Ten Reasons To Say I Don't (Romantic Comedy)

By Geraldine Fonteroy

'Brilliant & witty' Chicks & Novels Asia and Beyond.

'Different, but a definitely equal to the hilarious 'The Revenge Date'' Author Harriet Blainey

From the author of 'The Revenge Date' comes the story of a girl too quick to say no!

After being dumped by her banker boyfriend, English rose Henri Prime is confident she is finally going to make the big time in NYC. Along with her brother Peter, she is about to sign to a huge radio network to reproduce their daily UK chat show.

Then her dysfunctional brother hijacks the programme with his brand of bawdy humor, and things go from bad to worse for Henri as she finds herself unemployed, living in Queens and in love with a man who doesn't know she exists.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Furrow Imprint
• Release date: Jun 24, 2011
• ISBN: 9781907504204

Book preview

Ten Reasons to Say I Don’t © Geraldine Fonteroy 2011

Published by Furrow Imprint on Smashwords.

"Radio is a medium of entertainment which permits millions of people to

listen to the same joke at the same time, and yet remain lonesome."

TS Eliot.

It's not true I had nothing on, I had the radio on.

Marilyn Monroe.

PROLOGUE

Transcript from the Henri & Pete ‘US’ Show, Blast London Radio. January 15.

HENRI PRIME

So, dear brother, now for your favourite segment of the week.

PETER PRIME

That’s right, Henri. It’s Peter’s Phony Friday Phone Call.

SFX: Sexy whistles.

HENRI PRIME

What’s with the whistles?

PETER PRIME

Today’s phony phone call is to the premier gentlemen of British cinema, Hugh McMann.

HENRI PRIME

And? He’s a serious actor. Two Academy Awards, as I recall.

PETER PRIME

Wait and see, little sis, wait and see.

SFX: Dialing of telephone.

HUGH MCMANN

Hello?

PETER PRIME

Mr McMann, this is Constable Pervis of Scotland Yard.

HUGH MCMANN

Yes?

PETER PRIME

We need you to come down to Victoria Police Station to confirm a person we are holding in our cells is your wife Cordelia.

HUGH MCMANN

My wife? Why would you be holding my wife?

PETER PRIME

Well, sir, I’m sorry to have to tell you she was arrested an hour ago for solicitation outside Victoria Tube Station. Dressed in a rather unflattering and revealing outfit, I must say.

HUGH MCMANN

Cordelia was doing what? Oh, oh, God, no. Oh, er, I, my heart . . . (Line cuts off).

PETER PRIME

Where did he go? Did you lose him? Did he hang up? I haven’t finished.

HENRI PRIME

I think we’re both finished.

CHAPTER ONE

‘ANNOYING EVIL PRAT,’ HENRI Prime stared worriedly at the expanse of stone paving in front of the huge MNC Broadcasting building in Manhattan and promised that this time she would take the nearest sharp object available and plunge it deep into her older brother’s heart.

‘Chill, babe,’ he’d told her, only five minutes ago. ‘There’s a flight early in the a.m. I won’t miss your precious meeting.’

‘Our precious meeting,’ she had reminded him. ‘This is our big chance, remember?’

A guy standing nearby with briefcase and laptop observed her with keen interest. The only criticism ever leveled at Henri concerned her weight – she was far too skinny for a girl of her height – but Henri never felt hungry (in direct contrast to her portly brother, who never seemed full). But at five seven, with (artificially) wavy honey-brown hair that fell to the small of her back, and a slim build that she dressed had sedately that day in grey tailored trousers, navy jacket and white tee with a jaunty chintz scarf for a touch of glamour, Henri often attracted the attention of men.

Until they discovered she wasn’t that sort of girl.

Then, the average man ran a mile.

‘Life throws lots of things at you, sis. You need to go with the flow.’

‘Death, Peter. Death is your future, if you don’t appear at MNC in time for the audition.’

She didn’t even want him in on this New York deal, but Mother had insisted. ‘You can’t just abandon him, after all he has been through.’ The fact that Peter had lost them their last show in spectacular fashion seemed not to have crossed her mind. But Henri, being the dutiful daughter and not wanting to upset anyone, had included Peter in the offer to MNC.

And look where it had got her!

‘You need to get laid, you know. That might relax you.’

Don’t speak to me about sex, Henri thought. It just reminded her of her ex – Rodney Smith – aka the Bastard Who Doesn’t Believe in Marriage Before Or After Sex.

‘Going against my personal beliefs is going to relax me? I doubt it.’

‘Not normal, being a virgin at twenty-six. And our parents are atheists.’ He put on his best Godfather voice: ‘Don’t go against da family, Henri. Get shaggin’ now!’

‘It’s not about religion. It’s what I feel is right. And what’s not normal, Peter, is that we have the opportunity to get the ‘Us Show’ syndicated across the U.S., and you are wasting time and energy worrying about my love life.’

‘Not a life, without sex. Just an existence. A rather pathetic one at that.’

Her brother was the male version of a total and utter slut. Egged on by their father from a young age, Peter had been chasing girls since before he could walk. A legendary tale amongst the males in the Prime family said that Peter’s tenacious clinging to female skirts as a toddler was just a sneaky way to look up female relatives’ skirts.

And to this day he asserts that their great Aunt Sylvia was one of the first proponents of the crotchless panty.

‘Just get here, okay. If we don’t get this job, we’re done for. Without an income, we can’t afford our flat, and you know what that means?’

‘No way. Not moving back in with the parentals. Bad enough for my street cred to be shacked up with my sister in North London.’

‘You are from Hampstead, remember? You can drop the tough guy act. And if we get this job, we can move to Manhattan and rent the flat out, start paying it off.’

Peter low whistled into the phone: ‘And so begins Peter Prime’s U.S. journey, tentatively titled: American Pussy.’

‘You have to get the job first, which means you have to get here. So go to Heathrow, and get on a plane. Now!’

‘Hey, we are the Donny and Marie of UK radio. They’re gonna love us.’

Henri hoped so. Because if she had to go back and face her bastard ex, she might actually commit violent fratricide.

In spite of growing up with a mother who was a major supporter of the peace movement.

Putting down the phone in London, Peter Prime stared at the unfortunate reflection in the wardrobe mirror and wondered again, for the millionth time, why he should board that friggin’ plane to JFK.

Why not end it all now? Life was pointless. A few good moments in amongst a whole load of crap.

The depression he’d suffered as a kid and its return with force a few years ago were a secret that no one really knew the half of.

He’d considered various suicide options over the years, but as his size ballooned, his favorite became exhaust fumes and a car.

When he’d lost them the gig in London earlier in the year, he’d tried to do it, but the hose had come unstuck and by the time he got his parents’ house to himself to try again, Henri had told him about the new job, and he didn’t want to let his sister down.

But he didn’t want to fail her either.

Why did he do the things he did, then?

Why wasn’t he on a plane to New York yet?

Those were questions he couldn’t really answer.

He picked up the phone and dialed a familiar number.

A nice stuffed-crust Hawaiian pizza for the road, that’s what was needed. It was amazing how much better one felt after a massive infusion of cheese and dough.

‘I’ll check flight times after my snack,’ Peter promised the empty flat.

It was 10:20 the next morning, and the meeting had begun 20 minutes earlier.

The three executives from MNC and Henri sat in silence on the top floor of the corporation’s New York headquarters.

Finally, after looking pointedly at his watch at least 40 times, Carson Abramson, Managing Director of Radio Programming, stood up.

‘I’m sorry, Ms Prime, but we really need to get down to the studio. We’ve only got 60 minutes for the test show, and we can’t miss our slot.’

‘But we haven’t discussed the show, yet.’ Henri had her eyes locked on the glass doors to the office, willing them to open and reveal her errant and irresponsible brother.

Death, Peter. Death.

‘As we said, we want something that will be addictive. Radio continues to lose listeners and what we want for a syndicated programme is something that is going to get listeners checking their clocks to make sure they don’t miss it.’

One of his underlings, the Deputy Head of Programming for MNC, a bristling but attractive blonde called Eva Claire, snorted rudely. ‘At this rate, the presenters will miss it. Let alone the listeners.’

The other exec, a fifty-something accountant named Barry Toire, noted that the advertisers they had lined up for the special show were going to be underwhelmed if the show didn’t go on.

‘It will,’ Henri told him. ‘I promise you, he will be–’

‘Here! Here I am.’ Peter breezed in to the room, larger than life. Which, given his six foot two, 80 kilo frame, was about the most accurate description one could give of him.

Henri breathed a huge sigh of relief, and stared daggers at her brother.

‘Peter Prime, pleased to meet you.’ Peter pressed palms and chucked shoulders with an abandon usually reserved for lapdancers or his bookie.

‘Only ten minutes until you’re on air,’ Carson Abramson told him. ‘I hope you took on board the changes to the programme we discussed. After all, that Phony Phone Call segment was quite literally a killer.’

Was he joking? As far as Henri knew, poor Hugh McMann had thankfully survived the heart attack Peter had induced by insinuating his wife was a prostitute. Hadn’t he?

Peter and Henri glanced at each other. They had hardly discussed changes, because there had been so little time. Obviously, the phone call stuff was out.

Carson kept talking. ‘After all, we can’t keep the rest of your current format, dull, dull, dull.’

The suits clucked in agreement at the statement from Ms Claire.

Henri was horrified. Can’t keep the current format? But that was all they had.

Peter tried to fill the breach. ‘Absolutely. We’ve added more in-depth interviews, a great segment on the Atlantic divide, and there’s this Cockney lady from UK telly who does a hilarious bit about cleaning.’

All standard stuff they wanted to incorporate into the UK show.

Before it was axed.

But the three executives stared at them in horror.

Then Eva Claire began laughing. ‘Oh, he’s joking. That’s funny. Cleaning. For our twenty-something demographic!’

The other two male execs joined in.

‘They still live at home,’ the accountant was hiccupping with the humor of it. ‘They couldn’t give a shit about cleaning.’

Jeez, thought Henri. It’s not that funny, is it?

‘See.’ Abramson boasted. ‘I told you they were hilarious.’

Henri and Peter looked at each other in confusion.

‘What the fuck are they on about?’ whispered Peter.

‘Not sure, but I have the sinking feeling that our great new show has just been slated.’

‘Well, let’s get this thing started, then.’ Carson Abramson held the lift as they filed in.

As they were rushed down ten floors to the main radio broadcast studio, Peter and Henri realized that their great new life in America was in danger of derailing at the first crossroad.

Settling in to the unfamiliar studio and