HDU

by India Lee

  “You’re not coming with me?” Casey called from her cab, her Nolita apartment on the way to Amanda’s hotel. When she shook her head “no,” Casey jogged over from the street to give her a goodnight kiss on the cheek. She then held her arms out for Ian, who paused before trudging over. Amanda took note of the irony – the celebrity groveling for his attention.

  “Don’t look so excited,” Casey said, hugging him around the waist. Ian gave a lazy smile and kissed her on the cheek.

  “Oh, I’m excited,” was all he said, making her giggle. Along with moody and sad, Ian was apparently also a better flirt when drunk – though perhaps only for girls who liked their men brooding. Whatever it was, she suspected it was earning him another evening with Casey, who peered back at him curiously as she got into her cab. The fact that he was already looking elsewhere only worked to his advantage.

  “So… everything okay with you?” Amanda asked hesitantly. Ian kicked an empty Snapple bottle on the ground.

  “Yeah, why?”

  “Because you seem super moody. Despite having just hung out with Casey Mulreed who was flirting with you for most of the night.”

  “Right. That happened didn’t it,” Ian mumbled, fumbling with a pack of Marlboros and sticking one between his lips as they reached the dingy Turkish restaurant. Amanda plucked it out from his mouth and stuck it back in the box.

  “We’re indoors,” she said. Ian looked up and around, seeming to only just notice.

  “Oh.” He blinked in the fluorescent lighting. “Do you want shawarma?” he asked. When she took more than a second to answer, he went ahead and shuffled off, saying, “I’ll just get you one.”

  “Oh… kay.” Amanda backed up, taking a seat at a booth against the window. She was too tired to stake out the farthest table from the paparazzi. The camera flashes barely registered to her anymore anyway, with her eyes so tired and foggy. As Ian waited in line, she took the time to check her new text messages. At the top of her inbox was an unexpected name.

  Megan.

  “Oh, what the hell now?” Amanda mumbled aloud, clicking on the message. It was lengthy. She squinted as she read it.

  Hey Mandy… Been thinking about you a lot this week! I’m embarrassed by how I left off with u, I want you to kno I am actually so happy for u!! I have always wished u the best. Anyway I am visiting NYC on Feb 3rd to meet with a possible agent!!!… Will u be free to show me the city since u r suddenly a city girl? lol. I would love to catch up over a nice dinner :-) U should invite Liam!! :-) Let me kno babe, miss u.

  Amanda stared and reread, processing the information as thoroughly as she could in her state. Megan was city-bound. She was apparently job-hunting in the area. And she was looking to make amends. Or was she? Without thinking, she responded with whatever her fingers had the capacity to text.

  “Here.” Ian sat down as she sent the message. “It’s lamb,” he said, handing her the massive, stuffed pita. Amanda stared at it.

  “Megan’s coming to visit me again,” she blurted, prompting Ian to suddenly bury his face in his hands. “What? She’s my nemesis, not yours.”

  “I called Natalie today.”

  “What? When?”

  He avoided her eye. “An hour ago.”

  Oh… no. Amanda barely needed an explanation to envision what had probably transpired. Bold and cocky had to be one of Ian’s many drunken stages, because he had very probably called Natalie amidst a phase of bravado sparked by a few solid hours of rubbing elbows with celebrities and enjoying Casey Mulreed’s affections. Amanda could only guess whether the call was for the purposes of bragging, rekindling, or both.

  “Whatever I said, I probably sounded like an idiot,” Ian said with a low groan. “And definitely killed whatever chance I had at getting her back.”

  Amanda frowned. “I kind of thought you hated her. Well, because you flat-out said that you hated her.”

  “I don’t hate her,” Ian said quietly. “She’s the only person who never bailed on me. She cared about me. She was the only one who visited me at Lenox.”

  Amanda paused, hesitant. “Um. What’s Lenox?”

  “Never mind.”

  “Okay… well, what about your…” she trailed off, deciding not to say “family and friends.” Ian never seemed to speak of them fondly. She scratched her chin. “Well, you know,” she started before even knowing what she was going to say. She searched herself desperately for words of wisdom or comfort. “I’m sure it didn’t go as badly as you think. Everyone drunk dials sometimes, it’s just… a part of life,” she offered lamely, recycling the dumb words that she had once heard Megan say. She knew for sure they were simplifying the problem, but she couldn’t be sure what the problem had been or still was, and Ian wasn’t offering any details. They were silent for a couple minutes.

  “You know, it’s been a long week,” she finally said. “And we’ve both gone through an abnormal about of changes during this time. We were bound to lose it over something at some point, and tonight was our night,” she said genuinely. It was the pep talk that she had prepared to give herself at some point, but she realized that it applied just as well to Ian. “With the highs come the lows, but it’ll get better again. So don’t be sad.”

  “Okay,” Ian agreed all too simply. “Sorry about ending your night on this note.”

  “Psh, what note?” Amanda asked, theatrically incredulous. “Everything’s all good.”

  Though it wasn’t, and she knew that as she put Ian in a cab to go home. She also knew that he would act fine the next time they saw each other and they probably wouldn’t speak about the night for awhile, if ever again. But it didn’t take away from her suspicions that something was haunting Ian besides a famous ex-girlfriend.

  Amanda heaved a sigh as she raised a hand to hail her own cab. It was 4AM and every single one seemed to be off-duty or taken. Nightlife was officially ending and partygoers were pouring out of the bars on every corner. She decided to walk back towards Roué and the less busy streets, finally spotting an available cab and rushing in before anyone else could.

  “Excuse me!” a voice promptly called from the sidewalk. “I believe you stole my cab.”

  Amanda let out a little gasp, though it wasn’t because she anticipated a confrontation – she didn’t. Not from that perpetually sweet voice with its wonderful English accent. She looked up to see Dylan Hardy laughing, hands in his pockets as he approached her car. “Hello. I’m sorry those had to be the first words I spoke to you.”

  Amanda rolled the window all the way down and smiled. “That’s okay, I deserved them,” she said, grateful to her heart for beating normally. Her body was too exhausted to be nervous, and she wasn’t a hundred percent convinced that she wasn’t hallucinating anyway. “Would you like your cab back?” she asked, reaching for the door handle.

  “Oh, no, no. You’re the one who’s got on heels,” he said. “And I suspect you’ve had a more trying day, dancing in fire and all.”

  “Ha, yes. It’s… been an interesting one,” Amanda laughed wearily, recalling it all in her head. She could hardly believe that everything – the free clothes, the fire dance, Dylan, Megan’s text, Ian’s revelation and finally, Dylan again – had all happened within the same twenty-four hours. She realized that the kind of day was what made a week in New York feel like a year. But before she could come to any more revelations, the cabbie honked his horn. Amanda jumped.

  “Oh. I’m sorry – Crosby between Spring and Prince,” she said to him before turning back to Dylan. “Um, do you want to come in since it’s impossible to get a cab right now?” she asked. “I’m not going too far, I don’t think, and you can take the car wherever you’re going after I get dropped off.” She paused. “Right?”

  “You are correct,” he said with a gracious smile, opening the car door. Amanda was thankful for the lack of paparazzi as he slid into the backseat with her. He looked like a Burberry model or an old-time movie character in his olive trench coat and scarf. He still manag
ed to look perfect to her as he hit his head on the way in, laughing at himself. “I’ve got to work on my coordination,” he joked sheepishly as he rubbed his head, mussing his hair adorably. Amanda couldn’t help giggling as she watched him. She found that awkward and clumsy paired with his incredible good looks was a very winning combination. Okay, but stop staring and actually say something.

  “So… where do you live? Nearby?” she asked. Good, sound like a stalker.

  “Not too far, but I live in Brooklyn Heights,” Dylan answered, gesturing in what Amanda assumed was the way of Brooklyn, at least until he said, “I don’t know why I’m doing this, I’m not sure I’m even pointing in the right direction.” He laughed. “I’ve only been there a year and I haven’t been home much, so I’m not quite there with the geography yet.”

  “I see,” Amanda nodded, pretending she hadn’t already known about his move from London to New York last year, or posted a huge story about it to HDU titled “REJOICE: DYLAN HARDY IS COMING TO AMERICA.” She played coy, making a concentrated effort not to let her excessive knowledge slip. “So what made you pick Brooklyn?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

  “My sister Holly. She lives in a neighborhood called Park Slope with her husband and their son, so I thought I’d stay close to them if I could,” he said. Amanda cooed inwardly at the simple explanation because she knew how much he adored his four-year-old nephew, mostly from interviews and paparazzi shots of them in the park. You are a grade-A creeper, she told herself.

  “That sounds so nice. I wish I had family here too.”

  “That’s right, you’re not from here,” Dylan recalled. He then scratched his head and actually blushed a bit. “I’ve read a little about you in the newspapers,” he admitted. “Which is probably why we haven’t done introductions yet, because I already know your name.”

  Amanda’s heart fluttered and she giggled something fiercely girly. “Oh, well… I know yours too,” she said, practically delirious with glee. “And I’m a big fan of your movies,” she felt compelled to admit. Her giddiness was beginning to rear its head. “I actually saw A Beautiful Rush in the theater a few weeks ago, on the day it came out,” she added, though she immediately regretted it and turned a beet red.

  The recently released dramedy was about a tumultuous love affair, but the film itself had come to be known for only one thing after Dylan famously admitted to having trouble shooting his role – mostly because of his shyness to do nudity for the very first time. According to his interviews, the director had allowed him a few swigs of brandy before filming the scene in which his rear took center stage for a full two minutes. Since his admission and the film’s premiere, newspapers had redubbed the movie A Beautiful Tush and no one could speak of it without thinking about Dylan’s “superior posterior,” as a reviewer called it.

  The case was no different in the cab as Dylan’s cheeks flushed furiously. “Well… I hope you enjoyed it,” he said through his shyly pursed smile. It collapsed into laughter when he noticed Amanda’s equally red face.

  “I enjoyed it a lot,” she said. “The movie,” she clarified. “I mean, not that I didn’t also – ” she caught herself, in disbelief of where her sentence was headed. “Oh wow, so I’m just going to stop talking now,” she decided, covering her mouth with her hand. Dylan laughed hard.

  “You know what, why don’t we change the subject? I’m sure we both wouldn’t mind that.”

  “Yes. Please. I’m kind of mortified right now,” Amanda said, her voice muffled as she shielded her burning face.

  “Don’t be,” he chuckled, trying gently to pry her hands away, but in vain. “Well, why don’t I confess something then?” he asked. She nodded and he continued, his smile audible in his voice. “Your performance tonight was the only reason I didn’t run screaming for my life from that room. I’m terrified of fire.”

  Amanda peeked out from behind her hands. She hadn’t known the particular fact. “Really?”

  “Sadly, yes… along with filming nude scenes, I am absolutely terrified of fire,” he said, laughing when Amanda blushed again. “But I was inspired to stay when I saw you get on stage because you made it look like fun.” He cocked his head as he seemed to recall a memory. “I especially enjoyed the… little dance you did? Or what was that?”

  “An embarrassment, mostly.”

  “No! It was fun. It was like how those little hula dolls move on the car dashboards.”

  Amanda let out a snort. “Thank you, I guess?”

  “It’s a compliment,” Dylan assured her, though after a bit of a pause, he laughed and said, “I can’t really dance either.”

  “So you admit I can’t dance!”

  “No! Well, yes. But see, I’m joining you in solidarity! And you’re still much better than I am – I mean, I couldn’t even get into a taxi properly. That’s how uncoordinated I am.”

  “You’re just trying to save it now.”

  “No, please believe me,” Dylan insisted, adorably serious. “I had a dance scene in one of the first films I’d ever been cast in and after five weeks of ballroom training, they wrote out the entire sequence to save my dance partner the agony.”

  Amanda guffawed. It was what Liam called her “ugly” laugh, but she couldn’t even help it. It was an adorable story that as a super fan, she had already known, but hearing it from Dylan’s own lips was infinitely better.

  “The worst part was that I thought I’d done really well, too,” he lamented.

  “Okay, that is very sad,” Amanda said. “You win.”

  “A dubious victory, but I’ll take it so you don’t have to.”

  “Thank you,” she giggled as they pulled up in front of the hotel. Dylan tilted his head curiously to gaze out the window.

  “Ah. The Crosby Street Hotel. Very nice.”

  “Oh, I didn’t choose it, it was… Liam,” Amanda said, realizing her reluctance to mention his name. In Dylan’s presence, it was a total buzzkill. But it was too late. She wondered if she was imagining the sudden quiet it caused. “Yeah. He chose it,” she said in a murmur to break the awkward silence.

  “Ah, right. Forgot you’re his girlfriend,” Dylan responded, looking down at his hands with a little laugh. When he turned to face her again, he smiled. “Well, I think Liam’s made a very good choice.”

  Blog #2: FIRE!

  Sunday, January 17th

  12:12AM

  Posted by Amanda Nathan

  Almost died last night.

  If anyone were weird enough to have a fire-related death caused mostly by embarrassment, it totally would be me. Here lies Amanda Nathan. She was too self-conscious, my tombstone would read. “She was always remembering embarrassing things that happened a really long time ago,” a friend would write in my eulogy. An old high school teacher would say, “She was never tardy. Her biggest fear was going to class late and being stared at while trying to find a seat.”

  And that’s all true. Not only that, I was the queen of un-tagging Facebook pictures because I thought I looked bad in pretty much all of them. Whenever I saw friends with nearly a thousand public photos, I’d envy how they had so many that they actually liked enough to share. There were only a handful of pictures of me that I allowed onto my profile, and I still agonized over the fact that the ones I un-tagged remained available for viewing on my friends’ pages.

  These tendencies were things I probably should have thought about before moving to New York with Liam. But I was too excited about my new life to think about how many more opportunities there were to be self-conscious here. Now, when someone takes a picture of me that I find hideous, I can’t un-tag it, and it’s not just on someone’s Facebook feeds, it’s on the front page of Pop Dinner or some other gossip page that gets over a million hits a day. And they’re not from friends (who might judge you silently), they’re from anonymous strangers who’ll comment with the meanest thing they can think of – or even worse sometimes, the plain truth.

  I know I’m not a supermodel,
or even a model, or even a person that Urban Outfitters would hire to work for them. But I should probably just remember that I’ve gotten to meet the coolest people and do the most amazing things in my life this past week (dancing with fire in front of hundreds at a burlesque bar is actually fun once you get past it being terrifying), and I probably shouldn’t waste my time feeling insecure since these opportunities could end for me at any second. So, that means no more second-guessing everything I do and no more reading comments on the Internet, because they make me go through absolutely batshit stages of insecure craziness (“I HATE THE WORLD!” “No, they’re right. I should dye my hair and lose twenty pounds.” “BUT FIRST I NEED TO DROWN MY SORROWS IN OREOS!!!” “But I shouldn’t be eating ever again.”).

  I know I can’t change overnight, but recognizing the problem is the first step to fixing it, right? Please say “yes.”

  Xx

  Amanda

  The following week was devoted to rest and relaxation. The morning after Roué, Amanda slept in until 2PM, missing a call from both Ian and Casey to join her for respective brunches. She found the energy to write and publish a blog post that night, but then passed out for most of the day on Sunday, her loopy sleepiness the likely reason for why her blog post ended up so candid once again. She had truly never been so out of it. Amanda figured it was her body reminding her not to get too cocky, that she was still very much a foreigner to the party scene.

  “Well, running on adrenaline only lasts for so long. But the good thing about crashing is getting to start all over again,” Ian said, jabbing a fork into his steak frites. Amanda finally went out for lunch with him on Thursday, revisiting his favorite French bistro. As predicted, he acted normally and they spoke nothing of Natalie or what happened the night at Roué. Amanda reasoned that the incident could just have been one of those drunken, Friday night dramas that she had never really experienced and therefore took way too seriously. Maybe Ian was just a sad drunk and it was totally normal. Everything could very well be perfectly fine with him. Right?