Matilda: Dad finally found someone to rent the spare room to…

Michelle: Those dots look ominous. Anyone I know? God, it’s not Larry with the big nose, is it? We put a stop to the whole friends with benefits thing a while back. He got clingy.

I go on Google for a second to search for images of Jay. As it happens, there are quite a few. The best one is of him standing on a stage in Vegas wearing jeans and a Sex Pistols T-shirt, the gun show well on display. I save it to my phone and then send it so Michelle.

Matilda: Him.

Michelle: OMFG! You’re joking me!

Matilda: No joke.

Michelle: I read about him in the news last week. So hot. I refuse to believe anyone that good looking could be evil.

Matilda: Eh, Justin Bieber?

Michelle: Bieber doesn’t count. He’s more like a semi-pretty lesbian.

Matilda: Thanks for that. Now I’m creeped out. Jay seems like a nice guy, though. You know the press is full of lies.

Michelle: Yeah, you’re right. But how did this come about?

Matilda: He came to the office looking for a solicitor and left with a landlord instead.

Michelle: Lol. Funny how often that happens. So, when can I come over and meet him? I’ll be all like, TOLO come over here and impregnate me with your sexy magician babies.

Matilda: TOLO…?

Michelle: Tits out, legs open.

Matilda: Okay. Sorry I asked.

Michelle: Seriously, I want to meet him. I promise I’ll behave.

Matilda: I believe that about as much as I believed Crossing Over with John Edwards.

Michelle: Hey, that was a good night out!

Matilda: Biggest waste of sixty euros I ever spent.

Michelle: Such a sceptic. Please let me meet him? I’ve never met anyone famous before.

Matilda: Famous is stretching it a little, but okay. I’ll ask if he wants to come for drinks with us on Friday.

Friday is mine and Michelle’s regular night out. It usually ends with her going off with some lucky fellow and me going home alone. Unsurprisingly, I’ve never managed to perfect the art of the one-night stand. I should invite her to this whole casino thing tomorrow, but selfishly I kind of want to keep Jay to myself for a while.

Michelle: Yay! Now I just need to figure out what to wear.

Matilda: Lol. Wear the black Chanel dress. That’s always a winner.

Michelle: I will. You never steer me wrong.

Matilda: Sleep tight. Talk to you tomorrow.

Michelle: You too. Xxx.

As I go to shut down the search page, I notice a link to a YouTube video, and I can’t help but to let my clicky finger do the walking. The title to the video is “Jay Fields: Freaking people out, making people hate him, and making people love him.” Bit of a mouthful.

I press “play,” and it goes to a street scene, a shopping district in Boston. Someone’s walking behind Jay, filming him as he strolls down the street in beige chinos and a grey T-shirt that shows off his tats. He’s got this confident swagger that gives me tingles in my chest. He’s one of those people that you can’t tell if you want to be with him or you just want to be him.

Two women approach, chatting and carrying shopping bags. They don’t notice him until he walks by them with one of those big takeaway Cokes. He knocks into the blonde by mistake, spilling the brown liquid all over her white top.

“Oh, Jesus, I’m so sorry,” says Jay as the woman gasps and gives him a death look.

“Fucking hell!” she exclaims as her friend stares on in surprise.

“I said I’m sorry. Hey, I can fix this, just give me a sec,” he says, and then starts circling his hand over the stain. The two women eye him like he’s a lunatic, and the camera zooms in on her top. Quite miraculously, the brown stain begins to shrink until it’s completely disappeared, like he drained it from the fabric by sheer force of will.

“What the….” the blonde breathes, staring at her previously destroyed garment, which is now as good as new.

Her friend has a big smile on her face as she spots the person with the camera behind Jay. “How did you do that? Come on, tell us! Are you guys filming for a show?”

The video cuts to another scene, this one inside a nightclub. It pans over crowds of people on the dance floor, above which is a massive screen flashing dozens of coloured lights. An epileptic’s nightmare. Jay walks through the crowd and approaches a girl with short red hair wearing a silver top. He’s got a deck of cards in his hands, doing this fancy shuffle that sends them sailing through the air from one hand into the other. People eye him up as he walks by, the women in particular.

He holds out the deck to the girl. “Pick a card.”

“What?” she shouts over the music.

“Go on, pick a card, but make sure you don’t let me see it.”

The girl looks slightly confused. “Oh, okay.” She picks a card and looks at it. Jay hands her a Sharpie.

“I want you to write down the names of your favourite song, your favourite colour, and your favourite animal.”

She nods, thinking for a second before scribbling onto the card, then looks up. “What now?”

“Put it in your pocket.”

Sliding it into her tight hot pants, she giggles and asks, “Is this some kind of magic trick?”

Jay steps closer to her and grins. “I bet I can guess what card you’ve got.”

The girl beams. “No way. There’s no way you could know.”

He eyes her, like he’s thinking really hard about it. “Eight of diamonds.”

Her smile grows wide with triumph. “Nope.”

“Shoot! How about queen of hearts?”

“Wrong again. I think you should buy me a drink.”

Jay steps back and rubs either side of his forehead. “Nah, nah, wait. I can do this.” He pauses and looks up, then points at the screen behind them, now displaying a gigantic, flashing two of clubs.

“Hey…is that your card?”

“Oh, my God!” the girl squeals as she turns around.

The music playing stops midway through a song, switching over to “Single Ladies” by Beyoncé.

“No way!”

“What?” Jay asks.

“This is the song I wrote down!”

That’s her favourite song? Talk about crap taste.

“It is?”

“Yes! How did you know?”

“Lucky guess.” He grins. “But hold your horses. I still gotta figure out your favourite colour and animal.”

All of a sudden every light in the place turns purple, and the two of clubs vanishes from the big screen, being replaced with the outline of a turtle. The redhead stares in awe.

“Fuck,” she gasps.

“Did I guess right?” Jay asks. “Let me see your card so I can check.”

Slack-jawed, the girl reaches inside her pocket but comes up empty. Her brow furrows. “It’s gone.” She looks around as though checking to see if anyone could have gotten close enough to steal it.

“Wait a sec, what’s that?” says Jay, pointing in the direction of the screen again, a good fifteen feet away. The camera follows. It’s flashing trippy colours like before, but right in the centre it looks like there’s something stuck to it. The girl squints at the screen, shaking her head and laughing like she doesn’t believe it.

“Fuck off, that can’t be my card.”

“Go get it and see,” Jay replies, gesturing for her to go forward.

After hesitating for only a moment, the girl starts to walk through the club. She climbs onto the stage where the DJ’s booth is and goes to the screen, grabbing the card that’s been stuck to it. She stares down at it in her hand as she walks back, her mouth open in disbelief.

“It’s my card,” she says, lifting it up to the camera to show her writing. There in a list it reads: Beyoncé “Single Ladies,” purple, and turtle. “I’m freaking out right now,” she goes on, running her hand through her hair.