Remember My Name. Havana Adams

leather, an oak-coloured Mulberry Bayswater designer handbag. Though she usually had little interest in high fashion, something about this bag had captured Talia’s imagination and she had decided that she would buy herself one, when she received her promotion. That day was today. All her slogging on the story team, all the late nights and early mornings, would finally pay off. Talia thought back to the conversation she’d had last week with her boss.

      “So, Martin’s decided to move to LA and write movies.” Rick had strolled into her office drawling the words with a confident smirk as Talia had paused in her typing to look up at him.

      “What?” she had squealed. “He has a contract.” Rick had smiled then.

      “Don’t worry, he’ll be back. We pay them well, they get too big for their boots, think they’re going to LA to run things.” Rick had snorted. “Martin is very well looked after here, he won’t last in LA for long, being a very small fish writer from England in a very big pond.”

      Talia had nodded. Rick was right but it didn’t solve their immediate predicament. “But what do we do while he finds himself? We’re already a writer short on the core team and we’ve got some major storylines coming up. Martin knows this show better than anyone.”

      “Not better than you,” Rick had fired back at her. Talia looked up at him confused.

      “What do you mean?” she’d finally asked, her heart already racing.

      “I mean that you’re getting what you wanted. As of next week, after your appraisal, you’ll be the newest member of the core writing team.”

      “What!” Talia had spluttered, shocked, even as she was filled with nervous excitement.

      “Tal, you’ve rewritten half the scripts for the last two years and ghosted the other half. You’re a great writer and it’s what you want, isn’t it?” Rick had shot her a challenging look.

      She’d nodded. It was what she wanted, more than anything. Finally she would be a writer, writing on the show that had consumed her life the last few years. “I won’t let you guys down. I promise.”

      Talia leaned back in her chair as the image of the designer handbag disappeared. Today, that conversation would finally be made official. She clicked an icon on the computer screen and watched as the story document loaded up. She tapped in the obligatory password that the screen demanded before she could access the confidential storylines that marked out the next year of stories on the show. Even after four years in which she’d battled her way up the ranks, she still felt a frisson of pride and excitement whenever she typed in her password. She’d always been good at keeping secrets and there was something potent about knowing how stories would play out, how characters loved by the entire country would be doing in one year’s time. Though many had tried, Talia was scrupulous about never giving anything away and eventually her friends had stopped asking for hints or spoilers.

      Within minutes, she was lost in the world of Melanie, Jordan, Eloise and Carlos and the other workers at the Encounters boutique who kept TV audiences spellbound and kept the show at the top of the ratings. These stories, which would be her last as storyliner, promised a bombshell Christmas revelation; she’d definitely saved the best for last. After today, she was heading for the writers’ room. Not merely devising the stories but now actually writing the dialogue, the scripts – the whole nine yards. Talia smiled, imagining her rosy future, and then she gasped, leaping to her feet as she caught sight of the clock. She’d miss her train at this rate.

      She showered quickly, throwing on clothes at breakneck speed. She skipped breakfast and was ready to head out in less than twenty minutes even though her brown hair hung in damp frizzy tendrils around her shoulders and face. It was a bright day and the sun already shone over London, with the weather forecast promising a fine summer’s day. As she passed the hallway mirror, Talia sighed as she caught a glimpse of her deep brown hair, which was already drying in untidy curls around her face; so much for the sleek look she’d hoped to present for the meeting that afternoon. Her eyes darted to the clock; she’d probably miss the train anyway, she might as well take the time to tame her hair. Decision made, Talia allowed her battered workbag, an ageing leather satchel, to drop to the floor and she made her way into her room, grabbing the hairdryer. As she vigorously dried her hair, a man emerged from Nina’s bedroom. Talia was relieved to see that he was dressed; they weren’t always. The man was heading out but he stopped as he spotted Talia through her open bedroom door.

      “Hi,” Talia nodded at him, surprised that she actually recognised him. In the seven months she’d lived with Nina, she’d gained a breezy insouciance in dealing with strange men who never made a repeat appearance but this one, Javier, had been around several times in the last few weeks. If any man could make Nina give up her life of one-night stands, she supposed this was a pretty fine choice. He was tall, around 6ft, she guessed and could very well be in the dictionary next to the description for tall, dark and handsome.

      “Good morning, Talia.” He smiled at her as he spoke, his voice deep with an accented inflexion that hinted at his Cuban roots. “Good party last night?”

      Talia nodded. “I didn’t wake you when I came in, did I?” She felt a moment of guilt; perhaps she’d been less than considerate when she’d tottered in, unsteady in her heels.

      “Of course not. It’s good to have some fun, no?” Javier smiled. “I’ll see you later,” he said as he moved to the front door.

      She watched him go with a small twinge of irritation. Why did everybody think that she didn’t have any fun? She heard the front door open and close and she continued briskly straightening her hair till it framed her face. Digging into her bag, which was heavy with scripts, rehearsal drafts and story documents, Talia pulled out her battered make-up bag, the same one she’d carried for years. Most of the make-up contained in it hadn’t been changed in ages. She dabbed on some foundation and followed that with a dash of bronze eye shadow, an unevenly drawn line of black across her lids and then she pouted into the mirror as she layered a thick gloop of gloss on her lips. Talia smiled at the effect, it was rare for her to take the time to wear make-up and she’d always thought that one day she would like to take a make-up class and learn to apply it properly. After all the sacrifices she’d made to make it as a storyliner and cross over to writing, perhaps now she might get the chance to take that make-up class, or do yoga – maybe she’d finally do all those things she’d been meaning to do the last few years. Talia smiled a rueful smile; she wasn’t fooling herself. She was a workaholic, always had been. Whatever she turned her mind to had always consumed her. She glanced again at her watch; still a few minutes before she had to leave home to catch the next train to the studios. It was a sunny morning and she decided to walk slowly and grab a coffee on the way to the station. Just then Nina’s door opened once again.

      Oomph! Before Talia could say anything she was enveloped in a hug from Nina.

      “Morning, Tal.” Slowly Talia untangled herself from the embrace. She looked into her roommate’s face looking for some sign that might explain this utterly uncharacteristic display of affection.

      “What’s wrong?” she asked. Nina laughed, that deep dirty laugh that wouldn’t be out of place in a smoky club but which in broad daylight always seemed slightly indecent and rather too filthy for company.

      “Silly, nothing’s wrong,” Nina said as she took Talia by the arm and walked her to their open-plan kitchen. “Shall I make you a coffee?” Now Talia was worried, it was almost unheard of for Nina to offer to do anything to help anyone.

      “Sure,” she murmured, even as Nina was already flicking the kettle on and casting around for a mug, looking like a stranger adrift in her own kitchen. Talia watched her with distracted confusion; it wasn’t that she didn’t care about Nina’s dramas, but she really didn’t want to miss her next train. Nina handed her a cup of comically white coffee and Talia sipped it warily, aware that her roommate watched her with what could only be described as a beatific smile on her face.

      “So I have some news,” Nina smiled and suddenly Talia knew. She’d had enough of these conversations, after all. Like bottles