Lindsey Kelk 8-Book ‘I Heart’ Collection: I Heart New York, I Heart Hollywood, I Heart Paris, I Heart Vegas, I Heart London, I Heart Christmas, I Heart Forever, I Heart Hawaii

Lindsey Kelk 8-Book ‘I Heart’ Collection: I Heart New York, I Heart Hollywood, I Heart Paris, I Heart Vegas, I Heart London, I Heart Christmas, I Heart Forever, I Heart Hawaii Lindsey Kelk Run away to New York with the complete I Heart collection! Contains: I Heart New York, I Heart Hollywood, I Heart Paris, I Heart Vegas, I Heart London, I Heart Christmas, I Heart Forever and I Heart Hawaii Join Angela, Jenny, Alex and the gang in the complete collection of the I Heart novels. From New York to Hawaii, it’s never too late to fall in love with I Heart, the much-loved series which has now sold over 1 million copies! I HEART 8-BOOK COLLECTION I Heart New YorkI Heart HollywoodI Heart ParisI Heart VegasI Heart LondonI Heart ChristmasI Heart ForeverI Heart Hawaii Lindsey Kelk Copyright (#ulink_e49941b4-63e3-5aef-8183-23a64a4fbe1e) Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 1 London Bridge Street London, SE1 9GF www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk) First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012, 2013, 2014, 2017, 2019 Copyright © Lindsey Kelk 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012, 2013, 2014, 2017, 2019 Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2019 TBC Lindsey Kelk asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work. A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library. This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins. Source ISBN: 9780007331604, 9780007353163, 9780007368679, 9780007383450, 9780007383733, 9780007501526, 9780008236830, 9780008236878 Ebook Edition © September 2019 ISBN: 9780008373177 Version: 2019-07-17 Contents Title Page (#uc54e05eb-2f02-5b64-9790-be2e05a3dd5d) Copyright (#ubdb2f3f2-bfc7-5f41-aa3f-d952f2aee2d3) I Heart New York (#u0237462f-10bf-504e-a6d1-3c1b03c30460) Chapter One (#uff0f3f69-4f65-5834-a8b6-08c40d5ab868) Chapter Two (#u032e4f73-e0df-55f6-bd9d-40cade6fe10b) Chapter Three (#uae9da533-f8d5-588d-9dea-8d1e68512c7a) Chapter Four (#ucb88fce3-7230-567f-bd67-526051da5303) Chapter Five (#ub6a10bad-7c12-559d-9221-81d739097a23) Chapter Six (#u38130fc7-fd7f-51de-b324-a6347fbd6f37) Chapter Seven (#u261c9a11-c621-569b-a88e-2b1a587e04a0) Chapter Eight (#ud0ec4312-f95d-574d-876b-aea3208b9353) Chapter Nine (#u61862fd3-a9e6-5647-b072-32104c710aa3) Chapter Ten (#u399e2097-d713-572c-a4c9-0553293d9238) Chapter Eleven (#ufa4a2199-c88a-5ad8-82a5-24eb90afae0f) Chapter Twelve (#u20f84b4d-ff9b-5e4f-977b-b677097dbf73) Chapter Thirteen (#u8c86c0ef-3c9f-5757-b7d4-28641c4f9db4) Chapter Fourteen (#ucfe389d9-b275-5bab-82f4-f1bfa82953bb) Chapter Fifteen (#u63975f1d-2486-5f89-b06d-964a28446e32) Chapter Sixteen (#ud9db7f8c-9115-51b1-8ee9-1f15fd904c7d) Chapter Seventeen (#u17d5ab36-58b0-5e2e-8ced-0fe49830bbdf) Chapter Eighteen (#u8d02c2ac-10d8-52f7-8f83-1ba9c94b3e5f) Chapter Nineteen (#ud3ed8d31-c638-55e2-9f8c-8ed6b3bcbf96) Chapter Twenty (#ub55a263f-ced9-541c-98ab-d67365a6e78b) Chapter Twenty-One (#ude32496d-d96b-531c-a23e-a70ff2f8c229) Chapter Twenty-Two (#u294c62dd-19fe-56ab-a66b-e51f225294e8) Chapter Twenty-Three (#u4d8bb71c-91aa-5a61-b32c-2671b31260e3) Epilogue (#u62ccb04b-7d1e-58e5-a422-394b9c3fd836) Angela’s Guide to NYC (#uc9238a16-1556-5f9d-a85a-c86fd1ed6fc3) I Heart Hollywood (#uc3bef998-8519-517a-9a7e-67a5b2edeeb3) Chapter One (#u55864131-1742-5205-b3b2-d99a797a43ec) Chapter Two (#ueeacedbe-c767-51fe-9713-c8d050614334) Chapter Three (#ubeaa3596-f13f-561e-bcd4-614139582fa5) Chapter Four (#uc68e38eb-2212-56c3-bf65-6d9eaa4bae2f) Chapter Five (#u6d13bd17-bd36-513a-b3cd-129ef6ea9bf1) Chapter Six (#u4e2d041b-fd71-5601-a1a2-f582d83ac069) Chapter Seven (#u39c1ef4e-8e7c-5d7a-96d7-9114a87035c1) Chapter Eight (#u98031e8b-5c7a-55d6-848c-aad65e7ab09f) Chapter Nine (#u0ee82c0d-6bd5-53ed-85e8-90945cccf11f) Chapter Ten (#u94c7e4fc-4394-50e4-9b63-980f5373429e) Chapter Eleven (#u4ecbad30-3537-5b32-845d-34a95277f70e) Chapter Twelve (#u320f1402-7e95-5eb3-b591-527b50d3c590) Chapter Thirteen (#u78e513b8-2bdb-591b-a5ee-7db49c61873e) Chapter Fourteen (#u7ef6cf3a-50b3-50a8-83f4-91ea18feb71b) Chapter Fifteen (#u4d6e21dc-30f9-53d6-9bbb-45fd2d6eabab) Chapter Sixteen (#ubc2dd784-3b41-5259-aaf4-4fc9b5d3f0f5) Chapter Seventeen (#u9ace10e2-ee92-59c2-99a4-5540d7e64e03) Chapter Eighteen (#uab7fbde0-3da8-5dab-b431-e050fcfe8432) Angela’s Guide to LA (#litres_trial_promo) I Heart Paris (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter One (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Two (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Three (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo) Angela’s Guide to Paris (#litres_trial_promo) I Heart Vegas (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter One (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Two (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Three (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo) Angela’s Guide to Vegas (#litres_trial_promo) I Heart London (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter One (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Two (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Three (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo) Angela’s Guide to London (#litres_trial_promo) I Heart Christmas (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter One (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Two (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Three (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo) Angela’s Guide to Christmas (#litres_trial_promo) I Heart Forever (#litres_trial_promo) Prologue (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter One (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Two (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Three (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo) Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo) I Heart Your Questions! (#litres_trial_promo) I Heart Hawaii Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-One Chapter Twenty-Two Chapter Twenty-Three Chapter Twenty-Four Chapter Twenty-Five Epilogue Acknowledgements Q&A with Lindsey (#litres_trial_promo) If you loved the I Heart series, read on … (#litres_trial_promo) About the Author (#litres_trial_promo) Also by Lindsey Kelk (#litres_trial_promo) About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo) I HEART NEW YORK (#ulink_81023f88-97cf-545c-9113-57913900a9ac) CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_3f341052-e06d-57f5-887b-1b7204552aef) The aisle looks really, really long. And my tiara feels so tight. Can you put weight on around your head? Have I got muffin top on my scalp? And my shoes really hurt. No matter how beautiful or how expensive they might be; the balls of my feet feel as if they’ve been up and down a cheese grater and then dipped in TCP. I saw Mark standing at the end of the aisle, looking relaxed and happy. Well, I suppose he doesn’t have to walk down it in four-inch Christian Louboutins and a fishtail floor-length gown. You can’t even see the bloody shoes, Angela, I chide myself. Not even the tip of the toe. And now my hands feel sweaty. Do I have sweat patches? I tried to sneak a peak under my arms without dislodging anything important from my bouquet. ‘Angela? Are you all right?’ Louisa frowned at me, a picture of perfection, calm as anything, immaculate make-up and not teetering a touch. And her heels are higher than mine. ‘Uh-huh,’ I replied, as eloquent as ever. Thank God it’s her wedding and not mine. And please God, while I’m at it, could you not let Mark focus on what a shoddy bridesmaid I’m turning out to be, just in case it puts him off setting our date. Seriously though, sweat patches would show horribly, the dress is a light coffee colour, specially selected to make me look sick as a dog. I stumbled down the aisle behind Louisa, with a small smile for my mum and dad, looking appropriately happy whilst acknowledging the solemnity of the occasion. I really hope that’s how I look, anyway. There is a good chance I look as if I am wondering whether or not I’ve left my hair straighteners on. Shit! What if I have left my hair straighteners on? I’m always struck by how short wedding ceremonies are. The months of engagement, hours of planning, a whole weekend for the hen do even, and the lifelong deal was done inside twenty minutes and a couple of hymns. Even the photos took longer than the actual service. ‘I can’t believe I’m married!’ Louisa breathed. We’d got to the not-at-all cheesy bride and head bridesmaid smiling by a fountain section. Oh dear. The poses came naturally, we’d been practising them with each other since we were old enough to hang pillowcases off the back of our heads, after all. ‘Angela, can you believe it?’ ‘Of course I can,’ I said, squeezing her closely to me, ignoring the photographer’s direction. ‘You and Tim have been practically married since you were fourteen.’ We switched positions and paused to smile. Click, flash. ‘It’s just unreal, you know?’ She flicked a soft blonde curl over her shoulder and patted a stray light brown hair back into my chignon. ‘It’s really absolutely happened.’ Click, flash. ‘Well, get ready,’ I said through a pearly smile. ‘It’ll be me and Mark next and you’ll be the one in the bridesmaid dress.’ ‘Have you talked any more about setting a date?’ Louisa asked, fussing with the puddle train behind her. Was I supposed to be doing that? ‘Not really,’ I shook my head. ‘I mean, we talked about it all the time when you two finally set a date, but since Mark got promoted we’ve hardly had time to blink. You know how it is.’ Louisa waved the photographer away for a moment. ‘Mmm. I just mean, do you think you’ll definitely get married? To Mark, I mean?’ Click, flash – not a good one. I had to hold my hands to my eyes to get a proper look at Louisa. The August sun lit her from behind, obscuring her face and highlighting a halo of wispy blonde curls. ‘Of course,’ I said. ‘We’re engaged aren’t we?’ She sighed and shook her head. ‘Yeah, I just worry about you sweetness. With the wedding and stuff I feel like we haven’t really talked about you and Mark in ages.’ ‘There’s nothing new to tell you. You probably see him more than I do. At least you get your tennis time every single week.’ ‘I tried to get you to take up doubles,’ she muttered, messing with her hem again. ‘I just want you to be as happy as I am right now. Oh, that’s so patronizing, sorry. You know what I mean babe, just, be happy.’ ‘I am happy,’ I reassured her, taking her hand and closing in on the dress for a scaffolded hug. ‘I am really happy.’ Just after the speeches had finished but a little bit before the dancing began, I finally managed to escape to the loo. The reception was being held in a converted barn, that only had two ladies’ cubicles, neither of which were big enough to turn around in, so I had escaped up to our room. I looked around at my scattered belongings. I carried my life in my massive, battered handbag – laptop, iPod, phone, a couple of knackered old books. Bits of make-up and scraps of clothes were strewn all over the room, contrasting with Mark’s carefully organized suitcase. A place for everything and everything in its place, even in a hotel. I was happy, I thought to myself, flopping down on the bed and idly flicking the pages of one of my books with my toes. I had a fun job that was flexible, I had Louisa, the best friend in the world, and I’d lost twenty pounds for this wedding, which had put me comfortably in the size twelve bridesmaid dress. I could even convince myself (if no one else) that a ten might have been a better fit. I wasn’t horrible to look at, long, light brown hair, greeny-blue eyes and since I dropped the extra weight, I’d discovered a pair of fairly impressive cheekbones. And I had Mark. Who wouldn’t love a good-looking, up-and-coming banker boyfriend? He should think himself lucky, I tried to convince myself. Yes, he’s got all his own hair, no hereditary diseases, a city banker salary, car and a mortgage, but I’d been attending horribly humiliating weight loss classes for the last six months (it wasn’t the weigh-ins that broke you, they were fine, it was the team leader who moonlighted as a dog trainer), I could cook and I cleaned the bathroom every Sunday without being asked. So no, sainthood didn’t beckon, but I wasn’t an awful girlfriend and we’d been together for ever, since we were sixteen. Ten years. But Louisa’s words bothered me a little bit. Was I happy? Maybe more content than bouncing-off-the-sofa-like-Tom-Cruise-ecstatic, but that’s still happy isn’t it? I looked at my engagement ring. Classic solitaire. Not huge or flashy trashy, but not magnifying glass necessitating tiny. Mark had bought it with his first pay cheque and presented it to me on a holiday to Seville, post-pony and trap ride and pre-lovely sex back at our hotel room. It had seemed horribly romantic at the time, but now it just seemed a horribly long time ago. Shouldn’t he be pushing me for a date? Just a little? ‘Don’t be silly,’ I said out loud to my confused reflection. Louisa was probably just getting in front of herself, she was married now after all, I just hadn’t expected her smug-married neuroses to kick in before she’d even got out of the church. There was nothing wrong with me and Mark. Ten years of nothing wrong, why would I worry? I tried to slip my beautiful, beautiful heels back on but my left foot seemed to have gained ten of my twenty lost pounds. After five fruitless minutes of searching the suite for my standby flats, I accepted that my shoe bag hadn’t made it out of the car. Which meant I would have to brave the drunken uncles, the dancing children high on wedding cake (I had seen balloons too – they were armed) and go to the car park. CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_300fded8-a4d2-522c-a8de-da58729cc743) Tiptoeing barefoot, Louboutins in hand, I searched for the car. Over in a dark corner, hidden beneath beautiful weeping willows was Mark’s Range Rover. When he had bought it six months before, Louisa had taken it as a direct sign that he was ready for kids. I saw it as a direct sign that he was not ever going to let me drive it on my own. So far, I’d been the one proven right. Scrambling around in my handbag for the spare keys, I noticed that the reading light was on in the back. I smiled to myself, knowing Mark would be so happy that I had come out and saved his battery. Pressing the button to turn off the alarm, instead of the reassuring double pip, I was greeted by a loud siren and flashing indicators. Which was when I realized someone was inside the car. Shit, our car was being stolen and here I was, hobbling barefoot over gravel with a pair of ?400 shoes in one hand and wearing a floor length gown. And I’d just set the alarm off. Brilliant. The car thieves were definitely going to kill me. If I was murdered at Louisa’s wedding, she would be furious. All her anniversaries would be ruined. Would she still go on her honeymoon? Maybe I could use my heels as a weapon. Well, maybe not, I didn’t want to stain them. But the soles were already red … I was all ready to turn and hightail it out of the headlines when I remembered my shoes. They could take Mark’s car but, damn it, they weren’t taking my fallback flats. Two-year-old Topshop maybe but they were the comfiest damn shoes I’d ever owned. I pulled open the back door to confront the thief before I bottled it. And then, in a startling moment of clarity, I realized there wasn’t a man trying to steal the car or my shoes, but two people, very much having sex on the back seat. And one of them was Mark. ‘Angela,’ he stuttered, his red sweaty face staring out at me, indentations from my Hello Kitty seatbelt protectors on his left cheek. He wouldn’t let me put them in the front. It took me another moment to register the naked woman underneath him. She looked at me, frozen underneath Mark, with smudged mascara and a red chin from Mark’s omnipresent five o’clock shadow. I didn’t recognize her at all, blonde, pretty, looked fairly skinny from what I could see of her bony shoulders, and she had a lovely tan. A peacock blue silk dress scrunched up on the parcel shelf suggested she had been at the wedding reception, and the beautiful pair of silver Gina sandals clamped around my boyfriend’s waist told me I really should have spotted her earlier. I did love a nicely turned shoe. ‘I came to get my flats,’ I said, numb, not moving. I stumbled backwards as Mark pulled himself out of the car on his belly and dropped to the floor in front of me, his boxer shorts working themselves further back down his legs as his sweaty skin peeled away from the leather. ‘Angela,’ Mark stood up, he pulled his pants up high, and wriggled into his shirt. I looked past him into the car. The girl had managed to get her dress on and was rubbing under her eyes to try to get rid of the mascara. Good luck, I thought, if it’s as good a quality as your shoes you won’t get that off by rubbing. Shoes still looked great though. Bitch. ‘Angela,’ he tried again snapping me out of my shoe-induced haze. ‘I – what are you doing out here?’ I looked back at him. ‘Shoes,’ I said, waving my sandals at him and gesturing towards the car. ‘You didn’t bring my flats in.’ He stared at me wildly, glancing from me to my high heels and then back at the car. Slowly, as though I were a startled animal that might bolt, he took a step back towards the backseat and reached under the passenger seat for a small cloth shoe bag. He held it out to me, afraid to touch me, afraid to make contact. ‘Thanks.’ I took the bag. Mark stood, bathed in the backseat light, red, sweaty, trousers off, socks and shoes on with a little wet patch growing on the front of his boxers to add insult to injury. ‘What the fuck are you doing?’ I asked. Incredibly eloquently. ‘Angela,’ Mark shuffled forward half an inch. ‘And who, the fuck, is she?’ I asked, pointing to the girl with my left Louboutin, still in my hand. The girl looked away, trapped in the back of the car. ‘Angela,’ he stuttered, retreating from the perfectly pointed toe aimed at his temple. ‘No, I’m Angela. I can see how you might be confused though,’ I said, feeling my eyes starting to well up. My boyfriend was having sex in the back of our car, our beautiful future children’s car, at our best friends’ wedding. I was not going to cry in front of him while he pissed away ten years together on a cheap shag in a car park. ‘Angela, this is Katie. I, erm, I—’ he looked back again and met her eyes briefly and I swear I saw a hint of a goofy smile cross his goddamned face. It was the most painful moment of the whole thing. ‘We, well, we’ve been playing tennis together, and, well—’ ‘This is what you think playing tennis is? Shit, does Louisa know you’ve been “playing tennis” with Tim?’ I wanted to hit him, I wanted to hit her, and just as I was about to toss a coin to see who was getting it first, I realized. ‘You haven’t been playing tennis with Tim,’ I said. ‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘And you haven’t been working late.’ It was all making a horrible sort of sense. ‘No.’ He sighed, his shoulders dropping with acceptance. ‘Does Tim know?’ I asked. ‘Yes.’ I didn’t even look up. ‘And Louisa knows?’ I gripped my heels tightly and was vaguely aware of a buckle cutting into the flesh of my palm. ‘I think so.’ He nodded. ‘I mean, well, we do play tennis sometimes. Doubles. I – I’m not sure though.’ Was I happy? Louisa had wanted to know if I knew. ‘You’ve all been playing doubles together?’ I gulped, trying not to be sick. He looked at me, eyebrows raised, breath caught in his throat. ‘Angela, don’t,’ he put a hand out towards my forearm. ‘Don’t you dare!’ I said, feeling the bile rise in my throat and pulling my arm away. ‘Don’t you dare touch me.’ Heel raised high above my head, I saw for a second how easy it would be. He was frozen and she was trapped in the back seat and Louboutins are beautifully made, I’m fairly sure they would do two skulls without breaking. But, instead of seeing two bloody corpses, all I could see was Tim and Louisa laughing hysterically in their tennis whites after a game of doubles with Mark and Katie. While I sat at home, tapping away on my laptop, not eating and waiting for my cheating, lying, scumbag boyfriend. Potential murder weapon in hand, I turned on my heel and started back across the car park. Mark was still pitifully calling my name as I charged through the French doors and across the dance floor, cutting a swathe through the tiny bridesmaids dancing to the poptastic disco. Tim and Louisa were standing by the dance floor cradling champagne, waiting for the DJ to announce their first dance, when Louisa saw me. ‘Angela,’ she said as I ploughed to a stop in front of them. Right away, I knew she knew. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ I shouted. All concern for ruining her wedding was long gone. I had been completely betrayed by the people I trusted most in the world. ‘Angela, I – why don’t we —’ Tim reached out and placed his hand on my forearm. Before I knew what I was doing, I snatched my arm away and cracked his knuckles with my shoe. ‘Will you stop saying my name like it’s a bloody tranquillizer!’ I paused, gritting my teeth. ‘I have just caught Mark shagging your tennis buddy in the back of our car.’ If I didn’t have everyone’s attention before I broke the groom’s knuckles, I did now. ‘Oh, Angela,’ Louisa sobbed. ‘I tried to tell you, I just, I thought you must already know. You know, somehow, deep down.’ ‘At what point did you think that? When I told you I was perfectly happy and was still sure I was marrying Mark? When I didn’t tell you my boyfriend was a cheating shit? Or when you first started playing doubles with him and that slag?’ Louisa burst into tears and turned to run out of the room, but her exit through the French doors was blocked by Mark. Still in his stained boxers, socks, and half buttoned-up shirt, he stood frozen under the gaze of three hundred wedding guests, most of whom had just about worked out what was happening. Finally remembering to breathe, I took a moment to observe the scene. Tim looked at me with pale terror as he clutched his bloody hand, Louisa was standing bawling in the middle of the dance floor, surrounded by crying children, and Mark, clutching at the doorframe as though it was all that was holding him up, stared at me in disbelief. I looked backwards towards the guests and saw my mum emerge from the crowd. She looked everyone up and down, paused, pursed her lips and walked right up to me. Loosening my white knuckles, she prised my Louboutins out of my left hand, then gripped it tightly in her own. ‘Come on,’ she said quietly, placing a hand on the small of my back and guiding me across the room. I couldn’t see anything but the floor in front of my feet, or hear any of the murmurings around me. All I knew was my mum’s hand and the gravel still stuck to my bare feet. It must have been about five in the morning when I woke up. The room was so big and quiet and I could hear the bones of my bridesmaid dress scrunching into my ribs. I turned over and realized that lying next to me in the big beautiful bed wasn’t my fianc?, my Mark, but my mother. Her perfect wedding outfit was carefully folded over the back of a chair and I hesitated for a moment before looking down at what she was wearing instead. It’s a bit weird to see your mum wearing an old Blondie T-shirt and a pair of your boyfriend’s boxers. Ex-boyfriend. I sat up slowly and tried not to catch sight of myself in the mirror until I’d locked myself in the bathroom. My hair was a bird’s nest of slept-in chignon, my make-up smeared with sleep, tears and pillow creases and the parts of my dress that hadn’t already been torn or muddied, were twisted and creased up beyond all recognition. Stripping myself of everything, earrings, necklace, engagement ring, I stepped into the giant shower and just let the water run. How had this happened? Destroying my best friend’s wedding aside, how had I not noticed that my boyfriend was cheating on me and had been doing so for so long and so openly that my friends all knew? It wasn’t just a quick shag, it was clearly serious. What would I do? Where would I go? As the shower stall steamed up and I lathered, rinsed and repeated, I tried to be rational. Keep a clear head in any situation. Mum always said it was one of our strengths. I’d have to go home and get my stuff. Home. I supposed it wasn’t even my home any more. He’d probably move her in tomorrow. ‘Katie,’ said a little pixie-ish voice in my head. ‘Not “her”, it’s Katie.’ ‘This shower feels amazing,’ I said out loud, pushing that voice out of my head as the hot, hot water streamed down from three different jets. It was as if none of it was real. If only I could live in a hotel. Not having to go back to that shit heap and rummage through my stuff like I was the one that had done something wrong. Jesus, the splitting of the CDs. I just couldn’t face it. A couple of renegade tears started to seep out of my eyes. If only I could stay in this hotel for ever and pretend none of it had happened. Why not stay in a hotel? Not this hotel, clearly. I had a strange feeling I wasn’t going to be terribly welcome at breakfast, but another hotel. Somewhere impersonal and wonderful where the staff’s only concern would be keeping me happy rather than whether or not I was going to ruin another gala event. I had a little bit of money, we’d been saving for my non-existent wedding for years, and it seemed fairly appropriate to tax Mark his share of the cash for shitting on me. My work was freelance, I had my passport, credit cards, driver’s license (no burglar was stealing my identity while I was away at a wedding for almost a week!) enough clothes, my favourite shoes, what else would I need? I definitely had enough stuff not to need to go home for a while. Screw the CDs even, I had my iPod. There was really no reason not to go, and God knows, I am the queen of talking myself out of anything even vaguely confrontational. I forced myself out of the shower and into the bathroom. For a second my gaze rested on Mark’s wash bag, next to my engagement ring. A lovely leather piece I’d bought him last Christmas. He’s bound to want to come back for that, I thought as I slipped on my earrings, my necklace, it’s full of all his fancy shaving stuff his mum buys him for his birthday. For a moment I thought about filling it with shaving foam, but froze with a flashback as I picked up the can. Him, hunched over that cow, all sweaty and confused. Maybe I should throw it out of the window. Then I remembered him smiling at her. Smiling at her, in front of me, in those scummy boxer shorts. And so I sat on the loo and pissed in the bag. It was the most disgusting thing I’d ever done, and I was so so proud. Once it was nicely ruined, I dropped in my engagement ring, zipped up the bag and left the bathroom. ‘Mum,’ I whispered, sitting beside her on the bed. ‘Mum, I’m off.’ She opened her eyes and looked a bit confused as she remembered everything, and then she looked at me as though she was going to commit me to the same home where she had stashed my nan. ‘What do you mean?’ she asked, sitting up, looking even more confused at the sight of her nightwear. ‘You don’t have to go anywhere because of that shit.’ It was the first time I’d heard her call Mark anything other than ‘darling boy’ or ‘that lovely Mark’, and I was quite touched. ‘I know,’ I nodded towards my packed travel bag. ‘But with the wedding and everything, I think I’d better get off early. Thing is, I thought I might nip off for a few days to sort myself out.’ ‘Oh no,’ she said, taking my hand. ‘You’re just coming home with me and your father, he’s going to come and collect us later. You’ve done nothing wrong, you know. Well …’ ‘I know, Mum,’ I said. ‘But I think it would do me good to get away. I’ve booked a taxi to the airport.’ She looked at me slightly oddly. ‘Really?’ she asked. ‘You’re really going somewhere on a plane?’ ‘Yes,’ I said, standing up, clutching my bag. ‘Where are you going?’ she asked, looking at the clock. ‘Wouldn’t you rather just come home with me and your dad?’ ‘Hmm,’ I pecked her on the cheek. ‘I think I’m actually going to go with my first idea.’ Mum shook her head. ‘But where is better than home at a time like this?’ CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_db8b87d2-c86f-5bea-8c05-d89cc00230bd) The plane landed at JFK without a hitch and, while the homeland security guard didn’t seem that interested in my break-up (business or pleasure didn’t seem to cover why I was there), he did let me into the country. Good start. Once I stepped out into the sunshine, everything began to feel real. The cabs were yellow, they were on the wrong side of the road, and my taxi driver even swore a blue streak tossing my bag into the boot of his car. Man alive, it was warm. If women glow, men perspire, and horses sweat, right at that moment, I was one sweaty bloody horse. ‘Where to?’ the driver asked. ‘Erm, a hotel?’ I asked, plugging in my seatbelt as we took off. ‘I need a hotel.’ ‘You fuckin’ serious?’ he asked, swerving onto the highway before I could even reply. ‘Which fuckin’ hotel? There are fuckin’ millions of hotels.’ ‘Oh, yeah, I – well – I—’ before I could finish my sentence, I started to tear up. ‘I don’t know anywhere. I just sort of got here.’ ‘Well, guess what lady?’ the driver yelled back at me, ‘I’m a fuckin’ taxi driver, not tourist information. You want me to fuckin’ drop you here in the middle of Queens or you want to give me the name of a hotel?’ In response, I burst into tears. Witty comeback, thy name is Angela. ‘Jesus fuckin’ Christ. I’m dropping you off at the first fuckin’ hotel we pass,’ he muttered, turning the radio all the way up. Twenty minutes of talk radio later, I was hanging out of the window like a dog in a bandana, and I had just about stopped crying when I spotted it. The New York City skyline. Manhattan. The Empire State Building. The beautiful, beautiful Chrysler Building. The Woolworth Building with its big old churchy steeple. And I fell in love. It hit me so hard that I stopped crying, stopped thinking, stopped breathing. I felt as if I’d been winded. Winding the cab window all the way down, I breathed in the skyscrapers, the giant billboards, the industrial riverside stretches and the sweaty, steamy air. I was in New York. Not at home in London, not at Louisa’s wedding, and nowhere near my filthy, cheating fianc?. And so, for the want of something else to do, as we disappeared down into the midtown tunnel, I burst into tears again. The first hotel we passed turned out to be the last hotel the cabbie had dropped off at, and it was beautiful. The Union was set just off Union Square Park, with a lobby dimly lit to the point of a power cut, and filled with the overpowering scent of Diptyque candles that smelled like fresh washing on the line. Overstuffed sofas and ancient leather armchairs filled the space, and the reception was picked out in fairylights. Suddenly finding myself in such perfect surroundings, I was very aware of the state of my hair, my dehydrated skin and my rumpled clothes. I really, really did look like complete crap, but this place couldn’t be further from a two-bedroomed terrace in south west London. It was just what I needed. ‘Welcome to The Union,’ said the incredibly beautiful woman behind the counter. ‘My name is Jennifer, how can we help you today?’ ‘Hi,’ I said, pulling my handbag high up on my shoulder and kicking my travel bag towards the reception desk. ‘I was wondering if you had a room available?’ She smiled serenely and began clicking away on a keyboard. As she tapped, her glossy spiral curls bounced away behind her. ‘OK, we are a little busy but … I have a junior suite at $800 a night?’ She looked up. My expression apparently suggested that was a little bit out of my price range. ‘Or I have a single at $350. But it only sleeps one.’ ‘Oh, OK,’ I fished around in my battered old bag for a credit card and tried not to work out the cost of the room in real money, ‘it’s just me. Well, I just found out my boyfriend was cheating on me and we broke up and I had to leave home and I thought, well, where’s better to get away to than New York? And,’ I paused and looked up. She was still smiling at me, but with a healthy dose of terror in her eyes. ‘Sorry, I’m sorry. A single would be fine.’ ‘And how long would you be staying with us?’ she asked, tapping away again. I guessed she was alerting everyone to the fact that there was a desperate woman checking in. My photo was probably being distributed to the whole staff with a ‘do not engage in conversation’ note. ‘Sorry?’ I hadn’t thought that far ahead. ‘When will you be going home?’ she said slowly. ‘I – I don’t have a home,’ I said, equally slowly. ‘So, I don’t know.’ I was dangerously close to tears and really didn’t want to let them go in the reception of the swankiest hotel I’d ever stepped in. But, wow, I really didn’t have a home. ‘Well, I kinda just wanted to know when you would be checking out, but the room is free for the next week, shall I put you in for seven nights and see where we go from there?’ she suggested. I nodded and handed over my credit card. Jennifer exchanged it for a sexy black room pass key, emblazoned with a silver U. ‘Room 1126 on floor eleven, take the elevator and then turn left. It’s at the end of the corridor.’ I nodded numbly and took the key, tripping over my own bag as I turned. ‘Do you need anything at all, Miss Clark?’ Jennifer asked. I turned and tried to smile, shaking my head. ‘Head check?’ I could only make jokes for so long before I evaporated. ‘Just phone down if you want anything at all,’ I heard her call. Hopefully, she wouldn’t send up a therapist, I had always been warned that Americans didn’t always get sarcasm. If the room was a single, Mark’s house was a mansion. A huge, white bed dominated the tastefully painted cream bedroom, topped off by a dramatic brown leather headboard. Past the bed, a floor to ceiling window with beautiful views of Union Square Park below. A walk-in wardrobe was tucked away to my left, and to my right was the bathroom. I dropped my travel bag and opened the door. It was beautiful. White tiled walls, black slate floor. The toilet and sink were tucked neatly away against the wall, while the rest of the room was completely taken over by a glass encased bath and shower. Two chrome showerheads jutted out from opposite walls, and a glass shelf held small but perfectly formed designer toiletries. A chrome shelf by the sink groaned under the weight of fluffy towels, and a thick waffle robe hung behind the bathroom door. I backed back into the bedroom and looked out at the window, but paused before I got there. This was just what I’d been looking for, but between being completely exhausted and suddenly incredibly hungry, I just couldn’t bring myself to look outside and see a strange city. Instead, I headed back into the bathroom, via the well-stocked mini bar, and ran a bath, using the whole bottle of bubbles. Stripping off my clothes, I stepped into the bath, wishing that my brain would stop ticking over for just a second. Using the edge of the bath as a makeshift bar, I mixed a $15 vodka and coke in the toothbrush glass and poured half a packet of $8 peanut butter M&Ms into my mouth. It was less than twenty-four hours since I was in that shower back in the UK, thinking how badly I needed to get away, and here I was. Away. I lay back and sighed deeply, letting the ends of my hair soak through. Gradually the sigh turned into a whimper, and the whimper became a sob. I was allowed to cry, wasn’t I? I’d been cheated on by my fianc?, deceived by my best friend, and humiliated in front of all my friends and family. Reaching for the M&Ms, I managed to polish them off in one go, washing them down with a large swig of my drink. What was I thinking, coming all the way to New York on my own? I wasn’t being brave, I was being stupid. There was no one here to help me, to talk to me, to watch Pretty Woman, Dirty Dancing and Breakfast at Tiffany’s with me. I should towel off, call my mum and get a plane home. This wasn’t impulsive and exciting, it was immature and cowardly. Just a really, really elaborate version of hiding in my room and getting wasted. I’d made my point, and more or less paid a grand for a bath and a bag of sweets, now it was time to face reality. Pulling myself out of the bath, I slipped on the robe and padded across the carpet, leaving miserable-looking footprints behind me. I rummaged around in my bag for my phone, half hoping it was old and crappy enough not to work in America. Bugger, five whole bars of reception. I stared at the screen. Three messages. Hmm. Did I really want to do this with only one vodka in me? Forcing myself to stand up, I walked over to the window. If I was just going to turn around and go home, I wanted at least to get my money’s worth out of the view. It really was beautiful, the sun was shining, people were wandering through the park, dashing to the subway, ducking into shops, carrying bags and bags and bags. How weird would it be if I went home and it was as if nothing had happened? If I’d been confused somehow and it wasn’t what I thought. Or Mark had realized what an idiot he was and did everything he could to win me back. And in years to come, we’d be able to smile ruefully, maybe even laugh, at Mark’s mad moment and the time I ran away to New York for fourteen hours. ‘Angela, it’s your mum, just calling to say I got the hotel to refund the cost of my room since I stayed with you, so that will go back on your credit card.’ Bless my mother for always thinking of the practical things in life. ‘I spoke to Louisa and she was very apologetic – very, oh Annette, I don’t know what to do – well, that young lady should know better, and I spoke to Mark as well. The less said about that right now the better, I think. Anyway, call me when you can and give me your flight details for coming back. Dad’ll come and get you and I’ve made up your room. Call me when you get a chance, I hope you’re having …’ cue slightly awkward pause while my mother looks for the right word. ‘I hope you’re safe. Love you dear.’ ‘Angela, it’s Louisa, please call me back? It’s Sunday morning and I know you must be really angry and everything but, well, I’m sorry. And I didn’t know what to do and, oh God, I can’t do this over the phone. I’m such a shit friend.’ Yes, you are, I thought. She sounded gutted, but I really couldn’t have cared less. ‘I spoke to your mum, it was horrible, she hasn’t been that mad with me since I brought you home drunk from that sixth form party at Tim’s house … Oh and Tim’s hand is broken, but he’ll be OK in a couple of weeks. It’s not a serious fracture. Erm, call me?’ I decided she could stew for a while longer. ‘Hi, it’s me,’ he started. I pressed my hand against the window and watched the people below. ‘I had to call and say something.’ Even from way up on the eleventh floor I could see people emerging from Starbucks with huge vats of coffee. Coffee would be great right now. Coffee or Sambuca. ‘I’m so sorry for what happened, it was incredibly stupid of me and heartless and, well, just awful.’ There were so many shops around the square. I would definitely feel better if I could go shopping. ‘I should have told you what was happening.’ Even though the aircon was high in the room, I could see how hard the sun was beating down on all the gorgeous people in their tiny shorts and cute T-shirts. ‘Katie and I, well, I should have told you, it’s sort of serious.’ So many people were bustling around. ‘I think we need to have a really sensible chat about the mortgage and everything, I mean, you can’t just vanish, Angela.’ And I could see squirrels darting around in the trees. ‘Your mum said something about you being in New York? I don’t know, well, can you call me? I know I fucked up, but you have to call me, you can’t just hide. I’m not going back to the house, I’ll stay with, well, I won’t go back to the house until we’ve spoken.’ I spotted a subway station peeping out from the trees. Wow, the subway. ‘We have to talk about what’s going to happen. I do love you Angela, but, well, I’m just not in love with you any more. Anyway, call me.’ I rested my forehead against the glass and hung up. So much for him doing anything he could to get me back. Just because this was all a big shock to me, didn’t mean it was a shock to him, more like a relief. Shit. What the hell was I going to do now? I couldn’t stay with my mum for the rest of my life and I couldn’t rely on my friends any more. I couldn’t even throw myself into my work, I was freelance, and it was a really slow time for me. I breathed in deeply and stepped back from the window, keeping the tips of my fingers on the glass as I dialled Mark’s number. ‘Hello?’ His voice. ‘It’s me,’ I said, pressing my fingers harder against the window, against the skyline. ‘I’m sending Mum over for my stuff, she’ll pack it up.’ I traced the tops of the opposite buildings and carried on breathing. ‘I won’t be coming back to the house, so do whatever, just, I’m not coming back.’ ‘You’re at your mum’s?’ he said hesitantly. ‘I can’t talk to you,’ I said, looking down on the park and breathing deeply and slowly. ‘And I’m not at my mum’s, I’m in New York and I don’t know when I’m coming back, so go and do whatever you want to do with whoever you want to do it with, and don’t ever, ever call me again.’ I hung up and leaned my entire weight against the window. So, I’d chosen New York, now I needed it to support me in that decision. And to celebrate, I dashed to the bathroom and threw up the vodka and Coke, followed by the peanut M&Ms. Nice. ‘Hi, Miss Clark?’ The door opened, leaving me just enough time to pull my robe tightly around me and push myself up from my comfy fetal position around the toilet bowl. The girl from reception pushed through the door with a trolley. ‘It’s Jennifer, the concierge? Is it OK for me to come in?’ ‘Yes,’ I called, checking nothing was flashing in the mirror and staggering across the room to let her in. ‘Of course.’ ‘I wasn’t sure that you would have all your essentials,’ she presented the trolley with a flourish. It was stacked with piles of giant cookies, boxes of cereal, a kettle of steaming water, hot milk, cold milk, pancakes, toast and a big box of beauty products. ‘And, you know, you mentioned a break-up and no one should be on their own after a break-up. This is our complimentary “All Men Are Shits” break-up service.’ She picked up a cookie, snapped it in half and grinned. ‘God, thank you, and it’s Angela, please,’ I said, feeling incredibly English. I took the half cookie she offered and stood awkwardly, taking it in. ‘This is wonderful, thank you, I was starving.’ ‘Well, we’re a whatever, whenever hotel, and I’m a whatever, whenever kind of a person,’ she said, hopping on to the bed. ‘Say if you want me to go though, I’m totally overstepping my concierge boundaries. I just thought, if I’d come to New York after a break-up with one tiny travel bag and no hotel booked, what would I want? So I hit the supplies room, dug out some pyjamas,’ she pulled out a pair of white cotton button-up PJs from the bottom of the trolley, ‘slippers, socks, cleansing stuff, sewing kits – I don’t know, everyone seems to need a sewing kit – and all the food I thought I would want if I was post-break-up. And tea, because, you know, you’re English.’ I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, but I was more than happy for this girl to keep talking until I made a decision. ‘Thank you again, I suppose I do need pyjamas, I hadn’t thought about it really. About anything, actually.’ She mixed a hot chocolate for both of us and broke up another cookie. ‘They’re the first thing I need when I break-up with someone, I just take to my bed for like, a week or something, and then I eat until I’m over him. So, that’s why all the food. I’m guessing it was a bad break-up if it sent you all the way across the Atlantic, huh?’ I took the pyjamas and instinctively made towards the bathroom, but I had a feeling this girl wasn’t going to mind me putting them on in front of her. She had already flicked on the TV and was nodding to a music video. I slipped the bottoms on under my robe and quickly dropped it to slide on the top. They felt great, like the coolest, softest sheets I’d ever slept in. ‘Too bad to talk to a stranger about?’ she asked. ‘It’s OK, I am the hotel’s resident shrink.’ She patted the bed and I flopped down, like the pyjamas, it felt completely luxurious and inviting. ‘Well, I haven’t talked to anyone so far,’ I sighed sipping the hot chocolate. ‘I literally just found out my boyfriend is cheating on me so I decided to take a holiday to sort my head out.’ ‘Seriously? What a douche. How did you find out?’ Jennifer asked, moving on from the cookies to a bowl of Lucky Charms. ‘I caught them having sex in the back of his car at our best friends’ wedding. Our friends all knew. Just me the moron that hadn’t noticed.’ I paused to accept a bowl of cereal. So much sugar in one bowl. Amazing. ‘We always said we would just walk away if either one of us cheated, so … I think I’m single.’ ‘Ouch,’ she said, crossing her legs under her and shifting a couple of pillows. ‘That sucks. But you’ve got friends in New York?’ ‘Nope.’ I munched on mini marshmallow pieces and watched the milk turn green. Eww and yum. ‘I sort of got on the first available flight at Heathrow that met my criteria of English-speaking, full of shops and really fucking far away from Mark.’ ‘You picked good. New York is like Mecca for people that have had horrible break-ups, trust me, I’m president, treasury and social secretary of the local broken heart society. But not many people just get up and leave the country though honey, you’re real brave.’ ‘Not really,’ I confessed. ‘I couldn’t go back home and I just really can’t bear the idea of talking to my friends now and finding out they’ve all known for months. And well, when you break the groom’s hand and make the bride cry all before the first dance at their wedding when you are the maid of honour, you think about leaving the country.’ ‘Wow,’ she said, staring at me. ‘You’re my new personal hero.’ She looked so genuine, I burst into tears. Seriously, I’m not a crier, but this had been a tough twenty-four hours. ‘God, that’s so sad,’ I mumbled through the tears. ‘I’m almost twenty-seven, I’ve been cheated on, I’m homeless, my friends are all arseholes and I’m alone in a city with one tiny travel bag, a pair of ?400 shoes that double as a weapon, and half a Toblerone. That’s not my definition of a hero.’ ‘Nope, I think you’re a hero. You confronted a life changing situation head on, you challenged people who were negative influences on your life even though they were cornerstones in your social system and you came to the best city in the world to rediscover yourself. And, you’re not alone now, you’ve got me whether you like it or not,’ she said, smiling broadly and scraping her mass of dark brown curls back into a loosely contained ponytail. ‘Jenny Lopez, New York’s number one free psychiatrist. Make the most of me before I cost you a billion bucks an hour. And don’t laugh at my name. And can I see those shoes?’ ‘I won’t make fun,’ I said, wondering how I could drink the milk out of my bowl without her seeing. Proof that E numbers are addictive. ‘And thank you, for all this and for listening and well, talking. And yes, the shoes are by the bed.’ ‘Oh, never thank me for talking,’ she laughed, hopping up off the bed and picking up a shoe. ‘Wow, Hyde Park Louboutins, nice. Well, I’ve got to get back to the desk and I would guess that you need to sleep, the jet lag must be kicking in about now.’ I nodded, she was strangely insightful. When I tried to stand up to see her out, my legs were like lead. ‘Don’t get up,’ she said, opening the door. ‘Just enjoy the food, watch some shitty TV and get ready for tomorrow.’ ‘What’s tomorrow?’ I asked, cracking into the pancakes. I was so hungry and everything was so good. Jenny grinned from the doorway. ‘Lots of things. It’s my day off, it’s the day I’m taking you out so you don’t spend a second longer than necessary alone watching cable, and it’s the first day of your New York adventure. Be up and in reception by nine-thirty.’ And she was gone. I sat on the bed, slightly shell-shocked. Opposite the bed was a large mirror, six feet high, leaning against the wall. I could hardly believe it was me staring back out. Me in New York. Me, single. Me with a friend, (albeit a pity friend) taking me on a tour of the city in twelve hours. The jet lag was starting to make me feel as though I’d drunk a lot more vodka than I really had and all the food on the trolley was starting to blur out of focus. Pushing backwards and kicking the covers down around me, I collapsed into the feather bed. Happily, the remote control surfed to the top of the quilt and found its way into my hand. I flicked and flicked until I found something familiar. Ahhh, Friends. Perfect. The insanity of the last twenty-four hours flitted around in the back of my mind as I tried to relax. The sun had started to set outside, casting long shadows across my room. Aren’t you feeling lonely? You should go home and confront things, the dark room whispered. I had always hated how things seemed ever so slightly worse, ever so slightly more insane at night. I defiantly stuck my hand out and fumbled around on the trolley for another cookie, the final act of exertion that pushed me over the edge. I collapsed into a dreamless, jet lag induced sleep before I even got it to my mouth. CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_d3e9ed4d-e2e0-5f81-834f-1ead0d3fd19d) The next morning, I woke up just as suddenly as I’d fallen asleep. Having more or less passed out, I hadn’t drawn the curtains and August’s sweaty sunlight streamed through my window, demanding I get up immediately. In one hand was a half melted cookie and in the other, the remote control. Friends was still playing on the TV. I was more or less sure that it was a different episode … According to the clock on the nightstand, it was Monday, eight a.m. and my first full day in New York. I rolled out of bed, trying not to look in the mirror, and took a glance out of the window. Union Square was already buzzing. The subway station was swarming with people and a sprawling market had sprung up and taken over. I was just about to hop in the shower, as a knock at the door shook me out of my wow-I’m-really-in-New-York-and-let’s-not-think-about-why trance. ‘Room service,’ a polite, cool voice accompanied the knock and without thinking, I opened the door to easily one of the best looking men I’d ever, ever seen. He was over six feet tall, thick black hair, parted in the middle and falling to his collar, deep doe brown eyes and baby soft olive skin that contrasted sharply with his crisp white collarless shirt. ‘Miss Clark?’ I think I made some sort of noise but it wasn’t really an acknowledgement, so I followed it up with a nod. I knew my face was covered in pillow creases, I still had melted chocolate chip cookie on my right hand and I really, really wanted to be wearing my bra. Which was at least ten feet away from where it needed to be, strewn on the floor by the corner of the bed. ‘Jenny asked me to make sure I brought up everything she would want for breakfast, so that’s pretty much everything on our menu. I’m Joe,’ he pushed a fresh, steaming trolley into the room and quickly swapped it for the ravaged mess Jenny had left last night. ‘She also asked me to give you a note, it’s just there. Enjoy your breakfast.’ He flashed the most amazing smile and strolled out of the room. How was he a hotel waiter? I wondered, lifting lids and taking big sniffs of everything on the trolley. Omelette, not a fan, bacon and eggs, maybe a little early, pancakes, always time for pancakes, and on the bottom shelf, an array of cereals, pastries, hot chocolate, milk and my because-you’re-English tea. I was so thankful. Post-shower, post-breakfast, post-another episode of Friends, I opened Jenny’s note. Hey, Hope you found something you enjoyed, like I said, I’m an eater. I’ll be in reception at 9.30 a.m. sharp, don’t bail on me or I’ll cut off the room service. Today is the first day of your recovery program with Dr Jenny, I hope you’re ready for it! Jenny x p.s. hope you enjoyed Joe too, I bet your ex didn’t bring you pancakes in the morning looking like that … I laughed out loud, but it sounded so strange. I realized I hadn’t heard myself laugh for a good couple of days. Better than crying. But laughter and hot waiters aside, it was time to face facts. And more terrifyingly, it was time to look in the mirror. The lighting in The Union had been designed to be as flattering as possible but even low wattage bulbs, soft focus mirrors and twelve hours’ sleep couldn’t repair the damage a break-up could do to your skin. I rummaged around for my make-up bag and emptied the contents out on the bathroom counter. Not a lot to work with. I flicked on some mascara and dabbed gloss onto my lips. Not a lot happening there. And my hair was the same tragic story. I’d been growing it for what seemed like for ever to achieve Louisa’s dream bridesmaids’ chignon, but now it just looked limp and pathetic. I managed a ponytail and hoped for the best. My wardrobe choices were even more limited. Jeans, T-shirt or bridesmaid dress. And I really hoped Jenny would be taking me somewhere I could grab some new underwear, because I was seriously lacking. When I’d decided to take on my great adventure, I figured I had everything I could need. In reality, I had two T-shirts, three pairs of knickers and a bra. And the Louboutins. Sigh. Beautiful. I grabbed my handbag and bit the bullet. It was 9.25, time to meet Jenny in reception. Jenny was easy enough to spot. The reception was just as dark and cool as it had been last night, but Jenny glowed in a corner, leaning against the concierge desk in a flirty lemon sundress and delicate gold flip-flops. I felt like her grandmother. And I hadn’t noticed how impossibly long her legs were last night. Maybe this wasn’t a great person to befriend mid-break-up … Before I could bolt for the door, she saw me and beckoned me over. ‘See!’ she said to the girl behind the counter. Another glowing goddess, this one decked out in the concierge uniform of black collarless shirt and trousers. ‘She’s real! She’s a total hero!’ ‘Wow,’ the girl breathed, staring at me. I felt like a museum exhibit from a 1997 Eastenders set. A ponytail? I thought I could get away with wet hair in a ponytail? ‘You’re like, a total inspiration. You rock. I’m Vanessa.’ I smiled awkwardly. I rocked? ‘Hi,’ I said to them both, trying not to think about whether or not I had muffin top. ‘I wasn’t sure what we were doing so I wasn’t sure what to wear.’ According to the mirror behind Vanessa, I did have muffin top. ‘You’re dressed fine,’ Jenny said waving away my concerns and taking my arm. I waved goodbye to Vanessa, but instead of heading to the door, we were moving towards the lift. ‘Today is phase one of your transformation.’ ‘Transformation?’ I asked. We slipped into the lift and Jenny pressed a button labelled Rapture Spa. Did I look that bad? ‘Sure,’ she said. ‘Rule one after a major break-up, you must submit yourself to complete and utter pampering. Welcome to Rapture.’ The lift doors opened on a large airy space, the complete opposite of the hotel reception. It was flooded with light and smelt of citrus and vanilla. Dozens of serene looking beauticians wandered around in pale blue tunics laughing and joking, carrying salon sized bottles of shampoo, massage oils and bundles of towels. Motown played on the PA system, low but loud enough to sing along to. One of the girls spotted us and waved us over. She was tiny with jet black hair pulled back in a severe bun, emphasizing ridiculously sharp cheekbones and beautiful lips Angelina Jolie would need Restylene to achieve. ‘Hi!’ She and Jenny kissed briefly on each cheek and then the girl pulled back and looked at me. ‘This has got to be her, right?’ Jenny nodded. ‘Angela Clark, meet Gina Fox, our hottest beautician. She’s going to make you over from head to toe. Sound good?’ Without giving me time to respond, Gina took my hand and walked me through the spa, past reception and back towards a large locker room area. ‘Jenny told us about your break-up honey, you’re amazing.’ She gestured towards one of the pale blue robes and I guessed I was supposed to get undressed. ‘But when you break-up with someone, you got to make some changes. You heard the saying “Wash that man right outta your hair”? Well, I’m going to cut him out of yours.’ Jenny was picking at a plate of brownies on the bar by the doorway. ‘I think a cute little bob, something classic,’ she mumbled through a mouthful of pecans. Gina spun me around and considered my hair from every angle. ‘Great cheekbones, a bob would look good. A few highlights, maybe …’ ‘Oh, I don’t think I’m a highlights kind of a girl,’ I stuttered, starting to panic. Highlights sounded very white jeans and glittery vest top, not very me. Gina looked at me sharply and then back at Jenny. ‘Is she going to give me trouble?’ she asked. Jenny shook her head quickly. ‘Uh-uh, just go easy on the girl, Gina. She’s been through some stuff.’ She bagged another brownie. I sat down in a shampoo chair and let Gina snap a ‘before’ picture on a Rapture branded camera. As she lathered me up, I mentally congratulated myself on washing it already this morning, it really had been a big skanky mess. ‘So, honey,’ Gina said, ‘tell us about yourself.’ ‘Well,’ The hairwashing chair had an amazing in-built back massager that was pummeling me into soggy submission, ‘I’m a writer, sort of, I write the books of children’s films and TV shows and stuff.’ ‘Really? That sounds fun,’ Gina said moving on to work the shampoo through. Ouch, a touch too harsh. ‘Anything we’d know?’ ‘Maybe,’ I muttered, giving in as Gina began to knead my scalp. ‘I’ve worked on pretty much any kids’ film that’s been out in the last five years, big green ogres, radioactive spiders, talking turtles.’ ‘Fun!’ She nodded, pushing her knuckles into my temples. Oooohhhh. ‘At first it is, but you know, after a while a job’s a job.’ ‘So, what do you want to do?’ Jenny piped up from the next shampooing chair. ‘If you could do anything, what would it be?’ ‘I don’t know,’ I purred, giving in to the wonderful conditioning massage. ‘I guess I’d be a proper writer, you know, write my own stuff. I just never had time for it before.’ ‘You’ve got time for it now,’ Jenny said. It sounded as if she was back on the brownies. All I knew about this woman so far was that she was the nicest kind of bully and she ate more than anyone I knew, even though her waist was about the circumference of my left thigh. ‘You’re not on deadline now, right?’ ‘No,’ I admitted. ‘I don’t have anything at the moment.’ ‘So, stay, write,’ she said while Gina wrapped my head in a towel and guided me over to the styling station. ‘You’re in New York, it’s like, the best place on earth to be a writer. There are a million books inspired by Manhattan.’ Gina snorted. ‘Name one Jenny Lopez, and I will give you a hundred dollars, right now.’ ‘Yeah, so technically, I’m not a reader,’ Jenny made bunny ear quotations in the air. ‘But I have to immerse myself in my subject. I read a lot of self-help books.’ ‘If you mean you buy a lot of self-help books and leave them littered around our apartment, then yes, I guess you do,’ Gina said. ‘So, you live together?’ I asked, trying to diffuse the daggers Jenny was glaring at Gina. Must be a fun old time in that house. ‘We do until Gina leaves me on Wednesday,’ Jenny pretended to sob. ‘I can’t believe you’re ditching me just to be manager of a salon.’ Gina started to comb my hair straight down and flip the parting, centre, left, right, back to centre. ‘Yeah, sure, just some salon. Not manager of the first international outpost of Rapture in Paris. You’ll live, Jenny,’ she said, looking at me in the mirror. When she relaxed she actually looked as if she could be fun and not just some impeccably groomed beauty terrorist. ‘So, Angie, what else do you like? Music, theatre, self-help books?’ ‘Whatever,’ Jenny interrupted. ‘I think it’s interesting that you answered the question “tell us about yourself” with information about your job. You think you spend too much time working and not enough working on other areas of your life?’ ‘You think, Dr Phil?’ said Gina, saving me from having to come up with a response. ‘You are so full of shit sometimes. But seriously, apart from your writing, what else are you into? Music? Fashion? Dog shows?’ ‘I do love music,’ I offered, glad to be back in safe territory. ‘I love live music, gigs and festivals and stuff. And I’ve always had a soft spot for an indie boy. You know, skinny tie, leather jacket, Converse, the whole bit.’ Jenny and Gina were smiling and nodding. ‘Oh yeah, we’ve both been there,’ Jenny said, her eyes misting over slightly. ‘You just need to go down town and shout out some obscure band name. Cute British girl like you? They’ll come running.’ Gina laughed. ‘Yeah, you can totally work that accent. But I’m so too old for that now,’ she said. ‘I’m more into hanging around Wall Street on a Friday evening. I need to meet someone who can take me back to a Park Avenue apartment via Tiffany’s, not a loft in Brooklyn via the free clinic. Oh, I miss my twenties.’ ‘Well, I’m twenty-seven in October,’ I said while Gina started to chop away at my hair with her tiny scissors. ‘Doesn’t that make me too old for skinny indie kids?’ ‘Nah, you got a good coupla years in you,’ Gina said. ‘But wouldn’t you like someone to take care of you? Some big, strong guy? Worked-out six-pack, black Amex, well dressed. Someone to totally spoil you?’ ‘I don’t know, I suppose that wouldn’t be a bad thing. My – ex – was a city boy but he wasn’t exactly what you’d call worked out. And he was totally tight,’ I said slowly. ‘I’ve never even really looked at boys like that. I didn’t think I was a proper grown-up I suppose. Isn’t that tragic?’ ‘Well, you’ve got to stop calling them “boys” for a start, Angie,’ Jenny chipped in. ‘You want a man. Maybe even a couple of men.’ ‘Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. Someone who actually weighs more than me … Oh God, no, I’m too old for all that dating nonsense. I can’t imagine actually doing it. God, I’m going to have to start dating at twenty-six.’ I couldn’t quite believe it. Jenny shook her head. ‘I wish my next birthday was twenty-seven. I’m thirty next July.’ She dropped her head onto the arm of my chair. ‘Can you believe it? I can’t turn thirty without achieving any of my life’s ambitions.’ ‘But your life’s ambitions are to meet Oprah, get a job with Oprah, make friends with all of Oprah’s friends then slowly usurp Oprah in the hearts of the nation,’ Gina said. There was a lot of hair on my shoulders and a whole lot more on the floor. ‘So far, you’ve read Oprah’s books, bought Oprah’s magazines, watched Oprah’s show and pissed off all your friends by talking constantly about Oprah.’ ‘Yes, but they are all important steps on becoming the next heart of the nation. And obviously, a billionaire.’ Jenny looked resolute. ‘What are your life’s ambitions, honey?’ I thought hard for a moment. ‘I don’t think I have any,’ I said. ‘Maybe I would like to have an original book published or have a column in a magazine or something. I don’t know, that stuff isn’t easy.’ ‘But you can absolutely do it,’ Jenny said, pulling a pad and pen out of her handbag. ‘You just have to get organized. Let’s make a list. God, I love this!’ Gina pulled strands of my hair down to my chin to check the lengths. ‘Jesus, you’ve created a monster. Never give that girl a project.’ She tapped Jenny’s pad with her scissors. ‘Now no talking, I’m about to blow this baby out.’ Twenty minutes later I had a beautiful, chin-length swishy bob with a sweeping fringe, cutting across my right cheekbone. It looked grown-up but cute, stylish but not try hard. I doubted it would look this great ever again. ‘Now,’ Gina said scooping out a thumbnail of waxy looking product. ‘We have options, depending on what you decide to do with your life. What you’re looking at now is Park Avenue Princess. You could walk into any of the publishers right now and demand a book deal – super sophisticated.’ Jenny was nodding enthusiastically. ‘But now …’ Gina rubbed the wax into the palms of her hands and then attacked my hair, pushing it over the front of my head and raking her fingers through every section. When she flicked it all back, the smooth bob had given way to a choppy, layered, messed up look. Something I had tried to achieve in the past and just ended up looking as though I’d slept with wet hair. ‘Now you are ready to go and rock the Lower East Side with the rest of the hipsters. You like?’ ‘Thank you,’ I muttered, so so happy. ‘I didn’t even know my hair could look this good.’ I couldn’t stop touching it, just tiny pinches at the ends in case too much contact made it poof … disappear. ‘I don’t want to see you with a hair out of place from now on.’ Gina stared me down and for a moment I thanked the managers of Rapture Paris. ‘OK, Angie honey, grab your bag. I’m taking that cute do of yours out on the town.’ Jenny forced down a final half brownie and pulled me out of the chair. ‘Where are we going?’ I asked, letting Gina comb out some of the volume, returning to somewhere in between the sleek bob and the crazy chop. ‘Because I’m not really dressed for –’ Jenny took my hand and gave me a look you might give an elderly relative who thinks it’s still 1947. ‘Sweetness, that’s exactly why we’re going where we’re going.’ CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_8abbb300-9b6e-56a1-9de5-854ef4e7a825) Bloomingdale’s. I’d heard of it, I’d seen the little brown bags but I hadn’t ever really thought about going there. In the cab, Jenny had briefed me on what we were looking for. She’d started my new life plan during my blow dry and the first thing we needed was to get properly kitted out for a stay in New York City. It just so happened to tie-in to Jenny’s number two rule on how to handle a major break-up. Buy yourself a new everything. Now, I had shopped. Tackled TopShop Oxford Circus on a Friday evening, been elbow deep in the Selfridges’ sale, found diamond buys on Portobello Market, but this was a completely different beast. After a quick appraisal of my existing make-up (not enough) and a short description of my make-up bag (sheer revulsion) and confirmation that my credit limit wasn’t really an issue as long as we weren’t being silly, Jenny decided we would start on the ground floor, in cosmetics. She hit the MAC counter with all the determination of a cross-Channel swimmer. Within seconds I was sitting in another stylist’s chair being stripped of the basic make-up I’d slapped on that morning by Razor. Razor was the most charming man with a mohawk I’d ever had the pleasure to meet. His make-up was amazing, and quite frankly, what he could do with eyeliner put me to shame. ‘So we need a proper base to even out the red skin tone, you’re very pale, doll, and then we’ll work with a blush – maybe an apricot for day and something pinker for night-time? Then we’ll do a bit of a workshop on your eyes. Since you’re fairly new to this, we’ll leave lips for another day and just hook you up with a few neutrals. Maybe a classic red if you’re feeling brave,’ he said amid a flurry of sponges, brushes, tubes and tubs. ‘We can do lips today,’ I said meekly, feeling bad for being so pale and letting Razor down. ‘I know I’m not wearing a lot today but I do like make-up, I do wear it quite a lot.’ Razor and Jenny exchanged a doubtful glance. ‘Take hold of this eyeliner brush for me, sweetness,’ Razor suggested, holding it out like a golden sceptre. I took it from him and looked at it quizzically. ‘This is for eyeliner? I suppose I only really use pencils,’ I said thoughtfully, tilting my head because I was too afraid to move the brush. Not a problem, because Razor snatched it out of my hand before I could even try to apply it to my face. ‘Yeah, I think we’ll just start with the basics,’ he said sweetly, patting my shoulder. I think it was supposed to be comforting but really, it wasn’t. Nonetheless, within thirty minutes, I had a face to match my new do. My skin glowed, my eyes were smoky and wide and my lips, as promised, neutral and easy to touch up. Jenny was busy playing with some fluro green eyeshadow when Razor announced I was done with a dramatic, ta-da. He looked as if his pedigree puppy had won first prize at Crufts. ‘Wow,’ Jenny said, not really smiling but taking in my makeover with complete seriousness. ‘Razor, this is amazing. And Angie! You look gorgeous!’ And even if it was just for that moment, I really felt it. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d actually bought new make-up. ‘I’ll take all of it,’ I said hurriedly before I had time to think about it. Razor was carefully talking me through every bottle, every brush, every palette and tossing in ‘how to’ sheets so I could at least attempt it at home, but I was too excited and pressed my plastic into his hand. Soon, I was $250 down and a medium brown bag of MAC up. And it felt good. As we strolled through the hall, Jenny stopped at various counters, picking out ‘essentials’ I couldn’t be without. Soon we both had very full bags and enough make-up to do the faces of every guest in The Union. ‘I need perfume,’ I said as we passed by the Chanel counter. ‘I’ve been wearing the same perfume for the last ten years. Mar – my ex used to buy it for me every Christmas,’ I explained, ‘and I don’t ever want to smell it again.’ Jenny hugged me, wrapping her arms and brown paper bags all the way around my neck. ‘You’re getting it now,’ she said steering me towards Chanel. ‘Angela Clark, by the end of today, I’ll have made a New Yorker out of you. It’s got to be No. 5 and then some lunch.’ By the time I’d put away a chicken club sandwich and Diet Coke and Jenny had packed in a burger, fries and yet another chocolate brownie, I’d discovered that she was a true New Yorker born and bred, she had moved to the city after college to follow her dream of becoming the next Oprah. After a summer off in California, she had taken a job as a waitress in a big tourist hotel restaurant back in NYC to ‘study her medium’ (I think she meant people) but was accidentally so good that she was soon headhunted to move on to the reception desk. When The Union had opened the previous spring, she’d applied for a concierge position to improve her contacts. The boutique hotel apparently attracted a lot of young celebrities, generally blonde, tanned and emaciated or butch, gorgeous and gay. She now considered herself the best connected amateur psychologist in New York, a position that afforded her entrance to the best clubs and restaurants and the personal mobile phone numbers of several Hollywood starlets, and, more importantly, their agents. ‘So how come you’re not plastered all over the TV yet?’ I asked, dipping a spoon into her brownie. It was delicious. ‘Haven’t had my break yet,’ she shrugged. ‘The average agent doesn’t have the power to get a nobody like me a chat show. You have to be Tyra Banks to walk into something like that.’ She was so pretty, so lovely and so bloody determined, it seemed crazy that she wasn’t on the front cover of every magazine in the country. ‘You’ll get there,’ I smiled, pushing the last spoonful of brownie over to her. ‘I’ve never met anyone like you before, honestly. You’ve done an amazing job of sorting me out. I would be sitting on the sofa in three-day-old pyjamas, eating ice cream and crying at Living TV if I were at home.’ ‘Well, you’re going to take more than one day, a haircut and some make-up, but we’ll get there,’ she grinned, scooping up dessert. ‘God, you haven’t even been to Soho yet. I’ve got a whole plan for you, doll. Do you think you could let this interfering yank take you through Angela Clark version two?’ ‘I don’t have anything better to do,’ I laughed. It was so weird to be taken in hand by someone I had met twenty-four hours ago, and, for some reason, it made perfect sense. I already felt as if I’d known Jenny all my life and being with her in New York made London and Mark feel a very long way away and a very long time ago. After lunch we moved on to the very important job of creating my new wardrobe. A quick run around the fourth floor and three armloads of clothes later, I was ordered into a changing room while Jenny and two assistants appeared intermittently with racks and racks of clothes. Soon I was clad in beautiful 7 for All Mankind skinny jeans that made even my short legs look sexy (according to Jenny) and a flared pair of J Brands that I could dress down with my Converse and an old T-shirt, or dress up with my Louboutins (according to Jenny). One of the helpful and definitely on commission assistants declared that, despite my legs being a little on the short side, they were a good shape and as such, should be on display. Excitingly, I found out I was just a size 8 in America, reason enough to hang around a couple of weeks at least. She had brought in a whole rail of bum-skimmingly short dresses before we both accepted that I would never be able to walk more than ten yards down the road without pulling them down. After that, we added a couple of inches to the length and I relented on a cute blue French Connection jersey dress, a gorgeous Marc by Marc Jacobs printed smock and several stunning bits from Ella Moss and Splendid – T-shirt dresses so soft they felt like clouds! I had no idea. Primark was over for me in that instant. Several C&C California T-shirts and a couple of pairs of shorts and easy to wear skirts later, we moved on to evening wear. ‘So, for dates … I’m thinking something flirty but fun? Classic though. And easy to wear. You can’t be sexy if you don’t feel good.’ Jenny sent the assistants scurrying across the shop floor with another flick of her wrist. I stood in my pants, peeping round the corner of the slatted wooden door waiting for the next rack of clothes. And in no time they arrived. Vera Wang Lavender. Tory Burch. Nanette Lepore. DVF. 3.1. phillip lim. Paul & Joe Sister. More Marc Jacobs. This was so much fun. ‘What are you wearing right now?’ Jenny asked loudly through the door. ‘Nothing?’ I replied, slipping out of a gorgeous Marc by Marc Jacobs printed silk halter dress. ‘Underwear?’ ‘I have a horrible feeling I ought to take a look at that too.’ Jenny’s level of horror raised to orange alert when she saw my M&S heart print boy shorts and mismatched bra. Then she went a funny pink colour when I admitted that I didn’t exactly know what bra size I was. ‘It’s just not OK,’ she said, shaking her head and snatching up several styles and sizes. ‘Do you want your rack around your knees at forty?’ I was pushed back into my new natural habitat of the changing room, armed with balconettes, backless, strapless, plunge, soft, full cup and half cup bras. Before my credit card company could know what had happened, I was up another floor buying flip-flops, flats and full-on heels to match all my outfits. Despite Jenny’s insistence that gladiator sandals were the shoe of the season, I couldn’t help but feel as if they were more my great aunt Agatha than me and eventually, she let it go. But the ballet pumps, the Havaianas and two pairs of wedges were coming with us. We headed back down through the store, laden with bags – big, medium and little – I had spent more than a month’s income in only four hours but I was too happy at the teeny tiny numbers on the labels (a SIX on one of them!) to feel any buyer’s remorse, (even if it was just a ten in translation). Riding back down to the ground floor, I adopted the official lift position as Jenny fannied around in her handbag. Clutch purchases, do not make eye contact with fellow lift riders, stare straight ahead. But instead of seeing myself in the mirrored doors, I saw someone completely different. Not different like Louisa’s wedding day (just me with more make-up and elaborate hair) but glossy different. My hair swished as I turned my head slightly, Razor’s make-up had given me huge Bambi eyes and just-bitten lips, and the thrill of spending more than an entire month’s mortgage payment on clothes and slap had given me a giddy flush that I just couldn’t get from any blusher. But I knew I had several different versions of the stuff in my bag to give it a good go back at the hotel. ‘Come on, we’re so gonna struggle to get a cab at this time,’ Jenny muttered as the doors slid open, taking my lovely new reflection with them. ‘Were you checking yourself out?’ ‘Yes?’ ‘Good girl,’ Jenny said catching hold of my arm and dragging me out of my New Favourite Place in the Whole World. So what if I was now officially broke. Why else did I have an emergency credit card? And I was stylishly broke at least. Plus I was too busy staring up and down Lexington Avenue really to think about it. Everywhere was too busy, too hot and too noisy but it was amazing to me. Looking right, I swam in the endless downtown view afforded by the New York grid system, channels framed by skyscrapers rising high into the sky. To the left, dozens of honking, screeching cabs and searing sunshine contributed to the glowing heat haze rising up and distorting the air. I thought it was beautiful. ‘How far do you think you can walk before you pass out?’ Jenny asked, nudging me out of my daydream. ‘Maybe fifteen minutes?’ I wasn’t sure if it was really a question or a challenge. I really, really didn’t feel like walking. ‘Then we should do as much of this on foot as we can.’ She nodded to the crossing and threw herself into the traffic. ‘Come on, Angie!’ We marched across the road and then down the block, across another road, straight over Park Avenue and ever onwards, crossing Madison. Dragging my precious bags behind me, my fifteen minutes of walking time were quickly wasting away. ‘I just wanted to make it to Fifth,’ Jenny yelled, holding out her arm, as we crossed for the last time. ‘Let’s get a cab.’ If it was humanly possible, the cab ride through Manhattan was even more exciting than the ride into the city. We cruised down Fifth Avenue, whizzing for five blocks then crashing to a stop at a red light, with my bags, my head and my stomach crashing into the partition between us and the driver more than once. Every time we stopped it was outside another landmark. St Patrick’s Cathedral rose up amongst all the shops, so totally out of place, like putting a Brownie hut next to Harvey Nicks, but here in New York, it just seemed to make perfect sense. I couldn’t help but think, as we passed the lions roaring out in front of the huge public library, that if all libraries had giant lions outside, people might read more. Or at least rock up to have their picture taken on their backs. ‘Hey, do you see the Empire State Building?’ Jenny pointed out of my window to an inconspicuous looking building by the side of us. I couldn’t see anything but a huge queue of people, even when I pressed my head right up against the window of the cab and recoiling only when I saw the nasty, greasy marks left by a previous passenger. ‘Oh bugger, I really wanted to see that,’ I said, leaning in slightly and trying not to think about any other stains that might be around. ‘Pretty sure it’ll still be there tomorrow,’ Jenny said as I leaned into the back window, watching the tower go on and on into the sky as we moved further away. Until we came to a sudden halt again and I smashed my chin against the back seat. ‘We’re coming up to the Flatiron in a moment, that’s way cooler.’ She wasn’t wrong, the Flatiron building was incredible, all triangular and pointy but everything we passed was cool. Gorgeous, organized, New Yorky and cool. So incredibly different to London and, if this cab driver didn’t start taking corners with a less cavalier attitude, the last place I would ever see. Fifteen minutes later, we reached the tip of the island and pulled up outside the South Ferry Terminal. ‘We’re going on a ferry?’ I asked. Jenny had been enigmatically and uncharacteristically silent on the journey downtown and I’d been too busy taking in the city and counting the Starbucks to worry about it. ‘You’re so not ready for Staten Island,’ she laughed, passing the driver a twenty and hopping out, taking several of my bags with her. I crawled out with my other bags and trailed behind her. ‘But you’re totally ready to see this.’ We marched along the pavement and down into a busy park, I was so consumed with checking out the various sculptures and lines of people chatting, laughing, eating ice cream, I was almost at the fence before I saw it. When I did, I stopped dead. There it was. The clearest, truest symbol of New York, of America, standing proud and keeping guard across the bay. The Statue of Liberty. Jenny turned around to look for me, holding her hand over her eyes. ‘Pretty great, huh?’ I nodded, without anything to say and walked slowly towards her. We dropped our bags and leaned over the railings. It was beautiful, my very own movie moment. ‘I was thinking where we should go when you were trying on clothes,’ Jenny said softly. ‘And I figured where better than the first place thousands of people first experienced New York. Cheesy maybe, but who better to officially welcome you to the city than Lady Liberty.’ ‘It’s so weird,’ I said, still staring out across the river. ‘I’ve seen it a thousand times on TV and stuff but to actually see it, there, real. Wow.’ ‘Yeah,’ Jenny agreed. ‘I remember the first time I saw her, it was the first thing I did when I moved to the city. We never, ever came down here as kids, my mom hates it. But she’s here to look after everyone. New York is made up of millions of different people, Angie, and they all come here looking for something, just like you.’ ‘Please, you’re giving me too much credit. I wasn’t looking for something,’ I said, looking across at what I guessed to be Ellis Island. ‘I was running away.’ ‘No, you’re not giving yourself enough,’ Jenny said, turning to me. ‘Yeah, so maybe not everyone puts an ocean between themselves and their ex but you’ve got a lot to work through. And that’s not psychobabble, that’s genuine life experience talking. When my ex left me, I fell apart and I mean it. Fell. Apart. And I had no excuse to be so incredibly pathetic, it was all totally my fault and I had the most amazing friends to look after me. If you didn’t feel like your support system was strong enough, then getting yourself out of the situation was the best thing to do. And New York is a great place to do that. It’s a city of new beginnings. People go to LA to “find themselves”, they come to New York to become someone new.’ ‘I suppose,’ I said, thinking about everything that had happened. Was it weird that Mark hadn’t even crossed my mind since the Chanel counter? ‘It all just seems so strange and unreal. I feel like I ought to be, I don’t know, feeling more.’ ‘So you’re still in shock,’ Jenny said, turning back towards the bay. ‘There are worse places to be in shock than in Bloomingdale’s. Seriously though, you’ve suffered a huge personal trauma, a break-up is the closest thing to a bereavement, you know.’ ‘I do feel kind of like that,’ I admitted. I really didn’t want to dwell on it in such a public place. I was English after all, we’re not public criers. ‘One minute I’m like, it’s over, I’m not even going to think about any of it and then the next, I just can’t believe what’s happened. I think I’m doing the right thing by being here at the moment though.’ Before Jenny could back me up or shoot me down, a loud ringing interrupted us. My phone. I pulled it out of my bag, ready to remind my mum how expensive international calls were on a mobile when I saw who it was. Mark. I looked at the flashing screen for a split second and wondered what he could possibly be ringing for after our last conversation. Had he changed his mind? Was he feeling awful? Was Tim’s hand so badly damaged he was having it amputated? Ring ring. Answer me. Answer me. Without another thought, I threw my phone, as hard as I could over the railings and into the water. And it felt really, really good. ‘Sorry,’ I said, inhaling deeply. Had I really just done that? ‘This city is a good place to deal with trauma, honey, we’ve been through a lot ourselves and we’ve come out of it just fine.’ Jenny pulled a pack of tissues out of her handbag and passed them over as a precautionary measure, completely ignoring the phone missile I’d just launched. ‘God, I know,’ I said quickly, taking the tissues. ‘I suppose when you think what everyone has been through here, what they survived, it puts a break-up into perspective.’ ‘True, but that’s not what I meant, sweetie,’ Jenny said. ‘I meant that you’ve come to the right place to pull yourself through something that’s difficult and hard and tears your insides out. Whatever that something is, is different for everyone. For me, Century 21 reopening five months after 9/11 was my epiphany. I knew I’d be brave enough to get through anything if they could open their doors and sell me designer shoes at a seventy per cent discount.’ She took my hand. ‘Now I’ve got to get to my evening shift. And you must be completely wiped. Want to head back to the hotel?’ I took one last look out at the statue. Wowsers. I was in New York. And I was so incredibly tired. ‘Yes please.’ We gathered up all of our bags and flagged down yet another cab. Hmm, a new friend, a new wardrobe and a new city. Compared to Saturday, this hadn’t been a bad day. CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_faae37ea-834c-57fa-968b-b96090894ca4) After a nap, a shower and several false starts at international dialling from the hotel room phone I finally did what I had to do. ‘Annette Clark speaking.’ ‘Mum, it’s me.’ ‘Oh, Angela, thank goodness. I’ve been trying to get hold of you all day,’ she breathed out in an overly dramatic gesture. This was going to be quick and easy, then. ‘Well, my phone doesn’t work over here.’ We generally found it easier to rely on white lies, a much healthier mother/daughter relationship, than telling the truth, and I wasn’t ready to have my mental state questioned. Again. ‘I just wanted to let you know I’m safe and I’ve got somewhere to stay and I’ll give you another call when I know what I’m doing.’ ‘Somewhere to stay?’ she repeated. ‘Yes, with a friend,’ I said, keen to get off the phone before the conversation turned to a subject I just didn’t want to deal with. ‘Now, can you do me a favour and pick up my stuff from the house? He knows—’ ‘Angela, slow down,’ Mum said. I could see her, cradling the phone between her shoulder and ear, rubbing her cheeks with her palms, just like she always did when she was confused. ‘What do you mean “a friend”? You don’t know anyone in America. Please just come home. Dad has sorted out your room and everyone feels just awful, you know, but no one blames you for what happened at the wedding.’ ‘No one blames me!’ I said, my voice getting a tiny bit higher than it needed to be. ‘No one blames me … Right, well, yes, I’ve made a friend. No, I didn’t know I could make a friend in a day but then until Saturday, I didn’t realize the friends I’ve had all my life could lie to me so well, so maybe it’s time to take a chance on new people.’ ‘Angela, don’t start, that’s not what I meant,’ she sighed. ‘I just want to know you’re all right. Sod the rest of them.’ ‘Yes, I’m fine,’ I said, catching a glimpse of my new hairdo and beautiful, albeit slightly melted, make-up in the mirror. Damn, I looked pretty bloody good. ‘I really am. Look, I’m staying at a – with my friend Jenny and she’s really nice. I’m going to be here for a while I think, but I’ll call you if I need anything and you can call me on this number for the next couple of days, just 1471 it. Love you.’ ‘Love you too, sweetheart,’ she said, sounding slightly mollified. ‘Dad and I will go and get your things from your house. Don’t worry, just come home soon.’ Five minutes after my mother had hung up, I realized I was still gripping the receiver so tightly my knuckles had turned white. Just hearing her mention Mark, the wedding, everything back home had put me in a foul mood. Not a good move when I had to spend the night in by myself. I walked over to the window, looking for somewhere to hide out, people watch and basically listen in on other people’s conversations. A huge, familiar beacon of normality stared back at me. Starbucks. Perfect. And there was even an HSBC next door. Multinational corporations be praised. I emptied two of the Big Brown Bags onto the bed and found a pair of tiny shorts and some colourful T-shirts. Peeling off my sweaty jeans and old graying T-shirt, I swapped outfits and slipped into my new Havaianas. My handbag looked too formal, too structured and altogether too much like it came from Next to wear with the outfit, so I slipped my room key and cash card into my back pocket and hoped for the best. Sporting a big black pleather handbag with flip-flops and hot pants did seem a bit silly. Jenny wasn’t on the desk when I passed through reception so I escaped without questioning and, even though it was past seven, the air outside was still balmy and dense. I visited the bank first, struggling for a second with having to put my card in and take it back out again before the buttons would work. Just before I could withdraw some cash, the related accounts link danced in the corner of my eye. The joint account. I pressed the button, just to check. It was looking really, really healthy. Mark and I had always had an agreement that I put in a certain amount each month to cover the mortgage and bills and then he paid them all. From the looks of this, he’d been covering a lot more than half the bills for some time and never mentioned it. For a brief moment, I felt a pang, maybe he wasn’t all bad, he did look after me after all. And then a devil appeared on my shoulder with a quick reminder of his sweaty, pathetic face. Before I even knew what I’d done, I moved half the cash from the joint account over to my personal account. He was hardly going to miss it, he earned a fortune, and by rights, half of it was allegedly mine. And more importantly, it covered my shopping spree. Result. Breathing fast and heavy, I withdrew a couple of hundred dollars, not knowing what I’d be doing for the next few days, and dashed into Starbucks with my ill-gotten gains. ‘What can I get you?’ asked the cute assistant. Under normal circumstances, I’d have been flustered and blushing, he was absolutely my crush type. Tall, skinny, floppy brown hair and had the look of a man that new his way around a Stratocaster. The complete opposite of Mark, to be specific. But I was too confused by the coffee menu to take in his messy prettiness. ‘Er, I just want, a, erm,’ this wasn’t me projecting my most confident and beautiful self, as recommended by Jenny, ‘a large coffee?’ ‘A regular coffee?’ he asked. ‘Like, a Venti Americano?’ ‘Very possibly? And a muffin, blueberry muffin.’ ‘Five thirty-five,’ he said, flipping the fringe across his eyes. Now the coffee issue was out of the way, I had a chance to check out just how good-looking he was. And he really was. ‘I’ll bring them over.’ I scooted over to a table for one by the window and tried to relax. Looking at the bank account had actually been even worse than talking to my mum. I felt as if I’d actually taken money out of his wallet. I rested my head on my forearms and breathed deeply. Sod it, he could consider that his Dickhead Tax. ‘Venti Americano and a blueberry muffin.’ Starbucks boy deposited my drink and snack on the table in front of me with a flourish. ‘Thanks,’ I said, suddenly as hungry as Jenny, looking at the giant, berry-studded muffin. ‘So, are you on vacation?’ he asked. I wasn’t really used to getting into conversations with strangers, let alone fit male ones. Working from home limited my access to the outside world and the people in my local Costa were not chatty. I don’t think they liked me using their place of work as a makeshift office. ‘Sort of, I suppose.’ I didn’t really want to get into the reasons behind my visit to the city with a hot barista. ‘I’m staying here for a while. With a friend.’ ‘Cool,’ he nodded. ‘So you’re from England right? I really want to go to London. The music scene there is so cool right now.’ ‘I am,’ I nodded back, sipping my bucket of coffee, wishing I’d asked for a decaf and trying to think of something cool to say. ‘It’s really – cool.’ ‘Yeah, totally,’ he agreed. ‘If you’re around next month, you should check out my band. We’re playing at the Cake Shop in a couple of weeks.’ He pulled a napkin from under my plate and took a pen out of his pocket. ‘Give me a call and I’ll put you on the guest list. I’m Johnny.’ I took the napkin, turning bright red and not from the sunburn I’d picked up in Battery Park. ‘Thank you,’ I said, tucking it into my pocket and looking hard at my coffee. ‘And, if you’re not doing anything at the weekend, you could give me a call or something. We could, like, go to a show or something,’ he said, flicking his fringe back the other way. ‘Or you know, if you just want some coffee, I’m usually here.’ I gulped my coffee and broke off the edge of the muffin as Johnny sauntered back behind his counter. Had I just been asked out by a cute boy? Since I’d been engaged, I’d assumed (or hoped) I was giving off an ‘I’m taken’ vibe that put off all reasonable men. There had been the odd sleaze who would have a crack at the end of the night, or the dodgy friend whose best mate had already got off with someone, but I really couldn’t remember the last time an actual honest to God, good-looking man had even attempted to have a go. ‘But you’re not engaged any more, you’re single,’ whispered the increasingly irritating devil on my shoulder, who apparently had not done enough damage in the bank. I drained my coffee quickly and nibbled the other edge of my muffin, my appetite gone. Johnny was serving another customer as I left. He gave me a quick wave, I nodded and smiled back shyly. Outside it was starting to cool a little at last. I crossed over the road into Union Square Park and sat down on the first bench I passed. For a split second, I couldn’t feel my cash card in my pocket. I fished around the oddly deep back pocket of the implausibly short shorts until I gripped the card, my room key and the roll of cash I’d just withdrawn. People were still streaming out of the subway, looking harassed, hot and tired, while a younger, cooler crowd surged down the steps. I wondered where they were all going when a short, suit-wearing middle-aged man sat down on the bench next to me. ‘Hi,’ he said, sitting at the far end of the bench. ‘Hello,’ I replied, grasping the roll of cash in my hand. He didn’t look like a mugger but I couldn’t be sure, I was in a strange city after all. ‘So, I don’t usually do this kind of thing, but how much for a blow job?’ he asked quietly, talking to my knees. ‘Sorry?’ ‘A, ah, a blow job. I have a hundred bucks or so,’ Sweat was beading on his top lip but I didn’t think it was from the heat. ‘I’ve had a hell of a day.’ ‘I – I’m not a, not a prostitute,’ I spluttered, unable to move. ‘Oh,’ he stood up quickly, shuffling backwards but still staring at my legs. ‘I’m sorry, I just thought, because the cash and – and … I’m sorry.’ Before I could get up, he had shuffled away, out of the park and down the street. I stared after him. Did I look like a prostitute? Quickly, I shoved everything back in my pockets and ran back across the road and into the safety of the dimly lit hotel lobby. ‘Hey,’ called Jenny from the concierge desk. ‘Where have you been? I called up to see what you wanted for dinner.’ I stopped dead in the middle of the busy lobby and turned to face her. ‘These shorts are going back.’ It took an emergency cup of tea and full packet of Chips Ahoy! cookies on the floor behind the concierge desk, before Jenny could get any sort of sense out of me. Naturally, she managed to find the positive in my being mistaken for a hooker who gives blowjobs in public parks. ‘A hundred dollars is way above average, I’m sure,’ she said, topping up my tea with hot water. I’d already had to demand a mug, no matter how against cute English stereotype, I didn’t want to have to get into the ‘we don’t top it up with hot water, we make more tea’ conversation when I was having absolutely the wrong kind of Julia Roberts/Pretty Woman moment. ‘And more importantly, Starbucks Johnny totally hit on you! You hit one out of the park on your first try, honey!’ ‘Do you know him?’ I sniffed, necking the weak, milkless excuse for tea. ‘He was quite cute.’ ‘Know him?’ Jenny whistled. ‘Half the girls working in this hotel would like to know him a whole lot better. He’s the reason we all have caffeine addiction. Ask Van next time she’s on the desk. She’s got a four machiatos a day habit because of that boy.’ ‘It was just so weird, I don’t think I handled it that well. I don’t think I’ve even got his number still.’ ‘He gave you his number?’ she shrieked, scalding me with more unnecessary hot water. ‘Jesus, Angie! What do you need me for? You’re already picking up grade A guys on your second day in the city. I don’t think anyone here got his number.’ And admittedly, that did make me feel quite good. ‘It’s only because I’m English or something, he doesn’t think I’ll call. And I won’t anyway, will I?’ Jenny looked at me for a second and then sat down.‘Why not?’ ‘Because I haven’t called anyone in, well actually ever. I’ve literally just had a monumental break-up, I don’t need to start dating right away.’ ‘You know what? A couple of dates might be the best thing for you. This is kind of a vacation, right? So let’s find you a vacation fling, a holiday romance.’ ‘I don’t know, I mean, isn’t dating really hard?’ I pulled my top down over my knees. ‘I’ve only ever, well, you know, been with Mark. I don’t know if I can do “dating”, like proper going out and dating.’ ‘Seriously? And don’t stretch that,’ Jenny asked, pulling my top back off my knees like my mum. ‘If that’s the case honey, we definitely have to get you a couple of dates. You need to realize how much fun it is! A couple of non-pressure, well behaved gentleman-type dates. Just some fun. Nothing big.’ ‘Are you sure?’ I certainly wasn’t. ‘Totally,’ she said, easing up off the floor and pulling me up with her. ‘Now, you go upstairs, call down when you know what you want to eat and read this over dinner.’ She handed me a notebook with my name written across the front in big lettering, decorated with glittery star stickers and a huge ‘I Heart NY’ postcard. ‘What’s this?’ I asked. Wasn’t I a little too old for star stickers? ‘It’s for you to write in,’ Jenny explained, opening the notebook to the first page. ‘You said that you didn’t really know what your ambitions were earlier, now I want you to work some out. And make sure you include getting laid. Now upstairs, dinner, ambitions and then sleep.’ She shooed me away and turned to a hotel guest waiting patiently in front of the counter with a megawatt smile. ‘How can I help you, Mr Roberts?’ I heard her purr as I slipped into the lift, my nose already in the notebook. Name: Easy, Angela Clark. Age: Twenty-six and six months. More of a wince with that one. Ambition: To be a published writer. Next to published writer, I added, ‘To be happy’. And next to that, ‘Get laid’. CHAPTER SEVEN (#ulink_3748a572-7e53-5a6a-86f4-18f754573971) The next morning, I woke up feeling I had to meet my new life head on. So what if I’d never done anything impulsive before today? I was now a born again New Yorker and a New New Yorker needed a New Handbag. I’d put together a simple outfit, short shorts, a beautifully cut white shirt and cute little lemon ballet slippers. My make-up and hair might not have been up to Razor/Gina standards but I still looked better than I had in, well, since the last time I’d actually bothered to look in a mirror. Jenny had been insistent that I travel everywhere by subway until I knew the system as well as the London Underground. I hadn’t had the heart to tell her that even after nearly seven years in London, I could still pretty much only find my way from Waterloo to TopShop Oxford Circus without looking at the map. Cautiously, I slipped down the subway steps, scoping out a Metrocard machine and feeding in my cash. So far, so London. Twenty-four dollars for a one week pass? Not so London. I knew TFL had been ripping me off … According to my notes, I was supposed to take the 6 train to Spring Street – easy. But looking at the map, I was sure it would have been quicker to walk. Immediately I was confused, why didn’t the lines just have names? What was with the colours, the letters and the numbers? And how did I know what stopped where? Jenny’s notes expressly forbade asking anyone for directions or getting a guidebook out. Halfway around Bloomingdale’s the day before, she had grabbed my Rough Guide out of my handbag and ceremoniously dropped it in a rubbish bin. The subway was hot in the sticky August heat, but the platforms were much bigger than the Underground. When the train arrived, it was huge inside compared to the cramped little District line. At first I couldn’t work out why the carriage looked so familiar and then I remembered, Ghost. This is my train! Louisa and I must have watched that film a thousand times as teenagers. But Louisa’s not here, I reminded myself. She’s probably playing mixed doubles with her husband, your ex and his mistress. The fact that I knew she was probably on her honeymoon in Grenada did nothing to dispel the ugly fantasy I’d created for myself. Before I could slink off the train and back into the hotel, the doors closed and we pulled off. I dropped backwards onto the hard metal bench and studiously avoided eye contact with the other travellers while sneakily trying to get a good look at them. It would be such a New York clich? to call the subway a melting pot but it really was. Businessmen in suits clung to the straps, tourist shoppers from Fifth Avenue clutched their Saks and Tiffany’s bags nervously, while a group of Hispanic girls with truly gravity defying hair backcombed each other beside me. In between them, older travellers rode the train with their eyes closed. Before I knew it, we were at my stop. I dashed through the open doors and headed up the steps, trying not to look around with too much confusion. As I exited on to Spring Street, the super strong sun caught me off guard and I almost toppled backwards into a girl, so cool looking I felt sure that she must be famous. Or at least sleeping with someone famous. ‘Sorry,’ I gave her my best ‘what a tit’ grin. The girl gave me an uncomfortable stare and moved on. Watching her lithe limbs saunter on down the street as if she owned it, I wondered how much I would have to offer her for a blowjob. If I was commanding a hundred dollars, she could be into five figures. Jenny had told me I’d love Soho and she was right. It was so different to the strict, structured grid system of midtown. I loved being able to see for what seemed like for ever, up and across Manhattan, but this was like stepping into a film set. Even though I’d never been here, the streets seemed so familiar. Either I’d found my spiritual home or I’d watched too much TV. I wandered down the street, towards what I hoped was Broadway, peering in windows, watching the people and intermittently looking down at my shameful old handbag. Before I could decide what to do with it, I found Broadway. And another Bloomingdale’s. Hurrah. I fought my way through the cosmetics counters, trying to strike a balance between peeping at the magical make-up on the counters without attracting the attention of the vulture-like assistants. Dashing past the Bliss counter, I bounded onto the escalator, sailing up and away to credit card safety. For the moment at least. The bags were helpfully right where I stumbled off the escalator, but the number of bags crammed into this small space was completely overwhelming. Stalking around the counters and shelves, I evaded the gaze of the assistants for as long as I could before I braved a young brunette with approximately three hairs out of place. A relative slattern by Soho standards. ‘Hi, can I help you find something?’ she asked. ‘I’m looking for a bag,’ I nodded, trying not to sound like someone who really didn’t do this often, but at the same time not wanting to get fleeced out of my of entire wedding savings for a handbag. ‘Something I can use for everyday really, for carrying my laptop, my wallet, phone, stuff like that.’ ‘OK.’ She began rocketing around the department, pulling out various bags of various sizes, all extraordinarily expensive, I was sure. ‘You’ll probably want leather if it’s for everyday. It’s the most durable material and it wears well. And you want room for your laptop …’ she paused, biting her full bottom lip and glancing around the shelves before pulling some more bags out from hidden drawers behind her counter. ‘Any favourite designers?’ ‘Marc Jacobs?’ I offered, thinking back to yesterday’s induction into the fashion floor. It seemed to be the right answer because she smiled and finished off the collection of luxury leather in front of her with the most beautiful, beautiful bag I had ever laid eyes on. I reached out to stroke its buttery softness, the dark brown of the leather looked like milk chocolate and the subtle gold detailing winked at me. ‘Buy me,’ it whispered tantalizingly. ‘I complete you.’ The sales girl was making noises about updated classic satchel design, Italian leather and brass fixings but I was already working out how much I could ram in there and still wedge my arm through the strap. ‘How much?’ I asked, picking it up delicately. It was heart-stoppingly beautiful. Was it wrong that I felt more passion for this bag than I had felt in my and Mark’s bedroom for the last three years? ‘It’s $895.00,’ she said, sensing the commission. I figured she could smell a sale like a horse smells fear. ‘Plus tax.’ My shoddy internal exchange rate brought that out at more or less ?500. I’d never ever spent more than thirty quid on a bag. But I needed it. I thought back to when Louisa and I went shopping for bridesmaid shoes in Harvey Nicks and reasoned with myself. If she could spend ?400 on my shoes for one day (albeit guilt shoes, I realized now) I could invest ?500 in a bag I would use for the rest of my life. I’d just use it all the time. For every occasion. Every single day. ‘Anything else?’ the girl piped up. I smiled feverishly back at her. ‘I need a clutch.’ A thousand dollars down and two amazing handbags up, I sloped down Bloomingdale’s steps into the searing summer heat. I figured at ?500 I had to get my money out of this bad boy by using it absolutely immediately, rolling my Next pleather wonder into as small a scrunchy ball and dropping it into my Big Brown Bag. Compared to midtown yesterday, Broadway was relatively quiet. A few tourists wandered around in combat shorts and red shoulders with digital cameras constantly clicking, while the beautiful and hip with no perceivable employment, swanned in and out of the shops, weaving around Mercer, Spring and Prince Streets, weighing down their skinny forearms with massive stiff paper bags. It took staring at these girls for less than a minute before I realized how starving I was. Luckily, this was New York City and Starbucks was never more than two minutes away. One quick muffin, I promised myself as I stumbled gratefully back into multinational air-conditioning, and then I’ll head back to the hotel. My promises were short-lived. If the people watching outside Bloomingdale’s had been good, standing in the ten minute queue at Starbucks was like watching a David Attenborough documentary. I’d never seen such a mix of people. More skinny women ordering non-fat caffeine shots, businessmen holding meetings over blueberry scones, cute muso types intensely discussing the newest guitar band (and not even ordering coffee – rebels.) But the most popular customers were the men and women studiously ignoring the rest of the patrons and desperately tapping away on laptops, intermittently stopping to check their WiFi connections, sigh loudly and sip their huge drinks. ‘You can never get a fuckin’ seat in this fuckin’ place,’ breathed the man behind me. ‘Fuckin’ bloggers.’ I turned and smiled politely even though I didn’t know what he was talking about, assuming he was addressing me. He stared back at me as if I were mentally ill. ‘Bloggers?’ I enquired, suddenly feeling very English as he stared me down. ‘What?’ he snapped. Apparently, he was not talking to me. ‘Sorry,’ I mumbled, turning away, looking for a rock to crawl under. ‘You said something about bloggers, I thought you meant …’ and I let myself trail off with an intense stare into the pastry cabinet. ‘Oh,’ he said, still not exactly what you’d call friendly. ‘Just thinking out loud. You can never sit down in a Starbucks for all these cocksucking bloggers posting their whiny diatribes about how shitty their lives are. No one cares, people! Go find some real friends to talk to!’ At this point he was really shouting at the laptop brigade and I was really, really wishing I hadn’t encouraged the conversation. ‘Next?’ Saved by the coffee order. I ordered my muffin and Americano to go and immediately hailed a cab. I’d taken the subway once today and my Marc Jacobs satchel really didn’t feel like slumming it. ‘The Union hotel, on Union Square,’ I said, settling back as we turned off Broadway. I watched carefully for street signs, trying to ignore further credit card destroying shopping opportunities. Down East Houston and then up the Bowery, or was it Fourth Avenue? I was confused but happy confused. ‘You on vacation?’ the cabbie yelled through the grid. ‘Yes,’ I called back, happily taking in the sights. ‘I am on vacation.’ ‘Girl like you on your own?’ he asked. ‘Don’t get many girls on their own. Mainly get the packs of three or four doing the Sex and the City thing. Can’t tell you how many times I’ve been down to Magnolia Bakery.’ Oh. Cupcakes! ‘I haven’t been there yet.’ ‘Yeah, I don’t get it,’ he laughed. ‘They sit in the back of the cab complaining about not being able to get into some dumb dress they can’t afford and then they go eat cupcakes. I just don’t get it.’ The cab ride was so short, I hardly had time to find my wallet inside my beautiful new bag when we pulled up outside the hotel. And it was only six dollars! This was the best city and clearly, clearly offset the insanity of my purchases. The thing I loved best about my hotel room was that no matter how messy I left it, how many towels I’d used and how many of the mini Rapture toiletries I’d used up in the shower, it was always blissfully restored to pristine condition when I returned. I gently placed my Marc Jacobs bag on the side table and pulled my laptop out of the desk. Setting up a selection of soft drinks and snacks on the tiny table I’d dragged across the room, I grabbed a pillow from the bed and perched the computer onto my knee. The hotel had supplied me with a UK power adaptor without me even asking. Wow. I couldn’t remember the last time Mark had so much as intuitively supplied me with a cup of tea. I also spotted a note from Jenny, reminding me tonight was Gina’s leaving party and that I was to meet her in reception at nine. Within fifteen minutes of settling into my chair and not typing a single word, my laptop had gone to sleep and so had I. I was back to dreaming my New York life, instead of living my New York dream. For the last six months or so, while Mark had been putting in extra hours at the office and at the tennis club (and in Katie as it turned out) I’d thought about joining gyms, taking yoga classes, even teaching creative writing classes, but I hadn’t actually acted on any of them. Maybe, if I tried, I could genuinely see the positives in what had happened. I had already made a friend in Jenny, even if I didn’t really know her that well. I’d got a new do, a new wardrobe and I was now in possession of the most beautiful handbag I’d ever seen in almost twenty-seven years of life. Who needed what I’d left behind? While all these thoughts ran through my head, I started typing. For the want of a plot or a storyline, I started writing every single thing that had happened to me in the last week. It seemed like a good place to start, documenting everything for fear of a single second of it escaping. It all came out, the wedding ceremony, the dinner, the toasts, finding Mark in the car with his pants down, bashing Tim’s hand, and my bolt to New York. Before I knew what had happened, it was almost eight, I’d been typing for more than three hours and in just over one, I had to meet Jenny, Gina and Vanessa. CHAPTER EIGHT (#ulink_b703123e-7c10-5cd0-adc6-004e4723498f) Dead on the dot of nine, fuelled by a hastily necked vodka from the mini bar, I stepped out of the lift and into the lobby. ‘Jesus, Angela Clark,’ Jenny said as I skulked into the bar. I’d never in my life been one of those girls who can look in a mirror and think, yeah, I look good. Even at Louisa’s wedding, after an hour and a half at the mercy of a hairdresser and make-up artist, I hadn’t looked good – I’d looked like a bridesmaid, but things were changing. If I didn’t look at least OK tonight, I knew I never would. It had taken me twenty minutes and three attempts at Razor’s smoky eye make-up tips, but I was more or less there (and he’d promised it would only look better the more smudged it got). My hair was elegantly messy and I’d gone for a simple black v-neck dress I’d bought that afternoon, with my Louboutins, new clutch and bare legs. I’d never felt so great but so nervous in all my life. ‘Hey,’ I held my hand out in a small wave. ‘Remind me again why I’m giving you shopping advice?’ Jenny kissed me on both cheeks and presented me to the girls. ‘Gina and Vanessa, you know, this is Erin.’ They all raised a hand and I ordered a vodka and cranberry hoping it would come soon. ‘I’ve told the girls all about you but I didn’t tell them you were a complete glamazon,’ Jenny said, checking me out from every angle. ‘You did me proud, doll!’ ‘I didn’t really know what I should wear so I just went for black. And I didn’t have to make too many choices about going out shoes,’ I held out a foot for inspection to approving hums and nods. ‘Well, you did good, honey,’ Gina said, sipping her cocktail. ‘You’ll be just fine.’ At least I’d got the level of dressing up right. Gina looked ridiculously sexy in high, high heels and a knee-length, skin-tight silk dress in a rich purple. Jenny was putting her namesake to shame in a plunging cream dress that cut way past her cleavage and the other two girls had really taken the ‘short is the new black’ mantra I’d seen in fashion magazines to heart. Individually they looked super sexy but as a pack, they looked unreal. If I were a man, I’d have been terrified. Not at all strangely, for five scantily-clad women, we found cabs right away and were climbing out at the Soho Grand in minutes. From the outside, nothing really looked that grand but the ordinary fa?ade belied an amazing interior. Like The Union, it was dimly lit but decked out with chandeliers and amazing wrought ironwork. The Grand Bar was lined with chrome stools that were occupied by equally beautiful people befitting the decor. Jenny had reserved a section of the lounge, which was already spilling over with people I recognized from the hotel and people I didn’t. Everyone was all about the hugs, kisses and ‘you rock’ affirmations, but I wasn’t drunk enough not to feel self-conscious. ‘Hey, you really do look great,’ Jenny whispered in my ear as we were ushered through into our own private slice of opulence. ‘And you’ll be just fine. Just talk to people, you’re practically a local celebrity and shit, you look so hot!’ A reassuring squeeze on the shoulder and she was gone. No matter how great I was told I looked and how fabulous my surroundings, I still felt like a fish out of water. The first two drinks were wearing off and all of a sudden, I was just Angela Clark in a room full of strangers wearing a really short dress. For the want of something to do, I went to the bar. If I was holding a drink, at least I’d have something to do with my hands. Even though it wasn’t even ten, the bar was busy with hotel guests and after-work drinkers but I managed to slip onto a stool as a sweaty man in a suit vacated, and checked out the cocktail menu. From here, Gina’s group looked as if it could be any A-lister’s after party. I didn’t think anyone at home would believe me if I told them that the gorgeous, groomed minxes in the VIP area were hotel workers and hairdressers. They looked like movie stars to me and no matter how many makeovers I had, it had still only been three days since I was just Angela Clark, nobody. Maybe I wasn’t ready to become Angela Clark, somebody, just yet. ‘Waiting for someone?’ asked a voice at my side. If this man was going to offer me money for sex, I would have had to consider it. Please ask me how much for a blow job, I prayed. He was tall, broad shouldered and very handsome. I instantly imagined him to be called Chip or Brad and to ride very fast, manly motorcycles on the weekends. ‘I’m actually with some friends,’ I said, pointing over at the group who were getting louder by the second. ‘I was just taking a break. Getting a drink.’ ‘Me too,’ he said smoothly. His eyes were a light blue and even in the dim, sultry lighting, I could see them twinkling as he nodded towards a group of guys sitting around one of the low coffee tables opposite the bar. ‘I needed two minutes out of the zoo. Don’t you hate it when you go for a drink after work and then just talk about work?’ I laughed, not really sure why. It wasn’t even vaguely funny. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever had after work drinks,’ I said, thanking every god I could think of as the stool next to me freed up and he sat down. ‘I’m a freelancer so I work from home most of the time.’ ‘What’ll it be?’ the bartender interrupted. I looked down at the menu, flustered. Not a Sex on the Beach or a Woo Woo to be seen. ‘We’ll have two Perfect Tens,’ the guy ordered. ‘Sorry, you like them?’ ‘This is my first time here, I’ll have to try it.’ It took me a moment to realize he’d just bought me a drink. ‘I mean, thank you.’ I was desperately trying not to blush and completely blanked. He ran his hand through his light brown hair, which moved just enough to make my heart melt but was still short enough to make it through a game of squash unscathed. Probably. ‘So you’re a freelance what?’ he asked as the bartender presented us with a pair of huge, citrussy-looking drinks. ‘Oh, writer,’ I said, taking a sip. Whatever alcohol was in this was well hidden behind a whole lot of pineapple juice. It was the perfect summertime drink. ‘I write children’s books.’ It didn’t seem worth going into any more detail at this point. That and the fact that I was struggling to put my thoughts into a workable sentence. He was so ridiculously hot! ‘That’s great,’ he said, pulling the straw out of his drink and sipping straight from the glass. Manly. ‘It must be fulfilling to do something so creative.’ ‘Uh-huh,’ I nodded, realizing too late that I was making really short work of this drink and not really wanting to go into why I wasn’t creatively sated by writing about toys that go on magic journeys when they shake their musical bells. ‘And what do you do?’ ‘I work on Wall Street,’ he said, almost an admission. ‘It’s not exactly creative, huh?’ Even sitting down and wearing a suit I could see how worked out his upper body was. As unaccustomed as I was to talking to a hot man in a hot bar, I could feel my confidence having a crack at coming back up again, like the little engine that could. If that little engine was fuelled by vodka. ‘But it must be challenging?’ I said, trying to slide my empty glass back onto the bar without him noticing. No such luck. ‘I can’t imagine how much responsibility that must be.’ ‘Well, yeah,’ he agreed, signalling to the bartender to refill my glass. I reached for my purse and he held out his hand. ‘It is challenging and thankfully, it’s well paid, so I can afford to buy children’s book writers drinks.’ ‘You buy a lot of children’s book writers drinks?’ I asked, attempting to flirt. I was rusty but good God, I was going to have a go. ‘Just you and JK Rowling, if I ever meet her,’ he joked. Pulling out his wallet, he passed the bartender what looked suspiciously like a hundred dollar bill, simultaneously impressing and terrifying me. ‘So I gotta ask, do two drinks get me your name?’ he asked, passing me a refreshed glass. ‘Angela,’ I obliged, sipping slowly. ‘Angela Clark. And does accepting them get me yours?’ ‘Tyler Moore,’ he said, replacing the wallet and removing something else. A tiny silver business card case. ‘So, Angela, are you on vacation in New York or are we lucky enough to add you to our swelling ranks of writers?’ ‘You’re lucky enough to have me for a while,’ I said, trying not to stare at his chest. Reaching in and out for the wallet had revealed a thin white shirt that in turn hinted at a very hard, very toned six-pack. ‘I’m staying for the time being, but I’m not sure how long for.’ ‘I hope it’s long enough for me to take you out,’ he said, opening the business card holder and passing me one of the cards. I took it and slipped it straight into my bag. I didn’t want to lose it. ‘Where are you staying?’ ‘The Union,’ I spotted the men on the sofa standing up and throwing bills on the table. ‘On Union Square?’ ‘I love that hotel. There’s this great noodle place across the square too, haven’t been there in ages,’ he said, swapping the business card holder for a BlackBerry. How many pockets did he have in there? His jacket was like the Tardis. ‘Well now you’ve got me hungry, how about dinner on Thursday? Could I get your number?’ ‘Oh, I don’t have a phone yet,’ I winced as he stepped down from the stool. ‘But Thursday would be great, really. Would it be OK if I called you?’ ‘You got my numbers, I’d love to hear from you,’ he said and held out a hand, which I shook gladly. Soft hands, firm grip and possibly manicured but I wasn’t complaining. The way I figured it, he was a karmic gift from the universe. ‘Bye Angela Clark.’ And with that I was in love. I stared after him as he vanished down the wrought-iron staircase with his friends and sipped my drink. Oh, his rear view was every bit as good as the front. ‘Could I get another Perfect Ten?’ I asked as the bartender passed my way. He nodded and miraculously, another appeared from nowhere. I left a twenty on the bar and hopped off the stool. Turned out I wasn’t that steady on my heels and I wobbled over to Gina’s reserved area. ‘Hey, girl!’ Jenny waved me over from a low bench by the window. ‘I was worried about you until I saw you talking to tall, rich and handsome over by the bar. Johnny yesterday, hot banker tonight, seriously, why do you need my help again?’ I flopped onto the bench and sighed. ‘But they’re both because of you,’ I said, throwing an arm around her. ‘It’s the hair and the make-up and stuff. Not me. Jesus, I couldn’t even get my own boyfriend to have sex with me, let alone seduce strangers.’ ‘Seriously?’ she asked, sipping on what looked like a Cosmopolitan. Hmm, I thought, apparently not a clich?. One of those next for me. ‘But why wouldn’t he want to throw you down and ravish you?’ ‘Because he was ravishing someone else,’ I laughed loudly. ‘And he never saw me looking like this. I wore nothing but hoodies and baggy jeans. We had sex about once a month on principal. And it had been shit for about, God, do you know I can’t actually remember the last time it was good.’ ‘That’s really sad,’ sighed Jenny. I dropped my head onto her shoulder and nodded. ‘He has absolutely no excuse for cheating but if things were that bad, you should have been out of there a long time ago.’ ‘And you know what’s really sad?’ I whispered loudly with dramatic hand gestures. ‘He is the only man I’ve ever done it with.’ I nodded to myself and finished my drink. It was definitely time for another. ‘Yeah, maybe I should do it with Tyler, that man at the bar. He asked me out for dinner.’ ‘And you’re gonna go, right?’ she asked, taking my empty glass. ‘You should totally go.’ ‘I said I’d let him know about Thursday,’ I noticed I was slurring a little bit. The two drinks I’d necked at The Union must have been really kicking in. ‘He was really, really good-looking.’ ‘Well, don’t make it too easy for him,’ she said, patting my hand. The room was starting to spin a little, it was so hot. I really wanted another drink. ‘But you should definitely go out on Thursday and if it goes well, I say you do whatever you gotta do. You so need to get back on the horse, Angie.’ ‘Yeah, ride that horse,’ I sighed, looking for a server. How long did it take for a waitress to make her way around here? ‘What about you? You’re bloody gorgeous? What about you and horse riding?’ Jenny laughed out loud. ‘How many drinks did you have over there?’ she asked. ‘I’ve ridden far too many horses, kissed too many frogs. When I turned twenty-nine I decided I wasn’t going to keep dating useless guys just for the sake of dating, so I’m holding out for a good guy.’ ‘That’s great,’ I said, squeezing her hand hard. ‘That’s really, really great. You know what? I feel a bit sick.’ The room started to spin a little bit faster and I started to feel a little bit hotter. Jenny helped me up and somehow we made it outside to the little yard on the side of the hotel. ‘How many drinks did you have?’ Jenny asked, returning from the bar with a tall glass of water. It was the most wonderful thing I’d ever drunk. ‘Just two at the hotel and three pineapple things here,’ I said, breathing deeply. ‘But I have only had breakfast.’ ‘You really will fit in here if you carry on like that,’ Jenny said. ‘Drink that water and we’ll stop on the way to Planet Rose for food.’ ‘Planet Rose?’ I asked, trying to stand up, starting to feel a bit drunk again rather than a bit sick. Standing up still felt a long way away. ‘Karaoke,’ Jenny said, looking back towards the garden entrance where Gina and the rest of the gang were starting to bring their party out on to the pavement. ‘Will you be OK? Do you want me to take you back to the hotel?’ ‘Nope,’ I said, flinging myself to my feet. Man, these heels were high. ‘I might not be able to hold my drink or my man, but what I can hold, is a tune. Point me in the right direction and give me a bloody mic.’ I was wobbling a bit but at least I was upright. ‘Okaaay,’ said Jenny, looking at me nervously. ‘Sure you’re gonna be OK?’ ‘I’ll be fine,’ I slurred, ‘let’s just get to karaoke. Seriously, I have Singstar, it will be fine.’ ‘I kinda meant are you sure you’re not gonna puke,’ Jenny said as I marched off after the girls. ‘But apparently you’re good.’ We walked until I sobered up and hit a completely different part of town. The shops and hotels of Soho gave way to dark loud bar after dark loud bar, punctuated by little random-looking shops. ‘Welcome to the East Village,’ Jenny gestured around. The glossy girls looked a little out of place alongside the hipsters and goths that spilled out of the bars and smoked on the pavement, but they really didn’t look as if they cared. A couple more blocks away, we piled into a slightly slutty looking bar, all red walls and zebra skin booths with Black Velvet belting out of the stereo, with more than thirty of Gina’s friends, colleagues, well-wishers and good-looking people picked up along the way. And it seemed that out of all of them, I was the only one half-cut. It was only once I’d been pushed all the way down the narrow bar, I realized they weren’t playing Black Velvet. Someone was singing Black Velvet. Someone really bloody good. This wasn’t Singstar territory. I’ll just take it easy, I told myself as I slid onto a bench and tried to look casually through the song list. I won’t drink, I’ll just sit here and be calm. These people are my potential friends. I don’t want them to think I’m some loser lush who got dumped and came to New York to drink herself to death. ‘Hey, English,’ Gina stood in front of me with an enormous, lurid margarita. ‘This is yours. I put me and you down for some Spice Girls. Make you feel at home.’ ‘Oh, thanks.’ One more drink couldn’t hurt, could it? CHAPTER NINE (#ulink_1b23e318-0c16-57df-96d8-1bd68ea1e247) The next morning, or early afternoon, came all too quickly, given that I couldn’t remember anything after my rousing rendition of ‘Wannabe’. Glancing around the room (which would have been much easier if it would have just stopped spinning) I saw my dress, my shoes and my handbag all littered across the floor, so at least there didn’t appear to be too much collateral damage. As I tried to roll over, the bed covers turned into a straitjacket and alcohol induced kitten-like weakness or not, I had to get them off. Kicking madly, I pushed all the sheets off until I was laid, in my underwear, diagonally across the bare bed. And that was when I heard the shower. Nowhere in the room was there evidence of another person. I hurled myself off the edge of the bed, fighting back the urge to throw up, and pulled on the first thing I found, yesterday’s white shirt, but the shower stopped. I froze, squatting in the open shirt, hanging onto the edge of the covers. The lock on the bathroom door clunked out of place. Unkindly, the full-length mirror showed me exactly what the person in the shower would be seeing in a couple of seconds and it wasn’t pretty. Elegantly messy bob was a bird’s nest and Razor had lied. There was definitely a cut-off point when smudging my eye make-up did not just make it look better. And the idea of a woman in a black bra, black pants and white shirt over the top might sound sexy, but trust me, right then, it was not. I desperately, desperately tried to think back – who could it be? It wasn’t the banker guy, he hadn’t even been at karaoke, it could be Gina’s friend, Ray, who had performed a show-stopping duet of ‘You’re the One That I Want’ with me, but no, he was definitely gay. What about the short bellhop who had completely wowed us with ‘Don’t Stop Me Now’. Nope, gay again. Shit, it couldn’t be Joe. Not the impossibly gorgeous waiter, Joe. Please no. Please no. Please – too late, the bathroom door opened. ‘Afternoon, sleepyhead,’ the voice sang happily. ‘Now, I had a great time and I think you’re a great girl but, well, I have to get going.’ Thank God, it was Jenny. She stood in front of me, all smiles, fluffy towels and wet hair, laughing her back off. ‘You didn’t know who I was did you?’ she managed to squeeze in between chuckles. ‘Shit, Angie, you are the worst drinker I’ve ever seen. And not to be funny but you’re not looking your best either. You might want to work on that before you ride that horse.’ I stood and stared for a moment, waiting for it all to come back to me. Nope. The only thing that was coming back was … sushi. I’d eaten sushi. And now, it really was coming back to me. I pushed past Jenny and headed straight for the toilet. Thankfully, this time she didn’t just laugh and proved herself to be not just a great life coach but a great hair-holder-backer and glasses of water provider. Once she’d stripped me down and helped me into the shower, I began to feel slightly more human. This was definitely a crash course in friendship. ‘Feeling better?’ Jenny was back in last night’s dress and had pulled her hair into a high ponytail. At least she sounded sympathetic even if she looked as though she might crease herself laughing at any second. ‘I guess you learned not to mix your drinks. Those Perfect Tens you were drinking in the Grand so do not mix well with margaritas.’ ‘I thought they were non-alcoholic,’ I said, slathering my face in moisturizer and slipping into a waffle robe. It felt as if dozens of little clouds had attached themselves to my body to carry me back to bed. ‘I guess not.’ ‘Not so much,’ Jenny said. ‘Listen, I have to get back to the apartment to see Gina off, but meet me in reception at seven – sound OK?’ I nodded. ‘Will you tell her I’m sorry I can’t be there and about last night and stuff?’ ‘You don’t need to apologize,’ Jenny said as she slipped into her stilettos as if they were slippers. A skill I needed to learn. ‘Seriously, we had a great night. And I was glad for the excuse to leave when you passed out. It was way past my bedtime.’ ‘I passed out?’ I couldn’t believe it. Even during the annual Drink the Bar Dry event at uni, even after five jugs of sangria on holiday, even after eight shots of Sambuca on Louisa’s hen night, I had never passed out from drinking. Thrown up, yes, lost some shoes, OK, yes, but never passed out. ‘It’s OK, Angie,’ Jenny said vanishing through the door. ‘Consider that a baptism of fire. We’re going out again tonight, if you want to come. Just for dinner? Oh and Erin said she would meet you for lunch if you were feeling human. She’s so the perfect girl to give you dating advice before your hot date.’ After Jenny had gone and I had puked a few more times, I steeled myself to leave the hotel. It was another beautiful day in Union Square Park. The sun shone just as it had on Sunday. In three short days, the sheen of ‘new’, of ‘other’, had worn away leaving something even more exciting to me. It looked familiar. It looked like home. I had walked through that gate, I had used that subway station, I had run full pelt away from that bench. I picked up my (still beautiful) Marc Jacobs bag, swiped on some MAC Lipglass, a wipe of mascara and a bucket load of blusher. Even with one of the worst hangovers I’d ever had, I still looked a million times better than I had pre-makeover. Jenny Lopez was a saint. Manatus was a sweet looking restaurant, nestled at the top of Bleecker Street in Greenwich Village in between a twenty-four-hour pharmacy and a designer lingerie store. I loved New York. I’d grabbed a cab outside the hotel, against Jenny’s express orders to take the subway, but I really didn’t like my chances of staying vomit-free on the train, so instead I motored along with my head out of the window. Luckily, I recognized Erin from the window. Petite, long blonde hair tied up in a ponytail, really pretty. No wonder she was Jenny’s dating guru, I just couldn’t believe she wasn’t taken already. ‘Hey!’ she stood up and welcomed me with a kiss on the cheek as I manoeuvred myself through the tables and prams. ‘I was worried you might not recognize me.’ ‘You don’t forget someone you’ve shared a duet of “Baby, One More Time” with that easily,’ I said, quickly sitting and taking a long sip of iced water. ‘It’s all starting to come back to me now. Tragically, all of it.’ I shook my head shamefully. ‘It was fun,’ Erin said, waving over a waitress for a menu. ‘And we were relieved to see you were human. Since Sunday, all I’ve heard from Jenny is how incredible you are and, not to sound like a total bitch, when you walked into the bar, looking like a model, I kind of found it difficult to feel sorry for you. I mean, who looks that amazing and needs man help?’ ‘Oh, I, well, me? And I think it’s just help in general I need.’ I wasn’t sure whether to thank her for the compliment or apologize. ‘And no one is mistaking me for a model. Really.’ ‘Well, the hair, the dress, and wow, the shoes,’ she said. Luckily her eyes were shining brightly and I knew I’d found another genuine person. ‘But when you get drunk, you get drunk, huh? Now what are you having?’ The waiter hovered at our side, waiting patiently. ‘Toast,’ I said, not even having looked at the menu. I had a feeling Erin didn’t waste a lot of time with things as trivial as menus. ‘And I’ll take the granola with a fresh fruit cup,’ she said, handing the menus back to the waiter. ‘Anyhoo, Jenny tells me that hot thing you were talking to at the bar in the Grand has asked you out. Did you call him yet?’ ‘Shit, no,’ I said, scrabbling for my wallet. There was his card. Safe and not vomited on. ‘I’ve been in no fit state.’ ‘OK, call him now,’ Erin said, signalling for more coffee. ‘Seriously, call him.’ She passed me her phone but I just stared at the numbers. ‘What do I say?’ ‘Hi, it’s Angela Clark, we met at the Grand last night,’ she said breezily. ‘I just wondered if you still wanted to meet up for dinner tomorrow? How’s that?’ ‘Better than what I had,’ I muttered, dialling before I could think about it. ‘Tyler Moore,’ he answered on the first ring. ‘Hi, uh, it’s Angela, Angela, erm, Clark?’ I stumbled over my own name. Sexy. ‘Hello, Angela Clark,’ he replied. I couldn’t tell if he recognized me or not. ‘I was wondering if you’d call.’ He did remember me! ‘Of course,’ I said, trying to emulate Erin’s breezy approach. She made a rolling motion with her hands, I needed to get on with it. ‘I just wondered if you still wanted to meet up for dinner?’ ‘Yeah, tomorrow right,’ he said. It sounded as though he was leaning forwards, flexing those muscles. Oh, dear. ‘How about the Mercer Kitchen at eight?’ ‘That sounds great,’ I said. I’d done it! I’d got a date! ‘Shall I meet you there?’ ‘Perfect, that’ll give me time to go home and change,’ he said. ‘See you in the bar at eight, Angela Clark.’ And he was gone. ‘So, you’re going?’ Erin asked, tapping her feet under the table. I nodded and bit my lip. ‘We’re meeting at the Mercer Kitchen at eight. Is that good?’ ‘That’s really good,’ she approved as our food arrived. ‘Mercer Kitchen is a great first date. Low lighting, great food, cool people and lots of potential for after date drinking. That’s a good pick.’ I nibbled on a piece of dry toast. Maybe this wouldn’t be as terrifying as I had thought. ‘What’s the dress code, is it posh?’ I asked, worrying slightly. I couldn’t afford to go shopping again. ‘Mmm, lots of after work suits and trendy girls but nothing too try-hard,’ she said shrugging. ‘You’ll be just fine in a cute dress or jeans and a cool shirt. He’ll probably just be in his suit.’ ‘He said he was going home to change,’ I said, gingerly nibbling at my toast. I could keep it down. I could keep it down. ‘Really? Hope he doesn’t show up dressed like Fabio or something,’ Erin laughed. Seeing the fear in my eyes, she stopped with a little cough. ‘Sure he won’t. Now, New York dating basics?’ ‘Definitely,’ I nodded. ‘Dating basics in general. I don’t know how much Jenny told you …’ ‘More or less everything,’ Erin said. ‘And what she didn’t know, you filled in last night. I’m guessing I know more about your sex life than your ex.’ I blanched and swapped the toast for the tea again. The waitress had topped it up with hot water making it weak as wee but I drank it anyway. ‘Sorry.’ ‘No need, I have to have all the facts before I take on a pupil,’ she said. As Erin reached out for the honey I noticed her fingers were completely decked out in diamonds – solitaires, eternity rings, trilogy rings, every finger except her ring finger. ‘And believe me when I tell you I know everything. You were really quite graphic.’ ‘Oh, God,’ I rubbed my forehead trying to remember exactly what I’d told her. Maybe I hadn’t remembered everything. ‘Go on then.’ Over the next hour and several cups of coffee for her and weak, weak tea for me, Erin, my answer to Dr Laura crossed with a head cheerleader, briefed me on the dating dos and don’ts of New York City. A beginner’s guide to The Rules. Do let him pay if he offers, don’t forget to bring your credit card in case he doesn’t. Do ask him questions about himself but don’t ask about exes. You can talk about jobs but don’t push financial questions, you don’t want to come across money hungry. If he asks you about your relationship history, give him the facts but not the details. Should the date go really well, you can accept a second date then and there, but since the date was on a Thursday, I was, under no circumstances, to accept a date for Friday or Saturday night. Saturday daytime maybe, Sunday, fine. It all seemed a little bit unnecessary. ‘You just don’t want to reveal anything that would put him off. And I mean anything at all,’ she said with incredible seriousness, ticking off her points on her diamond laden fingers. ‘Don’t be too funny, guys like funny but they don’t want to marry a comedian, right? The guy is supposed to be the funny one. Don’t overeat, if he orders for you, all the better. Don’t drink too much, at best he’ll think you’re an easy lush. At worst he’ll bail altogether.’ ‘You mean it’s worse to have a man ditch me than sleep with me and then never call again?’ ‘Oh honey, this is New York,’ Erin shook her head. ‘Getting him as far as the bedroom is half the battle – fingers crossed you’ve got some skills there, and then there’s a chance he’ll take you out for a second spin. It’s hard, but if you’re a really great lay, you can change a first impression. Sometimes.’ ‘Okaaaaaay,’ I felt myself colour up. ‘I’m not sure I have that many “skills” so I’d just better not drink too much.’ ‘Hmm. Well these are just the dinner rules, there’s a whole heap of other rules for when you start sleeping with him. But basically, don’t screw on the first date. Ever.’ ‘Not a problem, I’m sure. So since it seems I know absolutely nothing about dating or men, tell me everything else I need to know.’ Listening to Erin’s instructions, helpful, well-intentioned and requested as they were, was a little bit like being given driving instructions, so I’d more or less lost her by the third turn. Now, rather than being a bit worried about my date with Tyler, I was scared shitless. While she was clarifying how far I was allowed to ‘go’ if I wanted to see Tyler again I was too busy trying not to get caught looking at the man in the corner of the restaurant. He was hiding behind his battered Murakami novel, emerging only to fiddle with his iPod and order more coffee. Something about his messy black hair and vivid green eyes was vaguely familiar, but I wrote it off as him just being really, really hot. ‘So as long as you play by The Rules, you’ll be fine,’ Erin carried right on, not even noticing that she had completely lost my attention. ‘And it’s not like you’re wanting this guy to marry you right now is it, you just want some fun, yeah?’ ‘Um, yes, nothing serious,’ I said, trying to push away the idea of myself and Tyler in Tiffany’s, Tyler on one knee, me crying and everyone clapping. ‘Erin, can I ask you a question?’ ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘What kind of teacher would I be if I wasn’t open to criticism?’ ‘Oh, nothing like that,’ I said quickly. ‘I was just wondering, well, I was just wondering why you aren’t married? I know it’s not the law to be married, but you’re just a complete dating encyclopedia and you’re so perfect looking and you’re so nice and …’ ‘I was married,’ she said simply, holding out her right hand. ‘I was married when I was twenty-one to the sweetest guy you ever met.’ She presented one of the rock-like solitaires for inspection. ‘But by the time I turned twenty-three, he had grown up into a complete shit. Cheating on me with everything that moved.’ ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, not really knowing where to put myself. ‘I guess it’s definitely better to be single than in a bad marriage.’ ‘Mmm, well, I’m not done yet,’ she sighed, looking at her rings. ‘And then I was engaged to a hotel owner. That’s this one,’ she held out a beautiful sapphire and diamond eternity band, ‘but it was a total rebound relationship, you know, so I called it off a month before the big day. And when I was twenty-nine, I married Joel, my hairdresser.’ The diamond trilogy ring. ‘Oh,’ I said quietly. She clearly was the person to go to for advice on how to get a man down the aisle, just not how to avoid repeat trips. ‘But we both knew it wouldn’t work, so I took off,’ she said thinly, tipping her head to one side. ‘I won’t do it again.’ ‘Wow,’ I didn’t really know what else to say. All of a sudden I had a little less faith in The Rules. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I love to date and I hope I’ll meet someone to maybe have kids with, but I don’t think I’ll get married again. It’s not a problem, I’ve got a great career and fantastic friends. I think it just took me too long to realize I don’t need a man to validate me.’ ‘I think that’s so cool,’ I said. ‘I feel really silly now though.’ ‘No way,’ Erin laughed. ‘I really hope my friends do find nice guys to marry and settle down with, I just don’t worry about it as much as some other people. I’ve got a successful PR company, two healthy divorce settlements and I go on great dates all the time, it’s just, I’m thirty-seven and I’m just not prepared to settle any more.’ ‘Firstly, you are never thirty-seven,’ I gaped. I had her down as Jenny’s younger friend and Jenny was no candidate for Botox. ‘And secondly, do you think I’m being silly, going on this date? Should I just take time to be me?’ ‘Do you want to go on the date?’ she asked. I thought about it for all of a split second. ‘Yes, I do.’ ‘Then you should go, have fun,’ she said, fishing a beautiful Chanel wallet out of her handbag. ‘Just don’t let it be everything to you. Jenny said you’re a writer, right?’ ‘I want to be,’ I shrugged. ‘All I’m writing right now is a sort of, well, a diary.’ ‘But your diary right now must be fascinating!’ she said, flicking through business cards. ‘I represent The Look magazine and they’re always looking for bloggers to post on their site. It’s not much but it could get a mention in the magazine and who knows who might see it. Want me to set up a meeting?’ ‘God, yes!’ I said, already picturing myself in Starbucks, tapping away, annoying people with my dramatic sighs. ‘If anyone was interested I’d love to write for them.’ ‘Well, let me talk to some people when I’m there later,’ Erin said, tossing a couple of bills on the table and waving away my protest. ‘And I’ll let you know how it goes tonight. You’re coming for dinner tonight, aren’t you?’ ‘Only if you promise not to let me drink any of those awful margaritas,’ I grimaced. Just thinking about them made me look around for the ladies’ loo. With two quick kisses and a ‘call me’ Erin was gone. None of the waiters seemed to mind that we’d been sitting for well over an hour without ordering anything but tea and coffee top-ups, but I asked for a hot chocolate anyway. Pulling out my notebook and hotel room pen, I started to scribble my thoughts. God, imagine writing an online diary for The Look magazine! Maybe it wasn’t as internationally well known as Elle or as respected as Vogue, but it was definitely up there. Note to self, buy some magazines. I found my iPod in the bottom of my bag and scrolled through for some inspirational music. Hmm, shouty rock girls, floppy fringed indie boys or Britney. After my girl power lecture from Erin, didn’t it have to be shouty rock girls? A page into my scribblings, I saw the hot chocolate being placed in front of me. I nodded a thanks, too lost in my rant about how hard dating rules were to understand when I realized whoever had delivered the hot chocolate had sat down opposite me. I looked up slowly to see the cute guy from the corner of the restaurant smiling at me, resting his chin in his palm, elbows firmly on the table. ‘Hi,’ he mouthed. I paused my iPod and stared. ‘Don’t you just wish you could go up to people and say, hey, let me take a look at your iPod?’ he said, reaching out and taking mine from the table. The earbuds popped out onto my notebook. ‘That way, you would know whether or not to ask that person out right away. Say, they were listening to … angsty lesbians,’ he looked up at me. He had a sexy pale skin, dark eyes thing happening, as if he was pretty much nocturnal. ‘Most men would be scared off. But some other men would go back to the artists page and look for some other, more encouraging signs, like … hmmm, Justin Timberlake?’ ‘It’s a good song,’ I defended weakly. Even I didn’t believe me. ‘Well, the ladies love Justin,’ he said and carried on scrolling. ‘And at least it cancels out the lesbian thing.’ ‘I’m not a lesbian!’ Too quick to my own defence. He looked up again and laughed. ‘Great.’ He pulled his chair a little closer to the table. ‘Oh, this just gets better. Bon Jovi?’ ‘It’s “Living on a Prayer”, it’s a classic?’ I protested weakly, dropping my head to my hands. ‘Why aren’t you looking at the cool stuff? I like cool stuff too …’ ‘Like what?’ he asked, looking back at the iPod. ‘And don’t say all kinds of music. I hate when people say they like all kinds of music. That just means you don’t love any. Well, you’ve got the new Stills album, I hear they’re good.’ ‘I’ve seen them live!’ I said quickly. ‘I saw them in London. They were quite good. I actually prefer the first album though.’ ‘Always good to get honest feedback,’ he held his hand out. ‘Alex Reid.’ I took his hand and bit my lip. ‘You’re in Stills, aren’t you?’ ‘I am.’ ‘And you saw Justin Timberlake on my iPod.’ ‘And Bon Jovi.’ This was not how I had imagined meeting the ridiculously sexy lead singer of a super cool New York band. In most of my rock star fantasies, (which were wide and varied), I was usually looking dishevelled and sexy, wearing fishnets, heeled boots and a lot of black eyeliner at some swank after party at an edgy East London bar. Instead I was wearing a pink T-shirt and baggy jeans with bright orange flip-flops, had a crunchy, damp ponytail and hoped, just hoped, that my mascara hadn’t completely melted away under my eyes just yet. ‘But I do have your album,’ I said, trying to buy some cool points. ‘And, like, I don’t know, The Arctic Monkeys?’ ‘Very 2006,’ he said, handing me back my iPod and settling into his chair. He was still smiling and it was very off-putting. ‘But you do have some cool stuff and you did come and see my band.’ ‘I do and I did,’ I confirmed. Please ask me out. Please ask me out. I couldn’t be further away from not needing a man to ‘validate’ me. I needed the good-looking man to ask me out. Fuck you Mark Davis, the hot rock star asked me out. Bwah ha ha. ‘And if you bought both albums and a ticket to the gig,’ he sighed and ran a hand through his messy, floppy black hair, letting it drop back down over his eyes. Oh. ‘With the weak dollar, I figure you have spent, what, twenty pounds on the band?’ ‘And I bought a T-shirt,’ I said seriously. ‘That was twenty on its own.’ ‘As long as it was from inside,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Those sons of bitches outside selling my T-shirts for ten bucks? Don’t they know all the money comes from the T-shirts?’ I laughed nervously waiting for him to join in. He did, thank God. ‘So, I know you have an … “eclectic” taste in music,’ Alex started, ‘and I owe you about, what, sixty, nearly eighty bucks? But I still don’t know your name.’ ‘I suppose since I know yours,’ I said, hoping I was coming across funny and flirty and not nervous and starstruck. The more I thought about it, the more I remembered how good his band really was. ‘Angela Clark.’ ‘And are you on vacation, Angela Clark?’ he asked, helping himself to my hot chocolate. I was about to complain but figured I could afford to lose one hot chocolate in the pursuit of a rock star. Well, lead singer of a slightly obscure indie band I’d seen once in Islington. Much closer to rock star than the banker at HSBC who I’d been going out with for ten years. ‘Sort of,’ I said, not wanting to get into it any more than I had to. ‘I’m staying with a friend for a while.’ ‘Well, if you’re not planning to stay in and listen to Justin, would you like to go to a party with me tonight?’ He asked me out. He had asked me out. And I couldn’t go. ‘I would really like to,’ I said, desperately trying to work out my excuse. ‘But I already have plans tonight.’ ‘Should have guessed,’ he said, picking up my pen and opening my notebook to a blank page. ‘So here’s my number, I’ve got tickets to the best show on Saturday night and I would love for you to go with me. What do you think?’ ‘I would love to,’ I agreed, watching all of Erin’s advice flying out of the window and down the road to tell her what a bad student I was. Accepting a Saturday night date on a Wednesday, shocking. ‘Good, I kind of thought you might blow me off.’ He stood up and stretched. Skinny jeans, but not too skinny, obligatory faded band T-shirt, just short enough to reveal his flat stomach when he stretched, accessorized by a thin trail of black hair tracing a path from his belly button to his waistband. And of course, sunglasses. He dropped his book into a leather satchel so battered, I was afraid to let my Marc Jacobs catch sight of such appalling abuse. ‘If your friend hadn’t left when she did, I was going to give up. Who listens to all that bullshit?’ ‘What bullshit?’ I asked, distracted by his oddly muscly biceps. I guessed from playing guitar. Again, oh. ‘Yeah, seriously,’ he said as he walked away. ‘Don’t listen to her, dating rules are bullshit. Engaged three times and not married? Not the best person for advice.’ I felt my mouth drop open. He had heard all of it? ‘But how could you hear? You had your iPod on?’ ‘So you had noticed me.’ So bloody cocky. ‘Anyway, Max Brenner’s at Union Square on Saturday – about seven? It’s kinda touristy but it’s the best hot chocolate in town. No offence to this place.’ He gave the waitress a puppy dog smile on the way out. I watched her visibly wilt as he strode past the window without a second look. And with that, I was in love. Again. CHAPTER TEN (#ulink_ef7da080-b9f9-51c8-93fb-f0dbd44e1db7) Vanessa was on the concierge desk as I blew into the lobby, the overpowering whiff of the scented candles already feeling like home. ‘Hey, Vanessa. Is Jenny around?’ She nodded. ‘Sure, she’s in the back. We have this band staying and they’ve decided she’s their favourite concierge in the whole of for ever. You want to go bust her out of hiding?’ Vanessa buzzed me through the seamless, invisible door and into the employee lounge where I saw Jenny’s high ponytail peeping over the top of a squishy sofa. ‘You’ll never ever guess what,’ I yelled across the room. ‘I’ve only bloody found myself a rock star … Jenny?’ Rounding the sofa I stopped short. Jenny was red, blotchy and her mascara had run all down her pretty face. ‘You’re crying,’ I said, stating the bloody obvious. ‘Hey, that’s great,’ she sniffed, rubbing her face on the arm of her black shirt. ‘Tell me all about it.’ ‘No, you tell me,’ I said, sitting beside her. ‘What’s wrong?’ ‘Oh, it’s stupid.’ She tried to smile but just succeeded in letting some more tears slip out. ‘I saw Jeff. My ex.’ ‘Oh,’ I said, not really knowing what else to say. ‘Well, what happened? Did he say anything?’ ‘Nothing good,’ ‘What a shit!’ I shook my head and sat down beside her. ‘Uh-uh,’ Jenny shook her head sadly. ‘I’m the shit. I cheated on him.’ ‘Really?’ Jenny wasn’t a cheater, she was such a nice, considerate person who cared horribly about other people. It wasn’t possible. ‘You did?’ ‘Yeah, I was really, really stupid,’ she sighed, rubbing her forehead. ‘And he just came by to accidentally let it slip that he’s seeing someone else.’ ‘But, I mean, you broke up with him for someone else?’ I tried to make sense of it in my head without sounding judgemental but it was hard. Turned out I was pretty judgemental. ‘No, I got really drunk, slept with Joe from the hotel and then I told my boyfriend because I felt so guilty,’ Jenny said numbly. ‘So he called me a whore, kicked me out and I moved in with Gina. I never wanted to break-up, I just made a mistake and there was no way to take it back.’ ‘Oh.’ ‘I know what you must be thinking,’ she said quietly. ‘Honestly, I don’t know what I’m thinking,’ I said, squeezing her hand. ‘But I can only go on what I know about you, which is that you’re lovely.’ ‘Oh, God!’ Jenny burst out crying loudly. ‘I miss him so much.’ She dropped slowly sideways into my lap. Not knowing what else to do, I gently combed my fingers through her ponytail and stayed silent until she stopped sobbing. It was a long five minutes before Jenny let out a big sniff and pulled herself up. She smiled and squeezed my hands in hers. ‘I know you must be thinking I’m a complete slut, but honestly, it wasn’t like that,’ she said earnestly. ‘It’s not something I do. Sometimes people just make mistakes. I wish I could make Jeff see that I would do anything to get him back. Anything.’ ‘If it’s meant to be, he’ll realize eventually,’ I offered, but I didn’t know if it was true. ‘Yeah,’ Jenny nodded. ‘What do you say we go get gussied up and celebrate your rock star? I could use a drink.’ I smiled and took her hand. ‘Sounds like a plan.’ The celebratory night on the town I’d anticipated quickly dissolved into a strained silent meal at a neighbourhood restaurant near Jenny’s apartment. Between Jenny’s frequent teary trips to the bathroom, punctuated by several dirty Martinis and torrents of filth aimed at the band staying at The Union who had decided that Jenny was in fact not a concierge but their own personal plaything, my delayed hangover and the details of Erin’s failed pitch for a new cosmetics client, the night was a complete nightmare. Three Cosmos later and tongues were loosening, even if things weren’t exactly picking up. ‘If someone cheated on you, would you take them back?’ Jenny asked, drawing the burned orange peel across the surface of her drink. ‘And I don’t mean, like, had a relationship, I mean a one off.’ I pursed my lips and sat back. I really didn’t want to get into a ‘once a cheater, always a cheater’ conversation. ‘I don’t know,’ Erin said, sipping her drink. ‘If I cared about him, then no. But if I would be prepared to cheat on him, then yes.’ ‘I took a boyfriend back when he cheated,’ Vanessa said. ‘And he cheated again and again. I think once they know they can get away with it, they’ll cheat on you as long as you’ll let them. I know it’s a clich? but it’s true.’ ‘Hmm,’ Jenny looked at me sideways. ‘What do you think, Angela? If your ex turned up right now with a bunch of roses and an apology, what would you do?’ ‘I don’t know,’ I said, staring hard at my glass. ‘I suppose I’d just send him right back where he came from.’ ‘No, you wouldn’t,’ Jenny shook her head and downed her drink. ‘You’d take him back in a heartbeat. You know it.’ ‘Wow,’ I bit my lip. ‘Where did the anti-Oprah come from?’ ‘Jesus,’ Erin said, putting the cocktail menu down and standing up. ‘Welcome to the dark side, Angela. Meet Drunk Jenny.’ I looked at my new friend, her head resting on the edge of the bar, her shoulders drooped. ‘Deep depression, check. Determined to bring everyone else down, check. Won’t quit until she’s offended everyone she’s ever met, even when she’s a new friend and she’s celebrating getting a great job, check,’ she shrugged on her coat. ‘I’m not hanging around for this sweetheart. She’ll be fine tomorrow’ Erin kissed me and Vanessa on the cheek and slapped Jenny on the backside on her way out. ‘Buck up doll or that one night stand is going to cost you more than just a boyfriend.’ ‘This is so the opposite of fun,’ Vanessa sighed, finishing up her drink and making to leave. ‘I’m sorry, Angela, I can’t do this again. Some friends of mine are going down to Bungalow, why don’t you come? There’s no point when she’s like this.’ ‘No, I’ll stick it out,’ I shook my head, not sure what sticking it out would mean, ‘but thanks.’ ‘You sure? Lots of hot guys and my friend can totally get us in?’ Vanessa gave me half a second to change my mind and then she was gone, waving as she went. I looked back at Jenny. ‘I’m so pathetic,’ she mumbled into her folded arms. ‘You should leave me here.’ ‘I should, but I guess I won’t,’ I said. I had some tolerance for self-pity but not enough. ‘Does this happen often?’ ‘Only if I think about him,’ she replied, still face down. ‘And do you think about him often?’ My turn to finish my drink and put on my coat. ‘All the time,’ same muffled whine. ‘Have you thought about putting your own advice into practice at all?’ Pulling her up off her stool was harder than it should have been given she weighed as much as a flea. ‘Thought about it,’ she said, allowing me to slide her jacket onto her shoulders. ‘Never managed it. I don’t deserve to be over him.’ ‘Look,’ I said, staring her hard in the eyes. ‘You did something wrong and you might never get back with your ex, but if I’ve learned one thing from the last week, it’s that there’s running away, wallowing and, hopefully, a happy medium called getting on with life. And you’re going to have to get on with life, otherwise, you have no authority as my life coach and then where will I be?’ ‘I suppose you do need me,’ she sniffed. ‘I just can’t work out how to get over him.’ ‘Have you tried running halfway around the world? It works wonders.’ I grimaced as we shuffled out of the bar. ‘And I’ve got to say, right now, running away looks a lot better than your moping.’ ‘But don’t you lie awake at night, wishing he was with you?’ she said, tipping her head back and leaning into me. ‘Actually, no,’ I said, the fresh evening air hitting me as we staggered down the steps outside. ‘We had really different sleep patterns anyway so we didn’t often go to bed together. I can’t recommend being dog tired at the end of every day enough as a break-up recovery system.’ ‘You so know what I mean,’ she slurred, throwing herself into the road without even looking for the walk sign. ‘Don’t you want him with you? You know, with you? Just to feel the weight of him on top of you?’ ‘Oh.’ I walked a little further in silence. ‘Well, I sort of haven’t felt that for a while anyway. We didn’t have the best sex life ever. I suppose if I think about it that way, I’ve been on my own for a long time …’ As I thought about how long I had been on my own, I realized I really was on my own. Jenny wasn’t beside me. Looking back, I spotted her hanging in the doorway of a diner, shouting at someone. ‘Turn it up!’ I heard her yell as I scurried back down the street. ‘Turn the goddamned song UP!’ ‘Get lost!’ The guy behind the counter turned away as I grabbed for Jenny’s arm. ‘Control your friend, lady,’ he muttered at me. ‘Hey, Jenny,’ I pulled her gently away from the door, ‘come on, let’s get you home.’ ‘This song was on all the time when we were dating,’ she said, allowing me to move her down the street and towards her doorway. ‘I hated it.’ ‘Jenny, listen to me,’ I said, fumbling in Jenny’s handbag for her keys while she slumped against the doorframe. ‘You’ve got to snap out of this. Would Oprah behave like this after too many cocktails?’ ‘Fuck Oprah,’ she said, falling through the door and up the stairs to the second-floor apartment. ‘God, this is serious,’ I said to myself. It didn’t take me long to realize that firstly, this is what happens when you spend a lot of time with someone you don’t know and secondly, my time in New York was not going to be all hot boys and fabulous shopping. Bugger. As I watched Jenny throw herself into a sobbing heap on the sofa, I wondered if this was how I was supposed to be feeling about Mark when in reality, I just felt empty when I thought of him. ‘Let’s get you into bed,’ I said. ‘Hopefully, tomorrow, you’ll have stopped putting yourself through this, whatever it is. Try and get some sleep.’ I felt awful, but I just didn’t know what to do and she seemed pretty happy wallowing. ‘Hey, Angie, I’m really sorry,’ she said as we staggered through the dark apartment towards what I assumed was her bedroom. ‘Why don’t you stay here tonight? I’ve got to be back at the hotel in the morning anyway and I don’t want you to have to get back on your own.’ ‘Well, it is late and I am lazy …’ I pushed Jenny across the giant squishy mattress and dropped down beside her. ‘Only on the condition that you promise not to spoon me.’ ‘I won’t spoon if you won’t sing.’ ‘Shut up, Lopez.’ ‘Night, English.’ Eventually, after rolling over seven times, the summer sunshine streaming through Jenny’s windows forced me to roll out of bed. ‘What, I don’t even get a kiss?’ Jenny mumbled from under the covers. ‘Not until you’ve brushed your teeth.’ I stretched and took a look around. Jenny’s room was a mess. Aside from piles of self-help books peeking out from underneath half a dozen half empty coffee cups, every surface in the room was taken up by shoes. There were shoes in boxes, shoes spilling out of the wardrobe, even shoes on display in the bookcase – half sling-backs, half self-help books. The walls were lined with hundreds of photos in clip frames. Several were dedicated to Jenny and a good-looking blond guy who I guessed was Jeff. No wonder she didn’t have a new boyfriend, the walls of her room were like a shrine to her ex. ‘So, I was thinking,’ Jenny started, holding her arm across her eyes to block out the sunlight. ‘Really? I didn’t see an awful lot of evidence of that last night.’ ‘Shut up before I change my mind.’ She sat up, looked down at last night’s clothes and shook her head at herself. ‘Like I said, I was thinking. So, Gina left yesterday and won’t be back for at least three months, if she comes back at all, and I can’t afford to maintain what you can see is a very expensive shoe habit unless I find a new roommate. I figure you can’t afford to stay at The Union for ever, and I don’t think you want to go home yet. You want to be my roomie?’ ‘Wow, Jenny, really?’ Moving in to an apartment would be huge. It would mean I was staying. ‘I don’t know …’ ‘But you’ve already proved that you can get me home safely when I’m wasted. Would you want me wandering around alone on your conscience?’ Jenny said. ‘And I’m really sorry about the whole freak out thing last night. Promise that won’t happen again. I so need to get over Jeff.’ ‘Have you thought about taking some of his pictures down?’ I suggested. They really did make a gorgeous couple. Jenny’s big dark eyes and wild curly hair contrasting against Jeff’s close blond crop and crinkly blue Robert Redford eyes. ‘I hear that helps.’ ‘Yeah, not gonna happen just yet,’ she shook her head. ‘Unless I had a new roomie to take pictures of? So, you in?’ ‘If you take the pictures down,’ I nodded and held out my hand. ‘Well, OK,’ she sighed, ‘but only because I already gave your room away at The Union from tomorrow, so if you don’t move in here you’re pretty much screwed.’ CHAPTER ELEVEN (#ulink_e6f791a1-34cc-5697-94d8-89c49bc946a0) The pain of moving out of The Union was cushioned slightly by the fact that Jenny’s apartment was practically a two-bed mini version of the hotel. Every single thing that wasn’t screwed down had been ‘borrowed’ by Jenny and Gina. ‘Welcome home!’ Jenny said, waving her arms around the place. The whole apartment worked out to be the size of my room at The Union, but it was nice. Hardwood floors, creamy walls, a kitchenette in the living room and a hallway that led off to three doors. ‘OK, so this is the bathroom, only one person will actually fit in, so you take a quick look,’ Jenny opened the door closest to the living room. I peeped in, toilet, basin, shower cubicle, Rapture towels, robes and product everywhere. ‘And here’s your room. You’re lucky, Gina was the one with the view.’ Jenny opened the door on my new room. It was perfect. A huge double bed took up most of the floor space, leaving a tiny desk-cum-dressing table nestled in next to a hanging rail for clothes. Gina had more or less stripped the room bare, but the bed was made (Union bedding, I noticed) and a little TV was perched on the desk. I placed my bags carefully on the bed and manoeuvred past it to the window. We were seven floors up on Lexington Avenue, just by 39 Street and when I craned my neck, I could see the Chrysler Building, pushing up into the early evening sky. So beautiful. Below, people wandered around, the hustle and bustle of their working day left behind as they meandered, enjoying their lunch hour in the sunshine. Inside I was grilling Jenny on the sexual preferences of my favourite celebrities who had stayed at her hotel. ‘Vince Vaughn?’ ‘Straight.’ ‘Owen Wilson?’ ‘Super straight.’ ‘That really cute boy off that TV show I like?’ ‘Flaming.’ ‘Does flaming mean straight?’ ‘Nu-uh.’ ‘Oh.’ ‘So, what do you think?’ Jenny asked, leaning against my doorframe. ‘Not bad, huh? Gina’s cousin sublet to us, we got so lucky.’ ‘Jenny, it’s gorgeous,’ I said. ‘I can’t believe how lovely. You only ever hear horror stories about New York apartments on TV.’ ‘Yeah, well, I won’t deny that you might see a roach before you leave,’ Jenny admitted. ‘But they’re few and far between. It’s a good building. But now,’ she held out a hand and pulled me up off the bed as the buzzer went. ‘We celebrate!’ Since Jenny’s idea of a celebration was an afternoon of pepperoni pizza and some beers sitting on her living-room floor watching America’s Next Top Model, I knew we were going to get along just fine. We ate, we bitched and she filled me in on her New York apartment history, rat-infested flatshare on the Lower East Side before it got trendy, studio in a Harlem building that was converted into luxury apartments, a one-bed in Chelsea with her ex, and then this place with Gina. Not too bad, she assured me. ‘I’ve only ever lived with Mark, how tragic is that?’ I said, chewing a slice thoughtfully. ‘Apart from at college but even then, we were together all the time. God, that’s so pathetic.’ I felt the gloom settling around me. ‘You know I think you’re amazing, right?’ Jenny started, flipping the tops off two more beers and passing one my way. ‘And that coming here to work out what you want out of life is great. Really great.’ ‘I feel like there’s a but coming,’ I said, taking a precautionary swig. ‘Well, not exactly, but I think the best way to get over your Mark, is to talk about it,’ Jenny said cautiously. ‘Not just push it away. Otherwise it pops up when you’re not expecting it and makes you feel crappy.’ ‘I suppose,’ I mumbled through my pizza. That was exactly what I’d been trying not to do. My Mark issues were happily between me and my computer at that exact moment in time. ‘But whenever I think about him, no matter how great I feel, I just come crashing down. I was going to ask you about that actually. I’m normally a very stable person.’ ‘Stable, or just not feeling one thing or the other? Sometimes we get so used to not really feeling anything, just going with the flow, that we forget how it feels to be really happy or really sad. And if Mark is the only guy you’ve ever gone out with, I’m guessing heartbreak is a new one to you too.’ ‘I don’t think I’m heartbroken,’ I shook my head. ‘He was cheating on me, I’m best off out of it. Besides, I think you’re right. We hadn’t really been happy together for the longest time, I’d just shut myself off to it and convinced myself it was normal. I’m probably just still jetlagged if anything.’ I reached out for more pizza and looked up at Jenny. She was staring at me intently with the same sympathetic look she’d given me the morning I threw up. ‘Angela, you’re totally brave and a genuine hero,’ she began, ‘but it’s OK to be upset about this. You put all your trust and ten years of your life into that relationship, even if they weren’t all great, and he cheated on you, no one gets over something like that in three days.’ ‘I’m OK,’ I said. Here came those crashing lows again. ‘I’ve never had a break-up to get over before. Maybe I’m just really really good at it?’ ‘I’m just saying, it’s OK not to be OK,’ Jenny scooted across the floor. ‘You might even feel better if you let yourself get upset. Might even out some of those crazy emotions.’ ‘I just think, I would never have cheated on him,’ I said slowly. ‘Even if I’d met someone else, I would never have cheated on him.’ The tears started to come, slowly at first. ‘I know, honey,’ Jenny said, taking the beer out of my hand. ‘You’re a good person and you’re right, you are better off out of the relationship.’ ‘But why did he do it?’ I wailed. ‘Why did he cheat on me? And why doesn’t he love me any more?’ I turned to Jenny’s shoulder and saturated her T-shirt. That was what I’d been avoiding. The hair, the make-up, the clothes, they didn’t cover up the real me, the me that Mark had spent ten years with and then decided to trade in for a cheap tennis playing tart. ‘People fall out of love, Angie,’ Jenny said, her voice thick with a few of her own tears. ‘It’s happened to all of us, it’s just going to be a bit of a shock to the system because, well, most people go through it before they get to twenty-seven. You’ll be OK though, look at what you’ve already achieved.’ ‘Twenty-six!’ I bawled, grabbing the beer back and gesticulating wildly with the bottle. It made a brilliant prop. ‘And what exactly have I achieved? Mark had known me for ten years and he couldn’t love me. Anyone I meet is going to sit down, talk to me for ten minutes and come to the same conclusions he did, new hair or not.’ ‘That’s not true,’ Jenny said. ‘Did that guy the other night only ask you out because of your hair?’ ‘He probably thinks I’m a prostitute like the one in the park. Or at least a piss-head English girl on holiday who will be an easy shag.’ ‘And what did you think about him?’ Jenny snatched my beer back again, trying to avoid spillage. ‘I thought he was lovely.’ Jenny gave me the look. ‘And really hot. And probably quite rich.’ ‘And you didn’t think about hooking up with him?’ she asked, raising an eyebrow. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I suppose I did. And you told me to!’ ‘There you go,’ she said. ‘Maybe he was just thinking, I’d like to get this girl into bed, but you were thinking the same thing! You weren’t thinking about marrying him, you just wanted to get laid. That is allowed, you know.’ I was thinking about marrying him a bit, I thought to myself. Probably best not to share that right now. ‘But I, I wouldn’t know how to just “get laid”,’ I panicked, realizing she was right. ‘Me and Mark were just awful in the bedroom, I just thought it wasn’t the most important thing. What am I supposed to do now I’ve got to do it with other people?’ ‘Hey, you don’t know that you were awful,’ Jenny pointed at me, turning serious. ‘A workman is only as good as his tools and, sorry, but if he was getting it from someone else, how were you supposed to keep it going? And FYI, it’s totally that important.’ I thought about it for a second. It made sense. Mark hadn’t even really tried to get me into bed for months, and even though I knew why, that didn’t make me feel better about having to get into bed with anyone else. ‘But what if he fell out of love with me because I was so bad in bed?’ I went through a mental replay of our last few half-arsed fumblings. ‘Then maybe, maybe, a little more experience will help, if that was a contributing factor,’ Jenny said. ‘And after ten years together, if that’s why he cheated then he’s even lower scum than I have him down for right now. The bottom line is, you might never know why he did what he did but you do need to own up to the fact that you’re single now and make that work for you.’ ‘How?’ I sighed. And how could the pizza be all gone already? ‘I’ve never had to be single before.’ ‘You’d never been to New York before but you’re making that work,’ Jenny said, standing up and vanishing into the freezer. She stood up, displaying a tub of Ben & Jerry’s. Truly she had all the answers. ‘And you’ll make this work. If you have to sit in the apartment and cry for a month, I’ll come home with ice cream every day. If you want to go fuck every man on Wall Street, I’ll come home every night with condoms. And earplugs. But you will find a way to deal with it.’ I gratefully took a spoon and plunged into the ice cream. ‘Thank you,’ I whispered and promptly burst into tears. ‘Hey,’ Jenny rested my head on her shoulder. ‘Just so you know, they were pretty extreme examples. I’m going to go roommate from hell on your ass if you really do start bringing every guy in New York home.’ ‘I don’t think I’d be a very good slut. Look at the state of me, I’m supposed to be going on my first date in ten years in, what, three hours? And I’m sat here full of pizza and beer, sobbing on your shoulder about being crap in bed.’ ‘Shit girl!’ Jenny pulled the beer out of my hand again. This was getting annoying. ‘You’re going to go on the best date anyone ever had, and do not worry. Gina might not be here but I’m kinda an amazing stylist myself. Give me an hour and you will look the absolute shit.’ ‘Just clean and without pizza sauce around my mouth would be good right now,’ I muttered catching sight of myself in the mirror. The wealth of taxies running past our block had thinned out by the time I emerged onto Lexington looking if not the shit then not quite as shit as I had looked an hour or so ago, so I started walking. I couldn’t believe I was going on a date. With a beautiful man. In a beautiful pink, silk Marc by Marc Jacobs halter dress. With a smug little smile on my face that was growing every second. And I couldn’t believe I’d agreed to meet Alex on Saturday night. Was it really tacky to accept a date with someone when you had another date already lined up? And I’d completely forgotten all of Erin’s advice, I hadn’t been on a date since Mark had taken me to see Speed 2 (and I’m not sure that counted as a date, Mark actually watched every second of the film from start to finish), and here I was strutting down the street in New York on my way to dinner with a gorgeous, rich banker. But instead of visualizing myself and Tyler sharing a joke and a bottle of red, all I could see was Mark and that slag laughing theatrically together, holding hands and reading home d?cor magazines. I fumbled around in my (divine) handbag until I found the crappy old mobile phone Jenny had loaned me and dialled Erin’s number. ‘Erin White.’ ‘Hi, Erin? It’s Angela Clark?’ ‘Hey, I was just gonna call Jenny, I have some amazing news,’ Erin’s cheerful voice was just what I needed to distract me. ‘I could use some good news, I’m just on my way to meet Tyler,’ I said, keeping an eye and an arm out for a passing cab. ‘Oh, awesome. Remember, be interested, ask lots of questions, don’t talk too much about your past or exes and don’t be too keen. You want to keep him on his toes.’ ‘That was your good news?’ I waved down a lit cab. He swerved dramatically towards me and stopped inches from my Louboutins. Shoe-icide, a fate worse than death. ‘Mercer Kitchen? Uh, Mercer Street?’ ‘No! I am such a retard,’ Erin laughed down the crackly line, ignoring my directions to the driver. ‘I was at The Look today. They want to meet you. Tomorrow.’ ‘Oh my God, seriously?’ I couldn’t believe it. ‘The editor of The Look wants to see me?’ ‘The online editor, Mary Stein. Can you be there at ten?’ ‘Yes!’ I squealed. ‘This is amazing! Thank you so much, Erin.’ ‘No worries, just be honest. Mary can be a tough cookie but she’s cool. Now more importantly, back to your date.’ ‘I’m a bit worried to be honest,’ I peered out of the windows as we took a hard right. Eventually I spotted a sign for West Houston. ‘But I’m almost there. Wish me luck.’ ‘You don’t need luck, just stick to The Rules. Bye hon.’ It took a couple of seconds for me to realize which building was the Mercer Kitchen after my cab unceremoniously tossed me out on the middle of Mercer Street, because of the non-existent ‘traffic’. After watching a few beautiful people head into a nameless glass door that opened to release delicious smells, loungey music and lots of laughter, I bit the bullet and opened the door for myself. The place was small but crowded with lots of happy looking people. I hoped the relaxed atmosphere would be contagious or at least available in a glass for a reasonable fee. Sitting at the bar, wearing another beautifully cut suit, white shirt and no tie was Tyler. He looked completely at ease, even though he was alone amongst half a dozen cliquey clusters of people, giggling, hugging, touching and kissing. Narrowly avoiding falling down the large staircase in the middle of the room, I sidled around to the bar and raised a hand in hello. Tyler hopped off his stool to welcome me with a kiss on the cheek. He smelt divine, fresh and clean but masculine and delicious. ‘Hi,’ he said, making eye contact with the barman, pointing at his drink and then holding up two fingers. Ultra smooth. ‘I had a last minute panic that you wouldn’t know where you were going.’ ‘I checked with a friend,’ I said, settling on the next stool. ‘I don’t know what the rules are on being late or early or whatever so I just thought, you know, be different, be on time.’ I looked at the clock on the wall. ‘Or maybe I’m a little bit late. Sorry.’ ‘It’s fine,’ he said. ‘I was actually a little late. Work overran, I didn’t even have time to go home, so really, don’t worry about it.’ ‘You don’t live nearby?’ I asked, trying to stick to approved topics. ‘I mean, near your work?’ ‘No,’ he shook his head making his hair swish. Really, it was just like a men’s L’Or?al ad. He was so worth it. ‘I live uptown, work downtown. Sometimes it’s a pain, but I couldn’t live downtown again. You still at The Union?’ ‘No actually, I moved today,’ I said. This was going OK, I was having a conversation! ‘I’m in Murray Hill at my friend’s apartment, 39 and Lexington?’ ‘Great, I’m on Park, a little further up.’ The waiter presented Tyler with our drinks and a bill face down, which he answered with a black Amex. Wow, I’d only ever read about them. ‘Hope you don’t mind me ordering your drink, they do great cocktails here.’ I took the cocktail graciously and sipped it. Man alive, it was like straight vodka mixed with a drop of Ribena. Maybe I should go slow. ‘I think our table should be ready now,’ he said, picking up both drinks and standing. I didn’t remember him being so tall … ‘Ready?’ The hostess smiled warmly and guided us to a table in the back corner of the restaurant where we could see absolutely everyone. And absolutely everyone looked as if they were enjoying their food. ‘God, I could eat a horse,’ I said, taking a menu from the waitress and hungrily scanning. ‘Oooh, have you ever had the burger?’ ‘I do love a girl that eats,’ Tyler laughed, nodding to the waitress and accepting his menu. ‘I know everyone says it, but there really is nothing worse than bringing a girl out for dinner and then watching her push a lettuce leaf around her plate.’ I smiled tensely. Was that good or bad? Did he just call me a fatty? ‘Honestly,’ he went on without looking away from the menu. ‘I dated this French model for a while and I swear I never saw her consume more than a Diet Coke.’ And was it usual for a man to start a first date talking about ex-girlfriends? And had he called me a fatty? ‘Well, I do eat,’ I said, not really knowing where to go. ‘What do you recommend?’ ‘It’s all good,’ he said, putting his menu down and fixing me with his clear eyes. ‘The fish is always great, burgers are good. And I like the chicken, but I think, yeah, I’m having the lamb tonight.’ ‘You come here a lot?’ I asked, starting to get the feeling I was not Tyler’s one special girl. ‘I like to,’ he said. ‘It’s quiet, great food, and always a bunch of interesting people hanging out.’ Oh, he meant me. Sweet. ‘In that case I’ll have the chicken.’ As he started the small talk rolling, what did I do for a living, what did he do for a living, how long had I been in the city, what sights had I seen, I ran a quick comparison on Tyler and Alex. Alex was sexy and cocky and had the whole I’m-in-a-band thing going on, whereas Tyler was good-looking in a clean-cut, I take care of myself, let me take care of you, sort of a way. ‘Oh, well, I’m kind of a venture capitalist,’ he said, after he had ordered for us both. ‘But unless you’ve written some kids’ books about banking, I won’t even try to explain. Not to be patronizing but it’s impossibly dull. And I don’t want to put you off already.’ ‘That’s OK,’ I said, brushing my hair behind my ears and ripping apart my warm bread roll as soon as it was put on my side plate. ‘I’m not a numbers person. I only really do words. And words for children at that.’ ‘That saves us a really boring fifteen minutes,’ he said, pushing the olive oil towards me for dipping. ‘What is more exciting, is what you’re doing in New York? How do you know your friend?’ ‘Oh, slightly longer story.’ I swallowed my bread in preparation. ‘Without going into a lot of off-putting detail, I broke up with … someone, so I decided to take a holiday and I’d never been to New York. I met my friend, the girl I’m staying with, in my hotel. She was looking for a roommate, I was looking for a room and so, here I am.’ ‘Wow,’ Tyler looked bemused. ‘You just upped and came to New York? Must have been a bad break-up.’ ‘I’m not supposed to tell you about it,’ I said. ‘My friend said no specifics about exes until the fourth date.’ Tyler laughed, nodding. ‘I do love The Rules. You can’t even tell me if I ask?’ ‘You might not want to know.’ I paused, trying to weigh up Erin’s sacred advice over Tyler’s warm smile and crinkly eyes. Our first course appeared over his shoulder. Maybe if I told him while he was distracted by lamb. I would have to tell him eventually, anyway, wouldn’t I? It would surely come out before the black Amex funded wedding … ‘Go for it,’ he said, making room for his plate. ‘I’m asking.’ ‘OK, but don’t you dare walk out before you’ve eaten.’ I didn’t want to pick up my fork until I’d got the whole story out. Even the short version. ‘I found my boyfriend having sex with this girl he’d been seeing in the back of our car at our best friends’ wedding, screamed at the bride and made her cry, broke the groom’s hand with my shoe and more or less ruined the wedding. Then I ran away to New York. How does that grab you?’ ‘And I thought a children’s writer would be shy and retiring,’ he whistled. ‘Now it’s getting interesting.’ ‘I suppose before Saturday, I could have been called shy and retiring,’ I said, cutting into the chicken. ‘But seeing your boyfriend’s boxer shorts around his ankles while you’re in a grand’s worth of bridesmaid dress will really give you a kick up the arse.’ ‘Wait a minute,’ Tyler put down his knife and fork. ‘You’re talking about this Saturday? Saturday five days ago?’ I nodded thoughtfully. ‘It seems such a long time ago to me now, but I think that’s why I’m not supposed to tell you. Are you freaking out?’ ‘Maybe I’ll get around to that later. At the moment I’m still trying to work out why you came to New York when you didn’t know anyone,’ he said. Knife and fork still down. ‘Jesus, all I did on Saturday was go for a run and get a haircut.’ Uh-oh. ‘I accept that it was possibly an extreme reaction. I don’t know, I just always wanted to go to New York, my boyfriend, my ex, never wanted to visit America, he hates to fly, so I thought this would be the perfect time to just get away,’ I said, going in for the mashed potato. If this was the only meal we were ever going to have I was going to eat it all. The mashed potato was amazing. ‘How do they get the potatoes so creamy without them going runny with the gravy? Wow.’ ‘I can’t imagine ever doing anything like that,’ Tyler said. He reached for his fork, good sign. ‘The furthest I’ve gone when I’ve been pissed off after a break-up is the China Town Ice Cream Factory.’ ‘Well, they were extreme circumstances,’ I said observing him closely. Had I blown it? He picked up his knife. Phew. ‘So this would be your first date since you broke up?’ The knife hovered. ‘Yes,’ I admitted, my eyes glued to the indecisive cutlery. ‘I just, I, well, honestly? I wasn’t really planning on going on dates or anything, but you seemed, you know, nice and normal so I just thought, why not?’ ‘Well, I’m glad you did,’ he said. Knife back on the plate. ‘Your ex’s loss is Manhattan’s gain.’ ‘Not all of Manhattan,’ I shook my head, ‘my roommate has laid down some fairly strict ground rules about that. The truth is, I haven’t really ever dated so I’ve got a lot to learn, I suppose.’ ‘I think there’s a whole lot more I could learn from you,’ Tyler gave me a small smile and sliced up his lamb. ‘Want to try?’ And before I knew it, there I was eating food from his fork, just like in the movies. A flourless Valrhona chocolate cake, two cappuccinos and a moonlit stroll through Soho later and the date was over. And I was sort of gutted. ‘I had a great time tonight,’ Tyler said, holding his arm out for a cab. ‘Best date with a children’s writer who broke a guy’s hand with a stiletto I ever had.’ ‘Can I ask you something?’ I asked, clutching Tyler’s free hand. Even holding hands felt weird, Mark and I hadn’t been a hand holding couple. He nodded as a cab pulled over to the kerb. ‘Do you date a lot? I’m not going all Fatal Attraction on you, I just haven’t really spoken to many men since I got here so I don’t really know how this works.’ He held the door open for me to climb in and then slipped in beside me before he answered. ‘39 and Lex?’ he said to the driver, then turned to me. ‘I guess, honestly, I date kind of a lot. I haven’t had a serious girlfriend in about two years and it’s not for the lack of looking.’ ‘OK,’ I said, staring straight ahead. He was being honest, that was good. Wasn’t it? ‘But I don’t date a lot of people at once,’ he went on. ‘And you usually know after one or two dates if it’s going somewhere.’ ‘Really?’ I asked, turning towards him. He was even handsome in cab-lit profile. ‘It usually takes me ages to make my mind up about, well, anything.’ ‘It sounds to me like you’ve been making some pretty snap decisions lately,’ he said, brushing my hair behind my ear. ‘And I for one am really glad about that.’ ‘Maybe that’s another part of the new me,’ I said, not really knowing where to look any more. ‘But then again, I’m a Libran, indecisive, I suppose that will come out in the end …’ Before I could waffle on any more, he cut me off with a soft, gentle kiss. I closed my eyes and let him kiss me in the back of the cab, his right hand firmly holding my cheek, sliding back around my neck and into my hair. I could feel his left hand pressing against my thigh. For my first kiss with another man in ten years, it felt pretty good. ‘So can I see you again?’ Tyler asked as he broke away. ‘Mmm,’ I nodded, trying to control my breathing, I’d forgotten how delicious kisses could be. ‘I would really like that.’ ‘How about Sunday evening?’ He still hadn’t moved his hand and my whole back was tingling. ‘Something fun, maybe the movies?’ ‘Sounds great,’ I mumbled. Please kiss me again. ‘Fantastic. I’ll call you.’ He combed his fingers through the hair at the nape of my neck making me shiver all over. ‘Or I’ll call you? I mean, you can call me or I’ll call you or whatever,’ I’d more or less forgotten the date let alone The Rules. ‘I’ll call you, I promise,’ he said. And then he came back in for a second kiss, complete with tongues and a little bit of touching up. I did think he might have brushed my boob by accident, but I kind of hoped it was accidentally on purpose. The cab pulled up outside the apartment well before I was ready to stop but I knew, despite Jenny’s advice, I should just go in alone. One more kiss (closed mouths, but firm pressure) and I let myself out of the cab. My first date had been a success, at least as far as I was concerned. ‘So, how’d it go?’ Jenny was at the door before I’d even managed to work my key into the lock. She stood in front of me in pyjamas, hair in a towel turban, face mask on and feet in Bliss Softening Socks. ‘Oh my God, look at you, you kissed him!’ I felt myself blush from head to toe. ‘Oh my God, you did!’ she shrieked, jumping up and down. ‘Give me two secs.’ I let myself in and collapsed onto the sofa. It was such a strange feeling! A couple of moments later, Jenny reappeared minus the towel and with a peachy fresh complexion, softening socks still very much in evidence. ‘So, tell me everything,’ she said, bringing over a packet of Oreos and two cans of Diet Coke. ‘All the gory details. Did he pay? Was he amazing? Are you seeing him again?’ ‘Um, yes, yes, lovely, and yes, Sunday!’ I said, staring ahead, slightly dazed still. ‘It was really nice, we just talked for ages and ate and then wandered through Soho for a little bit and then got a cab. And he asked me to go to the cinema on Sunday night, he’s going to call me.’ ‘Wow,’ Jenny said, curling up and splitting her cookie in half to lick out the centre. ‘Sounds like the perfect first date. I’m so jealous.’ ‘It was really nice,’ I admitted. ‘It still feels weird though. I just feel all, I don’t know, light and fluffy and like I want to scrunch myself all up into a ball and then explode or something.’ ‘Well, let me see,’ Jenny went back in for the Oreos, not even bothering to split and lick, ‘you just went on a date with a hot Wall Street banker who arranged another date with you on the spot and you’ve got a date with a hot guy in a band who picked you up at brunch. I’d say not only are you dating but you are dating pretty well. You’re born to this honey!’ I sipped my Coke and shook my head. ‘I’m not going to say it doesn’t feel nice because it does. And I was a bit freaked out about kissing Tyler, but it was lovely actually. Really good.’ I took another sip and then a deep breath. ‘And when I was talking to Alex, I swear, I felt better than I had with Mark in, well, in for ever. I don’t know, it’s probably just a big rebound reaction thing.’ ‘Maybe it is,’ Jenny shrugged, ‘but there’s nothing wrong with that. No one’s proposing, dating doesn’t have to be totally serious. Unless Tyler turns out to be a millionaire.’ ‘He had a black Amex,’ I said, grabbing her arm. ‘Get the ring!’ she screeched. ‘Get the ring!’ CHAPTER TWELVE (#ulink_629a6e44-acc3-5e0b-9664-3e8c119b76e7) Thankfully by morning, the city had the decency to cool down half a degree so I decided to walk to The Look. I grasped Erin’s directions in one sweaty palm, crossed Park and then made my way up and across to Times Square. The streets slowly became busier and busier, until I was really just being pulled along by the swarm. Even in the high heat of summer, it was heaving. I stared around, taking in the giant billboards, the garish restaurant signs, the rolling news tickers and tried to spot my destination without getting taken out by a Japanese tourist and his huge camera bag. I felt tiny. Everything looked as though the real world had been scanned, had the contrast turned right up and then enlarged by 500 per cent. It made Piccadilly Circus look positively anaemic. After I had crossed the same road about five times, I spotted a steady stream of very thin, very beautiful women dressed head to toe in black, heading into a narrow black glass doorway back where I had come from. The small tasteful sign next to the door? Spencer Media. Ah. Of course. The building was tucked away in a corner off Broadway, a beautiful art deco building that stretched high into the Manhattan skyline, past the animated billboards and brightly lit ads. As I rode higher and higher in the lift, I passed my weight from foot to foot. Erin had said (my editor!) was called Mary Stein, but I had no idea what she was expecting. I’d printed out my last few diary entries and printed off the Amazon records of some of my books in lieu of a portfolio. Hopefully she wouldn’t just laugh me out of the office. Mary’s secretary ushered me into her office after a quick silent appraisal. Apparently I passed and was offered a coffee before being left alone. The office was bright and light, with stunning views of the city. I stood staring out of the window and promised myself I’d go to the Empire State Building as soon as I’d finished. ‘Angela Clark?’ It was Mary. She hardly looked like a magazine editor, let alone a super cool web editor. Mary was easily in her fifties, no taller than five feet, had a short grey bob and just looked really, really nice. ‘Yes.’ I stretched my hand out for a firm and welcoming shake. ‘You must be Mary.’ She gestured to a seat in front of her desk and then sat herself down. ‘Erin tells me you’re a writer?’ Straight to business. ‘Yes,’ I nodded eagerly, bringing out my sales sheets. ‘I don’t have my portfolio with me right now, but I have some sheets showing the books I’ve written. They’re mostly children’s movie tie-in books but I can turn my hand to anything, really.’ ‘Hmm.’ Mary flicked through the pages and then pushed them back at me. Maybe she wasn’t going to be so nice. ‘I need a blogger. You’ll have looked at what we have on the website already so where do you think your blog will fit in?’ She fixed me with a serious gaze. I hadn’t looked at the website. Eeep. But praise be for the hateful man in Starbucks, I did know what a blogger was. ‘Well, I’m going through a pretty one-of-a-kind situation right now,’ I started. ‘One-of-a-kind has no appeal to my readers,’ she said, already looking away at her flat screen monitor and wheeling her mouse. ‘Well, one-of-a-kind in a way, but in another way, it’s something every girl has gone through,’ I blagged. ‘I’ve split up with my boyfriend of ten years and now I’m dating for the first time.’ ‘Go on,’ she said, still looking away, but the wheeling had stopped. ‘Well, I found out he was cheating on me at my friend’s wedding, made a bit of a scene and then sort of ran away to New York,’ I explained quickly. ‘And now I’m dating. Two men. A banker and this guy in a band.’ I had to admit, I thought it sounded pretty bloody interesting. Probably even more so if you weren’t having to go through it yourself. ‘Do you have some sample copy?’ she asked, her full attention back with me. ‘You’re what, Bridget Jones in New York?’ I handed over the print-outs of my diary. ‘I’m really not Bridget Jones,’ I said. ‘I’m not all about dating, I think it’s more about finding my feet and finding out who I am again.’ ‘Hmm,’ she said, scanning the copy with pursed lips and a frown. ‘You’re certainly not Bridget Jones, but there is something here. And it is about dating.’ ‘OK,’ I shrugged. I would write about being a one-armed gypsy horse rider if she would give me a writing job. ‘It can be about dating.’ ‘Tell me more about the break-up. Is it funny? It sounds funny,’ she slapped the pages of diary I’d given her. OK, suck it up, I told myself. She’s going to make you a proper writer. So I went through every detail of the break-up, trying to make it sound funny rather than bursting into tears. Mary stared at me emotionless and silent until I was finished. ‘Great. It is funny and I suppose you can write,’ she said, ‘OK, you write two to three hundred words a day and email it to me. The pay wouldn’t be great but it’s only on the website. If we go ahead, I’ll need a picture of you so find one, but it’s fine to keep everyone else anonymous.’ ‘Oh.’ I didn’t know what to say. This wasn’t the glorious big break moment I’d always envisioned. There was no champagne for one. ‘Oh, I just thought, I don’t have a work visa. Is that going to be a problem?’ ‘Are you kidding me?’ Mary looked really, really pissed off. ‘I can’t pay you as staff if you don’t have a visa. You may as well just go.’ ‘But I only just got here on Sunday.’ I stood up, desperately trying to get this back. ‘And, and, you don’t have to pay me! I’ll work for free!’ ‘Free?’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘Really?’ I nodded, half in, half out of my seat. ‘Anything Mary, please, I’ll write the funniest dating column you’ve ever read. Honestly.’ ‘I guess I can’t let you work for free … I could pay you as a freelance contributor,’ she mused, looking back at the diary. ‘And you say you only got here Sunday? So this happened this week?’ I nodded again. ‘Bring me your first three days’ diary, along with a 1000-word establishing piece and a photo on Monday and we’ll talk about everything else then.’ The meeting was over. I don’t know if Mary had a silent buzzer or made invisible semaphore signals but her secretary appeared at the door and gestured for me to leave. I never did get that coffee. I couldn’t believe what was happening. I was going to be a writer. Actually writing for an actual magazine. OK, website of a magazine, but still. Clearly getting on that plane on Sunday was the best thing I’d ever, ever done. Jenny was working a double shift and Erin was out of town for the weekend but I needed to find some way of celebrating my job, my New York minute. Surely there was only one way? I set off down Broadway, proud, confident and on my way to the Empire State Building to share my success with the city. Which would have been great if the city hadn’t been twenty-five degrees above average for August, full of overheated tourists, a whole load of children on their school holidays all with one very clear brief, to barge past me and, whenever possible, knock my (delicious) Marc Jacobs bag off my shoulder. Which was already tingling and a delightful shade of pink. By the time I’d staggered all the way down to 34 Street in the searing sunshine, I must have been suffering mild sunstroke as I attempted to pass Macy’s. Before I knew what was happening, I’d been sucked through the doors and was drinking a refreshing iced tea, using a comfortable and clean bathroom and spending $250 on the Benetfit cosmetics counter. An hour later, I wandered back out onto the pavement and around the corner, the queue for the Empire State Building was insanely long. The sun was beating down on me and my new purchases, threatening to melt my new make-up, and I was so close to home. My new writer’s pride had been replaced with buyer’s remorse, and before I knew what I was doing, my legs were carrying me across to Lexington, back to the apartment, back to my laptop and back to bed. Waking up on Saturday morning, I couldn’t believe it was a week since I’d woken up in my own bed. So much had happened in such a short space of time and yet, as soon as I remembered my date with Alex was later that evening, time seemed to start going backwards. It was Jenny’s first twenty-four hours off duty in over a week, meaning she would pretty much be asleep for fourteen hours. She’d made some half-hearted offers to take me out when she got in from work, but the girl was dead on her stylishly shod feet, so I’d let her off. I went out to get breakfast, washed up, cleaned the kitchen, scoured the bathroom and took all my clothes to the dry cleaners. It seemed insane to me that practically no one in the entire city did their own washing, but Jenny assured me only the hyper rich had a laundry room, and taking your washing out was perfectly normal. I managed to contain a mild panic attack over what to do when you wanted to wear something the very next day when it was dirty after Jenny had presented me with a bottle of hand-washing liquid for emergencies. And I had pretended not to notice her kicking several half-empty bottles of Febreze under the sink. So they had that here too … For the want of something to do with myself, I was showered, blow-dried and dressed in a cute Ella Moss stripy mini dress by five-thirty, giving me a whole hour and a half to apply my make-up, reapply my make-up, add some more make-up, and then completely shit myself about going on a date with someone in a band. Boosted by a quick home-mixed margarita and a kiss – both from a very sleepy Jenny, I grabbed my bag and braced myself. My heart beat sped up as I shut the door behind me and stepped out to hail a cab. I checked my phone a grand total of eight times in the cab, just in case. Nothing from Alex to cancel, nothing to confirm, but there was a sweet voice message from Tyler saying what a great night he’d had and that he would pick me up outside my building at six-thirty on Sunday. Max Brenner’s was tucked away on Broadway, just opposite the Virgin Megastore. At least, I can see The Union from here in case things don’t go well, I told myself as I pushed myself out of the cab, The doors to Max Brenner’s opened to reveal a huge Charlie and the Chocolate Factory style chocolate lab. Absolutely not what I had expected. Absolutely not the place for the amount of eyeliner I was wearing. And the first place in all of New York that was incredibly brightly lit. Shit. Sitting right in the middle of the whispering mothers and staring fathers, was Alex. I couldn’t imagine a more incongruous scene. His black hair looked as though it hadn’t seen a brush or a comb, well, ever, the creases in his green T-shirt had creases, and compared to ‘weekend dad’ and ‘let’s get chocolate shakes for dessert! mom’ he looked as if he might start shooting up any second. Out of place, maybe, a complete scruff, definitely, and hot? Absolutely. He broke into a slow smile and a wave as he recognized me, my heart apparently the only muscle in my body able to move. If my pulse had been racing when I left the apartment, it was positively making a break for freedom now. ‘Hey,’ he said as I slid into the booth, finally forcing my feet to move one in front of the other. ‘You made it.’ ‘I did,’ I said, checking the clock. Late again. ‘Sorry, I couldn’t remember exactly where this was.’ ‘Cool,’ he was still smiling. I started to worry that he was stoned. ‘I wouldn’t have thought this was your sort of place,’ I said, glancing around at the churning vats of chocolate. ‘It’s not that rock and roll, is it?’ ‘No,’ he said, taking his turn to glance around. ‘But addiction is pretty rock and roll, and I might not broadcast it, but I have a real problem with hot chocolate. Seriously, you won’t believe this stuff until you’ve tried it.’ I picked up the menu and looked through all the treats, hot chocolate, milk, dark, white, with chilli, with nutmeg, with cinnamon, chocolate ice cream, chocolate pizza – all this chocolate and a really hot man from a band? There was such a good chance I was in heaven, I wondered if I’d been run over on the way there. ‘Wow,’ I said, looking back up at him. If he carried on staring at me with that little smile, I was going to run out of things to say really soon. ‘So you’re a chocoholic?’ ‘Guilty as charged,’ he nodded, raising a weird shaped mug with no handle. ‘I blame it on the band. You feel like you’ve got to be in rehab for something sooner or later, or you’re just not committed to the music.’ ‘I can imagine,’ I said, starting to panic. What were we going to talk about? I hadn’t prepared anything at all. This was such a bad idea. ‘Everyone’s got their dirty little secrets,’ he said, swirling the thick chocolaty soup in the bottom of his mug. ‘You want to confess to yours?’ ‘I’m a bit tame,’ I admitted, feeling a blush creep up over my face. ‘Since I got to New York, it’s been Ring Dings. At home, I’m a Cadbury’s Creme Egg girl. Sometimes, I’ll eat three. All at once.’ ‘Wow, that is close to the edge,’ he laughed, waving over the waitress and ordering two regular hot chocolates. Was I not going to be allowed to order anything for myself while I was in this city? ‘Although I’m not sure you should be telling me that. Wouldn’t it be against your friend’s rules?’ ‘I believe you are referring to “The Rules”, and I don’t know. Would that come under “Don’t tell him anything that would scare him away” or “Don’t overeat”?’ ‘Possibly “Do not reveal any sort of personality of any kind for fear of him not having one of his own”.’ I nodded, biting my lip to stop myself from smiling too much. Maybe I just wasn’t ever going to be able to play by Erin’s rules. ‘So, how long have you been in New York?’ he asked, propping himself up on the table with his elbows. ‘Just a week,’ I said. As much as I wanted to think of something to talk to Alex about, I really didn’t think I could go through it all again. ‘I’m staying with my friend in Murray Hill.’ ‘And you’re “sort of” on vacation?’ he sat back as the drinks arrived at our table. Oh no, now I had to navigate through a hot chocolate moustache and an awkward conversation with a very sexy, cool man. It was the cool that was throwing me, I knew it. Tyler was super sexy, but it never felt that if I said the wrong thing, he would go home to some downtown loft and sit laughing at me with members of The Strokes. Maybe I was putting too much thought into this. ‘Well, apart from the sort of vacation, I’m doing this online writing thing for The Look magazine,’ I said, so proud of myself for finding a reason to be there that didn’t involve breaking someone’s hand. ‘So I’m here for a couple of months or so.’ ‘That’s cool,’ he said. ‘I love New York, but I don’t know how you can leave London. It’s such a great city.’ ‘Are you kidding?’ I asked, making a brave go at drinking and talking at the same time. ‘New York is so amazing. It makes me feel like … like I’m really living, you know? It makes me want to do new things and just discover every inch of it. See everything there is to see.’ ‘And London doesn’t?’ he asked, brushing his hair back off his forehead. I sipped my hot chocolate. Definitely in heaven. ‘When I was young, we lived about an hour away from London by train and all I wanted to do, was be in the city,’ I explained, trying not to be distracted by his eyes. They were so green. ‘And then when I got there, it was like, wow, London! But after a while, it starts to drain you. Everything is such hard work, everything is so expensive, the Tube costs about five times as much as the subway, and when I get home, I just feel like I need a shower right away. I don’t know, there are things I love about London and there are things I can take or leave.’ ‘You’ll get to feeling that way about New York eventually.’ ‘Can’t imagine it,’ I said, smiling my first easy, genuine smile. ‘God, I feel like I’m cheating on London. I do love it, I just needed a break I think, I’m just tired of London.’ ‘When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life,’ Alex quoted. I stared back at him, smiling. ‘I’ve got an English degree, I know my Samuel Johnson. But how do you?’ ‘Well, I might be American but,’ he leaned over and whispered, ‘I read. Don’t tell anyone.’ ‘I give you my Brownie Guide promise,’ I saluted. This was getting easier, but he was still much much cooler than I would ever be. ‘Have you always lived in New York then?’ He nodded. ‘My family is from upstate but I always wanted to come to the city, same as you, I guess. It just gets under your skin. I went to college in Brooklyn and never left.’ ‘You live in Brooklyn?’ I asked, going back in for more hot chocolate. Honestly, if he stood up and walked out right now I’d still be grateful for introducing me to this place. Willy Wonkaville or not, the hot chocolate was amazing. ‘I always imagined it as being a million miles away.’ ‘Well, to some people, three stops on the L is a million miles away.’ Alex reached over to wipe away some stray melted marshmallow from my top lip. I noticed immediately how calloused the tips of his fingers were, my lips tingled under his touch. ‘It’s only ten minutes from Union Square, but people get this whole “Manhattan is New York” thing going on. It’s not true, Brooklyn is amazing. I love living there and I could never get such a great apartment over here.’ ‘I’ll have to trek over there and have a look.’ I bit my bottom lip to stop the buzz. ‘It hadn’t really occurred to me to go.’ ‘Did you just invite yourself over to my place?’ he asked, eyebrows creased, smile vanishing. ‘Seriously? How forward are you?’ ‘No, I, I meant Brooklyn,’ I faltered, squeezing my mug tightly. ‘I meant, trek over to Brooklyn and look at, stuff.’ Stuff. Nice one, Angela. I may as well have told him I’d carried a watermelon. ‘Because you’re welcome any time,’ he teased. ‘I just hope your friend would approve.’ Mean, mean man. And I really liked it. ‘I don’t think I have to get permission to go into another part of town,’ I said, refusing to smile at him even though I wanted to. There were a lot of things I wanted to do at that moment in time, but I was hardly about to do them in this place. ‘Well, she had some pretty strict rules about that date you were going on.’ He slid out of the booth and held out his hand to help me up. We were leaving the hot chocolate already? ‘How did that go by the way? Not that great obviously, because you’re here.’ ‘It was fine, thanks for asking,’ I said. Discussing my Tyler date with Alex would be too weird. And things were already weird enough. ‘You seeing him again?’ he asked, leaving a twenty-dollar bill on the table with the bill. How much was hot chocolate? Maybe I wouldn’t come back here with Jenny tomorrow. ‘I think this is definitely against The Rules.’ I really didn’t know what to say. Was it normal to ask about other dates while you were on a date? But what if it wasn’t a date. Maybe he had asked me out as a friend. Shit! Was this a friend date? ‘Hmm,’ he was still smiling, his eyes twinkling as we walked out onto the sweaty sidewalk. I mean pavement. God, it was starting to happen already, ‘I didn’t think it would get past one date.’ ‘And why not?’ I asked. I wasn’t refusing to look at him this time, I just couldn’t. I was so embarrassed. ‘You knew you were going out with me tonight,’ he said, stopping and standing close to me. ‘And I couldn’t stop thinking about it so I figured you would be feeling the same.’ He leaned in and kissed me softly on the lips. It was chocolaty and gentle and electric. I wasn’t going to need to bolt to The Union for refuge after all, but at this rate, I was going to need to get a room. I hoped Jenny or Van would give me a good rate. Did they run any rooms by the hour? ‘The gig isn’t that far, you want to walk?’ he asked, pulling away and taking my hand in his. At least I knew it was definitely a date. ‘Walking’s good,’ I managed, replaying the kiss in my head. I couldn’t help but compare it to Tyler’s. His kisses had been firm and insistent, yet tender at the same time. Alex’s kiss was so gentle and soft, but absolutely full of confidence. And it made me want so many more. We wandered down Broadway, talking about our families, our friends, what we wanted to achieve. I managed to turn my blog at The Look into a six-book deal and a film, while Alex talked about creating scores for movies, acting and a passion for architecture, but he hardly mentioned the band. ‘That’s a pretty full agenda,’ I said, loving the feeling of holding hands. ‘How are you going to manage all that and put a new album out?’ ‘Good question,’ he replied. ‘Who knows if there will be another album? I’m sort of putting the whole thing on hold at the moment. We’re just a little wiped out and I don’t know if I can carry the whole thing right now. We’ve been together for like, eight years when you add in all the time before we were signed. Gets to a point where you just want to do something else.’ ‘I know what you mean,’ I said, trying not to sound like a disappointed fan. ‘Must be hard making a group decision about something that big.’ ‘It is,’ he agreed, ‘but once one person’s heart is out of it, it’s really all over. We’re still playing live around town, but I just don’t feel we want it like we did before. These things come to an end, like anything else. There’s nothing worse than staying when there’s nothing to stay for.’ I walked on, nodding and thinking. It made sense. And not just about his band. ‘Did I say something wrong?’ he asked after our third block of silence. ‘Not at all.’ Rules or no rules, I really didn’t want to broach the Mark subject with him. ‘I was just thinking about how right you are. And how sometimes you just have to bite the bullet and make a change.’ ‘Exactly,’ he gave my hand a squeeze and stopped in front of a queue of people decked out in skinny jeans, faded T-shirts and bored expressions. Looked like the queue for a gig to me. ‘Shall we?’ ‘Hey, man,’ the gangly bouncer on the door nodded to Alex and waved us through and down some stairs into a cramped bar. I glanced around, trying to look like I belonged, while Alex talked to the girl behind the ticket counter. Across the room, a group of girls were craning their necks to get a better look and not exactly whispering about their intentions towards him. I suddenly felt defensive, how dare they say that about my date right in front of me? But somewhere, not too well hidden, I felt the tiniest bit smug. Here was this super hot man who could have had any girl in that line and he was here with me. ‘Hey,’ Alex called, holding the door to the main floor open. ‘You want a drink?’ I took one last look at the girls and then turned my back. ‘I’ll get them,’ I nodded. ‘What are you having?’ ‘Beer?’ I took the official bar position, forearms resting on the counter, ten dollar bill in hand and slightly impatient look on my face as I tried to make eye contact with one of the bartenders. Behind the bar was a dirty old mirror, hidden behind the rows and rows of bottles. For a moment I didn’t recognize the girl standing beside Alex, all messy hair, sexy heavy eye make-up that would have looked a little bit slutty if she wasn’t working the whole look, and then I realized that slutty-looking girl was me. I didn’t know if it was the close proximity of a genuine bonafide rocker or Jenny’s fine prep work but I looked actually OK. Or maybe it was just because I was having fun. I was officially dating and having fun. Wowsers. A gig is a gig is a gig, I realized as we passed through to the back of the bar, up onto the (thankfully) dim, smoky main floor, New York or London. Sticky floor, crammed bar with overpriced warm beer in plastic cups, small cliques of hipsters in too tight jeans, CBGBs T-shirts, and their tiny girlfriends in equally skinny jeans. As intimidated as I felt by all the unspoken attention Alex was receiving, I felt kind of at home. This could just as easily be any small venue in London as the Bowery Ballroom in New York. ‘You go to a lot of gigs at home?’ Alex asked, yelling into my ear as the first support act began thrashing at their guitars and brutally assaulting their drum kit. I nodded and leaned in to his ear, my nose poking through his lovely floppy hair. ‘Yeah, I used to go a lot more, but my friends aren’t really that into the same kind of music as me.’ I didn’t tell him that in reality, none of my friends was into the same kind of music as me, and that Mark had been my only gig buddy for the last ten years. When we first moved to London, we’d gone out at least once every week, but in the last two years, he’d started complaining that the gigs went on too late, that he couldn’t sit down, that the beer was expensive and flat, and more than once in the last few months I’d sat at the back, alone after a short text to say he was working late. But that didn’t feel like something Alex needed to know right away. I wanted this to be fun. ‘Yeah,’ he said, sipping his beer without a word of complaint. ‘Sometimes I think it’s just so much easier to go places on your own. The movies I’ve missed because I didn’t have a date.’ I couldn’t imagine him not having a date for a second. Almost every girl in the place had checked him out on their way in and I was starting to prickle with their not so silent appraisals of me, as his date. ‘So apart from listening to Justin, what did you do today?’ he grinned, steering me to the side of the stage to a quiet corner and a better view. ‘This writing gig sounds really cool.’ ‘Apart from listen to Justin? God, that takes up so much of my time,’ I said trying not to listen to the people whispering around us, not so subtly. ‘But yeah, the writing thing is really cool, I hope. It’s just an online diary, a blog, but, oh, I don’t want to jinx it. I’ve never really had anything published as myself before, so it’s a big thing to me even though it’s probably not really.’ ‘Sounds like a good break though,’ he said and raised his glass. ‘You going to write about our date?’ ‘I suppose I’ll have to,’ I said, not having really thought about it. ‘Purely in the interests of journalistic integrity, of course. Totally anonymous though. I will protect your innocence.’ He leaned in towards me again, pushing me back against the wall, and kissed me hard. As his lips pressed down on mine, any concerns about protecting his innocence dissipated, my body caught between the sticky, cold wall and Alex’s taut frame. It was all I could do not to drop my beer. ‘If you’re going to write about me, you should know,’ he breathed as we pulled apart, ‘I take bad reviews very personally.’ ‘Shouldn’t be a problem,’ I chirped, not really knowing where to put myself. Feeling his warm, chocolaty breath so close to my ear was making me shiver and I closed my eyes to commit the kiss properly to memory. Stumbling backwards into the wall, his soft lips, the way his body felt pressed against the thin material of my dress. Before I could completely relive it, I felt Alex close behind me again, his arm draped around my waist, hand resting on my hip. I let myself lean against him, dropping my head backwards onto his chest. It felt so nice, so easy. We stood in comfortable silence until Alex had to excuse himself to the bathroom and bar, just before the main act. I watched him wander off downstairs, letting myself check him out shamelessly, with a huge smile on my face. It was weird, I was having so much fun, but Alex made me so nervous, as in major butterflies. Tyler didn’t make me nervous at all, everything he said and did was designed to make me comfortable. I sort of understood him, bank job, smart suits and all, but I’d felt more awkward about getting dressed up and being in a smart restaurant. It was everything I could do not to spill gravy down my dress. And cream. And coffee. ‘You’re here with Alex?’ In front of me was a petite, pretty girl, head to toe in skintight black with a Debbie Harry platinum bob. ‘Erm, yes?’ I replied. She didn’t look as if she’d come over to make friends. ‘You should know, he’s a complete asshole,’ she said casually. ‘He’s screwed just about every girl in here. Maybe even some of the guys.’ ‘Oh, well, we’ve only just met,’ I said, not really sure what to do with the information she was just throwing away and not really wanting to get into a conversation with her. ‘I wasn’t really planning that far ahead.’ ‘Yeah, whatever.’ She looked me up and down and sipped her drink. ‘I’m just telling you what everyone here already knows.’ I spotted Alex looking over from the bar and he didn’t look happy. ‘So, you know, if I were you, I’d be careful if you do “plan that far ahead”. Whatever.’ She turned on her heel and vanished into the crowd. ‘Hey,’ Alex said, returning with my drink and a dark expression. ‘Did she just say something to you?’ ‘Er, yes,’ I said. What should I tell him? Why would she say that? But right at that moment, I didn’t want to believe a word. ‘Oh.’ He looked into the crowd for the blonde girl. ‘Do you know her?’ ‘No, but, well, seemed like she knew you,’ I replied. She had completely vanished. ‘I used to date one of her friends for ever ago, is all,’ he said, resuming his position behind me. ‘Wasn’t a great break-up.’ ‘I can more or less see any bad break-up and raise you,’ I said, skimming the subject. ‘Don’t worry about it.’ Bitter friend of the ex, made perfect sense. I just wished I could believe Louisa was making up bitchy lies about Mark, but she was probably swapping cupcake recipes with ‘Katie’ by now. Alex replied with a gentle kiss on my neck and I let myself relax into him and the music as the main band took to the stage. ‘They were so good,’ I said as we emptied out onto the street at midnight. I loved the post-good-gig-buzz. ‘Just, wow, really good!’ Alex laughed and took my hand. ‘You want to go get a drink or something?’ I looked at my watch and pulled a face. It was already after twelve and even though I was having a great time, a tiny part of my mind kept reminding me that I was seeing Tyler on Sunday evening and I really didn’t want to show up looking like complete crap. But the look on Alex’s face and the way he was squeezing my hand made it a really difficult decision. Well, the look on his face, the hand-holding, and the four beers I’d already had on nothing but Ring Dings for dinner. Any more to drink and I didn’t know if I’d be able to make my best judgements. ‘I should really think about getting back,’ I said, not really believing the words coming out of my mouth. ‘I told my roommate I’d be back and …’ He gave me the same puppy dog look I’d seen him work on the waitress at Manatus. ‘Just one drink?’ I said, allowing myself to be pulled down the street. Really, just one. Three drinks later, we were nestled in a tiny dive bar with a fantastic jukebox and cold, fizzy beer. We talked about music, about gigs we’d been to, about gigs we’d missed, argued about our favourite albums and dreamed up our ideal festival line up, him headlining, of course. Soon three drinks turned into four, and just after twelve turned into almost two before I remembered I was supposed to be home by now. I was drunk enough to have to watch my step on the way to the toilet, but sober enough to recognize that I was well on my way to wasted. Thank God for weak American lager. Checking the gig damage to my make-up in the mirror, I figured I still looked OK and managed not to apply any more make-up (so I couldn’t have been as drunk as I thought), but slicked on several layers of lip balm. Alex’s kisses were getting more aggressive with each swoop and I was starting to feel a little bit tender. And more than a little bit turned on. I traced my lips with the tip of my index finger, this was so strange. Tyler’s kisses had been firm and gentle, whereas Alex wasn’t backwards about coming forwards. The old me would have freaked out at any kind of public display of affection, but the new me seemed to be pretty OK with it. And with dating two men. And with hanging around in nasty toilets for more than the necessary amount of time. Ew. I really had to get home, my head was starting to teeter between ‘go home with him’ and ‘go home and vomit’ and in those cases, there was only ever going to be one winner. Heading back out to the bar, I saw Alex talking to a couple of girls, laughing easily and giving them the same soft smiles and intense eyes that had made me feel like the only girl in New York. It was definitely time to go. ‘I should probably make a move,’ I said loudly. The girls looked at each other, smiled gleefully at Alex and dropped onto my empty seat, one on top of the other. ‘Sure, let’s go,’ Alex said, standing up and putting his arm around my shoulders. I smiled a tiny smile to myself, head down, and let Alex guide me out of the bar, leaving the girls sulking in my seat. ‘Murray Hill?’ he asked, as we jumped into an empty yellow taxi before one of the other dozens of couples with their arms in the air could take it. ‘39 and Lexington,’ I said to the driver, sitting back against the cracked seats. Alex didn’t give me a chance to wonder if he would make a move, wait for a sign or even for the cab to pull into traffic before he stretched his long, lean body right across the backseat and took my face in both of his hands. As the taxi bolted through the late-night streets of New York City, I was thrown into a half-sitting, half-lying position on the back seat. Even though the night wasn’t cold, there was a chill that was completely dispelled by the warmth of Alex’s body as he pushed himself against me. I could feel his hand travel down my side and on to bare flesh at the top of my thigh where my dress had ridden up, and although I knew things were moving altogether too fast, I didn’t want to stop him. Before I had to make a really difficult decision, the taxi pulled to a juddering halt, throwing us both into the foot well. I giggled nervously, straddling him and trying to work out how to get up, off and out without giving everything away. ‘Do you want to come in?’ The words were out of my mouth before I even thought about them. So this is what women are talking about when we complain that men let their penises make all their decisions for them. ‘I really want to come in,’ he said, helping me push myself back into a sitting position, ‘but I’m not going to.’ I looked at him, surprised. Not that I thought I was such a prize catch who would never get blown out, but that I just really felt that was where this was going. And when we were kissing, I’d felt something else that biologically suggested that he thought the same. ‘If I come in now,’ he whispered, leaning across and opening my door, ‘what’s left to guess?’ I smiled shyly. I could hardly pass for coy, but I hadn’t expected him to be such a romantic. ‘Can you wait a sec while I see the lady to the door?’ he asked the cabbie, who grunted something along the lines of an agreement. Alex pushed my hair behind my ear, holding my gaze just a moment more than he needed to. ‘I had a really good time, Angela,’ he said, giving me one of his gentlest kisses. ‘Will you call me?’ I nodded, having completely lost the ability to speak, and watched him get back in the cab. Malicious bleached blonde aside, I thought the evening had gone fairly well. CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#ulink_e4e57ae1-6ba5-5c2c-9a68-e76aa83da90b) I was on my third Starbucks venti wet latte on Sunday morning before I was prepared to accept that writing a blog wasn’t going to be as easy as I’d hoped. I stared at the blank white screen waiting for inspiration. I knew Mary wanted the intro and three diary pieces and I knew it would make sense to do Thursday, Friday and Saturday. Mary had been quite insistent on the dating theme, and that would cover my first dates with Tyler and Alex. But I didn’t know how to talk about the dates without a) sounding like a total tart, and b) sounding like I was gossiping about two different guys with the whole city. Wasn’t that rude? Should I blog about Tyler and Alex without their permission? Was I genuinely sitting in Starbucks in New York all hopped up on caffeine asking myself ridiculous questions? I necked the dregs of my coffee and started typing. Instead of worrying about what other people would think, I tried to think about what I would want to read. So I started out writing about something easy. Something I loved. My lovely, lovely Marc Jacobs handbag. The Adventures of Angela: How a handbag healed a broken heart I gave it a loving look and a gentle pat, nothing potentially damaging though, obviously. I still couldn’t quite believe I’d spent half a mortgage payment on a bag. On some bits of leather and metal, stitched together to hold my stuff. Stitched together by angels … Why had I never bought something so fabulous before? Probably because I didn’t think I deserved it. Probably like I didn’t think I deserved to be dating gorgeous guys like Tyler and Alex. Probably like I thought I didn’t think I deserved the blogging job. Probably like I didn’t need another coffee. Oh, wait, that I didn’t need, but it was what I had. Like the bag. Sod it. I started typing and went for it. All the details. It was almost fun, the Angela in my diary was living such a great life and without any of the pesky concerns that plagued the real Angela. Once I’d finished, I went through and deleted anything that would upset my mother. Then I put it back in. No more coffee for me. With the diary pieces in place, I went back to the introduction. I had to front my break-up while I was on a roll, Mary was expecting it, but even as highly caffeinated as I was, this was much trickier than writing about dating. All my life I’d been someone’s something, Annette’s daughter, Louisa’s friend, Mark’s girlfriend, but who was I now? I had run away from being Mark’s ex, the bridesmaid who ruined the wedding, the girl who lived with her mum. For the last week, with Jenny, Erin, Vanessa, I’d been the slightly crazy girl with the bad eroic break-up. With Tyler I’d been the quirky English girl who liked to break men’s hands, and with Alex, I’d managed to barter my way down to just a slightly quirky English girl. With any luck, I’d be able to have someone describe me as ‘just some girl I met, I think she’s British’ by the end of the month. I decided there was only one thing to do. Be completely and brutally honest. I opened up the diary I’d written back in The Union and re-read it. It was all there, finding Mark in the car park, yelling at Louisa, bashing Tim with my shoe, right through to pissing in Mark’s toiletry bag. This was the version for Mary. Maybe not the weeing in the toiletry bag. I apple-X-ed the incident, but still sat there with a little smile, imagining the look on his face the next time he went to use his badger hair shaving brush. Yes Mark, it does smell a bit funny. Despite Jenny’s insistence that it was absolutely fine to date two men at once (and blog about it), it still felt a bit weird going out with Tyler less than twenty-four hours after seeing Alex. I’d even wondered what the protocol would be on suggesting Jenny dated him instead, he was just her type, but when I opened the apartment door and saw him standing there, head to toe in black Armani, I reconsidered. ‘Hi,’ I said, accepting his kiss on the cheek and feeling distinctly underdressed in a little Splendid T-shirt dress and Havaianas. ‘Erm, you did say cinema, didn’t you?’ ‘I did,’ he said, nodding towards a cab across the street with its engine running. ‘But then I thought, you’ve only been in the city for a week, and I’d really be doing New York a disservice if I took you to a multiplex to see some Cameron Diaz movie, so I had a rethink. I hope you don’t mind?’ ‘Not at all,’ I said, getting into the waiting yellow car. ‘I just, am I dressed OK?’ Seriously. Black Armani suit, white shirt open at the neck, and there was not even a hair out of place. ‘You’re dressed just fine,’ he said, sliding his arm around my shoulder. ‘You’ll love it, I promise.’ I shrugged and smiled. So far, so good. A little surprise like a change of venue couldn’t hurt. A few tense horn-honking minutes later, we pulled up outside a theatre. ‘It’s kind of like going to the movies,’ Tyler said, opening the door and letting me out. It was nothing like going to the movies. It was absolutely like going to a Broadway show. I was so excited. ‘I managed to score some tickets to Wicked from a guy at work. It’s supposed to be really good, have you seen it?’ I shook my head. ‘That’s amazing! I wanted to see this in London but never made it. Musicals are my guilty pleasure.’ ‘Well, you said you liked music,’ he said, leading me through the lobby like a pro. It was an interesting interpretation of my liking music but I wasn’t complaining. What a thoughtful, nice man. And with his arm around my waist, guiding me into my third-row seat, I was reminded that the nice man attended the gym very regularly. ‘So, have you broken any hands since I last saw you?’ I shook my head, starting to regret having told him any details of my break-up. The Rules were rules for a reason, I understood that now. ‘Nope, I did get a job though,’ I offered, filling him in. This time, I did hold back a little on the detail. I just didn’t feel as if he’d necessarily be ecstatic about being the star of an online search for love. ‘Well, that’s great!’ he said, kissing me quickly and unexpectedly. ‘This is a celebration then. You should have told me.’ ‘It’s nothing huge,’ I said, blushing. He thought I should have told him. Ahh. ‘Just an online thing, it won’t go in the magazine at all.’ ‘Don’t talk it down,’ he admonished, taking my hand in his as the lights flashed twice. ‘You said you wanted to be a proper writer and now you are.’ He looked across at me. ‘You’re a real inspiration, you know? One week in the city and see what you’ve achieved. I really hope some of this luck is going to rub off on me.’ He really did know just what to say to make me feel amazing. The orchestra struck up as he leaned across the velvet-covered armrest and kissed me deeply. ‘I suppose that might help the luck rub off quicker,’ I said, pressing my lips together after the endless kiss. ‘I’m prepared to keep trying until it does,’ Tyler whispered while the actors took the stage. I sank back in my seat and grinned in the dark. At least I was going to have something to write about in my diary tonight. The rest of the evening was so special. I was completely carried away with the romance of the show, squeezing Tyler’s hand, resting my head on his shoulder, burying my face in his jacket during the sad bits. Afterwards, we wandered down to a tiny candlelit restaurant around the corner. In no time at all, I’d turned into a purring kitten, all coquettish giggles and bicep stroking. God, if Mark had known musicals had this effect on me, he might have taken me to more. ‘You really are remarkable,’ Tyler said, spoonfeeding me ice cream. Usually that kind of couplish behaviour made me want to vom, but with Tyler, it just seemed sweet and loving. ‘I can’t believe you’ve managed all this in a week. I guess I’m just not a risk taker like you.’ ‘It’s so weird being described by someone else,’ I said, offering a spoonful of cheesecake in return for the ice cream. ‘The one risky thing I’ve ever done is come to New York, but that is working out fairly well. Maybe I ought to look into this risk taking thing more.’ ‘I think that sounds like a wonderful idea,’ Tyler said. ‘I’ve always had my life so mapped out. Ivy league college, good job with a great bank, next is supposed to be wife and kids, move to Connecticut, retire to Florida.’ ‘Sounds like fun,’ I said, shaking my head. ‘I think I had something like that planned, and then I found my boyfriend with his pants around his ankles. I don’t recommend it.’ ‘If I were to find my boyfriend with his shorts around his ankles, something would have gone wildly wrong with my plan.’ His eyes crinkled lightly as he shook his head and laughed. Oh, he looks nice when he laughs, I thought, musing over his good points. Sweet, funny, great prospects, makes me feel like royalty, and quite frankly, not bad to look at, and there were rock hard abs under that suit. ‘If you were going to go wildly off plan,’ I had to find a chink in the perfection somewhere, ‘what would you do?’ ‘I don’t know,’ he said, leaning back in his chair. ‘If I were being totally selfish? Do anything I want?’ ‘Anything you want,’ I confirmed. ‘I’d take a year off and follow the Yankees. Every game,’ he said, smiling to himself. ‘Can you imagine?’ ‘Not really,’ I frowned. Not the romantic answer I’d been hoping for. ‘Or, I would rent an island, like the one the Virgin guy has,’ he suggested. ‘Necker Island?’ More like it. ‘Yeah,’ he nodded. ‘I’d rent Necker island and just hide away for a few months. Just the sun and the sand and some great wines and whiskeys. And a satellite TV for Yankees’ games. And a WiFi connection so you could keep writing, of course.’ ‘I’m there?’ I asked, playing with my napkin. ‘It’s my fantasy, right?’ he said, reaching out for my hand across the table. ‘So I get to take whoever I want.’ Silently blushing from head to toe, I tried to meet his gaze, but I had instantly become a Complete Girl and couldn’t even look at him. ‘The food here is really great, but the coffee is awful,’ he whispered just loud enough for the waiter to hear as he walked by. He sniffed loudly and carried on walking. ‘And I have a suspicion we’re not that welcome any more,’ he laughed. ‘I, however, have great coffee. You want to come back for a while?’ I looked over at the waiter who was already running up our bill. It really did look as if he might spit in our coffees. At best. ‘I’m only ten minutes from here,’ Tyler said, pulling out his wallet and placing the fabled black Amex on the bill the second it arrived without even looking. I really had wanted to pay tonight, but in a way, I really did love the fact that he wouldn’t let me. ‘And it’s really good coffee. I have a Gaggia.’ Whatever a Gaggia might have been, it swung the deal. It was just coffee after all, there was no way Tyler was going to be less of a gentleman than Alex. We ducked out into a cab and drove slowly around the park. Somewhere I still hadn’t visited, it looked so beautiful lit up at night. ‘You want to walk the last couple of blocks?’ Tyler asked, reading my mind. I nodded eagerly and jumped out onto the pavement, leaning against the wall and looking out across the lake. It was like a scene from a movie. My movie. ‘Sometimes you forget how lucky you are to live with all this on your doorstep,’ he sighed, taking off his jacket and resting it on my shoulders. It was lightly scented with his aftershave and still warm. ‘It’s amazing to see it through someone else’s eyes.’ I turned to say something, but was cut off by his kiss. His arms encircled my waist and without breaking away, he lifted me up and placed me on the wall, as if I were made of air, as if I weighed nothing. Pressing against him, I let the kiss grow deeper and deeper until my hands were lost in his thick hair and my legs were carelessly knotted around his. I had completely forgotten I was in the middle of a busy street, I was so entirely given over to this kiss, this moment. Suddenly, I felt all of my frustrations bubble up to the surface, every night I’d laid in bed alone waiting for Mark to come home, every hopeful smile I’d had rejected, every touch that had gone unacknowledged, even Alex’s refusal to come upstairs with me the night before, however honorable his reasons, it all burst out in that one kiss. ‘My apartment is just around the corner,’ Tyler pushed me away gently. His eyes burned and I knew I just had to. I wanted him so badly. The absolute certainty that I was in for a thoroughly good seeing to burned in my chest as we moved in silence, somewhere between a quick walk and a slow run. It was only a couple of minutes to his Park Avenue apartment, but it felt like a million miles. Falling through the door, I tore at Tyler’s beautiful suit and kicked away my flip-flops as we rolled down the hallway. I knew that I should step back, work out what I was doing. But I didn’t care. I didn’t care if it was revenge sex, a sexorcism, or just something I needed with someone I wanted. All I knew was that the doorknob pushing into my lower back needed to be turned if it led to the bedroom. And it did. Tyler pulled me in, flicking on the low bedside light as we crashed on to his huge bed. This wasn’t the time to work out my motives, I told myself, feeling so small and delicate as Tyler lay on top of me, his hands frisking my curves firmly, his lips still pressing against mine. This was time to let my body make some decisions for me. And if all my body’s decisions felt this good, I would be consulting it far more regularly from now on. Morning declared itself with a chirping alarm clock. I had absolutely no idea what time it was, but it felt early. Really early. Stretching my arms out, I marvelled at how wide the bed felt, how soft my sheets were. How bright the sun was through the giant picture window … hang on a minute. ‘Morning,’ Tyler appeared in the doorway, fully dressed in a suit and tie as I clutched the covers tightly around my chin. Quick visual check, yes, I was naked. He sat down on the edge of the bed and placed two steaming cups of coffee on the side table. ‘Since we never got to it last night,’ he said, bending down and offering a long, slow kiss. I still wasn’t quite sure what to say. ‘Sorry, it’s so early,’ he carried on regardless, picking up his coffee and sipping thoughtfully. ‘Monday’s are a bitch, I have to be in before all the meetings start, otherwise I don’t stand a chance. I’m usually tied to my BlackBerry all Sunday night and, as you know, I had better things to do last night.’ I smiled weakly and fumbled for my coffee. ‘Mm-hm,’ I nodded and sipped slowly. The longer this took, the less likely it would be that I might have to make conversation. Damn, I thought, sipping again, he really does make fantastic coffee. ‘Anyway, I’m gonna get gone.’ He smoothed my hair and came in for another kiss. ‘Just let yourself out whenever, OK? The door locks itself, so don’t worry about alarms or anything. Call me later?’ I nodded and accepted one more kiss before he stood up to leave. I set my coffee down and buried my face in the pillow, not seeing Tyler pause in the doorway. ‘I just wanted to say,’ he called across the room, ‘good luck for your meeting.’ Thank God he hadn’t said anything about how amazing it had been. I just couldn’t cope. ‘Thanks,’ I managed without sitting up. ‘And I actually just wanted to say, last night was really,’ I’d spoken to soon, ‘really amazing.’ Ooh, so close. CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#ulink_465f1f3e-b899-52ae-b234-71503f14b939) ‘So, before you tell me anything else, without even thinking,’ she commanded, unloading the Starbucks bags and newspapers I’d bought to camouflage my Walk of Shame. ‘How was the sex?’ ‘It was amazing,’ I said. ‘Honestly, I know my sex life has been pretty shitty for a while, but he was incredible. He’s strong and big and he goes to the gym and we did it three times and I, God, I don’t know.’ ‘OK, you’ve answered my next three questions,’ she said, sinking her teeth into a doughnut. ‘So you’re seeing him again when?’ ‘Oh shut up!’ I grabbed a doughnut of my own and shook my head. ‘He had to leave early.’ ‘That’s OK, as long as he calls like, today or tomorrow,’ Jenny said, staring me down. ‘But I don’t think that’s bothering you. You know he’s going to call, right? So what’s up? Why aren’t you bouncing off the ceiling?’ ‘OK, don’t get mad but because I was sort of thinking on the way back … I’ve only ever been with Mark,’ I said, plopping onto a stool and pulling my hair back into a messy ponytail. ‘I know you’re going to punch me, but even though it was amazing at the time, this morning I felt, well, like I had cheated on him. I know, I know,’ I held out my hand to cut her off, ‘I know it doesn’t make sense, he didn’t even wait to break-up with me before he started sleeping with someone else, but I can’t help the way it feels.’ ‘True, you can’t,’ Jenny nodded. ‘But you’re not going to let this stop you seeing him? If anything honey, you ought to be throwing another couple of guys into the mix.’ ‘I don’t know. What if I don’t stop feeling weird? And what about Alex? Twenty-four hours ago or so, I’d invited him up here, and now I’ve slept with Tyler? I’ve only just got my head around going on dates with two men let alone sleeping with them both.’ ‘This one’s easy,’ Jenny said, slapping my hands away from my hair when I tried to retie my ponytail again. ‘Do you want to see Alex again?’ I nodded. ‘And do you want to see and potentially sleep with Tyler again?’ I nodded. ‘Then fine. You don’t have to choose until you’re ready.’ She picked up her coffee and two more of the doughnuts. ‘And by the way, three times in one night, Park Avenue apartment and a black Amex? You sure as hell are seeing him again or you’re giving me his number.’ She leaned over the bar and kissed me on the cheek. ‘Go get ready for your meeting with Mary, I’m going to bed.’ Knowing I had a meeting meant that I didn’t have enough time to go over and over what had happened in my head, but I did manage a quick self-analysis while applying mascara (Razor would have been so proud). Looking myself in the eyes, I tried to smile at the new girl looking back. It wasn’t the clothes or the hair or even the faint tan I’d acquired in the past week, although all of that was new, I just couldn’t remember the last time I’d looked in a mirror before I came to New York. Not caught sight of myself as I walked by, not sorted out my dodgy parting, but really looked myself in the eye. At best I managed a quick sideways glance on my way out of the shower to see how my Weight Watchers torment was coming along, never a happy moment. And now, there was this strange girl staring back at me. A girl who dates two guys at once, writes for the website of a fashion glossy, who lives in New York. Meep. On the way out of the door, I picked up my mobile and looked at the phone book – Jenny, Erin, The Look, Tyler, and first in the list? Alex. I’d promised I’d call and I really really wanted to, but it felt so weird, ringing a man I wanted to sleep with when I’d just slept with someone else. No matter how many times Jenny told me it wasn’t a big deal, that New York dating came with different rules (The Rules again!) it just felt wrong to me. And to be honest, no matter how far I was putting feminism back, I wanted any man that wanted to sleep with me, to want to sleep only with me. There, it was out there. I was practically a Puritan. The safest time to get Alex’s answering machine would be early, I reasoned, that sexy deathly pallor didn’t come from early morning jogs along the river. Convincing myself he wouldn’t answer, I sucked it up and dialled. And he answered on the first ring. ‘Y’ello?’ He sounded sleepy and cute. ‘Hi, Alex?’ I panicked, not having anything prepared except a random babbled statement about calling him back later. ‘Yeah?’ So far so he-didn’t-recognize-my-voice. ‘It’s Angela,’ I said, cursing myself for calling. ‘Angela Clark?’ ‘Oh, hi.’ He yawned loudly. This plan had not gone well. ‘I wondered when you were going to call.’ ‘I said I would,’ I defended myself. It had only been a day. Should I have called by now? Erin had said three days. Bloody Erin. ‘So, you know, Saturday was really fun, thanks.’ ‘Uh-huh,’ he replied. ‘Sorry, I just woke up, I’m not really a morning person.’ ‘Oh, me neither,’ I said, rushing towards Times Square. ‘But I have a meeting, so I thought I’d call and … sorry. I should have called later.’ ‘No, it’s fine,’ he said with another deep yawn. I wondered how he looked first thing. I imagined his hair all stuck over on one side, pillow creases in his cheek. ‘Listen, you want to do something Wednesday? You want to go to MoMA?’ ‘Sounds great,’ I said, relieved that I would have two days to sort my head out and wondering what a MoMA was. ‘Cool, meet you outside the main entrance at three?’ ‘Perfect, see you then.’ Instead of looking for the Spencer Media building, I found myself guessing what he slept in. Maybe he was wandering around his apartment naked. Not the right chain of thought. Bad Angela. ‘Good, Angela,’ Mary said, pacing around her office clutching my diaries. ‘It’s actually good. It’s pacy, it’s funny – funny-ish – and I’m thinking I’m a reader and I’m kind of interested in these men you’re dating. You’re still seeing both of them?’ ‘Yes,’ I said, watching her anxiously and looking out for the coffee I was offered on my way in. ‘I am, but I feeling a bit weird about it. I don’t know, maybe I should just be seeing one of them. Or just slowing it down a little, but with one of them. Or both of them. Or something.’ ‘I don’t think so,’ Mary said, finally settling behind her desk. ‘If you want this blog, you keep dating. We need to give them nicknames so that they don’t sue – I’m calling them Wall Street and Brooklyn – they are your story, until something or someone else, comes along.’ ‘I suppose,’ I said slowly. I really should have re-read the pieces post-caffeine-high, but I wanted this so badly. ‘I’m seeing Alex on Wednesday but I haven’t made plans with Tyler yet.’ ‘Make them.’ Mary buzzed in her secretary and handed me a business card. ‘You’ll email me your column every day by four, keep it detailed on locations, light on the gory details. We want the readers interested in where you’re going on your dates, which guy you’re going to pick, not getting off on your sex life.’ ‘OK,’ I nodded eagerly, ‘I can do that.’ ‘So you’ll email your piece to me every day by four. I have a meeting with the editorial and marketing team on Thursday, and if your pieces keep coming in at this standard, I’ll be putting them to the team then.’ ‘Thanks,’ I replied, completely shell-shocked. ‘I won’t let you down, Mary.’ ‘No, you’d better not,’ she said, turning back to her computer. ‘Be here at four on Friday for a catch-up and we’ll talk about posting The Adventures of Angela.’ ‘The Adventures of Angela?’ I backed out of the office, smiling with an awkward half wave. ‘See you Friday. Thanks Mary.’ I emerged, blinking, into the sunlight, not really knowing what had just happened, but pretty sure the meeting had gone well. Pausing outside the terrifyingly neon behemoth that was Toys us, it took me a whole minute to work out what the vibrating against my hip was, before I realized that I’d stuck my mobile in my pocket after calling Alex. It had been over a week since I’d received a text message and I’d almost forgotten they existed. Who knew that could happen? Hi lunch meeting cancelled, have res at Tao. Shame to waste it. Abuse my corporate account with me at 1.00? It was Tyler. I had sworn that I would eventually make it to the Empire State Building today, but I had something else to think about other than my tourist agenda now. My column. Mary had told me to make plans with Tyler hadn’t she? She was practically forcing me to accept his offer. And I had even heard of Tao, it was supposed to be amazing. With my career and stomach in mind I accepted, by text, whilst trying to keep last night’s marathon firmly out of mind. It wasn’t easy though. As I drifted around midtown, killing time, my mind kept wantonly wandering over the details. His soft hands, his hard body, the warmth of his kisses and how, for those blissful few hours, I didn’t have to be anyone at all, I was just part of the act. No disastrous life back in England, no double-dating concerns in New York, nothing but me and Tyler. Such a welcome relief and very welcome release. A little tiny part of me was also pretty pleased that I’d remembered at least some of what I was doing. It really was just like riding a bike, I smiled to myself. Ooh, I should put that in the column. Or maybe not – no porno details. By one, I’d managed to spend $500 accidentally on underwear in Saks on Fifth Avenue, egged on by the newly awakened sex goddess in me. Nothing overly saucy, just really beautiful matching bras and ‘briefs’. Couldn’t say knickers in New York, and I couldn’t bring myself to say panties without giggling like a child. I arrived at Tao ten minutes early (get me!) and was directed over to Tyler’s table, where he was tapping away at his BlackBerry. Would I ever beat a man to a date? Maybe lateness was one of my new things, I mused, feeling a post-coital nervousness well up in my chest as we kissed hello. Nothing salacious, a warm, firm kiss square on the lips. ‘Hi,’ he said, pulling my chair out for me. ‘Been shopping?’ he nodded towards my giant bags, and it suddenly occurred to me how it must look. I practically devour him in the street, then turn up for lunch the next day with bags and bags of underwear. Wow, what a slut. ‘They’re gifts,’ I said. Wow, what a liar. ‘Oh, OK. Gifts.’ He smiled. ‘How did your meeting go? Are you editor-in-chief yet?’ Grateful that he had changed the subject to something I could talk about without having to imagine him hot, sweaty and naked, I stopped hiding behind my menu and shook my head. ‘It went well,’ I said, ‘she liked the pieces that I’d written and she’s asked me to send her 500 words a day, then go in for another meeting on Friday. It’s not a done deal by a long stretch though. Not a big deal. Really.’ It was a big deal. ‘Are you kidding?’ he said, putting his menu down. ‘That’s fantastic! We’re officially celebrating.’ I smiled. I liked celebrating. I liked Tyler. Soon, I was two glasses into a bottle of Laurent Perrier at one in the afternoon, and several wild gesticulations into my future career plans. ‘I mean eventually,’ I waved my arms around, almost knocking the bottle out of the waiter’s hand. ‘I’d really like to write. Just write, whether it’s magazines or books, whatever. Not necessarily deep and meaningful, but just something that someone can enjoy. Something that they can sit down with for an hour to enjoy, and escape from, I don’t know, whatever it is they need to escape from.’ Tyler nodded, sipping his water. He wasn’t drinking, he had meetings all afternoon and the more tipsy I got, the more startlingly sober he seemed. From the occasional glass of wine with dinner I’d gone to drunk most nights of the week and in the middle of a Monday afternoon startlingly quickly. So far today I’d found out I was a writer, a wanton sex goddess, and apparently a bit of a lush. ‘Once we’re done here, I think we should go do something to really commemorate this occasion,’ he said, ‘in case you don’t remember lunch.’ I looked down at my plate. Still full. My glass. Completely empty. Tyler picked up the bill and before I knew it, we were leaving the beautiful, opulent restaurant and moving out into town. ‘Where are we going?’ I asked, letting Tyler take my hand and guide me through the busy streets. Midtown was absolutely crazy. ‘Just somewhere,’ he smiled, pulling me up short in front of a large Fifth Avenue store. Oh Lord it was Tiffany. ‘To get something special to commemorate a special occasion.’ He kissed me squarely on the lips reminding me how I was thinking about suggesting we slow it down a bit. But not outside Tiffany, that would just be rude. Tyler pulled me through the doors and straight through to the lifts at the back of the shop. I desperately tried to sober up and absorb every second. A beautiful man with no known credit card limit had brought me to Tiffany’s. This was something to remember. Everything sparkled and glinted at me as we rushed past, diamonds and rubies and sapphires and every other precious gem you could ever imagine, all sparkling in the carefully designed lighting. The lift doors slid together and the diamonds winked goodbye as we began to move upwards. The lift teased me relentlessly, opening on floor after floor of gorgeous jewellery, trinkets and treasures, while we remained inside. I began to think he’d just brought me here to use the toilets, which considering what I’d drunk, wouldn’t have been a bad plan. Eventually, the doors opened on gifts and we strolled out. Tyler seemed to know exactly where he was going, silently smiling and drawing me across the floor. If I hadn’t been so desperate for a) the toilet and b) something wrapped in a little blue box, I would have said he was being irritatingly smug. Plus I couldn’t help but wonder how he knew his way around such a maze-like jewellery store quite so well. ‘Here,’ he said, stopping in front of a display case. Inside were dozens of sterling silver objects, business card holders, letter openers, keyring upon keyring upon keyring and, I finally worked out what he was pointing at, beautiful silver pens. ‘Which one do you like?’ I was so lost for words and overwhelmed by the need to pee, I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t remember a time anyone had done something so thoughtful. Even Mark’s proposal hadn’t been so well considered and he’d (allegedly) been planning it for months. ‘Will you marry me?’ doesn’t have the same ring to it when you’ve just been arguing the toss with a Sevillian pony and trap driver over five Euros. ‘Honestly, you shouldn’t,’ I murmured, clutching at his arm and feeling very feminine all of a sudden. Maybe they put something in the air conditioning to make you more susceptible to romantic gestures, I thought to myself. ‘But I want to,’ he said, pointing the sale girls towards a delicate silver ballpoint pen. ‘And I’m going to.’ The girl nodded and took the pen away. I looked away, smiling happily. And slightly tipsily. I could really get used to this kind of treatment quite quickly, but before I did, I really really had to talk to him about slowing things down. It wasn’t fair to accept expensive gifts and lavish dinners when I was still feeling guilty about having slept with him. But I didn’t want to offend him. ‘I just need to nip to the ladies’ room,’ I whispered as the sales girl appeared with my beautifully wrapped parcel. Oh, the white ribbon against the stiff eggshell cardboard bag. It made my heart leap right into my mouth. Tyler nodded and took the gift bag. ‘I’ll wait outside, I have a couple of calls to make.’ The bathroom was every bit as beautiful as I had expected, but I was so desperate, I would have taken a hole in the ground. Oh the relief. Washing my hands, I took a moment to think about the Tyler situation. I didn’t know if it was the pheromones I was convinced Tiffany were pumping into their store or possibly the champagne that was still raging around my system, but it struck me that I was taking the Tyler/Alex thing altogether too seriously. Jenny was right, we were just having fun, Tyler had bought me a pen, not an engagement ring, and Alex and I had only been on one date! There was no need to say anything to Tyler right now except thank you very much. I would have to be crazy to knock back a generous, thoughtful (rich, hot) man like him for no reason. Besides, he had seemed very comfortable in Tiffany’s, maybe he bought a lot of gifts for his friends. It would be rude of me to make a big deal out of it. After all, it was just a pen. My mind made up to ask Tyler out for dinner for Thursday night, I went back downstairs. It would be totally straight forward, I told myself. I would ask him if he would like to go out, and if he were to ask me if I’m seeing anyone else, I’d say yes. We’re just dating, just a notch above friends really. Friends with benefits in fact, I’d read all about that and it seemed fine. Resentfully, I left Tiffany’s and looked for Tyler. For some reason, the sun didn’t seem to leave him hot, sweaty and lobster red like everyone else, but glinted off his hair and accentuated his tan. He was the Kentucky Derby racehorse to my Blackpool seafront donkey. Eeyore. ‘There you are,’ he said, handing me the bag and kissing me on the cheek. ‘Real sorry but I’ve got to get back to the office. Something’s come up that I have to deal with.’ ‘Oh, I hate when that happens,’ I joked feebly. Now or never, time for me to propose my first ever date. ‘Do you want to go to dinner with me on Thursday?’ I garbled. ‘Sorry?’ he asked, sliding a pair of expensive-looking sunglasses out of his jacket pocket. ‘Thursday night?’ I tried more slowly. ‘Would you like to go for dinner with me?’ ‘Oh, I can’t make Thursday,’ he said, looking around for a cab. ‘What about Wednesday?’ ‘I can’t make Wednesday,’ I said, really hoping he wasn’t going to ask me why. ‘Tomorrow?’ ‘How about Saturday?’ he suggested. ‘My week is pretty crazed. We could do a picnic in the park? It might be a little busy but it’s always fun.’ Before I could really give a yes or no, he pecked me on the cheek (it was definitely only a peck) and jumped into a taxi slowed by traffic, whilst making the universally acknowledged ‘I’ll call you’ sign. I waved goodbye and watched him pull off, already on his phone. ‘I don’t think that’s a bad sign,’ Jenny said through a mouthful of lasagne. I’d demanded we stay in and cook that evening, much to her disgust, but she seemed to be packing away the meal ‘we’ had made fairly quickly. ‘He offered Wednesday, you couldn’t make it. Five days isn’t really that long between dates, especially when you’ve only just started seeing each other. Now make with the pen!’ I’d refused to show Jenny the pen until we’d discussed the million different interpretations of Tyler’s actions. The invite to lunch – good. He could have asked anyone but he’d invited me. The trip to Tiffany – very good whichever way you looked at it. The picnic suggestion – sweet, definitely a date thing, not a friend thing. The distracted goodbye – probably just concerned about work, I was reading too much into it. ‘I just thought maybe, I don’t know, he’d want to see me before the weekend,’ I shrugged, stretching the mozzarella between my knife and fork. ‘After last night and everything.’ ‘What, you’re so hot in bed you thought he couldn’t wait for a second helping?’ Jenny smiled, shovelling her pasta. ‘Technically it would be his fourth.’ I stuck my tongue out and brought the Tiffany bag out from its hiding place. ‘And no, I don’t think that, I just, I don’t know. Maybe it wasn’t as great as I thought. I suppose I’m really rusty.’ ‘You can’t be that freaking rusty!’ Jenny squealed, ripping the tissue paper out of the bag and holding up a gorgeous white gold lariat chain with a diamond-studded star on one end. ‘Where’s my pen?’ I gasped, staring at the chain, not daring to touch it. ‘Did I steal someone else’s bag? I wasn’t that drunk!’ ‘The pen’s in here too,’ Jenny said, emptying the bag out onto the counter with a clatter. I winced, watching the pen crash out of its pouch and onto the work surface. ‘There’s a note, read the note, read the note!’ I took the slip of paper and started to read. ‘OUT LOUD!’ Jenny shouted, giving me a drum roll. ‘A shooting star for my shooting star. Tyler,’ I read. It was so romantic. He must have— ‘Stop thinking, start talking!’ Jenny yelled, grabbing the note. ‘He must have gone and bought it when I was in the bathroom,’ I breathed. I had been completely bowled over by the pen, but this? ‘I can’t believe he did this. I should call him.’ ‘Text,’ Jenny said, still holding the necklace. I felt that if I took it from her it would melt away into thin air. ‘You don’t want to overdo it, you’re not seeing him until Saturday, you should text. Keep it short and flirty, “Thank you, can’t wait for you to unwrap your present on Saturday”, something like that.’ ‘Jenny!’ I said, still transfixed by the sparkles. ‘I can’t say that. It’s too much, I should just say thank you or something.’ Jenny pulled a face. I pulled a face. Jenny pulled another face, snatched the phone out of my hands and sprinted into the bathroom. ‘Jenny, you cow, give me my bloody phone,’ I shouted through the door. Emerging triumphant, Jenny handed me the phone. ‘What would you do without me, doll?’ ‘Tell me you didn’t?’ ‘Now is so not the time to be coy, honey.’ Jenny sauntered back through to the living room and dropped onto the sofa, dipping into an open bag of Doritos. I hardly dared look in my sent messages, but since it was done … ‘Hey, loved my present, maybe I’ll have a surprise for you to unwrap soon, Angela xox’. I shook my head while Jenny giggled, peeping over the back of the sofa. ‘Honestly, it’s not nearly as slutty as I thought it would be,’ I sighed, setting down the phone and shoving Jenny up the sofa. Full of food and vicarious romance, she eventually fell asleep in front of the TV. Once I was satisfied she was genuinely asleep, I took the pen, the necklace and the note into my room and spread them out on my bed. It was genuinely the sweetest thing anyone had ever done for me. I tried to think back to some of Mark’s better moments and was saddened to realize that out of ten years, aside from the half-arsed proposal, I couldn’t think of more than a handful. Roses delivered to my lecture on our first valentine’s apart, flowers in every room of the house when we moved in together, planting a giant sunflower in the garden of our flat every year on our anniversary. It didn’t take me long to recognize a theme, and even less time to realize we hadn’t even planted a sunflower for the last three years. Mark was probably too busy planting something else. After fifteen minutes of shamelessly ogling Tyler’s gifts, I wrapped them carefully in their tissue and placed them back into the bag. And then I slipped between the sheets with the same level of care and allowed myself fifteen more minutes’ shameless recollection of some of Tyler’s other gifts. CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#ulink_0988af76-b500-5333-902f-9527d4fc0ae5) Officially one day into my blog, it was a bit early for writer’s block. I had so much to go on, yesterday’s lunch with Tyler, making the second date with Alex, finding the necklace, everything, but I didn’t know where to start. Eventually I gave up typing ‘The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog’ and got dressed. I was happier with my make-up, I could even do my eyes without Razor’s crib sheets. I hadn’t stuck the mascara wand in my eye for two days and I hadn’t gone out with stripes of blusher down my cheeks for three. Not to mention the fact that I had put on cropped leggings and a Twenty-Eight Twelve T-shirt dress without even thinking about whether or not you could see my arse. The four walls of the apartment weren’t offering me inspiration, so I picked up my (gorgeous) bag, slid my laptop inside and made for the great outdoors. Murray Hill was the perfect place from which to start an aimless wander around Manhattan. At first I thought maybe I’d just pop out and get more coffee, but as I got further and further downtown, I just couldn’t seem to stop walking down, down, across, down. Sunshine slanted through the narrow channels between the streets and swam across the avenues. Everywhere I turned I saw something mundane, everyday and completely exciting. The office of Dr Jeffrey Walker DDS, the Episcopalian church on Fifth, the Korean deli stocked with Wonder Bread, Milk Duds and Vanilla Coke. Eventually I hit Bleecker Street, but instead of carrying on down to Houston and dipping my toe (and credit cards) in Soho, I carried on walking into the Village. The shops got smaller and more quirky, I paused outside pet shops and lost my heart to every puppy I passed. I browsed in record shops until I was frowned out by the intense-looking guys in Iggy and the Stooges shirts behind the ridiculously high counters. I wandered around Duane Reade drugstores wondering how anyone could need to self-medicate so incredibly heavily. And eventually I found my inspiration. A Marc by Marc Jacobs standalone store. My handbag was drawn to the mothership from across the road. I wandered up and down the clothes, stroking them lovingly and wondering how they got so many models to work in their shop. I managed to put a beautiful silk shirtdress back on the rack before my bag pulled me directly to the accessories, practically purring at the matching wallets. Before I knew what I was doing, my old Accessorize purse was emptying itself out on to the counter, prostrating itself in front of what it clearly recognized as its superiors. Opposite the store was a small playground, full of children and ridiculously chic nannies and cool boho mothers clutching coffees and cupcakes from the Magnolia Bakery. I plopped down on one of the benches and set my laptop up on one of the concrete chessboards. I’d got cupcakes too, but I was determined to save them for girls’ night back at the flat with Vanessa and Jenny. Or maybe I’d just have one. By God it was delicious. I’d never eaten a cake that was more icing than actual sponge before and it turned out that writing the blog on a sugar high was as easy as writing it when I was completely caffeinated. I tapped away merrily, bag tucked on my lap, icing all over my face and eyes completely wired. The Adventures of Angela: Gifting at Tiffany’s There, that was as good a headline as any … By the time I’d cabbed it home, emailed the blog to Mary and eaten another cupcake (shamefully, I’d gone back for more after eating two to get me through the blog), it was three-fifty. Jenny and Vanessa were coming home together to watch America’s Next Top Model, but not for another few hours, so I happily installed myself on the sofa with a giant box of cookies and the TV for company, only getting up to answer the phone to Jenny’s mother and take a long, unnecessarily detailed message about her father’s trip to his prostate doctor but not to worry, he was fine. Speaking to Jenny’s slightly manic mother made me think about mine. Not that there was anything even vaguely manic about her, she was more than chemically balanced, but she did like to go into detail on her doctor’s appointments. I’d left her a voicemail with my new number, but even if she didn’t need to talk to me, I sort of felt that I wouldn’t mind speaking to her. Just to let her know I was OK. Just get it out of the way. Just tell her I’m fine, that I’m working and that I’ll call her again in a week or so. If I need to. Or that she can ring me. Next month or something. Long pause. Clicking. Ringing. ‘Hello?’ My arm shot out and I stared at the phone in front of me. That wasn’t my mother. That was Mark. I scrabbled for the off button and hung up, switched off and threw the phone at the sofa. What the hell was he doing at my mother’s? I sat on the end of the sofa, rocking lightly, unable to take my eyes off the phone in case it started ringing. I didn’t want to think about this, I told myself, I couldn’t think about this. I could just about stand thinking about him in the past, us in the past, but I didn’t want to have to think about him now, and I definitely didn’t want to think about him in my mother’s house. I threw myself back onto the sofa, turned up the TV and finished the rest of my cupcake, staring at the screen and refusing to think about anything but Super Sweet Sixteens, Cribs and whether or not I might have a shot at love with Tila Tequila until Vanessa and Jenny came cackling through the door. Even with the music from my iPod drowning out any thoughts of Mark overnight, I really didn’t sleep well, and the next morning, it showed. Even the Touche ?clat didn’t shift the dark shadows I’d picked up overnight. Great, some literal baggage to go with the emotional stuff. Looking like crap or not, I was excited about going to MoMA (since Jenny had sighed and explained it was an art gallery). One of my favourite weekend treats, when Mark had to ‘work’, was to lose myself in the Tate Modern for hours. Taking in the galleries, checking out new exhibitions, sometimes just sitting outside or in the turbine hall, people watching for hours. I was even more excited when I saw Alex hovering outside the entrance. He looked just as cute as last time with added Brownie points for apparently having thought about combing his hair. ‘Hey,’ he gave me his trademark slow smile as I approached. Without an ounce of concern for public opinion, he scooped me up into a long, lazy kiss. It was delicious. ‘So what you been up to?’ he asked, swinging my hand as we rode the escalators up to the galleries. ‘Anything I should know about?’ ‘I had my meeting at The Look,’ I said, glossing over my Tyler incidents. I filed them safely under things he did not need to know about right now, which meant I wasn’t lying, just not oversharing. ‘I’ve got another meeting on Friday and then hopefully it’ll go online. The editor said she really liked my stuff.’ ‘Really? That’s amazing. I’m sure it’s going to be really great.’ ‘Yeah, hopefully,’ I said, squeezing back. ‘What about you, have you reached any life-changing decisions?’ He shook his head, pulling me around to the next escalator. ‘Nope. Band rehearsal tomorrow though and we have a gig on Friday. There might not be many more, you want to come?’ ‘I’d love to,’ I said, terrified at the idea of being a groupie and thrilled at the idea of, well, being a groupie. ‘Where is it?’ ‘Music Hall of Williamsburg,’ Another escalator. ‘You should bring your roommate, it’ll be fun.’ ‘Sounds good,’ I replied. Another escalator. ‘I don’t think she’s doing anything.’ I had no idea what she was doing, but as far as I was concerned, she was now coming to Alex’s gig. ‘Are we actually going to get off the escalators or is this some sort of new performance art I should know about?’ I asked as we finally stepped onto solid ground. ‘There’s something I really want to show you.’ Alex walked around the corner, to a painting hanging just inside the corridor, more or less on its own. ‘This is my favourite picture in the entire world,’ he said, standing a respectful distance back from the painting. It was small, showing the back of a girl staring at a wooden farmhouse in the near distance. Even from behind, I felt as though I could see she was crying, unable to escape her situation. Unable to tear herself away, even though she wanted to. Needed to. There was nowhere else for her to go. ‘Christina’s World, Andrew Wyeth,’ I read out quietly. The fifth floor was almost empty and the silence was eerie. I clutched at Alex’s hand, still gazing at the painting. I wanted look away but I couldn’t. Before I knew what was happening, tears were streaming down my cheeks. ‘It’s …’ I started, not knowing where to go. I dropped Alex’s hand and took a half-step closer. ‘It’s just …’ ‘I know,’ he said, putting his hands on my shoulders. ‘When I feel trapped or confused or I just forget myself I come here and remind myself. I’m sorry, I thought you would like it. The woman in the painting is paralysed and crawling back to the house but I don’t know. Always seems to me like she’s wanting to get away from the house rather than back to it.’ ‘Maybe she doesn’t know what she wants,’ I said, staring through the girl into the farmhouse. ‘Running to, running from, same difference.’ We stood looking at the picture together for what felt like for ever. Eventually, and only when I’d committed every inch of it to memory, we walked away in silence and wandered around the rest of the gallery. It took me a while to loosen up, but Alex was the perfect art buddy. He knew so much about the place I was sure he must actually live in the basement and the museum happily swallowed up our afternoon without even a whisper of a ticking clock. We saw everything there was to see, Monet, Pollock, Picasso, Gaugin, Van Gogh. It was like the whole New York experience encapsulated in one space. By the time I realized how long we’d been aimlessly ambling, I was dying of thirst. ‘Want to get a drink?’ I asked, pulling Alex out of his reverie in front of a collection of design classics. ‘Shit, what time is it?’ he asked, himself rather than me. ‘We have to go or we’re going to miss it!’ ‘Where are we going?’ I asked, allowing myself to be dragged mercilessly down Sixth Avenue, trying not to run into meandering tourists or the weaving and dodging commuters. ‘Seriously, I really need a drink, just, can we just stop for a second?’ ‘Let’s get in a cab,’ he said, not even listening to me. ‘It’ll probably be quicker in a cab.’ He flagged a taxi down and threw me in as it pulled to a stop. But the traffic was moving almost as slowly as the people on the street and as we inched along, Alex was getting more and more frustrated. West 50 , 49 , 48 … ‘Alex,’ I said, not too politely. ‘Will you tell me where we’re bloody going?’ ‘Bloody? How cute is that?’ he said, smiling for the first time since we left the museum. ‘Sorry, I wanted to surprise you, but we have to get there before sunset.’ ‘It’s only seven-thirty,’ I said, looking at my watch. And it was still broad daylight outside. ‘Why are we rushing?’ ‘Because we have to queue,’ he said, sticking his head out of the window to check the traffic. 45 , 44 , 43 … ‘Queue for what?’ I was trying not to be incredibly irritating but I had a mouth like Ghandi’s flip-flop. ‘Please can we just stop and get a drink?’ ‘It’s a surprise,’ he said, squeezing my leg and still looking out of the window as though he could will the traffic to move more quickly. ‘Trust me, I’ll get you a dozen drinks once we’re there.’ 37 , 36 , 35 , 34 … ‘Thanks, man,’ Alex tossed some cash at the driver. ‘Just let us out here.’ He pulled me out onto the street and checked his watch. ‘Perfect. Now, you wanted a drink?’ I nodded. This wasn’t quite the princess treatment I’d been getting used to from Tyler. Alex pointed at a cart on the corner, selling pretzels and, thank God, freezing cold cans of Pepsi. I wrestled a dollar out of my jeans pocket, too busy trying to get my sugary caffeine fix to realize where we were. ‘You want to go inside now?’ Alex asked, a bemused look on his face while he watched me neck the entire can in less than a minute. I had to admit, it was more to prove a point than anything else, drinking fizzy stuff that quickly just makes me feel sick. I didn’t care how cute he looked, standing grinning at me with his arms folded, while I guzzled my Pepsi. ‘Inside where?’ I asked, draining the can and giving a dramatic, satisfied sigh. Alex shook his head and pointed upwards. ‘Honestly, you try and do something romantic …’ I craned my neck up and stared into the skyline. We were at the foot of the tallest building I’d ever seen. It was the Empire State Building. I grabbed onto Alex’s arm to stop myself falling over. ‘We’re going up there?’ I asked, breaking into a huge grin. ‘We are,’ he nodded. ‘If you still want to. I know you said you wanted to, but I didn’t know if you’d managed it yet.’ ‘No,’ I shook my head and steadied myself for another look up into the cloudless sky, ‘I still haven’t been. And it’s all I’ve wanted to do.’ ‘You said.’ He smiled and let me stand staring, even though we were clearly in everyone’s way. I didn’t care, it was amazing. I’d only been in New York for a week and a half and I’d already become oblivious to anything that wasn’t directly in front of me. The city was the opposite of an iceberg. What you saw on the surface, what was right in your face every day, that was only a third of it, the rest was up in the sky. ‘And we have to be up there for sunset,’ Alex said, finally pulling me away from the street corner and towards the entrance. We queued slowly, moving up and down the lines with hundreds of tourists. It was weird, I really didn’t consider myself to be one. Not while I could feel Alex squeezing my hand every time I went silent to stare out of the windows. And queuing is hardly a chore when you have a super hot man kissing your neck and telling you how gorgeous you are for half an hour. By the time we got up to the top, I was pretty much desperate for some air and had forgotten what I was there for entirely. Alex pulled me straight through the racks and racks of wonderfully crappy souvenirs in the gift shop and out to the south side of the observation deck. I stopped in the doorway for a second, readying myself to take it all in. And it was genuinely, heart-stoppingly beautiful. Once I had my breath back and had been pushed and pummelled by half a dozen high-school kids, I spotted Alex. He had squeezed himself into a prime position to watch the sunset spread itself across the skyline, and without words, he pulled me in and moved behind me to rest his chin on my shoulder. I shivered and snuggled backwards into him. I wasn’t dressed for the altitude, but before I could so much as break into a goosebump, Alex was slipping off his beat-up leather jacket and slipping it on my shoulders, wrapping his arms around me. The city sighed beneath us, preparing itself for the shift from day to night. Lights began to ripple off then on from the southern tip of the island upwards, as people made their journeys from work to home. I worked my fingers into the metal bars and felt my entire body give. It made the views from Mary’s office, from my room at The Union, look like something from a View-Master toy. It made this whole New York adventure real. ‘Isn’t it great?’ I asked Alex. ‘How can anything be so confusing and shitty when this is so beautiful?’ ‘Pretty much everything up here is beautiful,’ Alex whispered, nuzzling my hair. ‘It looks unreal when it snows or when there’s a storm. Just like a painting. Pretty cold though.’ ‘I was going to say, I can imagine,’ I said, eyes fixed on the Statue of Liberty, which was blinking at us in the distance. ‘But I really can’t.’ ‘Well, we’ll just have to come and see it next time it snows,’ he replied. I nodded happily, still searching the horizon for confirmation that everything was going to be OK. And then I realized what he’d said. ‘But, I won’t be here when it snows,’ I said, tensing up. ‘I’ll have to go home when my visa waiver thingy expires.’ ‘You never know where you’re going to be,’ Alex said, brushing my hair aside and kissing my neck to melt away the tension. ‘Six months ago, did you know you would be here, now?’ ‘I didn’t know I’d be here six week ago,’ I said, leaning into him again. ‘I don’t know where I’ll be six weeks from now.’ ‘Does it matter right now?’ he asked, his warm lips tracing a path down to my collarbone. ‘Here with me, home in London, surfing in Honolulu?’ This time, my whole body tensed and I shook my hair back into the path of his kisses. ‘Can I ask you something?’ he said, gently turning me around to face him. I looked past him, avoiding his eyes, but nodded. ‘Why did you cry when you saw the painting?’ ‘It’s an emotional painting.’ I offered, not even believing it myself. ‘It is, it’s a heartbreaking painting, but I’ve never seen anyone have that reaction to it before and I’m there all the time,’ he said. I flickered my eyes across his face. He looked genuinely concerned. ‘You can talk to me about stuff, you know? I don’t want to think you can’t because of all those dumb rules your friend was telling you.’ ‘It’s not about that.’ I shook my head, refusing to cry. This was supposed to be fun, this was what I’d dreamed of. ‘It’s other stuff, home stuff. The fact that I don’t have a home, stuff.’ ‘Want to elaborate?’ he asked, placing what was supposed to be a comforting hand on my shoulder. I shrugged him off and turned back to the city. Here it comes, I thought, here’s the big messy break-up story. ‘I’m a pretty good listener for a guy.’ ‘OK, I’m just going to tell you all of it and then, when you’ve finished laughing, you can be on your way,’ I said, leaning my head on my hands and taking a deep breath. Alex leaned against the railings by my side. Staring straight ahead, not pausing for breath, I told him all of it. It didn’t sound funny to me this time, it didn’t sound brave, it just sounded sad. I was sure this should get easier, I thought to myself, not harder. When I had finished speaking, I finally found the strength to look at him. He wasn’t laughing, he wasn’t even smiling, he was just looking at me. ‘So you think you’re the only person who has a big scary break-up story?’ he asked, eyebrows raised. ‘It’s OK to have a past you know, even if it’s a recent past. Seriously, so many people put so much faith in those dumbass rules. I hate that you thought you couldn’t tell me that.’ I looked back at him, trying to work out what to say next. ‘No, it wasn’t that, I, well, I think I could have told you. If I’d wanted to. But I don’t want to be that person any more. I don’t think I liked her very much and I didn’t want to be that person with you. Now, when I’m here,’ with you, I didn’t say, but I wanted to, ‘when I’m here, I like the person I am.’ ‘I like her too,’ Alex said, stroking my cheek and wiping away stray tears I hadn’t even felt escape. ‘And I do know how you feel. You’re not the only one that has had shitty things happen to them and then reacted, you know.’ ‘I left the bloody country,’ I said, furiously rubbing the tears away myself. Why wouldn’t they stop? ‘The more I think about it, the more pathetic it was. I can’t believe I would do that.’ ‘Maybe you wouldn’t if it happened today,’ he suggested. ‘Maybe you wouldn’t have if it had happened a day earlier. Who knows? And while we’re sharing, I have your “I’m pathetic” break-up story beat hands down.’ ‘I don’t believe it,’ I said, trying a weak smile. ‘What’s more tragic than running away?’ ‘I really don’t think you want to know,’ Alex smiled. ‘Out with it, Reid.’ ‘OK, since we’re sharing, but you’d better know this breaks every one of your friend’s rules.’ ‘You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,’ I said hurriedly. I had a feeling I really didn’t want to hear his story after all. ‘You caught your boyfriend cheating, right?’ he asked. I nodded. ‘I caught my girlfriend cheating too. With my best friend. In my bed.’ ‘That’s horrible,’ I said. He looked so sad. ‘No one can blame you for taking that badly, surely?’ ‘Apparently it had been going on for months,’ he continued, taking his turn to stare out over the rooftops. ‘On and off, they said. Needless to say, I didn’t take it well.’ ‘Well, what happened?’ I wondered what he could possibly have done that made him feel so bad. ‘Did you hit him?’ ‘Yes but that he had coming,’ he said simply. ‘The dumb thing is, what they did to me wasn’t half as bad as what I did to myself.’ He let out a long sigh. ‘And I just want to preface this with this is what I was doing, this isn’t what I’m doing now.’ I nodded cautiously. ‘You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to,’ I said again, really wishing he would listen, praying he wasn’t going to tell me something that would reveal him to be anything other than super perfect. ‘They didn’t stay together once I found out, she kept telling me it was a mistake, that she wanted to come back, that we could work it out, but I couldn’t accept it. I was, whatever, heartbroken I guess, but I had this wounded male pride thing going on too, you know? So, instead of meeting her to talk like I said I would, I went out with the guys, I picked up this girl and for a couple of hours, I didn’t have to think about what they had done to me.’ ‘That’s not that bad,’ I said, trying not to be jealous. This wasn’t about me. I wondered what she looked like? ‘Just a rebound thing, right?’ ‘You’re going to have to let me finish, it gets a little shittier.’ He tried a smile but it didn’t really work. ‘After that first night, it just got easier and easier to go out, pick up a girl each night and just forget about everything. I kind of convinced myself I was making up for lost time, but at a pretty speedy rate.’ ‘Oh?’ I couldn’t really think of specific words to put together into a sentence. And he didn’t want to come upstairs with me? This is not about you! a little voice reminded me. ‘But to make her jealous?’ ‘Yeah, except somewhere along the line, I stopped being devastated and just turned into a total dick. And I know it’s a clich?, but it didn’t make me happy.’ He paused to bite at an already gnawed-down fingernail. ‘In the morning, I hadn’t changed anything. I was still the guy who had been cheated on, only now I was just as much of a shit.’ ‘But why keep … well, why do it if it didn’t make you happy?’ I asked. My imagination was being stretched to its limit today. ‘I didn’t know what else to do,’ he said. ‘And then I kind of figured I’d finally come up against someone who made me want to stop. I met you.’ ‘Oh.’ I let go of his hand. This was all so confusing. ‘But when I asked you upstairs, you said no?’ It was also getting more and more difficult not to take this all to heart. ‘I know,’ he said, snatching my hand back. ‘It’s just, when we started talking it was different. Usually, when a girl knows you’re in a band they start acting differently and it stops being honest, it’s just about hooking up with the guy in the band, which I get sounds totally pretentious but it’s true. But you, you knew and it didn’t phase you at all. I was just me, I didn’t have to be the guy in the band.’ ‘I didn’t say I would go out with you because you’re in a band,’ I lied a little bit. It didn’t feel like the time to get into my groupie fantasies. ‘And that’s the reason I didn’t come upstairs with you,’ Alex said urgently. ‘If I had it would have been just the same, another night, another girl. I had a really great time with you. For the first time in a year, I wanted to see someone again. I’m kind of having to learn how to date again, to be with someone for more than just, you know, sex.’ I didn’t know what to think. Part of me was saying he had been hurt the same way I had, he’d just handled it differently. But another, really loud part of me was telling me he was trouble, did I really think it was a good idea to keep seeing someone who had slept his way around most of downtown Manhattan? I didn’t know what to trust. ‘So that girl at the gig, she was telling the truth?’ I said, piecing things together. ‘I don’t know exactly what she said, but probably,’ he said. ‘Jesus, I shouldn’t have told you any of this. I just thought, while we were laying our cards on the table, I wanted you to know I’m not perfect. I really like you, I really like the way I feel when I’m with you and I want to see you again, however long you’re going to be in New York.’ ‘I like you too,’ I said slowly. ‘But it’s all a bit much at once to be honest.’ Alex nodded and looked down. I hated this, I didn’t want to feel this way. And I hated the thought that he might be feeling this way too. Not knowing what else to do, I reached my arms up around his neck and slid in front of him, brushing his floppy fringe out of his eyes. He looked at me, surprised. ‘You’re not going?’ he asked, leaning in close. ‘Every single little part of me is saying I should,’ I said, not sure I was making the right decision. ‘But I’m trying new things, right?’ I closed my eyes and let myself go. We kissed for a long time, but it wasn’t hot and heavy. It was soft and warm and searching. Two people looking for something in each other, something we’d lost and didn’t really know how to find. ‘Can we start again?’ Alex asked, holding me tightly to him. For the first time since I got to New York, I was actually cold. ‘Can we just pretend none of this happened?’ I nodded. ‘Sounds good.’ We stood and looked out over the city. The sun was long gone from the sky and a blanket of reassuring darkness had been tucked over New York, with the newly lit Empire State Building and the Chrysler Building acting like giant nightlights, keeping everyone safe. It looked so completely different, this magical island out there on its own, defiantly sparkling away. We walked around the deck, Alex pointing out his favourite landmarks, me making comedy comparisons with Blackpool, which were sort of lost him. The way I figured it, if a city could change so completely just because the sun had set, maybe I could learn to manage a few changes of my own. CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#ulink_de5fbcba-255c-5e69-91e8-b3f355cbf159) ‘No way,’ Jenny said. ‘And you’re seriously still going to see him again?’ ‘Yes,’ I said, as we strode down the street towards the cinema on Thursday afternoon. It was the first time we’d seen each other since Alex’s Empire State confessional and I needed to empty my head completely. Plus it was ninety-eight degrees and our apartment was sadly lacking air con. ‘Honestly, it’s fine. It’s all out there now and we’re just going to start again, no baggage, no secrets, no rules. Just nice and easy simple dating.’ ‘It’ll never happen,’ Jenny declared. ‘I’m really sorry honey but you know too much about each other, you’re both completely co-dependent and there’s just altogether too much riding on it. Stick with Tyler. In fact, let’s find another guy to replace Alex right now.’ ‘I’m not not sticking with Tyler,’ I protested, ‘but I’m not going to stop seeing Alex either. I really like him, Jenny, and I know you would too.’ ‘I just think you’re making it really hard for yourself,’ she said, linking arms with me as we crossed the street. ‘This was supposed to be a fun and easy intro, easing you back into the dating game. All of a sudden you’re juggling a rich sex god and a poor sexaholic. I don’t really see what Alex has going for him.’ ‘He’s cute, clever, funny, we like all the same stuff,’ I listed, ‘when his fringe drops into his eyes, I have to sit on my hands to stop myself from brushing it away, and when he smiles, I melt. I just melt.’ ‘And what about Tyler?’ she asked, smiling. ‘He didn’t make you melt three times on Sunday night?’ ‘OK,’ I said, blushing. ‘Tyler is gorgeous, he’s sweet, he’s clever, and he treats me like an absolute princess, but, I don’t know, I don’t connect to him in the same way.’ ‘I think you have connected,’ Jenny nodded vehemently. ‘You connected all the way to Tiffany’s. I’d take that kind of connection over some floppy-haired man ho, doll.’ ‘Stop it,’ I laughed. ‘I do like Tyler and when I’m with him, I really like him. It’s just when I’m not, when I’m on my own, my thoughts always end up on Alex.’ ‘I still think you’re making this really hard,’ she said, squeezing my hand. ‘But whatever works for you, sweetie. This Alex guy just sounds so much like trouble.’ ‘Well, you can judge for yourself. Are you working tomorrow evening?’ Jenny shook her head. ‘Nope, I have a very important date with TiVo and America’s Next Top Model. We’ve had the cast of some new teen movie in all week and they’ve been working me like a dog. For seventeen-year-old boys, they have some freaky requests …’ ‘And I expect to hear every last detail about every last one.’ I loved Jenny’s sneaky celebrity stories. ‘But you are coming to Brooklyn to Alex’s gig with me.’ ‘Firstly honey, I’m absolutely not going to Brooklyn on my one night off in for ever,’ she said, striking off her points on her fingers. ‘Secondly, my skinny indie boy days are as far behind me as my skinny jeans days, and thirdly, I’m not going to play chaperone to you two. It’s not healthy.’ I smiled sweetly, waiting a moment. ‘Brooklyn? Really?’ ‘I’ll even take the subway and I’ll buy all your drinks,’ I promised. ‘I really want you to meet Alex.’ ‘Jesus, I’d better dig out my Chucks,’ she sighed. ‘You’re totally buying the candy tonight as well.’ ‘Never a problem,’ I said staring at the Milk Duds, Raisanettes, Sour Worms, and wondering which of the bags and bags of new sweets to try. America the Brave. Before I could get excited about introducing Alex to Jenny, I had my Friday morning meeting with Mary to get worked up about. I took it as a good sign when her assistant greeted me with a smile and, I nearly fainted, a coffee. ‘Angela,’ Mary was sort of smiling, her wire-rimmed glasses propped up on the top of her insanely shiny grey bob. I had to remember to ask what shampoo she used. ‘Tell me why you want to write for me.’ ‘Because I love to write,’ I said, a little thrown by her idea of a hello. ‘And?’ Mary turned her back to me and looked out of the window. ‘Because, I,’ I wasn’t sure what she wanted me to say. ‘I have something to say?’ ‘And what is that exactly?’ Mary asked, turning to face me. Literally, she leaned right into my chair. ‘I’m not sure yet.’ Honest, if not my best answer ever. ‘Neither am I. The thing is, everyone in the team meeting loved your writing. I like your writing,’ Mary said, sitting down behind her desk. ‘It’s funny, it makes me like you and want to read about you, but I don’t know where it’s going.’ ‘Oh,’ I deflated in front of her. ‘Where do you want it to go?’ ‘I need it to go somewhere,’ Mary said, picking up a pencil and flicking it on the table. ‘Let’s look at what we like.’ She pulled all the columns I had sent over out of a drawer. My witty little, self-effacing dating diaries were covered in scratchy red pen, questions marks and illegible notes, which I was sure more or less amounted to ‘pile of steaming poo’. ‘I like seeing New York through your eyes,’ she started, pulling a piece from the bottom of the pile. ‘I like how you talk about what you’re doing, where you’re going in the city, but I need more. Look readers love to read about New York, and it’s great to get it from a fresh pair of eyes, but the whole blog can’t depend on it. Lots of readers already live here, and they need more than travel writing.’ ‘OK.’ I nodded, taking out a pad and pencil and scribbling notes. They were scribbles too, it had been so long since I’d had to put pen to paper. ‘I can definitely work on that.’ ‘And the dates, I’m kind of confused,’ Mary stopped tapping and stared at me intently. ‘On paper, there isn’t that much of a contest, is there?’ ‘There isn’t?’ I asked. I had hoped that my blogs hadn’t made it entirely obvious who I was most interested in. I’d even elaborated a little bit to try and stir up some contention amongst my potential ‘readers’. ‘Let me think.’ Mary began to read from one of my entries. ‘Wall Street really made me feel like a princess last night. From the way he always opens the door and pulls out my chair to the way he holds my hand and acts as though I’m the entire only person in the world when we’re together, I just can’t get enough of this treatment. It’s a whole new world.’ ‘Really?’ I said. I was so surprised. ‘You know how many of my readers are looking for a Wall Street banker to make them feel like a princess? This is gold to us.’ Mary slapped the piece of paper down on the desk. ‘Downtown guy, he’s a plot twist at the moment honey, a distraction, but everyone knows his kind is never going to get you anywhere.’ ‘I guess,’ I smiled. At least I’d managed not to make it obvious how much I really liked Alex. ‘Word of advice, and this is as a woman, not an editor,’ Mary leaned back and shook her head. ‘You just got out of a long relationship that ended badly. You need to be spoiled, wooed and screwed six ways from Sunday. If you want the blog to work, you have to keep dating. From what you’ve told me so far, this Alex guy is going to screw you, but not in the right way. Date around for a while, keep the blog fun, but Angela, they don’t call them investment bankers for nothing.’ ‘I suppose it does all make sense on paper,’ I acknowledged. Tyler really did have everything going for him, great in bed, generous, hot, and most importantly, he might have told me he had dated around a lot, but he hadn’t slept with every girl that had ever made eye contact with him for the last year. ‘Life is rarely as simple as it looks on paper,’ Mary smiled again. Two in one meeting, yes! ‘So here’s the deal. The Adventures of Angela are go. I’m going to put the intro piece online when we refresh the site tonight, and then we’ll start publishing the blog every day from Monday. You keep sending in entries every day by four and I keep a few days back in the bank. We meet again in a fortnight to sense check everything.’ ‘Really?’ ‘Really.’ I wanted to jump up and down and hug her, but despite her dating advice, Mary didn’t strike me as the hugging kind. She struck me as the ‘What the hell are you doing?’ kind, so I figured I’d save that for Jenny. ‘Any plans for the weekend?’ Mary asked as I stood up to leave after we’d discussed the wonderful issue of my expenses. Basically, she was going to pay for everything and give me $75 for each piece. She was paying me actual money to write. Ha! ‘Apart from clicking on your own link a thousand times?’ ‘Oh, I wouldn’t do that,’ I blushed. I’d have repetitive strain in my index finger by Monday if it would help me keep this job. ‘But yep, I’m going to Alex’s gig tonight with my friend, and tomorrow I’m going to Central Park with Tyler, for a picnic.’ ‘Picnic in the park?’ Mary raised an eyebrow. ‘Keep this up and we’re going to have to change this to a bridal blog.’ ‘Oh no,’ I half laughed. ‘It’s not like that, really, it’s not.’ ‘It’s dinner, theatre and Tiffany’s,’ Mary said bluntly. ‘Is he good in bed?’ ‘You said not to put that in the blog,’ I blanched. ‘I did. Now I’m asking you a question.’ She stared me down. Definitely not a hugger. ‘Erm, yes?’ I said. ‘Have fun at the gig tonight, but work that picnic like it’s paying your rent.’ She almost cracked a record third smile. ‘Angela, he’s a keeper.’ ‘Angie, he’s hot!’ Jenny squeezed my hand as we walked into the club to find Alex already on stage. By the time Jenny had decided on a hipster-friendly outfit that didn’t clash with her ‘I can’t believe I’m almost thirty’ freak out, approved my black Splendid smock dress and Keds, briefed me on how I was under orders to get down and dirty with Alex tonight, and necked three dozen beers in a bar by the subway, it was after ten when we made it into the gig. However, tardy she might be, wrong she was not. He looked amazing up there. ‘What is it about guys in bands?’ Jenny asked, grabbing two beers from the bar and passing me one, eyes fixed on the stage. ‘I’d forgotten how much hotter they get just being elevated by three feet, even when they’re not hot. I remember when we had The Chili Peppers at The Union. Man, busy week …’ ‘I think it’s a passion thing,’ I said, mesmerized by Alex’s sweaty stage presence. Seeing him up there now, writhing around under the hot lights, I was glad we hadn’t talked to him before the show. I just wanted to watch for a while without him knowing. ‘It’s the whole thing about them being so passionate about something that they had to write a song to express it. It’s the same with artists, writers, maybe not bongo players.’ ‘And because holding a guitar makes you look so damn cool,’ Jenny breathed, swaying to the music. ‘If he can do that with six strings, imagine what he can do with one of you.’ ‘That too,’ I admitted. It had crossed my mind. ‘I wonder if the bassist is seeing anyone,’ Jenny nudged me in the ribs and pulled me into the crowd to dance. It was one of those gigs where the bass is turned up so high that you can almost feel it retraining your heartbeat in time with its own. There was nothing to do but clap, sing along and move with the music. With Jenny beside me, I didn’t need to worry about any of Alex’s conquests who might be in the club. I couldn’t hand on heart say I hadn’t thought about what would happen if the blonde girl from Saturday night appeared again, especially now I knew she was telling the truth, but dancing with Jenny, it all felt far away. The band was on fire, cranking out song after song. I just couldn’t marry this amazing show to everything Alex had told me about breaking up the band, to their hearts just not being in it. They were so tight, so electric, and the crowd in the hot sweaty club was just eating up everything they put out there. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been out dancing, let alone dancing at a gig, just that feeling of being a cog in the machine of this pulsing crowd felt so good. And with a few beers in me and a hot girl to dance with, I was having the best time. For someone who said her best gig days were behind her, Jenny certainly seemed to remember some moves. Within minutes, she had a whole gaggle of guys stalking around her like lions, but she just kept dancing with me regardless. After a few more short, sharp numbers, Alex signed off in a frenzy of feedback, ear-piercing screaming and more manly appreciative hollering. I could see how easy it must have been for him to pick up girls who were, well, easy. ‘I want to meet him,’ Jenny slurred, holding on to my arm tightly, but still dancing. ‘Where did he go? Are we going? I demand to meet him.’ ‘You will,’ I said, half drunk myself, but sobering slightly when I realized one of us had to find a way home later and it clearly wasn’t going to be her. ‘Alex just said he’d meet us by the bar afterwards. Do you want some water?’ ‘I’ll get the drinks.’ She bopped over to the bar, leaving me in a sea of warm, moist bodies, half milling towards the exit, the other half eyeing each other up to see where the night was going to take them. I just hoped Jenny would make it back from the bar in one piece. And without more beers. ‘Hey, beautiful.’ A pair of arms snaked around my waist and I felt a steamy, wet body pushing up against me. ‘Did you see the show?’ ‘I did,’ I said, writhing around to face Alex. His face was flushed, his hair stuck to his forehead, his T-shirt clinging to his body. ‘You were great.’ ‘We were, weren’t we?’ He gave me a hot sticky kiss, rubbing away any remains of make-up that might have survived the show. ‘Man, it was awesome. It was the best show in months.’ ‘I can’t believe you would want to give this up,’ I said, scraping his hair back. His eyes were burning so brightly and he looked so vital, so alive. ‘Don’t want to talk about it,’ he smiled, picking me up and spinning me around. ‘Now where’s this friend of yours?’ ‘At the bar, I hope.’ I looked over into the mass of people surrounding the two harassed-looking barmen. ‘And I’m warning you, she’s got a thing for your bassist.’ ‘Well, he’s got a thing for guys, so I don’t like her chances,’ he said, holding me tightly around the waist, making me waddle towards the bar with him still attached. Luckily, Jenny was at the bar. Unluckily, Jenny had seen something she shouldn’t have. She was frozen to a stool, with two beers in front of her and no end of guys milling around her, but she wasn’t talking or flirting, she wasn’t even drinking. Jenny was staring at someone across the room, standing by the door. Her eyes were on fire and she was biting down on her bottom lip so hard, I felt sure she would draw blood. ‘Jenny?’ I said, breaking Alex’s hold around my waist and holding him back at a safe distance. ‘Jenny, are you OK?’ ‘It’s Jeff,’ she pointed at a tall, fair-haired man standing across the room. Judging by his easy smile and the way he was laughing and joking with his friends, he clearly hadn’t seen Jenny. Or if he had, he must have been one pretty heartless bastard. ‘You know Jeff?’ Alex stumbled past me, arm stuck out for a handshake. ‘Cool. I’m Alex.’ Jenny stared at him. ‘You know Jeff?’ ‘Yeah,’ Alex said, arm still out there. ‘He just moved into my building, maybe, three months ago or something.’ ‘Is he single?’ Jenny asked. I stood between them, not really knowing what answer I wanted Alex to give. Jenny seemed to have sobered up dangerously quickly, which could not possibly be a good thing. ‘I guess so,’ Alex’s arm began to drop slightly. He looked across at me, but I didn’t even know what sort of expression to give him. ‘I’ve never seen him with a girl anyway. Kind of thought he might be gay,’ he mused. It was the best answer he could have given. Jenny brightened up, but still eyed Jeff warily over my shoulder. Finally she shook Alex’s hand as the stocky man in the sound booth in the middle of the room cranked up the stereo. ‘I’m Jenny, smile,’ she shouted, snapping a photo of the two of us with her phone. ‘And if you fuck with Angie, I’m going to use this photo to hunt you down and kill you.’ Alex stepped back and nodded. ‘Sounds fair,’ he yelled over the music. It was getting louder by the second. ‘I have to go talk to him,’ Jenny said, freeing herself from her barstool and passing us the two beers. ‘I can’t just sit here and not go say something.’ ‘Jenny,’ I stepped in front of her and held her shoulders lightly. ‘Are you sure? We could just go somewhere else?’ I didn’t know if I could take a rerun of last week, and that time, she’d only seen him for five minutes in the hotel. ‘It’s fine,’ she said, gently pushing my arms down. ‘I’m in a good place, I’m owning my past and I’m just going to say, hi, how are you doing, yes, I do look hot, and then I’ll come back, we can go home, and I’ll cry myself to sleep.’ ‘Sounds like fun,’ Alex murmured into my hair. ‘Jenny, really, don’t do it to yourself,’ I tried, but she was already gone. ‘I can’t look,’ I said, turning into Alex’s sweaty green T-shirt. ‘What’s happening?’ ‘I was sort of hoping we might be,’ he raised my chin to kiss me, but I pushed him away. ‘What’s happening with Jenny and Jeff?’ I hissed as quietly as I could. ‘Uh, she’s talking, he’s talking, he’s kissing her on the cheek—’ Alex commentated. ‘He’s kissing her?’ I squealed, spinning around to see. Jeff was indeed kissing Jenny on the cheek, and it wasn’t a quick peck. It was a poorly disguised ‘I really want to kiss you but I can’t’ kiss on the cheek. I watched his lips linger near her face, in her hair, as they whispered to each other, staring earnestly into each other’s eyes, squeezing forearms and generally failing to disguise how badly they were still into each other. Looked as though Jeff’s ‘new girlfriend’ was nowhere to be seen. ‘So they know each other then?’ Alex asked, as we watched Jenny practically wind herself around Jeff. ‘And woah, that guy is not gay.’ ‘Why did you think he was?’ I asked, turning away before they made me blush. ‘I don’t know, he’s seems cool, he’s got a great design job, great apartment and everything,’ Alex shrugged. ‘He’s never got a girl with him and he’s just got a vibe, you know? And the man is well dressed. Always.’ ‘Well, if in doubt go with a stereotype,’ I said, turning back for a quick peek. He certainly wasn’t giving off gay vibes at that precise moment in time. ‘He’s her ex, but she’s never got over him.’ ‘She carries on doing what she’s doing now and she’s definitely not going to get over him.’ Alex chugged his beer then pointed with his bottle. ‘Under him, maybe. You had your meeting today, right?’ Alex asked, turning his full attention back to me. ‘How did it go?’ ‘Oh my God, I completely forgot!’ I clapped a hand to my mouth. ‘My blog is being uploaded at midnight!’ ‘How do you forget something like that? That’s fantastic!’ Alex scooped me up in a bear hug. For a skinny boy, those muscles were so strong. ‘So as of midnight you’re a published columnist?’ ‘As of midnight,’ I nodded and looked at my watch ‘In ten minutes!’ ‘You know what I think?’ Alex moved closer, his breath tickling my ear. ‘I think we should finish up here and then go check out your blog. At my apartment.’ ‘Oh,’ I said, my whole body prickling with anticipation. ‘What about Jenny?’ ‘I was kind of thinking just me and you, but sure, if you’re into that,’ he grinned, that sneaky wink reappearing. ‘Just checking out the blog, scout’s honour.’ ‘You were absolutely never a scout.’ I pushed him playfully. ‘And I can’t just leave Jenny here …’ but I couldn’t actually even see her. She wouldn’t have left without me, would she? She was supposed to be my chaperone! ‘Hey, Angie!’ She sneaked up behind me, hand in hand with Jeff, her face flushed bright red. Jeff stood behind her, a completely besotted look on his face. ‘Hey, man,’ Alex nodded to Jeff. ‘Hey!’ Jeff replied, snapping out of his trance for a split second. ‘Great show.’ ‘Can I just have a quick word?’ I took Jenny’s arm and pulled her away, towards the doors. ‘What are you doing?’ ‘Oh, Ange,’ Jenny mooned, hugging me tightly. How did she still smell so nice? I was fairly sure I stank by now. ‘It’s so good! He wants to go back to his to talk. He says he wants to talk about ‘stuff’. Isn’t that so good?’ ‘It’s great,’ I said, peeling her arms from around my neck. ‘But shouldn’t you do it tomorrow, when you’re sober? When you’re both sober?’ ‘No, no, no, no!’ When Jenny shook her head, her whole body followed. ‘This is it, this is fate. We’re absolutely meant to be together.’ ‘OK, so you’re just going to go back to his?’ I asked. ‘What about us going home together?’ ‘Oh, yeah, well,’ she looked back into the bar. ‘You know, you’re right. Jeff can come back with us!’ The idea of sharing a cab all the way back to the apartment with the two of them dry humping (at best) all over the back seat was even scarier than what would happen if I went back to Alex’s. ‘Come on then,’ I sighed, dragging her back into the bar. ‘But you’re coming to Alex’s for coffee before you roll into Jeff’s. You do want to remember this in the morning, don’t you?’ ‘So, back to mine?’ Alex asked, putting his arm around my shoulders as Jenny collapsed back into Jeff’s arms. I had to admit, they both looked really happy. ‘Jenny and Jeff are going to come and see the website with us,’ I nodded. ‘I think Jenny and Jeff could make some money with a website of their own,’ Alex said, pulling me behind him while I chivvied Jenny along. ‘Why did they even break-up?’ ‘Long story,’ I said, following him out onto the street. ‘And I think we’ve had enough of those to last us a while as it is.’ Alex and Jeff’s building was only five minutes’ walk away, but my nerves and Jenny’s drunken stumbling-slash-fumbling tripled the journey time. Alex hadn’t been kidding when he said Jeff lived in a nice building, what I hadn’t worked out was that by default, that meant so did he. For building, read huge converted warehouse, and for apartment, substitute fifth-floor loft with huge windows and views across the river. ‘How do you have this?’ I asked, drawn to the windows. I was such a lemming these days, too long stuck in a ground-floor maisonette. ‘I thought you were a penniless artist?’ ‘I never said I was penniless,’ he said, fiddling with a Macbook and then Googling The Look website. Jenny and Jeff finally made it out of the lift and appeared in the doorway, making up for lost time, fast. ‘Clearly,’ I said. The whole place reeked of Alex. The original artwork from the band’s albums hung in frames on the white walls, cracked leather sofas, huge CD collection taking up practically a whole wall, and a tiny kitchenette that looked like the place takeaway cartons came to die. ‘It’s gorgeous, Alex.’ ‘Thanks,’ he said, looking up from the computer. ‘My brother is in real estate so it’s really his find. We bought it a few years ago when prices across here were nothing. The page is loading, come see.’ I dropped onto the sofa beside him and peeked out from behind his shoulder as the different elements of the page flashed into life. The Look main banner, the navigation bar. And finally, the text box flashed into life. ‘Jenny, come and look!’ I squealed, clutching Alex’s arms and reading. It was surreal! ‘I can’t believe this.’ ‘The Adventures of Angela: Twenty-six-year-old Angela is the latest recruit to our ever-growing glamorous group of bloggers. Read all about her New York adventures, only at TheLook.com …’ Alex read out loud. ‘Stop it, stop it,’ I wailed, proud and embarrassed and scared all at once. ‘Seriously, you don’t need to read it ever. It’s just – really, you don’t need to read it. Please?’ ‘Twenty-six, huh? I’d have said twenty-five tops.’ He turned and smiled. ‘It sounds great. Now can I read it or not?’ ‘Not?’ I winced as he started anyway. Jenny prised herself away from Jeff just long enough for the two of them to come and look at the page. ‘I’m so proud of you, doll,’ she said, hugging me again. I couldn’t help but notice the traces of her perfume were now long gone but Jeff’s post-gig ‘glow’ was all over her. ‘Don’t be embarrassed! This is great!’ ‘I couldn’t have done it without you and Erin,’ I said, hugging back. ‘I know I shouldn’t be embarrassed, it’s just so out there. I just keep trying to think about all the things I’ve written in the diary and then trying not to think that they’re going to be on a website for everyone to read.’ For Alex and Tyler to read, I added silently. ‘Everyone knows not to take these things so seriously,’ Jenny said, easing herself back towards the sofa, where Jeff was waiting with open arms and, oh look at that, an erection. ‘Everyone totally reads it as fiction.’ ‘Do you think so?’ I asked Alex, nibbling at my little fingernail. I hadn’t bitten my nails since Louisa had made me use some horrible-tasting stuff, a month before the wedding. ‘Yeah, she’s right,’ he said, gently brushing his free hand up and down my back. ‘Besides, what’s it matter what strangers read?’ ‘Strangers, school teachers, my mum,’ I said out loud, but silently repeating Jenny’s comment about guitarists while his fingers played up and down my spine. We’re taking it slowly, I reminded myself. We’re taking it slowly. ‘It’s not all strangers, is it?’ ‘I guess not, but anyone who knows you will know what’s real and what isn’t,’ he said, finally turning back to me. ‘You want me to print it out?’ ‘No, that would be too cheesy,’ I said, trying to tear my eyes away from the screen. ‘Actually, maybe we should. Just in case they take it down again in the morning.’ Alex laughed, pressed print and placed the laptop on the low coffee table in front of us. ‘You think they’re going to make it back to Jeff’s place?’ he asked, looking over at Jenny and her ‘ex’ furiously kissing. It was more or less impossible to work out which denim-clad limb belonged to which person. ‘I don’t know.’ It was like a car crash, I couldn’t stop looking, but I knew that I really shouldn’t be. ‘How far away is it?’ ‘Across the hall.’ Alex stood up and lowered the lights. I wasn’t sure if that made things better or worse. ‘I really hope they make it, that couch isn’t going to take much more.’ He held out his hand, which I gladly took. It was either leave the room now or settle in with some popcorn for the live action porno. Really, people paid a lot of money to see what we were getting for free. Whether we liked it or not. ‘I vote we leave them to it,’ Alex pulled me gently towards a dark doorway. ‘I don’t think we’re going to be playing late-night Boggle.’ The dark doorway led to his bedroom. A rumpled, but made, futon took centre stage, accessorized by an acoustic guitar, another stereo and an open wardrobe, packed full of faded T-shirts and leather jackets. Weirdly, hiding at the very end, was a suit. I supposed everyone had to have one. The low windowsill was lined with candles and I noted that without exception, they all had fresh wicks, so either Alex went through a lot of candles or they had been laid on for my benefit. I wasn’t sure if it was too sweet or too smooth, a potential throwback to his serial shagging days. I lingered in the doorway while he turned on the stereo. ‘We might not be able to see them in here, but I don’t really want to hear them, either.’ He took a matchbook from a tall thin chest of drawers by the bed and started lighting the candles. I was starting to err towards too smooth. ‘Yeah,’ I replied, my eyes being drawn back to the bed again and again. On what I assumed was Alex’s side was a big stack of well-read books, biographies, classics, newer cult stuff. Was he really a reader or were they just more props? ‘Angela, I didn’t bring you in here to …’ he trailed off and stood awkwardly by the window. I realized I was clinging on to the doorframe for dear life. ‘You can come in, I’m not going to attack you.’ I laughed softly, at myself, and moved over to the bed, perching on the very edge. ‘Sorry, I know. I should just go home,’ I said, looking at my shoes. They were edged in black crap from the gig. Now all I could think about was whether or not I’d trekked it all round Alex’s apartment. ‘Jenny’s safe and everything.’ ‘I don’t want you to go home,’ Alex joined me on the foot of the bed, ‘but if you want me to call you a cab, I will. Or you can stay, we can talk a while and I promise I’ll keep my hands where you can see them.’ He looked so sweet, so earnest and held out his hands, palm up. How could someone who had crashed up and down the stage, writhing around a guitar and thrashing into his microphone stand so many times I was sure he’d have bruises, become this tender, soft guy in just a couple of hours? Was this all part of the act? There’s only one way to find out, I thought, taking one of the hands in mine. ‘You’re going to have to do most of the talking,’ I said, lurching backwards and leaning on an elbow. ‘I’m actually shattered.’ ‘Not a problem,’ he smiled, giving my hand a squeeze and then rolling over onto his side. ‘I can go all night.’ I burst out laughing. ‘Did you really just say that?’ I asked, punching him in the shoulder. ‘You know what I mean.’ He laughed, rubbing his shoulder with a hurt expression. ‘You punch pretty hard for a girl.’ ‘You’ve got to be able to defend yourself if you’re going to go into cheesy boys’ bedrooms and sit through their terrible chat-up lines.’ I smiled, relaxing a little bit. ‘That was awful.’ ‘Yeah, whatever,’ Alex pulled a face. ‘You know what, I really stink. Do you mind if I take a quick shower?’ I shook my head. ‘Not at all but don’t expect me to be awake when you’re done.’ ‘I won’t wake you,’ he rolled towards me and kissed me gently, ‘unless you want me to.’ Before I could work out what I wanted, he pushed up off the bed and disappeared through the door. ‘Not looking, guys,’ I heard him call out into the darkness. ‘You just keep on desecrating my couch.’ I smiled and dropped backwards. Now all I had to do was work out what I was going to do when Alex came out of the shower, all clean and fresh and wet and … I closed my eyes for just a second, the candlelight blurring at the edge of my vision. ‘Someone should blow them out …’ I muttered to the empty room. By the time I opened my eyes, someone had. I felt a body above me, breathing softly and stroking my hair back off my face, gently bringing me round. ‘Alex?’ I murmured as soft, hot lips pressed against my bare neck and a damp hand trailed along my collarbone. My eyes flickered open but it was pitch black in the room, the only light coming from the city, a world away in the window. ‘Sorry,’ he whispered. ‘I know I said I wouldn’t wake you, but …’ ‘S’OK,’ I said sleepily, shifting slightly, accepting the weight of his body. His damp hair fell against my face as we kissed lazily, our hands entwined above my head. Slowly, I began to wake up, and steadily, the kisses grew stronger and more urgent. I pulled my legs up, accidentally pulling his towel away as we slid up the bed, and felt his soft skin all around me, warm from the shower. In the dark, without visuals, it seemed his skinny boy act was entirely illusory, the muscles in his back moving under his skin as lowered himself onto me. Just as our legs began to wind themselves around each other and my hands lost themselves in his thick black hair, the bedroom door was flung open, spilling light all over the bed. ‘Shit, sorry,’ Jeff said, purposefully looking away. ‘Alex, man, Jenny threw up on your rug. Do you have cleaning stuff anywhere?’ I covered my face with my hands, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. Even if she didn’t know it, Jenny had implemented her chaperone role just in time. ‘Is she OK?’ Alex rolled off the bed, wrapping his towel around his waist as he went. ‘Is she in the bathroom?’ I loved that he asked if she was OK before he had even put his boxers on. Which tragically, he did next. ‘Not tonight, huh?’ He gave me a lopsided smile from the doorway. I shook my head and smiled back. Damn it, Jenny, I thought, why did you have to make me stick to my word? Tiptoeing through the big, stinky mess in the living room, I found Jenny had taken up residency in the bathroom face down in the toilet, kneeling on top of Alex’s sweaty T-shirt. ‘Oh, Jenny,’ I sighed and knelt down beside her, scraping her hair back from her face in an entirely unromantic gesture. ‘Are you going to be OK?’ Words were still a way off, but she managed to nod before she started retching again. Once she had calmed down to one dry heave every three minutes, I left to get some water and find the bottom half of her outfit. Apparently things had got fairly far with Jeff before all her beers made a break for freedom, and, as close as we now were, I would have been much happier if she had some pants on. American usage or English. Back in the living room, Alex and Jeff, both half naked, were scrubbing away at a big watery stain with spray-on cleaners and makeshift cloths. I knew it would be a bad time to laugh out loud, but I couldn’t help a bit of a smile. ‘You two all right?’ I asked, filling up an empty, cleanish-looking glass I found on the kitchen top. ‘Uh-huh,’ Alex grunted from the floor. He didn’t look all right. Jeff looked as if he’d been all right until about ten minutes ago when things had gone horribly wrong. His T-shirt was stained and his trousers, like Jenny’s were MIA. I sidled over with my glass and gingerly picked up Jenny’s jeans. Giving them a quick once-over, I was satisfied that they had come off pre-puke and took them into the bathroom. Jenny was trying to prop herself up against the shower stall and wash her face, but without much luck. ‘Hey you,’ I said, giving her the water, which she sipped delicately. ‘You feel any better?’ ‘I am so fucking embarrassed,’ she groaned, passing me the glass back and holding her hands under the running cold tap, then pressing them to her face. ‘I threw up on Jeff.’ ‘That’s not all you did on Jeff, now is it?’ I said, taking a tissue and wiping a tiny bit of sick off her shoulder. ‘What’s going on there then?’ She gave me a weak, pale smile. ‘We’re going to try again. He says he missed me.’ She rubbed under her eyes, magnifying an attractive panda effect. ‘He says there hasn’t been anyone else since me.’ ‘Wow,’ I said, passing her the glass back and forcing her to drink more water. ‘That’s brilliant. I’m really pleased for you.’ ‘And just think, if we hadn’t come to Brooklyn, I might never have bumped into him again,’ she sighed, her back, thankfully, to the bathroom mirror. ‘And how weird would it have been if you had seen him when you were here and not known it was my Jeff? Too weird. It’s all fate.’ ‘Maybe it is,’ I said, sitting on the closed toilet seat and flushing just to make sure. ‘There’s definitely something at work stopping me and Alex doing any more than getting me really, really worked up.’ ‘Oh shit, sorry babe,’ Jenny tried another weak smile. ‘But it’s OK,’ I told myself, ‘it’s for the best. We said we were going to go slow and I think it was speeding up a bit too fast. Besides, I have a date with Tyler tomorrow afternoon and I don’t think I could go through with it if anything more serious had happened with Alex.’ ‘See, this doesn’t sound like fun. I thought you were just supposed to be having fun,’ Jenny groaned. ‘Why do they have to make everything so damned tricky?’ ‘Are you two having some sort of secret meeting in there or can I please pee?’ Alex called through the door. Helping Jenny find her balance, I emerged blinking into the now lit up living room. ‘I’m so sorry,’ I said quietly as Alex passed into the bathroom. ‘Harsh lighting, not cool.’ Jenny stumbled, holding her hands over her eyes. I looked from her to Jeff to Alex. It was weird being the only person in a group of four who was dressed. ‘We should go,’ I said, scanning the room for my bag and passing custody of Jenny over to Jeff, who took her happily. It must have been love if he could smile at her in that state. ‘Can we get a taxi from here?’ ‘Not easily at this time,’ Alex yelled from the bathroom, mid-pee. ‘It’s cool, you can stay here if you want.’ I looked at Jenny, bracing herself against the sofa while Jeff tentatively patted her shoulder, and gratefully nodded in agreement. God knows I didn’t feel great about getting in a taxi with vom-stained Jenny, and it was after two. I was completely knackered. Alex reappeared and gave me two T-shirts. ‘You two take my room, I’ll be on the couch,’ he said, kissing me on the cheek and motioning to Jeff that it was time to leave. ‘Yeah, of course,’ Jeff said, passing Jenny back to me. ‘So sorry about the rug, man, I’ll get a cleaner in or something. Bye,’ he said to Jenny mooning in the doorway. ‘I’ll call you tomorrow?’ Before Jenny could answer, Alex had shut the door, arms folding, foot tapping. ‘Bed then,’ I said. Jenny had gone right through the drunken spectrum and crashed somewhere around comatose. I guided her into the bedroom and pulled off her strappy black top, replacing it with Alex’s Ramones T-shirt. She crawled up the bed until her head was almost on the pillows and passed out. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said again to Alex. ‘This isn’t really how I imagined tonight would go.’ ‘Another time,’ he said, pulling a spare pillow out from under the couch. ‘You know what they say about the best laid plans.’ I just want to get laid, I thought. ‘You going to be OK in there with her?’ ‘I don’t know, but I’ll shout if she tries anything.’ CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#ulink_8cd1590e-0968-55aa-8fab-3115ed4f0324) The next morning, Jenny woke early, still half drunk and craving something sweet. I tried to convince her the best thing for everyone in these circumstances is a bacon sandwich, but she wasn’t convinced. In so far as she retched at the suggestion. I tried not to catch sight of myself in the mirror as I slipped out of bed but I accidentally caught a quick glimpse and couldn’t tear my eyes away. It wasn’t pretty. Post-gig, my hair was greasy and huge, having backcombed itself into a sweaty bouffant during last night’s fumblings. My melted make-up had managed to lodge itself into every burgeoning wrinkle and pillow crease, making me look ten years older, and, best of all, I had badger’s arse breath. This was not a good look for mine and Alex’s first morning-after-the-nothing-before. ‘At least you don’t look like this,’ Jenny grumbled, joining me in an unhappy stare before she retched suddenly and (thankfully) dry heaved over the bed. ‘That’s true,’ I said, half carrying her to the bathroom. ‘That is true.’ ‘Thanks,’ she stared daggers at me, curled around the base of the toilet while trying to pull her hair into something resembling a style. There really was no use. Despite Jenny’s best efforts to convince me otherwise, I couldn’t just slip out without waking Alex, so I went first and tiptoed across the still damp rug to where he was quietly dozing on the sofa. He looked exactly as we’d left him, apart from one noticeable addition in his boxers. ‘Nice!’ Jenny mouthed giving me a double OK sign by the door and stifling giggles. I replied with my middle finger. Plus, I couldn’t help but notice it was nothing to laugh at. ‘Alex,’ I said softly, keeping enough of a distance between us for my dog breath not to be too much of a problem. I’d swilled quickly in the bathroom and tried the old toothpaste on the finger trick, but it hadn’t had nearly enough of an effect. ‘Huh?’ He opened one eye, looking confused. ‘Angela?’ ‘We’re going to get off now,’ I whispered, my hand lightly on his shoulder, eyes well away from the below the waist area. ‘Me and Jenny, we’re going to go.’ ‘OK,’ he mumbled, rolling over onto his front. ‘That’s going to hurt,’ Jenny called lightly across the room. Another middle finger for her as we made our way out of the flat. With only a couple of hours before I was supposed to meet Tyler at the park, I had some serious damage control to deal with. I packed Jenny off to bed with two Advil, a large bottle of water and half the pastry counter of the deli on the corner, then took up residency in the bathroom. For the first time in for ever, I ran a bath and got ready to soak. I needed to get all thoughts of Alex out of my head and all of Jenny’s drool out of my hair. If I’d had longer, I’d cancel, I thought, stepping into the tiny tub and relaxing. I didn’t think I was the kind of girl who thrived on drama, but then my life had been so boring for so long, maybe a bit of drama would do me good. And at least it made for a more interesting blog entry than my old life would have: got up, wrote a thirty-two-page book about a talking bee, ate some calorie-controlled rice cakes, waited around for my boyfriend to come home from shagging his tennis partner, went to bed in button-up old man’s pyjamas. Eventually, I forced myself out of the bath and smothered myself in body lotion, sure I could still smell post-gig mustiness on me. Hopefully, a nice walk in the park would sort that right out. I picked out a shorts and shirt combo and accessorized with my beautiful Tiffany necklace, which I still hadn’t worn yet, and started to look forward to the fresh air, if not trying to talk to Tyler without mentioning any of my adventures with Alex. As Tyler had predicted, Central Park was busy, but it was also incredible. ‘How can this exist in the middle of the city?’ I marvelled. As we ventured further and further into the greenery, the city seemed to fade away, leaving a complete oasis, packed with joggers, families, couples, groups of friends. Just about every sort of person you could imagine was in that park. ‘Would you like the history lesson or was that a rhetorical question?’ Tyler offered. He was carrying a large rucksack that I prayed was packed with food. I’d spent so long getting ready, applying de-puffing eye gel and checking Jenny was still breathing, I hadn’t even eaten. ‘It’s great though. They call it the lungs of the city.’ ‘I can see that,’ I nodded as we veered off the path and over to a sunny, relatively unoccupied spot by a beautiful large lake. ‘It’s just madness to me that all this is man-made.’ ‘You don’t have parks like this in London?’ he asked, spreading a blanket before he let me sit down. ‘We have parks,’ I nodded, ‘loads of parks, but this is so impressive. London is so higgledy-piggledy, which I love, but the idea that someone sat down and said, we’ve got to have a massive park in the middle of this planned, organized city, that’s ace. And even more I love that no one has been allowed to build on it when they started running out of space – not the case in London.’ ‘I’m really sorry,’ Tyler smiled, unzipping the rucksack and producing a bottle of red wine. ‘I lost you at “higgledy piggledy”.’ ‘Ha ha!’ I accepted a wineglass and let him pour. Please let there be some food in there too? ‘You make me feel so English.’ ‘Is that a bad thing?’ He poured himself a glass and pushed the cork back in the bottle. ‘I love it when you say things like that.’ ‘No, of course it’s not a bad thing.’ Why was there still no food? ‘It just reminds me I can’t stay here for ever. Which sucks.’ ‘They won’t take you back if you start saying thinks like “sucks”,’ he scolded lightly. ‘Sorry,’ I smiled, holding my hand up to shield my eyes from the sun. ‘One thinks it’s a terrible shame that those dreadful builders should be allowed to build on such marvellous greenery.’ ‘More like it,’ Tyler smiled, planting a tiny kiss on the end of my nose. I lay back on the blanket and stared up at the cloudless sky. This must be the only place on the whole of Manhattan where I could look upwards and not see skyscrapers. It felt so far away from the real world. ‘And besides, you never know what’s going to happen.’ I felt Tyler lie down next to me, he was so solid and reassuring. ‘Who knows where you’ll be in six months?’ ‘Bizarrely, you’re not the first person to say exactly that,’ I smiled, remembering what Alex had told me, hundreds of feet up in the air. Tyler leaned over and kissed me softly, bringing me back down to earth with a bump. ‘I guess you have to go back sometime,’ he said, producing a bag of crisps from the rucksack. Really? Crisps? ‘Cheeto?’ ‘Thanks.’ Quite frankly, I’d have eaten anything at that second, but I had sort of been expecting something a little bit classier. He was such a smoothie. ‘Tyler,’ I rolled onto my belly and looked at him happily munching away, ‘have you ever had your heart broken?’ ‘There’s nothing I love more than hiding in the park with a bag of Cheetos,’ he replied. ‘Is that really bad?’ ‘No, but it is avoiding my question,’ I said, throwing a couple of cheesy crisps at him. Impressively he caught them in his mouth. ‘Have you?’ ‘I’ve had girls break up with me, sure,’ he said, thoughtfully sipping his wine, ‘but I’m not sure I could honestly say I’ve had my heart broken.’ ‘Wow, really?’ I tried to drink my wine, but it did not go well with the Cheetos. This slightly tarnished his sheen of sophistication, but it did prove he was human. ‘I suppose some people are just lucky.’ ‘Maybe,’ Tyler went back into the bag and produced a beautifully wrapped gold box and handed it to me, ‘or maybe I’ve been unlucky. It’s hard to get your heart broken if your heart’s never really in it.’ I took the box and unfastened the ribbon. Oh thank God. It was chocolate. Glossy, handmade truffles. And lots of them. Sophistication regained, superhuman status restored. ‘You’ve never been in love?’ I asked, taking one of the chocolates and placing it in his mouth. ‘I don’t believe you.’ ‘I don’t know, maybe,’ he said, catching my hand and kissing the tips of my fingers. ‘I can’t say I’ve ever fallen apart when a relationship ended. I’ve never left the country anyway.’ ‘I’m fairly sure if you don’t know whether or not you’ve been in love then you probably haven’t.’ I happily accepted the chocolate he held to my lips and nipped at his fingers. ‘I just can’t believe you haven’t had women falling all over themselves to be in love with you.’ ‘Maybe they have been in love with me,’ he shrugged. ‘I just haven’t met anyone I feel that strongly about.’ ‘So you’re the heartbreaker,’ I laughed. It hardly seemed likely, he was so lovely. ‘Those poor girls.’ ‘Maybe I’m just waiting for the right girl?’ ‘And who would that girl be?’ I went back to my wine. It was starting to slip down far better with the chocolate than the Cheetos, so much so, I had almost forgotten how hungry I’d been. I rolled over to lean backwards against Tyler’s broad chest. ‘I don’t know yet,’ he replied, stroking my hair. ‘I suppose she would be smart and interesting, so we would have a lot to talk about. I don’t want to come across as shallow, but she would have to be pretty. And she should make me smile all the time.’ I tilted my head back and smiled at him. ‘She sounds nice.’ I hadn’t even realized I’d got to the bottom of my glass already. Tyler topped me up. ‘And I should want to kiss her every time I see her,’ he said, stretching across for another kiss. ‘Like that.’ ‘I think you’ve got good criteria,’ I said, rolling back onto the blanket and avoiding too many kisses. After the frenzy of last night’s gig, of dealing with Jenny, of getting so near and yet so far with Alex, this was so serene. Glorious weather, the smell of fresh grass and an attentive, sweet man hand-feeding me chocolates and soft warm kisses. I loved the way Tyler made me feel, as if I were something to be treated delicately and protected. It made me almost believe it myself. We lay together, talking about our weeks, drinking the wine, me eating chocolates and Tyler munching away on his disgusting Cheetos until we ran dry. ‘I knew I should have bought two bottles,’ Tyler said, shaking the last drops into my glass. ‘What with you being such an old lush.’ ‘I hardly ever drink,’ I defended myself without much credibility. ‘Honestly, I normally go months without a drop, let alone knock back the best part of two bottles before three in the afternoon. I think that’s why I’m such a lightweight.’ And is was true, my head was pleasantly fuzzy and full of the cotton wool that Tyler seemed intent on wrapping me in. ‘You’re just making up for lost time then,’ he grinned, putting the empty bottle, glasses and empty packets back in the rucksack. No littering here, what a lovely, lovely man. ‘I’m just tired,’ I yawned for effect. ‘I had a bit of a late night.’ ‘Anything fun?’ he asked. ‘Alex’s gig in Brooklyn,’ I said, without thinking. ‘Alex?’ It wasn’t accusatory, but it was definitely inquisitive. ‘Oh, one of Jenny’s boyfriend’s friends,’ I said quickly. It wasn’t strictly a lie. ‘And you know, it took for ever to get home.’ ‘I just don’t get the whole Brooklyn thing,’ Tyler shook his head, not pursuing the Alex thing. Phew. ‘Sure, Park Slope is nice, Peter Luger is great, but why everyone thinks it’s so hip to travel all the way over to Williamsburg for a beer? No thanks.’ ‘It was nice over there,’ I felt as though I ought at least to try and defend it, but too much red wine was starting to weaken my thought process. ‘Everyone was really cool.’ ‘Exactly,’ Tyler screwed up his face. ‘Someone needs to remind those rich kid hipsters that college was a long time ago. It’s time to get over your ironic T-shirts and stop getting stoned. And how tight are those guys’ jeans? Do they realize they will never have children?’ I thought of Alex in his skinny jeans and his little T-shirts and had to smile. Or possibly, the half-bottle of red wine had to smile, I wasn’t entirely sure. I was however, entirely drunk. ‘Are you a secret hipster? I don’t remember seeing any piercings.’ ‘I’m more of a tattoo girl,’ I laughed as he tried to pull up my T-shirt. ‘Stop it, everyone can see!’ ‘I’ve got to find these tattoos,’ he said, holding my wrists above my head with one hand and searching with the other. ‘I can’t believe I didn’t see them the other night.’ ‘I don’t really have tattoos,’ I said breathlessly, half from the laughing, half from the way he was pinning me down. A familiar feeling started to build up in my stomach, surging through my body. ‘I think you do,’ he said, staring me into submission. ‘Maybe I just didn’t see them because it was so dark.’ ‘Maybe,’ I whispered, willing him to scoop me up and take me home. I reckoned he had approximately ten seconds to suggest it before I made a public spectacle of myself. And potentially got us both arrested. ‘Shall we just go?’ he asked, his eyes glowing and his voice gruff. I nodded and let him pull me roughly to my feet. His hand burned into the small of my back as we wandered out across the park. I didn’t want to drag him, but it almost felt as though he was walking extra slowly, dragging it out, making me wait. But I couldn’t wait. I squeezed his hand gently, but he just squeezed back and gave me a promising smile. ‘You’re in a rush?’ Tyler held me back as I made for the gate at something between a canter and a gallop. I didn’t have a response that didn’t make me sound like a massive slag, so I went with the truth ‘Aren’t you?’ I asked. ‘Good point,’ he replied, pulling my chin upwards and kissing me hard. I felt my legs completely melt away, there was nothing else in the world apart from me and Tyler and, fingers bloody crossed, his apartment in less than ten minutes. My second visit to Tyler’s was just as educational as the first. More than anything else, as I lay in his huge, soft bed, watching him doze, it was a complete wake-up call as to how long mine and Mark’s relationship had been dead. I couldn’t actually remember the last time we’d had sex in the daytime, but it really was like riding a bike. Not that I ride a bike. And it was remarkable just how bendy you can really be if you put your mind to it. I slipped silently out of the bedroom and recovered my knickers and top for a trip to the bathroom. After some quick reparatory work to my mascara and a cold flannel pressed to my stubble-grazed chin, I did the obligatory ‘check out the bathroom cabinet’ thing. The first thing I noticed was that, for a man, he had a lot of stuff. It had taken me months of hint dropping and several advertorials in GQ for Mark to even start using Nivea for Men aftershave balm, but Tyler had more products than I did. Shampoo, conditioner, hair mask, gel, mousse, wax, eye cream, scrub, face wash, moisturizer with sunscreen, night cream with retinol. I wasn’t sure whether to be intimidated and impressed, but then I remembered how great he always looked, and settled on accepting. Maybe I should look into some of this stuff. Beyond the creams, gels, lotions and potions were several bottles of painkillers, some off the shelf, some prescription. Anyone can have painkillers, I told myself, I still had tonnes of Co-codamol from when I had my wisdom teeth out. Right at the back, on the top shelf, was a black travel wash bag. With a quick look at the door, I whipped it down. I couldn’t help myself. If he had cute little travel-sized toiletries, I was moving in. But it wasn’t full of men’s toiletries. It was a morning-after kit. For a woman. Deodorant, a new toothbrush, eye make-up remover and Jesus, even Tampax. I replaced the bag and sat back down on the edge of the bath. So, he really did date around a lot. Reality check. I had absolutely no room for complaint here, I was dating someone else and hadn’t really told him about it, maybe he was dating other girls too, but something about the whole thing just felt off with me. The idea of dating two people and sleeping with two people seemed mutually exclusive. Perhaps if I’d slept with Alex I’d feel differently, one way or another. I ran my hands under the cold water tap to cool down. There was just one problem with that theory. I hadn’t slept with Alex, and for the longest time, I’d had virtually no sex life at all. But with Tyler, it was like, God, I didn’t even have anything to compare it with. Even when it had been good with Mark it had never, ever left me shaking from head to toe, unable to breathe but unable to stop. As soon as I was with Tyler, the rest of the world just melted away. It was utterly intoxicating, but somewhere inside it didn’t feel real, didn’t feel permanent. I tried to think of what Jenny would tell me, that I was sabotaging my own happiness, trying to find a reason not just to enjoy a fun relationship for what it was. ‘Angela?’ Tyler knocked gently on the bathroom door. ‘You OK?’ ‘Yep,’ I looked around for inspiration, finding nothing, ‘I think I got a bit sunburned, I was just cooling down.’ ‘I have some lotion in there somewhere,’ he said, peering around the door. ‘Want me to find it out?’ ‘Yes, please,’ I nodded. He was so wonderful. So what if he was seeing other girls? When he was with me, he was only with me. ‘Let me see.’ he took a large bottle of aftersun from a cabinet and squeezed some out into his hands. ‘Where’s the sunburn? You don’t look red.’ ‘Oh, it’s my back,’ I said, pulling the shoulder of my top down an inch. It wasn’t red because it wasn’t burned, but it was the best lie I had at the time. ‘It’s just really sore. I don’t think the red has come out yet.’ ‘I don’t want to get this on your clothes,’ he held up cream-covered hands and nodded at my top. ‘You’d better take that off.’ ‘I suppose I had,’ I smiled, trying not to think about what I had found in his cabinet. Not thinking was all the easier as he slid his cool hands onto my warm skin, massaging in the aftersun. ‘Better?’ he asked, rubbing gently up and down my back. ‘Better,’ I said softly, feeling his hands slide all the way down to the waistline of my knickers. His thumbs hooked under the elastic as he pulled them down gently. ‘I was thinking,’ he whispered into my ear, his bare chest sticking to the lotion on my back. ‘If your back is burned, you’d better go on top.’ He was a very, very thoughtful man. The afternoon turned into the evening and the evening turned into night with nothing to do but each other. After we’d finished with the bathroom floor, we headed back into the bedroom for more lazy fumbling and dozing and eventually, surfaced in the kitchen after christening his new granite work surface. Some hours later, I found myself curled up on his sofa, wearing a vintage Yankees shirt and eating Chinese takeaway. Apparently it was cute that I called it takeaway. I loved that it was cute. Patronizing, but very sweet. If everything I did naturally was cute to him, this was going to be really easy for me. ‘How long have you lived here?’ I asked, looking around at his impeccably designed penthouse. Everything was stainless steel and shiny and new. Apart from where I’d been, obviously. ‘Ah, what, two years?’ he mused, wandering over to the kitchen and rifling through an invisible drawer. ‘Why? You don’t like it?’ ‘I love it,’ I replied, willing him not to pull out a bottle opener. ‘Did you design it yourself?’ ‘Like I have the time,’ he shook his head and pulled out a bottle opener. ‘It pretty much came this way.’ ‘Oh,’ I frowned, resting my chin on the arm of the square sofa. The apartment was gorgeous, totally luxe, but now it felt sort of impersonal. I wondered if every apartment in the block had the same art on the walls. ‘You want to stay over?’ Tyler asked, wandering over from the kitchen with the open bottle of wine. ‘I don’t have to be anywhere in the morning.’ ‘It is sort of late,’ I said, waving the wine away. I’d had quite enough for one day. For one week actually. ‘Oh, but I don’t have any stuff.’ The words were out of my mouth before I could take them back. I waited for him to offer me his secret sleepover stash. ‘Don’t laugh at me,’ he said, settling back onto the sofa and taking custody of his remote control. Didn’t matter to me, I couldn’t work the damn thing. ‘But I have some girl stuff. I’m not sure what though, my mom left it last time she stayed over.’ ‘Your mum?’ I smiled at his blushes. ‘Now who’s cute?’ ‘She lives in Florida,’ he said, pointing towards a small family picture hidden up high on a shelf. The whole brood. Wow. ‘But since my dad died she comes to visit a lot.’ ‘That’s really lovely,’ I said, snuggling down against him. ‘I think it’s great when people are close to their parents.’ ‘You close to yours?’ he asked, flicking through the channels. ‘Not massively to be honest, but you know, they’re my parents. I love them. Even my mother.’ ‘I guess it’s harder for girls and their moms,’ he leaned his cheek against my head. ‘And I bet you were a total wild child.’ ‘Oh my God, so the opposite,’ I laughed at the very thought. ‘In by nine, no boyfriends until I was sixteen, top marks at school. I think my mum was worried I might end up a spinster librarian or something.’ ‘Want me to call her and let her know that’s not a problem?’ he asked, settling on a sports channel. If this had been Mark with the football, I would have complained, but then, if Mark had spent all afternoon giving me multiple orgasms, perhaps I would have been more compassionate about the plight of Nottingham Forest. ‘I don’t think she needs all the details,’ I kissed him quickly and hopped up. ‘But I should call Jenny and let her know I’m not coming back.’ I padded back into the bedroom in search of my handbag and found it safely at the end of the bed, underneath my shorts. ‘Hi Jenny,’ I said as the machine picked up. ‘It’s just me, I’m going to stay here tonight so don’t—’ ‘Hey, hey!’ Jenny picked up, out of breath. ‘I got it, I’m here.’ ‘Hi,’ I said. ‘You’re going to be so proud, I’m staying at Tyler’s. See, I can totally do this multiple dating thing.’ ‘Oh. OK.’ ‘Did you want me to come home?’ I asked, hoping she wasn’t feeling abandoned. I was still new at this roommate thing. ‘No, no,’ her voice lowered slightly. ‘Jeff is here, I just thought, he might mention to Alex that you weren’t home or something. I didn’t know if he knew that you and Tyler were …’ ‘Shit!’ I absolutely hadn’t thought about that at all. ‘I don’t think he does, not really. And I don’t want him to. Please don’t say anything.’ ‘Of course I won’t,’ she said more easily. ‘I’ll just tell him you’re at Erin’s or something, that you wanted us to have alone time. Oh, but he did invite us over for dinner tomorrow, to apologize for Friday night.’ ‘To apologize for you throwing up all over Alex’s apartment?’ I asked, reflecting on the fact that Jeff knowing Alex could really make things difficult. ‘Yes, Mom,’ Jenny replied. ‘I’ve got to go, the pizza’s here. Alex already told Jeff he could make it, so it’s tomorrow at seven, OK? Try and get your pants on for then. Love you.’ I turned off my phone and resumed my position in the living room. ‘Everything OK?’ Tyler asked, pulling me in close to him. ‘Yep,’ I said, wriggling into place back under his arm. ‘Just tired.’ ‘You want to go to bed?’ He stroked my hair absently. ‘I’m OK,’ I replied, resting my eyes just long enough to fall fast asleep on the sofa, the sounds of the baseball match echoing in my ears. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#ulink_95b10933-3ee8-59c4-b57c-d8c28636517a) The Adventures of Angela: CPDA – Central Park Display of Affection As a newcomer to New York, I have no idea what level of indecency is considered, well, decent in your fair city’s fairest park. I’m just back from another great date with Wall Street, a very romantic picnic with wine, Godiva truffles and Cheetos (no one said he was perfect) and I’m wondering whether or not to expect a policeman (mmm, hot cop!) to turn up at my door. Obviously there was nothing removed during the outdoor sesh, but what’s worse – the hot and heavy petting or the unbearable levels of smugness we forced those around us to endure. Vom-worthy, really. Pre-New York dating extravaganza, I would have happily put Wall Street’s corkscrew through his temple if I’d seen a couple so terribly pleased with themselves as we were (Cheetos aside) but I really don’t want to kill him just yet. And I don’t want to stop getting touched up in the park either. Hmm. This is going to be a tricky one. After arguing with myself over the content of my post for twenty minutes, I just couldn’t do it. And in a radical bid to distract myself, I did something drastic. ‘Hello?’ ‘Mum? It’s Angela.’ ‘Darling, how are you?’ she asked, sounding fairly relieved, as though she thought it might have been the Avon lady from number fifty-four. ‘Are you coming home?’ ‘No, not yet,’ I said, pacing the apartment. ‘I’m fine though, I’m staying with my friend still and I’m working for this magazine. Things are really good.’ ‘But you’re coming home soon, dear?’ she asked again. I could just see her frowning in the mirror above the phone, probably fiddling with her hair, looking out of the window into her impeccably kept garden, watching next door’s cat shit all over her flowerbed. ‘I don’t know, Mum,’ I said, eventually coming to a standstill by the window. ‘I’m having a really good time. The writing thing is really exciting, I’m doing an online diary for the magazine’s website.’ ‘That’s lovely, I’m very proud.’ The same dismissive tone that she had used for my GCSE, A level and degree results. Grrr. ‘But darling, you know, I would really like you to let me know when you’re coming back. You must have a date for your flight? And the hotel must be costing you a fortune.’ ‘Mum, I’ve just told you, I’m staying with a friend. I don’t know when I’m – do you know what? It doesn’t matter. Why was Mark at your house when I called last week?’ ‘I just don’t know why you can’t tell me when your flight is,’ she chuntered on. I was starting to regret the phone call all together. ‘I don’t have a flight booked so I don’t know when it will be,’ I repeated, thinking about how different the views were out of our windows. I could see yellow taxi cabs, the Chrysler Building and thousands of New Yorkers hustling and bustling around the city. From my mum’s window, she would be lucky to be able to see her Clio in the drive, the post office, and Mr Tucker from next door, possibly thrilling the neighbourhood by gardening shirtless. He was fifty-two. ‘Why was Mark answering your phone?’ ‘He was dropping off some of your things, Angela.’ I could tell she was starting to get just as pissed off with me as I was with her. ‘I know he’s done a terrible thing to you, but I have known him for a lot of years. I can’t just pretend he doesn’t exist.’ ‘Yes you can.’ Was she serious? ‘You can very easily pretend he doesn’t exist. He doesn’t as far as our family is concerned.’ ‘Just because you have chosen to run away instead of confronting your problems, doesn’t mean I can,’ Mum tutted down the line. ‘I see Mark’s mother every week at Tescos.’ ‘I haven’t run away,’ I said. This was not the supportive mother-daughter talk I’d been envisioning. ‘I’m doing something with my life.’ ‘And maybe if you had stayed and talked to Mark, you would have realized how terrible he feels about things,’ she carried on, completely ignoring everything I was saying. ‘Maybe you would have been able to sort things out. Not that I’m saying you should, he did cheat on you, I know.’ ‘He wants to sort things out?’ I asked. The idea hadn’t even crossed my mind. ‘Well, maybe he would have if you hadn’t run away, I don’t know,’ she said, sounding distracted. ‘But now he’s moved in that Katie girl, I don’t suppose the two of you will ever get back on track. I suppose if you called him …’ ‘He’s moved in with – he’s moved her with in?’ I stopped her in the middle of her sentence. ‘Into our house?’ ‘Well, you disappeared, dear,’ she seemed to be listening again. ‘What was he supposed to do? Not that I’m making excuses for him. He should never have done what he did, but, he did explain—’ ‘Mum, I’ve got to get off, I’m going out,’ I needed to be off the phone right away. ‘I’ll call you when I know more about coming home.’ ‘All right, darling, speak to you soon,’ and she hung up before I could. Knowing for a fact that Mark had moved that girl into my house was all too much for my brain to process, but it did put the blog problem into perspective. I sat down in front of the laptop, blocked out the images of the filthy mare wearing my Cath Kidston apron and cooking with my beloved lime green Le Creuset casserole dish and emailed the blog to Mary. Mark who? Once Jenny had returned from her Sunday spa appointment at Rapture and checked that everything had been exfoliated, waxed and moisturized to her own high and Jeff-ready standards, we headed out to Brooklyn. I was justifiably nervous, not having spoken to Alex about our ‘double date’ and not having spent more than fifteen minutes forcing my hair into some sort of shape, slapping on some of my miraculous MAC mascara and lipgloss. But my (still amazing) Marc Jacobs bag made everything better. I wondered if I could feasibly go out in my pyjamas and still feel like a grown-up if I were carrying this. Jenny practically skipped all the way to the L train, barely a sentence tripping over her tongue that wasn’t directly related to Jeff. ‘So it’s totally on with Alex tonight?’ she asked, holding my hand and skipping lightly as we crossed the road over to the subway. ‘I don’t know,’ I confessed. ‘I was with Tyler this morning, don’t you think it might be a bit tacky to sleep with Alex tonight?’ But just saying the words sent shivers all the way down my spine. ‘I knew this would happen,’ Jenny shook her head, swiping her Metrocard. ‘You weren’t even OK dating two guys, you were never going to be able to sleep with two guys. Not at once.’ ‘Christ, it’s not a threesome, Jenny.’ I followed her down the stairs, shaking my head. ‘And you didn’t want to share that information with me? Really, I’m OK seeing them both, I like them both in different ways, but I don’t know. Tyler is so much fun, and Alex is, well, it’s different.’ ‘But you like him more than Tyler?’ she asked. ‘It’s different with Alex, harder to explain. I like the way he makes me feel about myself. With Tyler it’s kind of more about how he literally makes me feel,’ I tried to explain without blushing. ‘Did you ever do that experiment at school where you get three white flowers and you put one in an empty vase, one in a vase with water and one in a vase with food colouring?’ ‘Yeah,’ Jenny nodded, ‘but I really don’t know what that’s got to do with you getting your kicks with some hot banker.’ ‘Shut up,’ I smiled wryly and hopped on the train as the doors slid open. ‘OK, don’t laugh but the flower without any water just wilts and dies, right? And the flower with the water blossoms and it’s just really ordinary but beautiful, then when you add the food colouring it—’ ‘It takes the colour into the flower,’ she finished for me. ‘Oh my God, you’re so meta! Doll, your first analogy. I’m so proud of you.’ ‘Thanks. I feel validated,’ I said, patting her thigh. ‘I know it’s cheesy, but it’s the best I can come up with. Before I was just suffocating, with Tyler, it’s like classic and romantic, he has a structure to his life that I recognize. But with Alex, it’s fun and exciting and different. I don’t know where it’s going, everything is so new.’ ‘New and exciting is good,’ Jenny said, nodding thoughtfully. ‘But when you’re in a delicate emotional state, that’s you doll, or when you just need to go out and have lots of great sex because you’ve only slept with one guy your whole life, again like you, maybe classic and romantic is the best.’ ‘Maybe. I just don’t know. And I don’t know how long I can keep seeing them both. It does feel weird, whether it should or not. But seeing Tyler almost takes the pressure off whatever’s happening with Alex. Not that anything bloody has.’ ‘Well, how about you give Alex his shot in the bedroom tonight and make your decision tomorrow?’ She grinned as the train slowed down, approaching our stop. ‘God knows, I’m going to need you to get the hell out of Jeff’s, oh, I don’t know, as soon as we get there.’ ‘Things are going well then?’ I smiled. ‘I’m really pleased. I’m not going to say anything other than, I’m glad things are working out.’ ‘Like I said,’ she said, hopping out of the carriage, ‘it’s fate. Sometimes you have to put all the psychobabble stuff on one side and go with your heart.’ ‘Wow!’ I linked arms with her as we strutted up the stairs. ‘I just lost all respect for you.’ ‘I know,’ she smiled, happily. ‘Isn’t it amazing?’ The first thing I would have liked to have known, before I agreed to dinner at Jeff’s, was that he was a terrible cook. Which he was. The second thing that would have been helpful to know, was that, in Jenny and Jeff world, ‘dinner’ was apparently a euphemistic term for practising oral sex skills on each other’s forks and fingers. I tried not to watch while I nibbled a polite amount of the spaghetti and mush that had been presented to us the second we walked through the door. We had only been in the apartment for approximately fifteen minutes and already, it was quite clear that Alex and I were in the way. Alex openly stared, occasionally nudging me with his knee. I couldn’t even look at him. Apart from the awkward hello and half-kiss we’d shared before being rushed to our seats, we hadn’t really spoken. Jenny and Jeff’s red-light show was making the atmosphere so tense, I didn’t know where to put myself. I felt like a maiden aunt at an orgy. ‘So, how was your weekend?’ Alex asked me and Jenny, breaking the strained silence and twirling limp spaghetti around his fork. I noticed no one’s plates matched. The apartment was super swank on a Tyler scale, but it seemed as if it was just possible that Jeff hadn’t been too worried about his housekeeping recently. I figured he had something else on his mind. And possibly other parts of his anatomy. Jenny response to Alex was a low moan as Jeff’s hand vanished under the table, so I took it upon myself to answer-slash-try to distract Alex from the incredibly inappropriate behaviour on the opposite side of the table. ‘It was OK, I wrote.’ It wasn’t a lie, I had written. ‘What did you get up to?’ ‘I wrote too,’ he nodded, looking dead ahead. ‘It was good actually, I think I got some good stuff out.’ I smiled and nodded politely, trying to think of something to say that wasn’t ‘For Christ’s sake, get your hands back on the table, it’s unsanitary’ but our hosts beat me to it, dropping their cutlery and more or less giving up any pretense of eating, before moving on to the main course, each other. I could have killed Jenny. ‘So, Jeff,’ Alex started. So brave, to try to attract his attention. ‘Your food tastes like complete shit. What is it supposed to be again?’ ‘Pasta,’ Jeff said, distracted by Jenny, massaging his shoulders. I couldn’t think what strenuous activity he might have undertaken that would necessitate a massage, it certainly wasn’t the cooking. ‘It’s just pasta.’ ‘It’s delightful.’ Jenny tried some sort of erotic manoeuvre with a forkful of soggy pasta, but it did not come off well. Unlike the pasta, which dropped directly into her lap. ‘OK, then,’ Alex gave me a sideways smile, ‘nice. This totally makes up for your girlfriend throwing up all over my place.’ ‘I want to know what’s for dessert,’ Jenny asked, actually getting out of her seat and putting herself in Jeff’s lap. Jesus, she was shameless. ‘I have ice cream,’ Jeff breathed heavily. ‘I got your favourite.’ ‘I don’t really feel much in the mood for ice cream,’ Alex said, pushing his chair back and standing to leave. ‘But I do have some excellent day-old-pizza that’s crying out to be eaten. Angela, can I interest you in a slice of pepperoni?’ ‘Yes. Yes, you can,’ I said, following him away from the table. ‘Thanks Jeff, Jenny.’ ‘You’re going?’ Jenny started to make some noises about staying for coffee, but whatever Jeff whispered in her ear sent them off into squeals of delight and a short sharp ‘bye’. ‘Jesus, what was that all about?’ Alex laughed, slamming his apartment door behind him. ‘Does your friend like an audience or something?’ ‘I want to say “no”, but the best I can give you is, I really hope not,’ I said, hovering by the sofa. There didn’t seem to be any puke stains on there, so I sat down cautiously. ‘Beer?’ He opened his huge fridge, balancing a pizza box and a six-pack on one arm. ‘Thanks.’ I took the bottle and sat in silence, not sure about what my next move was supposed to be. His apartment was the opposite of Tyler’s, every inch of it breathed him. There were CDs lying around on every available surface, notebooks littered the coffee table, and I was never more than three feet away from a chewed-on pen or pencil. ‘I don’t know, I guess it’s cool that they’re so in to each other.’ He settled down and opened the pizza box. No really, it was at least one-day-old pepperoni pizza. ‘I just figured when Jeff invited me round for dinner, it would actually be dinner.’ ‘Me too,’ I nodded, accepting the pizza against my better judgment. It was actually really good. ‘If nothing else, it reassured me of my hostess skills in case I ever have to repay the favour. Compared to Jeff, I’m a shit-hot cook.’ ‘Really?’ He leaned back and looked at me. ‘Yeah, I bet you are.’ ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ I asked. Was this another sly New Yorker way of telling me I was a porker? ‘Nothing,’ he defended himself by waving a piece of pizza around. ‘I just think you can tell a lot about a person by the way they cook. Not that Jeff was playing his cards close to his chest, but you could tell by his shitty food he’s not too worried about the preparation. He’s all about getting straight to it.’ ‘I suppose so,’ I smiled. I really should drop the porker thing. ‘Jenny can’t cook for anything. It’s all takeaways and Starbucks. Made for each other.’ ‘What’s your favourite thing to cook?’ he asked, resting his head in his hand, his elbow on the arm of the sofa. ‘Hmm,’ I thought. I didn’t have a particularly wide repertoire, but I did have a feeling a good answer was needed here. ‘I have this Balinese chicken thing that I do. You make this paste with lemongrass and dried chillies and then you rub it into the chicken and cook it really slowly wrapped in a banana leaf. It’s gorgeous.’ ‘See what I mean?’ he said, closing his eyes and smiling a deep, delicious smile. ‘Spicy, adventurous, long and slow. Tells you a lot about a person.’ ‘What about you?’ I knew I was blushing from head to toe. It was my most impressive dish, but I really hoped I wasn’t going to have to cook it without the book. It was a complete bitch of a recipe. ‘Honestly, I’m a pretty shitty cook,’ he admitted, taking my beer out of my hands and leaning across towards me. ‘But I’m kind of good at other stuff.’ ‘Doesn’t that ruin your metaphor?’ I whispered as he crept across the sofa and placed his arms on either side of my head. ‘I just wanted to see you blush.’ His lips were soft and firm, but his kisses were hard and unrelenting. Within seconds, we were putting on a show to shame even Jenny and Jeff. The rough fabric of his jeans chafed against my thighs as I brought my legs up around his waist, pulling him in towards me. The nervous tickle that had been growing in my stomach migrated south as I lost my hands in his hair, my lips on his throat, my mind … just gone. Alex pulled me up and half carried me towards his room. No time for candles, for low music, just the twinkling cityscape behind us lighting his silhouette as he pulled off his T-shirt and tossed it aside. We stood in front of the window, kissing desperately, tussling with belts, zips and buttons until there was nothing left between us but our underwear. I silently thanked Jenny for my matching set pep talk as Alex sighed his approval at my black balconette and French knickers. ‘Why does it feel like this has been such a long time coming?’ he asked, sliding one of the straps off my shoulder and replacing it with a long line of kisses. ‘I know what you mean,’ I whispered. I placed one arm around his neck, obsessed with losing my fingers in that thick, black hair, the other hand somehow finding its way down his chest, his stomach, the waistband of his tight jersey boxers. My legs were beginning to shake, and all I could think about was getting onto that bed. So this was what they meant when they talked about knee trembling. ‘Hey,’ he said softly, replacing my bra strap and holding my face in his hands. ‘I just want to take it slow, OK?’ ‘You don’t want to …’ I was confused. ‘I thought?’ He had waited until I was in my underwear with one hand down his shorts to tell me he wanted to take it slow? ‘No,’ he shook his head, smiling. ‘I mean this, now. I want to be able to remember every second of it.’ ‘Oh, OK,’ I smiled back, biting my bottom lip. Was I in that much of a rush I’d forgotten about actual romance? ‘Sorry, I thought you meant …’ ‘Don’t be sorry.’ Alex pulled my hair back from my face and kissed me tenderly. His skin glowed against the light of the window as his eyes met mine. ‘And stop thinking so much.’ He took my hand and led me over to the bed, laying me down and peppering my face, my throat, my shoulders with kisses. I wanted him so badly, every second he wasn’t inside me I thought I would explode. His kisses trailed down my collarbone, over my bra and down my stomach. ‘I thought you wanted to go slowly?’ I asked, the words catching in my throat as his lips reached the top of my thighs. ‘I should have been clearer,’ he said, pulling the silk of my underwear aside. ‘I meant slow for me. But I think that’s going to work out kind of well for you.’ ‘Glad to clear things up,’ I whispered, closing my eyes and letting go. If Tyler had been an education, Alex was an awakening. From the moment we rolled back on to the bed, through the long sweaty hours until dawn, he put my entire body through its paces, taking me right to the edge and then snatching me back again. When I woke, in a tussle of tangled sheets and tangled limbs, I was upside down at the foot of the bed, and so exhausted I didn’t know if I was coming or going. But I was absolutely certain, that at least three times in the past few hours, I’d been coming like never before. I stretched a leg, feeling out the floor with my toes, trying to work out how to extricate myself from Alex’s vice-like grip without waking him. Not going to happen. Feeling me stir, he half opened one eye. Without words, without any sort of verbal communication, he drew me back to him and we picked up exactly where we had left off. CHAPTER NINETEEN (#ulink_4da65b39-7e56-5ba5-ad65-c97c3c1730eb) It was Monday morning, but blissfully, Alex didn’t have anywhere to be except in bed with me. He didn’t need to let his housekeeper in, he didn’t have errands to run, he sure as shit didn’t have to go to the office. We dozed on and off all morning, only waking up to reach out and check the other was still there, still waiting. Eventually, I was forced to seek out the bathroom, slipping away from Alex and padding across the flat. Sitting on the toilet, I was well aware I had a completely stupid grin on my face. I just didn’t know what to do with myself. Compared to the only sex I had ever known, Tyler had been amazing in bed. He was, technically speaking, a god. He knew which buttons to press, in which order and, most importantly, he knew exactly when to press them. But Alex … It had just been so intense. I felt raw and exposed, as if he had stripped me down completely and then put me back together, new and improved. It was incredible. After a sly mouthwash, face splash and mascara removal combo, I tiptoed back through the living room, checking my mobile on the way. A message from Jenny asking if I was OK, a message from Erin to say she’d seen the blog (the blog! I’d forgotten it was out there already) and a message from Tyler, asking if I wanted to go to dinner tomorrow night. I paused in the living room for a moment, perching on the arm of the sofa. Looking back towards Alex’s bedroom door, I thought for a moment. Did I want to go to dinner tomorrow night? I liked Tyler, he was a great guy, but Alex was something else altogether. I quickly replied, a short acceptance. Either way, I had to see Tyler, whether it was a date or I was ending it. And I did have the blog to think about. It would be fine. I tapped out replies to Jenny and Erin, then hurried back into the bedroom, to Alex’s arms. A couple of indulgent hours later and I reluctantly hit the shower so I could go home and blog. I could hear Alex singing in the kitchen, while I lathered up and smiled. It was such a different world to everything I was used to, and I liked it. Without a walk of shame kit, I did my best, tying my wet hair up, dabbing on some lip gloss and mascara, really not needing any blusher. Slipping back into my dress seemed to put a full stop at the end of the sentence. I really did have to go outside now, it had to be done. I didn’t have another pair of knickers, home was the only option. Alex was making coffee, real coffee, in a T-shirt and shorts when I emerged. It was so wrong that I had just spent twenty minutes putting myself back together and he looked as cute, as sexy as ever, pillow creases, bedhead and all. ‘So you do know how to use your kitchen,’ I said, accepting a steaming mug of black coffee and dropping back onto the sofa. I knew I had to leave, but my legs were determined to make it difficult by refusing to work. ‘I live on my coffee when we’re recording.’ He sat down next to me. ‘Sorry if it’s a little strong. Coffee I’m good with, but I never seem to have milk.’ ‘Don’t worry, it’s nice,’ I lied. It was like tar. ‘What are you up to today?’ He shrugged. ‘I might try and write some more. I got some good stuff yesterday.’ ‘Do you just write here?’ I asked, swirling my cup. The ‘coffee’ barely moved. ‘Yeah, well, the music,’ he nodded towards an acoustic guitar leaning against the wall. ‘I usually write the music with that, then take it in to the guys and we work it up. The lyrics I write all over the place. Wherever they come to me.’ ‘It must be so cool to be able to do that,’ I shook my head in awe. ‘I can’t imagine sitting down with a guitar and just pulling something out of the air like that.’ ‘It’s only what you do when you write.’ He smiled lazily and pushed a stray strand of damp hair behind my ear. It was well past midday and so warm that my hair was almost dry. ‘It’s just writing what you’re thinking.’ ‘I suppose so,’ I said, letting my cheek rest against his hand. It would have been so easy just to stay there with him. ‘You sure you’ve got to go?’ he whispered, his eyes glowing, his voice deepening. No no no no no no no. ‘Yes,’ I sighed. I leaned in for a soft, promising kiss and then pulled myself back. ‘I really can’t get behind, and I have to file my blog by four.’ ‘I can’t imagine what you’re going to write about,’ he grinned. ‘What if my mom reads it?’ ‘Don’t!’ I flushed and stood up. ‘I’m not writing porn, it’s a diary about my experiences. And it runs four days behind anyway.’ ‘Don’t tell me that wasn’t an experience.’ He flicked at my hem with his foot. ‘And how come it’s so behind, so they can edit out all the good stuff?’ ‘No, it’s just what they do, in case I get ill or something.’ I picked up my bag. I wanted to sink back onto that sofa by the side of him more than anything. ‘So you’ll have to wait until next week to see what I’m going to post.’ ‘I’m not too worried,’ he said, dragging himself up and walking over to the door. ‘I don’t think anyone has any cause for complaint.’ He pulled me in close for a deep goodbye kiss, making me drop my beautiful, beautiful bag. Bad man. ‘I’ll call you later?’ He opened the door while I slowly backed out. ‘OK.’ I nodded, crossing the threshold into the hall. Wow, this was hard. ‘Talk to you later then?’ ‘Yeah.’ He leaned out for one more kiss before I turned and headed to the lift. Get in the lift. Get in the lift. I sneaked a quick look back, Alex just leaning against his doorway. I shook my head and pushed myself through the lift doors as they slid open, and pressed the G button. I definitely deserved an award for leaving, first time and everything. I was so wrapped up in Alex, it didn’t even occur to me to be proud as I headed towards the L, hopped straight on the subway and changed at Union Square, heading north to Grand Central. My first non-pre-planned subway journey and I’d only looked at a map once. Jenny was already home when I dashed through the door, drinkable coffee in one hand, keys in the other. ‘Hey,’ she said, rising from the sofa as I flashed through the room. ‘What’s up?’ ‘Got to email my blog,’ I called from my room. And despite how well the evening had gone, I was still a little bit pissed off with her and her one-woman show. ‘Give me half an hour?’ ‘OK, but then I want all the details,’ she yelled from the living room. I looked at the screen of my laptop. It glowed impatiently, demanding me to spill every last little fact like an iJenny. But I couldn’t do it. It had been so easy, practically cathartic, to write about things with Tyler, but this was different. I wanted to protect it. Instead of hashing out every new position, every new sensation, I found myself bashing out 200 words on The Adventures of Angela: When is it OK to break The Rules? I wrote about Jenny and Jeff getting back together, I wrote about accepting dates less than two days in advance, and I wrote about just how bloody hard it was to stick to the stupid bloody things. Who came up with them in the first place? They hadn’t seemed to work for anyone I’d met yet. Erin was rocketing through husbands like last season’s Manolos, and Jenny cheated on her ex, but got him back. That wasn’t in The Rules. I stopped tapping away and paused. There was so much I could say about Alex, but it just didn’t seem to want to put itself into words. It wasn’t as if I was denying Alex’s existence, I just didn’t want to go into details yet. Or mention I’d stayed over. Or that I’d had the most incredible sex ever. I wanted to keep that to myself for a little while longer. Well, I was open to sharing with Jenny. And Erin. And the manager of Scottie’s Diner. ‘What happened to Jenny’s life plan? I thought she was making all your big decisions for you?’ Erin asked, sipping on some iced water. ‘Like she does for everyone else whether they like it or not.’ ‘She’s not been so helpful since she got back together with Jeff,’ I said, shaking my head at the goofy grin on Jenny’s face. ‘She’s not actually been very much of anything apart from gagging for it as far as I can tell.’ ‘So what?’ Jenny grinned, munching away. ‘My head is kind of somewhere else. But, and you know I like Alex, realistically, I think you’re going too fast too soon and you should be out there having fun. You’ve been single for what, two weeks?’ ‘Is it really only two weeks?’ I suppose it had to be. I felt as if I’d been in New York my whole life. ‘Feels like for ever.’ ‘All the more reason to keep seeing this Tyler guy,’ Erin said, gingerly trying a chip. ‘If you’re going to fall head-over-heels for Alex, who we already know has more or less fucked his way around the whole of lower Manhattan, you need to keep a part of yourself detached. Seeing Tyler might help take the pressure off.’ ‘Well, clearly Jenny has filled you in,’ I said, giving Jenny the look. ‘But he didn’t have to tell me about his past already. He could have just, you know …’ ‘Used you? Playing devil’s advocate,’ Jenny held up her hands, ‘and that’s all I’m doing, but how do you know he’s not? Both Alex and Tyler know you’ve got to go back home sooner or later, how do you know this isn’t just a totally harmless fling for both of them, and they’re not seeing seventeen other women on the side? I just think you should pull back a little before you start getting attached.’ ‘She’s right, and you know I hate saying that,’ Erin gave me a half-smile, ‘but what’s going to happen if you let yourself get totally wrapped up in Alex, then go back to England and you never hear from him again?’ ‘I know all that, I’m just having fun,’ I lied badly. I didn’t want to think about Alex using me, and I certainly didn’t want to think about going home. ‘And you know, they could say the same thing. They could say I’m using them.’ ‘Well, honey. You kind of are.’ I shook my head. ‘No, I’m … Well, I’m just not.’ Cue awkward silence. ‘OK, maybe Tyler.’ ‘So,’ Erin wiped her hands on a napkin, ‘you’ve got two and a half months left unless you start applying for a work visa right now. You came here to get away from your ex and sort your head out, work out what you want to do. Have you done that?’ ‘I don’t know,’ I confessed. ‘Is that really bad?’ ‘No,’ Erin smiled. ‘But you shouldn’t be worrying about any relationship stuff with either of these guys until you can answer those questions.’ ‘I know. It’s just loads more difficult than I thought it was going to be. When I’m with you two, it’s easy to be OK, and I think yeah, this might be me, even if I’m a bit of a whiny cow. Tyler makes everything easy in a different way, like, I don’t even need to think because he’s already thought of everything. I don’t have to stress about anything, so I’m just kind of the same person I’ve always been, but with better sex and presents.’ ‘And with Alex?’ Jenny asked, signalling the waitress and ordering more or less the whole dessert menu. ‘I really, really like how I feel when I’m with him, but realistically, I don’t know if I could keep it up all the time. It’s bloody hard work being on all the time,’ I said, surprising myself with my answer. ‘But maybe I’m just being lazy. It’s hard work, but it’s amazing. He makes me feel amazing. Bloody hell, you two must be so bored of me.’ They were quick to refute it, but even I was sick of hearing myself whine on. ‘Do you know what? Forget it, I just want to hear about Jeff and Jenny.’ Jenny was quick to pick up the baton. Unfortunately, it was a highly detailed and descriptive account of Jeff’s baton, which made eating a little bit difficult. ‘Did you have to give her an in?’ Erin grinned, ditching her diet and getting stuck into the cheesecake that had joined the ice cream on the table. ‘Honestly, I can’t listen to you two talk about your amazing sex lives any more. I’m over The Rules from right now.’ ‘Man, I hadn’t even got started,’ Jenny laughed and pointed at me with her spoon. ‘And you should remember that Jeff and Alex’s bedrooms are only separated by about a foot of interior wall before you start calling me on my performance.’ I blushed, horrified. ‘Really? God, that’s so embarrassing.’ ‘Pretty inspirational, actually,’ Jenny grinned, clearly enjoying watching me squirm. ‘I don’t know exactly what’s going to happen to you doll, but I do know you need a good night’s sleep tonight.’ She wasn’t wrong. Once we’d finished up, all three of us headed back to the apartment for a Friends marathon in the hopes of getting some sage advice from the thirty-five-year-old twenty-somethings, and before I knew it, I was out for the count. Having passed out in a cheesecake coma so early the night before, I woke up at the crack of dawn on Tuesday determined to work out some answers. Erin and Jenny were right, I’d come to New York looking for something, and it hadn’t been men. I headed out early, passing Erin on the sofa bed, Jenny still snoring in her room, so pleased to have found some fellow anti-nine-to-fivers. I’d promised myself I would keep walking until something hit me, so I took the subway as far as I could go and still be in Manhattan and walked back to Battery Park. Seemed like a good place to start. Leaning back over the railing that Jenny had first brought me to, more than a fortnight ago, I reflected on how much life had changed, leaving out the boys. Yes, I had new hair, new clothes (and a fabulous handbag) but (almost) more importantly, I had my confidence. I was doing this, actually living. It didn’t matter that there was a legally imposed schedule, helpfully enforced by US immigration, I had lived more in the last two weeks than I had in the last two years. I gave the Statue of Liberty a thankful smile and headed back north, thinking about all the other things I had to be grateful for. Jenny, despite her mildly schizophrenic Jeff-related issues, was clearly a good person. Erin was a complete sweetheart. And I was actually writing. I was writing my own words for a massive international magazine’s website, not ghostwriting movie novels about mutant hero turtles or style advice for billionaire tweenagers. Looking up I realized I was heading towards Ground Zero. As I passed through, I could hardly believe that so much life was going on all around this site of utter devastation. Shops, hotels, restaurants, offices, everything. It seemed like such a short time ago that I had watched this place literally collapse on TV, but the entire city had picked up and moved on, healing rapidly around this ugly scar. I almost slapped myself in the street. If everyone here could pick themselves up and dust themselves down, what did I have to be so mopy and introspective about? It was just like Jenny had said, New York wasn’t somewhere you came to find yourself again, it was somewhere you came to become something, someone, new. In a Starbucks with wireless internet I logged on. My blog was short and to the point. The Adventures of Angela: Moving On From Moving On. Yes, I had a lot of crap to wallow in, and I could feel sorry for myself for the next five years if I wanted, but I also had a lot to be glad about and from here on in, that was what this diary was going to be about. I emailed it to Mary and sat staring out of the window, occasionally catching my reflection when a car parked up or someone paused to look inside. I didn’t look different any more, I just looked like me. One battle won. ‘Hey, excuse me,’ a tall, skinny girl stood at my shoulder, clutching a takeaway coffee cup. ‘Are you that girl from The Look website?’ ‘Oh,’ I said, flustered. ‘Yes, I suppose I am.’ She sat down at my table and beamed, pushing curly red hair away from her lip gloss. ‘I knew it was you, I saw the Marc Jacobs bag. I was just reading your last entry. My friend is like, obsessed with blogs, she forwarded me yours. I’m Rebecca’ ‘Oh,’ I repeated. It hadn’t occurred to me that people might recognize me. Eeep. ‘Sorry, I’m Angela. Did you like it? The blog?’ ‘Shit, it was hilarious!’ She grinned. ‘It’s like, you’re totally living my life. My boyfriend cheated on me too, he was a complete shit. But your life is way funnier. And I didn’t hook up with two really hot guys, like, days later.’ ‘Oh,’ I really didn’t know what else to say. I hadn’t looked at the website since it went live, I just couldn’t bear to see that before picture of myself again. ‘It’s not totally like that, I mean, I’m not, you know.’ ‘So it’s not real?’ She frowned. ‘You make it up?’ ‘No,’ I said quickly. ‘It is real, it’s just a bit weird talking about it. You’re the first person I’ve met who has read it.’ I managed a smile. ‘Sorry.’ ‘No worries,’ she smiled again. ‘You’re just a total hero to me. I wish I had got up and done something amazing when I found out about my ex, instead of throwing up for three days and then burning all his stuff.’ ‘I wouldn’t have been against burning his stuff. Between you and me, I might have peed in my ex’s toiletry bag. I know, it’s disgusting.’ ‘Oh my God,’ she squealed. ‘That’s awesome. I didn’t think British people did shit like that. Are you going to be in the magazine?’ ‘I don’t think so.’ This was fun, I was a minor celebrity! ‘It’s just a little online thing. I can’t believe you’ve even seen it.’ ‘Are you kidding me?’ She shook her head in disbelief. ‘Haven’t you seen how many hits your page has had? It’s like, thousands.’ ‘Really?’ I asked, looking at my laptop. Was she serious? ‘Yeah, like, so many more than the other Look blogs. Yours is so the best thing on that site.’ She stood up, leaving her coffee cup half empty, behind. ‘I’ve got to run back to the office, but it was so cool to meet you. I hope they print the diary, I’m totally going to email them.’ ‘Bye, nice to meet you!’ I called after her. The second she was out of the coffee shop, I was back online. There it was, TheLook.com, The Adventures of Angela. And according to the counter, there had indeed been thousands of visitors to the site. Hundreds of thousands. Thousands of people reading about me. It felt out and out weird. And then, when I thought about what I’d written, it felt scary. Forget Alex’s mum, what if my mum read it? And Mark. He had no right to know what I was doing. Who I was doing … The post about my night with Tyler, oh my God. Not good. While I sat scanning my previous posts, wondering if Mary would let me go back and edit, an email popped up in my inbox from her Look email address. Angela, Got today’s entry, really interesting. So did you see the blog is a big success? Can you make a meeting on Friday? 4.00 p.m. my office. Thanks, Mary I pulled out my mobile and hit Alex’s number. It clicked through for a moment giving me just enough time to think and hang up. He hadn’t called. Why hadn’t he called? It had been more than a whole day since I had left his apartment. Instead, I dialled Jenny at work, hoping she had made it to the concierge desk on time. ‘The Union,’ she answered in a sleepy monotone. Still playing sleep catch-up from the night before, clearly. ‘Jenny, it’s me,’ I said quickly, rambling the whole story about the blog and the hits and the redhead fan and Mary’s email, leaving out the part where I faux-called Alex. I had promised not to go into the boy stuff until I’d sorted out the Angela stuff after all. ‘Wow, that’s so cool,’ she yawned. ‘You want to come over here? I’ve got a break in half an hour.’ ‘I’m supposed to meet Tyler for dinner,’ I said cautiously. ‘I should probably go and get changed or something.’ ‘You should go and buy something fabulous,’ she said, giving me permission to abuse my credit card without even knowing it. ‘Seriously, I’d totally celebrate. And you need more stuff if you’re going to be a celeb.’ ‘I really don’t need more stuff!’ I shut down my laptop and placed it back in my (sigh) bag. ‘I think my credit card is about to snap. See you tonight.’ ‘You’re not going to stay at Tyler’s?’ she asked. I wasn’t sure if this was a test or not. ‘Don’t think so,’ I said, as offhanded as I could manage. ‘I’ve got stuff to do tomorrow and I’m sort of thinking about breaking it off.’ ‘Cool,’ she yawned again. Clearly too tired to be testing me. ‘Well, I’ll be home around midnight. Provided that Disney bee-otch staying in the penthouse doesn’t decide to throw another orgy I have to cover up. See you then?’ ‘I love that this is your everyday life. Have you thought about counselling her?’ ‘I told her she was worth more when I found her butt naked on the balcony with three of the Gossip Girl cast this morning,’ Jenny sighed. It was a beautiful image. ‘And she told me she was worth exactly seventeen point six million at the last count and could I bring up some clean towels. She’s eighteen. I’ve started to worry about my future as the next Oprah. Oprah wouldn’t want to knock her ass over the balcony.’ ‘Try and refrain from manslaughter and remember it’s all material,’ I said, hanging up. I checked my missed calls list. Nothing. I was so annoyed with myself. I really thought I’d got somewhere today and now, here I was, obsessing over why Alex hadn’t called me. ‘Why don’t you just call him?’ asked the little voice in my head. It seemed like a good idea, why didn’t I? Before I had the chance to second guess myself, I dialled and let it ring. And ring. And eventually, go to answer phone. ‘Hi, Alex, it’s Angela, uhhhhh,’ I started. One day I’m going to have the perfect answer phone message. Just not today apparently. ‘I just wondered if you wanted to do something tomorrow, but don’t worry if you’re busy or something. Talk to you later. Bye.’ I hung up and frowned. Maybe I did need a little bit more stuff. CHAPTER TWENTY (#ulink_de281c79-86f2-5868-bf4c-04aeb6e1fb02) When Tyler rang my buzzer at seven, Alex still hadn’t called. I refused to think about what that did or didn’t mean and instead, took one last look in the mirror and checked out my make-up. It looked fairly good, better than I would have managed two weeks ago. And my new Nanette Lepore dress was gorgeous. Seriously though, why hadn’t Alex called? I checked my phone once more, then threw it into my (wonderful) bag and walked out of the door. From the moment I ducked into the cab, I knew I should have cancelled. Tyler was his usual lovely self, asking me questions about my week, which I evaded by bouncing them right back. ‘Same old, same old,’ he smiled easily, directing the taxi driver downtown. ‘Been running a lot, work’s been a pain in the ass the last couple of days. I actually could really use a break. Just a couple of days away somewhere.’ ‘Yeah,’ I said, staring out of the window, watching the Washington Square Arch zoom by. ‘It’s good to get away.’ ‘You want to do it next weekend?’ he asked, squeezing my hand. He looked immaculate as usual. Yes, he was a city boy like Mark, but the similarities really did start and end there. His hair was ruffled from product, not a slightly off-putting nervous hair-tugging habit and his suit was immaculately cut, and I was fairly certain it wasn’t M&S crease-resistant. It certainly wasn’t machine-washable. ‘My friend has a house in the Hamptons, and he’s going to be away on business. You would love the Hamptons, parties to go to, it’s way cooler than in the city, and there’s the beach. Did you bring a swimsuit?’ ‘Oh, uh, swimsuit?’ I asked, caught off guard. I’d been staring at his forearms for just a second too long. Was it wrong to have a fetish for forearms? They were more tanned than Alex’s, but maybe not as nice. Not that I was thinking about Alex. At all. ‘Where are we going tonight?’ ‘Oh, Balthazar, it’s great. The moules frites are perfection, and it’s probably just cool enough for you,’ he teased. ‘Been to any gigs lately?’ ‘Not since I saw you last.’ I didn’t want to think about gigs. ‘Are you OK?’ Tyler asked as the cab pulled up. ‘You seem a little out of it.’ ‘No, I’m fine.’ It hardly seemed fair, mooning over Alex’s forearms when he hadn’t even called, and Tyler was here, taking me out to dinner, offering to take me away for the weekend. ‘I’m sorry, I’ve just been thinking about the website and stuff. My editor asked me to come in again, but I don’t really know what for. I suppose I’m a bit worried.’ ‘It’s all good though, right?’ he asked, directing me inside. The restaurant was stunning, a packed-out little French bistro, crammed with beautiful people. More Brownie points for another amazing venue. ‘The website thing?’ ‘You haven’t looked?’ I was half surprised and entirely relieved. ‘Apparently, it’s doing well.’ ‘I did mean to take a look,’ he confessed, smiling comfortably at the ma?tre d’ and sailing past the waiting couples. We were seated at a quiet corner table for two and quickly presented with iced water, bread, and champagne that Tyler had apparently preordered. I’d got so hot and bothered about a certain non-existent phone call, I’d forgotten how much fun it was to be with Tyler. ‘I’ve just been so busy at work and I hardly ever go online at home. Sorry, I’m glad it’s going so well though.’ ‘Don’t be, I’d rather you didn’t look,’ I smiled, trying to invest myself in the date. ‘It’s completely embarrassing. This girl came up to me in a caf? this morning because she recognized me. I nearly died.’ ‘If I’d known I was dating a celebrity, I’d have dressed up,’ he said, ordering appetizers for both of us. I could feel my brain turning to mush and a silly smile taking over my face. Sod the non-phoner. ‘I am not a celebrity!’ I wondered what he classed as dressing up. Relieved of his suit jacket, his shirt crisp and smart, and as usual, he smelled delicious. ‘And you know you look great.’ ‘You don’t look too bad yourself. That’s a great dress,’ he grinned, tapping me under the table with his foot. ‘I can’t help but think you’d look better out of it though.’ ‘Really,’ I laughed, colouring slightly as the waiter hovered at Tyler’s elbow with the champagne. I was starting to be glad I hadn’t cancelled, and also starting to worry as to whether or not I’d be able to keep my gorgeous new dress on at the end of the night. What a slut! Dinner was divine. Tyler really knew his food, and for the most part, I managed to put Alex out of my mind. During the appetizers, we planned our dream holidays – me taking in a cross America road trip in a turquoise Cadillac, Tyler touring Europe in a private plane – and by the time the waiters cleared away our entr?es, we’d covered favourite films, TV shows and books. At last I was really starting to think I knew something about Tyler. ‘And I already know you’re into your hipster music, right?’ Tyler smiled, accepting the dessert menu. ‘I bet you love all those skinny boys with greasy girls’ hair and band names that start with “The”.’ I smiled and shook my head, trying not to remember soft, smoky-smelling hair brushing against my lips. ‘What about you?’ ‘I like everything, I guess,’ he shrugged. ‘I like all music.’ Biting my lip, I thought back to what Alex had said in the coffee shop. Saying you liked all music meant you didn’t love any. God, he was so arrogant. And why hadn’t he called me? ‘I just have to go to the bathroom,’ I excused myself, rifling through my (beautiful) bag before I’d even made it down the stairs. Shit, three missed calls. All from Alex. I ran my wrists under cold water in the bathroom, then towelled off before I dialled my voicemail, promising myself I’d only listen to his message once. ‘Hey, it’s Alex,’ he began, ‘you still want to meet tomorrow? Give me a call.’ That was it. I looked at my watch, it was only 9.30. I still had time to call for tomorrow, but not while I was out with Tyler, that was too weird. ‘I wondered if you were coming back,’ Tyler said as I took my seat. ‘Something exciting happening in there?’ ‘Oh, it was really busy,’ I said, hoping he didn’t know how many toilets there were. ‘Too many women, not enough loos.’ ‘Loos,’ he shook his head smiling. He really was incredibly good-looking, I thought, trying to concentrate. The wavy hair, mussed up from a day in the office, his crinkly, smiley eyes, his light tan. But when he took my hands in his, all I could think about was his manicured nails and Alex’s calloused fingertips, and they just didn’t compare. ‘You want to get dessert?’ he asked, leaning across the table and lowering his voice. ‘Or do you want to head back to mine and get something really good?’ ‘I, uh, I have to meet my editor at nine,’ I mumbled, trying to ignore the heat rising in my cheeks, the tingle in my belly. ‘I think I really ought to be in my bed tonight.’ ‘I have to be up early too,’ he shrugged, waving the waiter over to bring the bill. ‘Unless you just really want me to see your room.’ ‘Oh, I sort of meant, maybe not tonight.’ I was so red, I was practically glowing. ‘To be honest, I’ve had a headache all day. I’m sorry.’ ‘Don’t be. If you’re not well …’ he trailed off, looking around the room, tapping his fingers on the table. ‘Do you want to do something later in the week?’ I blurted out. God, what was wrong with me? I was going to end up married to him out of politeness if I wasn’t careful. ‘I could cook dinner, Friday night?’ ‘Yeah, sure,’ he nodded, still not looking at me. ‘Sounds great.’ We headed out on to the street in an awkward silence, luckily flagging a cab down right away. I tried to think of something to say, but there was nothing there at all. ‘Great restaurant,’ I tried. Tragic. ‘Yeah, it’s always good.’ ‘Great.’ ‘Yeah.’ Clearly this wasn’t going to be made easy. I tried placing my hand on his knee and giving him a sweet smile, but he just covered it with his own without looking at me. I stared out of my window, racking my brain for something to say that wouldn’t end in me asking him up for a coffee. Before I’d had time to muster up another pathetic attempt at conversation, we were cornering onto Lexington Avenue and pulling up outside my flat. ‘Friday, then?’ I asked, as he let me out. Pissed off he might be, but Tyler was always the gentleman. ‘Yeah,’ he said, softening slightly for a goodnight kiss. ‘You take care of yourself. No headaches allowed on the weekends.’ I smiled and waved him off, before opening my bag, taking out my phone and calling Alex. It felt slightly shitty waving one man off and then calling another, but I couldn’t help it. ‘Hi, Alex?’ I tried to sound casual when he picked up on the third ring. ‘It’s Angela.’ ‘Hey,’ he yawned. Yawning at ten p.m.? Not very rock and roll. ‘Sorry I missed your calls, I’ve been in the studio the whole time since you left. I’m so fucking tired.’ ‘The studio?’ I asked. Another fabulous question from the world’s greatest conversationalist. ‘Yeah, I wanted to demo some of those new songs,’ he said. ‘I just completely lost track of time, and, well, what day it was. Where are you?’ ‘I’ve just been at dinner with a friend,’ I said, leaning against the wall. The evening was still pleasantly warm, but Alex’s sleepy voice was giving me goosebumps. ‘So, what about tomorrow?’ ‘Yeah, I’m not doing anything.’ I could hear music on low in the background. It sounded like Alex singing. ‘I could give you the tour of Williamsburg if you’re free?’ he suggested. ‘Sounds good.’ I smiled to a passing stranger who looked at me oddly. ‘Where should I meet you?’ ‘Uh, at the Bedford Avenue station? About eleven?’ he yawned again. He really was too cute. ‘I’ll see you there.’ I yawned a little myself. It was even contagious on the phone. ‘Hope you sleep well.’ ‘I will, I’ll be saving my energy for tomorrow,’ he said. ‘Sleep tight.’ I smiled as I hung up, date with Tyler forgotten, date with Alex buzzing around my mind. It was still so early, I’d beaten Jenny home from work. I grabbed my laptop and lay on the sofa, thinking about what to write. If I stored a blog entry now, I could just email it from Alex’s without interrupting our day tomorrow. I quickly bashed out the details of my date with Tyler and made some vague references to my day out in Brooklyn with Alex, Balthazar or Brooklyn? before logging off and dozing on the sofa. Mary had said her readers would go crazy for a Wall Street type, so after all, I was just giving the people what they wanted. CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#ulink_01a9f4ca-faf8-5d74-acf2-087ae7831499) The thirty-minute journey to Brooklyn felt like an eternity. What if Alex hadn’t rushed to call because it wasn’t as incredible for him as it had been for me? After all, he wasn’t the one who had tripled the number of people he had ever slept with inside the last fortnight. Just before the train stopped, I pulled my compact out of my handbag, quickly swiped at my shiny nose with powder and ran my fingers through my hair. Thank God it was supposed to look messy. I skipped up the steps of the subway station, pulling Jenny’s sunglasses down off my head and over my eyes, searching for Alex. Despite the oddly high numbers of hipster types littering the streets at a time they really ought to be at work, I spotted him almost immediately. He was leaning against a lamppost, arms folded, bobbing his head gently to whatever was on his iPod. His black hair shone almost blue in the sun, and his daily uniform of jeans and T-shirt clung to him like a second skin. I lifted up my sunglasses and watched him, bleached out by the sun for a moment. The whole scene was almost too perfect to disturb. ‘Hey,’ Alex shaded his eyes with his hands, when I finally burst the bubble and went over. ‘I didn’t see you sneaking up on me.’ ‘Well, that’s the point in sneaking up on you,’ I smiled, kissing him hello. Hopefully, there would be lots more kissing. ‘You OK?’ ‘Yeah, a little tired, but really good,’ he took my hand and we started down the street, passing cute little boutiques, dark vintage clothes emporiums and poky record shop after poky record shop after poky record shop. ‘You want to get something to eat?’ ‘Sounds like a plan,’ I said. For the first time in the last couple of days, nothing felt complicated. I was in the sunshine, I was holding hands with a beautiful boy and I was happy. Yay! We ducked into a tiny diner for coffee and bagels while Alex gave me a brief history lesson on his neighbourhood. Williamsburg had been home to hundreds of artists and musicians, he told me, generally all kinds of creative types that had been driven out of Manhattan due to the crazy spiralling rents. It had been his home for almost ten years, and he loved it. He loved going to bars where he knew everyone, he loved feeling like he had a neighbourhood, and he loved that in less than fifteen minutes, he could lose himself in the city. Unfortunately, he hated the fact that property prices were starting to go crazy around him, that the musicians and artists were being replaced by rich hipsters with nothing to do but buy up real estate and make it harder for people to live there. And most of all, he hated that a lot of his friends had started moving away again, either further into Brooklyn or back to Manhattan. As the sun slipped over the Manhattan skyline, we stopped in a dark little bar back on Bedford Avenue. The walls were lined with tankards and beer mugs, the dim lighting was only boosted by a TV screen showing sport, and someone, somewhere was cooking chips. It felt scarily like a real pub. ‘Beer?’ Alex asked as I slid into a chair. Wandering around, blissfully happy, was exhausting. Sitting in a chair, staring at Alex’s rear bent over the bar in his sexy low-slung jeans, was much easier. He returned with two pints, actual pints, while I tried to pretend I hadn’t been totally ogling him. ‘So, you like it here?’ ‘I do,’ I said, gratefully sipping the cold lager. ‘I would never have thought to have come here. It’s so different to the city.’ ‘You can still get this stuff in Manhattan.’ Alex sipped his beer thoughtfully. ‘It’s just a little harder to find, a little harder to afford.’ ‘Well, I’m glad I got to see it,’ I said, squeezing his hand. ‘I’m glad you offered.’ ‘Me too,’ he smiled, squeezing back and holding my gaze for a moment too long. ‘How long are you going to stick around for, Angela?’ ‘You know, I’ve managed to go a really long time today without thinking about that.’ I nursed my beer and tried a wry smile that wouldn’t stick. ‘Sorry.’ He looked down into his drink. ‘What can I say, I’m a planner?’ ‘That’s not very rock and roll, is it?’ I asked, pushing my hair behind my ears, really wanting to comb my fingers through his. ‘What happened to living for the moment?’ ‘Living for the moment doesn’t really work if what’s making this moment so great might disappear to another continent in a couple of weeks,’ he smiled, taking my hand back and shrugging. ‘I really like being with you.’ ‘Yeah.’ I looked at him, not knowing what else to say. ‘Too much?’ He half smiled, half frowned. ‘Sorry. I forget the real world isn’t ready for my over-emoting sometimes. Fuck, that even sounded pretentious to me. Sorry.’ ‘Over-Emoting is OK,’ I said, biting my lip. ‘It’s just all so weird. I keep getting these flashes where this starts to feel like real life, like this is something I could have, and then, bang, I come back down and remember this is actually just a glorified holiday.’ ‘Doesn’t have to be,’ Alex said. ‘There’s nothing stopping you from getting a visa, getting a job. There are always options if you’re prepared to work for them. If living here, having a life here, is what you want.’ ‘Apparently, my problem is not knowing what I want,’ I sighed. ‘Just the idea of having to go back there …’ The thought of home was instinctively tied to thoughts of Mark and my stomach seized. ‘So don’t go,’ Alex shrugged. ‘Seriously, you could at least look into it. If you could do absolutely anything, nothing at all stopping you, what would it be?’ ‘I asked someone else that question once,’ I smiled, shaking my head. ‘And they said they’d follow the Yankees for a year.’ ‘Then they had no imagination.’ Alex squeezed my hand. ‘And that’s why you’re here with me. What would you do?’ ‘Right now? If I could do anything?’ I asked. He nodded. ‘If I could do anything, I would magic myself a work permit, start getting paid real money for writing at The Look, and stay here as long as I wanted. Not running away, not being on holiday, just living. Going to the supermarket, paying bills, doing the washing, just having a life.’ ‘Then do it. You’re young, you’ve got work here, just apply for the visa. Stay.’ ‘Everyone likes to make things sound so easy,’ I said, leaning back and staring up at the ceiling. ‘I wish they were.’ ‘You know what would be easy?’ he said, reaching a hand across to my cheek, guiding my eyes back into his. ‘Just going back to mine. Just not thinking about any of this right now.’ I put my drink down, not even half finished and stood up. ‘I’m so sick of thinking,’ I nodded, holding out my hand. That evening, that night, the early dawn hours, everything was just as intense as the first time. By Thursday morning, I was emotionally and physically knackered, but in so deep, I didn’t know how I was supposed to find a way back out. It was hard enough finding a way out of the bedroom. After several attempts, we finally managed to install ourselves on his sofa in T-shirts and underwear, to listen to his new demos. They were totally stripped back, just Alex and his guitar, nothing like the songs I was used to hearing from his band. ‘Is this how all your songs start out?’ I asked, my head resting in his lap. ‘Yeah,’ he nodded, gently tapping out the rhythm on my collarbone. ‘They all start this way. Sometimes they get built up, sometimes they get thrown away. These are still really new though.’ ‘I think they’re beautiful,’ I said, nodding along. ‘They’re so soft.’ ‘Glad you think so,’ he said. ‘They’re kind of about you.’ ‘Really?’ I craned my neck up and looked at him. ‘They are?’ ‘Uh-huh,’ he said, pushing me up gently and curling his body around mine. I could feel his heartbeat speeding up against my shoulder blade. ‘About you, me, about this. Meeting you has really helped me clear my head up. I think I’ve figured out what I want again.’ ‘That’s funny,’ I felt my heartbeat find its rhythm against his, ‘you’ve managed to have the completely opposite effect on my life. I don’t have a clue what I want.’ ‘I think you do,’ Alex said, ‘you’re just not ready to deal with it yet. That’s OK. I’m just ready, that’s all.’ ‘You’re not going to split up the band, then?’ I asked, resting my head against his chest just underneath his chin. ‘I’ll give it another shot,’ he said. ‘It was me that was messed up, not the band. I wasn’t being fair.’ ‘Well that’s good news. You’re really feeling better?’ ‘Really, really,’ he nodded, stroking my hair. ‘What about you, how you doing working your stuff out?’ ‘I don’t know,’ I said, rolling over and looked at him, all sharp cheekbones and dark eyes. ‘I’m getting a fairly certain feeling about some stuff.’ I stretched up and kissed him gently. ‘And I can’t stop thinking about what you said, about staying here. Maybe it is possible.’ My hair dropped down into my eyes as I turned, just as Alex’s long, messy fringe flopped into his. Before I could reach out to comb it back, his long fingers were brushing the hair out of my eyes. ‘Well, why don’t we just work more on the stuff you’re certain about?’ He kissed my forehead gently. His hand stroked my hair, then moved back down my cheekbone, tracing the line of my face all the way down my chin, my throat, my collarbone. I pushed against him, wedging my body underneath his, forcing him on top of me. ‘And once you’re absolutely positive about that,’ Alex whispered, ‘we can start thinking about everything else.’ Afterwards, when Alex had dozed off, I slid off the sofa, pulled my underwear out from its hiding place under the coffee table, and logged on to my Gmail. I sat, gazing at him sleeping and really didn’t know what to write. I didn’t want to pretend this wasn’t happening any more, even on the blog. I absolutely had to end it with Tyler and find out where this was going. I looked at the empty screen and decided to be honest. With Tyler, with Alex, with Mary and with myself. The Adventures of Angela: Last Exit to Brooklyn So, I’ve been writing to you for about two weeks now. Does it feel loads longer to you? I feel like I’ve been here for ever. Since I left London, it’s been the craziest two weeks of my life. I’d forgotten that there were lots of cool and interesting people out there who can make your life incredibly exciting if you let them. I’ve had the most amazing opportunities and well, between me and you, I’ve met a couple of people I think might change my life for ever. Even as someone who loved London with a fiery passion when I moved there, I can’t get over what an unbelievable place New York City really is. When I found out about my ex and his extracurricular tennis lessons, all I could think about was what a horrible, awful thing he had done to me. And I’m not making excuses for him, he still is a great big giant scumbag, but, and this didn’t even occur to me until today, if he hadn’t done what he did, if I hadn’t caught them at it in my car, if I hadn’t completely destroyed my best friend’s wedding (that actually feels worse every time I mention it) I wouldn’t be here today. I wouldn’t be writing to you at all. I wouldn’t be in Brooklyn, blogging in the living room of a wonderful man who is asleep on his settee with a smile on his face. A man I would never even have met if it weren’t for that turd and his two-timing. So, and I really mean this, thank you, Mr Ex, you hateful little scumbag, I hope you’re having fun back in England. I’m learning how to have fun again and it feels nice. I emailed the entry to Mary. It felt good to get that out, but it hurt to admit it. At least some stuff was finally starting to make sense, I had to let go of the past before I could move on to the future. CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#ulink_9536ab28-bc8d-5cd6-bf0a-227212d2e0a3) For someone who had flat out refused to go to Brooklyn for one evening only one week ago, I returned to the apartment on Friday morning to find a note from Jenny saying she was staying at Jeff’s for the weekend. As far as I could tell, she hadn’t been in our apartment since we’d had dinner at Scottie’s on Monday, but it was weird how the place already felt like home to me, whether she was there or not. Jenny had been quick to add some photos of us from Gina’s leaving party to her clip-frame montages, and since we had terrifyingly similar taste in films and TV (read hot actors), heaps of my favourite DVDs were lying around the place. I’d even picked up some copies of books by my favourite authors at The Strand second-hand bookshop. I couldn’t think of a single thing I needed from the flat in London. Not one single thing. Necking what was left of my iced coffee, I logged on to check my email. I had precisely two hours before my meeting with Mary and in that time I needed to shower, choose an outfit that said ‘please don’t fire me’, and come up with my very first ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ speech for dinner with Tyler that night. Flicking through the acres of spam in my Gmail account, I played the scenario over and over in my head. I was sure he would be fine, we could just be friends, it would be great. Absolutely fine. And I definitely wasn’t going to be terribly terribly English if he wasn’t OK with it, and accidentally sleep with him. Nope. Wasn’t going to happen. I was just reassuring myself that one single polite goodbye kiss would probably be OK, when I spotted an email from The Look. But it wasn’t from Mary or Cissy, it was from someone called Sara Stevens. Dear Angela, I hope you don’t mind me emailing, this was the only contact information on The Look server. Firstly, I just want to say I absolutely love your blog – so much fun! I really feel like Im in New York with you. So here comes the exciting bit. We’re currently setting up the UK version of The Look, launching in January and I would absolutely love to talk to you about you working with us as senior staff writer. Everyone here thinks your style is perfect for our magazine, and we’ve been tracking the popularity of the blog here in the UK as well as in the US, you’re a hit! Obviously I’m not sure how long you’re planning to be in New York, but we’d need you back in the UK by the end of August to prepare for the launch issue. Give me a call, my numbers are at the bottom of the email and we can talk over any questions you might have, salary, benefits, etc. It was almost one-thirty here, so six-thirty in London. Only one way to find out if she was a late worker. ‘Sara Stevens.’ Yes, yes, she was. ‘Hi, Sara? It’s Angela Clark here.’ This was officially the last time I was going to dial a phone number without having a blind clue what I was going to say if someone answered. ‘I just got your email.’ ‘Angela, I’m so excited that you called me! We absolutely love you here in the UK office. Are you excited? It’s exciting isn’t it?’ So far, so different from Mary. ‘Erm, yes? It is?’ I plopped down on the back of the sofa. ‘Oh my God, it SO is!’ I wasn’t sure I was OK with Sara showing such an early propensity for screeching. ‘So, when are you back, hun? I love that you nicked off to New York for a jolly instead of sitting around being a lil miss victim. Very fun. But we need you back here! When’s your flight booked?’ she yelled. ‘I haven’t actually booked a flight back.’ Sara might only need to stop for breath every seven minutes, I was struggling. ‘I don’t know if I’m actually coming back.’ ‘What? You haven’t married that Wall Street banker have you? Not that I would blame you! No, really, it’s better. We will absolutely pay for your flight back, Virgin Upper Class all the way, baby! So the senior writer position is really exciting. You’d be writing about just about anything you think would be interesting to The Look readers, so there’s lots of scope for getting around. I was reading your blog and it just hit, pow! This girl can write fashion, dating, travel, food, sex—’ ‘What did Mary say?’ I interrupted. Yes I know it’s rude, but she wasn’t going to shut up if I didn’t. ‘Mary?’ ‘Mary Stein? My editor here.’ ‘Oh,’ Sara actually paused, ‘I haven’t exactly spoken to her. It’s not really poaching is it? You’re British, you’re coming back to London, we need a writer. Really, we’re just keeping it in the family. I’m sure she’ll be pleased as. And I don’t want to be vulgar, but Angela, the money on this position is going to shit all over whatever pennies the web team are paying you.’ ‘But you will speak to her?’ ‘Oh yeah, right now, I’ll call her right now. I just need you to say you’re coming to work for me, you ridiculously talented woman!’ ‘OK, well, this is really interesting,’ I just wanted to get off the phone as soon as humanly possible, ‘but I actually have to dash off to a meeting, and—’ ‘I need to know by the end of the day, your time, on Monday,’ Sara said bluntly. All the giggles and enthusiasm gone out of her voice. ‘Unfortunately I don’t have time for you to think too long and hard about this – I didn’t think you’d need to actually – I have a writer to recruit in a very short space of time. I’ll email the job spec and salary and you can reply. Right?’ I suddenly realized she couldn’t see me nodding down the phone. ‘Yes.’ ‘Right. I’ll speak to you Monday. Bye hun, have a great weekend in the Big Apple!’ ‘Bye. You too. In London, I mean.’ But she had already hung up. I looked around the apartment, still holding the phone to my ear and softly bit my lip. ‘Bugger me.’ As if Sara’s phone call wasn’t enough to mess with my tiny mind, the tourists on their way to Times Square really didn’t want me to get to my meeting with Mary on time. I’d spent far too long scrubbing at my hair in the shower and troughing Goldfish crackers, watching The View instead of doing any of the things I was supposed to do, and now I was late. I could understand why Alex loved Williamsburg, it was so chilled out, but I was still in love with Manhattan, despite the maddening crowds. The noise, the people, the feeling that anything could happen at any given second. That was what inflated my blood pressure, that was what sent adrenaline surging through me as the streets got narrower, more congested. I loved the neon billboards, the giant Target ads, the garish Hershey store, Bubba Gump’s Shrimp Co, Virgin, Sephora, Toys us. They were just adverts, stores, restaurants, but it was the clicking cameras and the pushing people with the happiest faces you’d ever seen that made the place what it was. And it was amazing to me. Also amazing, was the hit of the air conditioning when I walked into the Spencer Media building. Bliss. I was late, but sent straight up to Mary’s office and without a lecture and shockingly, given coffee and iced water and, Jesus, a smile, by Cissy, as soon as I stepped over the threshold. ‘Angela Clark, get in here!’ Mary yelled from behind her desk. ‘I’m in,’ I said nervously, balancing the drinks, trying not to spill anything on my bag. ‘Hi, Mary.’ ‘So yesterday’s post? Oh my God?’ She was actually grinning. Not a wry smile, not a disappointed frown. A big fat grin. ‘Great writing, Angela, I can’t wait to post it.’ ‘So the blog is still going?’ I sighed with relief. ‘Of course it’s still fucking going!’ Mary stood up and gave me a hug that was much bigger than she was. ‘You’re my little success story. Do you know how many emails we’ve had about your column? More than about anything else on the website. Hell, more than most things in the magazine. Everyone at The Look loves your column.’ ‘Everyone,’ I said cautiously. I couldn’t tell whether Sara had called yet. ‘I mean, that’s good. Isn’t it?’ ‘It’s really fucking good. People love you, Angela, and they love to live vicariously through someone else. They don’t want to run away to another continent and leave everything they’ve ever known, but they love that you’re doing it for them,’ Mary nodded, perching on the edge of her huge desk and pushing me backwards into a seat. I managed to keep the coffee in the cup, but the water went everywhere. Except on my bag. Phew. ‘It’s good for me and it’s really good for you. So I need to put you on a contract.’ ‘What?’ ‘A. Contract,’ Mary said slowly. ‘We want to keep the blog going long-term, Angela. I won’t make you sign it in blood, but I will make you sign it.’ Shitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshit. ‘A Sara Stevens hasn’t called you from the UK office has she?’ I asked, gulping down the coffee in case Mary felt like taking it away shortly. ‘The UK Look? How do you know about that?’ Mary asked, hopping back behind her desk at lightning speed. ‘That hasn’t even been announced internally yet.’ Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. ‘Well, they called me today and asked if I would go and work for them. As senior staff writer.’ ‘Are you shitting me?’ Mary’s face went from red to white to purple in what seemed like a heartbeat. ‘They tried to poach my fucking writer?’ ‘She said it wouldn’t be like poaching …’ ‘What else is it exactly? When was this? Why didn’t you tell me?’ Angry Mary was very, very scary. ‘It was just now, literally, like an hour ago,’ I explained hurriedly. ‘Right before this meeting. I didn’t think I should call to talk about it when we were meeting now.’ ‘Right. I suppose I should appreciate your coming to tell me face to face, even if those sly London bitches couldn’t be respectful enough to tell me,’ she shook her head. ‘Congratulations Angela, it’s a great opportunity for you and I think you’ll be very good at it. I’m just fucking furious to have found you and then to lose you.’ ‘But I haven’t accepted yet, I have until Monday,’ I bleated, jumping up off the leather chair and leaving half my thighs behind. Ouch. ‘I’m not sure I really want to go back to London, or work for Sara.’ Especially work for Sara, I added silently, she’s clearly nuts. Mary stared over her desk, not speaking. I didn’t know whether or not that was a good thing. ‘Are you serious?’ she said eventually. ‘About?’ ‘About not going home and taking up this huge opportunity to risk it all to write a blog in a city that you’ve lived in for three weeks?’ ‘Well, when you put it like that, I know it sounds a bit silly.’ I sat back down, trying to pull my Velvet T-shirt dress underneath me. ‘Don’t you want to go back home to London?’ Mary asked. ‘Does it matter what I want?’ I bit my lip hard. ‘I’ve got to go, haven’t I? Everyone keeps telling me.’ Everyone but Alex, I reminded myself unhelpfully. ‘Well, you’re not a US national, so it wouldn’t necessarily be easy,’ Mary stood up and walked back around her desk. She bent down in front of me, forcing me to look at her. I was so embarrassed. ‘But if you wanted to stay, you would always have a job with me.’ ‘Really?’ I blinked back a tiny tear before it could make a real break for it. ‘Angela, I’ve been reading your diary for three weeks now, and it’s quite clear that you really don’t know what you want,’ Mary knelt on the floor, one hand on my knee. ‘That’s why people are relating to your blog, they want to be there when you work it out. I don’t know if that’s going to be here in New York, or back in London, but I do know you don’t have for ever to work it out any more.’ ‘I know,’ I said, taking a deep breath and wiping my eyes. I really had to pull myself together. ‘You know I’m pissed about the UK team,’ she said, ‘but if you’re planning on going home, you should go now. This really is an amazing opportunity. If you stay here, who knows? The blog isn’t going to pay as much as a staff job, but it will pay. We can help you apply for a visa, but I can’t tell you what will happen after that.’ I stared at the pavement all the way back to the apartment, only just aware of people and cars and any other potential obstructions. Fumbling my keys into the lock, I rolled straight over the back of the sofa and stared at the ceiling. I had just worked out I was happy, I had just worked out it was definitely Alex, not Tyler, and now this. Jenny would say it was life testing my decisions. My mum would tell me it was fate bringing me home. I would say, enough, have we got any more Ring Dings. And since I was the only person in the room, I went with my option. Tyler arrived on the dot of seven to find me on my doorstep, juggling brown paper grocery bags, my handbag and my keys. I’d completely forgotten he was coming over in my wallowing, and by the time it hit me, during the Thanksgiving episode of Friends, I had just enough time to run to the food halls in Grand Central station and pick up pasta, sauce and an enormous chocolate cheesecake. I had been planning to pass it all off as my own work, but I’d spent so long internally debating the merits of cheesecake over tarte tartin, I had run out of time. ‘So this is my romantic dinner?’ he smiled, taking the bags from me. ‘I’m so sorry,’ I grimaced, tussling with the door. ‘I had that meeting with my editor, and it was all a bit, eurgh, just a bit much. I was going to cook properly, honest.’ ‘Another meeting?’ Tyler followed me through the door and up the stairs. ‘You must have almost as many meetings as me.’ ‘Yeah, it’s a long story,’ I said, turning up the next staircase. ‘I dare say you’ll get the pleasure of it over dinner.’ Walking into the apartment together made me realize what a state it was compared to Tyler’s luxury pad. I desperately tried to kick some of the piles of crap under the settee and distract Tyler with the wine he had brought, but I couldn’t find a bottle opener in the kitchen. Naturally, in the apartment of two singlish girls, it was in the living room. I was relieved that Tyler was in a much better mood than when I had bailed on him earlier in the week, but I couldn’t help but feel that wouldn’t last long once I broached the ‘dumping him’ portion of the evening. We cooked together (I boiled the pasta, he microwaved the sauce) then we sat down at the coffee table, cross-legged on the floor. For a while, we chatted about nothing, Tyler wolfing down his dinner, me pushing it around my plate. I wasn’t really in the mood for the pasta or the conversation, but I was hoping he would leave before we hit the cheesecake. It had me, Jenny and a weepy bottle of wine written all over it. ‘So what was so bad about this meeting today?’ Tyler asked, topping up my drink. ‘I can’t hand on heart say it was bad,’ I said, grinding more black pepper on my uneaten pasta. ‘I’ve been offered a full-time job.’ ‘Really?’ he asked, emptying his plate and starting work on mine. ‘Really,’ I nodded. ‘Staff writer on the magazine. On The Look. Only thing is, it’s in London.’ ‘But that’s fantastic,’ he said, leaning over for a quick one-armed hug. ‘It’s a real writing job like you wanted. I told you this blog thing would be your big break.’ ‘But it’s in London,’ I repeated, watching him pick up his fork and start eating again. ‘I’d have to leave almost right away.’ ‘You were always going to have to leave, weren’t you?’ Tyler helped himself to my untouched food. ‘Isn’t it amazing that you have this to go back to?’ ‘Well, the web editor said if I stayed then she would always have work for me.’ I couldn’t stop staring at him. He hadn’t even flinched at the idea of me leaving. ‘So I could stay.’ ‘But surely you’re not going to,’ he looked up, mid-mouthful. ‘I mean, the webby thing is one thing, but staff writer on a magazine, that’s a real job isn’t it? It’s being a journalist, not just playing at it.’ ‘You think the blog is just “playing at” writing?’ I asked. He was making my worries about breaking things off easier every time he opened his mouth. ‘Angela, honey, why are you getting all stressed?’ Tyler asked. Having finished my food and his, he crawled around to my side of the table and held my face in his hands. ‘I think you’re a very talented writer and I think this job is a fantastic opportunity for you. Now, why don’t we go and celebrate?’ For the want of an answer, I let him kiss me, but it was strange. I didn’t feel anything. ‘Tyler, would you still want to see me if I stayed in New York?’ I asked, breaking away. ‘Of course,’ he murmured into my hair, nuzzling my ear. ‘What if I went back to London?’ I asked, pulling away. ‘What if I went back to London but I wanted to keep seeing you. Do the long distance thing. Would you do that?’ ‘I don’t know where all this is coming from,’ Tyler said, tensing slightly. ‘We’re having fun, aren’t we?’ ‘Apparently you are,’ I said, pushing up off the floor and grabbing the plates off the table. I placed them on the kitchen counter. Maybe it was slightly more of a slam than a place. ‘So if I went back to England this would be over?’ ‘Angela,’ Tyler stood up, ‘I don’t know what’s going on here. Aren’t we just supposed to be having a nice dinner?’ ‘Yes, supposed to be. I suppose I just didn’t realize this wasn’t important to you at all.’ ‘What the …’ he threw his hands in the air. ‘Like you’re serious about me? For fuck’s sake, you’ve been screwing some guy in Brooklyn while you’ve been screwing me, so don’t come over all “is this going anywhere?” with me.’ ‘I’ve been …’ I trailed off. He’d been reading the blog. ‘Why didn’t you say anything if it was a problem?’ ‘Because it wasn’t a problem.’ Tyler shook his head. ‘You’ve been seeing other people, so what? So have I. I see lots of other girls. Isn’t this what you were looking for when you ran away in the first place?’ ‘I don’t know.’ He wasn’t actually wrong. ‘But it’s not what I’m looking for now.’ ‘I don’t think you know what you’re looking for,’ he laughed, making for the door. ‘This is why I don’t do relationships, especially psycho rebound girls.’ ‘Psycho rebound …’ I repeated. My God I was not going to miss him after all. Such a charmer. ‘You totally got what you were looking for out of this, Angela. You just wanted to fuck some hot guy to make you feel better about getting cheated on. It’s not my fault that you’re too scared to go back to Britain. I do not have time for this emotional “will I won’t I” bullshit.’ ‘Emotional bullshit? You think this is emotional bullshit?’ I asked. Before he could escape, I positioned myself squarely between him and the door. ‘All right then, you may as well have all of it. You know what? Yes, I’ve been seeing someone else, but do you know why I kept seeing you?’ He looked away. The ceiling was apparently very interesting. ‘I kept seeing you because I thought you were nice. No, really! How stupid was I? And just so you know, it certainly wasn’t because you’re so good in bed that I couldn’t help myself, because it turns out there are a few things you could learn there.’ That got his attention. ‘Yeah, cause you were faking that,’ he sniffed. ‘One of the benefits of being a “psycho rebound girl”,’ I smirked right back. He didn’t need to know I was lying my arse off. ‘When you’ve been faking it for ten years, you get really fucking good at it.’ He shook his head, his lips set in a thin line. The last time all my frustrations had built up inside me like this, I’d practically ripped his clothes off in the street. Tonight I would settle for just ripping into him. ‘I thought you were charming, a bit cheesy, but basically a nice guy. God, I even felt bad about seeing you and Alex at the same time. Obviously, I didn’t realize you were seeing so very many “other people”. And even though I was going to dump you tonight, yes, I was, I was hoping you would want to be friends. But if my emotional bullshit is too much, you’d better just leave.’ He looked at me, shaking his head. ‘I don’t have to put up with this just to get laid,’ he said, pushing past me, out of the door. ‘And neither do I!’ I yelled after him, slamming the door right behind him. For a long time after Tyler had gone, I stood completely still, absolutely furious. But I didn’t know who I was more angry at, Tyler or myself. He was right, I had been using him, so why was I so pissed off that he had been doing the same? If I did go back to London, it wouldn’t be Tyler I’d be lying awake at night thinking about. Finally freeing my feet, I picked up my mobile and dialled Alex. I just needed to talk to him. But he wasn’t there. I couldn’t call Jenny, she was having her big romantic evening with Jeff. I thought about ringing Erin or Vanessa, but I didn’t really feel close enough to them. Instead I did what any confused, angry girl would do when the shops were closed. I opened another bottle of wine, I took the entire chocolate cheesecake out of the fridge, and I sat down in front of the TV. Sod the diet and pray that this season will favour the smock, I thought as I chowed down. By the time I couldn’t force another thing into my mouth, I’d eaten more than half of the cheesecake and drunk the entire bottle of wine. It wasn’t going to feel good in the morning, but the sugar-wine coma I was slipping into felt great at that moment. CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE (#ulink_f28b8ad5-080c-51fa-92cd-28200a25babe) I was expecting to be woken by an overwhelming desire to vomit, but instead, it was a loud slam of the door on Saturday morning. I pushed myself up, peering over the back of the settee and praying it wasn’t burglars. Or murderers. Maybe burglars wouldn’t be so bad actually, I thought, cautiously peeping. It was neither. Instead of huge threatening men dressed in black, I saw a tiny, harassed-looking Jenny, dressed in her underwear and a man’s T-shirt. It was an interesting look for her, and one, and this was just a hunch, that was not attached to a happy story. ‘Jenny?’ I started cautiously. ‘You OK?’ ‘We broke up,’ she said, shaking her head in disbelief. Her eyes were fixed on something in the middle distance only she could see. ‘He dumped me. Again.’ ‘What?’ I tried to stretch and move over as she stumbled around the room and collapsed onto the settee. If her fashion forward ensemble wasn’t weird enough, she absolutely reeked of booze. ‘You and Jeff broke up?’ ‘He said he loves me but he can’t be with me.’ She screwed her face up, still staring straight ahead. ‘He said every time I leave he’s worried I might cheat again, and he doesn’t think he can live like that.’ ‘But he loves you,’ I said, pulling her in for a hug, ‘and you love him.’ ‘He says it’s not enough.’ Her voice was getting quieter and quieter. ‘He says he doesn’t trust me.’ ‘God, Jenny, I’m sorry,’ I said, pulling her feet up underneath her. She was just like a ragdoll. ‘I thought he was going to ask me to move back in with him.’ She tried a smile. ‘I was so worried about how I was going to tell you I was moving out. But he doesn’t even want to see me, let alone live with me.’ ‘But he loves you, it’s obvious to anyone,’ I said, trying to break through to her. I was getting scared by the glassy stare. ‘Maybe he just needs time to realize it.’ Jenny shook her head. ‘He’s had the time. He’s had all the fucking time in the world. I’m the one who’s been sitting here for the last year, my entire life on hold waiting for him to realize how much he needs me.’ A deep, loud sob escaped. ‘I can’t do it any more. I love him so much.’ ‘Did you tell him that?’ I asked, relaxing my grip as she began to shake. ‘What do you think?’ she asked, covering her face with her hands. ‘He doesn’t fucking care. It’s all shit! He loves me too much? Fuck, he doesn’t even know what love is. If he did, he wouldn’t do this. He couldn’t do this.’ ‘I’m starting to think most blokes don’t get it at all,’ I sighed in agreement. Jenny stared at me. Apparently not the right thing to say. ‘Are you serious?’ She shook her head. ‘I can’t sit here and listen to you cry about who you like, who you love, why your ex didn’t love you, again. It’s not all about you sometimes.’ ‘That’s not what I was going to say,’ I tried to defend myself, to remember that she didn’t mean it when she got like this. ‘I was just going to say, even when you think they’re good guys, sometimes they’re not. Maybe that’s Jeff too. You’re too good for this Jenny.’ ‘Fuck!’ she shouted. ‘There you go! It’s just not true, Angela. We go around talking all this shit about how men are all assholes and we’re poor little women, used and abused, but it’s just not true. Jeff doesn’t love me because I cheated on him. Your ex doesn’t love you because, fuck, I don’t even know, how could he? How can he love someone who doesn’t even like herself?’ ‘This wasn’t about Mark,’ I said, standing up to leave. I had to get out of there before I said something I regretted. Before I couldn’t forgive her. ‘I was talking about Tyler actually. He turned out not to be such a nice guy after all.’ ‘Who gives a fuck? You were only screwing him because he reminded you of your ex. Oh and yeah, he was really fucking rich,’ she carried on. I turned to watch her empty the remains of my wine into a mug and down it. ‘At least now you can get on with your little “I’m with the band” fantasy.’ ‘I’m just not going to listen to this,’ I said, grabbing my bag from by the door. ‘I don’t have to. I don’t know how you dare put yourself across as this great person who really cares, who really wants to help people, when you can’t even help yourself.’ ‘Why don’t you just run back home?’ Jenny waved me away. ‘And leave me and Alex and everyone else to our real lives. It’s been fun, but maybe, just maybe, when you get home, you’ll stop trying to be something you’re not. Had you thought about that, Angela? Maybe the reason you couldn’t work out who you wanted to be is because you’re already her. This dumbass indecisive fuck-up of a person is who you are. It’s who we all are, and the sooner you realize that, the better. I’m sick of holding your hand and waiting for you to work it out for yourself.’ I walked out and slammed the door for the second time. Not knowing what else to do, I grabbed my phone and dialled. ‘Hello?’ ‘Louisa?’ ‘Angela?’ I was confused. I’d dialled my mum’s house, not Louisa’s. ‘Where’s my mum?’ I asked. I wasn’t sure I could cope with this. ‘She’s making tea, I just brought the wedding photos around on the way to tennis. I got them yesterday,’ Louisa said. Just hearing her voice brought it all back. Not the wedding or Mark’s cheating, but my actual life. My twenty-seven years of life. She was having tea with my mum on a Saturday morning, looking at the wedding photos, at me in the wedding photos, as though none of the last three weeks had happened. And I guessed to them, most of it hadn’t. ‘Where are you, Angela?’ Louisa asked. She wasn’t shouting and she didn’t sound angry. ‘Your mum said you’re still in America.’ ‘I’m in New York,’ I sat down on the bottom step of the staircase, ‘I’ve been here since …’ ‘Gosh, doesn’t it seem like a long time ago,’ Louisa sighed. ‘I wish the honeymoon could have lasted longer …’ ‘Louisa,’ I said slowly, ‘aren’t you pissed off with me?’ ‘Pissed off with you?’ she asked, sounding shocked. ‘Aren’t you pissed off with me?’ I bit my lip and stared at the doorway, my eyes welling up fast. ‘But I ruined your wedding,’ I gasped, trying not to let the tears go all at once. ‘I am so sorry.’ ‘Oh, Angela,’ Louisa sobbed, tears catching in her voice across the line. ‘Is that really what you’ve been thinking for three weeks? I thought you’d be angry with me. I’m the one in the wrong, I should have told you about Mark and that slag Katie as soon as I found out.’ ‘Mum said he’s moved in with her,’ I whispered, pulling my knees up. ‘Have you seen him?’ ‘I’ve seen them at the tennis club,’ Louisa said reluctantly. ‘But he knows what me and Tim think of him, we’re not exactly sharing a post-match drink. Oh, Angela, please don’t tell me you’ve been out there all on your own thinking I don’t care?’ ‘I haven’t been on my own,’ I managed. ‘I’ve been staying with a friend, this girl I met, but I think I’m going to have to come back soon.’ ‘Of course you’re coming home,’ Louisa said. Her voice was so familiar, yet it sounded foreign, I’d been immersed in American accents for such a long time now. ‘You can stay with us. We’ll look after you.’ ‘I’ve been offered a job, on this new magazine,’ I said, trying to find some strong ground to stand on. ‘I’ve been doing some stuff for the website here, and they’ve offered me a staff writer job.’ ‘There you go. It’s not all bad then is it? Why don’t you go and pack your bag and come back. Come back today, I could meet you at the airport tomorrow! I can’t stand thinking of you there, being upset on your own. Please Angela, I just want to know you’re all right. I just want to see you.’ ‘I haven’t been on my own,’ I said again, looking out of the door, watching New York buzz by. ‘And I love it here. Honestly, I’ve actually been sort of OK.’ ‘You don’t sound it, Angela,’ Louisa sighed. ‘Why don’t you call me when you’ve booked your flight. You know what we need, we need Ben & Jerry’s and Dirty Dancing.’ ‘I’ve already done all that, Louisa.’ I shook my head, remembering why I had left in the first place. ‘Things aren’t perfect here, but just coming home won’t make everything better either. ‘Angela, you need your friends, listen to yourself!’ she replied. ‘What Mark did was bloody awful, and we’ll never forgive him for it, but you have to come home sooner or later. You can’t run away for ever.’ ‘I don’t think you understand,’ I said, standing up and walking out into the almost fresh air. ‘I’m not running away. I was, when I left, I was, but now I’ve got some real opportunities here. Some really exciting things have happened.’ ‘It always seems that way when you’re on holiday,’ Louisa was starting to talk to me as if I were drunk. Or five years old. It was frustrating. ‘But be real Angela, you’ve got to get on with life.’ ‘Yes, you’re right,’ I nodded, rounding the corner and looking up at the Chrysler Building. It still broke my heart, it was so beautiful. ‘But coming home wouldn’t be getting on with life, it would be going back to something I was unhappy with.’ ‘Angela,’ Louisa was starting to get impatient. ‘I get it, you think you’ve put the Mark-cheating-on-you-thing behind you.’ ‘Don’t tell me what I think,’ I said, my voice growing stronger. ‘And yes, Mark is a shit. If I ever see him again, I’m likely to try to castrate him, but what he did to me wasn’t nearly as bad as what I did to myself …’ I could almost hear Alex’s words coming out of my mouth. Fancy that. ‘I hadn’t been happy with him for years. He wouldn’t have looked at someone else if things were good between us. I should have left him, Louisa, but I was too scared. I wasted years of both our lives. Just pissed them away.’ ‘But—’ Louisa tried to interrupt, but I wasn’t ready to stop. ‘And in the last three weeks, I feel like I’ve actually been living. Making good decisions, doing good things. If I came back now, what would happen?’ ‘You’d be with people who love you and care about you,’ Louisa said. Her voice certainly didn’t sound like that of someone who loved and cared about me. I took a deep breath before I said anything else. Before I could, I heard the call waiting beeping quietly on the line. ‘I have to go, Louisa,’ I said, shielding my eyes and looking back up towards the apartment. I could see Jenny pressed up against the window, looking for me, her phone in her hand. ‘I don’t know exactly what I’m going to do, but can you tell Mum I’m OK, and I’ll call on Monday?’ ‘Angela, for God’s sake,’ Louisa sounded incredibly cross, ‘you’re living in a dream world. Wake up and come home’ ‘I don’t know about that,’ I said, shrugging. ‘But I’ll know by Monday. Love you, Louisa, I’m glad you’re OK.’ Before she could start trying to talk me home again I hung up. Jenny had already rung off, and when I looked up at the window, she had vanished. I wasn’t ready to go back in there just yet, but I wasn’t ready to belly up and go back to London either. I needed somewhere to think. For an hour I wandered the streets. Down, across, across, up, back down again. I didn’t even realize I’d arrived at the Empire State Building until I walked straight into the queue of people. ‘Watch where you’re bloody going,’ an unnecessarily fat British man tutted and sighed as I backed away with incoherent apologies. ‘Bloody Americans,’ he nodded to his companion, ‘they’re so bloody rude.’ Finding a tiny space outside a pharmacy on the corner of the street, I stared up at the building, but it didn’t offer any easy answers. Just memories forged from countless hours of TV and movie watching, spliced with scenes from my visit with Alex. Feeling choked by the crowd, I shook off the fug and turned on my ballet pump. Uptown. Up and out. For the first fifteen blocks, I thought I was heading to the park, but as I crossed over Fifth and onto Sixth, a different refuge came to mind. Hopefully one where I could fill my head with something other than the hamster wheel of questions that were tracking over and over. Although it was still fairly quiet, it was a museum after all, MoMA was busier than it had been the last time I’d been there. I paid my $20 and hopped straight on to the escalator, travelling up to the fifth floor. I was surprised at the number of kids running around. Very cool parents, I thought to myself, although secretly wishing the very cool parents would scoop all of them up and take them across the road to FAO Schwarz. Even though there were dozens of people loitering, not one of them uttered a word to me as I sank down against the wall opposite Christina’s World and stared. I didn’t even cry. I just stared, losing myself in every last blade of grass. I ignored the curious whispers, although I did pull a bit of a face when one tit in a cagoule suggested to his girlfriend that I was a performance artist. Was I wearing a bear suit? I just shut it all out, every word of everyone. The people who were there, the people who weren’t. I shut out all of the advice, requested or otherwise, not one of them had told me anything I wanted to hear, but they were all right. Jenny was right, I was a big fuck-up, Louisa was right, I had run away, and Tyler was right, I really didn’t know what I wanted. But it was time to work it out. An hour or a whole day could have passed before I eventually pushed myself up off the floor, it really didn’t matter. As I wiped away a few sneaky tears that had slipped out unnoticed and pulled my messy hair back into a ponytail, I spotted someone else having a good stare. There, leaning against the escalator, was Alex. He smiled sadly and raised a hand. I froze for a second, and then waved back, not knowing what else to do. He gave me a cool single nod and came over. ‘Hey,’ he said softly. ‘Hey,’ I replied. My voice sounded strange after being silent for so long. ‘What are you doing here?’ ‘Jenny called Jeff, Jeff called me, I called you, you didn’t answer,’ he said. ‘It’s a big long chain of people calling people until I figured out you might be here.’ ‘Oh,’ I nodded. ‘Wait, Jenny called Jeff?’ ‘She didn’t have my number, and I guess she thought you might have come over to mine,’ he explained. I couldn’t even begin to think how awful I must look. ‘She was worried about you.’ ‘They broke up,’ I said quietly, thinking about how furious Jenny had been. I wished I could go back and try that conversation again. ‘Jenny and Jeff. She’s so upset.’ ‘Him too,’ Alex looked at me. ‘I hope they work it out, but it’s hard when you can’t trust the other person.’ ‘It’s all anyone seems to be doing, working stuff out. Gets tiring after a while.’ ‘It does, but what else are you supposed to do?’ Alex put one hand gently on my shoulder. ‘You want to talk?’ ‘Not in here though,’ I said, letting him guide me towards the escalators and outside. ‘So, what’s going on?’ he asked after watching me scratch at a small mark on my jeans for three solid minutes. ‘I’ve been offered a job back in London,’ I said, looking up at him. Seemed like as good a place to start as any. ‘I had a huge row with Jenny and then I called home and had a huge row with my friend there and now, just when I thought I had some idea of what I wanted, I’m sort of back to square one.’ ‘Wow, I only saw you yesterday, right?’ he asked. ‘So what do you want to do?’ ‘What would you do if you were me?’ I asked, head tipped to one side, trying to read him. He was playing everything pretty close to his chest. ‘If you could go back to your friends and family, have no visa worries and a great job, or you could stay here, where you’re not quite sure of anything.’ ‘I can’t make that decision for you,’ Alex said, taking my hands and holding them lightly. ‘It wouldn’t be fair.’ ‘It would if I asked you to.’ I gave him a half-smile, but he didn’t return it. ‘It wouldn’t be fair because I don’t know what you should do,’ he said, squeezing my hand. ‘You know how I feel, but I won’t ask you to stay for me. Besides, it’s not just me, is it? What about this other guy?’ Tell me this isn’t happening, I thought, watching Alex turn away. ‘There is no other guy,’ I said quickly. ‘It’s just you.’ ‘I read your blog, Ange, and I just kinda know. Please don’t lie,’ Alex shook his head and slackened his grip on my hands. ‘And Jenny said you’d had this huge row with him? I don’t know Angela, I really like you, but I only just got my head back together, I can’t be in another relationship where I can’t trust the other person. Where I don’t know what’s going to happen.’ ‘How can you ever know what’s going to happen?’ I asked, pulling his hands back. ‘But I can honestly tell you there is no other guy. Whatever Jenny might have said, she was so mad at me. Honestly, there was only ever another guy in the tiniest way. And it wasn’t a huge row, I was telling him I didn’t want to see him again. I want to see you. Just you. What did she tell you?’ ‘Doesn’t matter. Would you have told me that you had been seeing someone else if I hadn’t fronted you on it?’ he asked. He was smiling now, but it was so, so sad I couldn’t bear it. ‘If I hadn’t had to read about it on your blog?’ ‘Oh, God, I wish I’d never even started that thing,’ I groaned. ‘Please, Alex, honestly, it’s just you. I met him before I met you and I just, I was only seeing him because, well, I don’t even know why. The bloody blog, Jenny, Erin … none of it matters. It’s just you. Really and honestly and completely.’ ‘OK then,’ he said. His voice was so thick I couldn’t even look at him. ‘What would you do if there was no me, no Jenny, no “other guy”, and you still had the same choice to make entirely on your own? Because that’s what it’s going to have to come down to.’ ‘I’m not sure, but I don’t want to be on my own, Alex.’ ‘You’re not,’ he said, cupping my cheek with one hand, as the tears starting to track down my face. ‘You’re so not. Do you think Jenny would have put herself through calling Jeff if she didn’t care about you?’ ‘No,’ I whispered. ‘But I don’t mean Jenny, do I?’ ‘That’s just going to have to have some time,’ he said, after a moment’s pause. ‘I need a little bit more time, and I think you do too. Whatever we might have, I’m pretty sure we shouldn’t be sitting crying about it after only three weeks.’ ‘Don’t,’ I stumbled over my words, noticing Jenny loitering. She was still wearing Jeff’s T-shirt, but she had managed to find some jeans before coming out. Thank God. ‘Don’t make it out to be bad.’ ‘It’s not bad,’ Alex smiled. ‘It’s good. Really good, you know? Maybe it’s just not right. Not the right time.’ ‘Do you think I should go home?’ I asked, willing him not to answer. ‘Maybe,’ he nodded, wiping my tears away with his thumb and leaning in to kiss me. His tears left new slippery tracks down my cheeks. ‘I think you should do what you want to do, what you really want to do. Look, I’m going to go, but I’ll call you. Or you call me when you’ve talked to Jenny?’ I nodded, not wanting to let go of his hand. He wasn’t going to call me. I watched him walk across the courtyard, following him down the street until he was gone. ‘Angela?’ Jenny was the quietest I’d ever known her. She had smudged mascara all around her eyes and her hair was a complete bird’s nest. She looked exactly how I felt. Probably exactly how I looked, actually. ‘Angie?’ ‘I’m so sorry,’ I whispered as she sat down on the step next to me. ‘I shouldn’t have even mentioned Tyler or anything. I know how much you love Jeff.’ ‘Shut up!’ Jenny smiled through a new set of tears. ‘If you don’t stop being so goddamned polite we’re never going to work out as roommates. I absolutely needed to hear what you had to say. Jeff can’t forgive me because I can’t forgive myself, that’s hardly your fault. I should never ever have said any of the things I said to you. And I never meant to say anything to Alex about Tyler, it just all came out at once. I told him he was the one. I would totally understand if you couldn’t forgive me.’ ‘Don’t, please just don’t even,’ I said, resting my head on her shoulder. ‘But I think you’re the one that’s been too polite. If you’d just given me a verbal thrashing the first time we’d met, I might never have been in this mess.’ ‘So you’re coming home?’ Jenny asked, taking my hand and standing up. Her hands were smaller and softer than Alex’s, but they were just as strong. ‘I’ve been offered a job back in London, Jenny,’ I said soberly. ‘I should just take it, Jenny.’ ‘Seriously?’ She sat back down. ‘You would just leave?’ ‘It’s the sensible thing to do,’ I nodded. ‘It seems like the logical thing. It’s a great job.’ ‘You know whatever you want to do, you’re stuck with me now, right?’ Jenny said. ‘You don’t survive two Hurricane Jenny attacks and then get rid of me.’ ‘I wouldn’t know what to do without you now,’ I smiled. It was true, I couldn’t imagine her not being in my life. In just three weeks, she was as much a part of me as Louisa. ‘What did Alex say about you leaving?’ she asked. I tried to smile, to talk, but all I could do was shake my head and let some more tears loose. Jenny pulled me in close for a tight, long hug. It helped. ‘I don’t think I ate every last crumb of that cheesecake you left in the living room,’ she whispered after a while. ‘Want to go see what’s left?’ I nodded numbly and let her pull me to my feet. Although I managed to stand up, my stomach was still stuck on the step and my heart was so heavy, I thought it might drop out of my chest at any second. Funny how I hadn’t felt this way about Mark, I thought. So this is what it felt like to lose someone. ‘Whatever you decide to do,’ Jenny said, brushing my hair back behind my ears and speaking clearly, as though I might have trouble understanding, ‘it’ll be the right decision, you know that? I didn’t phrase myself too well this morning, but if this confused messy ball of shit is you, then doll, I still think you’re freaking amazing.’ I took her hand and we exited out onto the street. No one stared at us, no one even gave us a second glance. Two weepy girls in last night’s clothes, holding on to each other as if our lives depended on it. If only it was the strangest thing they’d seen on the street that day. The city was so hot, I started to think New York had frozen the clock until I decided what I was going to do. It was almost nine, and still so light and so unbearably humid, it could have been the middle of the afternoon. But it wasn’t. In the middle of the afternoon I had been sobbing on the steps of MoMA watching Alex walk away from me, and now I was sitting in my windowsill watching Jenny wave up at me on her way to work. It had taken all of my persuasive powers (not something I was renowned for) to convince her I wasn’t going to up and vamoose before she got back, or just throw myself out of the window. At least not without calling her first and giving her a fifteen-minute warning. She’d already skipped out on one shift to come and find me, I didn’t want her to get in any more trouble, but a Ghostbusters/Ghostbusters 2 marathon supplemented with about three pints of Ben & Jerry’s really wouldn’t have gone amiss. The people below me were literally walking down the street pouring bottles of water over their heads and watching the drops sizzle on the pavement. Even the spire of the Chrysler Building was fuzzed out of focus way up in the heat haze. I was not made for this heat. Or for getting dumped. Or for making many major life-changing decisions in a very short space of time. Next month I was definitely going to try to keep it down to one. Maybe two tops. I really didn’t know what to do. The last few weeks had been amazing, but what was the point in being in New York if it was even harder than being in London? And how fantastic would it be to go back, to be all super Sex and the City’d up with my fab new wardrobe, my gorgeous handbag and my amazing dream job? I knew in my heart I’d moved on from Mark, I wasn’t afraid of seeing him. Mum and Dad would be, well, they’d like to know where they could find me in case they needed a cat sitter when they went on holiday. And Louisa and I would work everything out. Things would have to be different now. I was different. ‘I’d be completely mad,’ I whispered to myself. ‘If I don’t do this, I’m completely mad.’ I peeled my thighs off the windowsill, leaving several layers of sunburned skin behind, and began the search for my passport. It wasn’t in my (fabulous) handbag and it wasn’t at the back of my bedside drawer. There was only one other place I could think of. Kneeling down, I pulled my travel bag out from under the bed. All that was in there was my passport, my old handbag and a screwed-up hunk of coffee-coloured taffeta. My bridesmaid’s dress. I dragged it out into the light and held it up in front of me. Having done nothing but eat for the last three weeks, it looked tiny. For the first time in months, I had no idea what I weighed. Jenny didn’t believe in scales, they had a ‘negative impact on her self-esteem’, and all my new clothes were so fabulously smocky. Couldn’t hurt to try it? Even if going back to London feeling like a porker would take the shine off my triumphant return. The fabric was cold against my sticky skin and the bodice felt uncomfortable, as if it had been rinsed out with wallpaper paste, but it wasn’t as tight as I had expected. In fact, it wasn’t tight at all. Apparently you can do all the eating as long as you’re doing all the walking around New York and all the shagging of the hot boys. After stumbling over the hem twice and actually going the full length of the room once, I slipped on my Louboutins and teetered over to the mirror, pulled my hair back from my face and held it up into a tight chignon. My eyes were still red and swollen, the dress all scrunched up. It wasn’t a good look, but it was a familiar one. All that was missing was my engagement ring, and I really wouldn’t want to put that on again, given where I had left it. Jenny had stuck photographs from the last couple of weeks all around my mirror to ‘help me live in the now’. My after photos from Rapture, when Gina had transformed my hair. Me, Jenny and Erin at karaoke. The photo Jenny had snapped of me and Alex at his gig. But the girl in those pictures wasn’t the same girl looking back at me right now. The girl looking back at me was Angela Clark from a month ago. It was the Angela Clark who had slept in this dress and woken up sobbing every twenty minutes. It was the Angela Clark who ran as far away as possible when things got hard. But that was all that I remembered about her. Did I really, honestly want to go back? The Angela in the photos looked happy. Yes, she was a little bit drunk, but she was happy and healthy and she had pretty good eye make-up. And in the post-haircut photo, she looked positively ecstatic. I pulled down the photo of me and Alex and tossed it onto the floor. No point making myself more miserable by leaving it up there. Nope, even without the hot boy pictures, this girl was much happier. I wriggled out of the bridesmaid dress and shuffled it across the room and into the bin with my gorgeously shod feet. It felt good to be out of that dress. It felt weird to be in my underwear and Louboutins. Pulling on a T-shirt so as not to scare passing pedestrians, I tottered back to the window. The glass was cool against my fingertips even if the weather was scorching. Everything should still be so exciting and new, the steamy sidewalks, the psychic who hovered outside Scottie’s Diner, the twenty-four-hour deli below us, but all I could think was that we were out of milk. Completely random thought, but completely comforting. Before I knew it, I realized my face wasn’t wet from the lack of air con in the apartment, but because I’d started crying. Crying at the thought of never going to get milk from the twenty-four-hour deli again. Well Angela, I thought to myself, wiping the tears away, well done, you’ve reached a new and pathetic low. You’re crying over milk, and it’s not even spilt. It’s not even bought yet. I bent down to slip off my shoes, and spotted the picture of me and Alex peeking out from under the bed. Looking at it now, even I was surprised by the expression in my eyes. Looked a lot like love. Alex was beautiful, even in a guerilla shot taken precisely two minutes after he had come off stage. Couldn’t help but notice he looked pretty happy too. I was already finding it hard to picture Mark clearly. I might have been living with him just three weeks ago, but I hadn’t looked at him for months. I could close my eyes right now and see every strand of Alex’s hair. Taste that insanely strong coffee on his breath. Hear him singing to himself in another room. Feel the callouses on his fingers against my skin. But he was gone. And maybe so was the Angela in the other photos. So I wouldn’t be Mark’s Angela if I went back to London, and I couldn’t be Alex’s Angela if I stayed in New York. But I could be someone new. Someone I didn’t know yet. And I could go and get the milk. It was a start. ‘I am completely mad,’ I whispered out of the window. ‘Completely, bloody mad.’ EPILOGUE (#ulink_5e088aec-179e-5a50-9359-9c3dc0cff7d6) It had been snowing solidly for three days, and New York was tucked in under a beautiful sheet of thick white snow. Each day, the city turned out and turned the snow into slush. And each evening, a new blanket was laid out. Criss-crossing the streets and avenues, drifting up the park, icing the skyscrapers. To a new New Yorker, it was breathtaking. But as pretty as the snow might be, it was a shock. After a mild Christmas full of strappy dresses and parties, January was terrifying. And they said it was cold up north. I sat at my desk tapping away, in jeans, a hoodie, fingerless gloves and Ugg boots. Inside. With the heating on full. It hardly made it easy to write an article about feeling frisky in spring time. Luckily, the DHL man was in cahoots with my procrastination and rang the doorbell as I apple-A, apple-Z’d the whole thing. ‘Wouldn’t fit in the box,’ he said, handing over a wide flat package in a yellow plastic bag, ‘but it says urgent on it.’ ‘Thank you,’ I smiled, snatching up the package and ripping it open. There it was, the first ever UK edition of The Look. I gazed at the front cover for a moment. With shaky (and not just from the cold) hands, I turned to the staff page. There I was. My name, my picture and my title. Angela Clark, editor-at-large, New York ‘Is it here?’ Jenny wailed from the bathroom. She came running out, toothbrush in her hand, wearing only a towel. ‘Is that the magazine?’ ‘It is,’ I held it back at a safe distance, ‘and you’re not touching it until you’re dry.’ ‘What, you’ve got like twenty copies,’ she gestured to the other three magazines in the plastic bag. ‘Shit, look at you! You’re so my hero, doll.’ ‘Come on,’ I said, taking the spare copies and stashing them on a shelf next to the US edition of The Look in which my columns had already featured. ‘You’re going to be late for work.’ ‘And you’re never going to get that spring fling piece to that psycho Brit bitch if you don’t do it today,’ she reminded me needlessly. ‘Did your mom see it yet?’ ‘They’re still on the Christmas cruise.’ I closed up my laptop and slipped it into my (slightly battered but still amazing) Marc Jacobs bag. ‘They won’t be back for a couple of weeks.’ ‘She’s gonna freak when she sees you in a magazine!’ Jenny danced around the living room in her towel. ‘Last time we talked, she was so excited for you.’ ‘I can’t even begin to tell you how uncomfortable I am with the fact that you two have weekly chats,’ I smiled, taking off my hoodie, layering up several T-shirts and finishing up with my coat. ‘How is the life coaching going?’ ‘She’s my best client since you. Seriously, if you would talk to your parents without my having to start the call every week, I wouldn’t have to know about Avon’s special offers and Anne-next-door’s curry night, would I?’ ‘We talk.’ I sighed, throwing underwear at Jenny. Our weekly Sunday evening phone calls home had become a ritual for Jenny and I, whether I liked it or not. ‘I just don’t think I need to talk to my mother every time you speak to yours. It’s not a requirement of my visa. Now get your knickers on, Lopez. We’re leaving.’ We walked arm-in-arm, trying not to slip in the snow, all the way down to The Union, where I hugged Jenny goodbye and left her at the door. Union Square Park looked picture perfect in the snow, but it was too cold to go and sit right now. Every time I went outside at the moment I remembered Alex’s promise to take me back up the Empire State Building to see the city in the snow. No, bad Angela, I wasn’t supposed to be thinking about him. I turned left and tiptoed down to the music shop on the corner, hoping some new CDs might inspire me to go home and get it on with my laptop. God knows I hadn’t got it on with anyone else in months. As I passed through the security gates, I beeped loudly, attracting the attention of the guard, but I smiled, holding up my mobile phone. ‘Just a text message,’ I said. He smiled back, but he also followed me into the store. Just got my copy of The Look. I’m so proud of you! Louisa x x x I re-read the message a few times until I had burned it onto my retinas, then I stashed my phone back in my pocket overly dramatically for the security guard’s benefit. I browsed contentedly for a few moments. I’d been sort of out of the music loop since the summer, all part of my Alex Reid cold turkey programme prescribed by Dr Jenny Lopez. I hadn’t called Alex and he hadn’t called me. As much as I knew he was right, that it was all too much too soon, I really didn’t think I could face bumping into him at a gig, with some skinny hipster girl on his arm and I knew that I wouldn’t be able to do the ‘let’s just be friends’ nonsense. What I hadn’t reckoned on was bumping into him right there and then. I froze, my heart lodged in my throat. There he was, staring back at me, slight smile on his face, hair perfectly dishevelled, his green, green eyes staring right into mine. It was a great photo. I picked up the magazine and flicked to the interview without thinking. Quickly, I paid at the counter and abandoned my CD mission, heading for Starbucks. Before I could cross the road, thinking I would go and say hello to Johnny, I realized I was opposite Max Brenner’s. I looked down at the picture of Alex on the magazine and across to the hot chocolate Mecca. Running across the road and dashing into the wonderfully warm restaurant, I flipped through the pages. For half a second, I looked around, wondering if he would be there. Of course he wasn’t, why would he be? It was eleven-thirty on a Monday morning in January. He would still be in bed or in the studio or … I shook my head and smiled at the hostess, yes, table for one. Thinking about Alex wasn’t getting me anywhere. Not thinking about him had been getting me along quite nicely, and it had taken a good month of cold turkey (Jenny had confiscated my iPod and CDs and deleted my Stills albums from my iTunes) before I could even get through a day without wondering what he might be up to. Once my hot chocolate arrived, I grasped my mug gratefully and sipped the thick chocolaty soup, opening up the interview. I skipped through their art school beginnings, the first two albums achieving critical acclaim. Like every other underappreciated New York band, they had a huge UK following. Slight exaggeration, I thought, but I’ll let it go. But now they were releasing their third album. I put down my drink and read on. It was a more deconstructed sound, the sound of a band that had stripped themselves apart and put themselves back together again. ‘“If it sounds that way, it’s because that’s what it’s about,” says lead singer, Alex Reid.’ I whispered out loud to myself. ‘“The album was written really quickly and recorded in a couple of weeks. It’s just what we were going through as a band, some stuff I was going through personally. It’s about what happens when you have your whole life pulled out from underneath you and how you go about working out your place in the world again. I think pretty much everyone can relate to that.”’ I pushed the magazine across the table, closing it and turning it over. He hadn’t called me and I hadn’t called him. I’d thought about it, a million times. I even thought I’d seen him at a welcome back party we threw for Gina at some hip club on the Lower East Side before she upped and left for Paris permanently. I tucked the magazine into my bag, knowing I should just throw it away. But I was so proud of him. His face peered out of my bag, next to my copy of The Look UK. He would be so proud of me. I took a deep breath and rustled my phone out of my pocket. Before I had a chance to talk myself out of five months of aversion therapy, I dialled. ‘Hello?’ he answered on the first ring. ‘Hey,’ I said softly, thrown by his voice. ‘Alex?’ ‘Angela?’ he asked. He sounded sleepy. ‘Yep,’ I smiled. When was I going to learn to think about what I was going to say on the phone before I called people? ‘I was just thinking about what you said? About seeing the city when it snowed. And I saw the interview. About the new album.’ ‘Interview? Snow?’ he yawned. ‘Angela, are you in New York?’ ‘Yes,’ I said, hopefully. ‘Actually, I’m in Max Brenner’s. I was thinking about – about, well, you.’ ‘You were?’ he asked. I hoped I could hear a smile in his voice. ‘I wondered if you fancied a hot chocolate?’ I asked, crossing as many of my fingers as gripping my phone would allow. ‘Uhh,’ he paused for half a moment. ‘Angela?’ ‘Yes?’ I said. Please don’t hang up, I prayed silently. ‘You took a really long time to call me,’ he said. ‘But I’m really glad you did.’ ‘Me too,’ I said happily. ‘Now get your arse out of bed and come meet me.’ I hung up and put my phone in my bag, taking out The Look. I opened it on my page and looked at the intro. The Adventures of Angela. Twenty-something ex-Londoner, Angela Clark, guides us through life and love, finding friends and finding her way in the Big Apple. It wasn’t a very complete description, I thought, but at least it was somewhere to start. I HEART HOLLYWOOD (#ulink_dfc808e7-52d7-50cb-8523-1cac4d7d6aeb) CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_67cf2c54-dc53-5208-8975-4c617d50df07) The wedding was perfect. Just ten people at City Hall, no hymns, no readings, no fuss; and then over to Alta in the West Village for the reception. Tiny candles flickered in the faces of my favourite people: Jenny, Vanessa, Erin. And Alex. God, he looked pretty in a suit. I made a mental note to get that boy a three-piece more often. Like maybe at our wedding … no, bad Angela, too soon to even think it. Dum-dum-dee-dum … ‘So you don’t think I’m making a ridiculous mistake?’ Erin whispered over my shoulder, bringing me back with a bump. ‘I mean, it can’t be six months since I was telling you I would never get married again.’ I shook my head. ‘Not at all.’ I glanced over at the new Mr Erin, or Thomas as he was known to his friends. Or ‘that mad hot piece of ass’ as he was known to Jenny. ‘You wouldn’t be doing this if it wasn’t absolutely the right thing to do.’ ‘Uh, which it totally is. Hello?’ Jenny Lopez swung in and planted a great big kiss on the bride, smudging Mac Ruby Woo lipstick all over her face. ‘He’s a super-hot, super-rich lawyer and super in love with you. I’m pretty sure they are the main three factors to take into consideration before you hitch your wagon. Plus, wow, classiest wagon ever. Even better than your last wedding. And way better than the one before that.’ ‘My God, you are so rude,’ Erin playfully slapped Jenny’s mass of chocolate brown curls. ‘But you’re right. I couldn’t not marry him. He’s so sweet.’ ‘Yeah, sweet. I’m totally only getting married when the guy can rent out my favourite restaurant for an entire Saturday evening.’ Jenny sighed and sank a full flute of champagne. ‘Doesn’t Thomas have any single friends? And I do mean, single, rich lawyer friends?’ I couldn’t stop smiling. The last wedding I’d been to hadn’t been such a roaring success. I had started the day as a blushing bridesmaid with a devoted fianc? and ended up a high-heel-wielding hand-breaker, whose devoted fianc? was at it with some tart in the back of their Range Rover. After leaving everyone in the wedding party in tears and/or hospital, I had hotfooted it over to New York only to be taken in by Jenny: an entire family, best friend and therapist all in one. It hadn’t been a walk in Central Park but I’d found my way eventually. A job blogging for The Look magazine, great friends, an actual life, all the things that had been missing for so long. As a hand slid around my waist and pulled me close, I was reminded of the other thing I’d found in New York: Alex Reid. ‘So this is the nicest wedding I think I’ve ever been to,’ he gently pressed his lips against my skin. ‘And I have the hottest date here.’ ‘Firstly, there are only eight girls in the entire wedding and secondly, it’s still not even true,’ I said, turning to brush Alex’s long black fringe out of his eyes. ‘Erin looks stunning, Jenny is ridiculously pretty in that dress and Vanessa—’ ‘Will you please just take the compliment?’ Alex shook his head. ‘And I don’t care what you say, there’s not a girl in the whole city that could compare with you right now.’ I wrinkled my nose and accepted a kiss, silently thanking my lucky stars. We’d met just after I had arrived in New York and got far too serious, far too quickly. He had put the brakes on and I had spent six months cooling my heels, pretending I wasn’t ready to start dating but really wondering when it would be OK to call him. Eventually, I’d picked up the phone, cashed in all my karma chips and, thank God, Buddha and Marc Jacobs, he’d answered. Now I was just trying to have fun and ignore the constant burning feeling in my stomach, that this was it, that Alex was the one. There was no way I wanted a repeat performance of last time. I’d spent ten years with my ex and not once, not for a moment, had I felt so scared to lose him as I did when I lay wide awake at night, watching Alex sleep. For the last two months, he had been the most attentive, thoughtful, heartbreakingly wonderful boyfriend I could ever have imagined. He bought me little gifts, like the beautiful sunflower, my favourite flower, he’d brought to pin to my olive green Cynthia Rowley shift for the wedding. He surprised me with indoor picnics when I was on deadline, ran out to pick up breakfast before I woke up and even trekked all the way over from Brooklyn to Manhattan with the handbag and keys I’d left at his apartment as well as a huge hangover-friendly pizza when Jenny and I had both managed to lock ourselves out of our place at three a.m. We never did find out where Jenny had left the keys … But, most impressively, when I’d drunk far too much at a wine tasting I was supposed to review for The Look, he’d held my hair back while I threw up. Outside a very fancy restaurant. While everyone was watching. On his shoes. And it wasn’t just that Alex was competing for the title of World’s Best Boyfriend, there was also the little fact that he was also a total rock god to take into consideration. His band had released their third album while we were on our ‘break’ and, despite a little commercial and a lot of critical success, he was still being a complete angel. While Jenny was loudly insisting that he should be out snorting coke out of groupies’ belly buttons, Alex was lying watching America’s Next Top Model, eating Chinese takeout on our sofa. I peered up and down the table as we sat down for dinner and couldn’t remember a time I’d felt so happy or so at peace with myself. So what if these weren’t the people I’d grown up with, or the people that had taught me to ride a bike? They were the people that had taught me to ride the subway and to stand on my own two feet. Or at least how to get back on them after I fell on my arse, drunk. ‘Hey, how much does she make you want to puke?’ Jenny nudged me. ‘How come she’s been married, like, seven times and I can’t even get laid.’ ‘I was just having a lovely quiet moment, thinking how lucky I am to have found such amazing friends,’ I tapped Jenny’s hand. ‘And then you go and ruin it.’ ‘Aww, you love me,’ Jenny leaned her head on my shoulder and chucked me under the chin. ‘And you know I love you too. But seriously, I’m going to cry. If you and Brooklyn over there think you’re getting married before me you’re so wrong.’ ‘Jenny!’ I looked over at Alex but he was giving one of Thomas’s investment banker friends his very best listening face. ‘Shut it. We’ve been together for about two minutes. You’ll jinx it.’ ‘Not possible honey.’ Jenny swept her hand over the candle in front of her. ‘How many nights have you spent apart since you got back together? Three? Four tops. He is totally into you. And I know you’ve got the wedding march on replay in your head. I will bet you anything that you have a ring on your finger inside the year. You want me to direct him to some of the more tasteful options? I know he’s all, like, ‘creative’ but you have to get something you can wear for the rest of your life.’ I combed down my long light brown fringe nervously. ‘Seriously, stop it. We’re taking things slowly and you know it.’ Jenny smiled. ‘I know but it’s totally obvious. And you know that I’m really pleased for you, it’s awesome. But Angie, we have to get me laid. It’s been like six months, for crying out loud. Oh, thank God, food.’ ‘Yes, because I really feel like eating right now,’ I muttered. Dinner passed by altogether too quickly, the food amazing but not soaking up the champagne as quickly as I would have liked. A sausage roll and chicken drumstick would really have helped, but this was a classy New York function, not a Clark family knees-up. As dinner turned into speeches and speeches turned into drinks, I excused myself from a fascinating research analyst who almost passed out when I told him I didn’t have a pension, and went to look for people I actually wanted to talk to. Erin and Vanessa were busy fulfilling bride and bridesmaid duties at the door, Jenny was giving several of Thomas’s friends her best nodding and smiling while Alex was presumably hiding from the same people in the bathroom. He could dress up in a suit and comb down his messy black hair but he couldn’t hide the look in his eyes when Thomas and his friends started discussing stocks and shares. Without anyone to protect me from the same death by conversation, I vanished up to the balcony to hide. ‘You planning on spying on people too?’ Alex asked as I rounded the top of the stairs. He was leaning over the banister, nursing a champagne flute, his tie and collar loosened. ‘So this is where you’ve been hiding,’ I took a sip from his glass. Well, one more couldn’t hurt. ‘I thought maybe you’d left with your new boyfriend from dinner.’ ‘Yeah, I think we’ve hit it off. You know I’ve always been fascinated by high-yield bonds.’ ‘I knew the band was a front. So who are we spying on?’ He pointed down towards the makeshift bar at the back of the restaurant. ‘Well, it was you but then you vanished, so mostly Jenny. Just trying to work out who her target is this evening.’ I spotted her immediately, leaning against the bar, all glossy curls and red pout. She sipped on a clear cocktail and checked her nails, ignoring the guy standing next to her, who was awkwardly trying to attract her attention with a weak cough and terrified smile. ‘Looks like she’s over Jeff at last,’ Alex nodded. ‘Looks like,’ I frowned. ‘But I don’t really know. One minute she’s all “I want to get laid, I want to get laid”, but then she’s sat at home every night watching Nanny 911. See? It’s like he isn’t even there.’ ‘Maybe she’s just choosy?’ Alex suggested as the hapless banker gave up and moved on to Vanessa. ‘Or maybe she just really likes Nanny 911?’ ‘Well, yes she does and she ought to be choosy, she’s gorgeous, but it’s more than that,’ I said. ‘I don’t know. She goes out, she meets men, they give her their numbers and she never calls. And then at the same time she’s rattling on all the time about how she’s not getting any. I just don’t know what to do for the best. I know she’s hung up on Jeff still but it’s the one thing she absolutely will not talk about. Sober.’ ‘Does she still think they’ll get back together?’ Alex leaned his head against mine. I shrugged and pouted. The official line was that she was totally over her ex, but the unofficial, drunk-at-two-a.m. line was, ‘I’ll never get over him as long as I live, he’s my soul mate.’ But I had a feeling that wasn’t something she wanted to share with Alex. ‘So I don’t tell her that some blonde moved in with him yesterday?’ he asked. ‘Sorry I didn’t say anything earlier. I totally forgot.’ ‘Seriously?’ Alex nodded. The fact that he had refused to sell his apartment just because it was in the same building as Jenny’s ex was usually reason enough for her to decide she wasn’t talking to him for days at a time, so it seemed to make sense to keep this little bit of information to myself. ‘No, she cannot find out about that. She’d probably take to her bed for a month.’ ‘Sounds fun,’ he smiled, one hand sliding up my back, the other holding fast to the balcony. ‘Can we do that now please?’ I looked up into Alex’s ridiculously green eyes, his fringe catching in my eyelashes as he dropped his face to mine for a long kiss. His body was warm against the thin silk of my dress and the balcony pressed into the small of my back. I felt my clutch slip out of my fingers and drop, not sure if it had fallen over the balcony, not sure if I cared. ‘I should probably leave soon,’ I said, my voice catching as Alex ran his hand down the back of my neck, curling the hair at the nape around his long fingers. ‘I have a meeting with Mary at nine.’ ‘So my place is closer by subway, yours by cab.’ Alex’s eyes were dark and dilated, his breath quick. ‘And I don’t think people on the subway would be OK with what I have planned.’ ‘Cab then,’ I smoothed down my dress and scooped up the bag. Thank God it hadn’t actually gone over the edge and bashed anyone. I’d assaulted enough people at weddings in my time. ‘Have to say, didn’t think you’d be the sort of bloke to get turned on by weddings.’ ‘What sort of “bloke” did you think I was?’ Alex smiled. ‘And it’s not so much weddings as you. Now get your ass in a cab.’ CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_3550b788-6ada-5125-82c7-e7d0a3e28add) The next morning was grey and cold, just like every morning had been since the end of November. The hardwood floor in my bedroom felt like ice as I gingerly poked my toes out of the bed and felt around for my slippers. I knew it was stupid not to wear my giant bed socks when Alex stayed over, but we hadn’t been together that long, I just didn’t think he was ready for it and so I suffered. Like an idiot. March was the opposite of July. I’d sweltered from the moment I stepped off the plane but now I sometimes wondered if I’d ever be warm again. Hot and sticky summer had given way to a cool and crisp autumn, which was all too quickly overtaken by subzero temperatures and snow storms. As pretty as three feet of snow was, I had learned already that it was a) not a rarity in the city and b) not a good thing. When it snowed at home, everything stopped. My mum waited until the gritter had been around the streets, then trekked up to the shops in her wellies, walking in the road, to buy unnecessary quantities of canned food and eight pints of milk that would go off before she could force my dad to drink them all to avoid them going off. When it really snowed in New York, the roads jammed and the subway stopped but life didn’t. And walking in the bitter winds with a face full of sleet did not make it easy to lead the glamorous life that my family in England might have imagined me living. Although that could also be because my emails and phone calls rarely mentioned the fact that I’d been walking around with a Rudolph-red nose, bundled up like the Michelin man for months. I flicked at the curtain to check the state of the streets. At least it hadn’t snowed in the night, but the sky looked grey and threatening and, below, people dashed backwards and forwards, bundled up for an arctic expedition. ‘What time is it?’ croaked Alex, rolling towards me and pulling the curtain back across the window. ‘Seven-thirty,’ I sighed, allowing him to pull me back into bed, my feet disappearing under the quilt. Alex was like my very own human hot-water bottle. No matter how cold the apartment was, he was always like a furnace. Aside from the obvious, it was one of my favourite reasons to have him in bed with me. ‘And as much as I don’t want to, I really do have to get up.’ ‘See, I go around telling people how awesome it is having a writer for a girlfriend,’ Alex grumbled as I pulled away again, ‘because she doesn’t have to be in an office at nine a.m. every day. And here you are, at seven-thirty …’ ‘I can’t help it,’ I said, wriggling away from him and braving the icy floorboards again. I pulled on my giant fleecy dressing gown and looked back at him, his eyes squeezed tightly shut, the covers up around his nose. ‘Do you really tell people your girlfriend is a writer?’ ‘Mmm,’ Alex rolled himself over under the covers, hiding his head as I flicked on a lamp. ‘What else am I supposed to tell them? You’re a British refugee who can’t go home because you broke some guy’s hand?’ ‘Arse,’ I grabbed a towel off the radiator, heading into the bathroom. ‘You can tell people whatever you want.’ As long as you tell them I’m your girlfriend, I added silently with a great big smile. The Spencer Media building was on Times Square, one of my least favourite places in all of Manhattan. Even today, on a frigid Monday in March at eight-fifty in the morning, the streets were pulsing with tourists, clutching their Starbucks and digital cameras with inadequate knitted mittens. I had never thought I’d consider a North Face padded coat a necessity, but then I’d never tried to live through January in New York with nothing but a pretty Marc by Marc Jacobs swing coat and a feeble H&M leather jacket. Never, ever in my entire life had I been so bloody cold. Now I understood the need to forgo my newfound interest in fashion and put on As Many Layers As Humanly Possible before I left the apartment. It was insane. I pushed past a group of school kids taking it in turns to snap shots of the group, one switching in, one switching out to take over photographer duties, and wondered exactly how many tourists’ pictures I had managed to land in since I started working for The Look. There were probably millions of shots of a disgruntled-looking girl tutting and sighing in the background all over Facebook. The views from Mary’s forty-second floor office almost made the trekking across Times Square worth it. The higher up I got, the more amazing New York looked to me. At ground level I could sometimes forget where I was – H&M here, HSBC there?– but up in the office, surrounded by skyscrapers, watching the rivers sweeping around the island, I couldn’t be anywhere else but Manhattan. ‘Mary’s been waiting for you,’ an uninterested voice came from behind a huge computer monitor as I tried to locate the group of kids below. ‘Aren’t I early?’ I asked the monitor. Mary’s assistant, Cici, had never been my biggest fan but she usually gave me the courtesy of a dirty look. Unfortunately I was wearing so many layers, I couldn’t find my watch, and Spencer Media was a little like Vegas, they didn’t bother with clocks, presumably so their staff wouldn’t realize how late they were working. Not many days went by when I didn’t get emails from Mary and the other editors at nine, ten in the evening. ‘Mary gets in at seven, your meeting was due to start at nine.’ She stood up and swept around the desk. I couldn’t help but hope she must have some really, really warm clothes to change into. Her teeny tiny bottom was squeezed into a skater skirt that just about covered her stocking tops and it didn’t look as if she had any thermals on under the gauzy, pussy-bow blouse that topped it off. In fact, it didn’t look as if she had anything under it. Oh my. ‘It’s now three after nine. You’re late.’ Was it right for a PA to make me feel like a naughty sixth-former? ‘Angela Clark is finally here,’ Cici purred ahead of me as we passed though Mary’s big glass doors. ‘Can I get you anything, boss?’ ‘More coffee, and do you want anything?’ Mary was wearing her standard uniform of skinny jeans, cashmere sweater and steely grey bob, but something about her was different. I realized she was smiling. This had to be a good start. ‘I would love a coffee.’ I tried a small smile at the assistant who huffed a little and flounced off. ‘How are you, Mary?’ ‘Good, you?’ She leaned across her desk and didn’t wait for a reply. ‘I have a treat for you. You’re going to love me.’ ‘Sounds good.’ I began to disrobe. Gloves, scarf, coat. ‘I like treats.’ ‘Well, you know everyone here loves your blog.’ Mary templed her fingers under her chin and smiled back. I had been writing an online diary for TheLook.com since I’d arrived in New York, thanks to Jenny’s amazingly well-connected friend Erin and my complete lack of shame at spilling the details of my private life all over the internet. And to humour my journalistic ambitions, my editor occasionally threw me the odd book and music review for the magazine when they needed an extra hand. But the most exciting part of it all for me was my column in the UK edition, much to my mother’s disgust. She didn’t like that Susan in the post office knew what I was up to before she did. ‘We have a new project for you. How do you feel about branching out?’ ‘Branching out?’ I paused in my outerwear removal. This sounded an awful lot like a firing. ‘Branching out from The Look?’ ‘No, not at all,’ Mary nodded thanks as Cici arrived with her coffee. I looked up hopefully. No coffee for Angela. I was definitely being fired. ‘This is it, Angela, your big break. An interview has come up and we want you to do it.’ ‘I’ve never interviewed anyone before,’ I said slowly, not wanting to jinx anything. ‘Sure you have, you interview people all the time.’ The very fact that Mary couldn’t look at me proved she didn’t even believe herself. What was going on? ‘I have asked questions of the fourth runner-up of America’s Next Top Model cycle eight and waited in the queue for the toilets with an Olsen twin. They aren’t interviews, Mary,’ I said. ‘Don’t you have loads of writers that –?you know – specialize in interviewing?’ ‘We do,’ Mary said, looking up and staring me out. ‘But this one is yours. Are you telling me you don’t want to do it?’ Miraculously, a steaming coffee appeared in front of me, but Cici had turned on her heel before I could say thanks. Baby steps, I thought to myself. I took a deep breath. Of course I wanted to do an interview. How hard could it be to ask some random a few questions? ‘Of course I want to. It’ll be great. I’ll be great. I’ll manage. I’ll try.’ ‘No try here, Angela.’ Mary pushed her frameless glasses up her nose. ‘This is a biggie. One week in LA with James Jacobs.’ ‘James Jacobs? The actor?’ I asked, sipping tiny scorching gulps. ‘Me?’ ‘Yes you,’ Mary leaned back a little in her chair. ‘And yes, the actor. The very hot British actor.’ ‘You want me to interview him for the website?’ ‘Not quite,’ she replied. ‘It’s for the magazine.’ ‘You want me to interview James Jacobs for the magazine?’ I wondered if I’d slipped and cracked my head on the shower this morning. That would explain why I thought Mary was suggesting I should interview this very hot British actor. ‘That’s right,’ she carried on. ‘You go to LA, you bond over being British, talk about, I don’t know tea and crumpets, and you get the inside scoop. He hasn’t done an awful lot of press but apparently he really wants to do this. Let his female fans in on the “real him” or some other shit.’ ‘From what I’ve heard, he’s already let rather a lot of female fans in.’ I pulled off my last jumper, hot and flustered all of a sudden. ‘Isn’t he a bit of a slag?’ ‘If you mean, has he been “linked with several Hollywood starlets”, then yes.’ Mary made bunny ears around the quote. She typed something into her Mac at super speed, then swivelled the monitor to face me. ‘But this is what we want to get past. His team are worried that all this “attention” could create a negative vibe with his female audience.’ The screen showed a Google image search. James Jacobs was tall, broad and athletic and there was no denying he looked good in a pair of swimming trunks. His dark blue eyes and damp, dark brown curls just added to the overall ‘Abercrombie at play’ look. ‘Doesn’t look very British to me,’ I commented, taking the mouse and clicking through a few more pictures. ‘Where’s he from again?’ ‘Uh, his Wikipedia entry says London.’ Mary took the mouse back and flicked through to what was obviously her favourite shot, halfway down the page, James staring directly at me, dark brown hair tickling his cheekbones, bow tie loose, top two buttons of his shirt undone. ‘So you fly on Saturday.’ ‘Sorry, what?’ I snapped back from the pretty pictures and looked at Mary. She had her, ‘I’m really not kidding’ face on. Not a favourite of mine. ‘But, it’s Monday?’ ‘Which gives you almost a whole week to prep.’ Mary started to click at other things on her screen. A sure-fire sign that the meeting was all but over. ‘So, Cici will book your flights, your car, hotel and organize all the other stuff. Cash, credit card, BlackBerry, whatever.’ ‘But, seriously, is this a good idea? Maybe I don’t have the experience for this. I’m not a professional interviewer, I’m a talker at best –?and, when I’m lucky, people talk back. That’s really not a qualification.’ I leaned over the desk. Was Mary not feeling well? ‘And I’ve never been to LA before. What, I mean is, really, this doesn’t make that much sense, surely?’ ‘Look, Angela,’ Mary’s eyes flickered across her screen. ‘Here’s the thing. I’m not supposed to tell you but they asked for you.’ ‘What?’ ‘Hey, I’m as surprised as anyone else.’ Mary pulled a face. ‘Not that I don’t think you’re great but, like you said, you’re not a professional interviewer: we both know that. But James’s people wouldn’t have anyone else. It was the only condition of the interview.’ I didn’t know what to say. What could I possibly have done that could attract the attention of James Jacobs’s ‘people’? I didn’t think they would have been that impressed with my critically acclaimed series on which Manhattan department store was the best to hit for a free makeover before you went out (Bloomingdale’s, Soho). ‘If you’re not going to do it, just say,’ Mary went on. ‘The entertainment team on the magazine are already incredibly pissed off. They can get someone else like that—’ ‘No!’ I said quickly. ‘It’s not that. I absolutely want to do it. It’s amazing. I just – I just don’t get it.’ ‘Me either.’ Mary really didn’t believe in sugar-coating anything. Even when I would have preferred it. ‘I can only tell you what they told me. James’s team doesn’t want a polished, super celebrity reporter who is going to stiff them with some horrible sordid Hollywood expos?. They want someone who is going to help show James as – you know – a fantasy guy. The whole point of the article is it needs to be fluffy, not scandalous, sort of a “My Dream Week with James Jacobs”. Almost like it was written by a reader.’ ‘So basically an amateur not experienced enough to weasel out the details of his secret love child?’ I surmised, slightly relieved and slightly offended at the same time. ‘Yeah, pretty much.’ Mary had either missed or chosen to ignore the part where I was slightly offended. ‘The entertainment editor thought it was maybe because, you know, you’re British so he’ll trust you.’ ‘Britain isn’t just this little quaint village where everyone makes jam and says good morning to their neighbours, you know,’ I grumbled half-heartedly. ‘Margaret Thatcher was British and no one trusted her.’ ‘So, like I said, Cici will get you everything.’ Mary pointed towards the door, where Cici stood, clipboard in her hand, hateful look on her face. ‘And you’ll blog from LA, OK? You can say you’re doing an interview but it’s probably best not to give too much away. Save it for the magazine. It’ll be good for you.’ ‘And people weren’t that mad on Tony Blair towards the end,’ I added thoughtfully. ‘And Sweeney Todd. Was he real?’ ‘No, Angela, he wasn’t,’ Mary looked back across the desk. ‘Angela, they have asked for you. We are sending you. Against the wishes of the editorial team. Against the wishes of the publishing team. Do not fuck this up. You don’t want to lose your visa, do you?’ I bit my bottom lip. It was like getting told off by my mum. ‘Lose my visa?’ ‘This is a major interview for the magazine and, if you do it right, could even go international,’ Mary explained. ‘If this goes wrong, the publishers are hardly likely to want to continue with your blog, are they?’ ‘No,’ I said, suddenly feeling very sick. ‘Look, no one’s expecting a Pulitzer prize-winning article, just go out there and talk to this man. There are a lot worse ways to spend a week in March. You’re getting an all-expenses-paid trip to LA, plus you’re getting paid. Suck it up, go buy a bikini and interview the handsome man.’ She waved me out of my seat. ‘I’ll see you in two weeks. And don’t screw it up.’ I felt a bony grip on my shoulder and rose tentatively out of my chair. Please let it be Death, I prayed silently, gathering up my sweaters, gloves and coat. ‘Can we please hurry this up?’ came the snide voice attached to the Vulcan death-grip. ‘I have other things to do today.’ ‘Oh, Cici,’ I said, trying not to be disappointed. She might be as bony as Death but Cici was a lot more dangerous. ‘And then, as if I wasn’t freaked out enough, she basically said they only want me because I’m an amateur.’ I dropped my head onto the table in Scottie’s Diner, across the street from our apartment, toppling the tomato sauce into Jenny’s fries. ‘Shouldn’t I be insulted?’ ‘OK, firstly, you kinda are an amateur, aren’t you?’ Jenny gulped her Diet Pepsi and shrugged. ‘I just mean you’ve never interviewed anyone before, right? And uh, hello, you’re going to LA on Saturday?’ ‘Yes,’ I started, ‘but—’ ‘Shut. Up.’ Jenny held out her hand. ‘You’re being paid to fly to sunny, hot LA from cold, fugly New York. In March. To interview one of the hottest men in the entire world. Who has specifically asked for you. And they’re paying you for it. I see no bad here. It’s a massive step for your career, you’re interviewing one of the hottest men in the world. And you’re going to LA. With one of the hottest men ever. In LA.’ ‘I can see that you’ve found a couple of positives.’ I frowned, sipping my hot chocolate. ‘But – and I know I sound like a whiny cow, but the more I think about it, it just doesn’t feel like a good idea. I don’t want to take on such an amazing opportunity and then cock it up because I don’t know how to interview someone, let alone some Hollywood super-stud. Plus, I don’t really want to disappear off to LA for a week on my own. Not at the moment …’ I tailed off and looked into my hot chocolate, painfully aware that I had said absolutely the wrong thing. Jenny shook her head. ‘Uh-uh. You are not doing this: it could be my only chance to meet James Jacobs. And, you know, it would be nice to head out to LA again,’ she pointed with a floppy fry. ‘If you even suggest turning this down because you’ve just got back into Alex’s shorts, I will be so angry with you.’ ‘Firstly, that’s not what I meant,’ I lied, pulling the fries across the table. Most days, I loved that Jenny knew exactly what I was really thinking, no matter what actual words made it out of my mouth, but sometimes it was just irritating. ‘And secondly, when were you last in LA? And thirdly, you’re coming with me?’ ‘Firstly, yes I am, secondly a few years ago, I’ve so told you before and you never listen and, thirdly, that is exactly what you meant and it’s bullshit.’ ‘It’s not that I don’t want to go, or at least not because of Alex. I–I don’t know. I’ll miss him. Is that the saddest thing ever?’ ‘Yes, it is.’ Jenny gave me her best ‘you’re being ridiculous’ look. ‘You don’t think he’s going to cheat on you?’ ‘No, of course not,’ I shrugged. The thought might have crossed my mind. ‘Things are just going really well right now. But things were going really well before and look what happened.’ ‘Oh Angie,’ Jenny said, ‘it’s different this time. Any idiot can see it’s real between you two.’ ‘Wasn’t it real before?’ I asked. It had been everything I could do not to even think these things all day and now here I was, saying it all out loud. ‘And he walked away. And did God-knows-what with God-knows-who. Who’s to say I go away and he’s out with his friends and, well, you know. Have you seen him? He’s bloody gorgeous.’ ‘Yeah, so over that and hello? He won’t cheat on you because he loves you.’ Jenny stabbed at me with a fry loaded with ketchup. ‘He hasn’t said so.’ ‘Have you said it?’ ‘Nope.’ ‘Do you love him?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Huh. So you’ve been thinking it but not saying it?’ ‘Er, yes.’ ‘So what makes you think he isn’t thinking it but hasn’t said it either?’ Jenny reasoned. ‘But what if I say it and he thinks I’m moving too fast and dumps me again?’ I countered. ‘So you don’t say it,’ Jenny held up her hands. ‘Or you do. Whatever.’ ‘Hmm.’ I nibbled a fry thoughtfully while Jenny wolfed down a whole handful. ‘You were there on holiday?’ ‘Where, LA?’ Jenny asked through a mouthful. I nodded, trying not to look at the big potato-ey mess. For a very beautiful girl, Jenny could be foul sometimes. ‘Way to change the subject. OK, don’t laugh, but before I decided to become the new Oprah and before Tyra frickin’ Banks beat me to it, I thought I might give acting a shot. So I spent a while in LA, stayed out for the pilot season, but it wasn’t for me so I came back to New York. It might be nice to go back out, see some friends. Maybe we could stay at The Hollywood. I could take a week’s vacation and you know, you can introduce me to James Jacobs.’ ‘OK, OK, this is too much.’ I couldn’t help but grin at Jenny. ‘And don’t you dare try and change the subject – that’s my thing. You went to Hollywood to be an actress?’ ‘And I’d have been a silver-screen goddess but the West Coast wasn’t for me.’ Jenny shook her head. ‘Can we leave it?’ ‘Fine, I just – well, I can’t imagine you playing anyone other than Jenny Lopez,’ I said. ‘It’s the role of a lifetime.’ Jenny gave me a quick flash of jazz hands. ‘You do mean me and not the other one, right? Because I’d have to kick your ass.’ ‘You’re more of a diva,’ I agreed. ‘So what’s The Hollywood?’ Jenny waved at the old silver-haired man behind the counter. ‘Sister hotel. It’s The Union in New York and there’s The Hollywood in LA, The Strip in Vegas and, uh, The Something Else in Paris. I can never remember. Scottie, could we get some more fries, please?’ ‘How many times do I tell you, my name it is not Scottie, it is Igor,’ the guy behind the counter trundled over with more fries. ‘I buy this place from Scottie, this is why it is called Scottie’s Diner.’ ‘Thanks, Scottie,’ Jenny gingerly picked up scalding hot chip and blew on it, ‘you’re good people.’ ‘Are you sure we could stay there? The magazine said they would put me up in an apartment somewhere.’ I couldn’t believe the amount of crap Jenny could eat and never gain a pound. A true disciple of WeightWatchers, I had forgone almost all foods with a calorie content higher than that of a carrot for a whole year to slim into my ill-fated bridesmaid dress. Walking the streets of New York City every single day helped, but I could never be one of those girls who scarfed ice cream, pizza and chocolate all day long without putting on weight. A girl like Jenny, who only ever put on a couple of pounds – tops; which went straight to her already curvy curves and never ever to her tiny waist. If she weren’t such a great friend, I could really get around to hating her. ‘We are totally staying there. Tell the magazine you’re fixed,’ Jenny was already halfway through the new plate of fries. ‘As if I would let you stay in some skanktastic apartment. Who knows where you would end up. Besides, my friend Joe is managing the bar and I’m due a whole heap of vacation days. The hotel totally owes me. And Joe and I totally have history, he’ll look after us.’ ‘By history, do you mean you shagged him? And by “us” do you mean “you”?’ ‘Well, yeah.’ Jenny’s eyes glazed over slightly. ‘So if it doesn’t work out with me and James Jacobs, I can always call on Joe. I need to get laid already.’ ‘Really? And Joe, this is Hot Joe who used to work at The Union?’ I asked, testing the waters. ‘You’re sure you’re up to seducing movie stars and bartenders?’ ‘I’m fine,’ Jenny replied, without looking up at me. ‘Seriously, I’m all shiny and new.’ ‘Good, because I’ve been worried.’ I slapped her hand away from the fries. ‘You haven’t been your usual irritating self for ages.’ ‘It’s just winter,’ she said. ‘I know I’ve been out of it a little. I’ve been thinking about taking a break, so well done on the perfect timing.’ I smiled. Going to Hollywood with Jenny could be fun. ‘So, we’re off to LA then?’ ‘Angie, honey, when have I ever steered you wrong? It will be awesome,’ Jenny replied, scooping up the last fry. ‘And I’m sure Alex is just delightful if you’re into skinny hipsters, but Joe is almost, almost as hot as James Jacobs. You organize the flights, I’ll organize the hotel and the booty call.’ ‘Ick,’ I shook my head. ‘Just ick.’ I hopped on the L train at Union Square after abandoning my overexcited best friend outside the hotel. As the train trundled over to Brooklyn, Jenny’s giddiness started to wear off. I’d almost forgotten that this wasn’t a girls’ holiday, it was a job. It was a interview that, if I screwed it up, could cost me my job, my visa, everything. Climbing up the subway stairs, it just seemed like such a bad idea and, on top of everything, as tragic as it was, I really didn’t want to leave Alex. I couldn’t tell him I loved him in case he panicked and ditched me, but if I didn’t tell him, how would he know not to cheat on me with every groupie in Brooklyn while I was away? And the potential destruction of my personal and professional life aside, what was in LA anyway? A seven-hour flight, a whole city full of super-hot, super-bronzed beach bimbettes and, most terrifying of all, a week-long interview with a real-life, genuine movie star. Writing my blog was easy: there was always something interesting to talk about, and anyone could review some books and even a few CDs – that just meant winging a couple of hundred words. But there was no way I could bluff my way through this. There was no denying that it could be a great opportunity for me as a writer, but it was also a fabulous opportunity for me to fall flat on my arse. I was just an ‘amateur’, after all. The vision of me throwing myself off the ‘H’ of the Hollywood sign clutching a signed photo of James Jacobs played over and over in my mind until I reached Alex’s apartment. ‘Hey.’ He opened the door, pulled me in and pushed me backwards against the wall, kissing me hard on the lips. ‘I am so cold,’ I breathed, shaking my scarf, mittens and coat off onto the floor. ‘Give me a good reason why I shouldn’t go to LA on Saturday.’ ‘The pizza sucks?’ Alex muttered, hoisting me up onto his kitchen counter, pulling off my top two sweaters in one swift move. ‘That’ll do,’ I nodded, trying to kick my boots off behind his back but succeeding only in bashing him in the hip seven times. ‘That actually really hurts.’ Alex tugged the boots off for me. I crossed my legs behind his back as he stumbled with me into the living room. ‘Yeah, it’s never like it is in films, is it?’ Alex’s place was just as dishevelled as its owner, with books, guitar strings and worn T-shirts strewn everywhere. Luckily, the beautiful floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the East River to Manhattan made up for the disgusting kitchen. Lying full stretch on the sofa while Alex strummed something new on his acoustic guitar (and I pretended not to be watching Gossip Girl with the subtitles on) was officially my new favourite way to spend a Monday night. I yawned, gazing out at the skyline. When you weren’t outside, New York was gorgeous in the snow. The sun, sea and sand could never compete. The apartment was also about twenty degrees hotter than mine and now, thoroughly warmed up, I was perfectly happy wearing nothing but Alex’s T-shirt and my pants, moulding myself against his slowly rising and falling chest on the sofa, my bare legs tangled in his long, warm limbs. We hadn’t quite made it into the bedroom, something I was always proud of. I’d come a long way from the Angela Clark who spent five or so years tucked up in her winceyette PJs before her ex came home so she wouldn’t have to endure his huffing, puffing and generally uncomfortable fumblings. ‘So, any reason in particular I should be trying to talk you out of going to LA on Saturday?’ Alex asked, combing his fingers through my mussed-up hair. Between getting back together with Alex and the terrible weather, my do was very much a constant don’t. ‘That was a pretty random request, even for you.’ ‘The magazine wants me to go and interview this actor.’ I waved a hand around, working very hard to come across as very casual about the whole thing. ‘But they want me to go on Saturday and I’ve never really interviewed anyone before so I don’t know. I’m sort of in two minds about it.’ ‘Sounds like a great opportunity,’ he offered diplomatically. ‘LA’ll be warmer than New York.’ ‘Yeah,’ I said, twisting my neck around to get a better look at him. ‘I know, it could be amazing. It’s just a long way and stuff.’ ‘It is,’ he agreed. ‘But you never know, you might like it?’ ‘Do you?’ I asked. ‘Like LA, I mean.’ ‘Mehh,’ he held his hand up to mine. My small pale hands, with the nibbled-at fingernails filed down, palm to palm with his long, calloused, guitar-playing fingers. ‘I don’t love it.’ ‘So you wouldn’t want to come with me?’ I asked, only briefly considering Jenny’s wrath. ‘It’ll only be for a week or something.’ ‘However will I survive without you?’ Alex kissed my hand. I paused for a moment to feel his heartbeat. Perfectly even. ‘I don’t know. I just don’t know if I should do it. Even if it could be incredible.’ ‘Then don’t go.’ Alex’s heartbeat started to slow, I could tell he was about to drop off. That was my only bedroom-based problem with the boy. He always needed a post-shag nap whereas sex left me wide-awake. And since I overthought every situation at the best of times, his post-coital narcolepsy wasn’t ideal for me. Depending on how the day had gone, I was either planning our wedding (I thought barefoot on the beach in Mexico; I’d never been but it sounded sort of fabulous) or panicking that the whole relationship was about to fall apart again. I tried to toss and turn quietly, torn between running off to LA with Jenny and staying exactly where I was for ever and ever when my phone starting buzzing inside my beautiful bag. Slipping out of Alex’s arms, I shuffled down the sofa and answered. ‘Hello?’ I whispered, creeping into the bathroom. ‘Angela, it’s me,’ a voice crackled from a long way away. ‘Are you there? You’re so faint?’ ‘Louisa! How are you? Is everything OK? You never call my mobile.’ Louisa was my best friend from for ever. We’d grown up together, gone to the same university, moved to London at the same time, basically done everything together – right up until I broke her husband’s hand at their wedding. But since we had resolved that tiny issue, our regular weekly phone calls could go on for hours. She wouldn’t mind if I had a wee while we chatted. I hoped. ‘I know, but you weren’t home and I couldn’t wait, it’s too exciting.’ I hadn’t heard her so giddy since she’d told me about her engagement. ‘Tim’s bank got taken over by some American bank this morning, did you see it on the news?’ ‘Louisa, given that I was engaged to a banker for five years and couldn’t even tell you what his job title was, I think you’re probably going to have to fill me in on the details. Is Tim’s job OK?’ ‘Yes, better than OK!’ Louisa was still gushing. ‘They’ve asked him and his team to go meet the US operation. We’re coming to New York for a week. Next week!’ I snapped upwards so quickly I almost toppled off the loo seat. ‘Louisa, that’s amazing! When do you get here? Do you know where you’re staying? God, there are so many places I’m going to take you!’ ‘Angela, are you on the toilet?’ Yes. ‘No?’ ‘Good, because that would be disgusting,’ she said sternly. ‘Anyway, we’re all flying out on Friday night, I’m not sure where we’re staying, Tim literally just called me to tell me. Oh, Angela, I can’t wait to see you.’ ‘Oh I know, you too,’ I said, trying to wash my hands and flush super quietly. ‘And Tim. Oh, I can’t believe it!’ ‘There’s just one thing that might be … but well, it’s nothing really,’ Louisa’s excitement faltered slightly. ‘I mean, New York is a big city and everything, isn’t it?’ ‘Louisa …?’ ‘It’s just, well, like I say, nothing. Forget I said it. I’m coming to New York!’ ‘Louisa Price!’ ‘Fine, well, it’s not just Tim coming out.’ Louisa finally sighed. ‘It’s his whole team.’ ‘So … Mark?’ ‘Erm, yes, and … well.’ ‘Mark and … her?’ Even six months after finding out my boyfriend had been cheating on me, I still couldn’t actually say her name. As happy as I was with Alex, as pleased as I was to be out of that relationship, girl logic prevailed – he was an evil cheating scumbag and she was a nasty skank. ‘Oh, Lou,’ I massaged my temples. ‘Seriously?’ ‘It’ll be fine,’ Louisa insisted. ‘You won’t have to see him, will you? Unless, I mean, unless you want to?’ ‘That’s not even funny.’ My brain was spinning. ‘Why would I want to even see him?’ ‘Well, it has been ages and you two were together a long time,’ Louisa said slowly. ‘Maybe you’d feel better if you did see him?’ ‘Do you remember what happened the last time I saw him?’ I could feel myself getting angry, and angry was not my best look. Hence the hand-breaking incident at Louisa’s wedding. ‘And what happened the last time you didn’t tell me something? What’s going on, since when were you Mark’s biggest fan again?’ ‘All right, yes, Mark asked Tim to ask me if I would get you to meet him,’ Louisa rushed. ‘But I said he had to get in touch himself if he wanted to see you. Because if you don’t want to see him then you don’t have to and I said I wasn’t going to try and trick you or guilt-trip you or anything. He’s a tit.’ I stared at Alex’s bathroom ceiling, feeling the entire last six months slip away. Of course it would make sense to meet with Mark. We had been together for ten years, grown up together really. And it would make me the bigger person; help prove to everyone that I had really changed in the last six months. And it would all be on my terms: New York was my home now, after all, and he’d never even been to America. And of course I really wouldn’t want to but, if forced, I would be able to flaunt my beautiful new super-cool boyfriend. Nothing intimidated a money man like a guitar boy. They didn’t understand them. But of course none of that would matter if I wasn’t in New York when Mark arrived … ‘Angela, are you still there?’ ‘I am, lovely, but I have really bad news.’ I took a deep breath. ‘I’m actually going to LA on Saturday for work. I forgot.’ ‘You’re what?’ Louisa said. ‘I’m going to LA to interview James Jacobs, so I won’t be here.’ ‘And you forgot that?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘You forgot you were flying out to LA this Saturday and interviewing one of the most famous men in the world?’ ‘He’s not that famous,’ I protested. Wow, Louisa was pissed off. ‘Is this because Mark is coming? Because you’re better than that, you know.’ I paused before answering. ‘Actually no, it’s not just that,’ I said. ‘It’s really something I have to do. It’s an amazing opportunity, isn’t it? I mean, I’m not going to lie, I’m a bit relieved that I’m not going to see him, it’s not top of my list of things to do this weekend, but I do have to go to LA. I’m gutted that I’m not going to see you though.’ ‘Right.’ ‘Lou, please don’t be mad?’ I begged. ‘I’m not mad,’ she sighed eventually. ‘I’m just sad that I won’t get to see you. But yeah, it’s no contest really, is it? I can see why you’d rather nip off to LA and meet James Jacobs than hang around in freezing New York for the week.’ And for the first time, so did I. ‘You’re amazing,’ I smiled, excitement and relief bubbling up in my stomach. ‘I’m going to email you with all the incredible places you have to go and you call me if you get stuck for anything to do at any time, OK?’ We said goodbye and I hung up, breathed in deeply and then pressed speed-dial without even looking. ‘Cici? Can I come in later and book my flights? I go on Saturday, right?’ CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_12ce07d3-b02c-5dad-aec1-facd8730bf2e) Saturday came around altogether too quickly for me and not nearly quickly enough for Jenny. After calling in a few favours at work to get the week off, she had spent the entire week waxing, scrubbing and fake-tanning, in between sending increasingly indecent text messages to Joe at The Hollywood and throwing increasingly indecent bikinis into a tote bag. I took a more stressful approach to preparing for the trip. After my not-so-fun phone call with Louisa, I’d headed back to bed to tell Alex I’d changed my mind about going LA. A sleepy smile and ‘cool, bring me back something carb-free’ wasn’t strictly the response I’d been hoping for, but I wasn’t going to let my hot boyfriend paranoia ruin LA for me. Admittedly, not so secretly, I had been hoping he would hate the idea of me taking off to interview the gorgeous man with an appalling reputation in sunny sparkly Hollywood and beg to come with me but not so much. He’d barely even acknowledged it. And to make matters worse, he’d been ‘working’ all week and I’d hardly seen him. The band had just started writing their new record, which meant hours locked away in his apartment and a couple of unannounced arrivals at my place at random times in the night, with fevered eyes and a new song to play. And, well, everything else that came along with a two a.m. drop-in. Which wasn’t so bad, but being with Alex all night and writing all day had not left me looking my best. By Friday evening, Jenny looked like a Playmate, all buffed, bronzed and big hair, while I looked more like an inmate, bedraggled, bloated and big bags under my eyes. At eight in the bitter morning, Jenny stood impatiently on the corner of our street, huddled in her down-filled parka and even bigger sunglasses, while I lingered in my goodbye hug with Alex. ‘So let me know when you get there.’ He pulled at the slightly longer side of my bob, curling it around his finger. ‘Just text or something.’ I nodded. ‘If I’m not too busy bailing this one out for sexual harassment.’ Jenny was reading her text messages with a wicked smile. ‘Possibly literally bailing her out.’ ‘Well, as long as you’re not sexually harassing anyone but me.’ He leaned in for a warm kiss, his fringe brushing against my frozen nose, making me sneeze. ‘How do you feel about phone sex?’ ‘You must be freezing,’ I said, ignoring his question, ‘and Jenny’s about to get in a cab without me.’ Oh, and I love you by the way, I added silently. ‘Um, I’ll call you later?’ ‘For the phone sex,’ Alex nodded with deadly seriousness. ‘Don’t forget you’re three hours behind me.’ ‘Well, you’re always up three hours later than me anyway.’ I nodded at Jenny to wave down a passing cab. ‘This could be the perfect thing for us then.’ Alex passed me my battered leather weekend bag. It looked pitiful next to my (sigh, so pretty) Marc Jacobs handbag. Maybe it would find a new friend in LA. ‘We could be the first couple to ever make a long-distance relationship work.’ ‘Yeah, whatever.’ I tried to laugh. Trust a boy to say something stupid just before you got on a plane. God, I should just say it. ‘Alex?’ ‘Angela?’ ‘I … I …’ I paused, not really knowing what I was waiting for. Alex shivered expectantly, his breath fogging up between us, hands stuck deep into his jeans pockets. ‘I’ll be back next Monday. Don’t get too used to being on your own.’ Congratulations on wimping out. What a great example of a strong, modern woman I was turning out to be. ‘You’re only going away for a week. I think I’ll survive.’ Alex kissed my frozen nose and shut the door. ‘And again with the phone sex.’ ‘Bye, Alex.’ I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you. ‘You’re not exactly down with the phone sex then?’ Jenny asked as we pulled away. ‘Shut up,’ I replied pleasantly, watching our building – and Alex – vanish out of sight. From the second we stepped out of the airport, it was completely obvious that California was going to be very different to New York. As we headed out onto the freeway, I couldn’t quite believe we were in the same country. The city was wide open, cars streaming up and down the highways with their tops down, the skyscrapers of downtown sparkling in the distance rather than constantly pressing down on us and, bejesus, the sunshine. Despite the bitching and moaning I’d done about the steamy New York summer at the time, one morning I had woken up and it had gone. The weather teased me with a couple of weeks of creamy, cardigan-appropriate autumn before dissolving into burns-your-nose-when-you-breathe winter. It wasn’t like New York didn’t try its best to win me over – the shops were soon full of cute jumpers, flattering opaque tights and massive quantities of delicious hot chocolate –?but by Christmas, when I had been snowed in twice and lost a pair of suede shoe-boots to an unforeseen storm, I was dying for a little bit of sunshine. And here it was. Hiding away in LA all this time. ‘Oh my God,’ I blinked once. Twice. ‘I know,’ Jenny patted me reassuringly on the back. ‘But it’s sunny.’ I looked up at the clear blue sky. ‘I know,’ Jenny sighed. ‘In March?’ ‘Can we please just shush?’ ‘Jenny, look!’ I pressed my nose up against the cab window, watching billboards and fast-food restaurants whizz by. At least taxi drivers still drove like psychos – London, New York, LA, all the same. It was oddly reassuring. ‘Yeah,’ Jenny muttered, touching up her make-up. A little Touche Eclat, some bronzer, a dash of lip gloss and, ta-da, she looked perfect. I was avoiding even catching my reflection in the cab window. Even though I had spent the flight cleansing, moisturizing and then moisturizing some more, I knew I looked like crap. My skin felt like sandpaper and my hair hung around my cheeks, limp and lifeless. What was more annoying was that Jenny had done nothing for three hours but slump against the window, watch half a series of America’s Next Top Model and drink as many free glasses of wine as they would give her, occasionally slapping away my attempts to moisturize her against her will. And bless the man in the seat next to us for only complaining once when one of my misdirected paws full of Beauty Flash Balm accidentally landed slap in the centre of his forehead. ‘Did you see that?’ I pointed at a strip-mall. ‘There’s a shop called Condomania? Wow. And IHOP! I’ve heard of IHOP!’ ‘Angela, you’ve been living here for –?like – nine months or something. Why are American stores and restaurants still a total revelation to you?’ Jenny pointed with a mascara wand for emphasis. ‘If this entire trip is going to be like the time you saw Twinkies in the corner store, then goddamn it, we are going home now.’ ‘Sorry,’ I said, trying not to point out the Wal-Mart to our left, ‘but it’s exciting! You see this stuff on TV but then they don’t have it in New York – I’m just a bit giddy. I can’t believe I didn’t want to come. Maybe it’s the sun.’ ‘Yeah, whatever,’ Jenny muttered. ‘You know you have to interview a celebrity tomorrow, right?’ ‘It’s just an interview; he’s just a person, isn’t he?’ I wrinkled my nose at Jenny’s incredulous head-shake. ‘I mean, Alex is a bit famous, he’s in a band and that doesn’t bother me. They’re just people, aren’t they?’ ‘Yeah, that’s what I said when I started at The Union,’ Jenny sighed. ‘Until Christian Bale checked in and I spent three days sneaking around his room and stealing his underwear.’ ‘Please tell me you’re kidding.’ I tore my eyes away from a Taco Bell. ‘They’re under my bedside table,’ Jenny smiled happily. ‘Thank God he never complained. I’d only been there a week; they would have fired me for sure. You’re going to lose your mind when you actually see him.’ ‘Jenny, really, I’ll be fine,’ I said, trying not to doubt myself. What if she was right? ‘He’s just a person. I’ve talked to people before.’ ‘Good luck,’ she said. ‘Celebs aren’t like normal people; it’s impossible not to get fazed by them. They just have this, like, charisma.’ ‘But you see celebrities every day,’ I argued. ‘And you do nothing but slag off Angelina Jolie for wanting a special kind of tea.’ ‘Oh, yeah, I meant celeb boys,’ Jenny conceded. ‘I don’t give a shit about the girls. You’re going to lose it over James Jacobs, honey.’ I shook my head and smiled, turning to look back out the window. ‘I’ve never even seen one of his films. I thought it would be better not to get caught up in the movie-star thing and just concentrate on getting to know him.’ ‘What’s to know? He’s super hot, he’s a movie star so he must be super rich, and he’s super talented. Jeff and I saw that one about the casino …’ She trailed off for a moment. The ‘J’ word. ‘He was pretty good.’ The rest of the cab ride was awkwardly silent but mercifully short. I was terrified of setting Jenny off with a mention of her ex: nine times out of ten it ended badly. Once I had tried to cheer her up after a shitty day at work (she’d mixed up Mischa Barton and Nicole Richie’s dry cleaning – all hell broke loose) with a surprise Ben & Jerry’s, only to get a weepy, slightly icky story about her, Jeff, the kitchen floor, a tub of Chunky Monkey and New Year’s Eve 2007. Another time when she thought she’d seen him on the subway, I’d tried to distract her with several bottles of wine, but the evening had ended at four a.m. with Jenny in her PJs in a drunken rage, railing against all men. And then throwing up out of our third-floor window. Happy memories. Soon we were off the freeway and passing stores and coffee shop chains I recognized. An American Apparel, a Starbucks, the Gap, a Starbucks and, eventually, actual people walking up and down the streets. Clutching Starbucks. ‘We’re here,’ the driver barked, swerving sharply into a small circular driveway. ‘Seventy-five bucks.’ ‘Seriously?’ I whispered to Jenny, as I pulled out my wallet and handed over my precious ‘expenses’ cash from The Look. ‘Cabs here are insane,’ Jenny said, hauling herself out onto the street. ‘Everyone in LA drives. Why do you think all the celebutards are always getting served with DUIs out here? No cabs.’ ‘Can’t they walk if they know they’re going out to get trashed?’ I asked, crawling across the back seat after trying the door with no success. If it was possible, it was even sunnier at the hotel than at the airport. Jenny looked at me as though I was completely backwards. ‘This is not New York, Angela. Don’t you know anything about LA?’ I didn’t know anything about LA. If it was possible, the lobby of The Hollywood was even swankier than The Union. The dim lighting was just as flattering, the dozens of candles were just as chokingly scented, but there was an extra layer of gloss on everything, from the shining gold surfaces to the hair of the girls behind the concierge desk. The only thing missing were the packs of well-to-do tourists huddled around their suitcases, mummified inside North Face down jackets. In their place were what seemed to be half a dozen extras from 90210. Tall, gorgeous and half naked, they lounged against furniture – not quite sitting on it, just against it. While Jenny checked us in I tried to remain staring at the floor to avoid mirrored surfaces, but I could see myself reflected in their gaze quite clearly. And no amount of flattering lighting was going to help. ‘Come on Angie,’ Jenny squealed over by the lift. ‘We’re on the fourteenth floor, amazing views. And we have adjoining rooms! You’re just a door away from me.’ ‘Does that door lock?’ I asked, trying to stop staring at the beautiful people in reception. ‘Why on earth would you want to lock the door on me?’ Jenny breezed into the lift and jabbed at the big round ‘14’ button. ‘Come on, the sooner we get unpacked, the sooner we can get in the pool.’ ‘The pool?’ I dragged my wheeled case into the lift, while one of the girls in the world’s shortest shorts lowered her sunglasses and checked me out with a genuine look of horror on her face. I was certain that she was visualising the horror of me in a bikini. Just like I was. ‘Isn’t it amazing, Angie?’ Jenny squeezed my arm with slightly too much upper-body strength. ‘We’re in LA baby, woo!’ As the doors slid shut, the lift shot up and my stomach sank. To make matters worse, I had not packed well. Or even vaguely appropriately. Standing by the bed, looking at my poor wardrobe choices in an American hotel room was familiar in the worst way. On top of the Egyptian cotton sheets were the entire contents of my weekend bag. Two pairs of Seven jeans, an assortment of American Apparel T-shirts (three-quarter-length sleeves), a couple of bargain cashmere cardigans I’d found at Century 21 and my long-sleeved, super-heavy Marc by Marc Jacobs shirt dress. Everyone had said it would be sunny in California, but it was still March, it couldn’t be that warm, could it? Of course it could. Bugger. And to make matters weirder, The Hollywood was absolutely identical to The Union. Same room layouts, same bed linens, Rapture Spa toiletries, same eight-dollar condoms in the ‘intimacy kit’ by my bed. Even the curtains were the same. I rubbed the heavy drapes between my fingers and peered out of the window. Down on the sunny side of the street, I could see people. Lots and lots of people. And every single one of them was strutting around in tiny shorts and even tinier tops. Shit. ‘I’m coming in,’ Jenny announced as she sailed through the adjoining door by my bed. At first she had been quite insistent that we should share a room, but she was equally insistent that she was going to give Joe a good seeing-to at his earliest convenience so, as much as I loved that girl, I really didn’t want to have to sit in the bathroom with my headphones on while that happened. This was not the sixth-form trip to Belgium. ‘What, you’re not ready?’ Jenny’s week-long grooming had proved completely worthwhile. She glowed from her hot pink toenails to her long chocolate curls. Usually, her hair was tethered in a ponytail for work, or at least restrained by an industrial-strength Alice band. Seeing it freed, fluffing out around her face and bouncing way past her shoulders, reminded me why I had been so in awe of this glamazon when we first met. ‘Get your freaking ass into your swimsuit and get out this door,’ Jenny demanded, snatching off her sunglasses and staring me down. Which reminded me why I had loved her five minutes later. ‘Please don’t kill me …’ I slowly walked backwards to put a bed between us. I’d seen her motor in heels and so those flip-flops were not going to hold her back ‘But I didn’t actually bring a swimming costume. I didn’t have one and, well, I forgot to buy one.’ ‘I knew this was going to happen. Didn’t I tell you, you were completely unprepared for this?’ She rummaged around in a giant metallic tote. ‘You told me I was an idiot to pass up a trip to LA; you told me you were going to shag Joe until you broke something; and you told me you’d been waxed to a terrifying degree – but I don’t remember you telling me I was underprepared.’ I pawed through all my clothes again – not that it would achieve anything, I knew for a fact I didn’t have a swimming costume. I hadn’t possessed a swimming costume since I was seventeen. They were bad things that hated women. ‘Yeah, I’ve definitely got it in there somewhere – but I’m pretty sure I didn’t say “shag”.’ Jenny pulled a basic black two-piece out from the depths of the bag. ‘What the hell are you going to do in that interview without me?’ Oh, she was so going to make me put that on. Fifteen minutes and one very, very painful bikini-waxing incident later, involving an overenthusiastic Jenny, one pack of ‘at home’ waxing strips and a genuinely terrified me, backed into the corner of the bathroom, I finally found a difference between The Union and The Hollywood. The rooftop pool, the rooftop pool bar and the definitely-not-in-Manhattan view of the Hollywood sign, shouting out from the hills. I perched awkwardly on the edge of a sun lounger, frantically rubbing factor fifty into my English Rose-slash-pasty-pale skin, staring out at the bold white letters. But something didn’t feel right. ‘Mojitos.’ Jenny sat two enormous cocktails on the tiny table between the two of us. ‘Hooray for Hollywood, right?’ ‘I thought the sign would be, I don’t know, bigger?’ I squinted through my sunglasses. ‘It just isn’t what I thought it was going to be.’ ‘Hmm, I guess.’ Jenny was busy staring at the bar. ‘I suppose when you see it every day for a few months, you don’t really see it any more, you know?’ ‘I guess,’ I nodded. ‘It’s weird, though. When I saw the Statue of Liberty I couldn’t believe it. It was amazing. This just feels weird.’ ‘That’s because you’re a native New Yorker now, honey.’ Jenny passed me a mojito and clinked glasses. ‘LA is cool, but if you’re going to have fun, you’re going to have to get past your idea of what you think it’s going to be, because, honey, nothing ever really is.’ ‘Reassuring.’ I pulled at the bandeau top of the bikini. I wondered if I had time for a quickie boob-job. ‘At least tell me the shops are good. We have to go shopping; I can’t fill this out like you.’ ‘The stores are fine, we’ll get everything you need.’ Jenny peeked over the top of her sunglasses as a tall, dark-haired man appeared behind the bar. ‘Just as soon as I’ve got what I need.’ ‘Ick,’ I shook my head and sipped my mojito. ‘Go get ’em, tiger.’ Watching Jenny slink around the pool in her swimsuit, I leaned back into the padded sun lounger and concentrated on the Hollywood sign. It seemed so unreal, even though here I was with the sun on my face and a drink in my hand. It wasn’t possible that just yesterday I’d been in snow boots and earmuffs just to go out and buy milk, the sun was too lovely. But I had a sneaking suspicion that it would have been even lovelier had Alex been lying beside me. God, I’d got so tragic so quickly. Opening one eye, I peeked over to the bar. Jenny was already flipping her hair around and leaning backwards in her high-backed bar stool to give Joe a better look at her bikini. She wasn’t wrong: he was incredibly good looking. He’d shaved off the thick black hair that Jenny had been raving about all week, but instead of it making him look like a convict, it only served to reveal an amazing bone structure and gorgeous brown eyes. Yep, I thought, he probably is worth travelling halfway across the country for a quickie. His black shirt did nothing to diminish his tan and I was fairly sure that trousers that tight were not conducive to a comfortable night’s work. Huge tips, yes, but a fun night behind the bar? Not so much. Wouldn’t it make him need to pee all the time? And how would he ever father a child? It was only when Joe waved that I realized I was staring and it was only the filthy look on Jenny’s face that alerted me to the fact that I was gazing in the general region of his crotch. I downed the remainder of the mojito, pulled a T-shirt over my borrowed bikini and padded over in Jenny’s spare flip-flops, praying that I didn’t have any mint in my teeth. A very sexy look. ‘Hey, English!’ Joe flashed a huge smile as I clambered onto the stool beside Jenny. They were too high for me to even attempt to be ladylike, not that I was fooling anyone. ‘Great to see you.’ ‘Hi Joe.’ I tried to give Jenny a subtle look to communicate his undeniable hotness. This was not possible. ‘Joe was just tell me about all the cool places he’s going to take us,’ Jenny chimed, winding a straw through her fingers. ‘He knows all the cool places.’ ‘Sounds fun,’ I said. ‘You like it out here then?’ ‘Love it,’ Joe said, mixing a second round of drinks. ‘Sunshine, good living, hot girls, what’s not to love?’ ‘Not as hot as New York though, right?’ Jenny gave him a mock innocent look. Even after six months out of the game, Jenny’s flirting was second to none. ‘Not nearly,’ Joe grinned, leaning across the bar to ruffle Jenny’s hair. ‘I already told you, you look good, Lopez.’ ‘I can always stand to be told again,’ Jenny pouted. ‘A girl’s got to keep up her self-esteem. It isn’t easy walking around in a bikini, honey.’ I ducked my head and smiled. There was clearly nothing wrong with Jenny’s self-esteem. ‘I don’t know, you’re doing pretty well,’ Joe commented, passing over our drinks. ‘And girls walking around in bikinis is as good a reason as any to stay out in LA for ever. Just let me know when the girls start walking around Union Square in their lingerie in January and I’ll come running back, sugar.’ ‘Well, it depends whether or not you think it’s worth the price of seeing all those people that really should never be wearing swimwear,’ Jenny said in a low voice. ‘Yeah, but they’re the best tippers,’ Joe countered. For a horrifying split second, I wondered if they were talking about me. Was the bikini wax not good? But as I followed Jenny’s gaze around the pool, I understood. It was true that not everyone looked quite as stunning as Jenny. There were a couple of other girls in bikinis with gleaming long limbs, perfect hair and full make-up. Clearly not about to take a dip. They lay together in silence, only moving to take a sip of an elaborate-looking cocktail and turn over, one after the other, every fifteen minutes or so. But looking along the line-up of loungers, it became very clear that not all bathing beauties were created equal. On closer inspection, some of the women sunbathing were a lot older than I had first thought and their skin was slightly leathery under their sparkly make-up. Others wore strategically draped sarongs, positioned to conceal flabby thighs and chubby tummies, whereas other proudly flaunted their curves in horrifying neon yellow thongs and triangle bikini tops. This was going to make for all kinds of fun blogging. Alongside the leather ladies were several solo men, either a tad overweight and straining in their Speedos, or incredibly skinny and pale, but all tapping away at laptops or BlackBerrys while sipping Coronas. There was just one fine figure of manhood, dozing opposite me, and I was fairly certain he was gay. Defined muscles, immaculately groomed and definitely waxed; all the signs were there. I tried not to think about my own less-than-worked-out figure. Yes, I had managed to keep my weight in check with lots of walking and the odd burst of WeightWatchers but I was nowhere near as toned and bronzed as the girls taking part in the competitive tanning over by the pool. I suddenly felt very pale and porky. And this was neither the time nor the place to suffer a crisis of confidence. ‘I think I’m starting to burn,’ I said loudly, inspecting a marble white arm, as one of the bikini girls turned over to display a tiny little bottom, tanning nicely in a silver thong. ‘I’m going to head in. Remember, I have to be up to meet Mr Movie Star at eleven.’ ‘You sure?’ Jenny asked, making no move to come with me. ‘You don’t want to go eat?’ ‘We have a great restaurant,’ Joe bargained. ‘I can get you a table.’ ‘No, really, I think I’m just going to get some sleep for tomorrow. And I have to blog, call Alex.’ I kissed Jenny on the cheek and hopped off her stool. ‘Big day.’ ‘OK, tell Alex hi,’ Jenny called after me. ‘And call me as soon as you’re free tomorrow.’ I wandered along the corridor to the lift, slightly buzzed from the two mojitos. Tracing the pattern of the embossed wallpaper with my fingertips, I tried not to be weirded out by the fact that they were using the same air fresheners here as on the East Coast. It was like the hotel version of a Lush store. Different city, exactly the same overpowering smell. Pausing in front of the huge wooden-framed mirror propped against the wall, I slipped the T-shirt up over my head, taking a deep breath before opening my eyes. Well, it wasn’t that bad. I was never going to be a six-foot supermodel but I wasn’t looking awful. Yes I was pale, but I had only been in LA for a day. My light brown bob was probably in need of a trim, but at least New York’s miracle tap water kept it super soft. Leaving the hard water of London behind seemed to have cleared my skin up too, so that was OK and, joy of joys, working freelance meant No Early Mornings so my eyes, even though they might be suffering from some ‘late-night lovin’ bags, were super bright; even the fine lines I had pretended weren’t there for the last two years seemed to have retraced their tracks. Seriously, if there was ever a case for girls not having to get up before ten a.m., I was it. The bikini still didn’t exactly fill me with joy, but I would cope. At least nothing was technically hanging out or over, but I couldn’t strictly claim to have abs of any kind. Unless maybe I shaded them in. I did have an awful lot of bronzer with me … ‘Mirror, mirror on the wall,’ I tutted at myself, scooping the T-shirt up off the floor and slipping it safely back over my head. I had never really been one that considered ‘mirror time’ time well spent, and I had a nagging feeling that LA wasn’t the place or moment to change that if I didn’t want to develop an eating disorder. I pulled a tub chair, identical to the one that Jenny had hauled twenty blocks home from The Union, over to the floor-to-ceiling window, and collapsed into a warm and slightly tipsy heap. Hollywood Boulevard literally buzzed beneath me, dozens of tourists wandering up and down the star-lined pavement. I reached out to press my bare toes against the glass and stared out. I might only be able to see the tops of their baseball caps but I would have bet anything that they were all smiling. Why wouldn’t they be, they were on holiday in Hollywood. And above them, past the world’s biggest Gap ad on the opposite corner, were the famous Hollywood Hills. I wondered how many celebs were sitting in their own homes looking back out at me at that exact second. Which superstars were practically within touching distance? How many MTV reality shows could I feasibly get in the background of in the next seven years? New York and London were both full of actors, musicians and writers, but it wasn’t the same. For some reason, the idea of A-list celebrity was strictly Hollywood. My phone vibrated quietly, snapping me out of a quickly developing bumping-into-Brad-Pitt fantasy. It was Louisa. ‘Hey,’ I said, and utched the chair right up to the glass to get better reception. ‘Are you in New York? Are you OK?’ ‘Yes and yes,’ she laughed down the line. ‘We got in a couple of hours ago. Tim just went out to meet some people at the bar.’ ‘Some people? Right,’ I smiled. Bless her for not mentioning my scumbag ex’s name. It actually pained me that he dared step foot in my New York. ‘Where are you going now then?’ ‘I made Tim book that Balthazar place you were raving about for dinner,’ she crackled down the line. ‘And then I think I’m just going to have an early night. What are you up to? Met Tom Cruise yet?’ ‘Yeah, I’m having cocktails with him and Katie,’ I said, happy that we were back on good terms. I hated falling out with anyone, dickhead ex-boyfriends aside. I couldn’t help it, I was a Libra. And a wimp. ‘We haven’t been here very long, I’m actually in a bikini.’ ‘No way,’ I could hear her laughing all the way across the country. ‘I haven’t seen you in a bikini since we were about six.’ ‘And you won’t see it again. There will be no photographic evidence, believe me.’ ‘I’d give anything to be in a bikini,’ Louisa moaned. ‘It’s bloody freezing here.’ ‘I did tell you,’ I replied, thankful for the sun still shining through the window. The unseasonal warmth made me feel slightly less shitty for not being in New York with Louisa. I was not going to win World’s Best Friend this year. ‘But you’ll be fine. Just stay in the shops and get lots of cabs. Seriously, cane Tim’s expense account as much as humanly possible.’ ‘What expenses? He can’t spend a penny these days. We’re staying in a Hilton, for God’s sake,’ she sighed. ‘I suppose I should be relieved he still has a job. Anyway, I’ve got to have a shower, I’m disgusting.’ ‘Never.’ Louisa was never anything other than perfect, eight-hour plane journey or otherwise. ‘But I do need to get some work done. Call me later.’ I ended the call, relieved at the lack of Mark-talk. There’s no way I would have avoided it in person. It was the first law of break-ups – the first time you saw someone, post-dumping, no matter how long ago it was or what had happened in the meantime, they wanted to rehash the whole event all over again. If I didn’t ask about him, I would know they were thinking that I really wanted to but was still too upset about the whole thing. And if they didn’t ask me about the break-up, I would know they were dying to tell me something, some fact or titbit to make me feel ‘a bit better’ and I really didn’t want to know. But I would have to ask, complete girl that I was. And for ‘girl’, read ‘masochist’. I picked up my phone to dial Alex. It rang a few times before clicking off to his answer phone suggesting you not even bother to leave a message because he was pretty crappy at checking his voicemail but that he hoped you’d call back soon. I hung up and stared at the phone for a moment. So he wasn’t answering, I’d call back later. Just had to keep myself busy for an hour or so. Busy and awake. Glancing over at my laptop, I resigned myself to actually doing some work, crazy idea that it was. It wouldn’t hurt to show Mary how serious I was about this, given how ridiculously ungrateful I’d been when she first told me about the interview. Logging on to my TheLook.com account, my fingers hovered above the keyboard for just a second. The Adventures of Angela: Hooray for Hollywood So here I am in LA. Can you believe it? I’m such a jet-setter. Albeit a jet-setter hiding in her hotel room full of two mojitos and no dinner. Not a good idea, just in case you were wondering. But, happier news, I’m staying in a gorgeous hotel, full of gorgeous people with gorgeous sunshine beaming down on me for the first time in what feels like for ever and I can’t recommend it enough. I’m not recommending putting on a bikini for the first time in what feels like for ever, though – what a cruel and unusual punishment. It does seem to be curbing my appetite though … Well, I hope you’re having a fun weekend. I just wanted to check in and let you know that I have a super-exciting project while I’m out here in LA. Obviously I would never just hotfoot it to Hollywood to enjoy myself; everything thing I do is a massive sacrifice, as you know, but I’ll tell you more about that tomorrow. For now I’ll just turn up the A/C, roll into my giant hotel bed and get an early night before my big day. Me? Smug? Never … I pressed send and then rolled onto the bed. Even hinting at the interview made it feel all the more real. Picking up the remote, I decided to do a little research on James Jacobs. There was a chance I’d been taking the whole ‘go in with no preconceptions’ approach too far. What if he was a total diva and refused to talk to me because I hadn’t even seen one of his movies? Couldn’t hurt to watch one film, could it? I grabbed a ten-dollar bag of M&Ms and mixed a twenty-three-dollar vodka and Coke. Couldn’t hurt to have one more drink, could it? ‘Super-hot and super-talented James Jacobs …’ I said to my reflection in the giant mirror, launching backwards onto the ridiculously comfortable pillow-top bed with the same deliciously soft bed linen I enjoyed, only ever so slightly illegally, every night. Flicking through the movies-on-demand menu, I eventually found the casino movie Jenny had mentioned. At least, if I fell asleep halfway through, she would be able to fill me in on the bits I’d missed. But I didn’t fall asleep. I sat up, staring at the screen, one hand clutching the comforter around me, the other systematically popping M&Ms into my mouth for two whole hours. I wasn’t sure if it was that last vodka, Alex not answering his phone, or all the flesh on display at the pool, but by the end of the film I had a very serious, very unhealthy crush on James Jacobs. Leaning on the triple pillars of journalistic integrity – IMDb, E! online and Perez Hilton, I learned everything there was to know, drama school, RADA, bit parts in various soaps and then the big Hollywood break. And then there were the hobbies: talented painter, keen hiker and, oh yes, he liked the ladies. Lots of them. A Google image search provided dozens upon dozens of pictures of a ridiculously beautiful young man in various states of drunkenness or undress from the last three years. Falling out of a club with Lindsay, lunching with Scarlett, frolicking on the beach with Paris and even attending the opera with Natalie. I clicked on a red carpet pic and enlarged it. Wow, he certainly knew how to work a tux. And a bra strap from the look of it. ‘Angie?’ A dramatically loud hiss through the adjoining door made me jump. ‘Angie, are you awake?’ ‘Yes, Jenny,’ I said, dragging myself off the bed and over to the door that separated our rooms. I opened it up and watched Jenny fall through onto my feet. ‘Fun evening?’ ‘I forgot to leave the air-con on in my room, can I sleep in with you?’ she asked, crawling over to the bed and clambering in. ‘Yes?’ I rubbed my face and sighed, smiling. ‘Just get off my side.’ I pushed her bikini-clad body over to the other side of the bed but she was already asleep. ‘So much for my good night’s sleep.’ I’d had every intention of waking up for an early swim and a spot of tiny-dog watching before setting out to meet Mr Jacobs, but that was before Jenny decided to crash in my room and take up my entire bed. After rolling her back across to her side of the bed seventeen times in two hours, I’d climbed out of bed and made a den on the chaise longue and watched clips of James Jacobs on YouTube, transfixed by his pretty, pretty face. And after falling asleep at around three a.m., I woke up with the pillow glued to my face at ten. One hour before I was supposed to meet James Jacobs. The James Jacobs. Crap. After a second’s panic, I shook Jenny awake to enlist her services as my personal stylist. I scrambled around in the bathroom while she rolled out of bed, irritatingly hangover free, and disappeared into her wardrobe. Somehow I managed to be out of the hotel inside thirty minutes, wearing Jenny’s jade green Velvet T-shirt dress, some pretty brown leather sandals and a matching wide leather belt. Three squirts of dry shampoo into my roots and approval for me to do my make-up in the cab; truly I had come a long way from when she wouldn’t let me walk out of our apartment without a full makeover. ‘Good luck, honey,’ Jenny said, opening the cab door and kissing my cheek. ‘I’m gonna pick up the rental car so call me when you’re through. And yes, I promise I’ll get a nice safe car. I thought maybe we could meet my friend Daphne for dinner?’ ‘Yes, that would be lovely,’ I said, raking through my handbag. Did I have everything? Did I have anything? ‘And really, I’m not kidding. Don’t come back with something ridiculous. We don’t need a Mustang. And I wanted to ask last night, what happened with Joe?’ ‘He’s making me work for it,’ Jenny pulled a face. ‘Did I get fat?’ ‘I don’t even have time to answer that ridiculous question,’ I yelled out of the car as we pulled away. ‘You’re gorgeous.’ ‘Tell that to James Jacobs,’ she shouted back, causing everyone and their mother on the sidewalk to turn and look. But I didn’t mind. Safe and sound in the back of the taxi, I was on my way to meet James Jacobs. Without my Dictaphone. I was so going to be late. After the fantastically professional start to my morning, I made it to Toast with some dubiously applied blusher, a smudge of mascara and about three minutes to spare. According to my itinerary from the delightful Cici, Toast was a ‘very LA brunch spot full of very cool people.’ The implication of course being that I was very much not one of those people. And she was right. Fragile-looking waif girls dressed in skinny jeans, Ugg boots and The World’s Biggest Sunglasses were stacked seven deep around a relatively ordinary looking caf? at the side of a relatively ordinary looking road. Maybe even slightly skanky road. It certainly wasn’t the glamorous LA I was expecting. For the want of an approved outfit and a size zero figure, I stuck on my sunglasses and strode past the tables full of girls pushing food around their plates. ‘Hi there, welcome to Toast. Do you have a reservation?’ There was a girl on the door with a clipboard. Of a caf?. On a Sunday morning. ‘Hi, erm, yes, I do.’ I scrabbled around in my beautiful handbag (at least that looked as if it belonged, even if I didn’t) for the bit of paper that I’d rammed back in there during my scramble out of the cab. ‘I’m a little bit early …’ ‘We’re very busy, if you don’t have a reservation …’ Door Girl looked me up and down in a not particularly flattering fashion. ‘No, I do, it’s under someone else’s name – James Jacobs, maybe? I’m meeting James Jacobs. It might be under The Look, as in the magazine?’ I tried my most charming smile. It did not help. ‘Sure, honey. James Jacobs,’ she said. I really didn’t like the extra-long pause between the words ‘James’ and ‘Jacobs’. I waited until she took a grudging look at her list, then raised one perfectly plucked eyebrow so high that it was practically lost in her highlights. ‘Oh. You’re Angela Clark?’ I nodded and smiled again, trying not to look like a smug cow. Bwah ha ha ha. ‘OK then, if you’d like to follow me? We’ve saved James’s favourite table. He’s not here yet but can I get you some coffee?’ Scary Door Girl transformed into Lovely-Door-Girl-slash-helpful-waitress and I wondered if I hadn’t just been a little bit paranoid. Maybe, just maybe, she was human after all. ‘That would be great. Cream and sugar please,’ I said, sitting down at James’s favourite table, which was thankfully hidden away in a corner at the back of the caf?, inside and away from the crowds. Door Girl frowned. ‘Cream and sugar? Sure …’ Maybe I wasn’t imagining it. Surely as the only person there that couldn’t possibly be a relation of the Olsen twins, they ought to be welcoming me and my ability to ‘do dairy’ with open arms? Jesus, no one else sitting in that place had eaten in a month. Everything on the menu looked delicious but my appetite had vanished. In just minutes, I’d be meeting James Jacobs. The James Jacobs. Who needed cinnamon pancakes and sliced bananas when you had six foot four of sex god coming to see you for breakfast? That was if he turned up. I had been three minutes early; he was now seven minutes late. I took out my newly acquired BlackBerry, playing the ‘I’m waiting for someone’ game for everyone to see. Scrolling through the messages, I looked for something from Alex. He hadn’t called me back. And what was it, two in the afternoon in New York? That was so not on. Shouldn’t he be pining for me by now? I tapped out a text message, deleted it, tapped out another, deleted it before settling on the perfect breezy ‘missing you’ message. ‘Hey you, having brunch at Toast, yummy. Miss you A x’ I frowned at the sent message icon. Truly, I was a writer for a reason. Words were my tools. Tools that I wouldn’t need to be using if my celeb didn’t arrive soon. Nibbling on a piece of bread that the increasingly suspicious-looking Door Girl had set down in front of me, I weathered another forty minutes of sympathetic glances, not-so-subtle whispering and three cups of coffee before my phone rang. ‘Hello?’ I answered the unfamiliar mobile number in a heartbeat. ‘Hello, Angela? This is Blake, James Jacobs’s assistant?’ ‘Oh hi, I’m at Toast, am I in the wrong—’ I started. ‘Yeah, James isn’t coming? His flight was delayed and he can’t make it?’ Blake continued. ‘I – are you asking me or telling me?’ I was a little confused by the way all of Blake’s sentences ended in a question. ‘He’s totally sorry and we’ll call you later with a new meet-up address? Bye.’ And he hung up. Door Girl was on me like a hawk. ‘James isn’t coming?’ ‘Ah, he can’t make it.’ I waved my hand airily, as though I was stood up by movie stars so often that it barely registered on my radar. ‘So just the check?’ The piece of paper was already in her hand and I could see she was itching to slap it down and fill my table with some Lauren Conrad-alike lettuce nibbler. ‘Just the check,’ I nodded. Bloody movie stars. I should have had the pancakes. CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_98d3bb2c-ff4b-507b-a43b-6b8e0217bd5a) ‘I can’t believe that asshole didn’t show,’ Jenny said as we tore down West Third Street in the ridiculous red Mustang convertible that I had told her not to rent but now sort of secretly loved. What I most definitely did not love was Jenny’s driving. She had chosen to confess that she hadn’t been behind the wheel of a car since her last LA excursion years ago, and it showed. As if driving in LA wasn’t scary enough. ‘I called Mary and apparently it’s not a big deal,’ I said, clutching my seatbelt tightly. ‘Apparently celebrity schedules are “fluid”. I’ll catch up with him later.’ ‘I can’t believe James Jacobs is so unprofessional. I’m kind of heartbroken.’ Jenny whirled around a corner and through a red light. No matter how many times she told me you could legally turn on a red signal, I still closed my eyes. ‘I think you’re in need of retail therapy, honey, and I am the Dr Laura of retail therapy. I’m taking you to the best shopping in LA.’ ‘I’m sure he had his reasons, but since you’re offering,’ I said, envisioning a Pretty Woman-style storm of Rodeo Drive, laden with stiff cardboard bags. ‘Let’s do some shopping. Show me some swank, Jenny Lopez.’ ‘OK, here we are,’ she whooped, pulling into an underground car park. ‘But we just left the caf?.’ I was puzzled. We couldn’t have been driving for more than two minutes. ‘So?’ ‘Well, where are we?’ I pushed up my sunglasses to take a look around in the dark. Rows and rows and rows of cars. I suppose it was Sunday, it made sense for people to be at their church. ‘Wouldn’t it have been faster to walk?’ ‘Jesus Christ, they ought to throw you out of the city.’ Jenny squinted in the low light and swung the car recklessly across two empty spaces. ‘What did I tell you about people never walking in LA?’ ‘And this is it? A shopping centre?’ I just could not believe it. ‘The Beverly Center, honey.’ She scrabbled around in the glove compartment. ‘This is the mall in LA.’ We could have been in Milton Keynes. ‘A shopping centre?’ ‘Hey, did I rock up to LA with like, two T-shirts and a ski suit?’ she asked me. ‘No. But you did, so you need to do some shopping. So hush up and get your ass into Bloomingdale’s.’ Once I’d got over the disappointment that was ‘the mall’ and had drunk my body weight in Jamba Juice, I started to focus on the task at hand. ‘So tell me everything that happened with Joe,’ I mumbled through the silk BCBG paisley maxi-dress that Jenny was trying to pull over my head in the Bloomingdale’s changing rooms. I already had an olive green Roberto Rodriguez number, a yellow Phillip Lim 5.1 shift, black Kerrigan silk dress and half a dozen T-shirt dresses from Ella Moss, Splendid and James Perse hanging from the wall that Jenny had decreed were ‘keepers’. So far I’d managed to distract her from the swimwear section. ‘Nothing to tell,’ she said, standing back, head cocked to one side, trying to work out what was wrong with the dress. ‘Nothing happened.’ ‘The dress is about a foot too long, Jenny,’ I explained, hoping to get that look off her face. She looked so disappointed in me. But that could be because she had already clocked my non-matching underwear, something Jenny and my mother felt very strongly about. ‘And what do you mean “nothing”? He didn’t make any sort of move?’ ‘Nothing, nada, zip,’ Jenny pouted. ‘I don’t know, he just wasn’t taking the hint. And the dress isn’t too long, it’s BCBG – you’re too short. Try this. How’s the phone sex going? I bet Brooklyn is really good at the dirty talk, right?’ ‘Shut up.’ I blushed inside the column of silk that was being yanked up over my head. ‘I actually haven’t heard from him yet.’ ‘Really?’ Jenny didn’t even try to cover up the surprise in her voice as she zipped me into a very tight, very blue French Connection strapless mini-dress. ‘But didn’t you call him last night? You know, when you ditched me.’ ‘I didn’t ditch you,’ I squeaked – the dress was tight around the old rack. ‘And no, I couldn’t get through to him. It’s fine, we’ve only been here for –?what – a day? And he’s working all hours on the new record. The record company are pushing them to get it out at the end of the year or something.’ ‘Yeah, I guess,’ she replied, slipping on the BCBG dress and looking like a goddess. Bitch. ‘I just wish he wasn’t so keen to talk to you every single time you’re out and I’m in the tub.’ ‘Hmm,’ I was officially not thinking about it. So far, my star-studded Hollywood adventure had been nothing but a disappointment, and wondering what Alex was doing two and a half thousand miles away was not going to help me have any more fun. ‘Jenny, if I wanted to go somewhere really glam, where would you take me?’ ‘Seriously, would you get over it? I know this is a mall but it has the most stores, it’s where everyone shops,’ she said distractedly, holding out a Nanette Lepore petal pink number and a navy Theory shift. ‘I mean, we’ll totally hit Melrose, maybe The Grove before we go, but The Beverly Center has everything … I saw Britney here once. Before the whole head-shaving thing, when she was allowed out alone. And you can’t afford Rodeo Drive, I know what you make.’ ‘No, I mean something really Hollywood?’ I tried not to pull a face at the pink dress. ‘A real, genuine LA experience.’ ‘Uh, maybe lunch at The Ivy? Drinks at La Deux?’ she held up the pink for my approval. ‘I guess maybe LAX or Hyde or somewhere if you wanted a club. I’m kinda out of the loop on where’s hot.’ ‘Lunch actually sounds really good.’ I held up a deep red Elizabeth & James number, Jenny nodded in agreement and stuck the pink dress back on the end of a random rail. If we had to discuss every shopping decision out loud, we would have no time to cover the other, almost equally important subjects in life. ‘Is The Ivy nice?’ ‘Uh, I guess?’ Jenny draped the red silk across herself, slipping her head between the hanger and the dress before heaving a pile of dresses into my arms. ‘You should get these. Joe could probably get us a reservation. I’ll get Daphne to meet us there.’ I clapped happily as Jenny wandered off to get better reception on her mobile, the red silk still swishing around her neck. So what if I’d been stood up by my movie star? What man could compare with Jenny Lopez, shopping and a super-swank restaurant for lunch? ‘Can I set up a changing room for you?’ A helpful shop assistant appeared at my elbow and held her arms out to take the masses of silk and jersey that I was cradling. I paused for a second and thought of my feeble wardrobe back at the hotel. And then of my credit card limit. And then of my feeble wardrobe back at the hotel. ‘Actually, could you just take them to the counter?’ I asked. She nodded gleefully and literally ran across the shop floor. Sneaking a peek in my bag, I checked my mobile. Well, certainly not Alex, still nothing. I sighed and swung my bag around my back. I was going to need dessert. It turned out that my interpretation of the real Hollywood and Jenny’s interpretation of the real Hollywood were very different. I couldn’t argue with the fact that The Ivy was exclusive and swanky, but unlike genuine A-list haunts in New York, there was no quiet dark entrance, designed to keep the undesirables away through sheer intimidation. Instead, it was slap-bang in the middle of a main road, nestled in between a row of shops and smothered by tourists and star-spotters. McDonald’s on Oxford Street was less conspicuous. Flashbulbs clicked and buzzed all around us as we pushed our way up the little footpath leading from the street into a pretty little country cottage. I paused on the patio and turned back towards the sidewalk – paparazzi waving, shouting and screaming. Blinking back towards the restaurant, I followed Jenny through the calm, quiet and unwaveringly beautiful diners, none of whom appeared to actually be eating; instead they were concentrating very hard on pretending that they weren’t a living breathing version of the ‘Spotted’ page in Heat magazine. Trying to navigate a safe route through the wrought-iron tables and chairs and dozens of stiff cardboard carrier bags, I saw a hand shoot up at the back of the patio and wave us over. ‘Jesus, why on earth did you want to meet here, J doll?’ The hand belonged to Jenny’s friend Daphne, who introduced herself and greeted us both with extravagant kisses. ‘It’s such a circus.’ ‘Angie wanted a real LA experience.’ Jenny peered over the top of her sunglasses at me. ‘And she got it.’ ‘This isn’t really what I was expecting,’ I said, switching my attention from the heaving crowds back on the pavement to Daphne. ‘I was thinking, well, I don’t know. Glamorous? Swanky? LA is weird.’ ‘Yeah, get used to it,’ she said. ‘I hope you don’t mind, I ordered. I’m fucking starving.’ Given that the majority of The Ivy’s clientele appeared to be the exact same group of blondes I’d seen at Toast that morning, who had just about had time to go home and get changed into little sundresses and rich old men instead of Ugg boots and gym boys, Daphne stood out a mile. Just like everyone else here, she was undeniably beautiful but, unlike anyone else, she was a vision of retro beauty. Her black shiny hair was coiffed into a Betty Paige bob and her porcelain skin made my English-rose-slash-pasty-Brit complexion look as though I’d been in the Bahamas for six weeks. Teamed with the most precise eyeliner and perfect ruby red lips I’d ever had the privilege to behold, Daphne was an arresting sight. Jenny had told me she was an artist and a stylist, but I hadn’t figured that her talent with a paintbrush would run to her eyeliner. Next to her polished perfection, I felt as if I’d turned up in my decorating clothes. But weirdly, no one was giving Daphne so much as a second glance. Instead, every single person in the restaurant was pretending not to look at a tiny little brunette, skulking in the corner and wearing a ridiculous number of layers for such a sunny day, who was sitting with an incredibly average-looking man in a business suit. ‘Who is that?’ I asked quietly, joining in the pretending-not-to-notice game. ‘I feel like I should know her.’ ‘You should,’ Jenny said, sipping one of the gimlets Daphne had ordered for us. ‘It’s Tessa DiArmo, the singer? She stayed at The Union just before Christmas. Pain in my ass.’ ‘Everyone’s a pain in your arse,’ I said, giving in to curiosity and turning around for a good look. The girl was genuinely minuscule, with masses of wavy light brown hair and glowing tanned skin. Whatever ‘it’ was that celebs had, Tessa apparently bathed in it every morning. Without batting so much as an eyelash, she had the attention of every single person in the restaurant. ‘I never saw her in The Union. She’s so pretty.’ ‘Wouldn’t cut it with us, huh J?’ Daphne said, sipping the fresh cocktail that had been silently replaced. ‘You can’t shake what ain’t there.’ ‘Shake?’ I tried to register the looks that were exchanging between the two girls, Jenny seeming slightly startled and Daphne smiling innocently into her drink. ‘Jenny told you how we met, right?’ she asked. ‘No,’ I turned to look at Jenny. ‘She actually didn’t.’ ‘Daphne,’ Jenny let out a warning shot. I had a sneaking suspicion that Daphne wasn’t going to be hushed by a stern tone of voice. ‘Chill, J, it’s so not a big deal.’ She pressed her lips together, refreshing her pout. ‘We used to work together. When J lived here last time?’ ‘When she was acting?’ I asked. ‘When she was dancing.’ I bit my lip and looked back at Jenny. Impossible. She was blushing. ‘Dancing? You danced?’ I really, really wanted Jenny to nod, smile and possibly demonstrate some tap moves. ‘Oh baby doll, I do not believe Miss J never told you about our act?’ Daphne pouted. ‘You had an act?’ This was too much. ‘Sure,’ Daphne said, as a waiter appeared with three giant salads. ‘A burlesque act.’ Jenny’s blush faded until her clear caramel skin paled to a sallow sea green. Even behind her giant sunglasses, I could see her eyes were as big as the huge salad plates in front of us. Simultaneously, we both reached for our gimlets and drained the glasses. ‘Well,’ I finally managed, ‘Jenny Lopez, you dark horse. I should have known.’ ‘Excuse me?’ Jenny reached across the table and finished Daphne’s cocktail. ‘What is that supposed to mean?’ ‘I just meant, you know, you carry yourself like a dancer,’ I protested. Just one cocktail in and I’d already had too much to drink to lie convincingly. Daphne sat cackling across the table and making ‘more drinks’ signs at our waiter. ‘And you’ve got good rhythm?’ There was no way to dig my way out of this. ‘No, I’m sorry, you’re going to have to fess up about this one. Burlesque dancing, Jenny Lopez?’ ‘I’m going to the bathroom.’ She pushed her chair backwards, straight into the person behind her. ‘And when I get back, I really don’t want to talk about it.’ ‘Of course,’ I called as Jenny stormed across the patio, her massive tote bag bashing diners in the back of the head as she went. Waiting until she vanished inside the restaurant, I turned back to Daphne. ‘I reckon we’ve got about three minutes: go.’ ‘OK.’ She cleared her throat dramatically. ‘Jenny and I met about seven years ago. She was out here waitressing, trying out at all these open auditions and shit, basically not getting anywhere. I was working in this vintage store on Melrose and, well, kind of stripping. But classy stripping, you know, not like “drunken bachelor parties” stripping.’ ‘Oh, of course,’ I nodded, trying to think of an example of classy stripping. And failing. ‘So we were both at this club one night,’ Daphne went on, ‘and we got to talking, got to dancing, got to some serious fucking drinking, and so I tell her that there’s an open call for dancers on a new music show the next day. I kind of didn’t think she would show, but I turn up and there she is. The full Flashdance, seriously: legwarmers, one-shoulder sweater, the whole outfit. ‘But the problem is, Jenny can’t really dance. I mean, she can move, right? But she’s not a trained dancer. And look at me. I am so not what MTV are looking for. Anyways, we get up there, basically make asses out of ourselves, and just when we’re about to go get real drunk and laugh about the whole thing, this chick comes up to us and asks if we’ve ever thought about doing burlesque.’ ‘And then what happened?’ The vision of Jenny dressed as an extra from Fame was almost enough for me, but I had to get the rest of the story. ‘What did I freaking say?’ A firm slap on the back of my head heralded Jenny’s return from the bathroom. ‘We’re so not talking about this.’ ‘Oh, we so are,’ I pushed another gimlet at her. ‘Get this down you.’ ‘Seriously,’ Jenny necked the drink, ‘we’re not. We’re also not going to be able to drive the Mustang back to the hotel. I’m wasted. I totally forgot how strong these were.’ ‘I’ll drive, let’s just have one more,’ I said, tapping her hand. ‘Go on, Daphne.’ ‘No, do not go on Daphne,’ Jenny shook her head. ‘And you cannot drive. Angie, honey, you’re tanked. Can we just eat now please?’ For the want of knowing what else to do, I picked at my salad, smiling, nodding and accepting more drinks as they appeared. Jenny stared across the table at Daphne, her face like thunder. Dessert was looking more and more necessary to save the day. Or at least another gimlet. ‘So where are we going next?’ Daphne asked after the waiter had taken away our plates. ‘You guys have a pool, right?’ ‘We’re going to get the check and go back to the hotel,’ Jenny said, looking at her watch.’ Angie’s on standby for Mr Movie star and you still need to call Alex, right?’ ‘I do need to call Alex,’ I slapped Jenny’s hand in agreement. Maybe I was a little bit tipsy. ‘Can you hear something?’ ‘Angie, honey, it’s your phone.’ Jenny fished my BlackBerry out of my (divine) bag and held it up to my face. I leaned towards it, getting Jenny’s finger in my ear. ‘Yo,’ I slurred. ‘Hi, it’s Blake?’ ‘Blake?’ Did I know a Blake? ‘James Jacobs’s assistant?’ ‘Oh bollocks. I mean, oh yes, Blake, hi. How are y—’ ‘James wants you to come to the Chateau now?’ Crap crap crap crap crap. ‘Now?’ All together too many questions in this conversation. ‘Call this number when you arrive?’ The phone chimed as Blake rang off. ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked, tossing the phone back in my bag. ‘Did he cancel the whole thing?’ ‘Oh my God, I wish.’ I closed my eyes and willed myself to open them sober. ‘Try the opposite. Right now.’ ‘They want to do the interview now?’ Jenny winced. ‘He’s here?’ ‘He’s here. And I have to go and meet him now. God, Jenny, I’m wasted! I’m going to get sacked, I’ll lose my visa, I’ll have to go back—’ ‘Jesus, overreact much?’ Daphne stood up, leaving a huge wad of bills on the table (how expensive were those gimlets?) and held out her hand. ‘Where’s he staying?’ ‘Uh, at a chateau?’ That didn’t sound right even to me. ‘Chateau Marmont, it’s like, fifteen minutes from here. J, take her into the bathroom and, fuck, I don’t know, just do something with her. I’ll order a cab.’ Daphne was, thank God, all business. Once in the bathroom, it became horribly apparent that I was in fact very, very drunk. And just as Jenny was trying to shuffle me out of her T-shirt dress, which was covered in salad dressing from where a tomato had escaped my fork, and into the new emerald green Robert Rodriguez silk dress that had charmed its way onto my credit card in Bloomingdale’s, my BlackBerry began to chirp again. ‘Answer it: it could be that gorgeous douche-bag cancelling,’ Jenny puffed, fiddling with the black patent belt. ‘And if it is, give me the goddamn phone so I can kick his ass. And give him my cell.’ ‘Can’t reach it,’ I said, trying to kick the phone out of my (poor) bag but only succeeded in booting it behind the loo. Jenny looked up at me. ‘This might be a nice restaurant, honey, but I won’t forget crawling around on the floor of a public bathroom any time soon. You so owe me.’ She grabbed my phone from behind the toilet and passed it up to me. ‘Missed call from Alex.’ ‘Shit.’ I pressed redial but it went straight to answer phone. ‘No time, Angie, call him from the cab.’ Jenny took my phone and my hand and led me through the packed tables out to the waiting cab that Daphne had summoned. ‘You got everything you need?’ ‘I think so,’ I nodded, gripping my bag tightly, hoping it might help the ground stopping spinning underneath me. ‘Dictaphone, cash, room key. Call you when I’m on my way back?’ ‘Screw it, I’m clearly gonna have to make sure you get there OK.’ Jenny pushed me into the back seat and hopped in after me. Daphne coughed loudly from the pavement, giving Jenny what I took to be her most apologetic pout. She leaned out the door and sighed. ‘Fine. Get your ass in here, Pussycat Doll, let’s go get a drink.’ Chateau Marmont was, as Daphne had promised, just fifteen minutes away, making it a straight thirty minutes between Blake’s hanging up on me and my standing in front of the door of bungalow two. The girls had made up in record time and cackled off into Bar Marmont, leaving me to face the long walk up to the hotel alone. As much as I was trying to concentrate on just putting one foot in front of the other, I couldn’t help but notice how beautiful the hotel was. Just how I imagined Old Hollywood to be. A beautiful turret sitting high up on the hillside, huge arched windows looking into lounges full of gorgeous high-backed chairs, palm trees, discreet but hot waiters everywhere. If it weren’t for the ever-present BlackBerries, MacBooks and Lindsay Lohans lounging by the pool, I could almost believe I was back in the Fifties. What I couldn’t believe was how crap I felt. I couldn’t decide if it was hot-even-for-LA-heat, the chaotic cab ride over, or my quickly building fear of meeting James Jacobs, jetlagged, drunk and made up in a taxi, that was making me feel sick to my stomach. I paused for a second and dialled Alex one last time. Just talking to him for a minute, a second, would be enough, then I could go in and do whatever it was the magazine were expecting me to do. But he still wasn’t answering. As always in life, when my girlfriends were busy in the bar and I couldn’t rely on a boy, I turned to my two constants, my handbag and lip gloss. A quick slick of Mac lip gloss and I was as ready as I’d ever be. One quick knock and the door opened. ‘Hi, I’m …’ I looked up with my biggest brightest smile and lost the ability to speak. James Jacobs opened the door. ‘Angela Clark?’ he finished for me with a smile that put mine in the shade. ‘Hi, I’m James.’ ‘I … I …’ I reached out, grabbing something hard, spinning away from the door and puking into some very pretty bushes just before everything went very, very dark. Waking up in a strange place to the sound of a strange man laughing was not something I was incredibly experienced at, and so, when I opened my eyes in a bedroom that was most definitely not my own, wearing something that was not my dress, I panicked slightly. In that I rolled off the bed, cracked my elbow on the bedside table and screamed. Before I could locate an open window and make an escape, a shadowy figure appeared in the doorway. Oh, I had seen Misery, I knew what was happening. ‘Hello? Can I help you?’ Since there was no time to escape from the scary stranger holding a blunt weapon and blocking my escape, why not be polite? My mother would be very proud. ‘Doubtful, at least not before you put your dress back on,’ A deep BBC British accent came out of the dark and then the curtains opened. From my vantage point on the floor, I could see a very tall, very handsome man holding out my beautiful new green dress and a huge glass of water. Ha, like I was about to drink his drug-laden cocktail. Unless it wasn’t a drug-laden cocktail and the very handsome man holding my dress was in fact James Jacobs. Oh, balls. ‘James … Jacobs?’ I pulled the hem of the T-shirt I found myself in down over my knees. ‘Angela Clark?’ He set down the glass and held out a hand to pull me up. ‘I hope you’re feeling better.’ ‘Oh, erm, yes.’ This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening. The six-foot-something Greek God standing in front of me holding out a freshly pressed dress with a gorgeously lopsided grin couldn’t possibly be James Jacobs. ‘I am so sorry. I just don’t know what happened.’ ‘Food poisoning, I’m sure,’ he said smoothly, laying the dress out on the bed. ‘There’s a shower just through there and I had this cleaned so it’s puke free. When you’re done, I’ll be in the living room.’ ‘Thank you?’ There was such a serious chance I was still dreaming that I just decided to go with it. ‘Was I sick on your shoes?’ ‘Little bit,’ he said, luckily still smiling. ‘Don’t worry, I’ve got more shoes knocking around here than a Footlocker. I’ll live.’ A quick shower, a long session with my Touche Eclat and I was dressed, ready to face my fate. Mary was going to go insane. It was one thing for me to blow the biggest chance of my career but, mid-shower, I realized it wasn’t just me: I’d blown the magazine’s shot at a major interview. They’d told me numerous times in the last week that James Jacobs hardly ever did press and I had just thrown up on his shoes, passed out in his hotel room and, oh my God, had he undressed me? This humungous Abercrombie & Fitch T-shirt certainly wasn’t what I’d arrived in. I wasn’t sure if that was supposed to go in the ticks or crosses column. ‘Hi.’ He stood as I sloped into the living room, all six gorgeous feet and four beautiful inches of him, clutching loose pages of something in his tanned hands. ‘Hi.’ I didn’t know where to look. Seriously, my Alex was so incredibly sexy, just the thought of him made my stomach curl up and purr, but this giant chunk of man was something else. His curly dark brown hair was longer than it had been in any of the photos I’d seen online and his blue eyes were so dark they were almost black. Even in a slightly scuzzy T-shirt, I could see broad shoulders tapering into a slender waist and, oh my, his great big thighs were just itching to get out of those jeans and into a hot tub. With me. And a bottle of baby oil. Bad Angela: time to be professional. Plus, even if I was interested, I had a feeling that James Jacobs didn’t go for girls that introduced themselves by vomming on his shoes. Perhaps I could give ‘friends’ a go. ‘You’re feeling better? I can give my assistant a ring and ask him to get us some coffee or something if you want,’ he said, gesturing for me to take a seat on the sofa. ‘I thought you were out for the count, to be honest.’ ‘How long was I passed – asleep?’ I asked, looking around the bungalow. Anything to avoid looking directly at The Hottest Man Ever. It was all very cool, very LA Confidential, the total opposite of The Ivy. ‘Couple of hours. I didn’t know if there was someone I should call or anything, so I thought it was better to just let you sleep it off.’ James folded himself back into the easy chair as I took the sofa. His legs were so long. Long enough to wrap themselves around a girl with a good shin to spare. Hypothetically speaking. ‘The only thing is, I’m actually going to have to get off quite soon – I’ve got a meeting with a director this evening.’ Fantastic. I had actually blown it. How lovely of him to give me a couple of seconds to check him out before dropping the bomb. ‘Oh, of course. I’m really sorry about, well, everything. It has been great to meet you. I’ll let the magazine know what happened. Sorry.’ ‘Really? I can’t imagine they’d find it as funny as I did, to be honest. Wouldn’t you rather just crack on tomorrow and pretend this never happened?’ James put down the pages of the script he was holding and held out his hand. ‘I love your writing. Really bloody funny. Can’t wait to see how the interview is going to work out.’ Which was when I realized it wasn’t a script that he’d been holding, they were printouts of my blog. Pages and pages from ‘The Adventures of Angela’, photocopies of articles I’d written for the US and UK editions of the The Look scattered all over the coffee table. Wow. Beautiful and prepared. ‘Thank you, but well, it’s difficult to take a compliment when you’ve just been sick on someone’s shoes,’ I said, eyes firmly on his bare feet. He even had sexy feet. Eyes on the carpet. ‘So you still want to do the interview?’ ‘Absolutely,’ the voice attached to the beautiful man replied. ‘Stop stressing about it. It’ll be a great story to tell the grandkids.’ I snorted a tiny bit of water through my nose. ‘Won’t it?’ I managed eventually. ‘Anyway, if you have a meeting, I should let you get on. What time do you want to start tomorrow?’ ‘Ten?’ He stood up again to get the door. ‘I’ll get Blake to send a car for you. Where are you staying?’ ‘I’m at The Hollywood,’ I said, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. ‘Uh, my friend works at The Union in New York, so we’re staying there.’ ‘I love The Union. I haven’t stayed there yet but I, uh, visited a friend when she was staying there last year.’ James pulled out the big guns, a little shy smile with the big blue eyes peering out from behind his hair. ‘I’ll have to come and see you at The Hollywood. See if it’s as swish.’ ‘Swish,’ I echoed. Then I actually giggled. ‘So tomorrow at ten.’ ‘Tomorrow at ten.’ He kissed me on the cheek as I stumbled backwards out through the door. ‘Bye then.’ As the door closed, my sanity began to trickle back. I needed a cab. I needed to call Jenny. I needed to call Alex. God, that man was good looking. As the cab travelled along Hollywood Boulevard, taking me further away from James Jacobs geographically, the further away I felt from reality. Surely none of that had just happened. The only thing that was certain was that Jenny did not appreciate my turning in early again. ‘This is the second night in a row you’ve ditched me, Angie,’ she yelled over the row of the bar. ‘Seriously, come on. You’ve already thrown up, you may as well get back on it.’ ‘Jenny, I really wish I could,’ I lied through my back teeth. All I wanted was my bed. ‘I have to meet James tomorrow morning and I just need to call Alex and get some sleep.’ ‘Call Alex?’ Apparently that was the wrong thing to say. ‘You’re going to go back to the hotel and call Alex instead of coming to meet me?’ Jenny wasn’t amused. ‘You get your ass out here and tell me every single thing that happened with James Jacobs.’ ‘She’s blowing you out for a guy?’ I heard Daphne crow over her shoulder. ‘What an asshole.’ ‘No, I … Jenny, I just need to sleep,’ I sighed. ‘Seriously. We’ll go out tomorrow.’ ‘Yeah, whatever,’ she hiccuped. ‘Until you decide you have to stay in and wait around for a boy to call. Just don’t bother calling me in the day when Mr Movie Star stands you up again. I have plans.’ ‘Doing what?’ I asked but she’d already hung up. Jenny was so much fun when she was drunk and grumpy. Why did I have a feeling Daphne was not going to be a good influence? Back at the hotel, I stripped off my new dress and pulled on the ancient Blondie T-shirt I had ‘borrowed’ from Alex before I left. It must have been washed a thousand times but it still smelt of Alex’s apartment, of home. I dialled his number again. ‘Hello?’ ‘Alex? It’s me.’ I had never been so happy to hear his voice. ‘I tried to call you earlier.’ ‘I know, I’m sorry.’ OK, so we weren’t starting with ‘I love you, I miss you, I’m going mad without you’. ‘It’s been such a ridiculous day.’ ‘Yeah, I’ve been busy too. We were in the studio until –?like – three this morning,’ Alex replied through a yawn. ‘Shouldn’t you be interviewing your movie star?’ ‘That all got off to a bit of a dodgy start but it’ll be all right, I think. James is really, really nice,’ I said, smiling at the thought of Alex with his black hair all ruffled on the pillow, my head resting against his chest as he fell asleep, his fingers curled around my wrist. ‘You sound sleepy. Are you OK?’ ‘I guess I was asleep,’ he yawned again. ‘And just how nice is this James? Should I be worried?’ ‘No,’ I slipped into bed and set my alarm for eight a.m. ‘I think you’ll be OK. Especially since I …’ ‘Since you?’ ‘Since I just babbled like an idiot. I’m sure he thinks I’m the worst interviewer he’s ever met.’ I decided not to share the shoe puking until I got back to New York. It felt more like an ‘in-person’ story. ‘You should go back to bed. I don’t want to be the reason the world has to go without a new Stills album this year.’ ‘You’re the reason there’s going to be another album at all,’ Alex said softly. I curled up against the pillows and smiled. No six-foot sex god could compete with that. ‘So, about that phone sex we talked about?’ I was sure what he really meant to say was ‘I love you and I can’t live with you.’ But he didn’t. ‘Goodnight, Alex. Get some sleep.’ ‘What are you wearing?’ ‘Goodnight, Alex.’ I hung up and flicked off the lights. Boys. CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_0962ace4-094c-5180-9a72-c6ef89e36779) When James had said he’d send a car, I really wasn’t expecting a limo. And I really wasn’t expecting him to be inside it. Thankfully, I’d managed to prise myself out of bed at a reasonable hour and was fully prepped. Well, made-up and blow-dried. I had tried to come as far away from yesterday’s vomit incident as possible in a cute inky blue Ella Moss jersey dress, evidence of my credit card abuse in Bloomingdale’s. Nothing pukey about this little number. I just couldn’t bend over at all. Fingers crossed the superstar could be distracted enough by legs so as not to notice my lack of stellar interviewing skills … ‘Good morning, Miss Clark,’ James utched across the back seat of the limo, as though there wasn’t enough room in there. Or possibly because he was confused by my size 12 backside. Given most of the girls I’d seen at Chateau Marmont would struggle to tip the scales at 100 pounds, I could understand why he’d be concerned about my girth. ‘You’re looking very refreshed.’ I took that as code for ‘not about to vomit’. ‘Well, thank you very much, Mr Jacobs,’ I replied with a winning smile. For God’s sake, I’d already puked in front of the man, where was the point in being star-struck? ‘Let me introduce my assistant, Blake.’ James gestured towards a very stressed-looking, but very cute blond sitting in the opposite corner of the limo. For shame, I hadn’t even noticed him; I was way too busy checking out James’s huge thighs in his teeny tiny workout shorts. For my interview, of course. ‘We were just running in the hills. Well, I was, Blake was reading Perez Hilton on his BlackBerry.’ ‘Shut up,’ Blake held out his hand. ‘Sorry I missed you yesterday?’ ‘Oh, really, don’t be. The fewer people involved in yesterday, the better,’ I said, shaking his hand and my head politely. Blake was actually very good looking, exactly how I would describe a Californian All-American Boy: rumpled blond hair, incredibly tanned and athletic looking in his workout gear. If it weren’t for the fact that he was seriously setting off my gadar, I would have been absolutely warming him up for one Miss Jenny Lopez. Well, if one Miss Jenny Lopez had actually made it home the night before. A quick peek in her room on the way down to meet James presented a still-made-up-from-the-morning-before bed. I looked down into my (suffering slightly from being on the floor of the toilets in The Ivy) Marc Jacobs handbag to see if she’d replied to my text. Nothing yet. ‘Yeah, anyway, I’m basically here to make sure you stick to the approved topics and if at any time I say stop, we stop and the interview is over, OK?’ Blake barked. ‘You did get the list of approved topics?’ Approved topics … I tried not to pull the ‘was that one of the pieces of paper Cici gave me and I’ve left in the hotel?’ face. ‘Absolutely.’ Absolutely certain it was one of the pieces of paper Cici gave me that I’d left in the hotel. ‘Fantastic,’ Blake continued, as though James wasn’t even in the car. I was trying to pay attention but how can anyone listen to instructions when James Jacobs is sitting just a couple of feet away and pulling a very cute ‘aren’t all these rules so silly?’ face. Concentrate. Concentrate. ‘The idea of the interview is for you to introduce your readers to “the real James Jacobs”. So really we want you to focus on his movies, his hobbies, his ambitions for the future. And you know what we don’t want to focus on.’ ‘He’s talking about the sex, drugs and rock and roll,’ James whispered theatrically. Cue my first ridiculously loud and faintly hysterical cackle of the day. ‘Hilarious, James, just hilarious.’ Blake raised a well-groomed eyebrow. ‘Let’s make jokes in front of the reporter. Don’t write that down.’ ‘Oh, really, I’m not …’ I paused, took a deep breath and started again. ‘I’m here to work with you, not to try and trip you up or anything.’ Wow. How professional did I sound? ‘We know, Angela,’ James reached over and took my hand. Be still my thumping, thudding heart. ‘Blake is just a little bit over-cautious. Some reporters are just out for as scandalous a story as they can get. I’m just worried that you’ll be a little bit let down – if only my life was exciting as it looks in the papers.’ Blake smiled tensely at me and nodded to James. Hmm. It hadn’t actually occurred to me that this might be hard work. How much media training had this man had? If James wasn’t going to give me anything, then what was I going to write about? ‘I’m sure it’ll be great,’ I said, pulling my all-new superstar interviewing pad, pen and Dictaphone out of my bag. ‘So, what is the plan for today?’ ‘Terribly exciting.’ James stretched over to the mini-fridge (limos are awesome) and passed me a bottle of water before tossing one at Blake and opening a third for himself. ‘I have rehearsals at the studio this morning. I thought you might want to come and see the set, meet the rest of the cast?’ ‘Sounds fun,’ I said casually. I was going on set! I was meeting the cast! ‘And then I thought maybe we’d get some lunch. I could show you some of my favourite Hollywood hang-outs.’ ‘That would be great,’ My head heard Hollywood hang-outs but my stomach only heard lunch. I’d spent so long sorting myself out that breakfast had been completely forgotten, and since everything I’d eaten yesterday had ended up in the bushes outside James’s bungalow, I was starving. I would have given my right arm for a Jaffa Cake. ‘Really keen to see your favourite bits of town. I have to say, I’m not loving LA yet.’ ‘You’re not?’ James looked surprised but ignored Blake’s loud tutting. ‘Haven’t been completely seduced by the sunshine? Most Brits love it out here.’ ‘The sunshine’s great,’ I agreed, ‘but I think my ex-pat loyalties are already spoken for. I live in New York.’ I did so enjoy saying that. ‘I like New York too, but LA is just fantastic,’ he insisted. ‘Where have you been so far?’ ‘Uh, The Beverly Center, The Ivy and Toast. Where you stood me up.’ ‘Yeah, sorry about that.’ James slipped in another small smile. Seriously, how did anyone ever get mad at him? ‘My flight was delayed. Serves me right for agreeing to do a movie in Canada. And no wonder you don’t love it here. You’ve been to a shopping center and a tourist trap. Trust me, I’ll show you some good places. Now tell me how you ended up in New York.’ All the way from Hollywood to Century City, I told James the tale of how I had fallen in love with New York, starting with my journey from hand-breaking bridesmaid to magazine columnist and blogger, via new handbag, new BFF and new super-sexy boyfriend. And when I put it all together, it even sounded pretty cool to me. But then, I missed quite a lot out. ‘So you’re dating the lead singer of Stills?’ James seemed impressed. ‘They’re really good. Do you think they’d be interested in working on soundtracks at all? They would be perfect for my next film.’ ‘Alex really wants to work on films,’ I said excitedly. Get me, well-connected girlfriend of the year. ‘You should definitely talk to him.’ ‘Why don’t you call him?’ James said, snatching Blake’s BlackBerry from his hands and passing it to me. ‘Go on, I would love to talk to him. I’m a massive fan.’ Since the pretty man asked so nicely and since Blake looked so pissed off, I dialled. And predictably Alex did not answer. ‘Oh well.’ James threw the BlackBerry back at Blake and laughed. ‘We’ll try him later. Looks like we’re here. Did you know Fox’s headquarters were the Nakatomi building from Die Hard?’ ‘No way!’ I yelled, hanging out of the window like an overexcited Labrador. ‘Yep,’ James yanked me back in as we drove straight through security. ‘They were in Alvin and the Chipmunks too but the less said about that the better.’ ‘Were you in Alvin and the Chipmunks?’ I asked, narrowing my eyes. James stared straight back at me. ‘The less said about that the better.’ Hooray for Hollywood indeed. For some reason, I’d thought I would be able to swank around the studio without a single bat of an eyelid, as if I always hung out on movie sets, as if watching Adam Sandler whizz past me on a little golf cart was just an average Monday; but I turned out to be a little bit more of a slack-jawed yokel than I had hoped. Wandering around with James wasn’t helping. Almost every other person we passed wanted to speak to him or at least find some feeble excuse to stop him and stroke his arm, slap him on the back or give his forearm an affectionate squeeze or an altogether slutty gaze. I tried not to be jealous but I couldn’t help but feel completely invisible. ‘This is where I’m filming today,’ James said, after the seventh assistant to the assistant’s assistant of the day had finished blathering on about how privileged she was to be working with him. From outside, it just looked like a massive warehouse, sandy coloured and sun-bleached, like everything else I’d seen in LA, but once James opened the door and I stepped inside, something crazy happened. We were back in London. I turned to look out through the door. Outside, sunny, shiny LA. Inside, London at sunset. Trafalgar Square, to be exact. ‘No way,’ I said, stepping lightly, completely disoriented. ‘This is bizarre.’ ‘It stops me getting homesick,’ James said, taking my hand and leading me through a maze of wires and cameras. ‘Have you ever climbed on a lion in Trafalgar Square?’ ‘No.’ I stared all around me. ‘I actually never have. Isn’t that sad?’ ‘You can do it now if you want,’ James said, pointing across the floor to a perfect replica of a Trafalgar Square lion, beside a Nelson-less half-column. ‘Give me your phone, I’ll take a picture.’ It was madness. Once we were inside the walls, away from the miles and miles of cables and lamps, my brain just couldn’t register the fact that we were still in LA. I couldn’t even really believe I was inside. The things they can do with lighting these days … At James’s insistence, I clambered up on top of the lion, a little bit shocked to find it wasn’t actually bronze but something slightly less solid and warm. ‘Is this going to break?’ I asked, trying to throw my leg over without flashing my pants. ‘It doesn’t feel very solid.’ ‘It’s fine,’ James insisted, squaring me up in the viewfinder of my crappy phone camera. ‘Just try not to kick it or anything. Jessica Alba was on it the other day and it was fine.’ I clung to the lion’s neck, trying not to think about how many Jessica Albas I weighed and praying to the prop gods that this lion was built to take the weight of real people as well as Hollywood waifs. A quiet creak was enough to convince me that it wasn’t. ‘I don’t think I can get down,’ I said, trying not to panic. This was not going to be my finest moment. ‘Seriously?’ James laughed, stuck my phone in the back pocket of his jeans and held out his hands. ‘Come on then, jump.’ ‘I can’t,’ I said, gripping the lion slightly too tightly with my thighs. ‘I’m stuck.’ ‘You’re not going to be able to do the interview from up there, are you?’ he pointed out. ‘And I have a scene in here in about an hour. I’ve read my script: you’re not in it. Jump.’ I pursed my lips and closed my eyes. This wasn’t going to be flattering, however I hard I tried. Folding my leg underneath me and almost dislocating it in the process, I inched along the lion as far as I could before I felt myself sliding down its backside much faster than I had anticipated. ‘Shit!’ I wailed, collapsing into James’s outstretched arms. ‘This is going to be the best interview ever, isn’t it?’ James asked. With massive quantities of self-restraint, I shook myself out of his broad, hard chest and coughed, not knowing whether to brush my hair or my skirt down first. ‘I’m probably not going to mention this part,’ I said, accepting my phone back. It was warm from his pocket. ‘But this set is amazing.’ ‘Yeah,’ he nodded, looking around. ‘Always seems crazy to me when they spend a fortune on a set, though. Although I suppose they can’t go around blowing up parts of the real Trafalgar Square.’ ‘You’re blowing bits of it up?’ I asked, hoping it wouldn’t be my lion. ‘Shit, I’m supposed to be sworn to script secrecy.’ James pulled an imaginary zip across his mouth. ‘You didn’t hear that from me.’ ‘Of course,’ I said. ‘Are you blowing it up today? Can I watch?’ ‘Bloodthirsty, aren’t you? Nope, sorry, Trafalgar Square doesn’t get it until next week.’ ‘James!’ Blake yelled from the steps of the National Gallery and tapped his watch. ‘Trailer!’ ‘Want to see my trailer?’ James raised a perfect eyebrow. I raised mine. ‘I bet you say that to all the girls.’ ‘Maybe a couple,’ he admitted, putting an arm around my shoulder and walking me off into a Waterloo Sunset. If walking onto the set had been like walking into London, walking into James’s trailer was like walking into heaven. I’d never, ever seen anything so plush. It made The Union and The Hollywood look like a youth hostel. ‘This place is amazing. Why would you even have a house?’ I charged up the steps and into the lounge. Three massive plush sofas dominated the space, all pointing at a huge flatscreen TV with a beautiful low coffee table set in the centre. Under the TV was a DVD player, a Blu-ray player and several games consoles. It was basically boy heaven. ‘Gets boring after a while,’ James said, his hand hovering over a fruit platter on the coffee table before he skipped over onto a bowl of M&Ms. ‘Sometimes I just really want to fuck off back to my mum’s. You can fly direct to Sheffield now, can’t you? I could be there in a day.’ ‘Sheffield?’ I gave James a questioning look. ‘I thought you were from London?’ ‘Not approved!’ Blake called from the kitchen. He stuck his head around the door. ‘We’re not talking about James’s past, Miss Clark.’ ‘OK.’ I launched myself into one of the squishy sofas and filed it away. ‘So, James has to go do some actual work. We’ll be, like, two hours. You’ll stay here?’ Blake pushed James through the door as he threw me a helpless shrug and disarming wink. ‘Perfect,’ I said to myself, pulling my laptop out of my bag. It was almost twelve already and my blog wasn’t about to write itself. Couldn’t hurt to at least attempt to get it in on time … The Adventures of Angela: LA Story So finally, I can let you in on my secret … right now, as in right this second, I’m blogging to you from the trailer of a very cool, very talented and, well, gorgeous movie star. Seriously, we’re talking A-list, super-hot, 100% amazing Ac-Tor-type person. What’s great for me (but possibly a little bit rubbish for you), is that I’m actually interviewing him for The Look – my first-ever proper interview! But that’s not the most rubbish bit (unless I do a really shoddy job, that would be a bit tragic): what’s really sad is that I’m not allowed to tell you who it is. I know, what a tease. What I can do is tell you all about LA and all the adventures I’m having … Which have so far totalled a bit of shopping and puking outside a bungalow at Chateau Marmont. I am all class, I know. But seriously, what gives? Why am I not loving this place? I was so excited to leave the New York snow but LA just seems a bit empty and impersonal instead of glamorous and exciting. Am I doing something wrong? If you have any recommendations, please email me and let me know where I should be going. And yes, before you ask, I have a car. Course, things might pick up when Mr Movie Star takes me out this afternoon … I do this all for you, you know. Blog written and emailed to Mary back in New York, I popped in the earphones from my Dictaphone and prepared to type up my notes. Hmm. Me telling James how I ended up in New York. James laughing. Me telling James how much I disliked LA. James laughing. Blake telling me I had to stick to approved topics. James laughing. So far, all I had for the interview was: JamesJacobs loves to laugh. Before I could even start to panic, I heard my phone buzzing in my bag. Mary – Office. Meep. ‘Hi Mary,’ I said, shuffling onto the edge of the chair and actively not biting my nails. ‘You got my blog?’ ‘I did, you were sick outside his bungalow?’ Mary wasn’t one for pleasantries. ‘Er, yeah, food poisoning,’ I bluffed. ‘James didn’t know anything about it, I just thought it sounded funny on the blog.’ ‘Right.’ I know she didn’t believe me for a second. ‘Is everything OK? Have you got some good stuff?’ ‘Yes?’ ‘Do you want to send it to me?’ I stopped actively not biting my nails. ‘It’s not ready.’ ‘It’s not ready?’ ‘And I’m a perfectionist.’ ‘Right. Send me something tomorrow.’ I didn’t know if it was a good or bad thing that she hung up without absolutely kicking my arse, but I was fairly sure that it was not good. Mary might have agreed to let me do the interview, but if things looked as though they might be going badly, she would pull me off in a heartbeat, and I was absolutely not going to let that happen. This was my chance; I really wanted it to work. Somewhere along the line, I’d got it into my head that if I could do this, then I could do anything. That maybe Mary would send me more exciting assignments than reviewing the new Christina Aguilera album. I just had to do a good job. Even if I had absolutely no experience, precedent or genuine reason to believe that I might be able to. Shit. So what had I really learned about James Jacobs? He liked to run in the hills, he had just filmed a movie in Canada and he may or may not be from Sheffield. Hmm. Not even enough to warrant a ten-second interview on Facebook let alone a magazine interview. OK, Angela, I told myself, as soon as James comes back to the trailer, you will be a hard-hitting journo. You will be the world’s most investigative interviewer. You will check your make-up and hope that you are still looking human. And then, of course, James will walk back in while you have two giant rings of Touche Eclat highlighting your impressive eye bags. He was shadowed, of course, by Blake. ‘Well, you, Angela Clark, are a rare beauty.’ He gave me one of his most dazzling smiles. It was a wonder he didn’t think everyone in the universe was mentally challenged, it was so difficult to actually give a coherent response when he really turned it on. ‘It’s a terrible load to bear,’ I agreed. ‘So what are we up to?’ ‘I’m all done here for today.’ James stretched, touching the tips of his fingers to the ceiling of the trailer. ‘Just let me get changed and then I thought we could head out into town.’ ‘Sounds like a plan,’ I agreed, watching him vanish into the other room, giving me a chance to pat (never rub) the magical make-up into my skin and check my phone. Nothing from Jenny still; nothing from Alex. It was nice to feel loved. I sent a quick text to Jenny to check she was alive, but didn’t have time to put together an Alex-appropriate message before James reappeared, car keys in hand, Blake by his side. It took time to be breezy. ‘So, where are we going?’ I asked, dropping my phone into my bag. James held out a hand and hoisted me up. ‘We’re going to show you LA. Ready?’ Outside the trailer, James’s limo had mysteriously vanished and in its place was a huge, petrol blue truck. Oh dear. ‘A Hummer?’ I tried not to raise an eyebrow at the clich?. Very Entourage. ‘An H2H – hydrogen-powered Hummer. Don’t judge a book by its cover, Angela.’ James held open the door. ‘You are a long way from home right now, James Jacobs,’ I tested, shaking my head and clambering up inside. ‘Not approved.’ Blake ‘helped’ me into the cab with a firm shove to the arse. ‘Seriously, Miss Clark, we are not talking about James’s past in any way—’ But before he could climb into the car after me, James leaned over, slammed the door shut and ran around to the driver’s side. Sliding in and gunning the engine, he gave his assistant a hearty salute as we pulled out of the parking space. ‘Bye Blake, I’ll keep her on the approved topics, don’t worry,’ James called as we drove off, making an overly dramatic ‘I can’t hear you’ gesture at his furious assistant as he revved the engine ever louder and peeled out of the car park. ‘Now, I love that guy, but seriously, how are we supposed to do an interview with him barking “not approved” every ten seconds?’ ‘Couldn’t agree more.’ I wound the window down, trying to ignore the giddy butterflies building up in my stomach as we pulled out of the studio lot and onto the Avenue of the Stars. It wasn’t just the ridiculous street name, it was cruising at high speed in a great big shiny truck. It was looking out of the window and up into the sunshine. It was the great big genuine grin on James’s face. ‘But aren’t you afraid I’ll ask you some horribly inappropriate questions and print some scandalous filth in the magazine?’ ‘Here’s hoping,’ he grinned. ‘What do you think?’ James asked as we screeched to a halt. For the second time that day, my eyes turned to fall on something impossibly beautiful. I’d been so busy fiddling with James’s iPod in the truck, trying to work him out by his song selections (impossible: he had everything ever recorded from Strauss to The Stones – and Stills, of course) that I hadn’t even looked out of the window once we pulled onto the freeway. Why bother? The streets weren’t interesting like in New York or London. No one walked anywhere, the strips of shops were ugly or run down; there was literally nothing to look at. But while I’d been busy not paying attention, the ocean had appeared from nowhere. The Hummer was surrounded by people laughing, running, Rollerblading. We were at the beach. Practically falling out of the truck, I ran towards the sand, leaving a sandal behind me. ‘It’s amazing,’ I said, more to myself than anyone else. ‘Look at it.’ ‘So this is Malibu. Beats Skegness, doesn’t it?’ James said quietly, presenting me with my abandoned shoe. He knelt down and cradled my bare foot in his hand, slipping on the sandal. Instinctively, I caught my breath and my balance, holding onto James’s shoulders. Which was fine until my balance and my breath decided they didn’t want to be caught and I toppled forward in slow mo, right on top of James. ‘Beats Skegness,’ I muttered. I was only vaguely aware of the fact that my skirt had ridden up well clear of my knickers, but I was intensely aware of the tiny flecks of green in James’s blue eyes, the scar in his eyebrow from a long-departed piercing and how ridiculously shiny every single strand of his hair was. Somewhere not that deeply hidden, my biological clock set itself to Pacific Standard Time and I felt a very strong urge to have all of James’s babies. As soon as possible. ‘That’s twice you’ve fallen for me today.’ James stared up at me for a moment, then brushed my hair off my face. ‘You know your eyes are really beautiful.’ ‘What?’ ‘Your eyes, they’re really pretty.’ James gently pushed me off and sat up. ‘So, blue. Have you ever thought about going darker with your hair?’ ‘Muh?’ Seriously, I was dry-humping him on the beach and he was asking me if I’d thought about cracking out a bottle of Nice ’N Easy? ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, gently pushing me up and averting his eyes while I put myself away. ‘I spend far too much time with make-up artists. They’re always telling me if my hair was darker it would make my eyes look bluer. Apparently.’ ‘Make-up artists,’ I nodded. ‘So not all those hot women you’re forever being pictured with?’ ‘Not approved,’ James smirked, taking my hand and pulling me up onto the sand. ‘Shut up and come on.’ The endless ocean melted between the cloudless blue sky and golden beach, but it just couldn’t compete with the skin-on-skin contact. I was sure that the tiny thrills that kept tickling up and down my back would go away if I could just speak to Alex. But my phone had only had the decency to buzz once and that was to remind me that the repeat of Gossip Girl was starting. Or it would be if I had been in New York and not Malibu. I gave myself a mental shake and breathed out. Either I was just going to have to put Alex out of my mind and get on with the interview, or I was going to have a week’s worth of embarrassing anecdotes and an empty Dictaphone. ‘Shall we sit down for a while?’ I asked, kicking off my sandals and pulling out my ‘I’m a professional’ paraphernalia. ‘Jesus, I suppose so,’ James screwed up his face. ‘I know you’re a journo and everything, but can we at least attempt to keep it fun? I’ll let you in on a secret, I’m not a very good celebrity.’ ‘I’ll try,’ I said wryly. ‘And I can let you in on a secret too: I’m not a very good journalist.’ ‘Don’t be daft,’ he said. ‘I’ve read your stuff, you’re great.’ ‘Don’t you have people to do that sort of thing for you?’ I asked, trying not to be too flattered. ‘Surely you don’t actually read for yourself?’ ‘There’s actually just my manager, an accountant somewhere who makes sure I don’t go broke –?and Blake. When I first moved here, I had dozens of people, but it just didn’t work. I’ve never been great at letting people think for me and talk for me, and I hate having dozens of people around me when I don’t know if they’re genuine or not. That’s one of the reasons we’re doing this.’ He tilted his head and looked squarely at me. ‘Blake is … Blake is great at running my life but I don’t think he’s the best person to put in front of journalists. All the media people out here are just, well, just too much. They have to know every single thing that you ever did or might do. There was just no privacy, ever. This, by the way, is off the record.’ I held up the Dictaphone. ‘You want me to turn this off?’ Instead of answering, he took it from my hand, turned it over a couple of times and gave it a considered look. Before throwing it hard and far into the sea. ‘Don’t worry about it.’ ‘Don’t ever ask to borrow my phone,’ I said, wondering how I would write that off as expenses. Shit. ‘So let’s just sort this out. The magazine told me we were trying to do a piece to explain to all your adoring female fans that you’re not some heartbreaking Hollywood lothario but just a misunderstood artist looking for your perfect woman. What was it that you were expecting?’ ‘Well, that sounds good, let’s do that one. What do you need from me?’ he asked, concentrating on running streams of sand through his fingers. ‘I’m literally yours between now and the weekend.’ I tried not to think about what ‘literally yours’ could amount to and concentrate on the job at hand. Ish. ‘I have a billion questions but, to be honest, I’ve never had to work off questions before. How about if we chat, I’ll check the topics we’re supposed to cover every so often, and when I write stuff up at night, you can check it before I send it to my boss?’ ‘You’ll never work for Vanity Fair, you know that, don’t you?’ he shook his head. ‘But that sounds perfect.’ ‘OK,’ I nodded. ‘Before we start properly, though, I have to ask you one thing. And yes, I know I can already hear Blake giving it some “not approved”, but since you just chucked my Dictaphone in the ocean, I’m asking it anyway. Where are you from?’ ‘Well, Angela Clark, I went to drama school in London—’ ‘Not the biog, thank you very much. Where were you born?’ I pressed. I was getting the honest answer to this if it killed me. ‘Fine, fine, I’m surprised it’s not common knowledge anyway,’ he shrugged. ‘I’m from South Yorkshire. Near Sheffield actually.’ ‘No way,’ I laughed out loud. ‘My grandparents lived in Sheffield; I spent every summer there for years. I could hear you had an accent but I couldn’t quite place it.’ ‘What did you expect? They don’t really go in for “it’s grim oop north” at RADA,’ he said, flicking a handful of sand at me. ‘Where’s your Yorkshire accent?’ ‘Didn’t say I was from there, I just spent a lot of time throwing a tantrum on the floor of Redgates toy shop as a child,’ I said. ‘Happy memories.’ ‘Ahh, Redgates. I got all my Star Wars figures there. That’s how I knew I wanted to be an actor, I wanted a little plastic figure of me, just like my Luke Skywalker.’ He made a little pile of sand between us, then pressed it flat with the palm of his hand. ‘I thought they made figures of everyone, you know? And when my mum said they only made them of people in films, I decided that was it. I’d have to be in films. God, I haven’t thought about Redgates for years. My mum would take me there on my birthday and then we’d go to the Wimpy on The Moor. How mad is that?’ ‘Mad,’ I agreed. ‘Who would have thought: James Jacobs, the toast of Hollywood, Yorkshire born and bred.’ ‘Well, I wasn’t James Jacobs then,’ James grinned. ‘Just plain old Jim.’ ‘Jim?’ I tried not to laugh. ‘Jim Jacobs?’ ‘What’s your problem with Jim? My dad is Scottish.’ ‘Nothing, I can just see why you changed it,’ I said, composing myself. ‘You don’t really hear people talking about Sexy Jim or Hot Jim, do you?’ ‘I suppose not,’ he said, laughing at something he clearly wasn’t going to share. ‘It’s more of an Old Jim or Pervy Jim.’ ‘Or Fat Jim,’ I added. ‘Did you just call me fat?’ He pushed me sideways, knocking me off my balance, back into the scorching sand. ‘No,’ I said, trying not to count up how many times he had already seen my knickers. ‘I called you Fat Jim.’ ‘Come on, fat or not, just thinking about a Wimpy is making me hungry,’ he said, jumping up and pulling me with him. ‘Let’s go and get something to eat.’ I nodded and followed, trying not to be distracted by his denim-clad rear as we strode across the sand. He was like a walking, talking Levis ad. There was no possible way he could have spent his formative years anywhere other than an Abercrombie & Fitch catalogue. ‘So when did you leave Sheffield?’ ‘Eighteen. I went to study drama in London and never went back,’ he said, beeping the car’s alarm. ‘My parents moved away and there wasn’t much opportunity for an actor up there. Well, there was panto at the Crucible but the less said about that, the better.’ ‘Panto?’ ‘The less said about panto the better,’ he repeated sternly. ‘It is weird people don’t know where I’m from, I suppose. I got my break here and everyone just assumes I’m from London. Are you going to out me as a northerner?’ ‘Can I?’ I asked, hopeful that I would have something to write. ‘I’ll do you a deal,’ he replied. ‘You can have that if you promise not to mention the word panto in relation to me – ever.’ I thought carefully for a moment. ‘Hmm, well …’ ‘Angela …’ It was more of a warning than anything else, but I did like hearing him say my name. ‘Fair enough.’ Back at the car park, I quickly checked my phone to find a couple of missed calls from Jenny. I bit my lip, my phone must have been buzzing all the time we were sitting on the sand and it hadn’t even occurred to me to check it. ‘Boyfriend?’ James asked, looking from my phone to my slightly strained expression. ‘If you need to give him a ring, I can amuse myself for a minute.’ ‘No,’ I said, dropping the phone back in my bag. I was working, after all; Jenny would understand that. ‘It’s fine. Should you call Blake? I bet he’s going mental.’ ‘I bet he is.’ James looked away and smiled. You could almost mistake him for normal people until he cracked out the teeth. Talk about a Hollywood smile. ‘Huh, just the twenty missed calls from Blake.’ ‘Really?’ James nodded. ‘He worries constantly. It’s his job.’ ‘Shouldn’t you call?’ ‘He’ll wait. Now strap yourself in, I drive like a maniac. Apparently.’ ‘You don’t say,’ I clicked my seatbelt. ‘Where are we off to now?’ ‘Honestly? You’ve got me completely worked up,’ he said, gunning the ridiculously loud engine. ‘So there’s only one thing to do …’ ‘Oh my God,’ I moaned. ‘I think I’m in heaven.’ ‘You’re amazing.’ James looked so shocked. ‘I can’t tell you the last time I had a meal with a girl that ate the bread. Or even the burger.’ ‘Well you might want to prepare yourself,’ I warned him, reaching across the table for a giant handful of fries. ‘I’m about to go into carb overload.’ There appeared to be several perks to hanging around with a movie star. You could leave work and go straight to the beach in the middle of the afternoon; you could talk your way out of a speeding fine by signing an autograph for the policeman’s fourteen-year-old daughter; and you could get a table at 25 Degrees, the most amazing burger restaurant in the entire world, just by smiling at the waiter. I had tried not to feel smug as we cruised past all the people waiting for a table, but it was hard. Yes, it was the James Jacobs, and yes, he was with me. I knew that he was only with me because it was sort of his job but it was still a little bit lovely. What wasn’t as lovely was panicking about what kind of state I was in when all these people were staring. I hadn’t so much as touched up my lip gloss since we left the studio. And while I wasn’t completely unused to people whispering behind their hands about the man I was with, this was on another level. Loads of people knew who Alex was in Brooklyn, but the difference was that you could be standing in line for coffee in the Starbucks nearest to Alex’s apartment and three of the five people in front of you would also be in bands. While here, as far as I could see, no one else in the restaurant had been nominated for the Best Fight, Best Kiss and Best Actor at the MTV Movie Awards last year. And I was absolutely certain there wasn’t another contender for Heat’s Torso of the Week within a hundred-foot radius. ‘I just have to …’ I couldn’t quite finish the sentence; nothing seemed particularly appropriate. So I just shuffled along the leather banquette clutching my (beloved but now slightly sandy) handbag. James nodded, blissfully lost in his giant burger. The restaurant was long and narrow, making it impossible to hide from the dozens of pairs of eyes that followed me all the way out to the toilets. And I couldn’t really blame them: I would have stared too. ‘Are you seriously James Jacobs’s girlfriend?’ What I wouldn’t have done was follow me out, grab my arm and ask a really rude question. But then I wasn’t a huge, angry-looking girl with bright red dyed hair and a bum-bag. ‘What? Are you retarded or something?’ she demanded, arms now folded, her face absolutely enraged. ‘Sorry, no, I’m …’ I paused and looked back. James was still scarfing his dinner, absolutely oblivious to the attention he was receiving. ‘No, I’m not his girlfriend.’ ‘Yeah, I totally said there was no way you were his girlfriend,’ the girl looked visibly relieved. ‘But my sister …’ she paused to point over at a skinny girl with matching dyed hair waving from a small table opposite the bar. ‘She said you were because she heard you talk and you were British. Are you his sister? You don’t look like his sister.’ ‘I’m interviewing him,’ I said, completely flustered. Now I just really needed a wee. ‘So no, I’m not related to him or going out with him. Excuse me, I’m just off to the bathroom.’ ‘I’ll wait here, you totally have to introduce me,’ the girl yelled after me. I couldn’t believe it, did Blake have to put up with this all the time? I couldn’t help but wonder what that girl would have done if I had been his girlfriend. I’d dealt with the fact that there must be girls that had crushes on Alex (and the less pleasant fact that, before we’d met, he’d been a bit of a slag), but that was all ancient history. The threat from Alex’s groupie following was incredibly limited compared to that of an actor. And James was something else altogether; every woman with eyes knew who he was. And once you combined his celebrity with his looks and the hateful fact that he was actually really, really nice, it was difficult not to have a bit of a crush on him. Not that I did. Honestly. Well, not that I’d ever cheat on Alex. And I knew Alex would never cheat on me. Would he. Would he? No, of course not. Not even if I was away in LA and he was back in New York without me, writing his new album, getting all excited out and about in Brooklyn, maybe having a drink with the rest of his band who were all single and surrounded by that limited but not inconsiderable number of groupies I was just thinking about. Couldn’t hurt to give him a call. I sank into one of the velvet couches in the gorgeous lobby. 25 Degrees was nestled inside The Roosevelt; it was such a gorgeous hotel and I felt as though I was letting it down in my simple jersey dress, even in the middle of the afternoon. Glancing around, I counted no less than eight people making calls around me. No need to worry about a tut and a sigh, then. In fact, I couldn’t think of a venue I’d been to yet where people weren’t on their phones. I speed-dialled Alex and let it ring. It was almost five in LA, so almost eight in New York, too late for him to be asleep, way too early for him to be writing. Maybe he was just out. Maybe he was surrounded by groupies. Hot skinny blonde groupies plying him with compliments. And drugs. Oh God, they’re definitely giving him drugs— ‘Angela?’ ‘Hey, I just wanted to …’ Check you weren’t in the middle of a drug-fuelled orgy with a bunch of groupies. Or Kate Moss. ‘Are you OK?’ ‘Yeah, sorry, I can’t talk,’ Alex sounded as if he was outside and I was instantly homesick for the sound of sirens and honking horns. Groupies honking their horns at my Alex … ‘I’m just getting on the subway.’ ‘Going anywhere nice?’ Like Kate Moss’s hotel room? ‘We’re gonna try out some new stuff at an open mic night in the city,’ he said. ‘See what it sounds like live.’ ‘Really?’ I was surprised at how upset I was. He was going to try out new songs without me? ‘Wish I was there.’ ‘Did you want me to wait until you got back?’ ‘Yes. Will you?’ ‘No.’ ‘Oh.’ ‘You were kidding, right?’ No, I thought. ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘of course. Let me know how it goes?’ ‘OK, talk later.’ And he hung up. ‘Yes, the interview’s going great. No, I’m not going to have an affair with James but it’s sweet that you’re worried,’ I muttered to myself as I redialled Jenny. ‘Angie?’ she answered. ‘You’re all right then?’ I asked, faking annoyance. ‘Where were you last night? With Joe?’ ‘No,’ she sniffed. ‘Sorry Angie, I can’t talk, I’m busy. And you don’t want to get in trouble with your movie star.’ I didn’t know what to say, she sounded slightly peeved. ‘Everything is fine with the interview. I wanted to check you were OK. I was worried when you didn’t come back to the hotel last night.’ ‘Not worried enough to call before this afternoon or come out last night though, huh?’ she countered. ‘Miss J, come on!’ I heard Daphne yelling in the background. ‘Are you talking to that British chick?’ ‘Sorry Jenny, I was so ill and I knew I was going to have to actually be able to think today. Can’t we go for dinner tonight?’ I asked. Moody Jenny was not fun. ‘I don’t think I’ll make dinner, we’re out,’ she said, vaguely. ‘I’m sorry, I know you’re working. I just hoped we were going to get to spend more time together. Where are you?’ ‘The Roosevelt.’ I looked around at the beautiful interiors. ‘It’s so gorgeous here.’ ‘Is James with you?’ Jenny asked, slightly more interested. ‘Could he get us on the list for Teddy’s?’ ‘If I knew what that was, maybe.’ ‘It’s the club in the Roosevelt.’ She sounded excited for the first time since she’d picked up the phone. ‘Go ask him and then call me back.’ ‘I might have finished your burger,’ James said, not at all apologetically as I dropped back into my seat. ‘But if you wanted to order something else, I could absolutely help you with it.’ ‘I’m fine,’ I said, idly picking at a tasty chip. ‘Suppose we should really crack on with the interview.’ James frowned. ‘Actually, I’m a bit knackered. How would you feel if we held off until tomorrow? I could do with an early night.’ ‘Fair enough,’ I nodded. An early night? Not very Hollywood hell-raiser. ‘I ought to get one myself but I have a horrible feeling I’m going to end up out with my friend.’ ‘Do you know where you’re going?’ he asked, polishing off the last bit of my bun and starting on the fries. ‘There are some right shit-tips around here if you’re not careful.’ ‘She said something about Teddy’s? That’s here, isn’t it?’ I really couldn’t bring myself to ask him to get us in. It was just too embarrassing. ‘Yeah, Teddy’s is fun,’ James chewed thoughtfully, ‘but – and don’t take this the wrong way – it’s really hard to get in. What time were you thinking of going?’ I shrugged. ‘Don’t know – late, I think. Jenny is out doing … something.’ It bothered me that I didn’t know what that something was. ‘There’s no point really getting there before eleven. Tell you what, I’m going to go back to the hotel and then why don’t I come back and meet you here? I’m sure I’ll feel better later, and if I’m with the enemy, I’m less likely to get into trouble,’ he said before draining his Diet Coke. ‘The enemy?’ I was completely confused. ‘Journo,’ he nodded towards me. ‘Oh,’ I almost laughed out loud. ‘Sorry, I feel like I’m letting you down.’ James set down his glass and pushed my hair back behind my ear, his hand lingering against my flushed cheek. ‘It is a shame,’ he agreed. His thumb traced my cheek, his fingers twisting themselves into my hair. His dark blue eyes found mine, searching them with something like a smile that just made it to the very corners of his mouth. I breathed out slowly, thinking what a good job it was that I hadn’t finished my burger, when my stomach did a triple somersault and my heart was catapulted to somewhere in my throat. ‘Well, I’d better let you go,’ I mumbled against his cool palm. ‘Sorry,’ James said, dropping his hand and his eyes. ‘I’d better let you go.’ This was absolutely, definitely going to be harder than I’d hoped, I thought as I staggered out of the restaurant. But maybe for completely different reasons than I had imagined. CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_cfefcaf2-0cb5-5575-94c3-f31a6520f90e) The short walk from The Roosevelt to The Hollywood was just enough time to convince myself that the whole cheek-stroking incident hadn’t actually happened. And if it had, it was just because, as I had expected, James Jacobs couldn’t communicate with a girl unless he was trying to get in her pants. Except it hadn’t been that way all day. Looks aside, he was exactly the opposite of what I had expected. He wasn’t arrogant, he wasn’t rude and, irritatingly for Angela Clark, interviewer extraordinaire, he didn’t seem to want to talk about himself at all. Hmm. I’d been completely ready to fall in love with his beautiful face and expecting to grit my teeth and tolerate him being a total arse, but I wasn’t at all prepared for him to be nice. Even nicer than nice maybe. I needed a drink. Standing by the barrier in The Hollywood’s rooftop bar, mojito in hand, the big white letters nestling in the hills didn’t seem any more real than they did on Saturday. If living in New York was like walking into a living movie, arriving in LA was like walking onto the set. It all seemed slightly artificial, as though the sky and the hills and the Hollywood sign could just pull away to make way for a more successful city if this one didn’t test well. I leaned over the balcony, and tried to take it all in. Nope, still not buying it. ‘Hey, English. Where’s Lopez at?’ ‘Hi Joe,’ I smiled as he leaned against the barrier, his tight black shirt pulling against his arms. I didn’t remember them being so massive, but I guessed that was one of the perks of shaking cocktails all day. Insta-biceps. ‘I’ve been out all day, no idea where she is.’ ‘Yeah,’ he held his hand up to shield the sun out of his eyes. ‘Jenny said you were interviewing James Jacobs. How’s it going?’ He stroked my cheek and I think he was going to kiss me and I really wanted him to and that makes me a horrible person because I have a lovely boyfriend but he hasn’t called me or texted me and isn’t it OK anyway because he’s a movie star? I thought. ‘OK, I suppose,’ I said. Joe snorted. ‘Guy’s a douche. I’d love to hear what shit he’s spinning you.’ ‘No really.’ I was actually a little bit surprised. I didn’t know Joe well but he didn’t seem like the kind of person to be jealous. ‘He’s not like you’d think. Not like he is in all the magazines.’ ‘Please, I don’t read that kind of trash.’ Joe turned around, resting his back against the barrier. ‘I’ve met him and I’m telling you, he’s an asshole.’ ‘Really?’ I asked. ‘Where? When? What did he do?’ ‘You’re like a proper reporter now, huh?’ Joe laughed. ‘Who, where, what, why, when? You really have changed, English.’ ‘I don’t know about that,’ I said, resting the chilled glass against my forehead. ‘Still haven’t got a blind clue what I’m doing.’ ‘You seem to be doing pretty good to me.’ Joe draped an arm over my shoulders and gave me a half-hug. ‘You’ve been here, what, six months? And from nowhere, here you are, interviewing douche-bags in Hollywood. And, I might add, looking totally hot. I bet Lopez is pissed that she gave you such a great makeover.’ ‘Thank you?’ It seemed like at least half a compliment. ‘But I think Jenny’s safe. She’s totally incredible anyway. And so ridiculously gorgeous,’ I added, marking it up mentally to score some points with Jenny if she was still mad later on. ‘Yeah, Lopez has always had it. But living with her looks good on you,’ he squeezed my shoulder. ‘Hey, whatever happened with you and that guy in Brooklyn? Is that still through?’ ‘Alex?’ I was surprised Joe remembered. He’d moved to LA about a month after Alex and I had failed miserably the first time around and I hadn’t mentioned his name once after he broke it off. ‘We actually got back together.’ ‘Too bad.’ Joe held my gaze a second too long before I broke off to stare back out at the hills. What was going on today? Did I have an ‘I’m easy and desperate’ sign taped to my back? Or was my dress still tucked in my knickers? ‘So tell me how you know James. Did he stay here?’ I asked. I might not be an amazing interviewer but I was very experienced in changing the subject. ‘Nah, I’ve met him out a couple of times.’ Joe frowned. ‘Guy’s got an attitude. He’s just kinda off. Thinks he’s something special, I guess.’ ‘That’s so weird.’ I couldn’t quite believe we were talking about the same person. ‘He’s been such a gentleman to me.’ ‘Maybe he’s different with the ladies,’ Joe shrugged. ‘And that fag he hangs out with. What an ass.’ ‘Blake might be a bit highly strung,’ I said tightly, ‘but I don’t see how his being gay makes him an ass.’ ‘Don’t get me wrong,’ Joe held out his hands, ‘I got no issue with that, man. This is Hollywood, more than half the guys out here are gay. He’s just, well … He doesn’t play well with others.’ ‘Why don’t you come out with us tonight?’ Two birds, one stone, I thought. Jenny will forgive me if I bring Joe and Joe gets to see that James isn’t, well, whatever he thinks he is. ‘We’re going to Teddy’s.’ ‘With James Jacobs?’ ‘And Jenny,’ I offered. ‘Come on, I’m sure we’ll hardly see James. He’s just going to get us in.’ ‘I could have got you in,’ Joe sniffed. ‘Well, I’d really like it if you came. Jenny too,’ I said, squeezing his arm. Joe paused, looked back at the bar he had been tending all day and then back at me. ‘What time?’ Since she’d blown back into my room around eight, Jenny had been in a much better mood than when we’d last spoke. But she hadn’t breathed a word about her whereabouts, waving me off with an insincere ‘just doing stuff’ in reply to any and all of my questions. Not too irritating. After what felt like a lifetime in the shower, she emerged a goddess, her masses of curls bouncing around her face like a halo, skin glowing with two days of sunshine and the most infectious smile I’d seen on her in months. ‘LA suits you then?’ I asked, as we jostled for space at the make-up mirror. I couldn’t help but feel as though she should have to apply her make-up blindfolded as a handicap. Where the sun had given her a golden sheen, the beach had left me blotchy and my hair was just an unmanageable mess. ‘I’d forgotten how much fun it was,’ she admitted. ‘Makes me feel like doing crazy stuff. Makes me feel – I don’t know – alive? Is that too cheesy?’ ‘No. I know exactly how you feel,’ I said, sketching around my eyes with a jet-black Mac pencil. The aim was to draw attention away from my riotous mane and flaky nose. Not too big an ask, then. ‘Not about here, admittedly, but that’s how I feel about New York. Maybe you needed to get away, give yourself a bit of a kick-start.’ ‘And now I need something else.’ She gave me a wink and started on her fourth coat of mascara. ‘Seriously, I know you can’t make a move on James Jacobs, but what’s the protocol on me taking him for a test drive? I’ll give you all the details. Now that would be an exclusive worth reading.’ ‘Jenny,’ I warned, slipping into my new bright yellow Phillip Lim mini-dress. I’d hoped the sunshiny colour would lift me into an LA frame of mind. So far, all it had lifted was my credit limit, but it was beautiful. ‘I don’t think it’s the best idea you’ve ever had. What about Joe?’ ‘What about Joe?’ She pulled on what I recognized immediately as her lucky dress. A beautiful red, purple and gold Alice + Olivia silk number with a deep V-neck slashed to an empire line. The crossed straps on the back emphasized her flawless tanned skin and tiny waist while the flared skirt whirled around her as she moved. My God, she meant business. ‘If I’m not totally mistaken, Joe had his chance already. You should always aim for the top, Angie. If you don’t believe you’re worth the best, why will anyone else?’ ‘Oh dear, Oprah Lopez is back,’ I said, slicking on some clear lip gloss and hoping for the best. ‘You know I am just as keen as the next man for you to have some empty, meaningless, hopefully utterly demeaning sex, but does “the best” have to be the man I’m interviewing?’ ‘Of course not,’ Jenny took my shoulders and looked at me closely, assessing my make-up. ‘I mean, if James knows Jake Gyllenhaal I’ll be more than happy to trade up.’ ‘That so wouldn’t be trading up,’ I said quietly, taking the new lip gloss she held out. ‘James is definitely hotter than Jake. And nicer too, I bet. And a better actor.’ ‘Uh-oh, someone has a crush,’ Jenny nodded at the peachy gloss. ‘And what does Alex think about you trading up?’ ‘Please …’ I blushed. I was so happy that she was talking to me again, it just didn’t seem necessary to tell her about the cheek stroking. ‘Not even a movie star would be trading up from Alex. You can’t compare hotness with love, can you?’ ‘Wait, he’s said he loves you?’ Jenny stopped in her nose-powdering tracks. ‘When did this happen and why am I only finding out now?’ ‘Well, no,’ I admitted. ‘He still hasn’t actually said it. I just meant that I wouldn’t swap what we have for anything.’ ‘Angie, I wish you would just pick up the phone and say it,’ Jenny said. ‘What are you waiting for? You can say it first, you know.’ ‘I hate it when you flip into Oprah mode,’ I mumbled, slipping on my ever-ready Louboutins. How did a simple red sole transform a strappy gold sandal from ‘nice shoe’ to ‘spend-a-month’s-rent-on-me-and-I-will-complete-you’? Those shoes and I had been through a lot together, including breaking someone’s hand; and even though they should remind me of some not-so-good times, the effect they had on my legs was magical. And therefore they would always be forgiven everything. ‘So that’s it? You just don’t want to say it first?’ Jenny pressed on. I knew she wouldn’t rest until she got an answer. And the cow could always tell when I was lying. ‘No,’ I sighed, perching on the end of the bed to fasten my shoes. ‘I don’t want to say it first, OK?’ ‘It’s more than OK,’ she said, sitting down next to me. ‘But really, I already know you love him, honey. Everyone knows. Erin knows, Vanessa knows, I think even Scottie in the diner knows. So I’m pretty certain Alex knows.’ ‘His name isn’t Scottie,’ I sighed. ‘So you think I should say it?’ ‘No, what I’m saying is, you wear your heart on your sleeve, Angie, and maybe this time you wait him out.’ Jenny combed my hair back off my face. ‘Let him do the running. If he loves you, he’ll say it.’ ‘If.’ It was hours since we’d spoken and I was starting to get really annoyed that he hadn’t called back. ‘Anything else you want to tell me, doll?’ Jenny asked. ‘Because if he has done anything wrong—’ ‘No, no.’ I breathed in deeply and stood up. ‘Just me being paranoid. He’s just been hard to get hold of the last couple of days. Come on, let’s go and get you some.’ ‘Hell, yeah.’ She kicked on her sandals. ‘But he can’t say he wasn’t warned. If I see so much as a tear out of you because of him, I will kick his ass all the way across the Brooklyn Bridge.’ ‘I’ll have to get you back to Brooklyn first,’ I said, linking arms and pulling her out of the room. ‘You seem awfully at home here.’ ‘Well, let’s see how I get on with your movie star,’ Jenny said cheerfully. ‘I can always fly back in his private jet if I really have to.’ Joe was waiting in reception, propped against the desk in tight black jeans and second-skin grey T-shirt, artfully stretched at the deep V-neck. He was clearly taking his rivalry with James very seriously. Even if James didn’t know anything about it. Jenny literally leapt out of the lift and scooted over, curling herself into the crook of his arm, her dreams of private jets and Malibu mansions forgotten for at least the length of time it took us to walk from reception to James’s waiting car outside. I wasn’t sure whether to be happy or not, but he’d swapped the Hummer for the limo, much to Jenny’s delight. But nothing could compare to the look on her face once she was safely positioned between a slightly terrified-looking James and a slightly territorial-looking Joe. I hopped in next to Blake for the five-minute ride down to The Roosevelt, trying to pretend the awkward moments with both James and Joe had not happened. Trying and failing. ‘How come we have to drive five minutes down the road?’ I asked after the introductions were done. ‘It’s not terribly environmentally friendly, is it?’ ‘Want to see what happens when I hang around Hollywood Boulevard at eleven at night?’ James asked, pressing the button to let down the blacked-out window. ‘Hi ladies,’ he called at a group of girls hovering outside Gap. ‘Omigod, are you …?’ The tall brunette closest to the limo dropped her drink, spilling Coke all over the pavement. They peered inside at James and, honestly, even if he hadn’t been a megastar, I don’t think I would have been able to keep it together. His tight black shirt stretched over his ‘just finished a movie’ six-pack and his loose, straight-cut jeans couldn’t conceal his fantastic thighs. And even though he was sitting on it, I’d already had a sneak peek at his backside when he climbed across the limo seat. Not that I was looking. ‘Yeah, James Jacobs,’ he nodded, holding up a hand in a short wave. ‘Have a great evening.’ All three of the girls paled and stood open-mouthed for a split second as James buzzed the window back up. Then they broke out into an ear-piercing, glass-shattering scream. Before I could lean back into my seat, they were on the car. Actually on it. ‘Enough games, James?’ Blake sighed, as the limo began to move at a crawl, leaving the girls behind us. ‘This is all going to end up in her freaking magazine. Is that what you want?’ ‘Does that happen everywhere you go?’ I asked, staring back at the girls standing in the middle of the street, clutching at each other just to stay vertical. ‘More or less everywhere,’ James laughed. ‘You didn’t notice it today?’ ‘Only in the restaurant,’ I said, thinking back over the day. It was quite possible that people had been collapsing left, right and centre, but I had been so busy trying not to fall in love with James myself that my own mother could probably have passed out in front of us and I wouldn’t have noticed. ‘Wow. That must be a nightmare.’ ‘You learn to live with it,’ he said, smiling at Jenny, who had been silent (for the first time in her life) for the whole journey but sat staring at James with the most ridiculous grin I had ever seen etched into her face. Joe, however, had a face like thunder. Maybe this wasn’t my best idea ever. ‘Shall we go in?’ Teddy’s really was fun, if not completely surreal. Like the rest of The Roosevelt, it was gloriously old Hollywood, and wandering through the darkened bar, past the subdued booths lined with wine-coloured velvet and mahogany-coloured people, I felt just like Elizabeth Taylor. If Elizabeth Taylor had been incredibly self-conscious about weighing at least as much as two of every other woman in the room. Whilst having to restrain her best friend from physically attacking every man in the room. But then maybe Elizabeth Taylor did have to do that, how would I know? ‘Jesus, Angie, I think I’ve died and gone to heaven,’ Jenny whispered as we were escorted through to a VIP table. ‘This is totally where I belong.’ ‘Well, don’t rely on me hanging out with you when you’re here,’ I whispered back. ‘I feel like someone stuffed an Olsen twin down my dress. How thin are these girls? And I think Joe is going to deck James. Or Blake. Or both.’ Despite James’s attempt at conversation, Joe had maintained an impressive stony silence, except for when he was addressed by me or Jenny. Plus he and Blake had been exchanging stares ever since we got in the limo and it had only got worse since we arrived at the club. ‘So, Joe,’ I started with my quickly formulated plan of distraction. ‘Do you come here a lot?’ ‘Mmmm,’ Joe nodded, swirling the beer he had insisted on buying himself at the bar, ‘with some of the guys from the hotel. And you know, sometimes I model a little. I actually did a job at the Tropicana a couple of weeks ago, the roof bar here.’ He sat down in between me and Jenny, sliding an arm around each of us. It might have looked casual, but the firm grip on my shoulder said it was anything but. Jenny idly caught his fingers and entwined them with her own, even though her eyes were firmly locked on James. I was working extra hard at not making eye contact with anyone other than myself in the mirror behind the bar. And someone that looked just Kristen Stewart. Oh. And Kristen Stewart. ‘Have you ever thought about acting?’ James asked, pouring everyone a generous measure of vodka from the bottle that had just been brought to our table. ‘Whatever,’ Joe replied, looking away. ‘Modelling is one thing but dancing around in tights for a living? I don’t think so.’ ‘Hey,’ Blake turned sharply. James laughed, seemingly oblivious to Joe’s enormous attitude problem. ‘It’s just one of the perils of superhero movies. But you know what, tights are surprisingly comfortable. You do get used to them.’ ‘Tights, really?’ Jenny mooned, dropping Joe’s hand and giving James’s knee a quick squeeze. ‘Are you wearing them now?’ ‘Seriously?’ Joe narrowed his eyes at Jenny as she let out her most impressive flirty laugh. ‘Everyone knows actors are just delusional egotists. They all end up in rehab sooner or later.’ ‘Are you taking Jenny on for title of the next Oprah or what?’ I forced out a laugh but this was all getting a little bit too tense and I really wasn’t one for confrontation. ‘I’m gonna take a walk.’ Joe measured his breathing and draped his arm possessively around my shoulders. ‘You coming, English?’ James looked over at me but I really wasn’t sure what his dark blue eyes were trying to say. I opened my mouth to stall but Blake beat me to it. ‘Maybe that’s not a bad idea,’ he challenged Joe, taking a swig straight out of the vodka bottle. ‘Maybe you should both just go.’ ‘Me?’ I asked, snapping to surprise. ‘What did I do?’ ‘You brought this asshole,’ Blake replied. ‘As far as I’m concerned, the interview is over. In fact, James, we’re leaving.’ ‘Great, why don’t you just move on, fag?’ Joe said into his beer bottle. ‘What did you just call me?’ Blake stood up suddenly, followed in a heartbeat by Joe and then James. ‘Hey, guys, come on.’ James pushed himself in between the two as they squared up. ‘This isn’t happening.’ ‘No, this is bullshit.’ Joe pushed his way past the two of them, knocking Jenny off the edge of her seat and into me as he left. The weight of the Lopez wasn’t ever going to cause me trouble but the vodka soda she spilled all down my dress wasn’t exactly ideal. ‘Oh, shit,’ I said, leaping up, right into James’s waiting arms. ‘We have to get out of here,’ Blake said, pulling at James’s shoulder. I froze for a second, pressed against James’s chest, my wet dress soaking through against his shirt, until it was warmed by the heat of his skin. It wasn’t until he’d scooped me up, as if I weighed nothing, as if I was half an Olsen, let alone three strapped together, that I realized we were moving out of the club. ‘Angie?’ Jenny yelled over the music, still on the floor beside the wreckage of our table. ‘Wait!’ ‘Jenny,’ I protested, preferring the view of James’s dark brown curls to the stares and whispers all around us. And, oh dear God, the camera flashes. ‘Blake, go back for her,’ James commanded, striding into the lift, leaving an incensed Blake standing stock-still. ‘Now I remember why I stopped going out.’ I didn’t know what to say. On one hand I felt awful about leaving Jenny – sick, actually –?but on the other, I knew that the second James put me down, the interview, my job, possibly my visa and then more or less my entire life was over. I had to try and get this back on track somehow, otherwise Jenny wouldn’t have a roommate to be mad at. ‘James, I am so incredibly sorry,’ I said as we scrambled into the limo and tore off up Hollywood Boulevard. ‘I–I should just go back to my hotel and—’ ‘That’s not a good idea,’ James said quietly. ‘Have a look out of the back window.’ Twisting against my seatbelt, I turned to look back, trying not to get dizzy at the speeds we were travelling. I don’t know what I was expecting to see but, whatever it was, the sea of bright lights and industrial-strength flashes was not it. True, I still had an issue with what side of the road we were supposed to be driving on, but these cars were literally all over the road. The honking, the screeching, even the screaming was so loud, so intense. It made a wander down our block in New York sound like an episode of Songs of Praise. ‘What’s happening?’ I asked, slightly dazed and very nauseous. ‘Paparazzi,’ James sighed. ‘My good friends, the paparazzi.’ ‘How did they know where you were?’ ‘Who knows? Maybe someone overheard us this afternoon and tipped them off. Maybe they were already outside Teddy’s on the off-chance someone would show up. Maybe someone called them when we arrived.’ ‘But we were only there for half an hour?’ I couldn’t believe it, no matter how fast we went, they came at us faster until they were swarming all around the car. ‘Get away from the window.’ James pulled me into the centre of the limo, on the floor between the seats. ‘Some of the flashes are bright enough to see you through the tinted glass.’ ‘Wow, this is glamorous,’ I said, trying to shuffle my dress around my thighs to avoid any further pant revelation. ‘Yes, the rock-and-roll life of a movie star.’ He held out an arm to steady me as we skidded around a tight corner. ‘But you’re all-over rock and roll, surely?’ ‘Me?’ I squirmed across the floor of the car, trying not to nestle against his broad, warm and still slightly damp chest. ‘Your boyfriend, the rock star? Alan?’ Oh. ‘Alex. His name is Alex. He’s so not a rock star. There’s a pretty big difference between him and Bono.’ I fumbled around on the floor of the car looking for my bag. ‘What time is it?’ ‘Not even twelve, what’s up?’ ‘Just wondered.’ I pulled out my phone. Twelve here, three in New York. And a missed call from Alex. Just one. Twenty minutes earlier and no message. ‘Bugger.’ Just as I was about to redial, James snatched the phone out of my hand. ‘If you throw that out of the window, I will freak out.’ ‘Sorry,’ he said, turning the phone off. ‘They’ll hack it.’ ‘They’ll what?’ Could this get any more bizarre? James nodded slowly. ‘They can hack your phone if you use it near enough. I don’t know how.’ ‘But how do you call anyone, ever?’ I asked. ‘I don’t. It’s like living in Nineteen ninety-five.’ He shrugged. ‘If I really need to get hold of someone, Blake goes out and calls them for me.’ ‘So you can’t text your friend to see what flavour muffin they want?’ ‘Can’t go out and buy muffins. Can’t really eat muffins.’ ‘And you can’t call a taxi when you’re hammered?’ ‘To be fair I have a driver.’ ‘What if you need to extend your credit limit to buy something amazing?’ ‘Yeah, that’s not really a massive problem right now. Unless that something is a Bentley.’ ‘I might be able to live with not having a mobile phone if I was you,’ I said, feeling less sympathetic by the second. James nodded. ‘But if I wasn’t me, we wouldn’t be running away from the club now. The paparazzi wouldn’t be chasing us. And you wouldn’t be sitting on the floor of a car ruining your beautiful dress, not able to call your boyfriend.’ ‘But if you weren’t you, I wouldn’t be in LA at all, I wouldn’t have met you and, well, I wouldn’t have been able to wear my beautiful dress in March anyway.’ I shuffled back up onto the seat as the limo twisted around some invisible corners and then slowed to a stop. The din from the paparazzi got quieter and quieter until I couldn’t hear anything but the ticking of the cooling engine as we climbed out. James ran his hands down my sides, smoothing down the creased-up skirt. I breathed in sharply as they ran back up my bare arms. ‘It’s a great dress, did I tell you that already?’ he asked, towering above me. He was awfully tall. I hadn’t noticed how awfully tall. ‘Phillip Lim, right?’ ‘Every so often, you throw me off completely, you know?’ I said, cricking my neck to get a better look at him. ‘If you weren’t all Hollywood, I’d think you were gay. Which would just about break Jenny’s heart.’ ‘Good to know,’ he said, fumbling for keys in his jeans pocket. I was right, his backside did look great. ‘We should have just stayed here. You know what they say, if you’re going to get into trouble, do it at the Chateau.’ He wanted to get into trouble? Meep. ‘I really should go back to my hotel,’ I choked. ‘It’s late and I was supposed to be conducting an interview with someone tomorrow.’ ‘I heard he’s a delusional egotist who likes to prance around in tights,’ James said, opening the door and pulling me inside. ‘So I think you’ll be fine. Besides, I can get that dress dry cleaned inside twenty minutes and then get you a car home once the paps have moved on outside. Come on, I’m dying for a cup of tea.’ Following him into the bungalow, I shrugged. I couldn’t argue with a well-thought-out plan. ‘Can I use my phone in here?’ I called from the bathroom, peeling off my damp yellow dress. The bathroom was full of products: Clinique, Anthony Logistics, Peter Thomas Roth. Sent over by PRs, I figured, but still, men with more moisturizer than me made me edgy. ‘The landline should be OK, but I’m keeping your mobile hostage until you leave.’ James knocked once on the door and then came in. Giving me just enough time to grab one of the robes hanging from the back of the door. But not enough time to put it on. ‘Nice knickers, Calvin Klein?’ ‘Erm, yes,’ I said, trying to slide into the robe without revealing an inch of flesh or white lace. Not an easy task at the best of times, and even more difficult when you were a) ridiculous clumsy and b) in the hotel bathroom of a stupidly hot actor. A stupidly hot actor who had taken off his shirt. Oh. It was pretty. ‘Don’t tell your model friend, but I did a campaign for them last year.’ He took one arm of the robe, in theory to help me put it on, but in practice just to help me get even more wound up in the acres of jersey. ‘I think that’s the set Eva wore.’ Perfect. Who didn’t want to be compared to Eva Mendes in their underwear? ‘I’m so sorry about that,’ I said again. ‘I don’t know what his problem is. It’s just … God, Jenny is going to kill me.’ ‘I’m sure she’ll be fine.’ James pushed his hair back off his face. Had his cheekbones always been so high? What else were those brown curls hiding? ‘And please stop apologizing for that knobhead. I’m just surprised you’re friends with him, to be honest. You did realize he was all over you? Do you know, I haven’t called anyone a knobhead for ages. You really do bring out the English in me.’ ‘Thanks, I think.’ I pushed past him, moving very quickly through the bedroom, accidentally glancing at the rumpled bedsheets and settling in the living room. In an armchair. Made for one. Could he please just put a shirt back on? I was only human, for God’s sake. ‘And, just for the record, he’s absolutely not interested in me. I don’t even really know him; we’re not really friends. He and Jenny used to work in the same hotel in New York, that’s all.’ ‘So they’re friends?’ ‘Sort of,’ I wrinkled my nose. There was no way Jenny would be exploring their ‘friendship’ now. I was going to suffer for this one. ‘I see, friends with benefits?’ Before I could clarify, there was a knock at the door. James opened up and swapped my dress for a tray of drinks. ‘Thanks,’ he said to someone I couldn’t see. ‘Tea?’ ‘Yes please,’ I sighed, realizing suddenly how tired I was. ‘I’d kill for a cup right now.’ ‘I don’t want to know how you’re going to react to my HobNobs then,’ he said, producing a full packet of biscuits. ‘This really is the best hotel in the world.’ ‘Don’t say that in front of Jenny,’ I said, taking a handful of crumbly biscuity goodness. ‘She’s all about The Union. Or at least she was; she hasn’t stolen anything in ages.’ ‘So we’ve got twenty minutes to fill,’ James said, nursing his steaming mug. ‘What do you want to do?’ What did I want to do? Now there was a question. My head wanted to call Jenny, make sure she was OK and actually going to speak to me again. My heart wanted to call Alex and see how his gig went, hear his soft sleepy voice and have him put the phone on his pillow until he fell asleep so I could just listen to him breathe. But another, slightly less poetic part of me was absolutely burning to stand up, take that cup of tea out of James Jacobs’s hand and put all of his flirting to the test. To trace a finger up his abs, his sharply cut chest and over his full bottom lip. Just press it, just to see if it was as firm and plush as it looked. And then possibly nibble on it a little bit. And then— ‘You’ve got such a strange look on your face,’ James interrupted. ‘What are you thinking about?’ Pushing you backwards against the sofa and doing lots of very dirty things until my passport expires. ‘Nothing really.’ ‘There’s something I wanted to say, actually,’ he carried on. ‘About this afternoon, at the burger place.’ Maybe just a quick nibble. ‘No need, really.’ ‘Yes, there is. I’m sorry, I just get caught up easily. Really, it’s pathetic. I spend so much time spouting crap that’s written for me, I start coming out with it when they haven’t even given me a script.’ He rested on the arm of my chair. And smelt delicious. ‘I suppose that’s why Blake gets so angry. I get myself into so much trouble with all those photos.’ ‘Photos?’ ‘Of me. Well, if they were just of me it wouldn’t be a problem.’ ‘Oh.’ ‘They’re just photos, Angela,’ he said, looking down at me. ‘You don’t have to explain anything to me.’ I stared straight ahead. Trying not to be jealous. ‘Well, I do, you are the reporter,’ he said. ‘But I’m just saying. Although I can’t help but wonder what that interview is going to come out like.’ ‘The interview.’ I covered my face. ‘I’m really not doing well, am I? I’m so going to get fired and then I’ll be deported. And homeless. And someone’s going to have to tell my mother …’ ‘What are you talking about?’ James pulled away my hands with his own, warmed through by his hot tea. ‘Why are you going to get fired?’ ‘Because Blake cancelled the interview.’ I looked at him as though he was slightly stupid. Very pretty but slightly stupid. James looked back at me the exact same way. ‘Blake can’t cancel the interview.’ ‘He can’t?’ I asked, puzzled. ‘I thought he did everything?’ ‘Well he didn’t set it up,’ James explained. ‘He didn’t?’ ‘No, Angela. I did.’ ‘OK, I know I’m not very clever at the best of times, but I don’t understand …’ ‘The interview, you, it was my idea,’ James said, looking really rather pleased with himself. ‘I’m not stupid, I know what people must think when they see all those photos of me and, well, every woman I’ve ever met. So I read some women’s magazines, checked out some of the writers and that’s how I came across you.’ ‘You asked for me?’ I was confused. Not unusual, admittedly. ‘It was actually you?’ ‘I asked for you. I loved your writing,’ he nodded. ‘But once I’d chosen you, I had to put everything through Blake, after I’d picked a magazine, otherwise it would have been weird. Actors don’t usually set up their own press. To be honest, Blake wasn’t completely convinced you were the right pick, so I would really, really appreciate it if you could at least attempt to prove him wrong.’ ‘So the interview isn’t off?’ ‘Well, you threw up on me yesterday, got me and my assistant into a fight today, I can’t wait to see what you come up with tomorrow.’ He shook his head and looked out of the window. ‘I’ll call for your car, you should be safe now.’ I sat back in the chair and watched the muscles in his back leave the room. James Jacobs had chosen me. The interview wasn’t off. Maybe I wouldn’t have to leave the country after all. Which meant Alex and I probably wouldn’t be breaking up because I had to go back to England. Which was a really, really good thing. Unless Alex was still so busy getting it on with his groupies he didn’t even have three minutes to spare to leave me a voicemail. The battery indicator on my silent phone flickered in the bottom of my clutch. Obviously it wasn’t as though he was desperate to get in touch and tell me he loved me or anything. How come he couldn’t even tell me how he couldn’t bear to live a single second of his life without me when a global superstar – no, megastar – had handpicked me out of every single journalist in the entire world to interview him? I’d now been in his hotel twice. And twice I’d been out of my frock. That had to be a sign. Another knock on the door interrupted my entirely unhelpful thoughts. ‘That’ll be your dress,’ James called from the other room. ‘Your car’s going to be about five minutes.’ I wrapped myself up in the dressing gown, trying not to trip over the hem and opened the door. There was my dress, all pristine, wrapped in shiny plastic. Twenty-minute dry cleaning had revolutionized my life. ‘Thank you,’ I said, taking the hanger. ‘No … thank you,’ said a voice behind a huge camera. ‘What the …?’ I stumbled backwards, holding my dress out in front of the rapid fire-flashes. ‘Angela!’ James yelled, sprinting across the living room. ‘Close the door, get away from the door!’ I slammed the door into the camera, heard a dull thud, a quiet ‘shit’ and then the sound of quickly retreating footsteps. Dazed, I looked at James, but he was already on the phone, yelling incoherently. For the want of something to do, I staggered into the bathroom and got changed. I checked myself in the mirror: nope, my skirt wasn’t tucked in my pants, not even a bra strap was on show. Impeccable. For me. And if you went for the ‘startled deer in headlights’ thing, I actually looked pretty good. ‘OK,’ I said, teetering back into the lounge and grabbing my handbag. ‘I think it’s best if I just go, I’ve caused enough chaos tonight.’ ‘You can’t go out there now.’ James looked at me as if I was stupid. He and Jenny would actually get on really well. ‘I’ve just called security but they haven’t caught him yet. You can’t go anywhere until they’ve got that camera.’ I wanted to laugh but had a feeling that it wouldn’t go down well. ‘Seriously? James, all they’ve got is a picture of me holding some dry cleaning.’ ‘Yes, maybe,’ James mused. ‘Or, they’ve got a picture of you, without your dress on, standing in the doorway of my bungalow at one a.m. What’s that going to be worth to your boyfriend? Or your editor? Or your mum?’ ‘My mum would probably be quite impressed actually,’ I said, feeling a little bit sick. ‘But I see your point. I really can’t stay here, though. I have to see Jenny; I have to go back. Is there no way out without those arses getting a photo?’ All six-foot-something of James Jacobs stood squarely between me and the door, staring me down with an intensity I usually saved for the person in the queue between me and the last espresso brownie in Starbucks. And I wasn’t sure if I was the person or the brownie. ‘Do you really want to leave?’ No no no no no no no no no no. ‘Yes.’ Wow, who knew I was so strong? ‘Then I’ll call a car to come to the back of the bungalow,’ he said, breathing out and letting his shoulders drop. ‘They should have something that won’t attract attention. I left the phone in the bedroom.’ I realized I hadn’t breathed out since I’d said I wanted to leave and the zip on my bag was cutting into my hand, I was clutching it so tightly. This was horrible. How could I even be thinking these things about James when Alex was at home in New York, just waiting for me to call. Probably. He just wasn’t desperate to call me. Or tell me he loved me. Or even come to LA with me. Whereas James seemed relatively keen for me not to leave for one reason or another. Surely ninety-nine out of a hundred girls in this situation would stay, boyfriend be damned. Maybe if I talked to the boyfriend quickly, it would be easier. I released my vice-like grip on my bag and pulled out my mobile. Yes, it was four a.m. in New York, but he wouldn’t mind a quick call. And tough luck if he did. ‘Hello?’ ‘Alex, it’s me,’ I gushed. ‘I’m sorry; I suppose I didn’t expect you to answer. I’m just having the most chaotic night and—’ ‘Angela?’ ‘Yes?’ ‘It’s four in the morning.’ ‘I know.’ ‘What do you want?’ I bit my lip. ‘I just wanted to speak to you. Tell you I missed you.’ ‘Are you drunk?’ ‘No,’ I frowned. ‘I’m just having a bit of a nightmare evening. We were out and James got into a fight and then there were loads of paparazzi—’ ‘Seriously, Angela, I’m sleeping. Call me tomorrow, OK?’ Alex sighed. I tried not to be stung. He was perfectly within his rights to be a bit peeved but I had been hoping he might have thought my spontaneous call was cute. He certainly seemed to think it was acceptable to turn up on my doorstep at all hours of the night. Surely just calling to tell someone you missed them at four a.m. was romantic? ‘OK,’ I muttered into the phone, ‘go back to sleep. I just wanted to say – I just thought I’d call and … well, I love you.’ ‘What?’ he suddenly sounded considerably more awake. ‘I’ll call you tomorrow, go back to sleep. Bye.’ I hung up, threw my phone back into my bag as if it was on fire and clapped a hand over my mouth. How had that snuck out? ‘Did you say something?’ James asked, appearing back at my side. Before I could answer, the hotel phone rang once and then stopped. ‘That’s your car,’ James said, taking my arm and leading me towards the back door of the bungalow. ‘So, we’re not meeting tomorrow, right? Unless you want to come and watch me in make-up testing?’ I shrugged. I had been known to enjoy a touch of guyliner. Had I really just told Alex I loved him? ‘So I’ll collect you Wednesday morning. Eleven OK?’ ‘Fine,’ I said, stumbling the short distance between the back door and the open crack of the waiting car’s back door. ‘And don’t worry about anything,’ James said, closing the door behind me. ‘Tonight was just a standard Monday, as depressing as that is. Get some sleep.’ He leaned in the window, gave me a soft, warm kiss on the cheek and then slapped the top of the car. If all my Mondays were this eventful, I thought drowsily as we pulled out of the hotel and onto Sunset Boulevard, I’d need to get more than ‘some’ sleep to make it through my week. CHAPTER SEVEN (#ulink_b868f9e1-953c-51c7-b4f2-8231e8a0b761) Without the paparazzi chasing me, the ride back to The Hollywood seemed to take for ever. Eventually, we rolled up to the door and I rolled through the lobby and up to my room, dog-tired and desperate for sleep. ‘Where the fuck have you been?’ Sleep, I was apparently not going to get. Jenny was standing in the middle of my room, looking absolutely wild. ‘Jenny.’ ‘Don’t you fucking “Jenny” me,’ she ranted, stamping her tiny foot. ‘You left me in that club! Left me on the floor to run off with that asshole. I cannot believe you.’ ‘I didn’t run off, I was carried off,’ I started, afraid to get too close. Jenny was holding her shoes in one hand, which made her both quicker than me and in possession of a deadly weapon. I’d done enough damage with a pair of stilettos in my own time to know how dangerous they could be. ‘Jenny, I feel horrible, I’m so sorry. But James said you’d be OK and honestly, you didn’t want to be with us—’ ‘Oh “James said”?’ she yelled, throwing one of the shoes at me. I dodged; at least she was one weapon down. ‘Well, if James said, then I’m sure it was fine that you left me on the floor of a club, soaked through with some dick’s drink. I don’t believe this. You spend one day with some sonofabitch movie star and you’re acting like a total bitch?’ ‘OK, that’s not too harsh? I didn’t have any choice in the matter of leaving you. Unless you didn’t notice, I didn’t exactly swan out of there on my own feet. And I think you’re mistaking James for that dickhead, Joe. He was the one throwing drinks around.’ ‘Only because that Blake asshole was getting in his face.’ Jenny brandished the other shoe. It was not fun being on the other end of this. ‘They were both being totally rude to Joe the whole evening. They were totally looking down on him because he’s a barman, even though it’s so obvious they’re just jealous. Joe could so be bigger than James Jacobs if he wanted.’ ‘How are you coming up with this stuff?’ I asked, throwing my bag down on the bed and kicking off my own shoes … but keeping them close in case we ended up duelling with them later. ‘Joe had a problem with James and Blake, especially Blake, from the second he got in the car. Before then, even. He was being weird about them this afternoon; I only invited him for your sake.’ ‘You think I need you to get me pity dates? Like, Joe only came because you asked him? Oh my God, who do you think you are?’ ‘Jenny,’ I shook my head. ‘I can’t do this. I’m tired and you’re being ridiculous. Why don’t we just go to bed and talk about this tomorrow?’ ‘Now I’m ridiculous?’ The other shoe flew past my head and hit the door. ‘What’s ridiculous is you. We’ve been in LA two days; you’ve blown me off twice and then you left me on the floor of a club in front of dozens of people. That is ridiculous. You are ridiculous.’ ‘Jenny, I’m sorry,’ I really, really wanted to sleep. ‘I’m sorry I blew you out but I was tired and a bit drunk. And I’m sorry I didn’t come back for you but we got chased by the paparazzi and I was stuck in the hotel. And I’m sorry you think I’m blowing you off for James – I’m absolutely not, but it’s my job to interview him. That’s why we’re here, remember? So I do have to spend time with him. I wish I could just hang out with you instead. I really do.’ ‘Whatever,’ she bristled, hands planted on her hips. ‘I cannot believe you left me. That Blake guy is an ass-hat.’ ‘And Joe was totally out of order with Blake.’ I stood my ground. Hurricane Jenny just needed a slap sometimes. ‘And he got you back OK, didn’t he?’ ‘If you mean, he dragged me up by my wrist and tossed me in a lift to find my own way back here, then yes,’ she pouted. ‘If you’re asking if he apologized for his pig-headed behaviour and then brought me back to the hotel, then no.’ ‘I’m sorry, Jen, but Joe was being a bit of an idiot. But I know Blake can be difficult too. I’m sorry. I should have … I don’t know what I should have done. But I shouldn’t have left you.’ ‘No, you shouldn’t.’ She dropped her arms to her sides. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have blown up. I’m tired, I guess. And cranky.’ ‘Me too,’ I said, slowly crossing the room and sitting on the bed. Jenny collapsed backwards beside me. ‘Seriously, though, you need to sort out your temper. Do you think Oprah kicks off like this?’ ‘Yeah, whatever,’ she said, wriggling out of her dress and under my covers. I was forgiven then. ‘But I’m telling you, Blake is a total asshole. And James should so ditch him. Joe says—’ ‘Please, can we not?’ I sighed, pushing myself up and slipping off the dress to hang it. ‘Don’t go mental, but have you thought that Joe might be a bit jealous of James and was just taking it out on Blake?’ ‘Whatever,’ Jenny yawned. ‘I’m still pissed but I’m also super-tired. Let’s talk about this tomorrow. Let’s do something fun.’ ‘Uh, yes?’ ‘Damn straight, yes,’ Jenny muttered into her pillow, flicking out the light without asking. ‘Night Jenny,’ I whispered, asleep before my head had even hit the pillow. My alarm was set for nine, so I was completely confused as to what was making all the noise when the little alarm clock next to my bed said eight-twenty. ‘Turn off your freaking phone,’ Jenny mumbled into her pillow. ‘Who would be calling?’ I croaked, still shattered. ‘Meh? Alex?’ Oh shit, Alex. I rolled out of bed and grabbed my bag from the floor. It was a 212 number but not Alex’s landline. ‘Hello?’ ‘Angela Clark, would you like to explain to me what is happening over there?’ It was Mary. ‘Angela? Are you there? Or are you still too tired from your night of fucking up our lives to talk to me?’ ‘Mary, I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ I rubbed my eyes. Ew, last night’s mascara. ‘I suggest you check, oh I don’t know, Perez Hilton, TMZ, maybe any other website in the entire world and then call me back with a really good excuse as to why I shouldn’t fire your ass.’ I blinked at the dead phone. What was she talking about? Crawling across to my computer, I quickly logged on and flipped to Perez. Which I may or may not have added to my bookmarks during my bout of James Jacobs research/worship. And there it was. Or rather there they were. A picture of me and James sitting on the beach in Santa Monica. A shot of us eating at 25 Degrees. Him carrying me out of Teddy’s. James putting me in the car at Chateau by the supposed secret exit. Well, it turned out James was right: the pictures did look pretty bad. Especially when built into a completely fictitious photo-story of our alleged affair. Sigh, Hollywood’s favourite British export, James Jacobs, is breaking our heart again! It must be at least a week since he was pictured getting hot and heavy with some skank in Hyde, but no, despite popular opinion, it hasn’t shrivelled up and fallen off. Looks like James is in love! The Casino Night star hit up several romantic LA hotspots with a new lady love yesterday. Word of advice, James – when you’ve gone to all the trouble of wooing a girl all day long, it’s not cool to get her in and out of your Chateau Marmont bungalow within an hour. Word on the set of his new movie, The Big Time, is that James takes longer to get his scenes in the can than anyone else on the film. At least he’s taking time to make sure the job is done better in at least one area of his life. Sorry, honey, James is all about his ‘craft’. Oh shit. At least they hadn’t got the photo of me in James’s dressing gown. Yet. Scrambling into the bathroom, I dialled The Look and waited to be put through to Mary, not having a clue what to say. ‘This had better be good,’ she answered. ‘Mary, look, I’ve seen the pictures,’ I breathed in deeply, ‘and they’re not what it looks like at all. Honestly.’ ‘That’s the best you can do?’ ‘It’s the truth.’ I pulled a towel down from the rail and wrapped it around my legs. ‘Everything was above-board, it’s just how it looks on the internet. I don’t know what else to tell you. It’s rubbish, total rubbish.’ ‘And I’m supposed to believe that?’ ‘Yes?’ I pulled my shoulders up around my ears. ‘Well,’ Mary said after a long moment’s pause. ‘I guess this is what happens when we put inexperienced reporters on important assignments. What were you thinking going on a date with the story, Angela?’ ‘A date? Me and James Jacobs? Come on, Mary,’ I tried to laugh. ‘The beach thing was part of the interview, James wanted to go do it there – do the interview there – and there were three other people with us at Teddy’s. Mary, I really don’t want you to think I’m mucking this up. The interview has been going great, honestly.’ ‘Adding “honestly” to the end of every sentence isn’t going to stop me having to work my ass off to keep you on the interview. The only reason you’re not on a plane back right now is because we had an email from James’s people reiterating the fact that he wouldn’t speak to anyone else from the magazine.’ ‘Seriously?’ I was surprised. When had he done that? Why had he done that? ‘So you can see why everyone in the entire office thinks that you’re, well, more than interviewing him.’ Mary did not sound at all impressed. Or convinced. ‘Angela, whatever’s happening over there, just be incredibly careful. This has not helped you here.’ ‘Hones … Mary,’ I really couldn’t believe this was happening, ‘I am going to deliver the best interview you ever read. I promise. And there is nothing happening with James. You know me, I would never.’ ‘Fine, just don’t let me down, Angela,’ Mary warned before hanging up. Well, wasn’t this just perfect? I rested my suddenly thumping head against the cool glass screen of the shower and closed my eyes. And there was me worrying that I’d get fired because I’d upset James. But instead, every single person at The Look thought I’d boffed him and they wanted to sack me for that instead. What was I supposed to do? Before I could make a decision, my phone beeped into life again. Please don’t let Mary have changed her mind … ‘Hello?’ ‘So, there are some real interesting photos online this morning,’ Alex said. ‘Yes, yes there are …’ This was so not the best-ever start to my day. I really hadn’t had time to think about how to broach this with Alex. I was still trying to work out what I was going to do about the ‘three little words’ situation. So I went for three different ones. ‘Isn’t it stupid?’ ‘I don’t know, is it?’ He wasn’t exactly giving me a belly laugh. ‘Alex, you know those photos aren’t what they look like. It’s all just been part of the interview, that’s all, but I suppose that doesn’t make a very good story and God, I don’t know, maybe there isn’t enough news in the world this morning.’ ‘I suppose not,’ he said without any emotion. It was horrible: he could at least have the decency to shout or call me a slag or something. ‘Seriously, it’s ridiculous. The magazine just called to say we might sue.’ OK, so not entirely true but I couldn’t stand this. ‘The whole thing is ridiculous. James got into a big fight with Jenny’s friend Joe in the club and that’s why we had to run out. And I got a drink spilt all over me and so James got my dress dry cleaned. This is what was happening when I called you last night. This is what I was trying to tell you about.’ ‘That would be the phone call at four this morning?’ ‘That would be the one,’ I said slowly. ‘I was having a horrible evening; I just wanted to talk to you. Sorry.’ No response. ‘How was your open mic thing?’ ‘It was good.’ His voice was still measured and flat. ‘So what are the plans for today? Shopping for engagement rings? Quickie wedding in Vegas?’ ‘Alex, there’s nothing going on with me and James. I know those stupid photos look like … something, but really there is nothing going on. All that I’ve done since I’ve got here is fail miserably as a interviewer, row with Jenny and try to call you. And to top it off, I’m this close to getting sacked.’ I felt sick saying it all out loud. ‘Just a tip on the interviewing thing – I’m pretty sure you don’t have to go back to the guy’s hotel room at one a.m.,’ Alex replied evenly. ‘I’ve always managed to keep my pants on in interviews.’ ‘Really? Because I didn’t think you had such a great history at keeping your pants on.’ It was out before I’d thought about it. Such were the perils of being so bloody quick. ‘Right, there are pictures of you on the internet, whoring yourself all over LA with some asshole actor you just met, and you’re bringing up my past?’ At least I’d got his attention now. Shit. ‘Is this where I mention the part where you were dating someone else behind my back when we met?’ ‘No, this is the point where you calm down and realize that this is all really stupid and that I wouldn’t ever cheat on you and that sometimes, just sometimes, trashy websites print things that aren’t true.’ How dare he be on the other side of the country for our first row. I could practically hear him thinking down the line but he still didn’t say anything. ‘Look, Alex, all I’m asking is for you to trust me and not the internet. That shouldn’t be too hard, should it?’ I was not happy. These kinds of conversations had not gone well for me in the past. Plus, it wasn’t as if I hadn’t considered crossing a very unprofessional line with James, which wasn’t exactly helping my argument ring true. ‘I’m sorry, this is all just too weird,’ Alex said, finally. ‘I don’t know what to say.’ ‘I’m sorry too, I didn’t mean to say that stuff,’ I sniffed. ‘I’m just being all paranoid because we haven’t really spoken since I got here and then all the pictures and stuff and then Mary called and now you’re freaking out—’ ‘Angela, hey, hold up,’ Alex interrupted. ‘I meant, I’m sorry I can’t really talk about this over the phone. We’ll only end up saying dumb stuff. More dumb stuff.’ ‘So what, we’re not going to talk until I get back?’ ‘You’re back on Sunday.’ ‘But it’s Tuesday …’ I bit my lip. ‘Can’t I just call you later?’ He sighed loudly. ‘I’m sorry. Just, well, let me call you, OK? Bye.’ I looked at my phone, just to check. Yes, he had hung up. This really was the perfect start to the perfect day. If I’d known I was going to get into such a mess anyway, I would have just shagged James senseless when I had the chance. Bloody stupid bloody conscience. ‘Angela, you’re on the internet!’ Jenny shrieked from the bedroom. ‘You’re freakin’ famous!’ Brilliant, just brilliant. It took me far too long to convince Jenny to back away from the laptop and not email my details directly to Perez Hilton. She felt very strongly that I should be making the most of my potential new-found fame, or at the very least sign up for reality TV shows and get us both into gifting lounges. I, however, felt very strongly that I should go back to bed and sleep until everyone in the world stopped reading celebrity gossip or the internet broke down, whichever came first. But I couldn’t. I had things to do. I had a blog to write, and tomorrow, assuming James was still on for it, I had to drag my arse out of the hotel and carry on with the interview. He might have emailed the magazine but he wasn’t answering his phone to me. Swearing I would meet her for brunch as promised, I sent a still slightly pissed-off Jenny on her way and settled down at my laptop. The Adventures of Angela: Valley of the Woes Hmmm. So my LA adventure isn’t exactly going according to plan. Since you’re reading this, I’m assuming you’re fairly familiar with the internet and the pages full of wonderful, wonderful things it contains. Like net-a-porter.com. Unfortunately, it turns out there are some pages of not-so-wonderful things and lots of those pages are made right here, in LA. Now, I did sort of know that before I got here because who hasn’t whiled away a few harmless minutesours/entire working days on Perez Hilton or WWTDD? Come on, there isn’t a person alive who doesn’t want to see the private mobile phone pictures of a Disney starlet, right? But what I didn’t know was, despite all the evidence out there, sometimes not only are the things on these websites not entirely truthful, sometimes they are as familiar with reality as I am with Brad Pitt. That is, not familiar at all. Goddamn it. I guess a lot of people think it would fun to be on one of these websites, to be pictured hanging out with celebs in some swanky Hollywood nightclub but, well, just like the websites themselves, sometimes things aren’t what they seem. Hopefully, I’m still in for a Hollywood ending … and I’m still waiting for your recommendations as to where to get one. Email me at [email protected] After emailing the blog to Mary (and praying to every conceivable deity I could think of, including the genie from Aladdin), I searched through mine and Jenny’s wardrobes twice, searching for a ‘I really haven’t done it with James Jacobs’ outfit; but now, for some reason, everything looked as if it was right out of the Playboy Mansion. Who in their right mind would believe I was sleeping with an A-list movie star? This was me we were talking about: mismatched underwear, not capable of curling my eyelashes without catching my eyelid, dodgy muffin top in all but one pair of my jeans, Angela Clark. Slightly useless, can’t even change a plug at twenty-seven, not a seducer of superstars, dress-shedding ?ber-minx, Angela Clark, international super-slag. I settled on my jeans (sadly not the non-muffin-top pair) and stripy Splendid rugby top. Buttoned up. Every wanton inch of me covered. Sweating like a bee-hatch in the seventy-five-degree weather but covered from head to toe. ‘So I get that you didn’t love The Beverly Center,’ Jenny said, adjusting her sunglasses and spinning out of The Hollywood’s valet parking lot. ‘And I’m guessing that you’re gonna be freaking out about those photos for pretty much the whole day, right?’ ‘Probably,’ I agreed sombrely. I was still so numb from my conversation with Alex, I didn’t even have the energy to be scared of Jenny’s driving. ‘So what can we do to get you out of your funk?’ ‘Mmm-hmm.’ I traced a finger along the edge of the car door. At least since we were in the convertible my hair would look like crap whether I’d done anything with it or not. Which I hadn’t. And, joy, the sun was out. If I was really lucky, I could get burnt again. ‘God, you’re going to make this hard work, aren’t you?’ Jenny slapped the steering wheel. ‘I know, Angela, if someone said “LA” to you, what would you think of?’ ‘What?’ ‘What would you think of? What would you associate with Hollywood?’ she pressed on. Paparazzi. Blonde hair. Breast implants. ‘Sunshine?’ ‘Anything else?’ she asked. Feeling completely out of place. Missing Alex. Worrying about James. ‘Movies?’ ‘Which movies?’ ‘Jenny,’ I really wanted to just go back to bed. ‘Are you getting at something?’ ‘Honey, I’m just trying to distract you. This is all gonna be over by tomorrow. Sometimes life throws you a curveball and you’ve just got to run with it.’ Jenny pulled up outside a row of shops. Sparkly, shiny, lovely looking shops.’ Or shop for it.’ ‘Where are we?’ I asked, blinking up at the prettiness. Everything was so white. And big. ‘What are we doing?’ ‘We’re about to spend an obscene amount of money,’ Jenny grinned. Once the car had been safely handed over to the valet parking assistant (I would never get used to that), Jenny pulled me along the wide, sunny street past designer store after designer store. ‘Never before in my life have I wanted to be a hooker so badly,’ I clutched at Jenny’s hand, my mouth wide open. ‘But oh, would you look at that bag?’ ‘I know, hello Pretty Woman,’ Jenny squeezed my hand back. ‘Even I would sleep with Richard Gere for that dress and, hello, so old now?’ ‘So this is Rodeo Drive?’ I marvelled. ‘Why on earth did you take me to a mall yesterday?’ ‘Because we can’t actually afford anything here.’ She pulled me away from the Louis Vuitton window, leaving my sticky paw prints all over it. ‘But I thought it might distract you for a while.’ ‘We can’t afford anything?’ I fought the urge to go into the closest shop and buy a giant hat. And gloves. ‘Really?’ ‘Angie, when we go shopping in New York, where do we go?’ Jenny asked. ‘Bloomingdale’s? Bergdorf’s?’ I couldn’t stop staring at the pretty things. Things I’d seen in magazines, in The Look, but that were now right here in front of me! In a shop! To buy! ‘Not where do we go to try things on but never buy them unless they’re in the sales. Where do we actually go shopping?’ ‘Um, Century 21 and Filene’s,’ I admitted. ‘When you’re not there to stop me, Gap.’ ‘Exactly. And I killed my credit card at The Beverly Center yesterday, so no, we really can’t afford anything.’ Jenny fished around in her handbag for some lip gloss, slicked a completely unnecessary layer on top of her already shiny lips and then added a desperately needed pop of colour to mine. ‘But no one needs to know that, right? There’s nothing like trying on thousands of dollars’ worth of couture to take your mind off your problems.’ If my only issue with LA was still that it wasn’t nearly as glossy and glamorous as I’d been expecting, then Rodeo Drive would have solved all my problems. From the dramatic white marble store fronts, the palm trees sprouting up out of the glossy pavement, right through to the serious-looking doormen that stood sentry outside each designer destination, this was everything I’d been expecting. Yes, the Ugg boot girls were still everywhere, but they had been watered down by a new breed of LA woman. I couldn’t help but stare. They were tiny, just like the platinum blondes, but they seemed so much glossier, so much more expensive, and I could not tell you how old a single one of them was. You couldn’t actually see any discernible designer labels on anything they wore, unless you checked out the shop assistant carrying the stiff paper bags out behind them, but they reeked of money. One of them stepped right out in front of us without looking, making me jump back. She paused, looking at me and Jenny in the same way I sometimes looked at the puppies in the window of the pet store near Bloomingdale’s, as if we were cute but she really didn’t want to get too close in case we slobbered on her. Or worse. ‘So what do you want to try first?’ Jenny asked, completely oblivious. ‘Dior? D&G?’ ‘Oh, there.’ I pointed across the road to a gorgeous window display, full of beautiful ballerina-style dresses in pretty petal colours. ‘Miu Miu me up.’ After my second glass of champagne, I was more than ready to accept that Hollywood had its charms after all. Jenny was head to toe in couture, a gorgeous bronze dirndl skirt cinching in her tiny waist and five-inch platforms forcing her onto her tippy-toes. ‘How do they feel?’ The inordinately attractive salesman cupped my foot in his hand and slipped the ankle strap of a beautiful, sequin-covered sandal through the little tiny silver buckle. ‘They feel lovely.’ I was almost too afraid to stand on the delicate little heels. When would I feel more like Kylie and less like Lily Savage when I tried on a girlie outfit? ‘You know, I think we just got one of the matching purses in today. It’s in the back,’ he whispered. ‘I have to see how it looks with the shoes.’ ‘Me too,’ I agreed, staring at my feet. Why would anyone ever put their foot inside an Ugg in LA? In New York, it snowed, it was cold, you needed their sheepskin-lined goodness; but here, you could feasibly walk around in nothing but fairy-spun Miu Miu creations all year round. In fact, you didn’t even have to walk; this was the perfect place for Limo Shoes. Maybe that was why everyone drove everywhere. I flicked around my BlackBerry, while my New Best Friend, the shoe salesman, was bag hunting. The BlackBerry was still a bit of a mystery to me. I’d got into enough trouble with just a mobile, without being able to respond to work emails whilst out and about. Out and about meaning drunk. Before I could cast it back into the bottom of my (very jealous to be surrounded by all these younger Miu Mius) handbag, it started to buzz in my hand. ‘Hello?’ I answered automatically. ‘Angela, it’s James.’ Oh, James. Bugger. I’d been so distracted by the prettiness, for fifteen minutes I’d managed to forget all about everything. ‘Angela, are you there?’ ‘I am.’ I waved manically at Jenny. I couldn’t do this alone. Even in eight-hundred-dollar sandals. Especially in eight-hundred-dollar sandals. ‘I wanted to say I’m so sorry about the photos. Blake is trying to get them taken down right now.’ He sounded genuinely worried. But then he was an actor. ‘Are you OK? And we’ve spoken to the magazine. It’ll all be fine.’ ‘Well, it was a bit of a shock—’ But before I could finish, Jenny snatched the phone out of my hand and sprinted down the shop. ‘James? Jenny,’ I heard her begin before she vanished out of hearing range. I fumbled with the teeny tiny buckles on my sandals but apparently they had been crafted by elves and my lumbering sausage fingers (swollen from the LA heat, surely?) couldn’t unfasten them quickly enough. ‘I don’t know, she’s kind of messed up,’ she said, slinking back up the store. ‘But I’m trying to take care of her. We’re shopping.’ ‘Jenny,’ I hissed, ‘give me the bloody phone.’ ‘We’re in Miu Miu,’ she winked, holding me at arm’s length. ‘Yes, I think she’d love that. OK, I’ll put you on to someone.’ By the time I’d found my way out of the shoes, my BlackBerry was in the hands of my lovely sales assistant who had returned holding something long and disarmingly sparkly. ‘But of course Mr Jacobs,’ he gushed, hanging up and giving me the phone. And the pretty sparkly thing. I felt like a kitten with a ping-pong ball. BlackBerry or shiny bag. BlackBerry or shiny bag. ‘What was that all about?’ I asked Jenny, unable to take my eyes off the bag. It was long and slender and round, like a pencil case I’d had in Year Eight. But, unlike the pencil case I’d had in Year Eight, it had a tiny five-hundred-dollar price tag, hidden discreetly inside the beautiful lining, and was covered in glittering, golden iridescent sparkles. Oh, and a little leather strap to slip around my wrist so that I would never, ever, ever lose it. Even in my sleep. ‘Jenny?’ ‘We’ll take the bag and the shoes, thanks,’ she said, snatching the bag out of my hands and passing it back to the assistant. His eyes were shining almost as much as the sequins. ‘And ring up these bad boys.’ She pointed at the yellow and black Mary Janes on her feet and dropped onto the padded bench beside me. ‘You should get your photo taken with some more famous people.’ She slung her arm around my shoulders. ‘James wants to pay for your shoes. Actually, our shoes. But if he asks, both pairs are yours. He said to charge them to his account and he’ll see you tomorrow.’ ‘Are you kidding me?’ I asked, watching the bag and the shoes being whisked away behind the counter while the staff whispered intensely amongst themselves. ‘He can’t do that. We can’t let him do that.’ I pouted, wondering just for a second what Mary would have to say about me accepting handbags and shoes from James. And right up until the assistant replaced my empty champagne glass with two huge, ribbon-tied cardboard carrier bags, I really thought about refusing to accept them. Sort of. ‘Oh Angie, Angie, Angie.’ Jenny ruffled my hair and gave me a huge grin. ‘He can and we can. And I could not be happier. Where next?’ Jenny’s talent for shopping was matched only by her talent for eating, so after Miu Miu, after Dolce & Gabbana, Cavalli and Gucci, she finally gave in. I couldn’t enjoy even La Perla on an empty stomach. ‘Tiffany’s shouldn’t be part of a shopping centre,’ I said, spearing the omnipresent lettuce leaf on my plate. ‘I don’t care how posh a shopping centre. It’s just not right.’ ‘Yeah, whatever …’ Jenny leaned back, smiling up at the sunshine with her eyes closed. ‘Eat your crab cakes and stop bagging on LA.’ ‘I’ll leave LA alone if you’ll tell me about the last time you were here,’ I gambled. ‘I want to here all about your dancing. And how on earth the Pussycat Dolls managed to let you slip through their fingers.’ ‘Shut up,’ Jenny carried on staring upwards. ‘Is that a humming bird?’ ‘It is and even though that might be the coolest thing I’ve ever seen,’ I replied, watching the tiny bird as it darted by our table and hovered by a floral display beside us, ‘you’re not going to distract me. Did you really dance?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Did you strip?’ ‘It wasn’t stripping, it was burlesque.’ ‘So you did strip?’ She sighed and looked back at me. ‘There was no nudity in my routine.’ ‘So how come you came back to New York so quickly,’ I stirred my Diet Coke with my straw, ‘if you and Daphne were so amazing? Couldn’t the dancing have led to other stuff?’ ‘Probably,’ she laughed quietly. ‘It led to Daphne doing other stuff. Other stuff for guys who came to see us dance. Other stuff for money.’ ‘Daphne did it for money?’ I asked. According to the people at the next table who dropped their cutlery, altogether too loudly. ‘Daphne was a prostitute?’ I added quietly. ‘I don’t think she would say that,’ Jenny said diplomatically. ‘Maybe a private call girl. She seemed to think it was pretty glamorous at the time.’ ‘But you didn’t?’ I asked. ‘Think it was glamorous, I mean? I know you would never do that. Would you?’ ‘Trust me, there was nothing glamorous about those guys,’ she said. ‘So you didn’t, right?’ A dozen humming birds doing a synchronized dance routine couldn’t have got my attention at that moment. ‘Of course I didn’t,’ Jenny said, ‘but it was tempting. Suddenly Daphne had all this money, she stopped doing auditions, started missing gigs. Eventually, she stopped dancing altogether and I felt weird doing it alone. Especially since Daphne had kind of gotten us a reputation. I guess it would have been easier to just do it, but I couldn’t.’ ‘So you came home?’ I wasn’t used to watching Jenny squirm. It wasn’t nearly as much fun as I’d thought it might be. ‘I went back to New York, yeah.’ She looked up and gave me her brightest smile. ‘And thank God I did, or you would have been screwed.’ ‘She’s not still doing it, is she?’ I couldn’t help myself, even if Jenny was clearly trying to change the subject. ‘Not still, you know …’ ‘Angie, it scares me that you can’t even say the words at your age. And no, she isn’t. She quit, like, right after I left. She started seeing some rich old guy and I guess she didn’t need the cash any more. And she’s making good money as a stylist now so …’ She trailed off. ‘Do you miss living here?’ I asked, even though I didn’t want to. She was my Jenny, my ‘I’m walkin’ here’ New Yorker Jenny, not Daphne’s LA private dancer. ‘It’s different now; it was so long ago. I’m not twenty-two any more; everything is so different.’ She gave me a little smile. ‘It is nice to be out in the sunshine again, though. I don’t know, I don’t want the same things I wanted the last time I was here. I don’t know what I want.’ ‘You’ll work it out,’ I said, watching her pretend not to be bothered. ‘You always do.’ ‘Yeah.’ Jenny pulled out her bright yellow Miu Miu shoe. It was all sorts of beautiful. ‘I always do, don’t I?’ ‘I can’t believe you had this big crazy life.’ I was always amazed by Jenny. I’d never ever known anyone like her in my life. It didn’t matter how long we spent together or how long we talked, one way or another, she surprised me every single day. Some days it was with a packet of peanut butter M&Ms, others it was with the fact that she used to be a burlesque dancer while her friend was a high-class hooker. ‘How do you stand behind that concierge desk every day without going mad?’ ‘I don’t know.’ She pulled a couple of curls out from her ponytail and held them out to inspect for split ends. ‘I guess I had Jeff to keep my mind busy for a while but sometimes, yeah. I don’t know.’ We ate in silence for a few minutes, Jenny concentrating on her salad, me painfully aware that the waiter was still judging me for asking if the crab cakes came with fries. They didn’t. ‘What are you going to do about James?’ Jenny asked eventually. ‘What do you mean?’ I stalled, not actually knowing the answer. ‘Seems to me that if your boyfriend already thinks you’re sleeping with a super-hot guy who is so clearly into you, you may as well,’ she reasoned. ‘He’s not clearly into me,’ I replied sternly, but I couldn’t help a tiny internal smile at the thought that he might be. ‘Just because he got a couple of shops to give us some free stuff. It’s nothing to him, Jenny; it’s like you letting your friend crash in an empty room at the hotel or something. A perk of the job.’ ‘I could totally get used to these kinds of perks,’ she held up the shoe again. ‘But honey, I’m telling you, just from what I saw last night. He likes you.’ ‘No, he doesn’t and, even if he did, which he doesn’t …’ I fished around in my handbag for my wallet. Expenses be damned, this was going on the work credit card. ‘… I wouldn’t be interested.’ ‘Yeah you would. If you didn’t have a boyfriend,’ Jenny said, stealing a bite of crab cake from my plate. I considered my answer carefully, knowing she would jump on whatever I said. ‘If I didn’t have a boyfriend and I wasn’t working and he wasn’t this ridiculous actor. Maybe.’ ‘Oh my God, you’re totally hot for him.’ Jenny clapped her hands together. ‘I knew it! I could so tell last night. Angie, how often do you get a chance like this? How often does anyone get a chance like this?’ ‘That doesn’t matter.’ I blushed from my cheeks down to my toes. ‘And it doesn’t matter how hot he is or if he likes me. It’s just work. Even if it doesn’t feel like it right now, it’s work.’ ‘You forgot the “I already have a boyfriend” bit.’ Jenny raised an eyebrow. ‘I’d have thought Alex was quite enough of a reason. That’s interesting.’ ‘No it isn’t interesting,’ I corrected. ‘That just goes without saying.’ ‘So things are OK? He hasn’t freaked out about the pictures?’ There was no point hiding this stuff from Jenny. It would only come back to bite me on the arse when I needed her help later, which I always did. ‘He wasn’t best pleased about them,’ I admitted. ‘But it’ll be fine.’ ‘I figured as much,’ Jenny nodded. ‘He’s totally the jealous type.’ ‘No, he so isn’t. Is he?’ I asked. ‘What makes you say that?’ ‘Come on, Angie.’ She wiped her hands on a napkin and then redid her ponytail. ‘Alex is all deep and meaningful muso boy. You don’t get the love songs, the random three a.m. booty calls because “he just had to see you” without a touch of possessiveness. I just can’t see him being OK with you running around Hollywood with a some hot, slutty guy with all the world watching. Can you?’ ‘I said he wasn’t best pleased about it,’ I mumbled, giving the waiter my credit card without even looking at the bill. ‘But it’ll be OK, won’t it?’ ‘He’s your boyfriend, I don’t know,’ she said, passing me her lip gloss. She really was a stickler for detail. ‘What do you think?’ ‘I think we should stop talking about boys, go and get the car, then go for a swim.’ I took my card and the receipt back from the waiter. ‘And if there’s a spa or something, we should get massages. This is still your vacation, after all, and I don’t have to be anywhere until eleven a.m. tomorrow.’ ‘Got to say, Angie,’ Jenny stood up and started grabbing our many bags, ‘I have always loved the way you think.’ CHAPTER EIGHT (#ulink_dbb49469-c2b1-5345-93d1-bb6af7e79af7) Right up until the moment James’s limo pulled up outside The Hollywood at four minutes passed eleven the next morning, I’d been waiting for the phone call from Blake to say that they weren’t coming and the interview was off. But there they were and there I was, Jenny’s giant sunglasses on, Starbucks in hand, and (beautiful but looking more battered by the day) Marc Jacobs bag over my shoulder. Taking a deep breath, I sucked it up and opened the car door. If I thought Alex had been upset and Mary was angry yesterday, then I needed a new word for Blake. ‘This is why these fucking “day in the life” interviews never, ever work,’ he ranted as the limo pulled away from the hotel, staring me down. ‘You don’t speak until we’re back in the hotel. This is why we should have met for one hour in a hotel suite with a publicist and a security guard and this would never ever have happened.’ I couldn’t argue with his logic. ‘Would there have been bottled water?’ James asked. ‘Of course.’ Blake seethed in my general direction. ‘And those tiny pastries?’ ‘No because you’re carb-free this month.’ He folded his arms and gave me an intensely filthy look. ‘Blake, calm down, it’s not Angela’s fault.’ James placed a careful hand on his assistant’s shoulder. I slid off my sunglasses and tried my hardest to look innocent. ‘No, the pictures were your fucking fault, I already told you that,’ Blake replied, not taking his eyes off me. ‘And it’s your fault that she’s still here. But I’m telling you both, this is it. I’m not leaving your side from now on.’ ‘I get it, Blake,’ James smiled easily. ‘We’re absolutely going to play by your rules. But if we’re going to be doing a full hour’s talking, I’m going to need a coffee. Coffee Bean is just round the corner, can we get something? You know I hate the coffee at the hotel.’ ‘Fine,’ Blake said, eyes still locked on me. I thought about putting my sunglasses back on. ‘She can go get your coffee.’ ‘You want Angela to get out of a limo and order my favourite coffee at my regular coffee shop?’ James reached across the seat and took my hand. I resisted the urge to giggle. Nerves, just nerves. ‘Really, Blake, you’d just be fuelling the fire. This place is always crawling with paps.’ ‘Crawling,’ I croaked. ‘I said not a word out of you until we get to the hotel,’ Blake shot back, climbing out of the limo. I held my breath until the door slammed shut. ‘I’m so sorry,’ I choked. ‘I know it’s not funny.’ ‘Angela, just a sec. Hey, Jack,’ James squeezed my hand then pressed the mic button to speak to the driver. ‘I think I saw some photographers as we pulled in. Can we make a move? Uh, Pinkberry on Beverly Drive?’ A shadowy nod through the tinted glass and we were off. ‘Well, that’s a relief, isn’t it?’ James sighed, stretching his arms out along the back of the seat. ‘Honestly, Blake’s been going crazy since those pictures were posted.’ ‘And he’s not going to go even more crazy now?’ I panicked. ‘We have to go back for him! He’s going to call the magazine, honestly, James, I’m so close to getting fired right now. If he calls them—’ ‘He’s not going to call them.’ James picked some nonexistent fluff from his dark blue shirt. ‘How many times do you need telling? Blake can’t cancel anything. And the magazine can’t fire you. I emailed them as soon as the pictures were posted yesterday. I’m only doing this interview with you and they know that.’ ‘You just don’t make any sense.’ I rubbed my temples and tried not to think about how his shirt was exactly the same colour as his eyes. ‘All I’ve done is cause you trouble. You could have a real interviewer; you could just do that one-hour hotel room thing Blake was talking about and save yourself all this hassle. And the photos, aren’t you upset? Or at least annoyed?’ ‘Did you do no research before you met me?’ James shook his head. ‘There have been much worse pictures of me leaked online. Pictures, videos. God, things I could never show my mother. And why would I want to sit in a room giving the same old spiel about my next movie, what I like about living in LA, what I miss about the UK, blah, blah, blah, when I could be eating burgers and talking about actual real things with you?’ ‘Fair point,’ I conceded. ‘But you’re not even a little bit bothered by the photos?’ ‘I’m only bothered that they bother you,’ he shrugged. ‘I’m used to them. The women that are in them with me are usually used to them.’ He didn’t even blush. So I blushed for the both of us. ‘And I’m sorry, I should have said something at the time. Once you’ve spotted the photographers, it’s usually too late,’ he said, peering out the window. I looked past him, onto the Beverley Hills sign set against a spotlessly manicured lawn. Not quite the Hollywood sign but still, terribly glam. ‘How was your friend when you got back?’ ‘Jenny? Not amused with me in the slightest,’ I admitted, ‘but she was more or less calmed down by the shopping. Thank you, by the way. That was, well, madness. You really didn’t have to do that.’ ‘Don’t even mention it,’ James waved away my thanks. ‘And what about your other friend, Joe?’ ‘I haven’t seen him. I’m so sorry, he was totally out of order.’ I still couldn’t quite believe how pathetic Joe’s behaviour had been. ‘And, like I said the other night, he’s really not my friend.’ ‘Yeah, he was a bit …’ James paused. ‘Well, never mind. There’s nothing in life that can’t be solved by frozen yoghurt.’ ‘Oh my God, you’re such a woman,’ I said. ‘I’d like to hear you say that in Sheffield.’ ‘‘Shut up and get your wallet out,’ he said, as we pulled up at the side of the road. ‘You’re buying.’ ‘Frozen yoghurt?’ I climbed out of the limo after him. ‘That sounds like a fair exchange for everything we bought yesterday.’ ‘Yeah, but I won’t have to pay for that stuff; this is pricey frozen yoghurt.’ ‘You have forgotten where you’ve come from, Jim Jacobs,’ I tutted. It turned out that Pinkberry frozen yoghurt was ever so slightly magical. As James loaded his with pineapple and strawberries, I packed mine with Coco Pebbles cereal and chocolate chips. And I got change out of ten dollars. Just. ‘This is amazing,’ I raved through a mouthful of yoghurty goodness. ‘Shouldn’t this be all tasteless and healthy?’ ‘It is healthy, or it was until you shovelled all that crap on to it,’ James teased. The street outside was packed with tanned, good-looking men in workout gear and more of the ever-present Ugg girls. ‘So I thought we’d crack on with your tour of my favourite bits of LA,’ James carried on, striding down the road, past all the girls that stared and all the men that pretended not to. The only difference today was they were staring at me as much as him. ‘So how about The Grove, do some more shopping? What do you think? That should cheer you up.’ ‘Sorry, James,’ I hugged myself tightly. Why was everywhere in LA so open? What I wouldn’t give for a shadowy side street or a subway station. ‘I know you don’t want to do the usual sit-down thing, but could we maybe go somewhere slightly less, I don’t know, somewhere less open?’ ‘Maybe The Beverly Center?’ James finished up his yogurt and dropped it in the rubbish bin. ‘Or Melrose? There will probably be paps on Melrose though.’ ‘Are there going to be photographers everywhere you go?’ I asked, actively ignoring two girls clutching tiny dogs and huge coffees, staring at us from across the road. ‘Maybe,’ James shrugged. ‘Seriously, I told you, it’s not a problem.’ ‘It is a problem,’ I said, spotting a group of pre-teens, head to toe in Juicy Couture, blatantly comparing the real-life James Jacobs and ‘mystery girl’ to the images on their Sidekicks. ‘I’m sorry, but it’s going to be a problem for me.’ ‘Not at all.’ James threw his arm around my shoulders. I could practically hear everyone in the street breathe in. ‘If it’s a problem for you then it’s a problem for me. If you could go anywhere in the world right now, where would you go?’ ‘New York?’ James smiled. ‘Well, I can’t get you across the country in half and hour but I can do the next best thing.’ Back in the limo, we drove out of Beverly Hills, through Hollywood, and kept going until James tapped on the glass partition to stop Jack, his driver. As soon as we stepped outside, I felt as though I was home. Gone were the tans, the big boots and the teeny-tiny shorts and in their place were beards, battered Converses and vintage plaid shirts. Starbucks were replaced by corner cafes run by slacker hipsters, Urban Outfitters taken over by vintage stores and the huge cineplexes swapped for a tiny art-house cinema. And while I couldn’t see the ocean, the beautiful blue sky was framed by the hills and mountains that surrounded us. ‘You like?’ James asked, leaning against the ridiculously conspicuous limo. I couldn’t believe we were only ten minutes out of Hollywood. ‘I like,’ I nodded, slipping my (beloved) bag over my head and across my body. ‘Where are we?’ ‘Los Feliz,’ he said. ‘It’s as close as I can get you to home without using the jet.’ ‘I bet the pizza isn’t as good as in Brooklyn,’ I said, looking around. Not one single person was looking at us. ‘So let’s get down to business. Where are we doing the interview?’ ‘In here,’ he pointed to a small dark doorway behind me. ‘After you.’ James opened the door from the sunny street into a small, dark bar. I passed through a beaded curtain, blinking. Like Teddy’s the night before, it was lined with red booths, but they were cracked vinyl instead of velvet. The high-gloss sheen of bought-in Old Hollywood glamour, accessorized by Jessica Simpson, was completely blown out of the water by actual, genuine old-school class, accessorized by the slightly stale smell of a couple of decades of debauched nights. The tiny stage in the centre of the room was set up with a drum kit, several guitars and an upright piano. ‘Hey, James,’ came a voice from behind the bar that lined the back wall, lit by vintage-looking lampshades. Except I had a feeling they weren’t vintage-looking so much as so genuinely old that they might fall apart if I touched them. The girl talking to James had gorgeous flame-red hair and winged black eyeliner. ‘Just get whatever you need, I’ll be out back.’ ‘Thanks, Marina,’ James sat down behind the piano. ‘Welcome to The Dresden. It’s my favourite club in all of LA. No paps.’ ‘You play?’ I asked, sitting down beside him. ‘I do.’ James lifted the lid and played a few soft chords. In the darkened room, watching James play the piano, I felt a million miles away from all of it. From the pictures on the website, from Alex, from Mary. I placed my fingers on the cool piano keys and stared at the keyboard. ‘You play?’ ‘No,’ I said. ‘I can’t even play the recorder.’ ‘You sing?’ he asked. I looked up into his dark blue eyes and laughed out loud. ‘No, I can’t sing,’ I spluttered. ‘Oh my God, stop it. Didn’t we come here to do an interview?’ ‘Yes.’ He closed the piano lid. ‘I just feel a bit of a fraud doing the whole “ac-tor” interview thing with you. It’s the journos that create the persona, you know. It’s their questions that bring on the whole “I love the smell of the ocean at midnight” bollocks.’ ‘Can I quote you on that?’ I asked. ‘Because I don’t have any questions about the smell of the ocean at any time and that sounded pretty good to me.’ ‘OK, let’s do it this way,’ James said. ‘You ask me a question and then I’ll ask you a question. That should take the pressure off?’ ‘And give me some ideas for more questions,’ I agreed, rummaging in the bottom of my (full of rubbish but never a pen when you needed it) bag. ‘Since you threw my Dictaphone in the Pacific Ocean, I have been reduced to shorthand, so go slow.’ ‘I’ll go however fast or slow you want me to go.’ I refused to blush. Refused. ‘So, old Jim Jacobs,’ I cleared my throat and put on my most professional face. ‘Desert Island Discs time. Your three favourite albums?’ ‘Easy and, I’m sorry to say it, not that original.’ James gave me a mock yawn. ‘The Smiths, The Smiths, Nirvana, Nevermind and Pulp, Different Class. Because I know you’re going to make a big deal of me being from Sheffield.’ ‘You could have gone for Def Leppard,’ I replied, scribbling down his answers and wondering whether or not they would actually be on his ‘most played’ list if I checked out his iPod. Like they would be on mine. ‘My turn,’ James stretched his arms out above his head, stretching out his moment. ‘Angela Clark, why are you so bothered about what other people think?’ ‘You could just ask me my three favourite films,’ I stalled. ‘Answer, please.’ ‘Easy and, I’m sorry to say, not that original,’ I mirrored his stretch and pulled my hair back into a ponytail before letting it fall back down. ‘I’m not bothered. My turn.’ ‘I don’t think so.’ James shook his head. ‘Do you think I didn’t notice you freaking out when those girls were looking at us outside the yoghurt place? And even though I’ve told you about a million times that your job is safe, you’re still worrying about the interview, about the magazine. So don’t tell me you’re not bothered.’ ‘You didn’t tell me I had to be honest.’ I pulled a stray strand of hair out of my lip gloss. I would never be a lady. ‘You just said I had to answer your question and I answered.’ ‘OK then. Your turn.’ ‘Right,’ I said, surprised. I hadn’t really expected to get off that lightly but I wasn’t about to push my luck. ‘Three things you can’t be without when you’re travelling.’ ‘A small donkey, Michael Caine and toenail clippers.’ James stared back at me, completely serious. ‘My turn.’ ‘You’re not funny.’ ‘The fifty million people that saw my last movie would disagree with you.’ ‘I’m writing that down if you don’t give me a serious answer.’ ‘You give me one then.’ I sighed. ‘Fine. I am a little bit bothered.’ ‘Thank you. Now tell me why?’ ‘Why? It would be easier for you to tell me why you aren’t more bothered. How does the whole thing not faze you? Even if this happens to you every single day, twice a day even, I don’t understand how you can just laugh it all off and expect everyone else to do the same.’ James leaned over, brushing my hair behind my ear. ‘Because it’s not real,’ he said quietly. ‘I know those photos aren’t real, the people I love know they’re not real; it’s all just another character. Even this interview, as much fun as it is and as much as I’m loving hanging out with you, what goes in the magazine will end up being an interview with a character we create. The questions you ask me aren’t supposed to find out about the real me, not the cold, hard facts. They’re supposed to find out things your readers want to know, about the James Jacobs they’ve seen in all those stupid rom-coms I’ve done.’ I didn’t really know what to say. He wasn’t wrong. ‘Angela, it doesn’t matter if everyone outside this club thinks we’re at it like rabbits in here, we know we’re not and that’s what matters. And no one with half a brain believes what they see on celebrity websites.’ ‘Yeah, that’s what I thought too.’ I chewed on the end of my pen, looking back at the bar. ‘Can we get a drink?’ ‘Someone thinks the photos are real.’ Despite the fact it would mortify my mother, I clambered underneath the bar and poured myself a drink. ‘Yeah.’ ‘Is it your mum?’ Oh my God, I hadn’t even thought about that. I doubled the shot. ‘Not yet.’ ‘The boyfriend?’ ‘The boyfriend.’ I poured a Diet Coke on top of the vodka but there was only room for a third of the bottle. ‘I can’t believe he called you a liar.’ James followed me over to the bar. ‘What?’ I mixed my drink without a straw. ‘He didn’t say that.’ ‘He thinks the photos are real,’ he said. ‘And you said they weren’t, so I’m fairly sure that means he called you a liar.’ ‘Not exactly.’ I took a long swig, pulled a face and added some more Coke. ‘He was just a bit – well, not very happy about it. Which is completely understandable.’ ‘But you told him nothing was happening and he didn’t believe you?’ James pressed on, settling on a bar stool. ‘Beer for me, please.’ ‘Great, now I’m a barmaid,’ I muttered, grabbing a Corona from the fridge. ‘I told him they weren’t what they looked like. That doesn’t mean he didn’t believe me. He was just a bit annoyed. His ex cheated on him so, you know, it’s hard for him to trust people sometimes.’ ‘But you’re not his ex,’ James squeezed a chunk of lime into his beer. ‘And you haven’t cheated on him.’ ‘No but, well, I was dating someone else when we met, but no I haven’t cheated on him. On anyone. Ever.’ I slipped a napkin under his bottle. At least I’d have experience in bar work for when I lost my job at The Look. ‘I would never cheat on Alex.’ I looked up confidently. ‘I would never cheat on him.’ ‘Then he’s got no right to make you feel bad about some paparazzi shots,’ James reasoned. ‘He should just take your word for it and think himself lucky that he has such an amazing girlfriend.’ ‘I wouldn’t go so far as amazing.’ I sipped my drink. ‘Just common or garden perfect would do it.’ ‘Do you always make jokes about yourself?’ James set his bottle back on the bar. ‘Because you are amazing, you know. And your boyfriend should never make you doubt that.’ ‘I don’t make jokes about myself and I’m not amazing.’ The bar was so quiet, I could hear my heart thudding. This didn’t feel as though it was essential to the interview. ‘Really. Anyway, I have more questions for you.’ ‘You’re cute, you’re clever, you’re funny, you clearly love this idiot even though he doesn’t deserve it,’ James carried on, pushing the lime right down the neck of the bottle. ‘If you were my girlfriend, I would never let you be miserable. Ever.’ ‘I don’t know,’ I said, examining my fingernails. ‘I don’t think anyone can make me feel better about the fact that I’ll never be America’s Next Top Model.’ ‘Yeah, you don’t ever make jokes about yourself,’ James replied. The longer we sat in silence, the more awkward it became. ‘Has he ever cheated on you?’ he asked. ‘The boyfriend?’ ‘No. Of course not,’ I said quickly. ‘He wouldn’t.’ James studied me silently while he drank his beer. ‘Can we get back to the interview?’ I asked, my stomach dropping. ‘Because if you were my girlfriend—’ James started again. ‘The interview?’ I interrupted. Too much. This was just too much. ‘My video iPod, running shoes and a copy of The Great Gatsby.’ He knocked back the rest of his beer. I looked up. ‘The three things I can’t be without when I’m travelling,’ he shrugged. ‘What else have you got?’ We passed another hour discussing James’s favourite designers, his favourite holiday spots, his favourite restaurants, and everything else a Look reader could feasibly want to know about her favourite actor, until my hand was cramping and my pad was full. ‘Do you know what?’ I said, jotting down his favourite place to buy bagels. ‘I think we’re done. You are released.’ ‘You mean I have to go back to Blake?’ James asked, with mock horror. At least it seemed like mock horror; I would have been genuinely terrified. ‘You don’t want to do something this evening? I cleared my schedule.’ I smiled and shook my head. ‘I actually just want to go back to the hotel and sleep. The last few nights have been late ones and I really should go and write all this up, send it over to the magazine. Prove we’re actually working.’ ‘Fair enough. I can wait until tomorrow,’ James stood up and stretched. He really was very tall. ‘As long as you are going to be working and not just going into hiding. Promise me you won’t let anyone make you feel shit about those pictures?’ ‘Brownie Guide promise,’ I saluted. ‘You’re right. I’m sure I’m just overreacting.’ ‘Good. And if your boyfriend hasn’t sent a dozen roses to your hotel when you get back, he’ll have me to answer to.’ He opened the door back into the bustling sunshine. ‘I’m not having him making you feel rubbish for no reason.’ ‘If I didn’t know you were a hateful, ego-driven movie star, I could be fooled into thinking you were actually quite nice,’ I said, shielding my eyes and looking up into his. ‘You must be a very good actor.’ ‘Make sure you put that in the interview,’ James said, dialling his driver. ‘I am good but I mean it. You should never let anyone make you feel crap. I don’t have those people around me any more.’ ‘No, you only have really positive people like Blake,’ I said, watching the limo appear around the corner. ‘He really makes your life easier?’ ‘I know he seems like hard work to everyone else,’ he said, ‘but I don’t know what I’d do without him. Even if he is going to lose his mind after we binned him off again today.’ ‘It’s fine, I’m sure he’ll just blame me,’ I replied. ‘Again.’ ‘I’m sure he will,’ James agreed. ‘I’m sorry. Thank you for putting up with him. And me.’ ‘Thank you for making this so easy for me,’ I slid on my sunglasses to get a better, slightly hidden peek at him. ‘I know you won’t believe it,’ he said, pulling out his own shades. ‘But I’m having fun. Hanging out with you reminds me of something I don’t have any more.’ ‘What’s that?’ More than three per cent body fat? ‘I don’t really know,’ James said, pushing my sunglasses up onto the top of my head and looking down at me. I could feel his stare right in the pit of my stomach. ‘But it’s there.’ ‘Then I’m choosing to believe it’s a good thing,’ I said, pushing them back down as the limo pulled up beside us. How was him being an absolute angel as well as all kinds of gorgeous, while Alex was being a total arse, helping me anyway? CHAPTER NINE (#ulink_cc42f538-01a9-5caf-9b1f-ca16bd8f994d) Jenny was nowhere to be found back at the hotel, which left me free for the world’s longest nap. But after an hour of staring at the ceiling, I was forced to accept that sleep wasn’t coming. There was just too much on my mind and, to be honest, the vodka I’d necked at The Dresden hadn’t helped me clear it up. If I could just sort out one of the dramas in my mind, maybe I’d be able to get half an hour’s sleep. OK, first, Alex. Staring at my phone, I tried to replay our conversation but it all sounded so much worse in my head. If he would just call, if he would just tell me it was all right. If he would just bloody say that he loved me. But that wasn’t about to happen any time soon. And hello? How sad was I that I needed my boyfriend to tell me he loved me to make me feel better? OK, very, but it didn’t stop it being true. I added another pillow to the stack already behind my head and grabbed my BlackBerry from the night-stand. No missed calls, no new emails. Nothing from Mary about the blog entry I’d sent over that morning. No matter what James said, my job was still on the line. Once the interview was over, he wouldn’t have any pull at the magazine and if Mary thought I was going to shag every person I worked with, there wouldn’t be any more work. Plus Jenny was still in such a strange mood, she wasn’t exactly helping me out. And if that wasn’t enough, I had the most unexpected problem of them all to deal with. James was definitely flirting with me. Definitely. What was I supposed to do? My job was hanging by a thread, my boyfriend wasn’t talking to me, my best friend was one missed call away from kicking my arse and here was this insanely beautiful man – not even a man, a movie star – telling me I’m amazing, stroking my hair and asking me to stay the night. It wasn’t fair. I was only human, unlike him. Stupid Greek God of a man, how dare he try it on with me? Seriously, what was a girl supposed to do? It had taken me six months to sort my life out after arriving in New York, amazing friends, wonderful boyfriend, the perfect job. And it had only taken me four days in LA to screw it all up. Wow, that must be some sort of record. Really, there was only one thing to do. ‘Hello?’ ‘Hello, Dad, it’s Angela.’ ‘Angela, love, it’s midnight, what’s wrong?’ Dad yawned. At least they clearly hadn’t seen the photos. ‘Sorry, I hadn’t thought about the time difference,’ I apologized, looking at the blinking clock on my night-stand. ‘Nothing’s wrong, I just wanted to have a quick word with Mum, is she up?’ ‘She is now,’ he muttered. ‘What’s wrong? Angela, are you coming home?’ The classic motherly panic. ‘What’s happened?’ ‘No, Mum,’ I said. ‘I just wanted to have a bit of a chat. I’m working in LA this week, aren’t I?’ ‘I never know where you are from one day to the next,’ she sighed. ‘And you haven’t wanted a bit of a chat for months, let alone at midnight. So what’s wrong?’ ‘It’s only four here, sorry, I wasn’t thinking,’ I said. How true was that? ‘No, thinking hasn’t been your strong point since you moved away, love,’ Mum agreed. ‘What’s wrong now?’ She’d been awake for four minutes and she was already having a go at me. Why hadn’t I called her earlier? ‘Nothing really, I just wanted to call you about, well, some pictures,’ I tried to work out how to rephrase ‘the internet is crawling with suggestive photographs of your only child’ for my fifty-nine-year-old mother, but it just wouldn’t come out. Couldn’t think why. ‘I’m in some pictures.’ ‘You’re in the pictures? Is that why you’re in LA; you’re going to be in a film?’ ‘No, Mum, I’m interviewing someone, I’m not in a film.’ I closed my eyes. ‘It’s just someone took some photos of me and the person I’m interviewing, he’s an actor, and they’re saying that we’re … going out together.’ ‘You’re going out with an actor?’ I heard running water and opening cupboards. If she was making tea, this could go on for a while. ‘I thought you were going out with that man with the guitar?’ ‘I am going out with that man with the … oh, his name is Alex, Mum,’ I could actually really use a cup of tea. Or something stronger. ‘I’m not going out with the actor, I just wanted to let you know that the photos make it look like I am going out with him. But I’m not.’ ‘Just a minute love, I’m making tea. I suppose all you drink is coffee now. Can’t beat a good cup of tea though, can you? Those Americans might make more sense if they all had a cup of tea for a change. Coffee gives me the jitters.’ ‘Of course I still drink tea,’ I sighed. ‘And you can get tea here.’ ‘Coffee gives your dad the runs, of course,’ she went on. ‘Now what’s all this about you going out with an actor?’ ‘OK, let me start again.’ I sat up in bed. ‘I’m not going out with an actor but there are some photos on the internet that make it look like I am. And I don’t want you to get upset when you see them.’ ‘Why would I get upset? And where on the internet, let me have a look,’ she slurped her tea. ‘Where are my glasses?’ ‘You’ve got the internet?’ I crossed the room to my laptop. ‘When did you get a computer?’ ‘Your dad’s been doing a course. I thought I’d be able to send you emails but I haven’t quite worked that out yet. Your dad’s been doing that Facebook thing though. All the pictures from Louisa’s weddings are up there, you know.’ ‘Dad’s on Facebook?’ I asked, logging on and searching. Oh my, there he was. Not a good picture. ‘That’s the one. Now what’s the name of this website?’ she asked. ‘Mum, I don’t think you need to look at the pictures. I just wanted to let you—’ ‘If I just Goggle you, will they come up?’ she interrupted. ‘If you what?’ ‘Goggle, oh, it’s wonderful Angela, you just type in anything and it comes up,’ she went on. ‘I got this really lovely recipe for an apple crumble. It’s so much better than your Auntie Susan’s one. Oh, here you are, here’s your picture.’ ‘No, that’ll be my blog, Mum.’ I was talking so quickly, I wasn’t sure what I was saying. I just could not cope with her seeing those pictures. ‘The pictures didn’t have my name on but I thought someone might see them and recognize me and tell—’ ‘Well, it says it’s you,’ she carried on talking over me. ‘You and James Jacobs? I’m sure I’ve seen him in something; he’s very good looking, Angela.’ ‘Wait, what website are you on?’ The photos had my name on them now? I typed my name into Google Images. And there I was. There we were. ‘They’re on lots of websites, Angela. Well, you do make a very good-looking couple.’ She sounded oddly proud. ‘When do we get to meet him?’ ‘Mum, I’m not going out with James Jacobs,’ I repeated. ‘These photos aren’t real.’ ‘That’s not you being carried into that big black car then?’ ‘Well, yes, it is but not—’ ‘And that’s not you coming out of the hotel?’ ‘Yes but—’ ‘That’s a lovely dress, Angela. If you’d dressed like that when you were living with Mark, he might never have left you for that tart from the tennis club. All those bloody jeans and sloppy jumpers …’ ‘Mum!’ Really. Why did I call her? ‘Never mind, I dare say Mark will be feeling pretty silly when he sees that you’re going out with a film star, won’t he? Malcolm, what was that film we saw about the casino? Angela’s new boyfriend was in it,’ she shouted without taking the phone away from her mouth. Suitably deafened, I turned my attention to the first website that came up. Updated: We finally have confirmation on the identity of James Jacobs’s new lady love! She is none other than Angela Clark, fellow Brit, journo and, according to our sources, currently dating lead singer of New York rockers, Stills, Alex Reid. Way to trade up, journo girl. That said, we always thought Alex Reid was kind of a cutie; obviously no James Jacobs, but if he’s looking for someone to help him through the heartache, we are available … There, beside a new shot of James carrying me out of Teddy’s, this one showcasing my pants fabulously, was a picture of Alex, all bundled up, heading into Bedford Avenue subway station. I didn’t know if it was new or if it was old, but he looked gutted. ‘Oh shit,’ I breathed. ‘Angela, language.’ ‘Mum, I’m sorry for waking you up,’ I said, rubbing my eyes. No time for a nap now. ‘I’ve got to make some calls. I’ll give you a ring later.’ ‘OK love. And I shouldn’t worry about those pictures. You know what they say, today’s newspaper is tomorrow’s fish and chip wrapping. Just try not to show your pants in the next ones. Speak to you soon.’ ‘There had better not be any next ones,’ I muttered to myself, hanging up and redialling. I hated it when my mother was right. ‘Alex, it’s me …’ Seriously, would I never ever learn to think about what I was going to say on voicemail before I called? ‘I know you said not to call but I had to. Can you call me please? I just want to speak to you; these photos are just stupid. I spoke to my mum and, yeah, you don’t care that I spoke to my mum, do you? Anyway, please just call me back?’ Not my finest work but far from my worst. That accolade was firmly attached to the photo of my pants that was currently circulating the internet. I spent the next couple of hours dutifully writing up my interview with James. As someone who had never ever interviewed an A-list celebrity before, it didn’t read half bad. If I hadn’t met him, this interview would totally make me fall in love with him. Unfortunately, I had met him and, as much as I was trying to pretend otherwise, my feelings definitely weren’t entirely professional. I would probably leave that out of the interview. Just as I was considering ordering the entire room-service menu, my phone buzzed into life. I snatched it up, praying it would be Alex. My lovely boyfriend Alex, whom I would not be cheating on. Ever. Honest. ‘Yo, Angie, you still with James?’ Jenny yelled down the line. ‘Nope,’ I looked at the clock. Where had she been all day? ‘Whatever, we’re at The Grove, Daphne had to pick some pieces up from Nordstrom – she’s styling Rachel Bilson tomorrow, can you believe it? She’s so hot. Tiny but hot,’ Jenny carried on. ‘But I’ll be in the lobby in twenty minutes and then we’re going out for dinner. And then we’re going out. Daphne, where did you get a rez?’ The sound of honking horns drowned out the name of the restaurant. ‘Jenny, are you on the phone while you’re driving?’ I asked, holding my head in my hands. ‘Uh, no?’ ‘Please just be careful,’ I said. Jenny wasn’t completely concerned with her personal safety at the best of times and the idea of her behind the wheel of a car terrified me. ‘I don’t know about going out for dinner. It was really weird out this morning, loads of people just kept staring.’ ‘Yeah, but you were with James though, right? Well, tonight you’ll be with us. No one will look, I swear. Well, they will, but only because of our collective hotness. Just go get ready. Oh shit, we needed to turn there, right?’ Before I could argue, she hung up. Or at least I hoped she had hung up and not just caused a six-car pile-up. Despite really not wanting to leave my hotel room, I really didn’t want to get into another row with Jenny. Instead of taking to my bed, I went to my wardrobe and pulled out my black Kerrigan silk dress. Jenny was probably right. Surely a real celebrity would have cocked up by now and taken my place on Perez’s front page? The dress was perfect: slouchy black silk with pink sash that loosely tied around my waist. It was pretty but certainly not sexy and if I teamed it with flats instead of the skyscraper heels that Jenny had bullied me into getting when I’d bought it, it was positively demure. I combed out my hair, added a big old sweep of blusher and a quick flick of mascara. Passably presentable but in no way attention-seeking. Which I could not say about Jenny and Daphne. I wasn’t sure if it was them waiting for me in the lobby or if they were holding auditions for new Pussycat Dolls in the bar. Jenny’s hair was huge, either from overenthusiastic teasing or driving with the top down all day, and her gorgeous tan was accessorized with bright red lips, five-inch heels and a skin-tight, funnel-neck black leather mini-dress. And Daphne was hardly letting the side down. Her black hair was carefully curled and pinned (and lacquered within an inch of its life), her make-up flawless and Fifties. Seamed stockings, a ridiculously tight black pencil skirt and fitted white shirt with a red patent-leather belt wrapped around her teeny-tiny waist completed a look I could never even hope to replicate. It was all I could do to apply eyeliner without blinding myself – how did she walk around looking like that? ‘You both look nice,’ I choked, feeling as though I had turned up to a school disco in my pyjamas. ‘I didn’t realize we were doing dressy?’ ‘Isn’t this awesome?’ Jenny span for me. ‘I knew you’d love it; it’s Marc Jacobs. Daphne borrowed it for her shoot tomorrow. You’re not wearing your Miu Mius?’ I shook my head, looking doubtfully at my battered ballet pumps. ‘Kerrigan dress?’ Daphne asked, looking me up and down. ‘Nice.’ I nodded, trying not to be totally in awe of Daphne. Again. Oh yes, I could throw up in front of a movie star and then straddle him on the beach, but put me in front of a proper grown-up girl and I lost it. I’d always wanted to be one of those girls who was completely put together, who glided through life in sky-high heels with nothing but a tiny clutch bag rather than the girl clumping around in biker boots, dropping her satchel on the subway and scattering tampons everywhere. It just wasn’t on the cards. And then I remembered that Daphne Did It With Boys For Money and I didn’t know where to look any more. ‘So where are we going?’ I asked, following the glamazons out to the car. ‘Should I go and get changed?’ ‘We have heels in the car.’ Jenny took my hand and smiled. ‘A simple, “you look nice as you are” would have done,’ I frowned. Dominick’s was a cool little restaurant on Beverly Boulevard, full of pretty people, but at least here they seemed to be actually eating their meals rather than pushing their food around their plates. I took that to be a good sign. ‘See,’ Jenny gestured around with a fork full of spaghetti carbonara. ‘No one is looking at you.’ ‘No, but they are looking at you spilling sauce all down your borrowed dress,’ I said, passing her a napkin. Against all the odds, we were actually having a great night. I had got over my nerves, Jenny had got over her tantrum and, once I’d got over the urge to ask Daphne how much she charged for what, she turned out to be a fabulous source of Hollywood gossip. And since I’d served as that day’s tabloid fodder, I figured I was allowed to find out the dress sizes of the cast of Desperate Housewives. ‘So what are the plans for later?’ ‘On a Tuesday night?’ Daphne pursed her perfectly lined lips. ‘LAX? Hyde? Bar Marmont would be OK but we were only there on Sunday.’ ‘If Bar Marmont is anything to do with Chateau Marmont, I don’t think so.’ I scarfed a giant mouthful of steak. ‘Will Hyde be crawling with photographers too?’ ‘Honey, it’s LA,’ Daphne shrugged. ‘Anywhere worth going to will be crawling with photographers.’ ‘I could really get to hate LA,’ I said to my steak. ‘Honestly, how do you relax if you can’t just go out and get drunk with your friends?’ ‘Don’t you take your problems out on LA,’ Daphne warned. ‘That’s my baby you’re bad-mouthing.’ ‘Yeah, it’s not LA’s fault you’re having a shit time,’ Jenny chimed. ‘LA is beautiful. Awesome sunshine, shopping, beaches, clubs and hot, hot men. And that’s before we even get onto all that nature stuff, like hiking in the hills, because we would never go hiking in the hills if we’re honest. But you get my point, right?’ ‘And aren’t you supposed to be writer girl?’ Daphne asked. ‘Everything here is a story, everyone. New York is so boring and practical. Everything here is cooler than in New York.’ ‘I don’t think so,’ I smiled, shaking my head. ‘Not even.’ ‘She’s right, Angie,’ Jenny butted in. ‘If you would just try and have a good time, you might enjoy yourself out here.’ ‘You, Jenny Lopez, are cheating on New York,’ I tutted, but maybe she was right. Maybe it wasn’t entirely the city’s fault that I was having a shitty time. But I would not be miserable if I was still in New York. ‘James took me to this place today, The Dresden? He said there are never any photographers there.’ ‘And so it’s not worth going there,’ Jenny repeated slowly. ‘Don’t sweat it Angie, honey. But you know, if you really want this to go away, you should go out and get photographed.’ ‘How do you work that out?’ I asked, trying not to be distracted by the stupidly good-looking waiter who was taking away our plates. I really was turning into a big ho. And why was everyone in LA gorgeous? It was incredibly off-putting. ‘You go out, the paparazzi recognize you and you get your chance to give them a quote. Looking awesome, of course,’ she winked. ‘And flanked by your hot girlfriends.’ ‘It’s not a bad idea,’ Daphne agreed. ‘You can tell them you’re working together or just tell them you and James are old friends or something. Even if they don’t buy it, they’ll probably still publish it and that might get you off the hook with the magazine.’ ‘Maybe,’ I said doubtfully. Talking to the paparazzi just didn’t seem like a good idea. ‘I don’t know.’ ‘Did you speak to Alex yet?’ Jenny asked. ‘What did he say?’ ‘Not since yesterday,’ I admitted, carefully studying the dessert menu to avoid Jenny’s glare. ‘He isn’t answering his phone.’ ‘Tell me you’re joking?’ She slapped the menu down onto the table. ‘He hasn’t called you?’ ‘Don’t,’ I said. I really didn’t want to get into this again. ‘If that asshole doesn’t call you in the next ten seconds to say anything other than “I know everything I read online is bullshit and I’m so lucky to have a girlfriend like you”, I’m on the next flight back to New York to kick his ass.’ She stared me down. ‘Jenny, look at it from his point of view,’ I said, taking back the menu. If only because there was a tiramisu on there I desperately wanted to get involved with. ‘I’m away in Hollywood, interviewing this actor with a horrible reputation, and after two days there are pictures all over the internet of him carrying me into a limo and me hanging around his hotel room in a dressing gown.’ ‘There weren’t any pictures of you in a dressing gown,’ Daphne raised a perfectly pencilled eyebrow, ‘were there?’ ‘He’s just been so perfect since we got back together.’ I changed the subject quickly. ‘And then I get here and it all goes tits up. It’ll be fine when I get home.’ ‘Out of sight, out of mind.’ Daphne offered a saccharine smile, which did not help matters. ‘Or maybe he’s missing you so much, he can’t bear even to speak to you.’ Jenny clasped her hands to her heart. ‘Oh, Angie, it’s all too romantic. And bullshit. He’s being a dick. His boy genes have kicked in again.’ ‘Thanks for making me feel so much better, both of you.’ I frowned. ‘It doesn’t really matter now, does it? Whatever the problem was before I was branded an international super-slag by Perez Hilton, as far as he’s concerned, he’s got a solid-gold reason to be pissed off with me. And you know his ex cheated on him; he’s not the world’s most instantly trusting man. Once I’m back in New York, he’ll be fine. I’m sure.’ ‘So what, you can’t leave the city without him freaking out that you’re cheating on him? Sounds like a dream relationship,’ Daphne said into her wine glass. ‘And if he’s going to give you shit for something you didn’t do, you may as well do it, is all I’m saying.’ ‘You’re not being fair,’ I said, sinking half a glass of red wine. ‘And, God, I’m not entirely innocent, am I? I suppose I have sort of been … well, James has been … I can hardly say it … maybe we’ve been flirting a bit. And I haven’t done anything but I have to admit, I’ve seriously thought about it.’ ‘Angela, first of all, I don’t care if you blew the entire cast of Gossip Girl. If you told Alex you didn’t, and he didn’t believe you, he’s getting his ass kicked when we get back.’ Jenny took my hand. ‘And second of all, you need to elaborate on “flirting”.’ ‘Oh, it’s nothing.’ I tried to backtrack, quickly. ‘It’s just brushing my hair away from my face, holding my hand, saying stuff.’ Daphne was staring with wide-open eyes while Jenny toyed with her dessert spoon. ‘And after that thing at Teddy’s, he sort of suggested I stay at the hotel.’ ‘And you didn’t?’ Daphne looked impressed. ‘Angela, you deserve some sort of award, not some asshole boyfriend who believes everything he reads.’ ‘He probably just meant because of the paparazzi,’ I said, knowing full well that wasn’t what he’d meant at all. ‘I’m just reading too much into everything because the Alex thing is messing with my head. I’m completely rubbish at boys, I never know what they’re thinking.’ ‘Not one girl on this planet does.’ Jenny shook her head at me. ‘But I still cannot believe you came home on Monday night. You had James Jacobs, People magazine’s fifth sexiest person in the world, and my personal third, throwing himself at you and you said no. Angela Clark, you are stronger than strong.’ ‘Who’s first and second?’ I asked, filling up my glass from the bottle of red in the centre of the table. ‘Christian Bale at one, Jake Gyllenhaal at two. The ranking is fluid depending on whichever’s doing the tough guy movie at the time.’ Jenny opened up the menu. ‘You’re the one that likes guys skinnier than you. Which I’m guessing is the only reason you passed up James Jacobs. God, even after that whole scene in Teddy’s I would struggle to pass that up. And don’t try and change the subject on me again.’ I finished the wine by topping up Jenny’s glass. ‘What’s it going to take to shut you up?’ ‘Come out after dinner,’ Jenny bargained. ‘Out out. Dancing, drinking out. And enjoy it.’ ‘I refuse to commit to enjoying it,’ I shrugged. ‘But a drink wouldn’t hurt right now.’ ‘Score.’ Jenny and Daphne high-fived. If people weren’t looking at us before, they certainly were now. One hour, two desserts and three martinis later, our car was still sitting in the valet parking lot at Dominick’s and we were in a cab on our way to Bar Marmont. Everything in me (aside from the martinis) said it was a bad idea, but I was having so much fun with Jenny and Daphne, it was starting to seem silly to go back to the hotel just because some photographers might be out and they might recognize me. Besides, I was just about drunk enough to feel a dance coming on. ‘So, Jenny,’ I clung to the hanging strap in the back of the cab as we motored around an uneven corner, ‘where’s Joe this evening?’ ‘Working.’ She gave me a stern look. ‘Obviously, he would be here with me if he weren’t.’ ‘But you haven’t …?’ Surely I would have had every nasty detail if she’d finally done the deed. ‘No, we haven’t,’ she pouted and reapplied her lip gloss. ‘I think maybe he’s sick. But we will. He must be sick, right?’’ ‘You’ve only got four more days,’ I reminded her. ‘Better work fast, Lopez.’ ‘Unless you stay longer,’ Daphne said quietly as we stopped suddenly. ‘Not now,’ Jenny said, pushing her out of the door. I looked from Daphne to Jenny. What was that supposed to mean? ‘You’ve only got four more days,’ Daphne sang as we started up the stairs to the door of the bar. I wasn’t sure what to be more concerned about, the weird tension that had just shot up all around Jenny, the photographers lining the street below or the huge man with the clipboard staring at us. And, quite frankly, if I didn’t get to a toilet very soon, we were about to have a very embarrassing incident at the door. Just not the one that the man with the clipboard was expecting. ‘Good evening ladies.’ He looked us up and down and blocked the door. ‘We’re real busy tonight. You staying at the hotel?’ I panicked, the velvet rope was not my friend. Daphne, however, seemed very well acquainted with it. ‘We’re with James Jacobs,’ she said smoothly. ‘He’s staying here.’ ‘You’re with James Jacobs?’ He didn’t even bother to raise an eyebrow. ‘Well, I’m not “with him”,’ Daphne said, stepping to one side. ‘But she is.’ The doorman looked at me, presumably not having noticed me hiding behind Jenny’s enormous hair, and a slight flicker of recognition passed over his face. But not in a particularly good way. I gave him my biggest please-let-me-in-so-I-can-pee smile, but it seemed to be lost in translation. Or possibly I just looked drunk. ‘Mr Jacobs is already inside, maybe I’ll go ask him if he’s expecting guests.’ He stared at me, then passed the clipboard to a lesser, slightly smaller door-boy behind him. ‘Please do,’ Daphne smiled, as sweet as sugar. I felt myself starting to sway a little, from the martinis, the beat I felt through the floor and the implausible height of the heels Jenny had made me trade with her in the cab. Apparently she was quite hot enough in flats but I needed the help. And about twenty coats of mascara and enough eyeliner to embarrass a raccoon. Before the bouncer could leave his post, a familiar face appeared at the door. ‘Angela!’ James yelled over the music that was pulsing inside. ‘What happened to your early night?’ ‘Hello!’ I squeaked, pushing past the doorman (ha!) and letting James pull me into a very short hug before I squirmed free, scanning the place for the bathrooms. The relief was immense, we were in and I was moments away from being able to pee. ‘James, this is Daphne and you remember my friend, Jenny? Back in a minute.’ I waved behind me before pelting off down a narrow hallway to join a short queue of girls. As far as I could tell, girls only queued for two things in the US, sample sales and the bathroom, so unless someone was hawking Jimmy Choos in the back, this was where the toilets were. For a fancy club, the toilets were not classy, I thought as I slammed the stiff door of the shabby cubicle closed behind me, but the bar was painfully hip. From the pretty butterfly wallpaper to the red-fringed lampshades, Bar Marmont reeked of understated glamour. And the crowds milling around the bar were hardly letting the side down. I wondered if we’d accidentally wandered into the auditions for America’s Next Top Model. If America’s Next Top Model started accepting male models. And not-so-model males with black Amex cards. But above all, it felt safe. And I didn’t just mean the bolt on the toilet door. The bar felt comfortably exclusive. Maybe James was right; maybe the Chateau and its shabby chic bar were safe. Safe enough for me to drink myself into not thinking about Alex for a couple of hours at least. Except there he was, in the corner of my mind, smiling, brushing my hair out of my eyes while his fell across his cheek. I could smell his deodorant, his sweaty post-gig T-shirt, and I could hear his soft lullabies in my ear over the buzzing bass of the bar. Maybe I should just send a text. Just to remind him I was still here. My oversized clutch seemed like the Tardis. Where was my phone? I washed my hands then leaned against the wall, frantically searching through my bag and spilling lip gloss after lip gloss on to the floor as the cubicle started to spin slightly. Who needed so many lip glosses? Was I even wearing lip gloss? Ah-ha, there was my phone, hiding under the reams of toilet roll I’d stuck in my bag in case there wasn’t any left later. Before I could second-guess myself, I tapped out a quick message. ‘I know you’re angry but it’s all bollocks. Miss you. A x’ I stared at the screen as the send icon blinked a couple of times. Sending. Sending. Sent. Another couple of seconds to see if he was going to text back. And a couple more. ‘Come on, I’m dying out here,’ a not very ladylike voice yelled from outside. The lock on the toilet door wouldn’t hold up to more than one good kick, and if she felt anything like I had two minutes ago, she would do that in about thirteen seconds. I tossed the phone back into the bottom of my bag. There was only one thing for it. More drinks. It was going to take a couple more mojitos to get me into a dancing mood now, but I was quite committed to making sure that happened. I shuffled back through the bar without getting so much as a second glance from the gorgeous people all around me. Which was oddly nice. Jenny and Daphne had already set up shop with James, Blake and a small crowd of hangers-on, but even they didn’t turn to wave as I walked over. I was invisible. I had thought that the only way to become anonymous in LA would be to adopt the uniform – blonde hair, big boobs and a super-tanned, size zero stick figure – but apparently I could just hang out in a very cool bar full of beautiful, beautiful women and then no one would even bat an eyelid. Might still be worth getting the boob job, though. No one in the entire place even batted a heavily made-up eyelid as I sat down, except for James who immediately pushed Blake up from the seat next to him to make room for me. Either he really wanted to sit next to me or he thought my arse was too big to fit in the tiny space between him and Jenny. He would have been right, of course. I squeezed in and raised my hand to everyone around the table. Jenny gave me a blinding smile over the rim of her martini glass and Daphne winked over the shoulder of a tall, skinny guy with the most impressive afro I had ever seen. And glowering in the corner was my old friend Blake, offering me his welcoming grimace. ‘Good evening, madam.’ James sported his usual uniform of indecently tight jeans, fitted black shirt and matinee idol eyes. ‘Jenny tells me she lured you out against your will.’ ‘Hmm.’ I eyed Jenny to my left. She raised her glass in return, before turning back to the beautiful Joe-a-like sitting opposite her. ‘There was some coercion involved.’ ‘And some martinis?’ ‘She mentioned that, did she?’ ‘Well, I didn’t know what you wanted to drink.’ James passed me a very full martini glass. ‘And I don’t know what you like.’ ‘Thanks,’ I smiled and sipped. ‘Apart from me, of course,’ he added. I frowned and chugged. ‘So did you get hold of that boyfriend of yours or what?’ James asked, leaning in close so I could hear him over the music. ‘Nope.’ I finished my drink, and carefully placed the empty glass on the table in front of us. ‘But it’s fine.’ ‘If he’s still being a knob about the photos, I could call him,’ James offered. ‘Although I’m guessing I’m the last person he’d want to speak to.’ ‘If I thought he’d answer the phone, I would love you to call him.’ I closed my eyes and found James’s arm draped casually across my back instead of the wooden frame of the booth. A hot hand curled around my shoulder in a half-hug. ‘Well, if I’m honest, I’m not sure anything I have to say to him would make him feel better,’ James said into my hair. ‘I’m really glad you came here tonight.’ I turned too quickly to look at James but his face was altogether too close and I bumped my nose against his. He brushed his lips over mine, almost too gently to even feel. ‘Don’t,’ I coloured up. ‘I mean, I’m sorry, but no.’ James gave me a half-smile and pushed up off the booth, striding down the bar. The beautiful people instinctively cleared a path and stared after him. It was funny how they recognized one of their own. Watching his denim-clad backside vanish in the crowd as they melded back together, I desperately tried to clear my mind. Daphne was knocking back shots of vodka straight from the bottle, and I wondered how she was going to manage her Rachel Bilson shoot tomorrow. And how Jenny was hoping to get all the different stains out of that leather dress. And just when was Blake going to actually get up out of his seat and kick the living crap out of me rather than just stare at me. Oh, about now. ‘What exactly do you think you’re doing?’ he demanded, throwing himself across the table and almost pushing Jenny out of her seat at the side of me. ‘Hi, Blake.’ I hoped that if I refused to argue, surely he’d give up eventually. ‘So sorry about this morning. James thought—’ ‘That’s the problem, James doesn’t think,’ Blake said. He might have been quiet but he was clearly furious. ‘I think. That’s my job. He acts, I think, you ask questions and then you go home.’ Apparently he would argue regardless. ‘And while you might not care about your job, your boyfriend and all that other crap, it is also my job to ensure that James keeps the things that important to him.’ He paused. ‘Don’t make it my job to ensure that you lose the things that are important to you.’ Meep. ‘Blake I—’ ‘No,’ he went on. ‘I said from the beginning that this was a bad idea, and if Monday night wasn’t bad enough, here you are again with your slutty friends, all over James. It’s pathetic.’ OK, now I was annoyed. ‘Firstly, it was never my intention to end up splashed all over the internet with my knickers on show, you know; and secondly, please don’t call my friends slutty. You don’t know them, how dare you call them slutty?’ Blake leaned his head to the left to look around me and laughed. I span around. Jenny was safely positioned within an inch of the Joe-a-like’s lips and Daphne was dancing with her man. Well, she was dancing; he was sitting. She was dancing in his lap. Oh my God, she was giving him a lap dance. ‘No, not slutty at all. You’ve been here, what? Twenty minutes?’ Blake curled his lip. ‘Yeah, I know you. I know all of you. Do you think you’re the first nobody to ever make a play for James?’ ‘Blake, this is really boring. I’m getting very tired of repeating myself.’ I turned my back on my slutty friends. Couldn’t really fight him on that front. ‘No one is making a play for James.’ Trying not to wobble in my five-inch heels, I stood up quickly. ‘Jenny,’ I barked, not taking my eyes off Blake’s smug face. He wasn’t quite so handsome in the middle of a row. ‘Jenny, can I please have a word?’ She looked up, eyebrows knitted together in a silent plea to stay where she was. ‘Jenny. Bar. Now.’ I turned and marched. Perhaps it was a bit slow and, well, very uneven, but it was still a march. ‘Angie, honey, what are you doing to me?’ Jenny groaned, straightening her hemline as I dragged her through the crowd. For some reason, it didn’t magically part for us. ‘What are you doing?’ I asked, wrestling for an inch of the bar. ‘I’m there having a screaming row with Blake, he’s calling us a bunch of slags and I turn around and you’re practically at it with a stranger. And Daphne actually is.’ ‘Damn,’ Jenny whistled, looking back at Daphne. A small crowd was forming around her, obscuring my view. Thank God. ‘She’s so sexy. It’s such a shame she didn’t keep up the burlesque.’ ‘Jenny, pay attention, that is not the point I was getting at,’ I said, ordering a Diet Coke but knowing full well I was past the ability to sober up with the help of one soft drink. ‘I’m going to find James and say goodbye, then I’m leaving. I’ve got enough on my plate at the moment with Blake actively trying to ruin my life.’ ‘Angie, I’m really sorry but I’m gonna have to go Oprah on your ass.’ Jenny pressed her lips into a thin line. ‘What the hell is wrong with you?’ I stared, a little bit shocked. ‘What’s wrong with me? I’m not the one getting off with a stranger in the middle of a bar—’ ‘And I am, so what’s the problem?’ she asked, hands on hips. ‘And that’s not where I’m going so shut up and listen. Yeah, I get that those photos of you and James were hard to see but they weren’t real and everyone will get that. Your magazine, your mom, Alex. And I will not get into an argument about this, but if he doesn’t get it, if he never speaks to you again, then he is not worth getting this upset about, honey. Fact.’ ‘But—’ ‘No, I’m not done,’ she grabbed my Diet Coke and took a swig.’I have two more very important points to make. Firstly, what the hell has happened to my Angie? Why are you walking around whining and snivelling because your boyfriend is being an ass and a hot movie star is trying to get in your pants? Where’s the girl who broke a guy’s hand when she found out her boyfriend was cheating on her? Who got on a plane to New York without even giving it a second thought?’ ‘Don’t know.’ I always had been very eloquent. ‘And secondly – and it is very, very important that you think about what I’m about to say.’ Jenny grasped my shoulders a little too tightly. ‘Your mom lives a long way away so she’s not here to explain one of life’s fundamental lessons to you. When a real-life hunk of a man makes a move on you, you let him. You know I like Alex, when he’s not being an asshole at least, but Angie, this is a genuine movie star. A drop-dead-gorgeous, prime specimen of a man. And he obviously wants you. What is wrong with you?’ ‘Jenny …’ I protested feebly. ‘Has Alex called you?’ she asked. ‘No,’ I said. ‘And have you called him since I last asked you?’ ‘No,’ I sipped the Diet Coke innocently. ‘Have you texted him?’ ‘Yes,’ I admitted to the floor. ‘Then you have no excuses. You have to do this for me.’ She looked as though she meant it. I couldn’t think of a time I’d seen her look so committed to a cause. ‘OK, so you don’t have to sleep with him, but where’s the harm in dancing with him? Maybe making out a little? Alex will never find out. And besides, you’re in the middle of an argument, you’re practically on a break.’ ‘Jenny, if I learned anything from Friends, and I did, it’s that being on a break doesn’t mean anything.’ I pulled my left foot out of my ridiculously high shoe and rested it on the cold floor for a moment. Ahh, sweet relief. ‘And besides, I told you, I’m going home. I have had far too much to drink tonight.’ ‘Just dance with the man and let me watch,’ she pleaded. ‘If you’re going to guilt-trip me about making out with that guy back at the table, at least let me live vicariously through you.’ ‘If you can tell me the name of that man, I will book you the honeymoon suite at The Hollywood.’ I gave her a moment. ‘John?’ she shrugged. ‘Not even close.’ ‘Whatever, Angie.’ Jenny pointed to James as he wandered through the bar, looking for us back at the table. Looking for me. ‘Just one dance. And then you can leave. I’ll even take you home myself.’ ‘Maybe that’s the problem though,’ I said, feeling a familiar tickle in my stomach. ‘If I dance with him, I don’t know if I’ll be able to go home.’ ‘Awesome,’ Jenny grinned, pushing me away from the bar and pulling me back over to the table; in these heels, I was in no position to try and stop her. Either the music was getting louder in the bar or I was getting steadily drunker, Diet Coke be damned. The bass pounded through the floor and up the slender stems of my heels. I really wanted to dance with James. Or go home to bed and conduct the rest of my interview with James over the phone. Or dance with James. Which was how I knew it was definitely time to go home. But Jenny dragged me onwards, back to Blake, ‘John’ and some random tiny brunette sat awfully close to my James. Not my James. Just James. ‘Angela,’ James held out a hand and pulled me down into the seat next to him with a bump. Jenny sashayed past Blake and set herself down, returning his filthy look with her own killer stare. I loved that girl. ‘Angela, Jenny, this is my friend, Tessa.’ The new girl, clad in denim hot pants, big boots and a baggy white T-shirt held out her hand, but it was so tiny, I hardly dared to take it. I felt like Jabba the Hut shaking hands with Tinker Bell. ‘Hi,’ she said, shaking hands with Jenny. ‘Have we met?’ ‘Yeah, it’s Tessa DiArmo, right?’ Jenny shook her hand smoothly. ‘We met at The Union last year.’ I watched Jenny schmooze Tessa like a pro, in complete awe. She really ought to be the one interviewing celebrities, no one fazed her. And no wonder I didn’t remember Tessa; everything about The Ivy was a bit of a blur, except for the toilet floor. Living in London with Mark, I’d barely been able to open a bottle of wine on my own, but since I’d moved out to New York, I could get a cork out with a pair of eyelash curlers in under a minute if needs be. The privileges and perils of being freelance. ‘Right, The Union. I don’t stay anywhere else in New York. Except The Grammercy. And maybe The Bowery. Or The Hotel on Rivington.’ Tessa nodded thoughtfully, clearly not registering that Jenny actually worked at The Union. ‘I should go back soon – it’s been like, weeks. Maybe the Soho Grand. We should hang out. I love your outfits. I so need a new stylist. Your dress is awesome.’ I realized Tessa’s wide-eyed stare was aimed at me. ‘Well, no one styles me except for Jenny,’ I joked, looking down at my black dress. Well, she had picked it. ‘She’s a miracle worker.’ ‘Yeah? Maybe you could help me out. I have this awards thing tomorrow night,’ Tessa went on, oblivious. ‘And I don’t know, nothing anyone brings me is like, interesting?’ I started to laugh but a sharp elbow to the ribs from Jenny turned my giggle into a cough. Then a squeeze from James’s hand turned the cough into a squeak. And then a hiccup. I was getting more drunk by the second. ‘Well, why don’t we go shopping tomorrow?’ Jenny suggested carefully in her I’m-so-casual-about-this-it-hurts voice. ‘I could pull a few things together for you, I’m sure.’ ‘Sure,’ Tessa beamed. Apparently she’d been to the same charm school as James. Her grin practically knocked me back against the chair. ‘Where?’ ‘Melrose maybe? I would love to see you in some Betsey Johnson,’ Jenny started, grasping Tessa’s hands in hers. ‘Something short, flirty, maybe a puffball?’ ‘Wow, that’s totally not me,’ Tessa looked at Jenny with a mixture of awe and fear. ‘You don’t think that’s going too far?’ ‘Honey, I’m so over the Uggs.’ Jenny patted her hand. ‘Trust me. I never get it wrong. So, for shoes, I’m thinking maybe Choos? Something metallic?’ ‘As fascinating as this is,’ James whispered into my ear, snapping my trance, ‘How about a dance?’ On the other side of the table, Blake and the former object of Jenny’s affections looked equally pissed off. It seemed that Jenny’s man was not amused at having lost his conquest to a discussion about designer shoes, and Blake was just burning up, watching James lead me across the room. I looked back at Jenny and Tessa, both waving their arms around, enthusiastically debating the merits of Giuseppe Zanotti heeled glads over Roger Vivier platform peep-toes. They wouldn’t miss me for a moment. And I really did want to dance, however bad a feeling I had about dancing with James. A distinctly inappropriate warm, tingly feeling. Sod it, I thought, letting myself be pulled along. One dance wouldn’t hurt anyone. Well, it might hurt Blake and, right now, that was actually a total plus. The music seemed to get just a tiny bit louder, a tiny bit faster, as James pulled me in towards him and began moving with the beat. He pressed his hands palm to palm against mine for a second, then pushed his fingers through mine, entwining our hands and pulling me closer. Happily, he was a great dancer, moving with ease and taking me with him, constantly swaying, spinning, not giving me a second to think. My head rested against his chest at heart height, my warm cheek against his shirt. As we settled into our rhythm, James span me around, pressing my back up against him, and wrapped his arms tightly around my waist. Which was just as well or I would have fallen over. Five-inch heels were not conducive to speedy dance moves or speedy getaways. He slid his hands down across my stomach, leaving a trail of butterflies in their wake, and then twirled me around, pulling my arms up above my head. I’d been in LA for such a short time, but it felt like I’d already forgotten how to have fun. And wasn’t that what LA should be? Fun? I’d been so busy worrying about the interview, panicking about things Alex, freaking out over those stupid photos. I’d got so stressed so quickly. But I was fairly certain that this was what fun felt like. Being with people that weren’t judging me or kicking my arse for something that hadn’t even happened. This was what it felt like to be with someone who wanted to be with me. I stretched my hands high above my head, then let them run through my hair, tipping my head upwards to look back at James. His eyes were closed and he was singing along to the music. And good God he looked amazing. I turned back around in his hands and reached my arms around his neck, my fingertips tracing his collar. James’s eyes opened and he looked down at me, pausing for a moment and then suddenly dipping me low, almost to the ground. I felt like Baby, and nobody puts Baby in a corner. There were only two things I could possibly do, totally off balance, completely helpless in his arms, his face barely inches from mine. Laugh out loud or kiss him. So I laughed. Then he kissed me. CHAPTER TEN (#ulink_9524a871-911e-523a-863a-085c90795693) ‘Sorry,’ James whispered, pulling me back upright. I clung to his shoulders while the blood rushed back around my body. ‘Should I have asked first?’ Too many things were going through my head for me to reply. If it had just been a quick kiss, just a peck, I might have been able to laugh it off, but it would seem that practice really did make perfect. It had been a real Hollywood kiss. My lips were still tingling but I didn’t have a trace of stubble burn. No wonder James had made his way through half of Hollywood; every part of me was burning up. ‘Angela?’ ‘Sorry,’ I blinked, let go of my grip on his shirt and pressed my fingers to my lips, ‘what?’ ‘Are you OK? You’re not going to throw up, are you?’ Given my previous, it was a legitimate question. I felt like a fourteen year old in front of my movie-star crush. I had literally lost the power of speech. ‘Angela, really, are you OK?’ ‘I’m probably going to go now,’ I managed, finally. ‘Away.’ ‘Away?’ James frowned. ‘I mean home,’ I mumbled. He slipped one hand around my waist and brushed my hair out of my eyes with the other. ‘Do you want to come back to my bungalow?’ Yes. ‘No.’ Wow, I said no. ‘Really?’ James looked a little bit surprised. ‘I thought, maybe, you would want to, you know, come back?’ He wasn’t nearly as surprised as I was. ‘But I can’t. It’s just really not a good idea.’ I looked back to the table. Tessa had left and Daphne was nowhere to be seen. Jenny, however, was sitting staring at me, her mouth wide open and clapping excitedly. ‘I think I’m going to grab Jenny and go home.’ ‘OK.’ He squeezed my hand and nodded at Blake back at the table. I couldn’t help but notice that he did not look pleased. To say the least. ‘Let me get you a car at least. Don’t go anywhere.’ Before I had chance to escape, Jenny was at my side. ‘Angela. Clark. Oh. My. God.’ ‘Shut up, I know.’ ‘You just made out with a movie star.’ Jenny’s smile was so wide, she had to be in pain. ‘I don’t think one kiss is making out,’ I said. ‘Who says you have to stop at one kiss?’ ‘Jenny, if you’re so desperate for someone to shag a movie star, why don’t you do it?’ I closed my eyes and tried not to think about James’s offer. ‘Angie, if I could, I would,’ Jenny said. ‘And it would be amazing. For him.’ ‘Whatever.’ I needed to get out of there. ‘Honestly, if you don’t stop talking about sex instead of doing it, I’m going to have to sleep with you. It’s getting really boring.’ ‘You should have just said.’ Jenny looked stung. ‘I didn’t realize I was boring you.’ ‘I’m sorry,’ I said quickly. ‘I didn’t mean that. Ignore me.’ ‘No, please go on,’ Jenny’s mood flipped. ‘Tell me more about my problems.’ ‘No, I’m not saying what I mean,’ I sighed, my brain too messy to make sense. ‘It’s just that, well, you do keep talking about it an awful lot without actually doing it. And it’s not like you can’t just pull someone, is it?’ ‘Did it occur to you that maybe I don’t actually want to sleep with some random guys?’ Jenny asked. With me in her heels and her in my flats, I towered over her, but clearly she could kick my ass at any height. I paused for a moment. ‘No?’ ‘Well maybe it should.’ ‘But everything you said?’ I rubbed my forehead. ‘Jesus, Angie, for someone so smart, you really are so dumb when it comes to guy stuff.’ She folded her arms tightly. ‘Do you honestly expect me to stand here making you feel better because some hot guy is throwing himself at you while your devoted boyfriend breaks his heart over you back at home? You want me to make you feel better because you have two guys after you while I can’t even keep one?’ Jenny pushed past me and threw herself into the crowd, towards the door. She was right, I was incredibly stupid, but not just at boy stuff. I wasn’t terribly good at girl stuff either. The bar was so busy, I could only just see the top of her hair weaving through the crowd on the way to the door before she vanished. ‘Genius, Angela,’ I muttered to myself, all alone in the middle of the packed bar. I didn’t know what to do. There was only one thought that was crystal clear and that was my growing need to pee. I pushed my way through to the toilet and rapped on the closed door. ‘Hello,’ I shouted over the music, ‘is anyone in there?’ No one was answering but the door was stuck and my last martini was not prepared to hang around and see if anyone came out in a couple of minutes. Better to be embarrassed at seeing someone else having a wee rather than have everyone in the bar see me wet myself, I figured. I looked around quickly before grabbing the handle and giving the door a quick bash with my hip. For the first time since I walked into Bar Marmont, I thanked the lord that I was a size 12. The door gave more easily than I had expected and I tumbled through backside first, losing my balance. I closed my eyes and held my hands out to avoid spending any more time face first on a toilet floor, but instead of hitting the wall, I felt something warm. And human. ‘What the fuck are you doing?’ demanded a gruff voice as I span and smacked my eye straight into the door handle. ‘OhmygodImsosorry,’ I squealed, trying to get out but my stupid heels wouldn’t let me move fast enough. My eye throbbed as I fumbled for the handle but the door had got stuck shut again. I just had to get out of there. ‘Angela?’ I froze on the spot and wondered if there was any chance I could actually will myself backwards in time. Of course it wasn’t a stranger that I had just busted getting hot and heavy in a toilet, that would be too easy. Of course it was James. And of course everyone would assume I’d come in here to join in. But if he wasn’t in here with me, who the hell did he have pressed up against the wall? ‘Oh shit.’ I opened my eyes slowly. Standing close to James, hands lost in his brown curls, the same curls I’d been twirling around my fingers minutes ago, was a very flustered-looking Blake. And while James had managed not to give me stubble burn when he kissed me, Blake wasn’t quite so talented. James’s smooth tanned jaw line was red raw, his eyes wide and dark. ‘I–I have to pee,’ I said, stunned. Without words, Blake’s arms dropped to his sides. He looked from me to James and then back again before shoving me out of his way (which really only left into the wall) and yanking the toilet door open. ‘Angela, I can explain,’ James said quietly. ‘It’s not what it looks like.’ ‘I really need to pee,’ I repeated, staring at the floor. ‘Right, OK.’ James wiped his mouth hastily. ‘I’ve, erm, called the car for you. And I’ll wait outside. I should explain or something. I want to explain. I’ll just wait outside.’ James closed the door carefully behind him but I still couldn’t move. As if I needed more evidence that Jenny was right. I really was stupid when it came to boys. Eventually I snapped out of my trance, peed and washed my hands, but I really didn’t want to go back out into the bar. What was I going to say? What was James going to say? And was Blake actually going to be done with it and murder me now? I just couldn’t quite believe what I’d seen. I stared at myself in the mirror. Not a good sight. My hair was a total mess, my eyeliner was smudged halfway down my face and apparently shock did nothing for my complexion. I’d never seen myself look so pale. I took my Stila convertible colour out of my bag. Perhaps if I looked better, I’d feel better. I smudged the fuchsia pink onto my cheeks and lips. Or perhaps I’d look like a very surprised clown. I felt so stupid. How could I not have seen this? Opening the toilet door and crossing everything I could in the hope that James and Blake had left, I headed back into the bar. There they were, standing opposite me, James looking absolutely terrified, Blake with a surprisingly blas? look on his face. He raised an eyebrow at me, whispered something to James and then left. ‘So,’ James pressed his lips into a thin line. The lips I’d kissed. The lips that had kissed Blake. I stood and stared at the floor. ‘Angela, we have to talk about this,’ he went on. ‘No, really, we don’t,’ I replied. I just wanted to be away from him. I wanted to be back at home, wrapped up in my duvet with Alex. ‘Angela, please.’ He stepped forward and held out his hand, but I shot back. It was too much, I needed to leave. ‘James, please, I just want to go home,’ I said, shrinking away from his hands and starting out through the bar. I’d got as far as the door before he came after me. ‘Wait!’ James shouted. Everyone between him, me and the door stopped everything they were doing and stared. He made the space up between us in moments. ‘We have to talk about what you – what you think you saw,’ he added quietly. ‘You mean you kissing Blake?’ I asked. James went slightly grey and pushed me out through the door. ‘Please, don’t,’ he said, putting a firm arm around my shoulders. ‘What? You weren’t kissing Blake?’ I tried to shake him off. ‘Let me guess, you were giving him mouth to mouth?’ ‘Angela, honestly, there are people, paps, everywhere.’ James gestured to the street below us and tried to steer me towards a parked Lexus at the side of the road. ‘Just get in your car and I’ll explain.’ ‘Explain that you were kissing Blake?’ I asked. The pack of paps at the bottom of the stairs all turned together. ‘James, over here!’ one of them sniped behind a sea of popping flashbulbs. ‘Give us a smile?’ ‘Well?’ I stopped on the steps and shrugged. ‘Are you going to tell them or am I?’ ‘Why don’t you tell us, honey?’ he called back. ‘We’ve heard James’s side of the story a whole bunch of times before.’ ‘Angela, please,’ James held on to my hand and squeezed. ‘Don’t.’ I paused and looked back at him. He really was disgustingly beautiful. But I had never ever been so angry with someone in my entire life. ‘No. No way, you’re completely out of order and—’ Before I could finish, James grabbed my face in his hands and planted a deep kiss on my lips. Well that was one way to shut someone up. My traitor eyes closed instinctively; I knew the flashbulbs were going into overdrive all around us, but he suddenly dipped me so low that there was no way I could wriggle free. Before I could think of anything, James pulled back, scooped me up and dived into the waiting car. The shock of the freezing cold air-con, the soft leather seat and the speed at which the car tore off from the pavement shocked me into silence. ‘Angela, I’m really sorry.’ I stared at the back of the seat in front of me. ‘It’s just … it’s complicated.’ Absolute silence. ‘I didn’t mean to lead you on or anything. Not really.’ I turned to face him. ‘You didn’t mean to lead me on?’ ‘No.’ ‘So you didn’t mean to kiss me when we were dancing?’ ‘Well …’ ‘And you didn’t mean to flirt with me all week?’ ‘No, that’s not what I meant.’ ‘So you haven’t been flirting with me all week?’ ‘This isn’t what was supposed to happen.’ I turned back to stare at the seat. ‘I didn’t realize there was a plan.’ James’s phone chirped into life. ‘Blake?’ I asked, trying to make out something familiar beyond the darkened windows. I had no idea where we were. ‘Blake,’ James sighed. ‘He must be pissing himself laughing at me.’ I ran my fingers through the ends of my hair. The sun was really drying it out; I’d need to get the split ends sorted out when I got home. Shocker; another shitty thing about LA. ‘So what was supposed to happen?’ ‘What do you mean?’ ‘If this wasn’t supposed to happen, what was?’ I asked, looking at my reflection in the tinted glass. The girl looking back looked so pathetic, I didn’t recognize her. ‘Angela, I didn’t mean to embarrass you,’ James said quietly. I just couldn’t get over how tragic I’d been. Jenny was right, what was wrong with me? I’d lost my grip on myself so easily. ‘James, did I ever tell you what happened with my ex?’ I asked, finally. ‘Alex?’ James asked. ‘No, I don’t think he’s technically my ex yet.’ The Angela in the window looked back at me. I wiped away the lip gloss that was smudged around her mouth and fluffed her hair. She was starting to look a little bit more familiar. Familiar and really, really pissed off. ‘My ex-boyfriend in London. He was cheating on me with this girl from his tennis club. I found him having sex with her in the back seat of our car at my best friend’s wedding.’ ‘Oh,’ James sounded more than a little bit confused. ‘Sorry.’ ‘Mmm. It was the most embarrassing moment of my entire life.’ I traced my reflection’s features in the steamed-up glass of the window. ‘It was awful … horrible. Being embarrassed like that in front of all my friends, my family. Being betrayed by someone I trusted. Honestly, I thought I’d never get over it.’ ‘I can imagine,’ he said cautiously. ‘But once I’d pissed in his shaving bag and vanished halfway around the world, I felt a lot better.’ I reached across the seat and took James’s hand. ‘Really?’ he breathed out. ‘Yeah. Oh, and I might have broken the groom’s hand during his first dance.’ I gave James’s impossibly clammy hand a quick squeeze. ‘He knew about the affair and didn’t tell me. Don’t you think that was a really shitty thing to do?’ ‘Yes?’ James’s tan had faded to a slightly sickly green colour. ‘I can’t begin to imagine what I would do to someone if they embarrassed me in front of – oh, I don’t know – the entire celebrity-obsessed Western hemisphere?’ ‘Angela, seriously—’ I squeezed his hand tighter. ‘God, I don’t know. I’d have to pay some tramps to shit in his car or something.’ ‘Really, I’ll sort it all out,’ James squeaked. ‘Or I could go back, have a chat with the paps about his secret gay lover?’ I shrugged. For a moment, James fell silent. ‘They wouldn’t believe you.’ ‘I reckon there’re two schools of thought there, James.’ I dug my fingernails into his palm before throwing his hand back in his lap. ‘The first one, which I was really clinging to until tonight, is that yeah, no one really believes what they read on celebrity websites. But the other one is the one that has really stood the test of time.’ His gorgeous blue eyes were completely blank. It was quite depressing. ‘You know how they say there’s no smoke without fire,’ I pursed my lips. ‘It would be excellent gossip, wouldn’t it? Even if no one believed it. Definitely worth printing.’ ‘No one would print it,’ James shook his head. ‘It’s too dangerous. They’d think I’d sue. And you wouldn’t do that.’ The car suddenly pulled to a stop. I opened the door to see a row of stars stretching out along the pavement. We were in front of The Hollywood. Thank God. ‘Angela, please. We have to talk.’ James reached out to pull me back into the car. ‘Do you really want to piss me off any more this evening?’ I asked, shaking off his hand. ‘I was serious about the tramps.’ He let go of my hand, launching me out onto the pavement. I stumbled forward, catching my balance between Greta Garbo and Julie Andrews. Great, a nun and a recluse. Also known as my future. CHAPTER ELEVEN (#ulink_f8d4ece2-8003-5de7-bc80-74c7d6bddb1a) ‘Pick up the phone, pick up the phone,’ I chanted, pacing up and down my room waiting for Alex to answer. My laptop lay open on the bedroom table, pictures of me and James kissing, him throwing me in the car, the look of shock and anger on my face already mistaken all over the internet for impatience and passion. Of course he wasn’t picking up the phone. It was probably for the best, I thought, throwing my phone across the room. For a shocking change, I really hadn’t worked out what I was going to say to him. ‘Alex, the world-famous movie star that the entire world knows has done it with dozens of gorgeous women, is actually super gay. Only it’s a secret so please don’t tell anyone.’ Nope, it just didn’t have a ring of truth to it. I had to think about how I was going to explain before he called back. Unless he called back right away. ‘Alex?’ ‘Angela.’ ‘Alex,’ I took a deep breath, ‘I had to speak to you before you saw the pictures.’ ‘Angela, I already saw the pictures, remember?’ Alex said slowly. ‘And we were going to talk about it when you get back.’ ‘Well, yes, but,’ I looked back at the computer, ‘they were the ones from yesterday.’ ‘Meaning?’ ‘There might be some more?’ I sat down on the bed and stared at my toenails. Given that I was only a couple of floors above Hollywood Boulevard at midnight, the room was very quiet. They really should mention that on their website. Total selling point. ‘From the same night?’ ‘No, but I can explain.’ ‘What site are they on?’ Alex asked, his voice completely flat. ‘Or is it just all of them again?’ ‘Alex, please don’t look, just let me explain.’ I winced at the sound of clicking keys down the line. Of course he was by his computer. ‘Gotta say, you look good,’ he said eventually. ‘And how many guys actually get to see their girlfriends cheat on them in real time? God bless the internet.’ ‘Alex, just stop.’ I stood up; drama always felt more manageable when I was vertical. The carpet was also very soft. Maybe I could get a job as The Hollywood’s copywriter after Mary fired me. ‘It’s not like it looks. James is—’ ‘Totally out of your league? Yeah, you’ve done really well there, Angela.’ He didn’t even sound like my Alex. ‘Please stop it and just let me explain.’ I tried to find the right words but my head was totally empty. ‘What do you want me to say?’ At least he was starting to sound a little bit angry now. But it turned out that wasn’t as much consolation as I had hoped. ‘First there are all these photos of you practically dry-humping the first celebrity you ever meet, then you’re not answering your phone, then you’re calling me at four in the morning and saying, well, whatever. What am I supposed to think? What do you want me to say?’ ‘Don’t make out like I’m the one who’s been ignoring you! I’ve been trying to talk to you since I got here,’ I protested. ‘You were the one who didn’t want to talk to me. You were the one who wasn’t answering his phone.’ ‘And the fact that I actually have things to do here without you holding my hand means you get to fuck around behind my back?’ he yelled. I almost dropped my phone. ‘What?’ ‘What do you mean what?’ he asked. ‘One day you’re holding hands on the beach, leaving his hotel room in the middle of the night, and the next you’re kissing him outside a club? You’re gonna tell me there’s nothing happening there at all?’ There weren’t many times in my life I’d been stunned into silence but they were racking up tonight. ‘Tell me you haven’t slept with him.’ Alex’s voice was rough and low. ‘Say it. Now.’ ‘I–I haven’t slept with him,’ I stuttered. He hadn’t asked if I’d thought about it; he’d asked if I’d actually done it. I heard a sigh and more keystrokes. ‘Please stop looking at the pictures. I haven’t done anything, Alex, I would never. Please just believe me.’ ‘And that’s where we have a problem,’ he said quietly. ‘I don’t think I do believe you.’ My phone was burning hot against my ear but I couldn’t put it down. Long after Alex had hung up, I was still standing in the middle of the hotel room, clutching the tiny piece of plastic as it cooled slowly. Did he really just say that? After what seemed like a lifetime, my brain flicked back on and I redialled. There was no way I was leaving it like that. But Alex’s phone didn’t even ring; instead I got a ‘cannot be connected message’ right away. I tried again from my room phone just to make sure but it wasn’t happening. He must have taken the battery out or something. I sat down at the desk and flicked through the pictures online. I scrolled through the galleries that had already sprung up across the gossip sites, dedicated to me and James. It was so weird. And not just because most of them were slaughtering my outfits and the size of my arse, although they were all taken from extraordinarily bad angles. Honest. The strangest thing was that to hundreds – if not thousands – of girls around the world, it must look like a dream come true. Ordinary girl is sent to interview hot movie star, hot movie star falls for ordinary girl and whirlwind romance ensues. It certainly was far more romantic than the truth: ordinary girl is sent to interview hot movie star, falls for hot movie star’s clich?d fake flirting, lets hot movie star kiss her then discovers he’s gay but is plastered all over the internet, gets dumped by actual love of her life and ends up with no one. Yeah, who was going to pay to read that? Flipping down the lid of my laptop, I wondered if anyone was going to pay to read anything I wrote ever again. Surely this was going to push Mary over the edge. If ever I needed Jenny Lopez, it was now, but she was nowhere to be found. Again. Probably still pissed off after our face-off in Bar Marmont. I stared at my mobile, frustrated. And then almost crapped myself when it started to ring. It was Louisa. ‘Hello?’ I answered cautiously. A lecture was absolutely guaranteed. Louisa loved to make a drama out of a crisis. ‘Hey, Angela!’ she chirped. ‘I just had to call you. We had the most amazing meal ever last night. We went to that Alta place you told us about, oh my God. I had to call you. There were these prawns, God, honestly.’ I listened to her rapturous restaurant review, silently confused. She wasn’t going to even ask about the photos? ‘And then we had this cheese thing for dessert. Honestly. Wow. I don’t think I can ever eat again. Are you having fun in LA, babe?’ I really didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know. Louisa had never been much of a one for celebrity gossip, but then before I moved to New York, neither had I. It was hard to avoid it in America. ‘Ah, not really,’ I said slowly. It was actually very nice not to be shouted at for two minutes. ‘I’m having a bit of trouble with the interview. And Alex and I are having a row.’ ‘Oh honey,’ Louisa said down the crackly line. ‘What about?’ ‘He thinks I’ve cheated on him.’ With James Jacobs, I added silently. ‘But of course you haven’t! You would never do that. Why on earth would he think it?’ It was reassuring that, after everything, Louisa would automatically believe I was the wronged party without even getting half the story. But then, she hadn’t seen the photos. Or the video on TMZ. Or the E! News bulletin. ‘No, I haven’t,’ I agreed. ‘But he’s seen a photo that sort of makes it look like I did. And he just doesn’t want to listen to me.’ ‘Oh babe, just let him calm down and then talk to him,’ she reasoned. ‘I’m sure it will blow over once you’re back in New York. Just concentrate on getting your job sorted out.’ ‘You’re probably right,’ I said, wishing the issues weren’t quite so interwoven. ‘Anyway, you didn’t call to listen to my problems. I’m really glad you liked Alta.’ ‘Loved Alta,’ she corrected. ‘We should definitely go when I come back to visit you.’ ‘Definitely,’ I agreed. Unless I lost my job and my visa and then we’d be going for dinner in Nandos in Wimbledon. ‘Call me if you need me, babe, got to run. Love you.’ She blew me a kiss down the phone. ‘I will, love you too.’ I hung up. Well that was weird. But just as weirdly, what she said made sense. I had to concentrate on getting things back on track. Tomorrow wasn’t going to be fun and even less so with the hangover I’d just guaranteed. Flicking on the TV (was Friends ever off television?), I pulled my worse-for-wear-but-still-the-best-thing-I’d-ever-owned bag up onto the bed. When everything else was going wrong, at least a girl could still rely on Marc Jacobs to make her smile. Dredging through the crap in the bottom, I eventually found a pen and notepad, scowling at my BlackBerry as it blinked at me. ‘Sometimes I just want to write things down, OK?’ I told it. Before looking around to check that no one had just seen me go completely insane and talk to a phone. Just Ross and Rachel, thank goodness. 1.?Call Mary 2.?Call Alex or Alex’s friends That would prove trickier, since the only phone number of any of Alex’s friends I had ever had was Jenny’s ex, Jeff, and Jenny had made me delete it after a healthy night in our apartment of Ben & Jerry’s, red wine, and burning everything he had ever come into contact with, including an old brush they had used to tease their hair for a hilarious Eighties fancy dress party. The brush nearly took the entire apartment block with it when Jenny tossed it in the burning bin. It turned out to be not only disgusting but also a very dangerous fire hazard. But there was a chance I’d written it in the back of my diary – I was just too drunk to work that out at that exact moment. 3.?Speak to James As much as I wanted to just call The Sun and tell them that James was as gay as a goose, I just couldn’t do it. Damn that stupid misguided sense of dignity. Or was it pride? Or maybe just the idea of me stretched across the front page of the News of the World in a pair of La Senza lace shorts with everything padded, pushed and teased under the headline ‘James Jacobs’s Beard Tells All!’ was just too much. Actually, the News of the World wouldn’t say beard, they’d probably go straight to ‘Pathetic fag hag, Angela Clark spills the beans on James Jacobs’s late-night gay orgies in Hollywood’s public bathrooms …’ My mother would be so proud. 4.?Sort things out with Jenny It was just too much that things were weird between us, especially with everything else going on, but I had a horrible feeling that things were going to get weirder before they got better. Or was that just a horrible feeling that I was about to throw up? Dropping the pen and pad, I raced to the bathroom to double up over the toilet just in time. When would I learn? ‘Jesus Christ, Angie, what the hell happened to you?’ I woke up slowly, my face cold and seemingly stuck to something hard, a flip-flopped foot in my blurry eye-line. Trying to move my head hurt far too much, and for some reason my left arm was completely paralysed. ‘Angie, can you hear me? Did you take something?’ The voice carried on but it sounded so far away. ‘How long have you been on the bathroom floor?’ Ahh, that made sense, I was still on the bathroom floor. Which was why it was cold. Which was why I couldn’t move my arm. Which was why Jenny’s feet were almost touching my nose. ‘For Christ’s sake, Angie, are you thinking your answers instead of saying them again?’ Yes, I thought. ‘Mmhuh,’ I said. With the help of Jenny and a towel rail not meant to be used to hoist ten stone of incredibly hungover girl up off the floor, I was soon sitting, or slumped, on the toilet seat. I readily accepted the glass of water she held out to me, not bothering that it came from the bathroom tap, and glugged it down. Which was my first mistake. After I’d thrown the first glass of water up, I slowly sipped a second, Jenny shaking her head at me from the edge of the bath. ‘I cannot believe you, Angie.’ She pushed my hair back off my face. ‘What happened after I left?’ ‘What happened?’ I closed my eyes again. It didn’t help. ‘You want to know what happened?’ ‘Yeah,’ Jenny said, taking my empty glass and refilling it from the bath tap. Was it weird that it tasted like heaven? ‘I mean last night. What happened to “I would never cheat on Alex, even if we’re on a break?”’ ‘I remember, I wasn’t that drunk,’ I replied, despite the fact that that was clearly a lie. ‘What are you talking about?’ ‘The photos of you and James?’ Jenny gave me her ‘duh’ face. ‘The ones that Erin and Vanessa and Gina all emailed over today? I kinda didn’t expect you to be here. Did he leave already or did you just come back to the hotel after you did the deed?’ ‘Oh my God.’ I suddenly felt very, very sick again. ‘It’s so not what you think.’ ‘You didn’t, did you?’ Jenny asked, her annoyingly healthy face lit up like Christmas. ‘Jenny, he’s gay,’ I said into the palms of my hands. She scoffed. ‘If he said no, you can just say so.’ I looked up, my attractive white pallor apparently adding to my serious face. ‘No. Way.’ ‘Yes.’ ‘No. Way.’ ‘With Blake.’ ‘Really? That’s hot.’ ‘Missing the point entirely, Jenny.’ I pulled a flannel from the towel rail, ran it under the cold water and pressed it against my face. ‘What am I going to do?’ ‘Well, you’re gonna take a shower first,’ Jenny said, standing up and pulling the shower curtain across behind her. ‘Then you’re going to explain to me every last little detail of how you uncovered this juicy, potentially financially rewarding piece of gossip, and then you’re coming with me to go shopping for Tessa DiArmo’s award show tonight.’ ‘You’re seriously doing that?’ I asked, peeling off my sweaty dress and stepping into the shower. Ahh, the sweet relief of running water. ‘Don’t ever doubt me, Angela Clark,’ Jenny called, closing the bathroom door. ‘Get your ass clean and be downstairs in ten minutes.’ Ten minutes was always going to be a stretch but, fifteen minutes later, I emerged from the lift with a very roughly blow-dried bob, hastily applied make-up and my satchel thrown across my body. Jenny looked my jeans and T-shirt up and down and sighed. ‘That’s so not the ensemble to be photographed in, honey,’ she said, wrapping her arm around my shoulders and guiding me out to the car. ‘Where’s the big hat? The dark glasses?’ I pulled my sunglasses triumphantly out of my handbag. ‘I’m wearing the exact same outfit as you,’ I protested. But of course I wasn’t. My baggy boyfriend jeans and little pink American Apparel T-shirt couldn’t compare with Jenny’s skintight Sevens and clingy, white, deep V-neck. At least our black Havaianas were identical. We picked up iced coffees en route, me thankful for any reason to get out of the car-slash-death-trap, Jenny ecstatic to be able to demonstrate her ability to sip a Frapuccino whilst driving, and I filled Jenny in on the James/Blake situation. Once I’d finished the story for the third time, I tilted my head back and stared up at the beautiful blue, cloudless sky. At least if I looked up there, I couldn’t see Jenny running red lights. ‘So what are you going to do?’ Jenny asked, swerving around a tight corner onto Melrose Avenue. ‘Did you make everything OK with Alex? Did you speak to Mary?’ ‘I spoke to Alex but it didn’t go that well.’ And that’s putting it mildly, I added to myself. ‘I have to call Mary but I’ve been sort of putting it off. I’m guessing the fact that she hasn’t called me yet is not a good sign.’ ‘It all sounds pretty clear to me, honey,’ Jenny said, swinging the car into a car park beside a building that seemed to be covered in grass. ‘You just have to tell her the truth. It’s just gonna sort this whole thing out.’ ‘I know but, well, actually, I don’t know …’ I pulled my frizzy hair into a loose ponytail and wrapped a band around it. ‘I can’t just out him, can I? Obviously he’s hiding it all for a reason.’ Jenny stopped the car with a jolt. ‘Are you fucking with me?’ ‘Jenny—’ ‘This ass-hat makes out with you in public, allows photos of the two of you to be published all over the internet, effectively destroys your relationship and costs you your job and you don’t want to casually drop into conversation that he’s the new Clay Aiken?’ I wrinkled my nose. ‘Yeah, well.’ ‘Great argument,’ she climbed out over the locked car door. ‘They do open, you know,’ I grumbled. ‘Where are we anyway?’ ‘And I thought I’d made a shopper out of you.’ Jenny held her arms out in a flourish. ‘This, my British friend, is Fred Segal. Fashion emporium and Los Angeles institution. And where we’re meeting Teresa inside in a half-hour, so we need to get our shit together.’ ‘Tessa’s really coming?’ I asked, pulling off my sunglasses and following Jenny past a row of tables and chairs, already packed with pretty people. ‘Jenny, that’s incredible.’ ‘I know, crazy right?’ Jenny smiled and nodded at the man holding open the door for us. ‘She texted me this morning to say she’d meet us here. Daphne is going to freak out when she finds out. Tessa DiArmo is a big get for a stylist.’ ‘I’m sure she’ll be happy for you,’ I lied. ‘Where did she go, anyway?’ ‘Uh, she went home with that guy she was … talking to,’ she muttered into a clothes rail. The store appeared to be split into lots of different little sections but, unsurprisingly, Jenny knew exactly where she was going. It was as if she had inbuilt shopping GPS: I was fairly sure I could drop her in any major shopping capital in the world and she’d be able to find the nearest Starbucks, bathroom and Marc Jacobs concession. It was a talent I very much hoped to develop when I grew up. ‘Well, if she’d stayed maybe she would be styling Tessa,’ I said in my least judgemental voice. Which was still fairly judgey. ‘But anyway, I wanted to talk about last night. About what you said before you … left.’ ‘I called ahead to set up a room for Tessa DiArmo?’ Jenny confidently accosted a passing salesgirl. ‘Can you please make sure that it’s ready? We’re going to be sending things over soon. Thanks.’ The girl looked us up and down once, nodded and then rushed off to the back of the store. Jenny kept her back to me. ‘Do you think this would suit Tessa?’ She held out a Twenty8Twelve T-shirt dress. ‘Too casual for an awards show, though, right? But maybe with heels and the right jacket …’ ‘Jenny, you realize I’m not going to let this go, don’t you?’ I said, pushing the dress away. ‘What you said last night? And no, it wouldn’t suit Tessa. It would suit me though.’ She tossed the dress towards me. ‘I have to find like ten outfits before Tessa gets here, so can we not do this now?’ ‘We are doing it now; you do your clearest thinking when you’re shopping.’ I passed the dress on to the assistant that had appeared back at Jenny’s side. ‘I thought this trip was all about you getting laid. What’s happened with Joe?’ ‘Turns out maybe it wasn’t as easy as I’d thought. Or at least he isn’t any more,’ she said, turning her attention to a grey strapless Hache mini-dress. ‘The folds on this are really interesting. This could look gorgeous with – like – a little leather jacket and some chunky heels?’ ‘Yes, it would,’ I agreed, passing it to the assistant at her elbow. ‘So that’s the problem? Joe? Because you could get men loads better than Joe, you know.’ ‘Yeah, for sure. Except it turns out maybe I don’t want to. What about this?’ She pulled out a gold sequined tank dress. ‘Jeff?’ ‘Jeff.’ ‘Oh, Jenny.’ I watched her lips press into thin, colourless lines as she systematically flicked through the rail of clothes in front of her, from left to right. ‘I’m gonna get you guys some water,’ the salesgirl said eventually, backing away from the awkward silence. I nodded and smiled as she scuttled away. ‘You know, I’m not the best person to be giving out relationship advice, but you will get over it eventually. That is actually a fact. And I’m pretty sure one you told me once,’ I picked out a red Herv? L?ger number and held it up to Jenny. ‘I wish you’d just talked to me about this. Practise what you preach and all that?’ ‘Yeah, except I’m not that good at taking my own advice,’ she said, nodding at the red dress. ‘He’s moving in with his new girlfriend, you know? He called me to tell me in case I found out from Alex. I guess, even after everything, I really thought we were supposed to end up together. Now I’m not so sure.’ ‘This new girlfriend could be a total rebound thing,’ I suggested. ‘You don’t know.’ ‘I’m not sure any more.’ She finally turned around. Silent tears tracked down her face. ‘Maybe I need to get away for a while. Jeff is everywhere at home, I just can’t move on.’ ‘You’re thinking about leaving? New York?’ I didn’t know what to do. ‘Maybe. For a while. I don’t know.’ She took my hand. ‘Angie, I really want today to go good. Can we just talk about this later? I don’t want to be all blah when Tessa gets here.’ ‘Of course,’ I said, giving her a quick but tight hug. ‘But as soon as you’re done and you’re ready, we’ll talk. Dinner?’ She nodded quickly. ‘Definitely dinner; but please don’t freak out, honey, there isn’t anything to talk about yet. And we’ve still got a world of trouble to get you out of.’ I pulled a face. ‘Do you know, for five very short minutes, I’d almost forgotten about all that?’ Jenny laughed. ‘Good luck with that.’ ‘I’m going to try and give Alex another call.’ I pulled a silver puffball dress off the rail and passed it to her. ‘Get her to try this on. I’ll be back in a minute.’ Fred Segal was like a very fashionable labyrinth. Each little salon led into another dead end, a cul-de-sac of couture. Eventually, I followed the sunlight out to the door we’d come in and managed to snag a table in the caf?. Holding my phone to my ear, I closed my eyes. All I needed to do was press one button. Instead I ordered a smoothie. And checked my emails. And looked at Perez Hilton on my BlackBerry. I just didn’t know what to say to him. Last night’s call was so awful, I didn’t see how I could salvage things over the phone and, after seeing the look in Jenny’s eyes, seeing how broken she was at the realization that she’d never be able to make it work with Jeff, the prospect of losing Alex for good was painfully real. When my phone actually rang, I answered automatically, and even though I must have pressed a button to connect it, I was still surprised. ‘Angela? It’s James.’ And immediately I wished I hadn’t. ‘Angela, are you there?’ He did not sound good. ‘Clearly I am,’ I replied, frozen to the spot. ‘Are you OK? Where are you?’ ‘I’m fine actually,’ I said. ‘I’m just waiting to go on the Ryan Seacrest show to out you. Then I’m going on E! News.’ ‘Please, I really want to sort this out,’ he said hurriedly. ‘Please don’t go on air.’ I sat and looked around the caf?. I was getting the odd look but most people were trying very hard to look as interested as possible in nothing at all. ‘As much as that’s what you deserve, you can calm down,’ I sighed. ‘I’m not going on the radio to out you. I’m just wandering up and down Melrose handing out flyers. I like the personal touch. Much more effective.’ ‘You’re on Melrose? Will you come to the hotel? We really need to talk,’ he rushed. ‘We really don’t,’ I replied evenly. I was so incredibly angry with him; just hearing his voice focused my mind completely. It was a much easier emotion to manage than the big ball of blah that took over when I tried to think about Alex. ‘There’s no way on God’s green earth I’m coming over to your hotel.’ ‘But if we meet outside the hotel, we’re going to get photographed,’ James said. ‘I thought—’ ‘I’ve been told that you’re not good at thinking.’ I slurped my smoothie. It really was delicious. ‘I’m not coming to your hotel. I’m calling my editor and telling her everything and then I’m going back to New York to attempt to salvage my relationship.’ ‘Angela, please, if you say anything to your editor they’ll out me.’ ‘I really don’t give a shit.’ ‘Please Angela,’ he whined. ‘It’s everything. Everything I’ve ever worked for. Please don’t do it.’ ‘It’s not my problem, James.’ No time to be weak now. So what if I outed him? And destroyed his career? And ruined his life? Meh. ‘I’ve got my own concerns. I’m going to have to make my money somehow given that you’ve probably cost me my job.’ ‘Come off it, you’re not a kiss-and-tell girl,’ James stammered. ‘Just come and meet me. Please? We’ll meet anywhere you like. We’ll work out how to save your job and everything, but please just don’t say anything to the magazine. Not yet.’ I should have just hung up. I should have direct-dialled the News of the World and told them to get the La Senza matching set out. But I didn’t. ‘Where?’ ‘Definitely not the hotel?’ ‘Definitely not the hotel. The opposite of a hotel. As far away from a bed as humanly possible. The most public place on earth would be preferable.’ ‘Disneyland?’ ‘You’re not kidding, are you?’ I realized I was holding my empty smoothie glass against the edge of the table at a dangerously smash-and-slash angle. And the couple sitting next to me were looking awfully nervous. ‘No, I don’t think The Magic Kingdom is going to be able to sort this, James.’ ‘It is the happiest place on earth.’ I could hear a hint of a smile in his voice. How dare he think he was off the hook with this? ‘And I would hate to get blood on those character costumes. I bet they’re a bitch to get dry cleaned.’ ‘Right, OK,’ he said, considerably less pleased with himself. ‘You’re on Melrose? And you want to meet somewhere without any even vaguely sexual connotations. Where are you exactly? I’m sending a car.’ ‘Fred Segal.’ I placed the glass back on the table and put my hands in my lap, offering an ‘I’m not crazy, honest’ smile to the people beside me, but they were too busy tapping away on their BlackBerrys and Sidekicks to acknowledge my sanity. ‘Because that’s the place to keep a low profile,’ he said. ‘Bumped into Paris yet?’ ‘Do you want me to come or not?’ I snapped. Seriously, how come no one looked over when I was trying to be nice but as soon as I raised my voice, I had everyone’s undivided attention? ‘And there’s no way it’s just me and you. Blake comes too.’ ‘Oh, Angela, I don’t think so,’ James said quickly. ‘He’s really not in a very good mood.’ ‘And he’ll be in a better mood if I out the pair of you?’ Silence. Sighing. ‘Fine. Just stay there and I’ll send the car.’ Hanging up, I pulled out my make-up bag. Wherever James went, so went the paps. Things were already bad enough without my under-eye circles making the news. I stared at myself in the mirror of my powder compact. How bizarre was this? How did I manage to go from not being able to get served in the Slug and Lettuce in Wimbledon without shouting at a barmaid, to having to worry about whether or not I was going to end up on the gossip page of some tabloid with big red circles drawn all over my many, many imperfections? All I wanted was to crawl into bed and not come back out until all this had gone away. Maybe I’d come out for Christmas dinner but then I’d be going right back in. Bags banished and blusher blended, I took a deep breath. Time to bite the bullet. ‘Mary Stein’s office.’ ‘Hi Cici,’ I said bravely. ‘Is Mary about?’ ‘Oh, Angela,’ Cici managed to stretch out my name to last about three minutes. She must have been loving this. ‘I’m not sure she’s gonna be able to speak to you right now. She’s on a conference call with the publisher. You know, because of you.’ ‘Right, well, it’s really important,’ I said through gritted teeth. This bit was even worse than actually talking to Mary. ‘Can you try and put me through?’ ‘Uh-huh.’ The glee in her voice was unbearable. ‘But if she can’t talk to you right now, I can fill you in on what I’ve heard so far. You know, about you.’ ‘Appreciated. Can you please just try and put me through?’ The hold music kicked in for what felt like forever. ‘Well?’ ‘Oh, Mary,’ I was a little bit surprised. Mainly because I didn’t think Cici was even going to try and put me through, since she clearly really wanted to tell me all the lovely things that were being said about me in the office. ‘Hi.’ ‘No, not hi, well?’ Mary sounded livid. Even though I couldn’t see her, I knew I’d got her full attention, which wasn’t ever a good thing. Mary was much less frightening if she was clicking away on her giant Mac while she was talking to you. ‘You realize you have fucked up on a massive, massive scale?’ ‘Mary, please just let me get this out. I know it looks bad—’ I started. ‘Looks bad?’ she interrupted before I’d even finished my first sentence. ‘It is bad. You’re absolutely over.’ ‘Mary, please,’ There wasn’t enough blusher in the world to put the colour back in my cheeks. ‘Let me finish. I know exactly what it looks like, but it isn’t. There’s nothing going on with James. And seriously, I have the best interview. I’m sure once you get my copy … once everyone sees my copy, they’re going to love it. And James is going to do the photo shoot. It can be saved, can’t it?’ ‘Angela, I think the sun has fried your brain. Do you really think the magazine wants to publish your interview right now? You’re splashed all over the internet as a two-timing star-fucker. We’d get more readers for an interview with your ex right now.’ ‘Jesus, will everyone stop saying he’s my ex?’ I groaned. ‘I haven’t bloody done anything.’ ‘Unless you’re gonna take an internal exam live on TV to prove you’re still a virgin, I don’t think anyone’s going to believe that,’ Mary replied. ‘Or maybe you could do it on the radio. I’m pretty sure they did that on the Howard Stern Show once.’ ‘Mary, honestly, you work in the media. How can you believe the internet over me?’ I was determined not to cry. Not here. ‘I learned not to believe everything I read a long time ago.’ Mary relented slightly. ‘But it doesn’t matter what I believe. People don’t care about what’s true and what isn’t; they care about being entertained, they care about who has the best story. And your interview with James isn’t the best story any more. You are.’ ‘I’m not a story,’ I said quietly. ‘I’m just me.’ ‘Well, I’m telling you what the publisher told me,’ she went on. ‘So don’t flip out on me. It’s like this. The blog is suspended for a couple of days. We’re not taking it down; we just need to decide what direction we’re going in.’ ‘I don’t understand, direction?’ I wasn’t quick on the uptake at the best of times. ‘It’s just my blog. My diary.’ ‘It is right now,’ Mary agreed. ‘But there’s been a massive spike in traffic since yesterday, and obviously the new readers want all the details about you and James. But the publishers don’t want to give that away for free online.’ ‘And there aren’t any details for them,’ I said. ‘OK, Pollyanna, have you finished?’ She didn’t wait for a response. ‘The publishers want your exclusive story – either you and James or just you in next week’s issue of Icon – and then they want to change the direction of the blog to fit your new … status.’ ‘But Mary, it’s not like that.’ This wasn’t happening. ‘This is the best offer you’re going to get, Angela,’ Mary said. ‘If you don’t play it their way, you’re out.’ ‘What am I supposed to do? It’s not true. And what about Alex? I have to sort things out with him, Mary, and there’s no hope in hell of that if I’m mincing around in a magazine declaring my love for James.’ ‘How are you going to sort things out with him from the UK?’ Mary asked. ‘Because if you lose your job here, you know you lose your visa.’ ‘You’re blackmailing me?’ ‘Angela, honey,’ Mary sighed. ‘This isn’t a game. If you say you’re not with James, I believe you, but this has happened now. It’s not about the truth, it’s not about you; right now it’s about what sells magazines. An interview with you and James in Icon will sell more magazines than an interview with James in The Look. And a blog about you as a celebrity’s girlfriend will be more popular than a blog about your life in New York. You’re not stupid, you must be able to understand that.’ I paused. It was everything I could do not to be sick on the spot. Maybe losing my visa was the best option. I could just go home. Pretend none of this had ever happened. Unless I had another story. One that was far more interesting and a whole lot more exclusive. ‘Mary, I can prove that I’m not sleeping with James,’ I started slowly. ‘But I can’t tell you why just yet. How long do I have to sort something out?’ ‘For fuck’s sake, Angela, I know this is shitty but will you just get over this? They’re going to run something whether you’re part of it or not,’ Mary barked. ‘I’m trying to help you out by giving you some control.’ ‘Fine,’ I breathed out for the first time in what felt like hours. ‘If I can’t sort this out I’ll do the interview. Please, Mary, please just hold it off until the end of today, and if I can’t work it out, I’ll do whatever you want. Photos, interviews; everything. Me and James.’ ‘You’ve got until the end of today,’ Mary said quietly. ‘I’ll be in my office. Call me when you’ve got the loaves and the fishes.’ ‘Loaves and fishes?’ ‘Angela, you’re going to need a miracle.’ CHAPTER TWELVE (#ulink_ef7441db-d938-565d-817b-589eea5c432a) It took me fifteen minutes to find Jenny, and that was with the help of three assistants. Seriously, that shop was designed solely to keep the uninitiated out. Eventually, I spotted her holding up a tiny leather tuxedo-style jacket next to a silver sequined shrug. Her face fell when she saw me coming towards her. ‘I like the leather,’ I pointed. ‘You look like living shit, what happened?’ she asked, dropping both jackets on the floor and gently taking my shoulders. ‘You OK?’ ‘Thanks,’ I breathed. It was still a struggle not to vomit on the spot. ‘I just spoke to Mary.’ ‘That bad?’ Jenny winced. ‘Angie, you gotta just tell them the truth.’ ‘Who would believe it? Really?’ I shook my head. ‘I’m going to sort it out though, don’t worry. Just meet me for dinner tonight.’ ‘Yeah, sure,’ Jenny agreed, scooping up the discarded jackets. ‘Where are you going?’ ‘I’m meeting James,’ I said. Jenny stared at me. ‘Have you lost your mind? Give me that frickin’ phone. I’m calling your editor right now. No, I’m calling Erin, she’s in PR and has hooked up with just about everyone. She’ll know what to do.’ ‘Jenny, please, don’t. Just let me have today to sort this all out. Please let me try? If I can’t, we’ll do it your way.’ And Mary’s way and James’s way and everyone’s way but mine, I thought. Jenny stood pouting, not even slightly convinced. ‘You’ve got Tessa to worry about,’ I reminded her. ‘Who’s worrying about me – why?’ asked a little tiny voice behind me. I turned to see Tessa DiArmo in the gold sequined dress I’d given Jenny, huge chunky leather heeled shoes and a studded cuff. She looked amazing. ‘Wow.’ I was stunned. Her legs seemed to go on forever and the gold brought out highlights in her hair that I hadn’t seen before. ‘Tessa, you look incredible.’ ‘Put this on,’ Jenny said, passing her the leather jacket. ‘It’ll give the paillettes a tougher edge.’ ‘Paillettes?’ I mouthed. ‘Big-ass sequins,’ Jenny explained. ‘It’s fashion-speak, designed to make you feel dumb.’ ‘I love it,’ Tessa said, spinning around and making the sequins or, paillettes, dance in the sunlight. ‘I’m absolutely wearing this tonight.’ ‘Fantastic.’ Jenny’s face lit up. I hadn’t seen her look that happy since Ryan Phillippe had checked into The Union last October and she’d ‘accidentally’ taken his unrequested complimentary welcome basket up while he was in the shower. ‘Now go try on the L?ger.’ ‘I’m too skinny for L?ger,’ Tessa whined, heading back into the tiny room. ‘He makes me look like a toothpick.’ ‘That’s why you’re trying on the bustier style, it’ll give you the illusion of curves,’ Jenny yelled through the door. ‘No jewellery and go with the strappy Louboutins. Oh, and try the leather jacket with that one too.’ ‘Jenny, you’re really good at this,’ I said, catching her off guard with a side hug. ‘She looks amazing.’ ‘I know, right?’ She flushed and hugged me back. ‘And it’s so much fun. I’m shopping with someone else’s credit card, telling them what to do and they’re listening and paying me for it. I think they call it “living the dream”.’ ‘Yay you.’ I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. The car must have arrived. ‘Look, I’m going to go. You have fun and I’ll call you later.’ ‘As long as you know I’m not happy about this,’ she yelled as I walked away. ‘You tell that dick that I’m going to beat his ass when I next see him.’ James had clearly decided it wasn’t safe to be in the car with me and had sent his driver alone. I couldn’t help but wonder about all the things he had seen, all the things he must know. James must be paying him a fortune not to spill it all. That, or he was actually a decent person. Wow, I did not love the fact that the idea of him just being a good person was my second thought. We drove south in silence for about ten minutes before pulling up outside what looked like a park. A park with an animatronic mammoth sinking into a pool of stinking black goo. ‘Here?’ I asked the driver, trying to spot James and Blake. And there they were, sitting on a bench just inside the gate. ‘Here,’ he confirmed, turning off the engine. ‘Try not to push them in.’ The pair of them stood when they saw me walking across the grass. I stopped short of the hug that James offered and folded my arms, mirroring Blake’s barely restrained fury. Who thought we would ever have something in common? ‘Tar pits?’ I asked, looking around at the groups of tiny school children running around us. They were too tiny and high on being out of the classroom to recognize or care about James, but their teachers were all trying very hard not to stare. ‘No one’s going to think we’re shagging round the back of a museum, are they?’ James shrugged. ‘There are children everywhere and, you know, tar isn’t exactly an aphrodisiac.’ ‘Whatever.’ I tried to prepare myself. This wasn’t going to be easy and I hadn’t reckoned on my resolve weakening on seeing how awful James looked. Well, awful for James. His hair was rumpled and his dark circles were as pronounced as mine, but he still looked as though he was just playing the part of heartbreak, while I looked more like Amy Winehouse after a particularly bad night out. And even if he looked like shit, he still smelt awfully pretty. ‘Can we just get this over with?’ Blake led the way and past the tar pits to a large deserted expanse of park around the back of the museum. He leaned against what was, according to a small inscription on its base, a plastic sculpture of a giant prehistoric sloth and looked the other way. James sighed and sat down on the grass a few feet from him. I looked from one to the other. Blake’s face was frozen, impossible to read. Maybe James’s lack of sleep was down to more than just worrying about what I might say or do. ‘Angela,’ James started, pulling at my hand. I sat down beside him, not really knowing what else to do. ‘First, can I just say I’m sorry?’ ‘You’ve actually said that a couple of times already,’ I said, my eyes still trained on Blake. ‘And I think it’s best if I talk first. Sorry if you’d been rehearsing.’ ‘Go for it,’ he said, squeezing the hand I’d forgotten he was holding. ‘I spoke to my editor this morning.’ I pulled my hand away and paused to see his reaction. Stupid bloody actor didn’t bloody have one. He should absolutely play professional poker. ‘The magazine doesn’t want to run your interview any more.’ ‘What?’ He looked shocked. ‘What did you say?’ ‘Calm down, I didn’t tell them anything. Yet …’ I noticed we’d almost got Blake’s attention. ‘They want us to do a “we’re so in love” interview in Icon next week instead. Apparently, I’m no good as an interviewer any more because everyone thinks I’m a great big slag who came out here solely to seduce you.’ ‘Seriously?’ James shook his head. ‘Seriously.’ ‘Well, thank fuck for that,’ he laughed, pushing me back in a giant bear hug. Too shocked to do anything but worry about grass stains on my T-shirt, I lay staring helplessly up at Blake. ‘That’s brilliant!’ James roared. ‘This is going to solve all our problems. We’ll do the interview, you’ll move here, everyone will think we’re dating. This is perfect. We’ll get an apartment – how about Los Feliz? You liked it there, didn’t you? Or would you rather be near the beach? Oh, Angela, this is fantastic. Why didn’t you tell me on the phone?’ Finally finding some strength, I pushed him off me and shot up to my feet. ‘Because we’re not doing it! I have a life and a job and a boyfriend and I’m not giving that up to cover up for you.’ ‘But it’ll be perfect.’ James looked confused. ‘I’ll pay for everything. And you’ll have your own room in the apartment and everything. It’s not like we’ll really be dating after all, is it?’ ‘Can you hear yourself? I’m not doing this, James. You have to tell the magazine the truth.’ I span round to Blake. ‘And you, you can’t seriously be OK with this?’ He shrugged but his face was ashen, eyes burning. And, oh my God, were they red around the edges? Had he been crying? ‘Angela, do you think this is the first time this has happened?’ James jumped to his feet, his hands on my shoulders. ‘We get on well, don’t we? We’re friends? And it would be great for your career. Think of how cool it will be, living in LA, in the sun, going to parties, premieres – it would be a dream.’ ‘But not mine,’ I shrugged off his hands. ‘James, listen to me. I have a life. I have a boyfriend. And if you don’t come out, tell the truth, I’m going to lose it all. If we’re really friends, you’ll do it.’ James rubbed his hands down his face. ‘You don’t even know what you’re asking. You’re being so bloody selfish.’ ‘I’m being selfish? You don’t actually know anything about women, do you?’ I snapped. ‘Doesn’t know much about men either,’ Blake muttered. I carried on regardless. ‘All I’m asking you to do is to tell the truth and you’re asking me to lie and give up absolutely everything. Which sounds more reasonable to you?’ James threw his hands up in the air. ‘But think about what I’m offering you. You’d pass all that up for some arsehole that thinks you’re shagging about behind his back and a crappy job writing for a website?’ I’d been angry before. I was pretty pissed off when my mum boil-washed my Bay Trading angora sweater dress the night before the Year Ten disco. I was fairly annoyed when Peter Jenson told everyone in the sixth form that I was a lesbian after he walked into the bathroom at Louisa’s sixteenth birthday party and we were in there chatting while I had a wee. And, of course, I wasn’t overly pleased when I found my boyfriend shagging his mistress in the back of our car at my best friend’s wedding. But none of that was anything to how I felt at that exact second. There he was, this ridiculously beautiful man who had everything going right for him in the world, standing in front of me waving around what he genuinely thought was the perfect life, like the moon on a stick, while his secret boyfriend stood six feet away, leaning against a giant brown plastic mammal. And I was being selfish? No wonder Blake was such a twat all the time. His boyfriend was the biggest arsehole in the universe and he couldn’t complain about him to anyone. ‘Do you love Blake?’ I asked. ‘What?’ James looked past me to where Blake was staring at us from the arms of the sloth. ‘Do you love him?’ I asked again. ‘Angela, just stop playing games. Are you going to fuck me over or what?’ I ignored him and carried on. ‘Because I actually love my boyfriend and the idea of him not knowing that for sure is actually worse than any of this bollocks right now.’ As soon as I’d said it, I knew it was absolutely true. I couldn’t get the look on Jenny’s face when she talked about Jeff out of my head, and I didn’t want to ever feel that way about me and Alex. ‘I don’t believe that you two are in love. If you were, you wouldn’t care who knew, you’d just want to be together.’ ‘As if it’s that easy,’ James snapped back. ‘I’m not some random guy that can just do whatever he wants when I want, Angela. My career depends on my reputation. It’s all a character, everything I do.’ ‘Oh shut up. It’s not the Fifties any more, you idiot.’ I took my turn to push him; unfortunately his six-foot-plus frame didn’t actually budge. ‘No one cares if you’re gay.’ ‘It wasn’t the Fifties when I was growing up either, but they cared then,’ he fumed quietly. ‘I’m not doing it, so just pack it in. Blake understands why we have to do things the way we do.’ ‘Do I?’ For the first time I realized Blake wasn’t leaning against the (actually hilarious in any other situation) giant sloth because he was too cool to stand up, he actually couldn’t stand on his own. His eyes were no longer a little bit red around the edges but wet with real tears. ‘Do I, James?’ he asked again. I suddenly felt extraordinarily uncomfortable. Oh bugger. ‘We talked about this last night,’ James said, in a considerably softer tone of voice than the one he’d been using with me. ‘You said—’ ‘No, you talked about it last night.’ Blake’s voice got louder as James’s got quieter. ‘And I didn’t say anything, but I’m saying something now. Bitch’s right. There’s no need for all this bullshit any more. I know you had a hard time when you were younger but it’s over. You’re here now and you’ve got me. If you felt the same way I did, none of the rest of it would matter.’ I paused in my steady backtracking out of the way. Did Blake just call me a bitch? Arse, I was on his side! ‘Blake, don’t.’ James’s pretty face was dangerously close to crumpling. I swapped positions with Blake, him holding James’s shoulders, me clutching the oversized paw of the sloth. He looked fascinated by the proceedings. For a giant, infamously lazy plastic creature. ‘Don’t what? You remember when you asked me not to make you choose and I said I never would?’ Blake placed a hand against James’s cheek. ‘Well, I changed my mind. I’m asking. In fact I’m telling. If you do this interview with her, I’m gone. Call me when you’ve made up your mind. Or don’t. I won’t be at the hotel when you get back.’ We watched Blake stalk across the park and out of sight before James turned to me. ‘Drama,’ I said, raising my eyebrows. ‘Is it too early for a drink?’ James asked, holding out his hand. I hesitated before I took it. He looked exactly how I felt. He looked exactly like Jenny had that morning. He looked heartbroken. ‘It’s a bit early,’ I said, slapping his hand away and walking on ahead. ‘But that’s never stopped me before.’ After our third block of driving in silence, I fished my phone out of my bag and willed it to ring. ‘Oh, just call him,’ James said without turning to look at me. ‘It’s like looking at puppies in the window of a pet shop. I can see your reflection in the window.’ I smiled tightly and speed-dialled Alex, but it still didn’t connect, no answer phone, no anything. ‘Hold this,’ I said, passing James my phone and emptying my handbag out onto the car seat. I knew it was in there somewhere. ‘Good God woman, how much crap have you got in that handbag?’ he asked as I sifted through Post-it notes, loose dollar bills and chewing gum wrappers. ‘I’ve seen apartments with less stuff in them.’ ‘I know, I know,’ I said, shaking out an address book for loose entries. ‘I promised myself when I got this bag that I’d look after it but, well, I’m just a bit rubbish.’ ‘Wait until I see Marc next and tell him what you’ve done to his bag,’ James tutted, sorting through assorted tampons and lip glosses. ‘He’ll be disgusted.’ ‘You know Marc Jacobs?’ I froze mid-dig. ‘You actually know him?’ ‘I did some ads for him,’ James nodded. ‘He’s cool.’ ‘Keeping that from me until now is officially the shittiest thing you’ve done,’ I said, unfurling a screwed-up bit of old receipt from the back of my diary. ‘Got it.’ Before I could regret it, I dialled. ‘Jeff, it’s Angela. Clark. Alex’s girlfriend? Jenny’s friend?’ I said quickly before he could even speak. ‘Yeah, I actually had you at Angela,’ Jeff replied. ‘What’s up?’ ‘Uh, well, I was wondering if you knew if Alex was in?’ I stammered. ‘He’s not answering his phone and well, I’m not in the city. Is he about?’ ‘He’s not, no. He didn’t tell you where he went?’ Jeff sounded surprised. At least it seemed as if there was one person in the world who hadn’t heard all about my ‘Angela’s Adventures in Hollywoodland’. It was just unfortunate that it was my best friend’s ex-boyfriend who I was absolutely forbidden to speak to ever again. ‘Hey, uh, how’s Jenny doing?’ ‘He went somewhere?’ I leaned forward, resting my forehead on my knees. ‘Yeah,’ Jeff replied. ‘He came over last night and asked me to keep an eye on his place. He had a bag, seemed in a rush to get someplace. So, she’s OK?’ ‘What? Oh, Jenny, yes,’ I lied. ‘She’s fantastic actually.’ ‘Cool, tell her I said hi,’ Jeff said. ‘OK, well, when he comes back, I’ll tell him you called? Bye.’ ‘Shit,’ I said, sinking back against the car seat. I felt as though I’d been kicked. ‘Bad news?’ James asked. ‘Until you say “Angela, I’d like you to organize my coming out interview in as public a forum as possible,” I think everything is going to be bad news.’ I frowned at him. ‘Don’t think you’re forgiven because your boyfriend dumped you. We’re not even yet.’ ‘Tell me about Alex,’ James said, sliding his arm around my shoulders. It was weird how quickly that had gone from stomach-flippingly exciting to stomach-churningly irritating. ‘Tell me why he’s worth all this.’ ‘This isn’t all about him,’ I said. ‘This is about you not being an arse and giving me my life back. I only just got one, for God’s sake, it’s hardly bloody fair that I should lose it so quickly.’ ‘Just shut up and tell me about him.’ ‘Fine. Alex is …’ I didn’t know where to start. ‘He’s kind, intelligent, he’s sweet, he’s thoughtful, creative—’ ‘You haven’t mentioned hot yet. Or good in bed. Come on, you’re not describing him to your mum.’ James slapped my knee. ‘Sorry, carry on.’ I gave him as filthy a look as I could muster. ‘He’s just … he’s passionate about things. About his music, about me. That’s what was missing from my life for so long. Passion. Passion for something, anything really.’ ‘I know this isn’t going to make me popular,’ James said. ‘But you know they say passion doesn’t last? They say that for a reason. You can’t seriously be asking me to throw my entire career down the shitter because you really like doing it with a boy in a band.’ Just when I thought we were making headway. ‘Passionate, not passion – there’s a difference; and besides, that’s not everything. I love him because he makes me feel like I can do anything. He makes me feel like the person I want to be.’ I tilted my head to one side. ‘I feel so sorry for Blake.’ ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ ‘Don’t you feel the same way about him?’ I asked. James didn’t say anything. ‘Excuse me,’ I leaned forward to speak to James’s driver, ‘could we please head back to The Hollywood?’ ‘Yes ma’am,’ he nodded curtly. James gave me a sideways glance and sighed. ‘So are you going to do it or not?’ I asked finally, as we pulled up outside my hotel. ‘You still don’t get what you’re asking me,’ James shook his head. ‘There’s so much more riding on this than your boyfriend.’ ‘I know,’ I said. ‘There’s my job, my visa, my apartment, my reputation, the respect of my family and friends. Oh, and your boyfriend.’ ‘Don’t think this is easy for me,’ he closed his big blue eyes, the hollows underneath looking more pronounced in the dim light of the limo. ‘But, I’m sorry, I can’t do it.’ It took all my strength to push open the car door and step out on to the pavement. I really had thought he would come through, if not for me then for Blake. The limo pulled away quickly before I could get back in and beg James to change his mind, leaving me standing alone in the street. Not knowing what else to do, I dialled Jenny. When it went straight through to her voicemail for the fourth time, I gave up. There was no point calling Alex again and Mary didn’t want to hear anything I had to say unless it was ‘can’t wait to whore myself all over Icon next week’. And as much as that was looking pretty inevitable, I just couldn’t bring myself to make the call. I forced myself through the twilight of The Hollwood’s lobby and into the lift. The gold-tinted walls softened my reflection, but even the tiny security camera in the ceiling could see how pathetic I looked. My hair had frizzed out in the humidity and all the make-up I’d plastered on in Fred Segal had melted or been silently cried off in the last three minutes. I wasn’t sure it would be good or bad to see Alex at that exact second. He’d see what a mess I was in, but he’d also see what a mess I was. Not exactly love-of-his-life material. Why hadn’t I just told him I loved him? Why hadn’t I said it at Erin’s wedding? Or before I left for the airport? There had been so many opportunities. Exhausted, I crashed through my bedroom door, pulled the curtains closed on the Hollywood Hills and rolled onto my bed. Nothing to do now but wait for Mary to call with the bad news. CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#ulink_3a8b02a3-5f3d-53df-a06c-80c00d8fd24b) I woke up a little bit disoriented, the seams of my jeans sticking into my legs, but it only took a couple of seconds and a quick look at the bedside clock to remind me why I was in bed on a Wednesday afternoon. It was six in LA, nine in New York. Time was up. There was no way now to sort things out before Mary agreed to the Icon interview and Jenny took over as my personal kiss-and-tell stylist. At least I might look half decent in the photos that would be ruining my life next Tuesday. I did need a new Facebook profile picture. One of my favourite things about staying in good hotels was their ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ policies. Even though housekeeping had replaced several vomit-tinged towels from the bathroom floor, they had happily restocked the mini-bar. In fact, there might have actually been more vodka in there than yesterday. Clutching my mobile, I sat cross-legged in front of the fridge. For the want of a better plan, I mixed a vodka Diet Coke and drank it down in one. And mixed another. And drank it down. After making it through the rest of the vodka, the gin and the white wine, I grabbed hold of the counter and pulled myself up. Hmm. Too drunk to stand up easily without support, but not drunk enough to move on to the Jack Daniel’s miniatures. I slicked on some lip gloss and changed my T-shirt quickly before grabbing my room key and barrelling through the door. There really was only one place to go in times of trouble. The place where everybody knew your name. ‘Angela?’ Of course, in this instance, there was only one person who knew my name and that was Joe. But a bar was a bar and a drink was a drink. ‘Hey,’ I said, dropping onto a stool in front of him. The pool bar was practically empty, sun-worshipping hotel guests gone in to get ready for the night ahead, local party-ers not even nearly ready to come out yet. ‘How are you?’ ‘Uh, I’m OK,’ Joe replied, not looking convinced that the same could be said for me. ‘So what’s going on with you?’ ‘Fucking. Nothing,’ I said, bashing my hand on the bar with each word. ‘He’s a knob, Joe. Everything on the internet, it’s all shit.’ ‘I’m gonna go out on a limb and say you’re talking about my good buddy James Jacobs,’ Joe said, passing me a cocktail menu and some nuts. ‘So you’re not, you know?’ ‘Mojito please.’ I scarfed a handful of nuts. How long was it since I’d eaten? ‘And ew, not even. I’m too good for him anyway. Not that he could, anyway. He wouldn’t know what to do with me if he had the chance. What’s that all about?’ ‘I’m pretty sure I don’t know,’ Joe said with a grin. ‘But you are right, you’re too good for him.’ ‘Yeah I am,’ I nodded enthusiastically, while Joe pounded away at the mint, sugar and lime. He really did have great arms. At least as good as James’s. ‘Are you OK, Joe? We haven’t seen you since Monday.’ ‘I’m fine,’ he nodded passing the drink across the bar. ‘You get used to dealing with assholes in this town, Angela. But I guess you get used to dealing with assholes everywhere, right?’ ‘Mmm-hmm,’ I agreed. It was a good mojito. ‘Everywhere.’ ‘So, is there any chance I can convert you to LA?’ he asked. ‘Since the assholes are pretty much a global epidemic?’ I shook my head so violently, I had to grip the edge of the bar to keep from falling off my stool. ‘Nuh-uh.’ ‘Still in love with New York, huh?’ Joe slipped another straw into my drink and took a long sip. ‘There’s nothing you like about LA?’ ‘I don’t hate this,’ I said, bumping foreheads with him as I leaned in for another sip. ‘Me either,’ Joe said, holding my gaze for a moment. Nose to nose, eye to eye, I felt myself flush from head to toe. ‘I’m having dinner with Jenny later. You should come along.’ I pulled away, losing my balance again. ‘Or are you working?’ ‘I actually get off at seven but you guys don’t want me along.’ Joe took out a pair of shot glasses and a bottle of tequila. ‘You’re gonna be talking about your boyfriends and shoes and shit. What am I gonna add to that?’ ‘Shut up,’ I slapped his arm, spilling the tequila as he poured. ‘We would totally want you there. And trust me when I say there will be no boyfriend talk. Jenny doesn’t have one, you know.’ Joe held out my hand and kissed it. After an impossibly long second, he sprinkled salt along the damp lip print. ‘On three?’ ‘Three?’ I whispered. ‘The tequila?’ Joe put a full-to-spilling shot glass in my free hand. ‘If I do the shot, will you come to dinner with Jenny?’ I stared at the gold liquid. I had some sense of awareness that this was a really bad idea but the salt was on my hand now, what was I supposed to do? I had been brought up not to waste food. Or drink. Or condiments. ‘I’ll come to dinner,’ Joe nodded. ‘One, two, three.’ ‘Eurgh.’ Ignoring the sting of the tequila in the back of my throat and the instant urge to retch, I bit down on the lemon wedge Joe held out for me. ‘I hate tequila.’ ‘But you did it like a pro,’ Joe said, refilling the glasses. ‘One more and then I figure I can get out of here.’ I nodded, taking the glass. The sun was starting to set behind the Hollywood Hills, the lights on the hidden homes of the rich and famous starting to twinkle. If I were to sit on the roof of The Union at seven in the evening, in March, in jeans and a T-shirt and, oh, I’d forgotten to put on shoes, I would actually freeze to death. ‘Angela?’ ‘Yu-huh?’ I snapped back. Joe held up his own shot glass. ‘I said three, like, five times.’ ‘OK then.’ I necked the shot, shuddered and slammed down the glass. ‘Where should we go for dinner? I’m starving.’ ‘You might want to change first,’ Joe said, logging out the till and handing over to a tall blonde girl in a matching black collarless shirt. ‘We’re going somewhere posh?’ I asked. ‘No, but your shirt is inside out and there’s make-up all over it.’ Joe scooped me up off my stool and carried me over to the door. I giggled, slight hysterics overtaking me at being held off the ground. ‘What? This is what all the hipsters are wearing in New York.’ ‘Well in that case …’ Joe set me down and peeled off his own shirt, turning it inside out and slipping his arms back through the sleeves. Thank the lord, he didn’t fasten it back up. ‘… Better?’ ‘Much,’ I agreed, falling into the lift as the doors opened. ‘You so can’t come in my room,’ I said, fighting with the key card and lock. ‘I’ll be two minutes.’ ‘I’ll behave myself,’ Joe said, pushing in close behind me before I could shut the door, ‘I swear.’ ‘Yeah you will,’ I said, stepping over the pile of bottles, glasses and dirty T-shirts I’d created by the mini-bar. ‘But my main concern was you seeing what a shit-tip I’d left this place.’ ‘Angela, this is a hotel, I have seen much worse.’ He stooped down and retrieved my mobile from the sticky mess of discarded bottles. ‘You have missed calls.’ I took the phone and scanned down the list, holding my breath. Mary, twice, Jenny, once. No James. No Alex. I tossed it on the bed and turned back to the wardrobe, determined not to cry. Or fall over. ‘Not the right person, huh?’ Joe said. I screwed up my face. ‘Angela, I don’t know exactly what’s been going down but I do know that you would never do anything to hurt anyone,’ Joe said softly, crossing the room and pulling me into a warm hug. ‘So whatever you’re beating yourself up over, you can stop it now.’ ‘Nyuh,’ I agreed into his shirt, arms hanging helpless by my sides. ‘Do you remember when you first came to New York and we went out to karaoke?’ Joe asked, stroking my back, catching the very ends of my hair. ‘And Jenny sent me up to bring you breakfast. I remember her telling me all about your ex, about how he cheated on you and you caught him. You seemed so devastated.’ ‘I was.’ My voice was muffled by Joe’s chest. ‘And I wouldn’t ever cheat.’ ‘I know,’ Joe said. ‘You’re just not that kind of a girl. I know that.’ ‘But Alex thinks I did,’ I said quietly. God, he smelled even better than James, if that was possible. ‘He’s gone away.’ ‘Then he’s even more of a dick than I thought he was.’ Joe pushed me back slightly and tilted my chin up to face him. ‘I would never have let you come out to LA on your own. I would never let you out of my sight.’ ‘He won’t even take my calls,’ I said weakly. I eyed the bed behind us. I really needed to be in it, alone. But surely I wasn’t supposed to be alone in such a time of crisis? ‘He isn’t taking your calls?’ Joe asked. ‘He doesn’t believe you?’ ‘I would never cheat on him.’ I shook my head, my fingers curling around the open edges of his shirt. ‘His friend said he left. I … he … I tried to explain but … I think he’s finished with me.’ ‘Then this isn’t cheating.’ Joe’s hands slid up my back and into my hair, pulling my face into his. His kiss was soft, warm and gentle, his chest hot and hard. I knew it was a bad idea, a much worse idea than the tequila but equally comforting. No, I was a bad, bad, bad person. ‘I was going to change my T-shirt,’ I mumbled, breaking away from the kiss. Woah. Dizzy. ‘For dinner.’ ‘Let me help,’ Joe said, slipping his hands under the thin material of my shirt and guiding it up over my head and then hooking it back around my waist, holding me close to him. ‘You want to change your jeans too?’ My skin burned where he had touched me and my lips were desperate for more kisses but, really, my primary concern was just staying upright. Kisses were bad. Even if they felt delicious, they were bad. ‘I’m all right in my jeans actually,’ I managed eventually. Joe released his grip around my waist only for me to fall forwards into him. Stupid traitor legs. ‘You should definitely change.’ Joe dropped my T-shirt and found the waistband of my jeans. Why did I wear slouchy jeans today? If I’d have been in my skinnies, he wouldn’t have been able to get a toothpick down there, let alone an entire hand down the back of the waistband. Oh, and now down the back of my knickers. If the room would just stop spinning for a moment, I’d be able to sort myself out. ‘Nope, no, I’m fine,’ I insisted, pushing him away. Or at least I hoped I was pushing him away. There was every chance I was actually just thrusting myself into him. Everything was starting to get a little bit confusing. ‘I think I should go to bed.’ ‘I think so too,’ he said, his breath hot on my neck, followed by his lips, followed by his fingers, all wrapped up in my hair. I tried not to close my eyes but it was hard. I tried not to let Joe push me back on the bed but with one slightly graceless shuffle, my resolve and my balance caved in. ‘Where were we with your jeans?’ ‘I think I should call Alex,’ I whispered against the weight of Joe on top of me. Why was a big heavy man so much more preferable than a quilt when you’d had a drink? ‘This is not good.’ ‘Not good?’ he whispered in my ear, planting a string of kisses from my throat up to my lips. Where was my T-shirt? Why was I in my bra? ‘Doesn’t it feel good?’ ‘No?’ I protested weakly by holding my hands out in front of me. Apparently this was also a come-on. Someone laced their fingers through mine and pushed my hands up above my head. I was so tired and so warm and so … no, something wasn’t right. And it wasn’t just the fact that I couldn’t really see any more. ‘I have to speak to Alex.’ ‘How about I be Alex?’ said the low voice in my ear. ‘And you just do what you’re doing.’ ‘You’re Alex?’ I closed my eyes just for a moment. When did that happen? But yay, Alex. ‘Oh, I love you.’ ‘Yeah, I love you too,’ the voice whispered back. ‘You’re not going to fall asleep, are you?’ ‘Nope,’ I replied, closing them for a moment more. ‘I don’t think so.’ And it was true: passing out wasn’t exactly the same as falling asleep, was it? Waking up with a throbbing head, a mouth like Gandhi’s flip-flop and the overwhelming urge to turn my stomach inside out was not something I’d ever planned on turning into a hobby, but here I was, the second day in a row, getting ever so good at it. As well as drinking enough to put an elephant down, I’d also apparently forgotten to close the curtains, and the painfully bright LA sun beamed through the floor-to-ceiling glass. Not nice. I peeled my face off the pillowcase (drool was an amazing natural adhesive) and pushed myself into a semi-vertical sitting position. Which was when I realized that there was someone else in the bed. And I was in my bra. And, a quick shuffle confirmed, my pants. Thank Christ for that at least. Not that there was any guarantee that they had been on all night long. As my heart dropped into my stomach, I felt it start to race, apparently in competition with my brain. But there was nothing. Complete blank. I leaned over the edge of the bed, trying not to disturb the clearly rumpled bedclothes, and groped around on the floor for my T-shirt. Whoever this was and whatever I’d done, I didn’t want to deal with it in my underwear. Even if he had already seen me in it. Apparently. Walking my fingers along the floor until the tips just reached my top, I noticed another larger, darker shirt beside it. A black, collarless shirt looking just like the millions of work shirts from The Union that Jenny left lying around our apartment. Oh shit. Oh shit shit shit shit shit. Really not wanting to confirm what was already coming rushing back to me, I turned my head slowly. Lying beside me, completely out of it, was Joe. I didn’t dare peek under the covers but next to his shirt were his shoes. And next to them, his trousers. Oh shit shit shit shit. Without thinking, I bolted out of the bed as fast as my wobbly legs would carry me, grabbed my phone from the bedside table and made for the door. ‘Jenny!’ I yelled, hammering her door down, while pulling on my T-shirt in the hallway. I nodded at a passing couple, too stressed to be embarrassed about being busted in my underwear in a hotel hallway. This was the walk of shame in the extreme. ‘Jenny, for fuck’s sake, open the door.’ A couple of seconds later, I heard the latch click and the door gave way to reveal a mighty pissed-off-looking Jenny. ‘Angela, it’s really, really freaking early. What the fuck?’ ‘Just let me in,’ I pushed past her into the identical hotel room. Unsurprisingly for Jenny, it was a complete shit-tip. Clothes, carrier bags, shoes and towels everywhere. ‘I need your help.’ ‘What else am I here for?’ she muttered, closing the door behind me. ‘It’s not like I have a hangover or anything.’ ‘Where were you last night?’ I asked, surveying the bombsite that was her room. From the four-inch heels and slinky dress lying in a silky, spiky pool by her bed, I guessed she’d been out. ‘I told you, Tessa invited me to the awards thing she was doing. You got my message, right?’ Jenny yawned and grabbed the hotel phone. ‘Hi, could I get coffee and uh, I don’t know, toast?’ She paused and gave me a questioning look. I nodded back, knowing for a fact that I wouldn’t be eating anything for a good couple of hours yet. ‘Yeah, coffee and toast sent up? Thanks.’ She threw herself backwards on the bed and started popping M&Ms from an open pack on the bedside table. ‘I love being on the other end of that phone. So what’s up? You look like shit.’ Gingerly, I joined her on the bed, trying not to make it bounce for fear of vomming. ‘Uh, I think I’ve done something really stupid?’ ‘So what’s new?’ Jenny raised an eyebrow. ‘I told you not to go meet James yesterday. What did you do now?’ ‘It’s kind of a “who did I do?” problem.’ ‘What?’ I knew she was paying attention when the M&Ms she was throwing down her throat missed her mouth and clattered against the window. ‘Angie, what the hell?’ ‘Well, things didn’t go well with James and so I came back and had a couple of drinks.’ I really hadn’t thought this through. How could I phrase this? ‘A lot of drinks, actually. And then I went upstairs for more drinks.’ ‘When we get back to New York, I swear I’m putting you in AA,’ Jenny muttered. ‘Or at least getting you one of those Lindsay Lohan ankle monitors. You picked up a guy in the bar?’ ‘Mm-hmm,’ I traced the edge of my big toenail and wondered when I’d chipped my pedicure. ‘Jenny, I’m such an idiot.’ ‘Angie,’ Jenny scooted across the bed and put an arm around my shoulders. ‘People do stuff when they’re stressed, calm down. What was it your mom said to me when I lost Kirsten Dunst’s dry cleaning? Worse things happen at sea?’ ‘I think in this instance my mum would say, “Angela you great big dirty slag, I can’t believe you shagged the barman”,’ I took a deep breath and looked up. This time Jenny couldn’t even pick up the M&Ms; her hand was frozen in mid-air. ‘Joe?’ ‘Joe.’ I wrinkled my nose, trying to force my prickling tears back into my eyes. ‘You slept with Joe?’ The arm around my shoulders had got very tense all of a sudden. ‘I think so.’ I picked out a red M&M and passed it to her. ‘I just woke up and, I don’t remember, but he’s in my bed and his clothes are not.’ ‘He’s still there now?’ Suddenly she was on her feet. ‘He’s in your room?’ ‘Yes, hence my being in here,’ I replied, steadying myself on the bed. Fast movement, queasy stomach. Badness. ‘What are you doing?’ ‘Angie, you were so drunk you don’t even remember what happened, right?’ she bolted towards the door. I followed as quickly as I could. Not that quickly. ‘And he was working so he was sober, at least he should have been. And I hardly think you threw yourself at him, you don’t exactly have any precedent for one-night stands. I’m gonna kill him.’ ‘Jenny, wait,’ I chased her down the corridor, pulling my T-shirt as far over my pants as I could. ‘I don’t even know what happened, please don’t—’ But it was too late: she’d swiped her key card and thrown open my room door before I could catch her. ‘OK assface,’ I heard her yell as I staggered through the door. ‘Jenny, please.’ But aside from the wild-eyed brunette slamming into the bathroom, it was empty. No barmen in the bed; no closeted gay movie stars in the bathroom: no one. ‘Jenny, will you please calm down and talk to me?’ I closed the door behind me, giving the same couple that had passed me in my pants earlier a polite wave. ‘Please?’ ‘Angie, I just can’t believe he would do this,’ she said, dropping to her knees and checking under the bed. ‘I don’t think he’s under there.’ I stepped around the pile of bottles by the mini-bar and retrieved the last standing Diet Coke. ‘As embarrassed as he might be about waking up in my bed.’ ‘He had better be on a plane to Mexico,’ Jenny said, clambering back to her feet. ‘I’m not that bad.’ I closed the curtains, still feeling a little mogwai-ish. Turned out bright lights and eating-slash-drinking after midnight were bad for me too. ‘Although I’m guessing it wasn’t my best performance.’ ‘Oh shit, Angie,’ Jenny stopped for a split second. ‘That’s so not what I mean. Don’t you even feel bad about this for a second. He totally took advantage of you and for that I’m going to end him.’ ‘You’re not pissed off?’ ‘Why would I be pissed?’ ‘Because I’m a big slag who can’t remember doing it with the boy you were planning on doing it with?’ Jenny laughed. ‘Honey, I think we already agreed that I’m so not ready to do it with anyone. Of course I’m not pissed – not with you, anyway. You’re my best friend. You do stupid stuff. I sort it out. This is our thing, it’s the thing that we do.’ ‘This is true,’ I agreed, starting to sip the water. At least the drama had taken my mind off my hangover. Until now. ‘I just can’t believe I’m so stupid. What am I going to tell Alex?’ ‘You’re not going to tell Alex anything,’ ‘But I can’t lie to him.’ ‘And what’s going to happen? Assuming he comes to his senses over all this James Jacobs shit and I allow him to get back with you, if you tell him he’ll break up with you all over again.’ Jenny pulled me over to the bed. ‘It’s not like you’re getting a free pass, you still have to feel like a piece of crap, but telling Alex is the stupidest thing you can do. Yeah, you’ll clear your conscience but he’ll never ever forgive you. You want to lose him over a drunk one-night stand?’ ‘Not really. Not if I haven’t already lost him over a nonexistent affair. I can’t believe this has happened.’ I buried my face in a pillow. ‘As if things weren’t shitty enough.’ ‘So, you keeping your mouth shut and my kicking Joe’s ass off the continent aside, what happened with James yesterday?’ Jenny softened for a moment. ‘He wouldn’t speak to Mary?’ I shook my head. ‘He wouldn’t risk it. To be honest, I can completely understand. He doesn’t really know me; it’s not like we’re lifelong besties, is it? And I’m asking him to risk everything he’s worked for by confessing this huge secret that will completely change his life. I suppose there’s a bit of difference between him losing his job and me losing mine. Who am I compared to him, really?’ ‘You’re someone who’s telling the truth. That counts for something.’ Jenny picked up my phone and flicked through my messages. ‘Not enough,’ I said. ‘Mary said she was going to give the Icon interview the go-ahead if I didn’t get back to her last night. I didn’t get back to her last night. God, how have I managed to get myself into this state?’ ‘The state where we’re two hot single girls.’ She gave me my phone back. ‘‘And you’re about to make a ton of money from selling a sordid sex story? Awesome.’ ‘I do love that you always find a bright side,’ I said, giving her a squeeze. ‘That’s my job,’ she replied. ‘Alongside my new stellar styling career. Tell me I can style the shoot?’ ‘If there has to be a shoot, you can style the shoot,’ I choked. And then burst into tears. Jenny pulled me in for a full-on, nose-squishing, tear-choking hug. ‘Angela Clark, what am I going to do with you?’ CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#ulink_4cbfe8d2-b28c-5c88-9835-d3f72ca4fafe) Once she’d run me a bath, removed all sharp edges and laid out a comfortably noncontroversial outfit on the bed, Jenny left the room, allegedly to call Tessa about a styling meeting that afternoon, but I had a sneaking suspicion that it was to go and find, beat and kill Joe. Luckily, there was altogether too much going off in my head for me to process any of it – James, Alex, Mary and – not least of all – my very first-ever one-night stand, which had been so incredibly fantastic that I couldn’t remember any of it and he had vanished off the face of the earth. I stripped off, dropping my T-shirt and underwear straight in the bin. I was in no rush to remember anything that had happened in them ever again. The bath was reassuringly hot, taking my breath away as my legs turned tomato red under the water. I breathed out slowly, slipping the rest of my body under the water, feeling the scorching heat turn to comforting warmth. I pulled my arm up out of the water and considered how the bottom half had already gone fully lobster, while the top was still pale pink. And that was as about as intellectual as I felt like being. After the third failed attempt at turning the cold tap on with my left foot, I realized the insistent chirping coming from the bedroom was my phone. I let it ring through three times, before I realized whoever was calling was not giving up easily. Sloshing out of the bath, I padded through the bedroom, to see who wanted to speak to me so desperately. Three missed calls: two from Mary, one from a strange 818 number but no messages. Before I could take a look at the 818 number again, the phone buzzed into life in my hands. Mary again. ‘Hi, Mary.’ I had to bite the bullet sooner or later so it might as well be while I was dripping wet and naked. ‘Why the hell aren’t you answering your hotel phone?’ she yelled. I glanced over to see the receiver hanging off the bedside table. Clearly a casualty of my night of passion. ‘Or the ten thousand emails I’ve sent you?’ ‘Sorry.’ I looked around for my handbag. Had I taken it with me to the bar? ‘Slightly mad night.’ All I wanted to ask was whether or not I was fired, but I was so scared that she’d say yes. ‘You had a mad night? Were you on a conference call until eleven with the publishers, trying to convince them to hold your James Jacobs story? They’re convinced it’s going to leak before we publish next week. Tell me you’ve got him sitting tight?’ ‘Well he’s hardly going to go and brag about me elsewhere, is he?’ I grumbled, looking around for something to wear. The air-con in The Hollywood was not conducive to solo nudity. ‘Angela, I don’t think you understand,’ Mary carried on. ‘Once someone’s made a decision like this, there’s usually not a lot of time to capitalize on it. The last thing we want is for him to change his mind or, even worse, decide that he’s so happy with the world knowing he’s gay that he runs around the city making out with God knows who before the issue breaks.’ I froze on my hands and knees, pulling open the bottom drawer of the wardrobe. ‘What?’ ‘What do you mean what?’ Mary sounded as confused as I was. ‘Tell me you’ve booked in the new interview time?’ ‘New interview?’ ‘With James and his boyfriend?’ I sat back on my knees. ‘You know?’ ‘Of course I know. Are you OK? Have you been drinking?’ She started talking very slowly. ‘I spoke to James yesterday. He said it was all organized, that you were going to do the interview and that he wanted it to run in this week’s Icon. Angela, I need your copy by tomorrow. We’re booking the photo shoot for Sunday but you don’t need to be there for that, I need you back here. Tell me you’re going to pull this off.’ ‘He told you?’ I asked, dazed. ‘He told you everything?’ ‘He told me he prefers kissing boys to girls if that’s what you mean?’ I felt as if the room was shaking beneath me and peered over the bed like a meercat, checking that Los Angeles wasn’t being swallowed up by The Big One outside. ‘Angela, this is not a game,’ Mary said. ‘And if you thought the publishers didn’t want you on original interview, you can’t even imagine what they think about you covering this. I need your copy filed by tomorrow lunchtime – one p.m. your time – for subbing and then I need you back here. We’ll have to release the story Monday before the magazine comes out Tuesday. Cici is booking your flight back Sunday afternoon.’ ‘I don’t know what to say.’ I stared into the glass, not even out at the hills, just at the glass. ‘I actually don’t.’ ‘You’d better have something worked out for first thing Monday morning,’ she said. ‘Because I want the whole story in my office at nine a.m.’ Putting the phone down, I finally came to my senses long enough to pull on a pair of knickers and a T-shirt and sat with my back against the bedside table, my legs stretched out in front of me. James had called Mary. He was going to do the interview. I pulled my feet upwards, feeling the stretch in my calves. Why hadn’t he called me to tell me? I fumbled behind me for the hotel phone receiver. ‘Hi, this is Angela Clark in room six-oh-eight … do I have any messages?’ I heard the breathy girl on the front desk click on a keyboard. ‘Good morning Miss Clark, I think we do. Actually, you have quite a few. Should I send someone up or would you like me to read them to you now?’ I paused. ‘Could you get them sent up? Thanks so much.’ Probably best not to get them read out loud. I scrambled to my feet and attempted to make myself presentable. My mother would die if she thought I was opening the door to – well, anyone, looking like this. It was the same logic as cleaning the house from top to toe before she went on holiday in case she had burglars. Hair in a ponytail, teeth very quickly and not at all thoroughly cleaned, followed by mascara and lip balm. I was scouting for an appropriate bottom half to my inappropriately short T-shirt and stripy pink pants ensemble when I heard the knock at the door. Damn, they were fast in this hotel. ‘Come in,’ I called from the wardrobe but, instead of hearing the door click and sweep open, there was another knock. Fine, they would just have to see my pants. Again. Figuring half the hotel had seen me in my underwear already, and what difference did one more bellboy make?, I opened the door. ‘Hi.’ It wasn’t a bellboy. It was Alex. ‘I know LA is a little more dressed down than New York but, Angela, that’s ridiculous.’ He tucked a pair of tiny white earphones down the front of his T-shirt and shook his head. I hung onto the door for fear of falling over. It was really him. ‘Can I come in?’ he asked, his long dark fringe dropping into tired-looking eyes. I nodded and moved backwards with the door to make room for him and his rucksack. ‘So you trashed the room already?’ I nodded again, still not letting go of the door. It was really him. Standing in front of me, in my hotel room in his creased-to-death jeans, holey green T-shirt and battered black Cons, looking so ridiculously anti-LA that my mind refused to compute the image of him against the window, against the backdrop of the Hollywood sign. ‘Angela, please say something,’ he said after another minute of silence. ‘Or at least close the door?’ I prised my fingers from the wood and allowed the door to swing itself shut but I couldn’t cross the room. What if I touched him and he disappeared? What if I said the wrong thing and he walked out for ever? ‘OK, one thing at a time.’ Alex set his bag down on the table by my laptop. ‘I have to use the bathroom and then maybe we can talk?’ He walked towards me but I couldn’t read his face as he slipped by into the bathroom. He looked tired, that was for sure, but tired because he’d just got off a plane, tired because he hadn’t been sleeping? And he definitely didn’t look happy. When the bathroom door opened, I was still frozen to the spot. Alex looked at me, looked down at the pile of bottles Jenny had moved from the floor into the bin and then back up at me. His face was damp and slightly pink from where he’d splashed it with water and a few strands of his long fringe clung to his cheek. I reached out slowly to brush them away but Alex caught my hand and held it to his cheek. ‘Hi,’ he said softly. ‘Hi,’ I replied. ‘Should I go out and come back in again?’ I shook my head slowly. He really was here. I was touching him and everything. ‘I am so sorry for everything I said,’ he bit down on his full bottom lip, ‘on the phone. I just, I don’t know, I freaked out.’ ‘That’s OK,’ I mumbled. His hand was so hot. ‘No, it’s not.’ His green eyes were so bloodshot, I could barely stand to look at them. I knew he wasn’t someone that slept a lot at the best of times. ‘I didn’t even start to listen to you. I didn’t even try.’ ‘That’s OK,’ I repeated. It really wasn’t but then that was before I shagged the barman. ‘Angela, stop saying it’s OK. It isn’t.’ He pulled me towards him gently. ‘I sat staring at the phone for something like three hours after we spoke. I was so completely wrong to have said what I did.’ ‘That’s – I mean, you could have called?’ I said, painfully aware that a) I looked like absolute shit and b) my room stank of booze. ‘Why didn’t you call? Why didn’t you answer when I called you?’ ‘I thought a grand romantic gesture would be better?’ Alex took my other hand in his to stop me pulling at the hem of my T-shirt. ‘Or, after we talked and I saw the pictures of you online, I threw my phone out the window. Which made calling you kind of tricky.’ ‘Right,’ I replied. ‘I know you must still be angry,’ he went on. ‘But can I just explain? Just let me say what I’ve spent the last ten hours practising and then if you still want me to go, I will.’ ‘Want you to go?’ I wasn’t sure what parallel universe I’d been pulled into where Alex thought my inability to string a sentence together was because I was angry with him. I was angry – furious in fact – but only with myself. ‘OK, the last time we spoke I was a complete asshole but that was only because I was so insanely jealous. I knew that you would never … you know. I did know that. You’re not my ex or – well – me.’ He tried to draw me across the room but I couldn’t be moved. ‘But my head was kinda messed up. I guess I didn’t want you to go to LA.’ ‘You could have said that before I left.’ Finally I started to get the feeling back in my feet and allowed myself to be pulled along the carpet. ‘You could have come with me.’ ‘I didn’t think I should. And everything’s been happening so quickly again, I thought maybe some time apart would be a good thing. But hey, I have been wrong before.’ ‘True,’ I whispered. Alex was backing slowly towards the bed. The bed that was still messed up from whatever happened the night before with Joe. ‘And I guess that’s why I wasn’t answering my phone.’ He slid his hands up my arms, resting them on my shoulders. ‘I wanted to prove that I wasn’t missing you. That I wouldn’t fall apart again without you. Tragic, huh?’ ‘Tragic.’ ‘Turns out I was wrong, so I guess you’re stuck with me now. If you still want me?’ ‘Of course I do,’ I said, a tiny little tear sneaking out of the corner of my eye. ‘But there’s still stuff we have to talk about, I have to explain. It’s not as easy as—’ ‘It’s as easy as we make it.’ Still with both my hands in his, Alex pulled me sharply towards him and I crashed into his chest. He smelled like sleep and the deodorant that sat on his bathroom windowsill. ‘You don’t have to explain a thing. You said nothing happened with that guy and I should have just believed you. There should never have been a question for you to answer. I am so sorry. But I’m here and I want to make it right. Tell me what to do.’ I had never felt like more of a shit in my entire life. Here he was, this beautiful boy that had flown thousands of miles to apologize for believing photographs that thousands of other people all around the world, including my bloody mother, were taking as gospel. He was here to tell me that he didn’t believe them, that he was the one in the wrong, and now he was trying to pull me into a bed that had until very, very recently contained a very naked barman and a very stupid me. ‘Angela, are you OK?’ He held my tear-streaked face in his hands. ‘I know things aren’t going to be OK right away. I don’t expect you to forgive me now. I just want to know that you might be able to later.’ ‘I–I can’t believe you came,’ I stuttered. ‘I can’t believe you’re here.’ ‘There was nowhere else I could be.’ He pressed his forehead to mine, my tears running against his cheeks. ‘So these are happy tears that I’m here, not sad tears because you hate me?’ ‘I don’t hate you. You should hate me,’ I faltered. I had to tell him. It was one thing to keep it to myself when I thought things were over, it was another to lie flat out when the man had flown all the way across the country to see me. ‘I’m so sorry, Alex.’ ‘Stop talking.’ His lips found my cheeks and kissed away the tear tracks. ‘You always talk too much.’ Without thinking, I tilted my face upwards and kissed him back, his lips salty from my crying and dry from his flight. I wasn’t sure how something that made me melt so completely could make me feel sick to my very stomach at the same time. Alex drew me down on top of him on the bed. I awkwardly straddled his lap, my shins against the edge of the bed frame. His lips softened as they turned to my throat, to the ribbed neckline of my T-shirt. I let him pull me closer and push me backwards against the pillows as I tried to concentrate on his half-closed eyes, his shortness of breath; but every time I tried to let go, I could feel Joe in the bed with us. ‘Alex, I can’t,’ I choked, reaching out for his hand before he could go too far. ‘I’m sorry, I need to sort some stuff out and we need to talk.’ He brushed his hair out of his eyes and sighed softly. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have.’ He pushed up and sat on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. ‘You want me to go?’ ‘God, no.’ I sat up too quickly and threw my arms around him. What if he left and never came back? ‘I just can’t do this. Yet. But will you stay with me?’ ‘I’ll never leave again unless you ask.’ He leant in and kissed me again, deep and warm. ‘Do you have stuff to do today?’ I went through the list in my head: call James, sort out the interview, find Jenny, gag Joe, sew a scarlet A to the front of all my clothes. Nothing that couldn’t wait. ‘Not right now. Can we just lie here for a while?’ Alex nodded and kissed the tip of my nose before kicking off his Converses and crawling across the bed. Silently, I lay back against him, pressing myself against his chest, curling my legs through his. I clutched the arm he draped across me tightly and listened to his steady breathing, felt his breath on the back of my neck as it slowed down. He was asleep inside minutes but I just couldn’t close my eyes without seeing Joe’s naked back in front of me. What had I done? Once I was certain I wasn’t about to wake up from my dream-slash-nightmare and find my bed had been completely empty for the last twenty-four hours and not taken on a revolving-door policy when it came to hot boys, I crawled out of Alex’s grip and pulled on some long overdue jeans. I padded as quietly as I could into the bathroom and stared at my phone. Whom should I speak to first? What should I say to any of them? Better to just make that call than to sit on the toilet staring at a mobile phone, surely that wasn’t overly hygienic. ‘I’ve been wondering when you’d call.’ James didn’t sound as happy as I was hoping he would be. ‘Left it a bit late, haven’t you?’ ‘Well, you won’t believe this but there’s this rumour going round my office that you’re gay.’ I stretched my toes out to rest on the heated towel rail. Ooh, damn it, too hot. ‘Isn’t that shocking?’ ‘Very funny,’ he echoed. Apparently the bathroom wasn’t the best place to have a mobile phone conversation. ‘So when are you coming over to do this? I’d really like to get it over with.’ ‘Oh, thanks,’ I heard Blake call down the line. ‘I’m so glad you’re excited about this.’ ‘Shut up,’ James countered, but I could hear a smile in his voice. ‘Seriously though, there is –?according to your terrifying editor – some urgency in the matter.’ ‘I know,’ I said, pressing my toes against the cold tiled floor. ‘She has been quite insistent on the urgency. The only thing is, Alex just turned up here and I sort of can’t leave him right now.’ What I failed to add was ‘because I’m terrified that if I leave him alone in this hotel room for even a moment, he’ll find some shred of evidence that I shagged the barman last night.’ ‘He showed up, did he? To apologize?’ ‘Mm-hm.’ ‘Any diamonds accessorizing that apology?’ ‘No.’ I couldn’t imagine how I could feel worse than I did right then, but possibly diamonds would have pushed me over the edge. Of the roof. ‘Things are a bit complicated. I have to submit my copy by tomorrow lunchtime so if I came to you about nine, would that be OK? That gives us a couple of hours to talk and then I’ve got another couple to sort it all out.’ ‘Are you that good a writer or just that desperate for a seeing-to that you can’t leave your man?’ James asked. ‘And I expect an honest answer, given that I’m about to out myself for you.’ ‘Oh, so you’re doing this for her now?’ Blake again. ‘Do I have to bring him on the interview?’ James asked. ‘He’s been bloody intolerable since I agreed to all of this. There’s still time to change my mind, isn’t there?’ ‘No there isn’t,’ I said quickly. ‘So we’ll do it at your hotel?’ ‘Fine, it’s where all the best scandal goes down.’ I heard a scuffling in the background and then giggling. ‘Sorry, Blake’s freaking out that I’m actually organizing something myself. Piss off; you’re supposed to be organizing the photo shoot, not listening in on my conversation. Have to say, Miss Clark, I’m a bit gutted you’re not going to be in the pics.’ ‘I’ve been in quite enough pictures with you,’ I replied. ‘See you tomorrow at nine, then?’ ‘OK,’ he said. ‘And Angela, I am really sorry for all the hassle. Hopefully it’s all going to work out for the best. For both of us.’ I tried to smile as I ended the call, happy for James and Blake that they were together, but I was still pissed about the fact that if those photos of James and me had never leaked, I would probably never have ended up in bed with Joe in the first place. I paused between phone calls to wash and moisturize, my skin had got so dried out here. Smoothing on an inch-think layer of Beauty Flash Balm, I stared back at myself in the mirror. I didn’t look any different for having had a skanky one-night stand, so why did I feel so different? Same blue eyes, same light brown hair, same ‘not bad really but would definitely get veneers if I ever got mega-rich’ teeth. If only I could remember what had happened, maybe I could stop imagining the worst. Unless it had been the worst and my brain was trying to protect what little self-esteem I had left. And the worst thing was, as much as I could complain about James and the photos, about Joe taking advantage, there really was no one to blame for all this but myself. I was going to sort it out myself. With a little help from Jenny. I dialled her mobile and got her answer phone. The first time that girl answered her phone herself, the world would end. ‘Hi Jenny, it’s me. So I don’t know where you are but I really need to talk to you. Alex just turned up – he’s here in my room and I don’t know what to do. I’m totally freaking out about the whole … situation. Help? Please?’ ‘Hey,’ Alex said, curling his long body around the door, ‘you OK?’ ‘I thought you were asleep,’ I said, quickly wiping away the smears of moisturizer all over my face. ‘I was just sorting out some stuff.’ ‘That’s cool, you don’t need to tell me.’ He stretched up, gripping the top of the frame, his T-shirt pulling up over the waistband of his jeans and revealing his tight, pale abs. Good job I was holding on to the sink. ‘So my body clock is totally wrecked and now I’m starving. You want to eat?’ ‘I am actually really hungry.’ I couldn’t remember when I’d last eaten. ‘Do you want to go out?’ Alex let go of the doorframe and stepped tentatively into the bathroom. He smiled and wiped away a little leftover moisturizer from my cheek, making me flush from head to toe. ‘Do you?’ I shook my head. ‘Not really.’ ‘Me either.’ He pulled off his shirt and unfastened his belt buckle. ‘But I do need to take a shower. You coming in?’ I looked at the floor. Why was he making this so difficult for me? The empty sick feeling in my stomach eased into tickling butterflies. Before I could say anything, Alex was right there, kissing me so hard, my lips felt bruised and my breath was knocked clean out of me. As he hooked his hands under my arms and pushed me up against the sink, I wrapped my legs around his waist, kissing him back. Maybe this was the best way to clear my head. It certainly felt like a good idea. Not that I could really use that as an indicator of good ideas, given my previous. I was vaguely aware that I’d knocked on the tap as a startling stream of cold water ran down my lower back, but I was so busy helping Alex yank my T-shirt up and over my head that I didn’t really mind. Instead of trying to turn it off, I let myself twist my fingers into his hair, just like I’d wanted to ever since he’d walked through my door. I held on tightly around his neck as Alex staggered backwards, sliding me off the sink and clattering into the towel rail. ‘Is this OK?’ He breathed hard in between kisses that made my knees weak. So weak that getting to the floor as soon as possible was really the only solution. ‘I thought I was the one who talked too much,’ I replied, pulling him down onto the cold, hard tiles. CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#ulink_57176143-a898-5a30-93eb-b59005726be5) ‘I can’t believe that guy is gay,’ Alex said afterwards as we lay on the bathroom floor, draped in The Hollywood’s fluffy towels. I wasn’t sure my legs were up to making it across the room anyway, and it seemed as if it would be unflattering to crawl. Not to mention the fact that having two men in my bed in one day was really just too skanky. ‘I know.’ I shuffled slightly closer against Alex’s chest. The closer I was, the safer I felt. ‘It’s mad, isn’t it?’ Even though Alex was trying really hard with his whole ‘you don’t need to explain yourself to me’ routine, I had really wanted to give him the whole story, or at least the whole James Jacobs story, as soon as was post-coitally appropriate. ‘I guess you never really know about this stuff.’ Alex idly stroked at strands of my hair, holding them up and let them fall gently back to my head. ‘People believe what they want to believe. It’s kinda depressing that he didn’t think he could just be who he is from the beginning.’ ‘I’m just so sorry you got dragged into it all,’ I said quietly, utterly blissed out from the hair stroking. ‘I nearly died when they had that picture of you online.’ ‘Yeah, how weird was that?’ His voice sounded deep and sandpapery in the confines of the tiny hotel bathroom. ‘I don’t know where they got that picture. Good to know internet gossips think I’m cute, though. The guys haven’t stopped laughing.’ ‘Jealous,’ I said. ‘Totally,’ he agreed. ‘The sick thing is, record sales are up.’ ‘Do I get commission?’ I asked, manoeuvring my towel to make sure any dodgy bits were covered. It was one thing to be naked in the throes of passion, it was quite another to be totally starkers under the harsh bathroom lighting once your boyfriend had already got some. ‘Can I work off my debt?’ he whispered into my ear. A shiver ran down my spine that had nothing to do with the temperature of the floor tiles. ‘I thought you were hungry.’ I pushed his hair back out of my face as Alex positioned himself over me. ‘They won’t bring room service up if we’re at it on the bathroom floor.’ ‘Don’t tell me you haven’t got a secret stash of snacks in this room.’ His breath was hot on my neck and I felt my back arch upwards towards him. ‘You’re never more than fifteen feet from a packet of M&Ms.’ ‘I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,’ I said, hoping he wouldn’t find the giant bag of peanut butter M&Ms before I could hide them. The day drifted away from me before I was really able to do anything with it aside from intermittently reaching out to make sure Alex was still there and drifting in and out of my first non-alcohol-induced sleep for days. Eventually, Alex and I managed to put on just enough clothes to make ourselves decent and we wandered out to the closest McDonald’s for sustenance – and to give housekeeping enough time to change the bed. I was just watching Alex tuck into his second Big Mac when my phone trilled to announce a text message. It was Jenny. ‘Hey, things ok with Alex? U didn’t tell him about Joe? Am with Tessa, let me no if u need me xoxo’ I looked up, watching Alex devour his burger as though someone was going to take it off him. I didn’t know whether to smile or cry. I knew that Joe could appear at any second and completely mess this up. ‘Haven’t said anything, ok at mo. Have fun, cu tomorrow? A x x x’ I pushed my chicken sandwich away, suddenly not quite so hungry as I was desperate to get back in the hotel room with a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on the door. ‘Not hungry?’ Alex asked, eyeing my leftovers. I shook my head. ‘Full of M&Ms.’ I sipped my Diet Coke while Alex made short work of the McChicken Sandwich. ‘How’s your jet lag?’ ‘Hmm,’ Alex replied, holding his hand up to hide a mouthful of fast food. ‘I don’t even know what time it is. It’s getting dark though.’ He nodded towards the street outside. The sun had almost completely set and all of Hollywood Boulevard’s tourists, costume characters and general crazies were lit up. I tried not to stare as Spider Man and Jack Sparrow wandered in off the street and ordered up a couple of Happy Meals. ‘Are you sure you don’t have anything you have to do today? Isn’t this interview thing going to be really difficult?’ ‘Yes and no.’ I pulled my hair back into a tight ponytail and then let it go. ‘I’m assuming the magazine is going to rewrite whatever I do but, you know, I don’t want to turn in some rubbish. My plan is to get as much information as possible, pull it into the best shape I can and then at least there’s material for the editors to work with. I’ve got tonnes of background stuff from the last week, so tomorrow I need the “We Love Each Other” stuff to add to that. Which is what’s going to be difficult. I can’t imagine they’re actually going to be overly sharey even now, to be honest. Blake hates me.’ ‘Cool, I guess I should be looking into flights home. You know what you and Jenny are doing yet?’ He started on the fries. ‘Nope,’ I said, fiddling with the bendy straw in my Coke. Couldn’t he just hurry up and finish already? ‘It’ll be some time on Sunday though. Cici is supposed to be booking them tomorrow. Shall I see if she can get you on the same flight?’ Alex nodded. ‘My grand romantic gesture wasn’t well planned.’ ‘I don’t think they’re supposed to be.’ I reached across the table and squeezed his hand. Which was stupid because it slowed down his eating even more. ‘So what’s going on with Jenny?’ Alex finally flattened out the empty fries box. And started on his Coke. ‘Did she hook up with that waiter guy?’ I felt myself turn a little bit green. ‘Turns out she wasn’t ready to be hooking up with anyone.’ I moved the subject on from Joe as quickly as possible. ‘She’s just so burned out over Jeff, I really don’t know what it’s going to take to shake her out of this mood she’s in. I mean, it’s not like she’s been short of men throwing themselves at her and she’s still going out and everything.’ I willed Alex to neck his drink so we could get back to the safety of my room. ‘I don’t know, maybe the break will do her good. She’s been hanging around with one of her old friends who does some styling stuff. They’ve been sort of playing at that while I’ve been working. Jenny’s pretty good at it.’ ‘Jenny good at telling people what to do?’ Alex shook his paper cup and took one last slurp. ‘I don’t believe it for a second.’ I didn’t sleep a wink Friday night and it had nothing (or at least not as much as you might think) to do with Alex being naked beside me. As relieved as I was to find the hotel room restored to its former pre-worst-night-of-my-life glory, I was still uneasy. How could I lie here with Alex and pretend everything was OK when I had cheated on him in this very bed? I almost put my ex’s face through the windscreen when I busted him cheating on me. The next morning, I was up, showered and dressed before Alex had even flickered an eyelid. My new plan was simple: get the interview with James out of the way, get Alex out of the hotel, and get everyone out of LA. I was certain Jenny was right: it was better not to tell Alex anything and, had I been able to leave my regrettable/forgettable one-night stand behind me in another city, a very, very long way away, that might have been easier. Now he was here, at the scene of the crime, I just felt like an absolute skank. I grabbed my lovely, trustworthy handbag and made for the door, leaving a note for Alex. I wasn’t due at James’s hotel for hours, but Jenny had left me the car keys and there was no way I could hang about in the room, driving myself mad. After awkwardly navigating the valet parking system, I prepared myself for the fabled LA traffic as best I could (putting on sunscreen, lipstick and sunglasses) and flicked on the convertible’s sat-nav. I’d never driven an automatic before – well, I hadn’t actually driven a car since I’d been in America – but it was just like riding a bike. Apparently. Unfortunately, even at six-thirty on a Saturday morning, LA’s roads were neither bike- nor international-driver-friendly. I got the hang of driving on the wrong side of the road fairly quickly, but turning right on red just wouldn’t sink in. Luckily, there were lots of straight roads for me to pootle along until I could steel myself to pull into an open Starbucks, grab a coffee and a muffin and set the sat-nav for Griffith Park. The park was beautiful: so different to everything I’d seen of LA so far, wilder than Central Park and a million miles away from London’s carefully tended open spaces. Parking up by a huge open-air theatre, I picked up my coffee, plugged in my iPod and wandered out into the park, following the runners and dog walkers. After twenty minutes of drowning out my thoughts with the loudest music I could find, I found myself outside the Griffith Observatory. Sipping my cooled coffee, I sat down on the grass and stared down at the city as the sun came up slowly. Well, wasn’t I a long way from home? LA looked very different from up here; for the first time I felt as though I was Away. New York was so tight and tall, a thin sliver of an island, breathing in and stretching up high, as if it was holding its hand up to the world for attention. New York made me walk fast, made me want to be as tall and glossy as its skyscrapers, twenty-four seven. For all its glamour and celebrity, up here in the hills, LA looked more like a city that had just breathed out, kicked off its heels and opened a window. The buildings were a little lower, a little sun-bleached and more spread apart, not pressed up against each other, racing up into the clouds. It was a city so sure of itself that it just didn’t need to fight for attention. And besides, it was so sunny and warm, why not relax a little? But of course I’d spoken too soon. Inside my bag, my phone chirped into life. Who could be missing me at this time? The screen flashed over and over with Mum Home. ‘Hello?’ ‘Angela?’ ‘Mum?’ ‘Hello, love! I was just talking about you. Are you with your movie star?’ ‘Mum, why are you using your posh voice?’ I asked, instantly regretting answering the call. ‘I don’t know what you mean, dear.’ Mum went on in the same voice she had used for my teachers and the engineer who came round to install Sky+. ‘Anyway, Sheila’s been round, you remember Sheila from the library? Well, she says that your boyfriend used to go out with that girl from that film you like … you know, the one about that man out of Ghostbusters, when he goes to China and she’s ever so pretty, Angela.’ I survive my first drive in LA and this was how I rewarded myself? When did I become a masochist? ‘Mum, he’s not my boyfriend. Alex is my boyfriend. We have been through this.’ ‘I know it’s all the rage going out with two people at once these days but, honestly Angela, it’ll end in tears,’ she rattled on. ‘Don’t think I don’t know. I was seeing another man when I met your father and yes, I admit there might have even been a bit of an overlap but—’ ‘Mum!’ I shouted, attracting the attention of several labradors and a chihuahua. ‘There’s nothing going on with me and James at all. I’m just going out with Alex.’ ‘Oh.’ She sounded ridiculously disappointed given that she had never met either man. ‘Well, that’s a shame. He seemed lovely.’ ‘Well, I’m very sorry.’ ‘Are you trying to tell me you’re not going to marry that actor or was there something else? I’m just about to do your dad a sandwich.’ I breathed in and out slowly, watching the sun spread across the city. See how different it could be? If I hadn’t salvaged my job at The Look, I would most likely be having a sandwich with Dad as well. ‘I just wanted to give you a ring,’ I said, trying to be patient. ‘‘Let you know I was all right. That I wasn’t shacked up with James Jacobs.’ ‘Don’t feel bad, that blonde girl is ever so pretty. Not that you’re not, Angela love, but you know. So, how long are you in Los Angeles for? Have you booked your flights home?’ I tried not to be offended that my mother didn’t think I was as pretty as Scarlett Johansson. I mean, surely your mum was the only person in the world that might think that about you? Unless you were Scarlett Johansson’s mum and then I suppose you’d have to think her sister was fairly pretty too. If she has a sister. ‘Do you have to ask me that every time I call you?’ I asked, draining my freezing cold coffee. Ick. ‘I don’t know, Mum. I suppose I might come home for Christmas this year if you’re not on a cruise again.’ ‘I didn’t mean here,’ she tutted, as if I was the stupid one. Which, given the last week of my life, was probably fair. ‘I meant when are you going back to New York?’ ‘Oh.’ I smiled at my flip-flops. Home. ‘Sunday.’ ‘Don’t worry, Angela,’ Mum sighed dramatically. ‘We’ve quite got used to the idea that you’ve abandoned us. You’ve got your new life now with your boyfriends and your friends. How is Jenny? Now she’s a beautiful girl.’ ‘She’s fine.’ I don’t know what I was expecting, really. ‘Mum, can I ask you something?’ ‘What a silly question, of course you can.’ ‘Have you ever kept a secret from Dad?’ She was silent for a moment. ‘A secret as in, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, or a secret as in, he still thinks I make my own Yorkshire puddings and don’t buy in Aunt Bessie’s?’ ‘The first one.’ I was disgusted. Fancy buying in frozen Yorkshire puddings. ‘Then yes, of course I have,’ she said. ‘All relationships have their little secrets.’ ‘Really?’ I had to admit to being a little bit curious about my mother’s secrets. As long as they weren’t dirty. Ew. ‘Like what?’ ‘Well, obviously there’re the little white lies, like the Yorkshire puddings. And the roast potatoes. And once I used that powdered mashed potato for Sunday dinner because I’d been on the Blue Nun with your Auntie Les and he was none the wiser,’ she said. ‘But, well, there have been a few things that I’m fairly sure he’d rather not know about. You have to use your judgement, Angela – it’s part of making a relationship work.’ ‘But don’t you think he deserves to know?’ I asked. ‘Shouldn’t you be honest about everything?’ ‘Would you rather know?’ She was still speaking slowly, as if she was choosing every single word very carefully. Which was extremely weird for my mother. ‘Imagine if that fella of yours had – I don’t know – got a bit tipsy and kissed the girl from the bakery under the mistletoe at a Christmas party and maybe she’d thought it was a proper kiss and he hadn’t but maybe she’d kissed him on the lips instead of the cheek and—’ ‘Mum, did you kiss Mr Owens from the bakery?’ I shouted down the phone. ‘And that reaction is why your dad doesn’t know about it,’ Mum said primly. ‘And so, whatever you’ve done, I suggest you don’t go telling that boyfriend of yours unless you want to peel him off the ceiling. Calm down, Angela.’ She was right. I hated when that happened. ‘I’m going to go, Mum. I’ve got some work to do before I go back to New York. We fly tomorrow; yes, I’ll call when we’ve landed,’ I promised, knowing full well I wouldn’t and that she’d have forgotten I’d even said that I would before she got back to Dad’s sandwich. ‘All right love.’ At least she was using her own voice again. ‘And just think about what I said. And don’t ever tell your dad about the Yorkshire puddings. I think he’d be more likely to forgive a kiss than using frozen Yorkshires.’ Hoovering down my muffin, I took one long last look at LA as the morning sunshine tickled it awake, stroking the rooftops of the city from Los Feliz below me, shining down on Hollywood, skipping over Beverly Hills and bouncing off the waves and the beaches of Venice and Santa Monica. I heaved myself up, dusted off my jeans and wandered off back to the car with something of a smile starting on my face. Surely if Mum could keep her frozen Yorkshires to herself, then there was no reason why I couldn’t just forget the Joe incident ever happened. Forty hairy minutes later, I was pulling in at a Coffee Bean to pick up more coffees and muffins as a goodwill gesture for James and Blake and to break up the terrifying drive through LA. Once I’d prised my fingers off the steering wheel, I spotted my phone flashing in the bottom of my bag. Unlike everyone else on the roads of LA, I couldn’t drive and talk at the same time. I could barely even drive and think. There were two texts. One from James. ‘Couldn’t remember what we were doing so we’re coming to you. See you @ pool bar 9?’ Shit. What time was it? 8.40. Shit. And another from Alex. ‘Can’t believe you snuck out, I feel so used. Will hang out here till you’re back, got my swimsuit somewhere …’ Shit shit shit. I threw my bag and phone into the back seat and turned on the engine. Never again would I take issue with Blake’s anal-retentive management of James’s schedule. And never again would I make arrangements with the monkey instead of the organ-grinder. I took a quick moment to think about how inappropriate that thought was and then rolled out into traffic. I couldn’t get to the roof of the hotel soon enough. Jabbing the roof terrace button in the lift, I felt my newly acquired sense of calm slip away, picturing James confronting Joe. Alex confronting James. Blake confronting Alex. Joe telling Alex everything. Tearing out of the lift as fast as my flip-flops would carry me, I could hardly bear to look. There they were, James, Blake and Alex, sitting at one of the tables, drinking coffee and, oh my God, laughing. ‘Hey!’ Alex stood up and leaned in for a quick kiss. I stared from one to the other, resting on Blake, who stared back with the smile of an angel. An angel that knew something I didn’t. ‘So I met James and Blake.’ ‘So I see,’ I said, sitting down cautiously and accepting the coffee that James poured for me. On closer inspection of the bar, there was no sign of Joe. Phew. ‘And how’s that working out for you?’ ‘Uh, I kicked his ass for upsetting you with the photo stuff, then he kicked my ass for being a dick about the photos, and then he said he really liked my band and now we’re having coffee.’ Alex squinted against the sunshine. ‘I think that’s about where you came in.’ ‘Really? And now you’re best mates?’ I couldn’t stop staring at Blake. He looked so horribly pleased with himself. And uh, hello? Shouldn’t Alex still be angry on my behalf? ‘I believe you mean BFFs,’ James said. ‘We are in Hollywood, darling.’ ‘And honestly, I’m not sure I could win in an actual fight,’ Alex whispered theatrically. ‘But I’ll take him on if you want?’ ‘Oh, she’d love that,’ Blake said. ‘Get the two of you stripped to the waist and bare-knuckle boxing.’ ‘Right. Well, this is lovely. Given that we were supposed to meet at your hotel,’ I glugged down the coffee, worrying about my dangerously high levels of caffeination. Worrying about what else Blake might decide to throw into the conversation. ‘But I suppose at least you’ve all met and I’d rather there wasn’t any violence.’ ‘Yeah, lucky escape,’ Blake piped up. ‘There is usually violence involved when we meet your friends, huh, Angela?’ ‘Did Jenny hit him?’ Alex asked. ‘No,’ I said quickly, cutting Blake off. Ooh, I knew he was still going to give me grief. ‘Long story which we don’t have time for right now. I don’t know if you remember but we have an interview to do and I don’t think it’s a very good idea to discuss such a sensitive subject out here where everyone can hear, do you?’ ‘Let’s go back to the Chateau then.’ James sank his espresso. ‘Car’s downstairs.’ ‘There isn’t time,’ I sighed. Stupid boys not doing what they’re told. ‘We’re going to have to do it in my room. Sorry Alex, are you OK up here for a while? We’ll just be a couple of hours.’ ‘Sure,’ he nodded. ‘I was joking about my swimsuit, though. But there’s a pretty good record store not far from here; maybe I’ll go check it out.’ ‘OK.’ As far as I was concerned, getting Alex out of the hotel was a great idea. Joe was nowhere to be seen right then, but still. ‘I’ll call you when we’re all done.’ ‘Why don’t we all go for dinner tonight?’ James suggested. ‘It’s the least I can do, really. Let me take us all somewhere really nice.’ ‘Sounds great,’ Alex agreed. ‘We don’t have plans, do we?’ ‘What plans could you have?’ Blake asked, beaming at me again. ‘None.’ I pursed my lips. He was loving this. ‘Dinner sounds lovely.’ ‘And you’ll bring Jenny, right?’ Blake put his arm around my shoulders as we headed back to the lift. ‘If she’s free.’ I didn’t want to seem too tense. It wouldn’t do any good to have Alex be suspicious of Blake and I didn’t want to piss James off before I got the interview logged. ‘And you know who else you should bring?’ Blake squeezed me in a half-hug. ‘That Joe guy. You know, prove there’s no hard feelings.’ ‘Oh, Blake, really?’ James pulled a pained expression and slumped against the wall of the lift. ‘Do you want him selling a story on the back of the interview next week?’ Blake asked. James shook his head. ‘Then we should invite him. Angela?’ I felt like a hobbit in the middle of three six-footers, packed into such a tiny space, all staring at me. ‘Mmm-hmm.’ ‘Great, we’ll make a res for six then.’ Blake smiled as the lift pinged at our floor. ‘Maybe Dolce?’ ‘Whatever,’ I said, shepherding them out of the lift and turning back to Alex, who yawned noisily, oblivious to Blake’s meddling. Not that he could even know how much trouble he was causing. ‘I’ll see you later?’ ‘Later,’ he replied in the deep, dark voice that made my stomach flip. Another quick kiss and then he was gone. ‘All right,’ James said, barely suppressing a big fat grin. ‘So I see what you see in him.’ ‘Oh shut up,’ I said, marching off towards my room. ‘We’re so not doing boy talk.’ ‘Then what’s the point in being out?’ James moaned, trailing along behind. Four hours later, I stared at my final draft of the James Jacobs Coming Out interview. There were probably a few too many ‘I was so confused’ and ‘I went through some dark times’ quotes, but peppered liberally with James’s sense of humour and, as much as it pained me, his genuine love for Blake. Plus Blake’s carefully crafted, ‘I never thought of myself as gay, I just fell in love with a man; I think anyone can fall in love with anyone’ line. I had to admit, he was good at his job. Even when reading his coming out interview, thanks to Blake, James Jacobs’s legions of female fans would be able to cling to the hope that they could turn him back. I attached it to an email and sent it through to Mary, crossing everything. Once it was gone from my sent box, I picked up the phone and dialled Cici. ‘Mary Stein’s office,’ she answered tightly. ‘Hi, Cici. It’s Angela.’ ‘Oh, the girl who turned James Jacobs gay,’ she replied flatly. ‘I just want to say thank you so much for fucking your job up so royally that I have to work on Saturday.’ ‘Oh, sorry.’ I didn’t really know what else to say. Apart from “HA”, which wouldn’t be very nice. ‘Erm, I just called to confirm my flights for tomorrow.’ ‘Three-thirty out of LAX. And Mary wants you in the office at nine on Monday morning. And she said she’d call you once she’d looked at your interview. Which we only just got.’ ‘It wasn’t late,’ I protested. ‘Mary said to get it to her for four o’clock your time.’ ‘And we’ve all loved sitting in the office all day waiting for it,’ Cici replied. ‘I can’t believe you turned him gay.’ ‘You know, he was actually gay before I got here.’ ‘Sure he was.’ ‘You do know there’s no Father Christmas, don’t you?’ ‘Whatever, I’m emailing you the flight details now.’ ‘Same deal with the tooth fairy.’ ‘Bye girl who turned James Jacobs gay. Try not to bump into Jake Gyllenhaal on your way home.’ Hanging up, I re-read the article once more. It was sweet. I was happy. Flipping down my laptop, I moved over to the wardrobe and pulled out my travel bag. Packing would mean leaving. Leaving would mean never seeing Joe again. Never seeing Joe again would mean Alex could never find out what had happened. And that made me even happier. Just dinner to get through, but what was I going to wear? Certainly not the jeans I’d filthied in the park, I noticed as I walked by the mirror. Seriously, was no one going to tell me I’d been walking around with dirt all up the backs of my legs all day? I pulled out the green Robert Rodriguez dress I’d worn to meet James. And put it away. No matter how beautiful it was, I didn’t really need to prompt James to tell hilarious stories about me throwing up outside his cottage. Hmm, probably better not wear the yellow Phillip Lim either. One by one, I packed up my new dresses, trying not to think about my credit card bill, until I was left with nothing but a couple of T-shirts and Jenny’s bikini. Not ideal for a sit-down dinner. Without a better idea, I picked up the phone and called Jenny. ‘Hey honey, everything OK?’ She answered on the first ring for the first time in for ever. ‘Almost,’ I said, throwing unworn underwear in my bag. ‘James and Blake want to take us for dinner tonight. Will you come?’ ‘Oh Angie, I don’t know,’ she crackled down the line. ‘Is that a good idea?’ ‘Probably not,’ I admitted. ‘But James wants to apologize or something by buying us dinner. And Alex sort of accepted for me and I sort of accepted for you.’ ‘So you’re actually calling to tell me I’m coming to dinner?’ ‘Yes. But you know, it might be fun?’ I tried. ‘I’m sure we’ll end up somewhere nice and it’ll be good to have a proper night out before we leave LA. One where no one ends up on the front page of Perez Hilton.’ ‘Hmm, yeah,’ she said vaguely. ‘It’s just … I was kinda hoping we could do dinner tonight, just me and you. I really need to talk to you.’ ‘I know, I feel like I haven’t seen you properly in ages.’ I sniffed my black Kerrigan dress. Nope, couldn’t get another wear out of that. ‘Why don’t we have a goodbye LA drink before dinner. I’m sure Alex won’t miss us for an hour. I don’t suppose you have anything I could borrow to wear, do you, stylist extraordinaire?’ ‘I’ll bring you something.’ I could hear a smile in her voice but she still didn’t sound too chipper. ‘What time’s dinner?’ ‘Uh, eight?’ I looked at the clock. It was only just after one. ‘Jenny, are you OK?’ ‘Let’s just talk later, OK?’ The line was breaking up. ‘I’ll come by your room at six? We’ll get you all hot and then grab that drink.’ ‘And you promise not to beat James to death?’ ‘I do.’ ‘And Alex?’ ‘Maybe.’ ‘Jenny.’ ‘OK, I’ll behave,’ she relented. ‘I just wish we could just do dinner on our own.’ ‘You can bring Daphne if she’s about?’ I bargained, even if the thought of adding Daphne to the mix didn’t exactly fill me with joy. I hadn’t seen her since she vanished with a stranger on our big night out at Bar Marmont, and I didn’t feel as though she had been missing me. ‘Yeah, I don’t think so,’ Jenny let me off. ‘Let’s just get that drink.’ ‘Well, if you change your mind, Blake is going for a “more the merrier” vibe.’ I took off my flip-flops and dropped them in the travel bag. ‘He wants me to invite Joe.’ ‘Oh shit, what did you say?’ she asked. ‘Don’t think I’ve forgotten about that ass-hat. I can beat him to death, right?’ ‘I’m sort of relying on not seeing him between now and tomorrow.’ I wandered over to the bed and considered a nap. ‘But if we ever come back to LA, you have my full permission to kick him hard in his face. More than once.’ ‘Awesome,’ Jenny cackled. ‘See you at six.’ As Jenny rang off, I heard the door click open. ‘Hey, you done in there or should I go away?’ Alex called through the door. I smiled. ‘I’m done, you can come in.’ He opened the door fully and held up a plastic bag. ‘Good, I’m all shopped out.’ ‘That’s pathetic.’ I took the bag from him and flipped through the CDs. I hadn’t heard of any of the bands but I was sure they were all very cool. ‘You call one carrier bag shopped out. Jenny would laugh in your face.’ ‘Jenny laughs in my face all the time.’ He took the CDs from me and placed them on the bedside table. ‘What are the plans for this afternoon, Scoop?’ ‘Hmm, I think I have a very important nap to take,’ I said, falling back onto the bed and taking his hands in mine. His pale New York skin had turned pink in the sun. Too cute. ‘You?’ ‘I could get behind a nap.’ Alex climbed over me, leaving one leg thrown over mine. ‘But I’m not that tired.’ ‘I don’t know what to tell you,’ I said, relaxing back against him. It wasn’t just his face that had caught the sun; he was warm all over. ‘I’m knackered.’ ‘You’d better let me do all the work, huh?’ I felt his lips on the back of my neck and closed my eyes. We did have a few hours to kill and it would be a terrible waste of a hotel room if we didn’t, wouldn’t it? As Alex’s hands slid around my waist, I could only think that we should fall out all the time. CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#ulink_d5f6c936-8ef3-5b07-87d9-2a7906e186b3) ‘Knock-knock, the fashion fairy is here,’ Jenny declared, sailing into my room without actually knocking. ‘Oh jeez, I’m supposed to be pissed with you, Brooklyn, could you at least put your pants on?’ I opened my eyes to see Alex sitting at my laptop in his boxers. Bless. ‘OK Lopez,’ he said, grabbing his jeans from the floor. ‘But she’s in my T-shirt so I’m gonna have to take whatever you’ve got in that bag.’ ‘Ooh, is that for me?’ I was suddenly very awake. Jenny was holding a very large, stiff bag from – oh, be still my beating heart – Marc Jacobs. ‘It is unless anyone asks, then it’s for Tessa DiArmo.’ With a flourish, Jenny produced a stunning vibrant purple silk shirtdress. ‘What do you think?’ ‘Jenny, it’s beautiful,’ I breathed, bounding across the room to get closer to the pretty, pretty dress. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so amazing.’ ‘Uh, boyfriend in the room?’ Alex coughed from the table. ‘I know, I’m amazing and, besides, I wanted you to look awesome for your last night with the paps.’ Jenny hung the dress on the front of the wardrobe. ‘So shower fast, wear your Louboutins and get your ass upstairs to the bar. You’ve got thirty minutes.’ Forty minutes later, I was wearing the most expensive outfit that had ever graced my body, the highest heels I’d ever attempted to walk in, and mismatched underwear, as usual. Hopefully Jenny wouldn’t check; she would be so disappointed. I also hoped she’d let me off with the extra ten minutes I’d spent on my smoky-gold eye make-up since it matched the ensemble. ‘You look amazing,’ Alex said, adjusting the delicate gold belt around my waist. ‘Like you forgot your pants and you don’t even care.’ ‘I’m wearing my pants,’ I said, confused. Was it too short? Could you see my arse? ‘Language barrier.’ He tugged lightly at the hemline. ‘I meant trousers.’ ‘Fashion barrier,’ I said, slapping his fingers. ‘It’s supposed to look like this. See you downstairs later.’ A quick kiss and I was gone. The dress needed to be out where everyone could see it. Stepping onto the balcony felt different, knowing that it would be the last time I’d see the view, judge the lingering sunbathers. And knowing that I was wearing a fifteen-hundred-dollar dress instead of Jenny’s bikini and a post-wax rash felt pretty good too. Jenny was already at one of the tables, gazing out at the hills and sipping on what looked like her second mojito. For God’s sake, I was only ten minutes late. ‘You started without me?’ I pulled out a chair and sat down very carefully. As much as I loved the dress, I knew it was going to have to go back tomorrow. Sob. ‘You’re late,’ Jenny passed a full glass over to me. ‘But you’re hot. Damn, I’m good.’ ‘You are. You’re looking pretty good yourself,’ I agreed, leaning across the table so as not to spill even a drop of condensation on my dress and getting an eyeful of Jenny’s amazing cleavage in her deeply slashed scarlet dress. ‘If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’d been styling for years. All that spending my money has been totally worth it. Are you going to try and do it when we get back? Because the free clothes would be amazing.’ ‘Yeah,’ she looked at her nails. ‘Drink your drink.’ ‘Oh no.’ I tried not to look at my nails. Damn it, chipped to buggery. I was destined never to be completely put together. ‘I’m not getting wasted tonight. I very much enjoyed waking up without throwing up this morning and I’m hoping to give it another try tomorrow. Although I’m probably going to need a drink over dinner, Blake is going to be a right pain in the arse, I can just tell.’ ‘You don’t need to be that intuitive to work that out. Blake is an ass, period,’ she slurped on her straw noisily. ‘Jenny.’ For the first time in what I realized was a good couple of days, I looked at my best friend. She did not look happy. ‘Jenny, what’s wrong?’ She smiled up at me. ‘Actually nothing. For the first time in for ever, nothing is wrong.’ ‘Explain please?’ ‘Aw, Angie.’ Jenny pushed her masses of chocolate curls back off her face then placed her hands flat on the table. ‘I’m just gonna say this. I’m staying in LA.’ ‘Huh?’ She unwrapped my icy hands from around my mojito and held them in hers. ‘I’m staying. With Daphne. I’m not coming back to New York.’ ‘You’re staying?’ I asked, squeezing her hands lightly. ‘For how long?’ ‘I don’t know,’ she squeezed back. ‘A while?’ ‘I don’t understand, you’re not coming back with me?’ ‘No.’ ‘You’re not coming back with me tomorrow?’ ‘Nope.’ ‘Or next week?’ Jenny sighed and then smiled. ‘I need some time out from New York, from work. I need some time to breathe.’ ‘But you can’t just decide you’re not coming back,’ I said, panicking. ‘You can’t just say “oh I’m staying in LA for a bit”. People don’t.’ ‘You did,’ Jenny reminded me, completely unnecessarily. ‘And it worked out OK.’ ‘Only because I had you.’ I hated it when people used facts to prove their point. They were so difficult to argue against. ‘You can’t just go making rash decisions: that’s my job. The balance of our friendship will be completely thrown off and then, God, I don’t know, the universe might end or something. Talk to me. What’s really wrong?’ ‘You so already know.’ ‘Jeff?’ ‘Jeff.’ I gave her my very best Oprah look. ‘You’re going to uproot your entire life because of a boy?’ ‘Like you did?’ ‘Will you stop using me as an example?’ I frowned. ‘I am not a good example.’ ‘Honey, you’re the best example.’ Jenny squeezed my hands back, harder. ‘You’re the only example. I told you once that you were my personal hero and it’s true. I haven’t been myself for a really long time, you know that. You’re not going to sit there and pretend you haven’t noticed?’ ‘I might be.’ ‘And I need to get away. I have loved living with you and if I thought I could get you to move to LA, I would – but I have to do this, Angie, I have to.’ I really didn’t want to hear this. The idea of going back to New York without Jenny was terrifying. ‘And your job?’ ‘They’ve actually been amazing,’ she smiled. ‘They’re gonna let me work out my notice here while I set up the styling thing. And yeah, I know it’s a flakey thing to do, but it’s not forever. If it doesn’t work out, I can go back to hotel stuff.’ ‘And you’re going to live with Daphne?’ I asked, making a mental note never to talk to Jenny’s manager at The Union ever again. ‘Yeah.’ She released her grip on my hands and went back to her mojito. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you about it. You’ve just had so much going on, I didn’t want you to be stressing over me.’ ‘Oh, Jenny.’ I felt like crap. Even crappier than when I’d woken up next to Joe, if that were possible. ‘I wish you’d said something. Why didn’t you tell me it was this bad when we were at home?’ ‘I guess I didn’t know it was this bad until I got here.’ She looked out off the roof terrace. ‘Yeah, I was down about Jeff, work was pretty crappy, but I just thought, you know, it was winter, and I don’t mean to sound like a bitch but I was kinda jealous of you and Alex getting back together. I figured I’d get over it after a while.’ ‘And now you don’t?’ ‘Now I feel like being here will be better for me for a while.’ I sat quietly for a moment. How could Jenny, my Jenny, think that being here would make her feel better? ‘LA is different for me, Angie,’ she said, reading my mind. Irritating. ‘I know you’ve had a pretty shitty time so far but that’s nothing compared to all the shit I’ve been through in New York for the last ten years. You know how you felt when you turned up? That’s how I feel here. Like I could do anything, like there are a million new things to try. The only sucky thing is that you won’t be here.’ ‘There’s nothing I could say to get you to come home with me?’ I asked, recognizing a losing battle when I saw it. ‘Because I am about a minute away from freaking out.’ ‘I’m sorry.’ There was no way I was going to cry. There was more than my eye make-up at stake here. I didn’t know if you could get tears out of a Marc Jacobs. ‘Don’t be sorry. If you need a bit of time away …’ I felt a tiny tear trickle down past my mascara and make a tiny dark purple spot on my knee. Bugger. ‘I just feel like I’ve let you down.’ ‘Honestly, Angie, I’ve been killing myself over this but I don’t know what else to do.’ She reached out and pressed away the tear track with a napkin. ‘No tears. I don’t have time to redo your make-up and I hate when you look like shit.’ ‘You’re not going to like what’s coming then,’ I bleated as another tear followed the first. And then another and another until I was a blubbering, sobbing mess. ‘Oh for Christ’s sake,’ Jenny groaned, scooting around the table and holding two new napkins under my eyes. ‘Stop crying or I’m gonna throw you over the edge. And press these under your eyes. Don’t rub.’ ‘Thank you,’ I sniffed, pathetically. ‘I’m sorry. You have to do what’s best for you, I know, and I want you to. I’m happy for you, I promise. I’m miserable for me. Because you know, it’s all about me.’ ‘Yeah, I know.’ Jenny scooted up and gave me a hug. I tried to stop crying but all I could think was how much I would miss her hugs, all fluffy hair tickling my nose and coconut and candyfloss perfume. It wasn’t fair. ‘It’ll be worth it when I’m a mega-stylist and we can actually keep these clothes,’ she promised, breaking off the hug. ‘That is true,’ I agreed. ‘So do we have time for one more girlie drink or do we have to—’ ‘You, asshole!’ Before I could finish, Jenny was on her feet and tearing over to the bar. It took me a couple of seconds to work out what was happening and before I could even stand up, Jenny was clambering up onto a stool and leaping over the bar, fluffy hair flying, arms wind-milling into, oh God, Joe. ‘You absolutely asshole,’ she shouted, battering him backwards into a row of bottles. There weren’t many people loitering around the pool but if she hadn’t had their full attention before half a dozen bottles clattered and smashed on the floor, she had it now. ‘Jenny!’ I yelled, stumbling over as quickly as I could in my high, high heels. She certainly knew how to cap an emotional moment. ‘Jenny, stop it!’ ‘What the fuck is wrong with you?’ Joe yelled, eventually gathering his wits and folding Jenny’s tiny fists up inside his bigger ones and holding her at arm’s length. ‘Lopez, chill the fuck out.’ ‘Don’t you dare tell me to chill out,’ she screeched. ‘How could you? ‘How could I what?’ he barked back, his eyes darting around the bar until they rested on me. And then he smiled. ‘You jealous, Lopez?’ Once I’d resisted the urge to throw up, I let Jenny beat him around the head for a couple more minutes before stepping in. ‘Jenny, stop it, you’ll break a nail,’ I said, pulling her backwards slightly. Men never knew how to deal with aggressive women. Seriously, he just had to look at her heels: any challenge to her balance and she was over. ‘Hey, English, call off your dogs.’ He gave me a smile. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t call, but when I woke up and you’d vamoosed, I figured you’d come find me. When you wanted me.’ He paused to smile. I paused to gag. ‘Where’d you get to anyway? You could have called Lopez from the room if you’d wanted to brag.’ ‘Oh, ew, Angie, can I get back to kicking his ass now?’ Jenny bristled behind. ‘Jenny,’ I warned, even though I really did want to let her. How much of an arse was he? ‘The reason I vamoosed was … because I was … well, a bit confused. To be honest, I don’t strictly remember what happened.’ ‘Honestly?’ Joe looked a little crestfallen. ‘Wow.’ ‘So help me God, Joe,’ Jenny started up again. ‘You want to check your ego before I beat the living shit out of you for taking advantage of my best friend when she was out of it.’ I felt myself blush from head to toe. The few remaining people around the pool murmured to each other. What else did they expect but a bit of drama? They were in Hollywood, after all. ‘Calm down, Lopez.’ Joe folded his arms. ‘I didn’t do anything she didn’t want. Right, English?’ ‘I don’t remember,’ I said, not knowing where to look. ‘Well, he can’t have been very good, so I’d say that’s a blessing,’ surmised a voice on the other side of the bar. Looking up, I saw Blake and James standing across from us. James had his arms folded, while Blake went for a slightly less concerned hands in pockets combined with a ‘ha, I knew you were a big slag’ expression. ‘I don’t think anyone was talking to you, man.’ Joe turned to face the boys. I really want to say I wasn’t a little bit excited. But I was. ‘Doesn’t sound like anyone particularly wants to talk to you, either,’ James shrugged. ‘And yet here you are. Maybe you should apologize to Angela and then just go away.’ ‘Apologize for what?’ Joe walked around the bar. ‘For sealing the deal when you couldn’t?’ ‘Please can we just not?’ My voice sounded awfully high to me. ‘James, Blake, let’s just go to dinner and Joe, I don’t remember what happened the other night but whatever it was, I regret it massively and I don’t want to talk about it ever again.’ ‘Whatever.’ He looked me up and down. ‘Just don’t come back begging for more when this fag can’t get the job done later on.’ ‘Right, that’s it.’ In one swift move, James was in front of Joe, his arm up in his throat, pushing him back until his head cracked against the bar. It didn’t look comfortable. ‘James,’ Blake shouted a short warning. ‘Think.’ James nodded but didn’t take his eyes off Joe. ‘Apologize to Angela and then, if she’s happy, we’ll pretend this never happened. All of this.’ ‘I’m not apologizing,’ he coughed. ‘Nothing even happened – she was too wasted.’ ‘I was? Then why were your clothes on the …’ I flushed an even deeper shade of red. ‘Why were you still there in the morning?’ James rammed his forearm into his throat again. ‘You might want to think really carefully before you answer.’ ‘I thought you might sober up a little?’ Joe croaked. ‘But you just talked about your ex, threw up and went back to sleep. It was too late to go home, I had a shift in the morning.’ ‘So we didn’t?’ I could barely breathe. ‘We didn’t,’ Joe replied. ‘But you let her think you did? You are all class.’ James let him go with one last shove. ‘Well, at least we’ll all sleep better tonight. You’re not even nearly good enough for her.’ ‘Jesus Christ, you can fucking have her,’ Joe coughed and righted himself. ‘Bitch.’ Which was about the point when James turned around and knocked Joe flat on his back with one almighty punch. ‘I really feel like I’ve missed something here.’ I span around to see Alex staring at the sorry scene. ‘Alex, it’s uh, it’s … this is Joe,’ I pointed at the bloody, groaning pile on the floor. It was impossible to tell from his expression what he’d seen. Or heard. ‘I waited downstairs but no one showed so I came up to find you.’ He hadn’t moved from the entry of the lift. ‘I didn’t realize you were … rumbling?’ ‘All right, Alex,’ James said, stepping over Joe, who was sobbing loudly. ‘We had a bit of trouble with this one but we really should get off. Reservations are in about half an hour and we have to get all the way up to the Mondrian. Nice shirt.’ Blake and Jenny followed James into the lift, Blake smirking at me, Jenny holding in nervous giggles, while I stepped awkwardly over Joe and took Alex’s hand. ‘What was that all about?’ he asked, accepting my light kiss on the lips. ‘Uh, I don’t really know,’ I said, pulling him along behind me. ‘I told you they had a bit of a fight on Monday. I think it was the same thing.’ ‘Right,’ Alex looked back at Joe while I silently prayed for him to keep sobbing long enough for me to get Alex safely into the next lift. ‘Man, how glad am I that James didn’t decide to kick the crap yesterday?’ ‘Very?’ I asked, jabbing at the button. If it was possible, the evening only got worse after we left the hotel. Luckily the manager set us away from the rest of the diners in the restaurant so at least we couldn’t ruin anyone else’s evening with the massive cloud of awkwardness that hung over us. Knowing my talent for saying the worst possible thing at the worse possible time, I ate in silence, keeping my leg pressed up against Alex, occasionally trying to distract him with a gentle squeeze of the thigh. And, if his responsive back-stroking was anything to go by, it was working. In between ordering masses of food and many, many bottles of wine, James kept the conversation going for everyone, volleying questions at Alex about the band, about New York and, most dangerous of all, about me. Alex handled the grilling well, smiling, nodding, only occasionally kicking me lightly under the table and trying to divert the conversation to Jenny and Blake, but Jenny was too busy doing her bit by drinking as much of the wine that James kept ordering as possible. By the time her too-little-too-late duck arrived, she was on her second bottle and veering wildly between overexcitedly discussing her new LA life with Blake and choking up over leaving me behind in New York. And when Blake wasn’t getting Jenny all worked up about the celebrities he could introduce her to, he was asking me increasingly awkward questions, preferably while Alex was listening. By the time the waiter came to ask if we wanted dessert, it was a relief to say no, get the bill and call for a cab. I couldn’t remember a time when I’d felt more tense. ‘Well, have a safe flight back to New York.’ James shook Alex’s hand and pulled him into an acceptable one-armed man hug. ‘Good to meet you, take care of her. I’m guessing that one gets herself into trouble fairly easily.’ ‘Yes, she does, and she isn’t going to have me to get her out of it any more.’ Jenny threw herself on me. ‘Seriously, Brooklyn, I’m giving you my number before you go tomorrow and I expect you to call me the first time she falls down an open hatch in the sidewalk or something.’ ‘I’m not going to fall into a hatch in the sidewalk,’ I mumbled into a mouthful of hair. ‘Honestly Jenny, I’ll be OK.’ I was so going to fall into a hatch in the sidewalk. ‘Yes you are,’ Jenny insisted, flinging herself from me to Alex, who held his arms out, terrified. ‘And I’ll have to accessorize your cast or something. You promise you’ll call me whenever you need me.’ ‘I promise,’ Alex said, peeling her off him. ‘And so does Angela.’ They climbed into our cab, leaving me, Blake and James outside the restaurant. ‘So, Blake, I know it’s been a bit weird—’ ‘We so don’t need to do this.’ He cut me off and walked off towards his and James’s car, holding up a hand in something of a wave. ‘Bye, Angela.’ ‘At least that wasn’t awkward,’ I breathed out, letting James draw me into a big hug. ‘Yeah, thank heaven for small mercies,’ he said. Even now, after everything, I couldn’t help but notice how delicious that man smelled. ‘I’m sorry this week was so difficult but I’m really glad I met you. I think everything’s going to be better though. Even though you can’t tell, Blake is so happy and that’s because of you.’ ‘Well, I’m very glad I made him happy,’ I lied. ‘And you promise you’ll take care of Jenny?’ ‘Cub scout’s promise,’ he saluted. ‘And you promise you’ll invite me to your wedding?’ ‘Baby steps,’ I gave him a stern look. ‘I just hope we can get through all this when we get home.’ ‘You’ll be fine.’ James kissed me on the cheek and pushed me towards the cab. ‘You’re so clearly horribly in love.’ ‘Yeah,’ I said, peering into the back seat. Alex was cradling a sobbing, slightly worse-for-wear Jenny and mouthing ‘help?’ in the darkness. ‘I hope so.’ ‘I think so,’ James said as I slid into the back seat and Alex’s free arm. ‘Don’t come too close, I’ll cry on your dress,’ Jenny sniffed. ‘If I fuck it up, I can’t take it back.’ ‘Then James will have to pay for it.’ I wrapped her into a hug across Alex’s lap as James shut the cab door, laughing. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#ulink_017c412e-ae37-57de-b919-10bb30f88ac8) I hadn’t expected to be sad to be checking out of The Hollywood, but after Jenny and I had bundled all of our bags into the back of the Mustang, I felt strange walking out of the doors for the last time. ‘Are you sure you’ve got everything?’ I asked a very hungover Jenny, who nodded back and draped herself delicately across the back seat, in between her cases. ‘Angie, I’m only moving, like, ten minutes up the road,’ she said from behind her hair. ‘If I forgot something, I think I can come and get it when I turn up for work here tomorrow.’ ‘Did you speak to anyone about last night? Is everything still OK about you working here?’ ‘Everything’s fine for me,’ she said, sipping from a bottle of water. ‘Joe got his ass fired so I don’t imagine I’m gonna have any hassle.’ ‘He got fired?’ I hissed, watching Alex wander outside, looking around for us. ‘How come?’ ‘I don’t think the management really like it when the staff get into a bar brawl with really famous movie stars. Or when they sleep with the guests.’ ‘But he didn’t sleep with the guests,’ I said quickly as Alex waved and started over to the car. ‘And it was James that hit Joe. Not that I’m defending him, obviously.’ ‘Obviously,’ Jenny said. ‘And, don’t get mad, but they think that because I told them he did. And it really doesn’t matter who started or finished the fight, this is Hollywood: celebrities are never guilty. He deserved it, Angie. Don’t start feeling all guilty now.’ ‘I don’t.’ I was as surprised as she was. ‘He’s a complete shit.’ ‘Yeah, he is.’ Jenny gave me a feeble high five. ‘Hey, Alex.’ ‘Hey.’ He stood by the driver’s door. ‘Am I driving?’ ‘Well she’s not.’ I looked back at Jenny, who was getting greener by the second. ‘And if I’m being totally honest, I don’t really fancy it. I have no idea where we’re going.’ ‘Then I’m driving.’ He opened the door and dropped in beside me. I hadn’t ever really thought about it, but living in New York, I’d never seen Alex drive. I didn’t even know that he could, but as if he wasn’t amazing enough, he put on a pair of Ray-Bans, turned over the engine and pulled out onto Hollywood Boulevard. ‘What?’ ‘Nothing,’ I smiled happily. ‘I just didn’t know you could drive.’ ‘I guess there are still lots of things you don’t know about me,’ he said, slowing down for a red light. ‘And I guess there are lots of things I don’t know about you.’ ‘Guys, pull over,’ Jenny groaned, batting me on the back of the head. ‘I’m gonna be sick.’ ‘Well there’s one less thing not to know about, Jenny,’ I said, stroking her hair while she threw up into her handbag, trying not to think about what Alex could mean. ‘So, I’ll call you when we get back?’ I said to Jenny, carrying her bags into the living room. Daphne’s place was beautiful, all open plan, big windows and a terrace with a view out over LA. Maybe there was something to be said for having a sugar daddy. ‘Yeah, call me when you’re back at the apartment.’ Jenny propped herself up against the doorframe. ‘I guess I might need you to send some stuff.’ ‘I suppose so,’ I said, thinking how weird it would be to walk in without her, not knowing when she would be home. If she would be home. Jenny slipped down the frame, buzzing her own door bell. ‘I have to be sick again.’ ‘Do you want me to stay for a bit?’ I risked her puking down my back and went in for a hug. ‘I can stay if you want?’ ‘I’m cool, go get your flight,’ Jenny said, falling on the bell again. ‘What is that noise? Angie, say you don’t hate me for staying here?’ ‘Of course not, I do get it,’ I said reluctantly. ‘I just wish you didn’t have to be so far away to sort your head out.’ ‘You could always move here with me for a while?’ I looked back out at the car. Alex’s head was bobbing along to whatever he was listening to on the radio. ‘Or you could stay in New York with him.’ ‘If he still wants me to after all of this,’ I said. ‘Jesus, Angie,’ Jenny let go of the doorframe long enough to slap me round the side of the head. ‘I’m gonna have to get more minutes on my call plan if I have to talk you out of this every time you guys have a row. You’re just gonna get in the car, fly back home, maybe fool around a little on the plane and then pretend that none of this ever happened.’ ‘Sounds like a plan,’ I said, letting her out of the hug. ‘I love you, Jenny, you always know what to say.’ ‘Yeah, well, that’s my thing,’ she said. ‘Love you too, Angie. You always know how to mess up and make me feel needed.’ Walking back to the car, I tried not to cry but I couldn’t help it. When everything else had gone wrong in my life, Jenny had always been there to help me make sense of myself. What would happen now? And why was it so easy for us to throw around the reasons why we loved each other when I couldn’t say to the person who needed to hear it the most? ‘She OK?’ Alex asked, turning down the radio. I nodded. ‘She will be.’ ‘You OK?’ he asked, wiping away the tears that were rolling down my cheeks. ‘I will be.’ I ran my fingers under my eyes to pick up any stray mascara streaks and smiled. ‘Airport?’ ‘We’ve actually got a couple of hours,’ he said, rolling out into the street. ‘And I’m not desperate to spend any more time than we have to in LAX.’ ‘What do you want to do?’ I asked, suddenly nervous to be alone with him, even though he was smiling. ‘I know this is going sound weird, but I was kind of thinking the beach? Who knows when I’m going to be back in LA, right? I feel like I should at least see the Pacific Ocean.’ ‘Alex Reid, beach bum,’ I shrugged off my cardigan, getting my last few rays of LA sunshine. ‘Who would have thought it?’ I paused on the boardwalk to kick off my sandals while Alex strode on across the beach. Seeing him silhouetted against the sky and the ocean was so surreal, I hardly dared to follow, in case he disappeared like a mirage. Except instead of a palm tree and a sparkling spring, there was a pair of black jeans and an un-ironed Kellogg’s Corn Flakes T-shirt hanging from his wide shoulders and slim hips. He turned and smiled, interrupting my shameless ogling. ‘You checking me out?’ he held his hand over his eyes, the Santa Monica sun too much for his Brooklynbred eyesight, even with his Ray-Bans. ‘Maybe?’ I said, stepping into the sand. Good God it was hot. Good God he was hot. So much hotter than James Jacobs. Anyone could spend half their life in the gym and get a two-hundred-dollar haircut. Only Alex could pull off that too-long-on-one-side fringe that hadn’t seen a comb in – well, how long could it be since he’d had it cut? A month? But it was still so soft when I tiptoed across the sand towards him and cautiously brushed it away from his face. ‘You’re going to burn even faster than me. Do you have any sunscreen?’ ‘I’ll be fine,’ he said, taking my hand from his face and holding it in his. ‘Don’t tell anyone but I actually tan pretty well. I just don’t see that much sun at home.’ ‘I suppose you don’t get many tanned rock stars,’ I said, happy to be talking about nothing. ‘It’s not very hipster, is it? Not very—’ ‘Angela, I love you.’ I knew that my mouth was hanging open in a slightly unattractive fashion but I couldn’t move a muscle. ‘Angela?’ I blinked. Nope, he was still there. I wasn’t asleep. Maybe I had sunstroke from not wearing a hat in the car on the way to the beach. Or maybe I was still drunk from, well, the whole week. ‘Are you OK?’ ‘Yes,’ I said finally. ‘What did you say?’ ‘Something I should have said before you left but I didn’t want you to freak out and then be too far away to do anything about it. I love you, Angela.’ ‘Why?’ ‘What?’ ‘Why do you love me?’ Well, why not try and ruin this perfect moment? Well done, Angela. ‘Sit down,’ Alex sighed, pulling me down onto the sand beside him. It really was red hot; fine for him in his jeans but more than uncomfortable on the backs of my legs. ‘Of all the responses you could have given me, I wasn’t expecting that. You want me to tell you why I love you?’ ‘Yes please,’ I said quietly, not quite able to meet his eyes. It wasn’t that I didn’t believe him – well, it was; but more that this scene was so surreal – Alex sitting there next to me in his skinny jeans, his crumpled T-shirt, all pale skin and black hair clashing against the sun and the sand – that it genuinely felt as though I was dreaming. ‘OK, I love you because you have that knee-high stack of books at the side of your bath that are all curling up at the corners because you spend hours in that tub when you should be working. I love you because you put my socks on the radiator if you get up before me, which you always do. I love you because you make me want to do things that I would never have done six months ago.’ He shook his head. ‘I love you because you make me want to come out to LA and tell you I love you.’ ‘Oh,’ I pushed my hair behind my ears and tried to smile at the sand, ‘really? Even after all this week’s nonsense?’ ‘Any particular bit of nonsense you’re referring to?’ he asked. I actually wasn’t sure if there was. ‘No?’ ‘So no four a.m. phone calls you want to elaborate on?’ Well, that could have been worse. ‘Oh. Yes. There was one of those,’ I nodded, looking away again. ‘That would be the one when I said I love you.’ ‘That was the one I was thinking of, yeah,’ Alex replied evenly. ‘Why, what did you think I meant?’ I shrugged, drawing a figure eight in the sand with my finger. ‘Just been such a mad week. I wasn’t thinking of anything in particular.’ ‘So you weren’t thinking about you spending the night with that guy James knocked out last night?’ he asked. I paused my circling, paused my breathing for a moment. ‘Not especially.’ ‘You know that trust is really important to me, Angela,’ Alex said, putting his hands over mine. ‘It’s not like we didn’t have this conversation already.’ Oh God, I thought, squeezing my eyes closed tight. Don’t let this be happening again; don’t let him do this again. ‘I would really appreciate you telling me what happened instead of me having to piece it together from what I heard last night. I’m guessing whatever I dream up will actually be way worse than what actually happened.’ ‘I didn’t know you were there,’ I said. ‘You heard all of it?’ ‘I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me?’ ‘OK,’ I started, trying to run through the story in my head before it all came spilling out. Was there any way for me to tell him the whole story without him getting up and walking away at the end of it? Probably not. ‘Right, short version? I thought I’d lost my job, I thought I’d lost you, James was refusing to sort everything out and so I got totally wasted at the hotel bar. Joe helped me get back down to my room, he kissed me and I passed out. The next thing I knew, I woke up, he was there, I freaked out and that was that. And I only really found out what happened last night. Which was nothing. Nothing at all. It was just so stupid. I was just so stupid.’ ‘So you weren’t going to tell me?’ he asked. ‘I didn’t know what there was to tell.’ I looked up but Alex was leaning back on his elbows, staring out at the sea. His nose was bright pink. ‘OK, no I wasn’t going to tell you.’ ‘Even when you thought you’d slept with him?’ Was there even a right answer? ‘I think I would have told you when we got home. But when it turned out nothing had happened, no, I don’t think I would have said anything.’ He didn’t move, didn’t speak. ‘I couldn’t see the point in making things worse than they were. Nothing happened; I didn’t think it made sense to hurt you for no reason.’ After what felt like for ever, he breathed out and nodded. ‘Makes sense.’ ‘And the rest of it is all sorted, right?’ After being almost scared to make eye contact with him all morning, now all I wanted was for him to look at me. ‘All the stupid photo internet stuff.’ ‘Did you know James was gay when you were in his hotel room that night?’ he asked. What happened to ‘you don’t have to explain anything to me’?, I thought, puffing out my cheeks in concentration. ‘No, but there was nothing going on,’ I said. That wasn’t a lie. Nothing actually went on. ‘I don’t want to come off as paranoid, but it seemed kind of strange that you would call me at four in the morning and tell me you love me hours before the pictures of you and James came out.’ He turned his head to look at me and took off his Ray-Bans. ‘Why do you love me, Angela?’ Arsehole. Turning my question back on myself. ‘Why do I love you?’ ‘It’s really easy to say I love you, it’s another altogether to explain why,’ he said. ‘As you know.’ ‘Yeah, OK,’ I closed my eyes again. It wasn’t that bloody easy, was it, or I would have told him weeks ago and we wouldn’t even be having this conversation. Why was this so tricky? I was for ever telling other people why I loved him. ‘I love you because you always have a T-shirt under your pillow for me, even if you don’t know I’m coming to stay. I love you because you know I want sugar in my tea in the morning but not at night and because you always pretend you forgot I wanted a skinny hot chocolate in Starbucks because you know I really prefer full fat but don’t like to order it in case the girl behind the counter thinks I’m fat.’ Alex started to smile. So I carried on. ‘I love you because when I get out of the subway and I see you in the coffee shop by your place or I’m coming back home and you’re in the deli buying me Lucky Charms, I actually get butterflies in my stomach. Every time. Or when I’m knocking on your door, just before you answer, I can feel them bubbling up inside me. And when I wake up, I look for you, even if you’re not there. It’s like my brain just thinks you should always be there, like waking up with you is my default setting.’ I copied his pose and leaned back on my elbows. Damn, the sand was still hot. ‘Is that OK? Did I pass?’ He leaned over and kissed me gently on the lips, his skin warm against mine. For the longest moment, no one said anything. ‘I’m sorry, it wasn’t a test for you,’ he said, pulling away slightly. ‘It was a test for me. I didn’t mean to make you feel shitty, I never wanted to be one of those asshole boyfriends who doesn’t trust his girlfriend but, there’s no excuse, I guess I’m not totally over what happened with my ex. But you’re not my ex. I know that. I promise I’ll never ever question you, ever. I was totally being that asshole.’ ‘Is that it?’ ‘That’s not enough?’ ‘I mean, you’re not going to say you love me but you can’t be with me?’ I pressed my forehead against his, wondering why I couldn’t just shut my mouth. ‘I was just going to stop at I love you,’ he said, pushing me back into the sand and kissing me again. ‘I can work with that,’ I said, rolling on top of him. The sand was still awfully hot. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#ulink_8131dcb9-5e19-5e85-915f-a474b7df8a19) ‘Jenny, it’s me,’ I mumbled into my mobile. ‘Pick up if you’re there?’ Nothing. And I was trapped in a pitch-black apartment with none of the lights working. No matter how many times I flicked the light switch by my bed on and off. My mum would have been very proud. ‘Shit,’ I sighed. ‘Well, if you get this, can you call me back and tell me where the fuse box is? Seriously, what were you thinking, moving to LA?’ I pressed the red button to cancel the call and waved the light from my phone around the room, wandering out into the hallway. Surely it would be somewhere around here? I’d been living in the apartment on my own for a week and so far I’d had to call a plumber in when I dropped my Tiffany necklace down the plughole in the kitchen, call an exterminator in when I mistook one of Jenny’s old clip-in hair extensions for a mouse, and call some random stranger in off the street when a massive spider decided it wanted to share the shower. I was determined to conquer this crisis on my own. Stupid Alex and his stupid three a.m. phone call. I squinted up above the doorframe, was that big white thing a fuse box? But as much as I appreciated his semi-drunken declaration of love at all hours of the night, if he hadn’t called this time, I wouldn’t have woken up, then I wouldn’t have had to go for a wee and found out the electricity was off. Which would have meant I wouldn’t have worked myself up into a panic that there was a blackout, which would have meant I wouldn’t have called him back and he wouldn’t have worried me even more by saying it was just my electric that was out. Living on my own was not working out well. I bit down on my bottom lip and pressed my hand to my forehead, not knowing quite what to do. I glanced around, looking for inspiration, and found it sparkling through the window. The city skyline lit up the living room, the Chrysler building outlined in white light down the street. I felt my way across the room, successfully only stubbing my big toe twice. Leaning against the windowsill, I stared out onto the still busy street below and I breathed out, slightly calmer. How could Jenny leave this? How could year-round sunshine and a convertible compete with New York City? Even now, in the middle of the night, the streets were alive with people. Could Jenny pop on her Uggs right now and be eating chow mein within five minutes? Not likely. Well, it was possible but I was pretty certain she’d have to at least get in that convertible and drive ten miles to find it. I watched a stream of yellow cabs and police cruisers rolling past, couples holding hands and running across the street, trying to beat the light; a general assortment of characters wandering around, ridiculously early on a Tuesday morning, not freaking out because they couldn’t reset their electricity. ‘Come on, Angela,’ I said to myself, ‘this is stupid.’ For a second, I considered just going back to bed and worrying about it in the morning, but I knew it would keep me awake. I was going to beat this. I padded back through the living room, bashing my knee as I went. On closer, tiptoe, inspection, the white thing over the door did look an awful lot like a fuse box. Only one of the switches was down and, from my feeble recollection, that meant a fuse had tripped. Of course, I didn’t have a stepladder. Or a step. Or anything that could feasibly be used to climb on to reach. I looked at the phone in my hand – I could call Alex? He could probably reach but that would feel a tiny bit like admitting defeat. And I had to be in the office at nine. If he came over now, half cut, there was no way I’d be getting to sleep anytime soon. Which wasn’t a horrible thought, I smiled to myself, but no, I had to do this. I refused to be such a rubbish girl. Unless being a rubbish girl might be just the thing … I dashed back into the bedroom, looking for my highest heels. Two minutes later, I’d accessorized my hot pink Victoria’s Secret pyjama top and American Apparel hot pink boy shorts with my gold Christian Louboutin stilettoes. Very sexy. I grabbed a can of hairspray from the side of the sink on my way back into the hall and reached up as high as I could, bashing at the cover of the fuse box until it flipped down. ‘Come on,’ I puffed, extraordinarily pleased with myself. I pushed up onto my toes, trying to flip the tripped switch without spraying myself in the eyes with Elnett. Every part of me strained. If I could do this, I could do anything. I could sort out all the bills I had to transfer into my name. I could work out what the 401k thing was on my wage slip from The Look. I could work out what the equivalent to Night Nurse was in the chemist – how many variations on a cold medicine did one city need? On my seventh little leap, I bashed the lid of the can against the switch, clattering backwards into the door. ‘Angela?’ yelled a voice on the other side. I jumped up, my heart pounding from the shock of my late-night caller and my admittedly surprising (even to me) success at resetting the fuses. ‘Angela, are you OK? I heard a bang?’ I pushed myself up out of the pile of shoes I’d landed in (Jenny had always been on at me to put them away) and peered through the peephole. It was Alex. ‘Ange, let me in.’ He was standing with one arm against the wall, staring at the floor. ‘I’m not drunk. Well, not really.’ I opened the door slowly, so happy that my heart still skipped a little when I laid eyes on him, even with his flushed cheeks and wide eyes. ‘Very sexy,’ he slid through the door, taking me around the waist. ‘Promise you’ll always be waiting for me in heels at three in the morning?’ ‘Oh,’ I blushed, trying to kick my way out of the shoes. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’ I’d spent months trying to maintain an illusion of sleeping exclusively in sexy nightdresses or Alex’s old T-shirts. This was not a look I’d have chosen for an impromptu sleepover. ‘So this blackout thing, just a ruse to get me over?’ he asked, pushing me gently backwards towards the bedroom. ‘No,’ I protested, albeit not very strongly. ‘The fuses tripped but I fixed it. Are you proud?’ ‘Absolutely,’ he smiled glassily, flicking lights out as we went. ‘I think we should turn the lights out though, just in case.’ ‘Just in case,’ I agreed. So I’d be going into the office knackered in the morning. Again. ‘Morning Cici,’ I yawned, sailing past her desk, bright and early and absolutely shattered. ‘Is Mary in yet?’ ‘Morning girl-who-turned-James-Jacobs-gay,’ she sang back. ‘Of course she is. Gonna try and turn her too?’ ‘It’s been a week. You’re not even starting to get tired of that joke yet, are you?’ She shook her head and smiled sweetly. ‘It’s so not a joke. You turned one of the hottest guys on the planet gay. I should kick your ass. You turned that hipster boyfriend of yours yet?’ ‘Not as far as I know.’ I was fairly certain he wasn’t gay after last night. And this morning. And hopefully later this evening. ‘Good, he’s kind of hot. For a hipster,’ she shrugged. ‘Don’t come any closer, I’m dating someone who doesn’t seem to be a complete loser at last and I don’t want you turning me gay either.’ ‘I’ll try to keep my distance,’ I promised. Shouldn’t be too bloody hard. Mary sat at her computer, as always, sharp grey bob swinging as she tapped away at the keyboard, little square glasses halfway down her nose. ‘Angela, honey!’ I froze. Honey? What was wrong? ‘Sit down, honey,’ she said, looking up and switching off her monitor. Double honey? Something was definitely wrong. And she had never, ever turned off her computer in my presence. I hoped she wasn’t ill. ‘Circulation figures are in for the James Jacobs issue of Icon,’ Mary said. ‘And they’re good.’ ‘What’s good?’ I held my breath. ‘Two and a half million good. Up from one and a half.’ She could hardly sit still. ‘There are a lot of very happy faces on the exec floor this morning, Angela Clark.’ I bit my lip a little bit too hard. Two and a half million people were reading my interview? OK, really two and a half million people were reading about James Jacobs being gay, but still, it was my interview. ‘And that’s without factoring in the website hits, the uplift in traffic to your blog, even subscriptions are up. To Icon and The Look.’ Mary broke out into what could only be described as a grin. ‘Angela, I’m so, so proud. And so, so sorry about how hard it was to get here. I know I was kind of an asshole when you were out in LA.’ ‘Not at all,’ I said, thinking quite the contrary but being far too English to agree with her. ‘So I’m not in trouble with anyone?’ ‘Hardly,’ she beamed. ‘As of the second those numbers came in, you are the A-number-one golden girl of Spencer Media. I think you could march up there and demand your own magazine right now if you wanted it.’ ‘Might be a bit ambitious,’ I said, feeling myself colour up. It was now or never. ‘I was thinking, though …’ ‘Dangerous pastime.’ Mary raised an eyebrow. ‘What do you reckon the chances would be of me writing more stuff for The Look. I mean, the magazine.’ ‘Like?’ ‘Like maybe a column? Or some features?’ I sat on my hands to try and avoid biting at my nails. ‘Or anything really?’ ‘You know I was joking about your own magazine, right?’ Mary pressed her finger against her lips and shook her bob. ‘You want to write a column in The Look?’ I pushed out my bottom lip and nodded. ‘Any chance of that?’ ‘You know I don’t work on the magazine, Angela. It’s not as though I can commission a column for the magazine, just like that.’ ‘But you could speak to someone?’ That golden girl status had dropped pretty bloody quickly. ‘Yeah, I could speak to someone. But so could you.’ Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/pages/biblio_book/?art=48651022&lfrom=688855901) на ЛитРес. Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.