could put up shelves, who could stand around an open car-bonnet with six other men and say with authority, ‘No, mate, it’s the alternator, I’m telling ya.’ This, Bib deduced with a nervous swallow, must be Michael.
He had dark, messy curly hair, an unshaven chin and his attractiveness was in no way marred by the small chip from one of his front teeth. The photo had obviously been taken outdoors because a hank of curls had blown across his forehead and half into one of his eyes. Something about the angle of his head and the reluctance of his smile indicated that Michael had been turning away when Ros had clicked the shutter. Real men don’t pose for pictures, his attitude said. Instantly Bib was mortified by his own eagerness to say ‘Cheese’ at any given opportunity. But could he help it if he was astonishingly photogenic?
For a long, long time Ros stared at Michael’s image. When she eventually, reluctantly put the photo down, Bib was appalled to see a single tear glide down her cheek. He rushed to comfort her, but fell back when he realized there was no need because she was getting ready to go to work. Her heart was breaking – he could feel it – but her sense of duty was still intact. His admiration for her grew even more.
Luckily, in amongst all the other stuff she’d brought, Ros had managed to pack a pale grey suit and by the time she was ready to leave for her 8 a.m. meeting she looked extremely convincing. Of course Bib realized she felt like a total fraud, certain she’d be denounced by the Los Angeles company as a charlatan the minute they clapped eyes on her, but apparently that was par for the course in people who’d recently been promoted. It would pass after a while.
Because of her lack of confidence, Bib decided he’d better go with her. So off they went in a taxi to Danger-Chem’s headquarters at Wilshire Boulevard, where Ros was ushered into a conference room full of orange men with big, white teeth. They all squashed Ros’s little hand in their huge, meaty, manicured ones and claimed to be, ‘trully, trully delighted,’ to meet her. Bib ‘trully, trully’ resented the time they spent pawing her and managed to trip one of them. And not just any of them, but their leader – Bib knew he was the leader because he had the orangest face.
Then Bib perked up – a couple of girls had just arrived into the meeting! Initially, he’d thought they were aliens too, although he couldn’t quite place where they might be from.