We finally emerged from the hotel at ten thirty and nothing could prepare me for the humidity of New York in mid July. Flying always leaves me feeling cold and clammy so I hadn’t noticed it yesterday but today I felt like I was stepping into a hot, wet, smelly fog and within seconds sweat was dripping down my face. I must have looked like a hunk of red, sweaty cheese. I took off my cardigan and stuffed it into my Cath Kidston messenger bag.
Dylan gave me a considered look. ‘What do you want to do today?’ he asked finally.
I shrugged. ‘I don’t know. What do you want to do?’ I knew exactly what he wanted to do: a couple of art exhibitions and a trip to some trendy minimalist artboy shop to buy T-shirts but he wasn’t playing.
‘No, I asked what you wanted to do,’ he hissed belligerently.
‘Don’t try and pick another fight with me,’ I snarled, fronting up to him. ‘You go and do whatever it is you want to do and I’ll see you later.’
And with that I flounced off. If ever I was on Mastermind, then flouncing would be my specialist subject. And as an added bonus, I know it really pisses him off. I flounced as far as the deli that was two doors down, which is basically a fancy US corner-shop with a cold meat counter and fresh fruit salad in tubs and was counting out all the weirdy coinage to pay for my bottle of water when Dylan caught up with me.
He stood at the counter while I counted out dimes and nickels and tried to remember what each one was worth.
He still didn’t say anything while I rummaged in my bag for my sunglasses and sunblock. It was a little unnerving. All of a sudden he swooped down and kissed me gently on the lips.
‘Sorry,’ we both said in unison.
I held out my little finger. ‘Friends?’ I said in a tiny voice.
He gravely hooked my little finger with his. ‘Friends.’
‘Look, about the money—’ I began.
Dylan shook his head. ‘Forget it, I overreacted. They probably planned the whole thing. It’s only £500, we have plenty of money.’
I nudged him with my hip. ‘I should have waited for you.’ I looked up at him. I’ve known Dylan forever, or nearly three years anyway, and even now all I have to do is look at him to get quite giddy with longing. Dylan is all angles; long limbs and sharp features softened slightly by his terminally messy dark brown hair, and the audacious curve of his bottom lip. Right now he was looking at me with a small smile, his hands shielding his green eyes from the sun so I couldn’t read his expression. He could make me do anything sometimes just by looking at me in a certain way. Pretty much the way he was looking at me right now.
‘So… c’mon, I know you want to go to the Guggenheim and admire its unique rotunda architectural feature as designed by Frank Lloyd Wright,’ I said.
Dylan grinned then boffed me lightly on the nose. ‘You can read me like a book.’
‘Yeah – a cheap airport novel,’ I mock-sneered. ‘Let’s find the subway station.’
We spent the morning getting lost on the subway and looking at art. It was all very cultural. But the best thing was getting our lunchtime hot dogs and pretzels from one of those street carts they always have in the movies. Dylan and I were back to being love-shaped although the air was far too sticky to even think about holding hands.
We made our way back downtown in the afternoon so Dylan could stock up on art boy T-shirts but there’s only so many skate shops a girl can visit.
‘You carry on,’ I told Dylan as we made our fourth shop stop. ‘I’m going to pop into that café and check my emails.’
As I suspected there was an email from Grace waiting in my in-box.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Hey Edie
Hope you’re OK and if you’re reading this then I guess you haven’t been sprayed wid gunshot. It’s all kicked off here. There I was, all excited about going on tour until I found out… (dramatic pause) Jack’s coming too! No, he hasn’t had a sex change and persuaded Poppy to let him play the triangle. He’s going to be our roadie. And it’s all Jesse’s fault. They have this whole Batman and Robin thing going on – it’s very trying. I used to think that I stood a chance with Jack but it’s like he’s obsessed with Jesse. I mean, Poppy goes out with the guy and gives him a hard time about everything so I don’t see why Jack’s gone down with such a bad case of hero worship.
Oh grumble, grumble.
Anyway gotta go. Write soon.
Gracie xxxxx
I shook my head. It was so easy to see where Grace was going wrong with her life. Much easier than sussing out my own problem areas. I clicked on the reply button.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Hey Grace
Greetings from NYC. We’re both still in one piece although Dylan’s disappeared into yet another shop that sells skinny T-shirts with interesting graphics on them.
We’ve had some jet-lag induced domestics over the last few hours (long, complicated story) but we just need more sleep and food and everything will be fine.
Anyway I’m going to use the excuse of jet-lag to do some straight talking. I know you fancy Jack (don’t give me that look) so the fact that he’s going to be on tour gives you the perfect chance to do something about it! Just grab him and snog him! Dylan’s leaning over my shoulder and reading this. He says hi and that we have to go now. My ‘master’ has spoken and I’m powerless to resist. (Yup, those were sarcastic quote marks!)
Take care
Edie xxxxx
Dylan rubbed my shoulders as I closed my in-box.
‘Are you tired?’ he wanted to know.
I nodded. ‘Yeah, shall we have extra caffeine-y coffee or a nap?’
‘A nap,’ decided Dylan immediately. ‘And I can’t be bothered to faff about with the subway, let’s get a cab.’
It sounded like a plan. A good plan.
Half an hour later we were fast asleep.
I woke up to find Dylan kissing my ear and stroking my hair. I lay there for five minutes pretending to be asleep because it felt so nice. But then Dylan pressed himself against my back and slid his hand lower.
‘I know you’re not asleep,’ he purred. ‘Your breathing’s got faster.’
I smiled and rolled over so I was lying on top of him.
I brushed the hair out of his eyes. ‘Hey you,’ I whispered.
‘Hey yourself,’ he whispered back before nibbling my bottom lip with his teeth. I rubbed my mouth against his but every time he tried to capture my lips I moved away, kissing his cheeks and eyelids and the tip of his nose. Dylan gave a growl of annoyance and suddenly flipped me so I was lying underneath him while his mouth clung to mine. Our lips met, Dylan’s tongue dipping into my mouth as our legs slowly tangled.
Eventually he paused in his assault of my mouth and I sucked in some much needed oxygen.
‘What time are we meeting Carl and Lisa?’ Dylan mumbled, in between kissing my neck.
I tried to think. ‘Eight.’
Dylan glanced at the travel clock on his bedside table. ‘We’ve got two hours.’
I ran my hands down his back, feeling the tight outline of his muscles beneath the skin.
‘I guess I could have a long soak in the bath,’ I suggested teasingly. ‘That should kill some time.’
Dylan nipped my shoulder. ‘Why don’t you make it a quick shower instead, I’ve got plans for you.’
The evening air was a little fresher as we walked through Soho towards Nolita, stopping every now and then to consult our street map. After a few false turns we found Mulberry Street and the little Italian restaurant where we’d arranged to meet Carl and Lisa. I was a bit nervous about hanging out with them. Lisa hadn’t exactly endeared herself to me and Carl was probably the biggest jerk in the world if his choice in girlfriend was anything to go by. But they seemed pleased to see us, probably ’cause they were getting a free meal. God, I’ve become so cynical in my old age.
We sat outside and watched these little old Italian men greeting each other and sitting down outside a café a few doors down to smoke cigars and drink red wine. Carl swore to God that the whole block was Mafia controlled and that they were retired members of the Cosa Nostra but I think he’d seen too many episodes of The Sopranos. I was in love with it all. The waitress with the broad Bronx accent who made me repeat my order for spaghetti and meatballs five times because ‘I love your cute accent’, the smell of garlic and traffic, the thick, heavy air and the fact that every other person I saw was walking a small dog.
Carl and Lisa didn’t talk about the stuff our friends in Manchester talked about: mainly who fancied who, who hated who and music, films and art. They talked about their sinus problems, how expensive living in New York was and gave a really in-depth account of the state of their relationship (which veered dangerously towards over-sharing). After a long, tedious account about Carl’s bad relationship with his stepfather which had started when he’d walked in on him and his mum getting pelvic, I changed the subject to ask how much rent they paid.
Carl squinched his face at me. ‘I think that’s a really personal question and I’m kinda offended that you’d ask me that,’ he said very haughtily.
I apologised and looked at Dylan for a bit of moral support but he was too busy talking to Lisa about her therapist.
I couldn’t wait for the meal to be over and wondered whether Dylan and I would have time for a romantic walk in Central Park but once we’d settled the bill, Carl and Lisa were already making plans to take us bar-hopping.
‘Edie’s underage,’ Dylan pointed out. ‘Don’t you have to be twenty-one to drink here?’
Carl winked at me, which threw me as he hadn’t exactly been Mr New Best Friend up till then and promised we’d go somewhere dark where I wouldn’t get carded.
Then Dylan and Lisa were walking on ahead while Carl slung a slightly too friendly arm round my shoulders and started jawing on about his and Lisa’s sex life. It was too ewwww for words. There was something off, something that I couldn’t quite put my finger on but Carl was following Dylan and Lisa through a little doorway and my feeling of ickiness got distracted.
The Red Bench Bar was so dark that if Carl hadn’t moved his arm from my shoulder to my waist and guided me towards a table I’d have had to ask the barman for some night-vision goggles.
While Dylan and Carl went to the bar Lisa and I sat in silence as we acclimatised to the dark. She twirled a strand of her expensively highlighted hair around one perfectly manicured finger and even though I was wearing my expensive Mango dress that looked a bit like a Marc Jacobs frock, I felt like a raggedy urchin next to her.
‘Dylan’s cute,’ Lisa suddenly announced. ‘Extremely yummy.’
‘He’ll do,’ I said in a non-committal voice that I hoped made it clear that Dylan’s yumminess was not up for discussion.
‘You still mad about the money, huh?’ she asked and although it was dark, I could hear the smirk in her voice. ‘I explained it to Dylan, he’s cool with it.’
‘Well he wasn’t cool about it last night,’ I muttered.
‘You gotta know how to handle men, honey,’ Lisa said with all the added and vast experience of her extra four years on me. ‘Take Carl.’
Yeah, someone, please take Carl.
I sighed. ‘What about Carl?’
‘He’s OK for now, but definitely not a long-term fixture.’ Lisa shifted nearer to me as she warmed to her topic. ‘It’s like you and Dylan.’
‘It’s nothing like me and Dylan,’ I burst out indignantly. ‘We love each other!’
But when I said it, it sounded, well, trite. Lisa seemed to agree.
‘God, you teenagers figure that love is always going to be all puppy dogs and ice cream,’ she snorted dismissively. ‘He’s your first boyfriend, of course you think you love him. But when you go to college all that stuff changes.’
‘It doesn’t have to,’ I argued. ‘If two people love each other then they can make it work.’
Lisa ignored this. ‘Carl and I have an open relationship,’ she continued. ‘It makes everything less complicated. I’m so pleased that I’ve moved on from all that jealousy ’cause, y’know, that negative energy can be so blocking.’
‘Open relationships are just an excuse to cheat on each other,’ I snorted.
‘Don’t you ever think about being with someone who isn’t Dylan?’ Lisa demanded in a low voice. ‘I know Carl really likes you.’
‘Yeah?’
‘No I mean he really likes you,’ Lisa giggled. ‘And I know Dylan’s into me.’
My entire brain was on the verge of exploding, when Carl and Dylan came back with our drinks. Carl was already sliding into the booth next to me and Lisa was patting the seat next to her for Dylan, who had no choice but to sit down. He didn’t have to look so bloody happy about it, though.
Then Carl put his hand on my knee under the table and whispered, ‘So. Did Lisa talk to you?’
My withering glance was annoyingly obscured so I took a gulp of my drink, and nearly spat it out again.
The three of them laughed at me, and Lisa made a big show of mopping the table with her napkin. ‘Oh yeah, forgot to mention how large the measures are,’ Dylan grinned.
‘Thanks for the warning,’ I said sourly.
And then Carl was telling me how many bench presses he could do and while I idly wondered what a bench press was and wished that he’d stop trying to look down my dress, I tried to hear what Dylan and Lisa were talking about. I heard my name mentioned a few times, and I didn’t like the way Lisa kept gazing into Dylan’s eyes and licking her lips.
For the next two hours, Carl kept the drinks coming in between trying to touch me in inappropriate places. I attempted to kick Dylan under the table a few times but he was too engrossed in Lisa to notice. He’d occasionally flash me a quick smile and then turn back to her.
I realised eventually that I was really drunk. I had to fight the urge to lay my head down on the table. Carl was now wittering on about how my accent was really horny and rubbing my thigh and it was getting harder and harder to keep hold of his hand to stop it wandering someplace that it really shouldn’t be wandering.
‘Oh look, they’re holding hands. That’s so cute.’
I tried to focus on Lisa who’d just spoken but there was at least three of her.
‘I feel a bit strange,’ I said slowly, my voice coming from a long, long way away.
Dylan stood up. ‘Jesus, Edie, I can’t take you anywhere,’ he snapped.
I tried to stand too but realised I was still clutching Carl’s hand.
‘Are we going?’ I asked the three Dylans who were looking at me with matching expressions of disgust.
Carl gave me an enthusiastic hug. ‘Hey, you can’t go!’ he exclaimed loudly. ‘The party’s just getting started.’
But Carl’s squeezing was having a devastating effect on my insides. ‘I’m going to be sick!’
With an exasperated exhalation, Dylan grabbed me by the arm and dragged me through the bar. Somewhere in my brain, I’d already made the decision that I was going to throw up and didn’t feel all panicky about it like you do when you’re ill. I stumbled to the edge of the kerb and puked. And puked. And puked. When my stomach was empty, I felt a lot better and strangely calm. I turned round; Dylan was staring at me with a look of utter revulsion, his arms folded.
I stepped back, bewildered by the venom in his eyes, and nearly fell off the edge of the sidewalk. In two short strides he was clutching my arm again. ‘You’ve made a complete show of yourself,’ he spat, his green eyes flashing, as he turned me round to face him. ‘You just shouldn’t drink.’
‘Leggo of me,’ I slurred. ‘You’re not the boss of me. I’m going back in and I’m having another drink.’
‘You’ve had enough,’ Dylan said tightly. ‘Of drinking, and all that touchy feely crap with Carl.’
At that moment Carl and Lisa emerged from the bar,
took one look at the thunderous expression on Dylan’s face and stopped.
‘I’m taking Edie back to the hotel,’ Dylan stated in an expressionless voice, which I knew meant that I was for it when he got me on my own. However much I was beginning to loathe our new American pals, I decided there was safety in numbers.
‘I want to go with them,’ I whined.
Dylan kept up the death grip on my upper arms.
‘It’s been a great night,’ he said to Carl and Lisa, ignoring my frantic wriggling. ‘We’ll phone you when we get to LA, let you know the car’s in one piece.’
They realised they were being dismissed and turned to go but Dylan hadn’t finished.
Diary of a Crush: Sealed With a Kiss Page 11