“Okay, are you ready? Steady—on the count of three suck your tummy in—one, two, three, now!”
Jess breathed in as hard as she could and Nora wrestled the zipper into place and then took a step back. “Oh wow, it looks fab! The perfect dress for a cocktail bar opening. What do you think?”
Jess looked in the mirror. The dress was shorter on her than it was on Nora, finishing mid-thigh, but the no mini-skirts rule didn’t come into effect until after she turned thirty-five so she could still get away with it, albeit by the skin of her teeth. From the scooped neckline to just under the bust, the dress was satin cream, which suited the red tones of her colouring and set off the gold flecks that decorated the green of her irises. The bottom half was a black silk sheath. There was no doubting that the dress was snug but it did hug her in all the right places. Buried in the depths of her wardrobe at home, she had a pair of black satin kitten heels, which would be just the ticket to complete the whole mini-skirted version of Audrey Hepburn Breakfast at Tiffany’s look or, she corrected herself, Jessica Baré Cocktails at Esquires look. “You’re right. It is perfect, just so long as I don’t breathe out and don’t sit down all night.”
“Listen to your Aunty Nora. Wear those sucky-in knickers of yours and you’ll be fine.”
Jess changed out of the dress and back into her Wallis camel cords. They’d looked brand new when she whipped them off the hanger at the hospice thrift store, a bargain at two euros. Knotting the belt of the suede, fur-lined jacket she’d also been talked into buying that day, she flicked her hair out from under the collar. The old dear behind the counter had told her the jacket’s caramel colour set the highlights off in her hair “a treat.” She’d happily parted with another fiver—always a sucker for a compliment.
Dressed again, she wandered down the hall into the kitchen to join Nora for an overdue coffee and catch up. She didn’t rate her chances of a piece of cake to go with that coffee—not if Nora was still Dukaning. Mind you, she mused with a rueful glance down at her own midriff, she couldn’t really afford to be eating cake between now and tomorrow night anyway. Perhaps she’d try to snaffle one of those protein bar thingies Nora always had to hand instead.
“Okay, so what’s the story, morning glory?” Nora asked, setting down a fragrant mug in front of Jess before reluctantly handing her a protein bar from the box on the breakfast bar. “They’re not cheap these, you know.”
“Thanks. Me and my magic suction knickers thank you for your support.”
“Oh, well, I suppose it would cost me more in the long run if you split the dress,” Nora said grudgingly as she ripped open the wrapper on her own bar before adding, “So come on, then, spill. What in the name of Jaysus were you doing in Ballyfrigginmcguinness on a pig farm? Brianna gave me some garbled story about how you’d gone up there to sniff out an idea for your column. I didn’t get the whole rundown because she spotted Harry in the front garden piddling on the geraniums so she had to dash.”
Jess laughed before saying, “I did head up to Ballymcguinness for a story.” She began filling her in on how her recent purchase of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs had led her to Amy’s story. Nora sipped away in silence, her normally steely blue eyes filling with tears when she heard about the bomb and how it had cut Amy’s life short all those years ago. Getting up, Jess got the box of tissues down from the fridge. Nora might come across as a tough nut but underneath it all, she was made of marshmallow like the rest of them. Handing her the box and waiting until she’d finished giving her nose a good blow, she began telling her all about Owen and his moods, the farm, and of course Wilbur. Nora’s tears dried up and her eyes narrowed as she wagged a finger at her.
“Jessica Baré, I can see where you are heading with this and I am telling you, don’t you dare go there!”
“What do you mean?” Jess looked at her friend, puzzled by her vehemence.
“I mean please do not do your usual trick of falling for the man with issues. Not this time, when you have someone waiting in the wings for you who is both successful and gorgeous but best of all very, very keen on you.”
“Honestly, Nora, I don’t know what you’re talking about and by the way, you sounded just like my mother then. That’s exactly the sort of thing she would say.” Jess was indignant.
For her part, Nora was equally indignant. She didn’t like being compared to anyone’s mother. “I did not sound like your mother—well, okay, maybe I did, just a little bit, but to be fair, she has a point, as well as your best interests at heart and so do I.”
Jess screwed her nose up; she was not liking the turn this conversation had taken.
“Don’t look like that. You do self-sabotage; you know you do. It’s like you have this weird kind of gravitational pull toward men with problems so far as your love life is concerned. You can’t seem to help yourself. You think you will be the one to fix them.” Nora shook her head. “Well, my friend, take it from me, you can’t fix what happened to this Owen. It’s truly awful and it’s really sad but it happened and it’s up to him to move on, which he obviously can’t. Did he tell you why his marriage broke up?”
“No but then I didn’t ask him because it was none of my business and not related in any which way to the story I am going to write. Which, may I remind you, is why I was there. It was work, not a romantic quest, thank you very much and for your information, I do not fancy him! I felt sorry for him, yes, but who wouldn’t? And even you would have thought Wilbur was something special.”
“Sorry, I beg to differ. I like roast pork and apple sauce far too much to be moved by an undersized piglet and if his being divorced has nothing to do with your story, how come it even came up?”
Jessica poked her tongue out at Nora. “You’re a hardnosed woman, Nora Brennan. I am not even going to bother answering that and I do fancy Nick; of course I do—he’s gorgeous. Man of my dreams material, which Owen is not.”
“Alright, alright, truce—I believe you.” Nora held her hands up in surrender.
“Good.”
They ate their respective bars in silence. Actually, Jess thought, looking at the brown square before taking another bite, it wasn’t too bad. Chewing on the chocolate raspberry-flavoured snack, she decided it was time to turn the tables.
“So Miss Know-It-All, what is it with you and the adventure sports?”
Nora grinned sheepishly. “All I can tell you about that is that I have met a man worth putting my life on the line for.”
“Yes, maybe, but you’re not being honest with him, are you? You are not the kind of girl who likes to jump out of planes for fun or hare down bike tracks made for goats.”
“Honesty, shmonesty—it’s overrated in relationships anyway.” Nora nearly sent her coffee flying as she waved her hand to emphasise her point.
“But you hate anything that puts you the teensiest bit out of your comfort zone.” Jess wasn’t going to let it go.
“He’s worth it.” And with that, Nora closed the subject.
“WHOA, LOOK AT YOU. You’re gorgeous!” Nick leaned in and kissed Jess on the cheek.
He smelt gorgeous, she noticed, inhaling deeply. It reminded her of the aftershave Owen had been wearing at dinner the other night. Under strict instructions from Nora, she’d had her hair blow-waved that afternoon and it fell softly around her shoulders in a halo of deep red waves. She’d made an effort with her makeup, too, spending ages making it look like she had no makeup on at all except for the deep plum lipstick she’d opted for to give her face drama—or at least that’s what the magazine she’d copied the look from said it would do. As for the dress, well, it was worth feeling like a sausage stuffed into a skin that was far too tight for its meat filling if she got a reaction like that, she decided as he opened the car door.
She made sure she climbed in to the low to the ground sports car as lady-like as was possible in order to keep her secret support weapons discreetly under wraps. It was far too early in their budding relationship to give him a glimpse of
those!
Nick manoeuvred the sports car with the expertise of a man who knew the streets of central Dublin well. He was in control and it was rather sexy, Jess thought, her eyes sliding to the right for a sly glance. His fingers, she noticed as they loosely gripped the steering wheel, were long, his nails well-manicured. Owen’s fingers had been thick and calloused, a working man’s hands. Stop it right now, Jessica! she told herself firmly as Nick suddenly swerved into a red-roped cordoned off area on Dame Street, where a young valet waited to take the car away and park it elsewhere.
She couldn’t help but feel like a bit of a celebrity as Nick walked round and opened the door for her. He definitely knew how to make a girl feel she was special. Swinging her legs out, Jessica decided there would be no pics of her in the paper flashing her Nana knickers and so she was careful to keep her thighs firmly pressed together like the women in OK! Magazine always did before she stood up.
The bar they’d pulled up outside was rocking and in the chilly autumn dark, its brightly lit interior was like a beacon. She felt a jolt of pleasure as Nick put his arm around her waist and steered her inside.
Esquires was sleek and modernistic, exactly the kind of place Jess normally hated. Give her a cosy old pub with a roaring fire and a fiddler over that awful dunk, dunk techno music any day. However, after her second expertly shaken Cosmopolitan, she decided that maybe the dunk, dunk music wasn’t so bad after all. Nick was being super attentive as he made sure her drink stayed replenished and guided her around the room, introducing her to the who’s who of Dublin guest list.
“You know a lot of people,” she leaned in and shouted in his ear.
“You have to grease the right palms in my line of business,” he shouted back before guiding her over to an empty red leather settee pushed up against the floor-to-ceiling windows. Talk about a place to be seen, she thought, perching down on the edge of the settee. The dress did not allow for sinking back into sofas.
“We might be able to hear ourselves without bellowing here.” Nick grinned at her. He had such great teeth, Jess noticed; they really were an orthodontist’s dream. He was definitely a man who brushed and flossed twice daily. As he sat down next to her, he swallowed a mouthful of his Manhattan and she was glad he had chosen the smooth, masculine drink because it suited him. It might have been a tad off-putting if he’d ordered say, a My Pink Lady or a Mimosa. She looked at her own pink concoction. The problem with cocktails was that they went down so easily, she thought before draining it. With an empty glass, she listened, nodding every now and then in commiseration as Nick told her about the frustrating holdups his latest project—converting an old community hall into luxury apartments—was having.
“Some people just can’t accept change or progress.” He finished with a shake of his head and then, noticing her glass, he stood up and took it from her. “I just don’t get the attachment to a cruddy old pile of bricks. Can I get you another?”
She probably shouldn’t, Jess thought; she didn’t want to get tipsy too early in the night or he’d think her a right lush but then again how often did a girl get access to unlimited free cocktails? “Yes, please,” she chirruped.
As Nick disappeared into the crowd, she smoothed her dress before surveying the room, noticing the number of older paunchy gents. Standing next to them were gorgeous twenty-somethings, poured into their own versions of the LBD. They were tossing their long blonde hair over their shoulders and hanging off their escort’s every word as they sipped their own prettily coloured concoctions. Money talked, alright. Why was it you hardly ever saw women with their middle-aged spread well and truly spreading, out and about with gorgeous twenty-something males unless they were out with their sons? So much for living in enlightened feminist times. Some things never changed, she thought ruefully, remembering her last transit in Bangkok airport where she’d been horrified at the sight of beautiful young Thai women heading off for new lives with men who were old enough to know better. Her thoughts were suddenly interrupted.
“Jessica, hi! You look deep in thought; what’s on your mind?” It was Jo, a young reporter for the Express.
“Oh hey, Jo. I was just contemplating why it is money makes older men so much more attractive, whereas for women it just gives them a bigger budget to blow at the Botox clinic.”
“You’re far too cynical for such a gorgeous young woman, Jess.”
“I’m not that young, Jo,” she muttered, remembering the rogue squiggly grey hairs she had had to tweeze out upon arriving home from her blow-wave that afternoon. Not a good look, having what looked like three white pubic hairs sprouting from one’s part line. It was then she noticed that Jo was not dressed in his customary old jeans, hoodie, and sneakers. He had dressed up for the occasion but the contrast of his flash duds against his too-long hair and bum fluff beard was odd. He looked like a boy playing dress-ups, she decided. Mind you, now that she was officially heading toward her mid-thirties, any man under twenty-five looked as if he should be in a cap and short pants. “I like the outfit,” she lied.
Jo grimaced. “I feel like a prat. I had to borrow the pants and shoes off my flatmate but hey, I’d have come in a fecking toga if it meant scoring free drinks.”
“Yes, I can see you drew the short straw, having to cover a cocktail bar opening.”
“I know it’s a tough job but somebody had to do it. So what are you doing here other than sitting about, contemplating deep and meaningful life questions and looking, might I say, very sophisticated?”
“Why, thank you sir.” Jess grinned, guessing that to Jo, any woman over thirty would seem sophisticated. “Well, technically I am working, too, because I shall file my observations on our ageist society for comment on in my column sometime in the near future. Don’t tell Niall you saw me drinking on the job.” She winked and Jo laughed. “Actually, the fodder for my column is an added bonus. I was invited by Nick Jameson—he’s over at the bar getting me another drink. He runs a property development business.”
Jo frowned. “Nick Jameson? I’ve heard of him. Isn’t he the guy behind Progressive Construction? They sail very close to the wind; you watch yourself there, Jessica. I am sure they were the guys behind that development a year or two back where that group of elderly people were ousted from their council flats. The guy swims with sharks. Not your type, I would have thought; what are you doing with him?”
She didn’t get a chance to ask what he meant because at that moment Nick reappeared.
“Nick, this is Jo; Jo, this is Nick.” She did her introductions but the two men didn’t shake hands as Nick’s were both full, which was probably a good thing judging by the surly look on Jo’s face.
“Er, Jo’s a reporter at the Express. He drew the short straw in the office and got to cover tonight’s opening.” Her giggle was a little too high-pitched.
“Tough job.” Nick reiterated Jo’s earlier sentiment but the younger man didn’t raise a smile, instead nodding curtly as he said, “Right, well, I can’t stand here gassing all night. It’s time for me to mingle. Good to see you, Jess. Catch up soon, yeah?”
“That sounds good. See you, Jo—behave yourself.”
Jo shot a swift glance at Nick before turning his attention back to her. “You behave yourself and make sure you don’t get bitten, alright?”
“What did he mean about not getting bitten?” Nick frowned, watching Jo’s back as he vanished into the small crowd gathered on the dance floor. He handed Jess her drink.
“Oh, it was just a silly joke, a work thing.” Casting her eyes around the room for a distraction, she spied an orange spray-tanned wannabe from a reality TV show. “Oh look, isn’t that, that girl Emma from All Girls Together? My God, that programme is the pits. Did you see the episode where she got into a catfight with one of the other contestants because she’d used her hair straighteners?”
BY THE TIME JESS HAD slurped down her sixth drink—having long since moved on from the cosmopolitans to a rather delicious banana daiquiri, which she
had swiftly followed up with a pina colada—she had forgotten all about what Jo had told her. Nick really was good company, she thought, erupting into a fit of the giggles as he finished telling her a funny tale to do with an encounter he’d recently had with a woman determined to get to Ewan Reid through him.
“So Nora’s got competition then?”
“If you count crazed stalker types as competition then yes, she does.”
She laughed again and glanced round the room. It was after one a.m. and the crowd was slowly beginning to thin. If she were honest, the dunk, dunk music was beginning to make her head pound and she strongly suspected that if she were to mix another drink, she would be sick. Nick looked at her amused and raised an eyebrow. “Time to go?” It was loaded with promise.
Yes, Jess decided, getting unsteadily up from the settee; it was definitely time to go.
“I’ll pick the car up in the morning,” Nick said, draping a proprietorial arm across her shoulder as he steered her back through the bar. It was chilly outside and the queues for cabs were as usual of nightmare proportions, but as Nick leaned in and kissed her with a certain slow confidence, she knew that they’d find a way to warm up and pass the time while they waited.
JESS OPENED ONE EYE and then quickly shut it again. She was far too fragile to deal with the obnoxious sunlight streaming into this foreign bedroom in which she had wound up crashing the night. She rubbed her temples, groaning out loud and telling herself that at her age she really should know better. Her head felt as though an express train had mown into it sometime in the night. Actually, she corrected herself, make that morning because it had been gone one a.m. when they’d left Esquires. Running her tongue across her teeth, she shuddered; her mouth felt like something furry had taken up residence in it.
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