Love and Chaos: A Brooklyn Girls Novel

by Burgess, Gemma

  “Angie, I know you said no romance, nothing serious. But I have to tell you … I’ve been thinking about you ever since we met.”

  “No kidding.” I haven’t thought about him. Not once. Not until I needed a distraction. An escape from reality.

  “My last girlfriend was very … challenging,” he starts talking again. “She was Spanish. Passionate, beautiful—”

  Gabriel goes on about how amazing his ex was for a few really long minutes while the waiter clears our dishes.

  “So, Angie. Tell me about you,” he says finally.

  I blink. Did he really just ask me about myself? That’s the first time tonight.

  “Um, you know. I’m … me. I’m trying to get a job in fashion, I work in, uh, in retail, I live in Brooklyn.…” How typical that the moment someone actually asks me about myself, I have nothing to say. “Your average twentysomething struggling to make ends meet in New York.”

  “You need money?” he says.

  “Everyone needs money,” I reply, taking another slug of wine. “You can’t survive in this city without it.”

  “Where do you work?”

  “The Gap. Well, I did. I was fired yesterday.” I look him right in the eye, daring him to judge me.

  “That did not pay very well.”

  “Nope.”

  Our burgers arrive, and I concentrate on salting my fries and arranging my burger.

  I’m feeling kind of woo from the wine. Red wine always makes me feel a little funky. The heavy ones make me feel like going to sleep. Something to do with the histamines. And I had the worst insomnia last night. I kept thinking about Julia and Sam. How silly I was to be so jealous! Of course he’s still my friend. They just had a friendly meal together, that’s all. It’s no big deal.

  Gabriel clears his throat. “Angie? What are you doing?”

  “I’m arranging my burger so the first bite is perfect,” I explain, looking up at him. “It’s really important. The first bite is like the first kiss, you know? It’s everything that the rest of the meal will be.”

  Gabriel smiles at me. “You are a romantic.”

  “I am.”

  “I am a pragmatist.”

  “Really.”

  I take a big bite of burger, just as Gabriel reaches in his pocket, pulls out a card, and puts it next to my wineglass.

  “This is my financial manager. He’ll have ten thousand dollars waiting to transfer to your account on Monday.”

  “What?” My mouth is full of burger, but suddenly, I’ve forgotten how to chew.

  “You shouldn’t have to suffer without money. Life in New York is hard enough already. It is a gift. From me to you.”

  I swallow my food and stare at Gabriel.

  Ten thousand dollars. That would mean I wouldn’t have to leave Rookhaven. I wouldn’t have to get another job in retail hell. With ten thousand dollars, I could try to get unpaid internships in fashion without worrying about rent and money, I could take a course in fashion design, I could survive for months, I could—I could—

  But I can’t. I can’t do it. I can’t take money from a guy in exchange for … whatever this would be in exchange for. I can’t knowingly walk into a life that exists on the fine line between a girlfriend with spending money and a girlfriend for hire.

  I look at Gabriel as he takes a bite of his trout, totally unconcerned. As if he hadn’t just tried to buy me. He glances up. “My sisters would love to see you, by the way. Would you like to come to our house upstate this weekend?”

  I take a deep breath. “No.”

  “You have plans? You can change them. It’s Lucia’s birthday, we’re having a family party—”

  “No.”

  I push my chair away from the table, stand up, drink all of the wine in my glass, grab my clutch and coat, and hand him back his financial manager’s business card.

  “Thank you for dinner. I don’t want your money. Good-bye.”

  And with that, I stride out of the restaurant, past Cornelia and her ancient suitor, past all the crowds of beautiful people at the bar, feeling a sort of sick euphoria.

  I just walked away from ten thousand dollars.

  I could have solved all my problems; I could have made my life easy. But I didn’t.

  I did the right thing, instead.

  Then, just as the door to the restaurant closes behind me, I bump into a couple sheltering from the rainstorm.

  Oh. My. God.

  My father.

  And a woman I’ve never seen before. Thirtysomething, brunette, slim.

  They’re kissing.

  CHAPTER 32

  “What the fuck is this?” I say.

  My father’s face lights up. “Angelique? Sweetheart! I didn’t—”

  “Didn’t know I’m living in New York now? Didn’t know you were going to run into me? Didn’t know that maybe you should call your daughter to tell her you’re getting a divorce?”

  Suddenly I’m furious, really truly spitting with anger that my father could be passionately kissing some strange woman outside a New York restaurant, sheltering from the rain like something out of Breakfast at fucking Tiffany’s.

  “And who’s this? Some slut you picked up in a bar? Or does she work for you like all the others?”

  The woman recoils as if I’ve slapped her. She’s dressed very Midtown chic, you know, not quite flawless enough for Uptown, nowhere near edgy enough for Downtown.

  My dad stares at me in shock. “Now, wait just a minute—”

  “Annabel told me you were getting a divorce weeks and weeks ago,” I interrupt him. “And I heard nothing from you. Not a word. After everything I did for you, after keeping all your fucking secrets for all those years—”

  “Your mother told me you wanted to be alone—”

  “Bullshit!” I snarl. “You didn’t need me anymore, so you didn’t bother. Do you even remember that today is my birthday?”

  “Oh, God!” My father looks dismayed. “Honey, I swear—”

  “Stop LYING!” I scream as loud as I can, and everything around us goes very still and silent.

  My father stares at me, mouth open, unable to say anything. I thought he looked like George Clooney when I was little. I don’t anymore. I think he looks like a fucking circus showman.

  “It’s true, your mother told him you didn’t want to hear from him,” says the slut. “I was there when we all met up to discuss arrangements.”

  “And who the fuck are you?”

  “I’m—I’m Veronica,” she says, her eyes suddenly wary. “I thought you knew—”

  “Knew what?”

  My father puts his arm around her and smiles proudly. “Veronica’s pregnant. We’re getting married.”

  I don’t really know what happens next.

  I think I scream, because my ears are ringing and my throat is raw and I can’t breathe and I start running away from them, but they don’t follow me anyway, then I’m running and running into the black night. There are no cabs and I don’t know where I am but I keep going anyway, through the storm, through the rain and the wind that feels like it might blow me away entirely. My brain can’t hang onto any thoughts, and I think I’m hysterical but I don’t know because I feel, I honestly feel like I might be losing my mind, like I want to run away, out of myself, out of my life.

  I wonder if my mother knows, and how she feels about it, and if she’s upset, and I think back to those Christmases when the three of us opened my stocking in bed together with raisin toast and cuddles and everything was warm and good and simple.

  I miss simple.

  I fall down at one point, into a giant filthy gutter puddle, and force myself up and walk and walk until I don’t know where I am. The rain is so heavy I can hardly see across the street. Store awnings are banging in the wind, the gutters are thick furious rivers, there’s not a single other person on the street, and it’s so dark and crazy, it feels like the end of the world.

  My head hurts and my stomach hurts and I have t
hese weird blunt pains in my chest. Oh God, where am I?

  Eventually I’m too tired and wet to walk anymore. I sit on a little children’s climbing frame in a playground, in the freezing darkness and pouring rain, shaking from the cold and crying because my life is fucked. I’m lost and cold and I don’t have a job or any money or any future or any family.

  I have nothing. Nothing.

  At that moment, my phone rings. It’s Sam.

  “Hey! How’s the date?”

  “Sam—Sam—” I can hardly speak. Immediately his voice changes.

  “Where are you? What happened? Angie. Stop crying. Tell me where you are and I’ll come and get you. You shouldn’t be out in this storm—”

  I look around, trying to see a street sign. “The corner of Spring and Mulberry, in the playground. I’m fine, I’m fine, it’s just, my dad—he’s getting married again, he’s having another baby, I know, I’m a fucking loser for crying, I can’t—”

  “Stay there. I’m coming.”

  I don’t know what to do with myself, so I stay here, in the playground, feeling every last inch of me get soaked all the way through. Right this second New York feels empty, totally empty, and I am completely alone.

  Then minutes—or hours—later, Sam turns up, jumping out of a black town car, and I stand up and look across the playground.

  Our eyes meet, the rain still hurtling down, like a million tiny shooting stars lit by the streetlights.

  And in that split second, everything becomes clear.

  I love Sam.

  I loved him from the moment I saw him on the pier in Turks and Caicos. I loved him when he followed me all the way to shore, I loved him when he brought back my stuff, I loved him when he saved Coco’s life at the surprise party, I loved him when he helped me hand out lattes and CVs, I loved him when he comforted me after my Kramer vs. Kramer meltdown, I loved him when I woke up in his arms, and I loved him when he walked into the bar after his dinner with Julia. I love everything that he does and everything that he is. He’s honest and real and true. He’s everything I want to be.

  For several long seconds, we stare at each other through the rain.

  Then I run over to him, to my Sam, my gorgeous Sam with his perfect frown. Everything about him that I know so well. Everything that I love. And I know, I know, that he loves me, too.

  “Sam—”

  I tilt my face up to his. Our lips are nearly touching, so close that even the rain isn’t coming between us. It feels, for a second, as the storm rages around us, that the wind is buffeting us together, like we’re the only people in the universe.

  “Angie—”

  I shake my head. “Shut it. Just … just shut it.”

  He grins down at me, and we stare at each other.

  This is the prekiss.

  This is the moment that I always wish could last forever.

  And for several very long seconds, I think it might.

  But I want to know what happens next. So I reach my arms around his neck and pull him toward me, and our lips finally touch.

  And bang. My brain is empty, but I feel like I’m going to burst, and everything bad that’s happened to me, everything bad I’ve done, everything I’m always worried about, just disappears. Like magic.

  We kiss and kiss and kiss. Then I pull back and I cover his face in frantic kisses, as though I’m trying to blot up the rain with my lips, until Sam grabs me, kissing me properly again. Oh God, our mouths were made for each other, and we’re sort of giggling into each other’s faces, laughing and shivering, and his lips are so warm, and his cheeks are so cold, and he smells just right. Like rain and soap and sugar and coffee and everything I like most in the world.

  I pull back, gaze at him again for a second, and out of nowhere, I say it.

  “I love you.”

  “You do?”

  I pause for a second, shocked at myself. I said it out loud. But I know it. I know it’s true. I’ve never felt this sure about anything in my life. I’ve never loved anyone, ever, like I love Sam. I had to tell him.

  “Yes. I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  “You do?”

  “I promise. Cross my heart.”

  Sam smiles at me, the kind of smile I’ve never, ever seen on him before. And I feel a funny bursting feeling in my chest. I love Sam, Sam loves me. The world makes sense.

  He pulls me to him and we kiss again, kiss and kiss and kiss, until my lips are chattering so hard that it’s no longer possible.

  “You’re freezing. Let’s get out of here.”

  “Your place,” I say. “Not Rookhaven.” I only want to be with him tonight. Not the noise and drama of Rookhaven. Pia is leaving, I’m leaving, the entire house is imploding … but I’ll deal with that tomorrow.

  Sam leads me out to the street, where the car is waiting for us.

  Such a strange sensation: I’m holding Sam’s hand. But everything about this just feels right. Exciting, safe, and lovely. Like Christmas morning.

  He opens the door for me. It’s a high-end town car, little Evian bottles in the back, Kleenex, magazines, the whole deal.

  “How can you afford this?”

  He shrugs. “My roommate, Pete, has an account. Don’t worry, he’s away.”

  “How thoughtful of him.”

  Before climbing into the car, Sam looks back at the playground quickly and sees something.

  “Just a second,” he says.

  Then he runs over to the climbing frame, picks something up, and runs back to the car. It’s my gold clutch. I must have dropped it. It’s soaked through, but it’s still good.

  “My clutch! Thank you!”

  Sam closes the door. “Back to Fort Greene, please,” he says to the driver. Then he turns to me, and I think, for the hundredth time in the past minute, I love you.

  I lean in and we start kissing again, but I’m shivering from the cold, and my clothes are heavy with rain, so Sam helps me take off my sodden coat. Then he leans back to take off his soaking-wet fleece, and as he pulls it up I get a flash of his brown, muscled torso and my stomach buckles with lust. Holy shit, he’s sexy. I grab him and we kiss more, as the car speeds through the storm, shivering with cold and excitement and lust, the rain and wind battering the roof, kissing all the way, until finally the car pulls up outside a nondescript ten-story building. It’s the kind of place you wouldn’t look at twice from the outside.

  Once we get into Sam’s building, it’s a different story: expensive-looking high-gloss interior, and an elevator that requires a key to take you to your floor.

  Sam inserts a key and presses the top button.

  As the elevator whooshes up, I turn to him and frown. “Your friend lives in the penthouse?”

  He takes a deep breath and nods. “Come on in.”

  CHAPTER 33

  “The penthouse?” I repeat. “Seriously?”

  Sam just shrugs and smiles.

  The elevator opens straight into the apartment, and my jaw drops. A huge loft-like space with wall-to-wall windows looking out over Brooklyn and Manhattan and the raging storm.

  And it’s decorated with the kind of understated, comfortably masculine touches that you only get from a professional interior designer. This is one hell of a place to sleep on the floor while you’re trying to find a job. Why did Sam want to spend so much time with me at crummy old Rookhaven when he could have been hanging out here?

  “Holy shit. What is your friend? A captain of goddamn industry?”

  I look up at Sam to see if he’s laughing, but he’s suddenly frowning at me so intensely that my stomach drops and my heart races and oh, God, every cliché I’ve ever read in any romance novel, ever, and he’s just so sexy and this is really happening, he really loves me, too, he wants me, too.… I want to kiss him again, but I feel paralyzed with, I don’t know, shyness, or fear, or something.

  Then Sam pulls me in to him and kisses me again.

  And so we kiss. We kiss, standing up, ag
ainst the closed elevator door. Then take a step toward the sofa, then stop, kissing more, then one more step again. My clothes are drenched and I’m freezing, but all I can feel is Sam’s warm lips on mine and his arms around me, all I can hear is our breathing and the storm outside. This is perfect.

  When we finally get to the sofa, there’s a clap of thunder so loud that we both startle, and pause to look at the awesomely violent storm currently at play over the city. The thunder is making the entire building shake every few minutes, and the rain is coming down in hard, angry sheets hitting the windows with an audible crackcrackcrack. The strangest thing of all is that the clouds over New York City are purple and gray, furious-looking and illuminated every few seconds by lightning. It looks almost like CGI.

  “Crazy…” I murmur. “This must be the best view in the city.”

  “It is,” says Sam, and I look up and see he’s looking only at me.

  “Cheesy,” I say.

  “Yeah. That was a little cheesy.” Sam kisses me again.

  “It’s like that hurricane,” I say. “Sandy. The one that lasted all night and gave half of New York a blackout for days.”

  “Actually, this is a derecho, rather than a hurricane,” Sam says. “A derecho is a series of storms. All of them pounding across New York City.”

  “Tell me more about the weather,” I say. “You’re so interesting.”

  “And you’re such a smartass.” Sam grabs me and I give a little involuntary shriek, and we get lost in kissing again, till another clap of thunder draws our attention back to the storm. There are over a dozen lightning storms right now over different patches of the city, like tiny rain gods are fighting wars in the clouds.

  “Why did you ask Julia out?” I say, out of nowhere. “I mean … seriously. I was so shocked.”

  “I didn’t ask her out.” Sam looks surprised. “I thought you knew. She asked me out. We were talking about this Mexican place and I said ‘We should go sometime.’ I meant all of your roommates, especially you.…” He leans forward and kisses me again. “Next thing I knew, she was texting me about what time she could meet me and that I should pick her up and that she was having first-date nerves and all this stuff, and I just … didn’t know what to do.”