Taylor wet down paper towels with cold water, passed them to me, and ordered I put them on my cheeks. “First of all, relax! I’ll scout around, find Yvette, and ask if he’s here. If he is, we’ll just leave. I’ll think of some excuse.” She squeezed my hands and tried to convey that all would be right in the world. “Just calm down. I’ll be right back, and then we’ll know what to do.”
She finally returned with a big, fake smile on her face. “Okay, he is in fact here. He’s across the room from Marcus and Liam. Fortunately, it’s pretty dark out there. So, why don’t we discreetly leave?”
I nodded, because I was too nervous to speak. I took one more look in the mirror. I’d used the time Taylor was doing reconnaissance to powder my nose and fix my lipstick. I nodded again, giving the go-ahead.
As we opened the door, Liam was standing just outside. “Is everything okay? You’ve been gone quite a while. I thought perhaps you were trying to run out on me by shimmying away through the kitchen,” he said with a smile.
Shocked to see him, and added to the current circumstances, my brain fritzed. Thankfully, Taylor took over. “No, of course not! There’s always a line. How about we go get Marcus and head back to our place for coffee?”
Liam looked back and forth between Taylor and me. I could tell he sensed that something had happened. “Why don’t you wait for us out front, and I’ll go get Marcus?” he offered, giving my hand a squeeze. I’d never felt so much relief and returned the gesture to convey my gratitude. He gave me another reassuring look before leaning down and planting a kiss on my cheek.
“Right then, we’ll meet you out front,” he said softly, and off he went.
“Get me the hell out of here!” I hissed to Taylor. We walked as far away from where Des had last been sighted as possible. I kept my head down. It was one of the few times in my life I’d actually been grateful for being the height of an Oompa Loompa.
“We’re almost there,” Taylor reported. I fixed my eyes on the back of her heels and kept walking.
Suddenly, there was a lot of jostling beside me, and, out of reflex, I glanced up to see what was happening. There, among the multitudes of female party-goers was Deadly Blue himself. I saw a flicker of recognition.
“Crap! Move!” I ordered, and Taylor picked up the pace. She had to, since I was shoving her from behind. We rushed to the entrance, much like rats scurrying through a maze. I registered commotion behind me.
“Charlotte! Stop!” called a familiar British voice. Not anxious to find out what he wanted, I kept scurrying. Suddenly, we burst out onto the sidewalk. I had the sensation similar to when you burst through the surface of water. Cool, fresh, reviving air. We’d made it through the maze but, instead of cheese at the end, we had our freedom.
Or so I thought. Until I heard, “Charlotte, please stop.”
Taylor took the matter in hand. “Charlotte, just keep walking. If anything comes of this, I’ll testify that you did your best to avoid him and that he approached you repeatedly.” I trotted away on my stilettos.
A hand caught my shoulder. “Bloody hell, Charlotte! Stop!”
The same hand swung me around. It all happened so fast. One minute I was in escape mode, and the next I was spinning on dangerously high heels, and then I was grabbing for anything to stop me from falling. I reached out a hand to the nearest thing, which turned out to be Des Bannerman and, more specifically, Des Bannerman’s cheek. I looked up and attempted to register several bewildering sights.
First, I was face to face with Des. His hair was styled very much as it had been in Last Saturday: spiky, topsy-turvy, disheveled. His eyes were beseeching, expressing pain. Second, I realized he had let go of me and was holding a hand to his face, which was smudged with blood. The red contrasted to his tailored black shirt. I guessed that explained the pained look. Third, he was speaking, and my brain worked hard to sort out the words. “Clearly, I was wrong,” he said.
Then, he turned his back to me and walked away. Having found a handkerchief in his back pocket, he unfolded it and pressed it to his cheek. He returned to the group waiting out front of the Bourgeois Pig.
My brain processed his words. “Clearly, I was wrong.” Had Ted managed to talk to him at long last? Had he been willing to hear me out? As I mulled this over, Taylor grabbed my hand and led me down the sidewalk.
“Was that Des Bannerman?” Liam asked when we approached him and Marcus, whom I’d forgotten all about.
“No, no it wasn’t. Just an old friend saying hello,” Taylor improvised.
“Amazing! They look quite alike. I heard he was in town. It would be fascinating to see them side by side,” Liam continued.
Still freaking out, I heard myself say, “No, just an old friend named Will. From college. Let’s go get that coffee!”
Taylor persuaded Liam to let her teach him how to hail a cab. He indignantly defended his abilities but followed her anyway. While they were waving and whistling, now halfway in the street, Marcus asked, “What happened?”
“I’ll explain later.” I wondered when I would be able to call Tiziana and see what she knew.
Liam, having no luck with hailing a cab, left it to Taylor. Returning to us, he said, “She’s right! I don’t know how. I’m willing to learn tomorrow. Go help your girl, mate!”
Marcus went to help Taylor, giving Liam a chance to ask again, “Are you sure you’re all right? You’re as white as a Scotsman in winter!”
“I’m fine. I just got a bit overheated. The fresh air feels good.” I hoped I sounded convincing. I regretted the lie immediately.
Liam looked down at my shoes and asked, “Can you actually walk in those things?” When I assured him I was quite adept, he invited me to stroll a few blocks.
“We’re going to walk a few blocks. We’ll meet you back at the flat,” Liam called to Taylor and Marcus. Taylor, who had been huddled up against Marcus, whispering in his ear, waved and promised to see us there.
Liam stuck his hands in his coat pockets, seemingly content to wander quietly. We occasionally stopped to look in a window or watch a street performer. I could feel my shoulders relax and my stomach quit churning. Liam also seemed to sense me returning to my former self and asked, “Would it be all right if I were to hold your hand?”
I smiled up at him. “With pleasure.” I said, offering my hand to him.
There was no point in ruining the rest of the evening by worrying about Des. I figured that, if he was going to call the police, they’d be at the apartment when we arrived. If not that night, I hoped they wouldn’t show up at work; Faith Clarkson would fire me for sure.
Eventually we sought the comfort of a cab and headed back to my apartment. I was relieved to find only Marcus and Taylor cuddled up on the sofa when we returned.
“There’s some coffee for you! You’ll find the whiskey next to the mugs if you’d like a little drop,” Taylor called out as we headed straight into the kitchen. Despite having calmed down quite a bit, I poured two cups of coffee and added a large slug of whiskey to my cup, hoping it would help settle my nerves.
“There’s almost as much whiskey in there as an Irish pub. Want to switch?” Liam proffered his more lightly doctored cup.
“No, it’s fine! Really? Can you put too much whiskey in?”
“Then you won’t think terrible things about me if I add just a drop more?” Liam asked, a grin on his face.
“Pour away!”
We spent an hour sipping coffee and chatting, while, in the deep recesses of my brain, I couldn’t help but wonder what was going to come from having scratched one of the most famous cheeks in the world. When Liam announced he ought to go, Marcus offered to share a cab with him.
While Marcus and Taylor said their goodbyes in the kitchen, we stood quietly talking at the door. Liam leaned down and said, “This evening was a very pleasant surprise! It was a lovely to meet you, Charlotte.”
“Likewise,” I whispered. Between the hefty drop of whiskey and the sensation of his thumb st
rumming my cheek, I was all giggly and goofy again.
“I have a solid week ahead of me, but I’d like to give you a call,” he said, his eyes questioning. I gave a happy nod. He kissed my cheek, then buried his face in my hair and took a deep breath. “You’re glorious!”
Marcus and Taylor appeared, leaving us to say our final goodbye. Once they were gone, we reconvened to the living room. Unfortunately, it wasn’t so that we could replay the state of my love life.
Sitting on the sofa with my head in my hands, I moaned.
“What exactly happened?” Taylor asked.
I told her about Des having grabbed my shoulder and throwing me off balance. “I swear to all that is holy, I didn’t mean to hurt him. I just reached out to stop myself from falling and managed to collide with his face. Then, of all things, he said, ‘Clearly, I was wrong.’ What does that mean? Oh god, what’s going to happen now? I’m going to be hauled before the courts for violating the restraining order and get charged with assault! Des’s never going to let me go to Tiziana’s wedding. Let’s not forget that Liam will find out about my supposed affair with Des and all the lies I told him tonight!”
“I don’t know, sweetie. What time is it in Italy?”
Looking at the clock I said, “9 a.m. I can’t call her. It’s Sunday morning.”
“Well, then, go to bed while the whiskey’s still in your system. It’ll help you fall asleep. Call her when you wake up. She might know more by then anyway.”
We stumbled to our respective bedrooms, Taylor continuing to comfort me. “We’ll worry about this when we have to. Remember, you have me as a witness, and I know that you were trying to get out of there. I’ll also testify that he grabbed you, not the other way around.”
While drifting off to sleep, several thoughts went through my mind. Des Bannerman was unbelievably arrogant, and there would be some form of backlash, of that I was certain. I couldn’t handle whiskey (my head was already pounding). And maybe I’d met a wonderful candidate for Prince Charming. Eventually, I fell asleep with the vision of Liam in my head and Taylor’s reassuring words ringing in my ears.
***
Come Monday morning, I stared moodily at the computer screen, reading Page Six, looking for anything regarding Des Bannerman. Fortunately, nothing was to be found.
The phone in the outer office rang, and soon Evelle passed the call through. “Charlotte Young speaking.” Liam’s very sexy voice wished me good morning. The day took a serious turn for the better.
“How did you get my number?” I felt shocked but, more importantly, flattered.
Chuckling, he said, “While you’re a mysterious woman, I didn’t consume so much alcohol that I forgot where you worked or what your name was. It was fairly simple.”
“Oh.” I was sure I sounded quite intelligent.
Still laughing, Liam continued, “I wish I could have dazzled you with my James Bond secret agent skills, but they weren’t needed.”
His banter soon had me relaxed, and we talked about life and the universe for a little while; nothing serious or provoking, just light-hearted conversation, which I desperately needed.
“I have meetings lined up day and night for the next few days. May I call again, since I can’t take you out on the town?” he asked as we were saying our goodbyes.
Smiling into the phone, I said yes and told him I was looking forward to it.
For the next three days, we developed a pattern of his calling at 9 a.m. and then again around 4:30 p.m. I found the phone to be a pleasant way to get to know someone. Liam proved to be a very easy person to talk to. Within just a few days, I felt that we knew each other’s life histories reasonably well—a remarkable difference from all the men I’d met since moving to New York, most of whom were interested in having one-sided conversations that only involved, “I like this, I do that, I went there, and I know them.”
The wonder of new romance was a bit tainted, however, with the ever-present fear of a telephone call from Mead, Jameson, and Kelly.
A few nights later, I was ensconced on the sofa eating Kung Pao chicken straight out of the take-out carton, watching TV, when a promo for The Tonight Show flashed on the screen. My brain went numb as a disembodied voice announced the night’s guests. One was a girl with big, blonde hair and the other, Des Bannerman.
My fear factor amplified. “Taylor,” I shouted several times as I sat frozen in place.
She finally darted out of the bathroom with a towel clasped to the front of her dripping body, a razor in the other hand. “What? What’s wrong? Are you all right?” She searched the vicinity for signs of danger.
I pointed mindlessly to the screen, which was showing a commercial for Viagra. “Des Bannerman is going to be on The Tonight Show. He’s going to have a big scratch on his face. He’s going to tell everyone that the psychotic woman whom he has a restraining order against scratched his face outside a bar! What if he says my name?” I tugged a blanket over my head, wailing like a banshee, trying to protect myself from whatever torture Des Bannerman chose to inflict.
“Don’t worry. He won’t mention your name. Hang on, I’ll be right back.” With enormous patience, she dripped her way back to the bathroom.
A minute later, she returned, wrapped in a fluffy bathrobe, her hair swept up in a towel. She pressed my fingers around a glass of whiskey and helped me get prepared. “Have a sip! No, take a bigger one,” she demanded when I returned the glass no sooner than I’d taken it. I noted she was having a glass as well. She saw me looking at her glass. “You nearly killed me. When I heard you screaming while I was in the shower, I didn’t know if we were both about to be raped or you were bleeding to death. My god! I’ve never been so scared in my life.”
“Sorry!” I choked. I’d taken a huge gulp of whiskey, which left me breathless after it hit the back of my throat.
We watched the host’s opening monologue in complete silence. It might have been funny, but I just couldn’t hear a word he said over the pounding of my heart. I barely registered the audience laughing. After interviewing a breathless Heidi Montag, the host, Jimmy Fallon, announced his next guest. “As you all know, our next guest is one of my favorites. A man whose honesty and integrity can’t be doubted by anyone who reads the tabloids. Ladies and gentlemen, the divine Des Bannerman.” The applause was deafening.
Out he walked. It was worse than I feared. From just below his left eye to his jaw line, there were three noticeable stripes. There was a definite pause in the applause as the audience registered the scratches. Jimmy walked over and pretended to box with Des, who faked a blow to the chin. The audience continued clapping.
“For the love of God and all that is holy, could they just get on with the interview?” I asked Taylor, anxious for the besmirching of my character to be over.
Jimmy escorted Des to the chair next to his desk. The two men chatted and laughed as they walked the fifteen or so feet from the flapping curtain to the guest chair. After the audience settled down, the question finally came. “So, what happened? Did Colin Farrell pick another fight with you?”
Des chuckled and then winced, gently touching the left side of his face. “No, no, worse than that, I’m afraid. I was in New York City over the weekend, attending a rather posh event. I’m dead honest when I tell you that one of the guests had a leopard draped around her shoulders. I know you all know to whom I refer, so please don’t ask me to name names. So, to continue, there I am, innocently attempting a new dance move, when this maniacal leopard sprang off her shoulders and viciously attacked me. Needless to say, I wrestled the ferocious beast to the floor. Only after which a rather muscle-ridden bouncer managed to locate a tranquilizer gun and subdue the animal.” Des then reached over and took a sip from a cup. After putting it back down, he looked Heidi Montag squarely in the eye and said, “I just want you to know that while I bear no hard feelings, your people will be receiving a letter from my lawyers regarding the doctor’s fees and the expenses for plastic surgery!” Jimmy was reall
y laughing hard while Heidi looked stunned, and the audience applauded wildly.
“By the way,” Des said, continuing his conversation with Heidi in a conspiratorial tone, “do you recommend your plastic surgeon? The work he’s performed on you is barely detectable!” By now, Des had moved in close enough to scrutinize her for surgical scars. Much more laughing ensued on Jimmy’s part, especially when Heidi turned crimson.
Des waited for a dip in the laughter and then turned his attention to Jimmy. “I’d stay out of her dressing room, if I were you, mate!” Des suggested, while rubbing his forefinger against his nose. Jimmy was now in hysterics, and even Heidi was laughing. The audience applauded, appreciating Des’s humor. To be fair, he was in rare form.
“We’ll be right back,” Jimmy announced through gasps of air, and a commercial for Des Bannerman’s new movie flashed onto the screen.
“What does that mean?” I said out loud. My head filled with visions of lawyers and police officers appearing at my door, and me in hysterics. By now the heels of my hands were pressed into my eye sockets and I was emitting a bit of a wail.
“Well, to be honest, it went better than I thought it would. He didn’t mention any of the details. In fact, he seemed to be in a fairly good mood about it. Listen, Charlotte, he must understand that it was an accident. Don’t worry about it. I bet Tiziana will be calling you soon and it will be okay.”
I was still sitting with my head in my hands, praying to evaporate.
“Go to bed and get some rest. You’ll feel better in the morning, I promise!” Taylor attempted to reassure me yet again. I felt her hand pat me on the head and then, a few seconds later, her bedroom door closed.
After sitting on the sofa for another few minutes, I realized I was sleepy, probably from the whiskey and emotional strain. Giving up on making any sense of it all, I stumbled to my bed and hoped Taylor was right. About everything.
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