Lucy in the Sky

dried up?’
    ‘I’m afraid so. Do you realise, everywhere I go, everyone I meet, I pester them for crappy jokes?’
    ‘Do you?’ I squeal. ‘Me too!’
    He laughs.
    ‘So, what now?’ I giggle. ‘Is this the end of our relationship?’
    ‘Is that what this is? A relationship?’ he asks.
    ‘Yes.’ I smile. ‘A relationship of sorts.’
    He chuckles, then says, ‘I’ll give you a week to come up with another joke. And it had better be a good one. Otherwise, it’s over, honey.’
     
    That week at work, Mandy calls me into the meeting room. She’s just signed a new client, and wants me to handle the account.
    ‘Ooh, how exciting. What is it this time?’ I’m thinking make-up…handbags…shoes…
    ‘Have you heard of the “Mockah Chockah” song?’
    ‘Er, no.’
    ‘Not even when you went to Spain?’
    ‘I’m afraid not,’ I admit, feeling inadequate.
    She slides a CD and a DVD across the desk to me. I pick up the DVD. The picture on the front cover is of two girls who appear to be in their early twenties–one blonde, one brunette–both with short and spiky haircuts, flanking a camp-looking blond guy in a tight purple T-shirt and bright orange shorts. The girls are wearing pink leotards, purple leg warmers and orange wristbands. We’re talking cheese of Parmesan proportions.
    I look up at Mandy inquisitively.
    ‘Titteesh. A new Russian boy–girl group. Their “Mockah Chockah” song has been sweeping the nightclubs in Europe since early May and now it’s being released here. I want you to do the PR for it. We’re looking for a Number One.’
    ‘Right…’ I answer, still confused. ‘Titteesh? That’s the name of the band?’
    ‘Yes,’ Mandy replies, a hint of a smile forming at the corner of her neatly lip-lined lips. I fight back the urge to dissolve into hysterical laughter.
    ‘Have a listen, watch the DVD, learn the dance—’
    ‘Dance?’ I can’t help but interrupt.
    ‘Yes. It’s a novelty song, Lucy. They always have a dance.’
    Ten minutes later I’m in the small back office watching the television screen through my fingers. Holy shit, this song stinks! And I’ve never seen a dance so ridiculous. I do vaguely remember the tune from Spain, now. I press a button on the DVD remote control and watch it over again, scarcely feeling any better, even as a PR plan starts to evolve in my mind.
    We like a Mockah Chockah
    Show us with your hands
    We like the way you look
    And we love the way you dance
    We like a Mockah Chockah
    Like the way you move
    Like the way you kiss
    And we love the way you groove
    Mockah Chockah hot!
    Mockah Chockah slow
    Mockah Chockah now!
    Go! Go! Go!
    And so on.
    I peep my head out of the door and look over at Gemma andChloe. I really want them to see this and share my pain but Mandy is at her desk in full view.
    ‘You okay, Lucy?’ Mandy calls, eagle eyes never leaving the computer screen in front of her.
    ‘Yes, fine, thanks!’ I turn back to eject the DVD.
    ‘Any ideas?’ She swivels to look at me as I make my way back to my desk.
    ‘A few,’ I respond.
    ‘Good.’ She nods abruptly, before swivelling round again to her computer. I swear she’s trying to keep a straight face.
    Titteesh–I can’t believe that’s their name–are arriving in the UK on Monday for almost two weeks of solid PR. It’s Wednesday now, so I don’t have long if I’m going to formulate a plan that will propel this godawful group and their crappy, crappy song to the top of the charts in just over a fortnight. I hope mankind will forgive me.
    Chloe and Gemma naturally think it’s the funniest thing ever. I can practically hear them thanking their lucky stars that they weren’t chosen to run this campaign. They’re not so jubilant, however, when Mandy calls a team meeting that afternoon and tells them they have to assist me in any way I see fit. I smirk at them across the table with a twinkle in my eye. Maybe this won’t be so torturous after all.
    ‘James, I have to use the DVD player,’ I tell him that night.
    ‘Aw, Lucy, the tennis is on,’ he moans.
    I don’t mind the tennis, actually; it’s better than the cricket any day.
    ‘Sorry, but I must. I have to learn this stupid dance routine.’
    ‘What stupid dance routine?’
    ‘Give me a sec and I’ll show you.’
    A short while afterwards, James is beside himself on the sofa as I swing my arms and kick my legs like a baton-wielding maniac. Without a baton, unfortunately.
    ‘Stop laughing,