by Lindsey Kelk
‘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
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 39th 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 spilla
ge.
‘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 décor 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’Oréal 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 actua
lly, I moved today,’ I said. This was going OK, I was having a conversation! ‘I’m in Murray Hill at my friend’s apartment, 39th 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.