by Lindsey Kelk
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
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 w
ith 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?’