Henri pointed at the tidy, painted building in front of them. ‘It’s not like we don’t know where to find him, is it?’ There was a real feeling of unease about Jess, now. What did Raelene have in mind? That she would throw herself at Jess and hope he responded in kind? Who behaved like that, anyway?
Well, her brother Peter. And Henri certainly didn’t want to emulate him.
‘Sorry,’ Henri stuck her head in the open passenger’s window. ‘I won’t be coming.’
‘Mr Prime said not to leave without you.’
‘Mr Prime needs serious psychiatric help. Trust me, I am not going anyway with him today, or for a very long time.’
‘Is that really what you want me to tell him?’ The driver was a lovely looking man with a concerned face and manic afro.
‘No, tell him I know what he did, and he can kiss any reconciliation goodbye.’ Turning away, she was stopped by a gentle suggestion.
‘Miss?’
‘Yes?’
‘Maybe I could just say you had something come up?’
Henri stared at the kind eyes. The man obviously saw the vulnerability in Peter. Undeserved sympathy, she wanted to tell him.
‘Sure, that’s probably better,’ she said instead. ‘Thanks.’
‘You’re very welcome.’
Then the car moved into the road and disappeared around the corner.
‘Let’s go.’ Raelene called from the porch, where she was swinging in the hammock.
God, was she really going to do this? Raelene reached the curb in double-quick time and saw the expression on Henri’s face.
‘Come on, you don’t get what you want in life by being chicken. That’s what you told me about the show.’
‘I am nuts, don’t listen to a word I say. Escapees from lunatic asylums sprout ridiculous rubbish.’
‘The only thing you’re escaping from is love. L.O.V.E. And it’s about time you stopped running.’
‘But Rae . . . ?’
‘And stop thinking, too. That’s just as bad. Now let’s go.’
Grabbing Henri’s hand, Raelene darted across the road towards the pizza place, once again dragging her new friend and partner with her.
Sitting in the plane, waiting for Henri’s car to arrive, Peter felt relief wash over him. Henri would know what to do; would help him. Make him feel better about himself. Explain what on earth Eva Claire was thinking, rejecting him like that.
Peter didn’t do rejection. As a teenager a slim build and wry tongue had guaranteed plenty of female attention, and as he aged and his waistline expanded, fame and the wry tongue did the job instead.
But now Eva Claire seemed immune to his allure. And, unfortunately for him, she was the only girl on his mind.
The choice of whether to shag or not to shag Eva wasn’t his to make, and he wasn’t comfortable with the situation. Particularly as other women seemed to pale into insignificance compared with the delectable blonde.
Delectable she may be, but she said no.
Peter couldn’t imagine what Eva wanted? After all, no one proposed marriage after one shag, did they? Well, that mutant on Henri’s stupid show might – what was his name? Johnny? – but normal people, well, they didn’t, did they?
Surely women understood that some guys weren’t the marrying type.
But some women might not be the play-the-field types.
Where did that leave him? Peter Prime wasn’t about to propose marriage to a woman he barely knew, was he?
And if he didn’t do that, it was doubtful Eva would give in to him once more.
All he wanted was a little lovin’. Why was that so bloody hard for everyone to understand.
Pulling up a sleeve he surveyed the watch that sat tightly on a too-meaty wrist. Where was Henri?
After a few more minutes, he grabbed his mobile to call Barry, his regular MNC driver. Traffic was always hell this time of day on the way to JFK.
Then Barry answered, and told him what was going on.
Feeling ill, Peter immediately called the pilot, saying they could take off.
Next he called the solitary hostess, a redhead called June.
‘Gin and tonic, keep ‘em coming.’
Fucking women.
Stuff them all.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
BY THE TIME THEY GOT TO THE pizza place, Henri had decided life as a prude and a spinster was preferable to shaming herself in front of Jess.
‘I can’t.’
‘Henri, you act as if you haven’t done this sort of thing before.’ Her new friend was frowning severely; which did nothing to take away from her baby-faced charm.
‘Well, I haven’t.’ The words popped out before Henri could stop them. Was she completely and totally nuts. Why tell Raelene something like that. That was information no one needed to know. Henri didn’t even want to admit it to herself.
‘What are you talking about? You had a fiancé, didn’t you? Just remember the three date rule. No sex on the first date.’
Or the fiftieth.
‘Yes, I don’t think you need to worry about that with me.’
‘Not exactly inexperienced, are you?’
Henri went bright red. Then said: ‘Not exactly.’
Raelene breathed a mock sigh of relief. ‘God, for a minute there I thought you meant you were a virgin.’ Then she saw the look on Henri’s face.
‘Henri?’
‘I wish I could deny it, but what would be the point.’
‘Nooooo. Looking like you do? How is that possible?’
‘I just never really wanted to.’
‘And do you now?’
But before Henri could answer a familiar voice called out through one of the open windows.
‘What are you two doing here?’
Jess.
Shit.
The girls stared at each other. Then Raelene spoke. ‘Pizza, we need pizza.’
‘You’ve come to the right place.’ Smiling, Jess was speaking to Rae, but looking straight at Henri.
Who, thanks to her own stupid big mouth, was now feeling both stupid and desperate at the same time.
Jess asked Raelene to go in and order. Reluctantly, corkscrew curls bobbing rather less effervescently than before, her friend looked back at Henri as she walked in through the large double doors.
‘So, I’ve been meaning to ask you something, Henri.’ Still leaning out of the window, Jess now swung himself out of it, and stood in front of her.
‘Really?’
‘Yes, look, I know I may seem pretty unworldly to a star like you . . .’
Hardly. He didn’t know the half of it, did he?
‘Not at all.’
‘Anyway, I thought a movie and a meal might be nice. In town. Tomorrow night?’
‘I’d love to,’ Henri said, without thinking. What was there to think about? This is what she wanted, right?
Besides, there was that world-renowned dating rule, wasn’t there? That meant there were two more to go before she had to decide.
If there was a decision to be made at all.
Jess might find her boring.
But failing that, whether it was three dates or three thousand, at some point she would have to tell him she was a virgin.
And then, in all probability, he would run for the hills.
Or at least the nearest boozer.
About half way across America, the hostess and pilot decided that no more drinks would be served.
‘Fucking hell, this is a private bloody plane, you can’t stop the alcohol. Don’t you know who I am?’ Peter tried to get out of the huge leather seat but there was a sudden incline in altitude and he fell backwards awkwardly.
‘It’s against the law to allow people to travel intoxicated, sir. In case of accident or emergency.’
‘Bloody health and safety,’ Peter grumbled. In order to forget the humiliation of both Eva and his damned sister, more booze was needed. Christ, all the thoughts running through his brain were maddening.
> Trying Eva’s number again, for the fiftieth time, he listened for the phone to ring out, as it had all the other times. But this time, the answering machine tone sounded.
She’d turned on the answering machine.
Peter took a deep breath. ‘Look, Eva, I know I am crap and shit and all that. I’m fat and useless and enjoy vulgar sex acts with a variety of women at the same time, but you see, somehow, I can’t stop thinking about you. And it, and well, oh fuck.’
Hanging up, Peter threw up into the seat beside him, much to the consternation of the horrified-looking stewardess.
The next evening, Raelene was sitting on Henri’s bed as outfit after outfit was rejected.
Only one of them looked despondent, however. Raelene had picked up three new sponsorship deals thanks to their version of Ten Reasons.
‘I can pay you more than bingo, now,’ Rae told her, but Henri could only focus on one thing.
Jess.
‘Why do I feel physically sick? It can’t be normal?’
‘It’s called love, babe.’
‘Love? I’ve been in love before.’
‘With that Rodney dude?
Henri nodded.
‘Did he get your juices going?’
‘Raelene!’
‘What, that’s what love is all about, you know?’
‘Lust maybe, but love.’
‘I don’t think you can separate the two. Besides, if you stay together for ages, like my parents, you need lust, at least in the beginning.’
‘Really?’ Henri wondered how she had developed such a warped view of love. After all, her entire family appeared to be at it like metaphorical rabbits.
Well, it was time for a new outlook.
Except . . .
Henri threw her hands up at the reflection in front of her. ‘Lust or love aside, I’ll never find out because I seem to look ridiculous in everything.’
‘You look fantastic in everything – you have a model’s figure. Just go with that.’ Rae pointed at a simple white sundress. ‘It’s boiling tonight, anyway. That won’t cause sweat marks.’
Sweat marks? ‘God, I hadn’t thought of that. I always sweat when I am nervous.’
Raelene grabbed the white cotton and threw it at Henri.
‘If you don’t get moving, there will be no date, so stop worrying and start dressing. You’re due to leave in five minutes.’
And Henri, loyalties split between running for the hills (or, more accurately, the airport via the highway) and running into Jess’s arms, took the dress and slipped it on.
CHAPTER TWENTY
ON ARRIVAL AT THE FIVE-star Loughton in L.A., Peter tried to order more booze but apparently it was too late for room service – which was utter garbage. Having stayed in numerous hotels throughout the years, he knew that alcohol was always available, no matter the time, because it made the establishment money.
‘I want fucking whisky, now!’ He slurred at the young porter who had the misfortune of accompanying him upstairs and showing him the room. The poor boy’s fobbish hair, slim build and sprinkling of freckles made him appear younger than he probably was. Even then, Peter calculated it was possible he could be the kid’s father.
‘I’m sorry sir, perhaps some coffee?’
‘Let me get this straight, room service is open for coffee but not booze?’
‘We have to be responsible about alcohol, sir.’
‘You’re a business.’ Peter grabbed his wallet and flung a hundred bucks in the boy’s face. ‘Go find me a bottle of whisky. Keep the rest as a tip.’
The boy’s eyes lit up, if only briefly. ‘I really can’t sir, I would lose my job.’
‘Two hundred?’
‘Sorry, sir.’ A sad nod. ‘Perhaps I could order you that coffee?’
Peter waved him away, letting him keep one the bills. ‘Fuck off, kid. I’ll go out and get my own.’
But the minute the boy left, the door closing gently behind him, Peter decided it was too much effort to go out.
Too much effort to do anything.
Ever again.
Feeling the inevitable gruesome headache coming on, he opened the side pocket of the leather suitcase the porter had left on the special stand by the bed. Dear Mother, fearing that the Americans didn’t know what Panadol was, had packed five industrial-size boxes of painkillers.
Seeing all the pills, Peter realized that there was a simple solution to feeling so fucking awful.
And taking up the complimentary water bottle by the bed, he opened the first packet.
‘You look incredible.’
Henri doubted it. Ever since Rae had mentioned sweating, her underarms felt as if they could have saved a drought-ridden town out west. The fact that Jess had picked a place to dine that sported tables and chairs out in the baking evening sun didn’t help matters. There were beads of sweat on her forehead, and any moment now, one would amass enough strength to roll down her nose and into the heavy merlot she had inexplicably chosen to order.
‘Did you hear me?’ Jess queried. ‘I can’t see you behind those sunglasses.’
‘Well, it is pretty sunny here.’
Suddenly noticing she was in direct sun, Jess insisted on moving seats. Why would that help? Henri thought. It must be 40 Celsius, without sitting on concrete in what was effectively a carpark.
Didn’t he notice how bloomin’ hot it was?
‘So, it’s great here, isn’t it?’
Hmm. Rubbish small talk, this was going real well.
Well, say something, you dope.
‘You’re great,’ she blurted out.
Not that! Idiot!
But Jess seemed to like it.
‘Thanks, you too, but listen, before anything, well, er, happens . . .’
‘Happens?’ Henri’s voice rose about four octaves.
Cool. Really cool, Henri.
Jess cast a quick, querying look in her direction, before continuing. ‘Yes, you see, at Harvard . . .’
Suddenly, Henri’s phone rang. Apologizing, she snuck a quick Pete. It wasn’t a number she recognized.
‘Hello?’
‘Is that Henrietta Prime?’
‘Yes?’
‘Sister to Peter Prime, the radio presenter?’
‘Henri’s neck hairs bristled. ‘Yes.’
What had that jerk of a brother done now?
‘This is St Lukes Hospital in Los Angeles. Your brother was just admitted to A&E.’
‘Oh God,’ Henri gripped the table. Jess was mouthing ‘what?’. ‘Was it an accident?’
‘No dear, overdose. We suspect there was nothing accidental about it.’
‘Is he . . .’ She couldn’t say the words.
‘They’re working on him now, but he had also ingested a large amount of alcohol so the situation is very serious.’
‘I’m on my way, but I’m in New York, so it might take a while.’
She was standing before the phone call had ended.
‘What, what is it?’ Jess asked, worry etched across his smooth, square brow.
‘My brother tried to kill himself.’
‘Holy shit! Is he going to be okay?’
Henri shook her head, tears welling up. Why hadn’t she been nicer to him, at least called him directly to say she wasn’t going to L.A.? ‘They don’t know.’
Jess dropped some notes on the table and grabbed her arm. ‘Come on, I’m taking you to the airport.’
‘You don’t have to do that, I can get a cab.’
The handsome features flushed. ‘Henri, I’m coming to L.A. with you.’
‘No, what about your job?’
‘I think they can do without me for a day or so. Come on,’
And with that, he flagged down a cab, instructing it to detour home for passports and a change of underwear.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
JUST OVER SEVEN HOURS, AND quite a stack of cash later, Henri and Jess were racing down the hospital corridor, counting the numbers on the doors. �
�102, 103, 104! Here it is.’
‘Look, I’ll wait here,’ Jess said. ‘You’re brother isn’t keen on me.’
‘What? He only met you briefly.’
‘We almost came to blows.’
Henri stared at him incredulously.
‘He is really rude, Hen.’
No one had ever called her that before. She liked it.
Focus. Peter, suicide, remember?
‘Okay, yes, I know, well, I’ll see you in a minute.’ Pushing open the door, the true gravity of the situation was revealed. Her brother was attached to every sort of machine imaginable. A faint beep beep provided the only background noise. She could barely hear him breath.
The Revenge Date/Ten Reasons to Say I Don't Bundle (Romantic Comedy) Page 24