Читать книгу Lindsey Kelk 3-Book ‘I Heart’ Collection: I Heart New York, I Heart Hollywood, I Heart Paris - Lindsey Kelk - Страница 17

Thankfully by morning, the city had the decency to cool down half a degree so I decided to walk to The Look. I grasped Erin’s directions in one sweaty palm, crossed Park and then made my way up and across to Times Square. The streets slowly became busier and busier, until I was really just being pulled along by the swarm. Even in the high heat of summer, it was heaving. I stared around, taking in the giant billboards, the garish restaurant signs, the rolling news tickers and tried to spot my destination without getting taken out by a Japanese tourist and his huge camera bag. I felt tiny. Everything looked as though the real world had been scanned, had the contrast turned right up and then enlarged by 500 per cent. It made Piccadilly Circus look positively anaemic. After I had crossed the same road about five times, I spotted a steady stream of very thin, very beautiful women dressed head to toe in black, heading into a narrow black glass doorway back where I had come from. The small tasteful sign next to the door? Spencer Media. Ah. Of course.

The building was tucked away in a corner off Broadway, a beautiful art deco building that stretched high into the Manhattan skyline, past the animated billboards and brightly lit ads. As I rode higher and higher in the lift, I passed my weight from foot to foot. Erin had said (my editor!) was called Mary Stein, but I had no idea what she was expecting. I’d printed out my last few diary entries and printed off the Amazon records of some of my books in lieu of a portfolio. Hopefully she wouldn’t just laugh me out of the office.

Mary’s secretary ushered me into her office after a quick silent appraisal. Apparently I passed and was offered a coffee before being left alone. The office was bright and light, with stunning views of the city. I stood staring out of the window and promised myself I’d go to the Empire State Building as soon as I’d finished.

‘Angela Clark?’

It was Mary. She hardly looked like a magazine editor, let alone a super cool web editor. Mary was easily in her fifties, no taller than five feet, had a short grey bob and just looked really, really nice.

‘Yes.’ I stretched my hand out for a firm and welcoming shake. ‘You must be Mary.’

She gestured to a seat in front of her desk and then sat herself down. ‘Erin tells me you’re a writer?’

Straight to business. ‘Yes,’ I nodded eagerly, bringing out my sales sheets. ‘I don’t have my portfolio with me right now, but I have some sheets showing the books I’ve written. They’re mostly children’s movie tie-in books but I can turn my hand to anything, really.’

‘Hmm.’ Mary flicked through the pages and then pushed them back at me. Maybe she wasn’t going to be so nice. ‘I need a blogger. You’ll have looked at what we have on the website already so where do you think your blog will fit in?’

She fixed me with a serious gaze. I hadn’t looked at the website. Eeep. But praise be for the hateful man in Starbucks, I did know what a blogger was.

‘Well, I’m going through a pretty one-of-a-kind situation right now,’ I started.

‘One-of-a-kind has no appeal to my readers,’ she said, already looking away at her flat screen monitor and wheeling her mouse.

‘Well, one-of-a-kind in a way, but in another way, it’s something every girl has gone through,’ I blagged. ‘I’ve split up with my boyfriend of ten years and now I’m dating for the first time.’

‘Go on,’ she said, still looking away, but the wheeling had stopped.

‘Well, I found out he was cheating on me at my friend’s wedding, made a bit of a scene and then sort of ran away to New York,’ I explained quickly. ‘And now I’m dating. Two men. A banker and this guy in a band.’ I had to admit, I thought it sounded pretty bloody interesting. Probably even more so if you weren’t having to go through it yourself.

‘Do you have some sample copy?’ she asked, her full attention back with me. ‘You’re what, Bridget Jones in New York?’

I handed over the print-outs of my diary. ‘I’m really not Bridget Jones,’ I said. ‘I’m not all about dating, I think it’s more about finding my feet and finding out who I am again.’

‘Hmm,’ she said, scanning the copy with pursed lips and a frown. ‘You’re certainly not Bridget Jones, but there is something here. And it is about dating.’

‘OK,’ I shrugged. I would write about being a one-armed gypsy horse rider if she would give me a writing job. ‘It can be about dating.’

‘Tell me more about the break-up. Is it funny? It sounds funny,’ she slapped the pages of diary I’d given her.

OK, suck it up, I told myself. She’s going to make you a proper writer. So I went through every detail of the break-up, trying to make it sound funny rather than bursting into tears. Mary stared at me emotionless and silent until I was finished.

‘Great. It is funny and I suppose you can write,’ she said, ‘OK, you write two to three hundred words a day and email it to me. The pay wouldn’t be great but it’s only on the website. If we go ahead, I’ll need a picture of you so find one, but it’s fine to keep everyone else anonymous.’

‘Oh.’ I didn’t know what to say. This wasn’t the glorious big break moment I’d always envisioned. There was no champagne for one. ‘Oh, I just thought, I don’t have a work visa. Is that going to be a problem?’

‘Are you kidding me?’ Mary looked really, really pissed off. ‘I can’t pay you as staff if you don’t have a visa. You may as well just go.’

‘But I only just got here on Sunday.’ I stood up, desperately trying to get this back. ‘And, and, you don’t have to pay me! I’ll work for free!’

‘Free?’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘Really?’

I nodded, half in, half out of my seat. ‘Anything Mary, please, I’ll write the funniest dating column you’ve ever read. Honestly.’

‘I guess I can’t let you work for free … I could pay you as a freelance contributor,’ she mused, looking back at the diary. ‘And you say you only got here Sunday? So this happened this week?’

I nodded again.

‘Bring me your first three days’ diary, along with a 1000-word establishing piece and a photo on Monday and we’ll talk about everything else then.’

The meeting was over. I don’t know if Mary had a silent buzzer or made invisible semaphore signals but her secretary appeared at the door and gestured for me to leave. I never did get that coffee.

I couldn’t believe what was happening. I was going to be a writer. Actually writing for an actual magazine. OK, website of a magazine, but still. Clearly getting on that plane on Sunday was the best thing I’d ever, ever done. Jenny was working a double shift and Erin was out of town for the weekend but I needed to find some way of celebrating my job, my New York minute. Surely there was only one way? I set off down Broadway, proud, confident and on my way to the Empire State Building to share my success with the city.

Which would have been great if the city hadn’t been twenty-five degrees above average for August, full of overheated tourists, a whole load of children on their school holidays all with one very clear brief, to barge past me and, whenever possible, knock my (delicious) Marc Jacobs bag off my shoulder. Which was already tingling and a delightful shade of pink. By the time I’d staggered all the way down to 34^th Street in the searing sunshine, I must have been suffering mild sunstroke as I attempted to pass Macy’s. Before I knew what was happening, I’d been sucked through the doors and was drinking a refreshing iced tea, using a comfortable and clean bathroom and spending $250 on the Benetfit cosmetics counter. An hour later, I wandered back out onto the pavement and around the corner, the queue for the Empire State Building was insanely long. The sun was beating down on me and my new purchases, threatening to melt my new make-up, and I was so close to home. My new writer’s pride had been replaced with buyer’s remorse, and before I knew what I was doing, my legs were carrying me across to Lexington, back to the apartment, back to my laptop and back to bed.

Waking up on Saturday morning, I couldn’t believe it was a week since I’d woken up in my own bed. So much had happened in such a short space of time and yet, as soon as I remembered my date with Alex was later that evening, time seemed to start going backwards. It was Jenny’s first twenty-four hours off duty in over a week, meaning she would pretty much be asleep for fourteen hours. She’d made some half-hearted offers to take me out when she got in from work, but the girl was dead on her stylishly shod feet, so I’d let her off. I went out to get breakfast, washed up, cleaned the kitchen, scoured the bathroom and took all my clothes to the dry cleaners. It seemed insane to me that practically no one in the entire city did their own washing, but Jenny assured me only the hyper rich had a laundry room, and taking your washing out was perfectly normal. I managed to contain a mild panic attack over what to do when you wanted to wear something the very next day when it was dirty after Jenny had presented me with a bottle of hand-washing liquid for emergencies. And I had pretended not to notice her kicking several half-empty bottles of Febreze under the sink. So they had that here too …

For the want of something to do with myself, I was showered, blow-dried and dressed in a cute Ella Moss stripy mini dress by five-thirty, giving me a whole hour and a half to apply my make-up, reapply my make-up, add some more make-up, and then completely shit myself about going on a date with someone in a band. Boosted by a quick home-mixed margarita and a kiss – both from a very sleepy Jenny, I grabbed my bag and braced myself. My heart beat sped up as I shut the door behind me and stepped out to hail a cab. I checked my phone a grand total of eight times in the cab, just in case. Nothing from Alex to cancel, nothing to confirm, but there was a sweet voice message from Tyler saying what a great night he’d had and that he would pick me up outside my building at six-thirty on Sunday.

Max Brenner’s was tucked away on Broadway, just opposite the Virgin Megastore. At least, I can see The Union from here in case things don’t go well, I told myself as I pushed myself out of the cab, The doors to Max Brenner’s opened to reveal a huge Charlie and the Chocolate Factory style chocolate lab. Absolutely not what I had expected. Absolutely not the place for the amount of eyeliner I was wearing. And the first place in all of New York that was incredibly brightly lit. Shit. Sitting right in the middle of the whispering mothers and staring fathers, was Alex. I couldn’t imagine a more incongruous scene. His black hair looked as though it hadn’t seen a brush or a comb, well, ever, the creases in his green T-shirt had creases, and compared to ‘weekend dad’ and ‘let’s get chocolate shakes for dessert! mom’ he looked as if he might start shooting up any second. Out of place, maybe, a complete scruff, definitely, and hot? Absolutely. He broke into a slow smile and a wave as he recognized me, my heart apparently the only muscle in my body able to move. If my pulse had been racing when I left the apartment, it was positively making a break for freedom now.

‘Hey,’ he said as I slid into the booth, finally forcing my feet to move one in front of the other. ‘You made it.’

‘I did,’ I said, checking the clock. Late again. ‘Sorry, I couldn’t remember exactly where this was.’

‘Cool,’ he was still smiling. I started to worry that he was stoned.

‘I wouldn’t have thought this was your sort of place,’ I said, glancing around at the churning vats of chocolate. ‘It’s not that rock and roll, is it?’

‘No,’ he said, taking his turn to glance around. ‘But addiction is pretty rock and roll, and I might not broadcast it, but I have a real problem with hot chocolate. Seriously, you won’t believe this stuff until you’ve tried it.’

I picked up the menu and looked through all the treats, hot chocolate, milk, dark, white, with chilli, with nutmeg, with cinnamon, chocolate ice cream, chocolate pizza – all this chocolate and a really hot man from a band? There was such a good chance I was in heaven, I wondered if I’d been run over on the way there.

‘Wow,’ I said, looking back up at him. If he carried on staring at me with that little smile, I was going to run out of things to say really soon. ‘So you’re a chocoholic?’

‘Guilty as charged,’ he nodded, raising a weird shaped mug with no handle. ‘I blame it on the band. You feel like you’ve got to be in rehab for something sooner or later, or you’re just not committed to the music.’

‘I can imagine,’ I said, starting to panic. What were we going to talk about? I hadn’t prepared anything at all. This was such a bad idea.

‘Everyone’s got their dirty little secrets,’ he said, swirling the thick chocolaty soup in the bottom of his mug. ‘You want to confess to yours?’

‘I’m a bit tame,’ I admitted, feeling a blush creep up over my face. ‘Since I got to New York, it’s been Ring Dings. At home, I’m a Cadbury’s Creme Egg girl. Sometimes, I’ll eat three. All at once.’

‘Wow, that is close to the edge,’ he laughed, waving over the waitress and ordering two regular hot chocolates. Was I not going to be allowed to order anything for myself while I was in this city? ‘Although I’m not sure you should be telling me that. Wouldn’t it be against your friend’s rules?’

‘I believe you are referring to “The Rules”, and I don’t know. Would that come under “Don’t tell him anything that would scare him away” or “Don’t overeat”?’

‘Possibly “Do not reveal any sort of personality of any kind for fear of him not having one of his own”.’

I nodded, biting my lip to stop myself from smiling too much. Maybe I just wasn’t ever going to be able to play by Erin’s rules.

‘So, how long have you been in New York?’ he asked, propping himself up on the table with his elbows.

‘Just a week,’ I said. As much as I wanted to think of something to talk to Alex about, I really didn’t think I could go through it all again. ‘I’m staying with my friend in Murray Hill.’

‘And you’re “sort of” on vacation?’ he sat back as the drinks arrived at our table. Oh no, now I had to navigate through a hot chocolate moustache and an awkward conversation with a very sexy, cool man. It was the cool that was throwing me, I knew it. Tyler was super sexy, but it never felt that if I said the wrong thing, he would go home to some downtown loft and sit laughing at me with members of The Strokes. Maybe I was putting too much thought into this.

‘Well, apart from the sort of vacation, I’m doing this online writing thing for The Look magazine,’ I said, so proud of myself for finding a reason to be there that didn’t involve breaking someone’s hand. ‘So I’m here for a couple of months or so.’

‘That’s cool,’ he said. ‘I love New York, but I don’t know how you can leave London. It’s such a great city.’

‘Are you kidding?’ I asked, making a brave go at drinking and talking at the same time. ‘New York is so amazing. It makes me feel like … like I’m really living, you know? It makes me want to do new things and just discover every inch of it. See everything there is to see.’

‘And London doesn’t?’ he asked, brushing his hair back off his forehead. I sipped my hot chocolate. Definitely in heaven.

‘When I was young, we lived about an hour away from London by train and all I wanted to do, was be in the city,’ I explained, trying not to be distracted by his eyes. They were so green. ‘And then when I got there, it was like, wow, London! But after a while, it starts to drain you. Everything is such hard work, everything is so expensive, the Tube costs about five times as much as the subway, and when I get home, I just feel like I need a shower right away. I don’t know, there are things I love about London and there are things I can take or leave.’

‘You’ll get to feeling that way about New York eventually.’

‘Can’t imagine it,’ I said, smiling my first easy, genuine smile. ‘God, I feel like I’m cheating on London. I do love it, I just needed a break I think, I’m just tired of London.’

‘When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life,’ Alex quoted.

I stared back at him, smiling. ‘I’ve got an English degree, I know my Samuel Johnson. But how do you?’

‘Well, I might be American but,’ he leaned over and whispered, ‘I read. Don’t tell anyone.’

‘I give you my Brownie Guide promise,’ I saluted. This was getting easier, but he was still much much cooler than I would ever be. ‘Have you always lived in New York then?’

He nodded. ‘My family is from upstate but I always wanted to come to the city, same as you, I guess. It just gets under your skin. I went to college in Brooklyn and never left.’

‘You live in Brooklyn?’ I asked, going back in for more hot chocolate. Honestly, if he stood up and walked out right now I’d still be grateful for introducing me to this place. Willy Wonkaville or not, the hot chocolate was amazing. ‘I always imagined it as being a million miles away.’

‘Well, to some people, three stops on the L is a million miles away.’ Alex reached over to wipe away some stray melted marshmallow from my top lip. I noticed immediately how calloused the tips of his fingers were, my lips tingled under his touch. ‘It’s only ten minutes from Union Square, but people get this whole “Manhattan is New York” thing going on. It’s not true, Brooklyn is amazing. I love living there and I could never get such a great apartment over here.’

‘I’ll have to trek over there and have a look.’ I bit my bottom lip to stop the buzz. ‘It hadn’t really occurred to me to go.’

‘Did you just invite yourself over to my place?’ he asked, eyebrows creased, smile vanishing. ‘Seriously? How forward are you?’

‘No, I, I meant Brooklyn,’ I faltered, squeezing my mug tightly. ‘I meant, trek over to Brooklyn and look at, stuff.’ Stuff. Nice one, Angela. I may as well have told him I’d carried a watermelon.

‘Because you’re welcome any time,’ he teased. ‘I just hope your friend would approve.’

Mean, mean man.

And I really liked it.

‘I don’t think I have to get permission to go into another part of town,’ I said, refusing to smile at him even though I wanted to. There were a lot of things I wanted to do at that moment in time, but I was hardly about to do them in this place.

‘Well, she had some pretty strict rules about that date you were going on.’ He slid out of the booth and held out his hand to help me up. We were leaving the hot chocolate already? ‘How did that go by the way? Not that great obviously, because you’re here.’

‘It was fine, thanks for asking,’ I said. Discussing my Tyler date with Alex would be too weird. And things were already weird enough.

‘You seeing him again?’ he asked, leaving a twenty-dollar bill on the table with the bill. How much was hot chocolate? Maybe I wouldn’t come back here with Jenny tomorrow.

‘I think this is definitely against The Rules.’

I really didn’t know what to say. Was it normal to ask about other dates while you were on a date? But what if it wasn’t a date. Maybe he had asked me out as a friend.

Shit!

Was this a friend date?

‘Hmm,’ he was still smiling, his eyes twinkling as we walked out onto the sweaty sidewalk. I mean pavement. God, it was starting to happen already, ‘I didn’t think it would get past one date.’

‘And why not?’ I asked. I wasn’t refusing to look at him this time, I just couldn’t. I was so embarrassed.

‘You knew you were going out with me tonight,’ he said, stopping and standing close to me. ‘And I couldn’t stop thinking about it so I figured you would be feeling the same.’ He leaned in and kissed me softly on the lips. It was chocolaty and gentle and electric. I wasn’t going to need to bolt to The Union for refuge after all, but at this rate, I was going to need to get a room. I hoped Jenny or Van would give me a good rate. Did they run any rooms by the hour?

‘The gig isn’t that far, you want to walk?’ he asked, pulling away and taking my hand in his. At least I knew it was definitely a date.

‘Walking’s good,’ I managed, replaying the kiss in my head. I couldn’t help but compare it to Tyler’s. His kisses had been firm and insistent, yet tender at the same time. Alex’s kiss was so gentle and soft, but absolutely full of confidence. And it made me want so many more.

We wandered down Broadway, talking about our families, our friends, what we wanted to achieve. I managed to turn my blog at The Look into a six-book deal and a film, while Alex talked about creating scores for movies, acting and a passion for architecture, but he hardly mentioned the band.

‘That’s a pretty full agenda,’ I said, loving the feeling of holding hands. ‘How are you going to manage all that and put a new album out?’

‘Good question,’ he replied. ‘Who knows if there will be another album? I’m sort of putting the whole thing on hold at the moment. We’re just a little wiped out and I don’t know if I can carry the whole thing right now. We’ve been together for like, eight years when you add in all the time before we were signed. Gets to a point where you just want to do something else.’

‘I know what you mean,’ I said, trying not to sound like a disappointed fan. ‘Must be hard making a group decision about something that big.’

‘It is,’ he agreed, ‘but once one person’s heart is out of it, it’s really all over. We’re still playing live around town, but I just don’t feel we want it like we did before. These things come to an end, like anything else. There’s nothing worse than staying when there’s nothing to stay for.’

I walked on, nodding and thinking. It made sense. And not just about his band.

‘Did I say something wrong?’ he asked after our third block of silence.

‘Not at all.’ Rules or no rules, I really didn’t want to broach the Mark subject with him. ‘I was just thinking about how right you are. And how sometimes you just have to bite the bullet and make a change.’

‘Exactly,’ he gave my hand a squeeze and stopped in front of a queue of people decked out in skinny jeans, faded T-shirts and bored expressions. Looked like the queue for a gig to me. ‘Shall we?’

‘Hey, man,’ the gangly bouncer on the door nodded to Alex and waved us through and down some stairs into a cramped bar. I glanced around, trying to look like I belonged, while Alex talked to the girl behind the ticket counter. Across the room, a group of girls were craning their necks to get a better look and not exactly whispering about their intentions towards him. I suddenly felt defensive, how dare they say that about my date right in front of me? But somewhere, not too well hidden, I felt the tiniest bit smug. Here was this super hot man who could have had any girl in that line and he was here with me.

‘Hey,’ Alex called, holding the door to the main floor open. ‘You want a drink?’

I took one last look at the girls and then turned my back. ‘I’ll get them,’ I nodded. ‘What are you having?’

‘Beer?’

I took the official bar position, forearms resting on the counter, ten dollar bill in hand and slightly impatient look on my face as I tried to make eye contact with one of the bartenders. Behind the bar was a dirty old mirror, hidden behind the rows and rows of bottles. For a moment I didn’t recognize the girl standing beside Alex, all messy hair, sexy heavy eye make-up that would have looked a little bit slutty if she wasn’t working the whole look, and then I realized that slutty-looking girl was me. I didn’t know if it was the close proximity of a genuine bonafide rocker or Jenny’s fine prep work but I looked actually OK. Or maybe it was just because I was having fun. I was officially dating and having fun. Wowsers.

A gig is a gig is a gig, I realized as we passed through to the back of the bar, up onto the (thankfully) dim, smoky main floor, New York or London. Sticky floor, crammed bar with overpriced warm beer in plastic cups, small cliques of hipsters in too tight jeans, CBGBs T-shirts, and their tiny girlfriends in equally skinny jeans. As intimidated as I felt by all the unspoken attention Alex was receiving, I felt kind of at home. This could just as easily be any small venue in London as the Bowery Ballroom in New York.

‘You go to a lot of gigs at home?’ Alex asked, yelling into my ear as the first support act began thrashing at their guitars and brutally assaulting their drum kit.

I nodded and leaned in to his ear, my nose poking through his lovely floppy hair. ‘Yeah, I used to go a lot more, but my friends aren’t really that into the same kind of music as me.’

I didn’t tell him that in reality, none of my friends was into the same kind of music as me, and that Mark had been my only gig buddy for the last ten years. When we first moved to London, we’d gone out at least once every week, but in the last two years, he’d started complaining that the gigs went on too late, that he couldn’t sit down, that the beer was expensive and flat, and more than once in the last few months I’d sat at the back, alone after a short text to say he was working late. But that didn’t feel like something Alex needed to know right away. I wanted this to be fun.

‘Yeah,’ he said, sipping his beer without a word of complaint. ‘Sometimes I think it’s just so much easier to go places on your own. The movies I’ve missed because I didn’t have a date.’

I couldn’t imagine him not having a date for a second. Almost every girl in the place had checked him out on their way in and I was starting to prickle with their not so silent appraisals of me, as his date.

‘So apart from listening to Justin, what did you do today?’ he grinned, steering me to the side of the stage to a quiet corner and a better view. ‘This writing gig sounds really cool.’

‘Apart from listen to Justin? God, that takes up so much of my time,’ I said trying not to listen to the people whispering around us, not so subtly. ‘But yeah, the writing thing is really cool, I hope. It’s just an online diary, a blog, but, oh, I don’t want to jinx it. I’ve never really had anything published as myself before, so it’s a big thing to me even though it’s probably not really.’

‘Sounds like a good break though,’ he said and raised his glass. ‘You going to write about our date?’

‘I suppose I’ll have to,’ I said, not having really thought about it. ‘Purely in the interests of journalistic integrity, of course. Totally anonymous though. I will protect your innocence.’

He leaned in towards me again, pushing me back against the wall, and kissed me hard. As his lips pressed down on mine, any concerns about protecting his innocence dissipated, my body caught between the sticky, cold wall and Alex’s taut frame. It was all I could do not to drop my beer.

‘If you’re going to write about me, you should know,’ he breathed as we pulled apart, ‘I take bad reviews very personally.’

‘Shouldn’t be a problem,’ I chirped, not really knowing where to put myself. Feeling his warm, chocolaty breath so close to my ear was making me shiver and I closed my eyes to commit the kiss properly to memory. Stumbling backwards into the wall, his soft lips, the way his body felt pressed against the thin material of my dress. Before I could completely relive it, I felt Alex close behind me again, his arm draped around my waist, hand resting on my hip. I let myself lean against him, dropping my head backwards onto his chest. It felt so nice, so easy.

We stood in comfortable silence until Alex had to excuse himself to the bathroom and bar, just before the main act. I watched him wander off downstairs, letting myself check him out shamelessly, with a huge smile on my face. It was weird, I was having so much fun, but Alex made me so nervous, as in major butterflies. Tyler didn’t make me nervous at all, everything he said and did was designed to make me comfortable. I sort of understood him, bank job, smart suits and all, but I’d felt more awkward about getting dressed up and being in a smart restaurant. It was everything I could do not to spill gravy down my dress. And cream. And coffee.

‘You’re here with Alex?’ In front of me was a petite, pretty girl, head to toe in skintight black with a Debbie Harry platinum bob.

‘Erm, yes?’ I replied. She didn’t look as if she’d come over to make friends.

‘You should know, he’s a complete asshole,’ she said casually. ‘He’s screwed just about every girl in here. Maybe even some of the guys.’

‘Oh, well, we’ve only just met,’ I said, not really sure what to do with the information she was just throwing away and not really wanting to get into a conversation with her. ‘I wasn’t really planning that far ahead.’

‘Yeah, whatever.’ She looked me up and down and sipped her drink. ‘I’m just telling you what everyone here already knows.’ I spotted Alex looking over from the bar and he didn’t look happy. ‘So, you know, if I were you, I’d be careful if you do “plan that far ahead”. Whatever.’ She turned on her heel and vanished into the crowd.

‘Hey,’ Alex said, returning with my drink and a dark expression. ‘Did she just say something to you?’

‘Er, yes,’ I said. What should I tell him? Why would she say that? But right at that moment, I didn’t want to believe a word.

‘Oh.’ He looked into the crowd for the blonde girl. ‘Do you know her?’

‘No, but, well, seemed like she knew you,’ I replied. She had completely vanished.

‘I used to date one of her friends for ever ago, is all,’ he said, resuming his position behind me. ‘Wasn’t a great break-up.’

‘I can more or less see any bad break-up and raise you,’ I said, skimming the subject. ‘Don’t worry about it.’ Bitter friend of the ex, made perfect sense. I just wished I could believe Louisa was making up bitchy lies about Mark, but she was probably swapping cupcake recipes with ‘Katie’ by now. Alex replied with a gentle kiss on my neck and I let myself relax into him and the music as the main band took to the stage.

‘They were so good,’ I said as we emptied out onto the street at midnight. I loved the post-good-gig-buzz. ‘Just, wow, really good!’

Alex laughed and took my hand. ‘You want to go get a drink or something?’

I looked at my watch and pulled a face. It was already after twelve and even though I was having a great time, a tiny part of my mind kept reminding me that I was seeing Tyler on Sunday evening and I really didn’t want to show up looking like complete crap. But the look on Alex’s face and the way he was squeezing my hand made it a really difficult decision. Well, the look on his face, the hand-holding, and the four beers I’d already had on nothing but Ring Dings for dinner. Any more to drink and I didn’t know if I’d be able to make my best judgements.

‘I should really think about getting back,’ I said, not really believing the words coming out of my mouth. ‘I told my roommate I’d be back and …’ He gave me the same puppy dog look I’d seen him work on the waitress at Manatus.

‘Just one drink?’ I said, allowing myself to be pulled down the street.

Really, just one.

Three drinks later, we were nestled in a tiny dive bar with a fantastic jukebox and cold, fizzy beer. We talked about music, about gigs we’d been to, about gigs we’d missed, argued about our favourite albums and dreamed up our ideal festival line up, him headlining, of course. Soon three drinks turned into four, and just after twelve turned into almost two before I remembered I was supposed to be home by now. I was drunk enough to have to watch my step on the way to the toilet, but sober enough to recognize that I was well on my way to wasted. Thank God for weak American lager. Checking the gig damage to my make-up in the mirror, I figured I still looked OK and managed not to apply any more make-up (so I couldn’t have been as drunk as I thought), but slicked on several layers of lip balm. Alex’s kisses were getting more aggressive with each swoop and I was starting to feel a little bit tender. And more than a little bit turned on. I traced my lips with the tip of my index finger, this was so strange. Tyler’s kisses had been firm and gentle, whereas Alex wasn’t backwards about coming forwards. The old me would have freaked out at any kind of public display of affection, but the new me seemed to be pretty OK with it. And with dating two men. And with hanging around in nasty toilets for more than the necessary amount of time. Ew. I really had to get home, my head was starting to teeter between ‘go home with him’ and ‘go home and vomit’ and in those cases, there was only ever going to be one winner.

Heading back out to the bar, I saw Alex talking to a couple of girls, laughing easily and giving them the same soft smiles and intense eyes that had made me feel like the only girl in New York. It was definitely time to go. ‘I should probably make a move,’ I said loudly. The girls looked at each other, smiled gleefully at Alex and dropped onto my empty seat, one on top of the other.

‘Sure, let’s go,’ Alex said, standing up and putting his arm around my shoulders. I smiled a tiny smile to myself, head down, and let Alex guide me out of the bar, leaving the girls sulking in my seat.

‘Murray Hill?’ he asked, as we jumped into an empty yellow taxi before one of the other dozens of couples with their arms in the air could take it.

‘39^th and Lexington,’ I said to the driver, sitting back against the cracked seats. Alex didn’t give me a chance to wonder if he would make a move, wait for a sign or even for the cab to pull into traffic before he stretched his long, lean body right across the backseat and took my face in both of his hands. As the taxi bolted through the late-night streets of New York City, I was thrown into a half-sitting, half-lying position on the back seat. Even though the night wasn’t cold, there was a chill that was completely dispelled by the warmth of Alex’s body as he pushed himself against me. I could feel his hand travel down my side and on to bare flesh at the top of my thigh where my dress had ridden up, and although I knew things were moving altogether too fast, I didn’t want to stop him. Before I had to make a really difficult decision, the taxi pulled to a juddering halt, throwing us both into the foot well. I giggled nervously, straddling him and trying to work out how to get up, off and out without giving everything away.

‘Do you want to come in?’

The words were out of my mouth before I even thought about them. So this is what women are talking about when we complain that men let their penises make all their decisions for them.

‘I really want to come in,’ he said, helping me push myself back into a sitting position, ‘but I’m not going to.’

I looked at him, surprised. Not that I thought I was such a prize catch who would never get blown out, but that I just really felt that was where this was going. And when we were kissing, I’d felt something else that biologically suggested that he thought the same.

‘If I come in now,’ he whispered, leaning across and opening my door, ‘what’s left to guess?’

I smiled shyly. I could hardly pass for coy, but I hadn’t expected him to be such a romantic.

‘Can you wait a sec while I see the lady to the door?’ he asked the cabbie, who grunted something along the lines of an agreement.

Alex pushed my hair behind my ear, holding my gaze just a moment more than he needed to. ‘I had a really good time, Angela,’ he said, giving me one of his gentlest kisses. ‘Will you call me?’

I nodded, having completely lost the ability to speak, and watched him get back in the cab. Malicious bleached blonde aside, I thought the evening had gone fairly well.