Don’t You Forget About Me(93)

‘You left me alone in your bedroom! The drawer was half open! It was practically an invitation.’

Rav’s cookie jar.

‘… I thought it was very sweet, very innocent, and that wonderful wry Georgina voice coming through so strongly … I was so infatuated, I wanted to know how you tick. Then I got jealous. Like, who is this rival who you desired more than life itself? Whose touch you craved like a drug?’

I flinch. Who would want anyone reading their callow erotica, much less hearing it repeated on a stage? If Lucas ever found about this show, he would surely work out it’s based on him. The two other performances he’s seen by Robin were about me, after all.

He’s trying to weaken me, and it won’t work.

‘It wasn’t for you. You didn’t ask to read it, you didn’t tell me you had. Please explain when you thought it was OK to share it, and humiliate me in public? I mean, walk me through the thought process?’

‘Right, a few points. No one’s being humiliated. It’s a very tender, very life affirming …’

‘I’d rather affirm your death.’

‘Hah! No, it’s not in any way vicious and your identity is completely concealed in it. I mean the whole thing even plays on whether you exist! Seriously, watch it. Make a judgement after.’ Robin sips more beer and does a palm up that’s that gesture. ‘I did try to meet you and warn you, but you wouldn’t consent.’

‘Yeah, because your campaign has been about getting me to date you again. Nothing about “oh hey, George I’m about to use your diary, any views on that?”’

‘Er well, sugar pie, last time I saw you, you were telling stories about me making a pissed-up idiot of myself in front of your fam. No application for permission was received by me. So who’s using who here, exactly? Looks like we’re doing exactly the same thing.’

I knew he’d say this, and it makes my hands curl into fists.

‘The diary is completely different. What happened at my mum’s house involved both of us, and what happened in my diary happened to me and me alone. This is a transgression of totally different magnitude and nature, and you know it.’

He shrugged, completely indifferent.

‘Seems like I’m in trouble for simply playing this game better.’

Game.

‘Fuck you, Robin. Have you even thought about the context around what you’re using? What might have happened with that boyfriend off the page? What else might have gone on in my life at that time?’

‘Well if he dumped you, he’s the fool, isn’t he?’

Imagine. Imagine being a man, and thinking your approval has such value, that this sort of oily fob-off compliment can stitch a wound this big.

‘You are a disgusting person. Don’t hide behind this light-hearted, carefree bullshit. What you are doing to me is utterly serious and completely unfunny.’

‘Oh, look. You knew who you were involved with. How many girlfriends do you think end up in acts? Loads. Lots. This is what artists do, we cannibalise our lives. We feed on its flesh. You were very into all that until Lou happened. You were quite the fangirl. Look how we met. Tell me this: on the night we met, who was using who? Who dragged who home? You wanted Robin McNee on your score sheet.’

I feel queasy. I’ve learned a lesson: if someone can justify anything they want to do to themselves, they will do anything. What did Lucas say? People with no boundaries are dangerous people.

Robin’s standing up now, brushing the Doritos crumbs off him, preparing to shoo me out.

‘… And I tell you, I could win the Perrier with this. Imagine. You’re too close right now. Years from now, you’ll look back and be so glad of it. It’s a tribute, it’s a love letter. I go on and on about how … mesmerising you are in it, Georgina. I mean, the person who looks a chump in it, is me. You’re the muse. You think Warren Beatty is still bothered that Carly Simon called him vain?’

I try to contain my rage as I know I won’t get him to listen if I go ballistic, but it’s taking every last drop of my self-control.

‘You have no idea who I am. We spent six months going out and you never bothered to find out. You’re using my diary for cheap ridicule, to burnish yourself. You don’t know what’s happened to me, in the past. Or the present. You don’t know the damage or the hurt caused by using what you’ve stolen.’

‘But then do we ever know anyone? I mean the show explores that exact thing. You should come see it! I think once you get past your shyness, you’ll be blown away.’

I’ve been in control up until now, but calling it ‘shyness’ tips me into full blown warlord mode. I slam my hand on the desk, leaning forward, forcing him to take a half step back.

‘You’re not some great, fascinating artist, Robin! You’re a passable comedian trying to elevate himself with bogus sensitive “insights”, pretending to be New Man Caring Dude, when you’re anything but. You’re a selfish twat, posturing as something more interesting than that by using a woman’s words, against her will.’

Robin’s face is all of a sudden, a mask of pained fury.

‘Oh really! Great to have your critical verdict, tavern wench. At least I’ve put myself out there. What have you ever done? Whinged, expected men to help you and coasted on your boobs, that’s what.’