Faith also has an MBA and works for a venture capital firm funding post-seed fintech start-ups. (I can’t tell you how long it took for me to remember this verbatim, though I still don’t know exactly what it means, aside from it’s a clever job, that sucks up many of Faith’s hours, finances her aforementioned designer wardrobe, plus some other lovely lifestyle perks to boot.) She’s here today, with all her business smarts, moonlighting as my agent. The arrangement began as a ruse for us to slip Faith into television industry events. That it turned out such events are scarcely as frequent, or as interesting, as one might imagine for the industry, I’m nonetheless grateful for her help. I’ve no idea how to enlist a proper agent to represent me otherwise. Faith is sufficiently financially astute to handle my contractual interests. As she says, who better? What I love most about our friendship is Faith’s ferocious loyalty. She tells me often that I still make her laugh. Sometimes, whether I mean to or not.

‘Are they Jimmy Choo’s?’ Faith stares at my pretty heels that, in the commotion of the last-minute change in menu and me being sick, and then the fight with Jordan, I’ve forgotten to change out of. ‘Gracie, they’re gorgeous! New look for the show?’

Not an outfit of design, the shoes don’t look too silly with my white shirt and black trousers. I’m walking better in these heels already, too

Faith is magnificent in a black pencil skirt that skims her flat tummy and finishes just below her knees, a red silk shirt with tapered chiffon sleeves, flawless sheer tights and sharp-heeled, black suede ankle boots. Her boots are remarkably unweathered, as if, in getting here, Faith floated miraculously over the wet and muck outside. Her winter coat, with a luxurious faux fur collar, is draped neatly over her arm, her treasured black Birkin handbag in hand.

‘Faith, I’m going grey. Today, I found a grey hair.

‘These aren’t all blondes on my head,’ Faith scoffs, unperturbed.

When my laugh is less convivial than it might have been, she asks me, ‘Gracie, what’s up?’

The way my best friend asks isn’t at all how my boyfriend put it to me earlier.

‘Nothing. Everything?’

‘Tell me everything.’

‘I’ll tell you everything after this meeting, Faith. For now, what is our game plan? As my trusted agent, do you have anything up your sleeve? I have crappy ratings and a cancelled sponsorship.’

Faith has been working a deal at her proper, paying job around the clock this week. We haven’t had much time to chat.