I Heart New York (7 page)

‘Welcome to the East Village,’ Jenny gestured around. The glossy girls looked a little out of place alongside the hipsters and goths that spilled out of the bars and smoked on the pavement, but they really didn’t look as if they cared. A couple more blocks away, we piled into a slightly slutty looking bar, all red walls and zebra skin booths with
Black Velvet
belting out of the stereo, with more than thirty of Gina’s friends, colleagues, well-wishers and good-looking people picked up along the way. And it seemed that out of all of them, I was the only one half-cut. It was only once I’d been pushed all the way down the narrow bar, I realized they weren’t playing
Black Velvet
. Someone was singing
Black Velvet
. Someone really bloody good. This wasn’t Singstar territory.

I’ll just take it easy, I told myself as I slid onto a bench and tried to look casually through the song list. I won’t drink, I’ll just sit here and be calm. These people are my potential friends. I don’t want them to think I’m some loser lush who got dumped and came to New York to drink herself to death.

‘Hey, English,’ Gina stood in front of me with an enormous, lurid margarita. ‘This is yours. I put me and you down for some Spice Girls. Make you feel at home.’

‘Oh, thanks.’ One more drink couldn’t hurt, could it?

CHAPTER NINE

The next morning, or early afternoon, came all too quickly, given that I couldn’t remember anything after my rousing rendition of ‘Wannabe’. Glancing around the room (which would have been much easier if it would have just stopped spinning) I saw my dress, my shoes and my handbag all littered across the floor, so at least there didn’t appear to be too much collateral damage. As I tried to roll over, the bed covers turned into a straitjacket and alcohol induced kitten-like weakness or not, I had to get them off. Kicking madly, I pushed all the sheets off until I was laid, in my underwear, diagonally across the bare bed.

And that was when I heard the shower.

Nowhere in the room was there evidence of another person. I hurled myself off the edge of the bed, fighting back the urge to throw up, and pulled on the first thing I found, yesterday’s white shirt, but the shower stopped. I froze, squatting in the open shirt, hanging onto the edge of the covers. The lock on the bathroom door clunked out of place. Unkindly, the full-length mirror showed me exactly what the person in the shower would be seeing in a couple of seconds and it wasn’t pretty. Elegantly messy bob was a bird’s nest and Razor had lied. There was definitely a cut-off point when smudging my eye make-up did not just make it look better. And the idea of a woman in a black bra, black pants and white shirt over the top might
sound
sexy, but trust me, right then, it was not. I desperately, desperately tried to think back–who could it be? It wasn’t the banker guy, he hadn’t even been at karaoke, it could be Gina’s friend, Ray, who had performed a show-stopping duet of ‘You’re the One That I Want’ with me, but no, he was definitely gay. What about the short bellhop who had completely wowed us with ‘Don’t Stop Me Now’. Nope, gay again. Shit, it couldn’t be Joe. Not the impossibly gorgeous waiter, Joe. Please no. Please no. Please–too late, the bathroom door opened.

‘Afternoon, sleepyhead,’ the voice sang happily. ‘Now, I had a great time and I think you’re a great girl but, well, I have to get going.’

Thank God, it was Jenny.

She stood in front of me, all smiles, fluffy towels and wet hair, laughing her back off.

‘You didn’t know who I was did you?’ she managed to squeeze in between chuckles. ‘Shit, Angie, you are the worst drinker I’ve ever seen. And not to be funny but you’re not looking your best either. You might want to work on that before you ride that horse.’

I stood and stared for a moment, waiting for it all to come back to me. Nope. The only thing that was coming back was…sushi. I’d eaten sushi. And now, it really was coming back to me. I pushed past Jenny and headed straight for the toilet. Thankfully, this time she didn’t just laugh and proved herself to be not just a great life coach but a great hair-holder-backer and glasses of water provider. Once she’d stripped me down and helped me into the shower, I began to feel slightly more human. This was definitely a crash course in friendship.

‘Feeling better?’ Jenny was back in last night’s dress and had pulled her hair into a high ponytail. At least she sounded sympathetic even if she looked as though she might crease herself laughing at any second. ‘I guess you learned not to mix your drinks. Those Perfect Tens you were drinking in the Grand so do not mix well with margaritas.’

‘I thought they were non-alcoholic,’ I said, slathering my face in moisturizer and slipping into a waffle robe. It felt as if dozens of little clouds had attached themselves to my body to carry me back to bed. ‘I guess not.’

‘Not so much,’ Jenny said. ‘Listen, I have to get back to the apartment to see Gina off, but meet me in reception at seven–sound OK?’

I nodded. ‘Will you tell her I’m sorry I can’t be there and about last night and stuff?’

‘You don’t need to apologize,’ Jenny said as she slipped into her stilettos as if they were slippers. A skill I needed to learn. ‘Seriously, we had a great night. And I was glad for the excuse to leave when you passed out. It was way past my bedtime.’

‘I passed out?’ I couldn’t believe it. Even during the annual Drink the Bar Dry event at uni, even after five jugs of sangria on holiday, even after eight shots of Sambuca on Louisa’s hen night, I had never passed out from drinking. Thrown up, yes, lost some shoes, OK, yes, but never passed out.

‘It’s OK, Angie,’ Jenny said vanishing through the door. ‘Consider that a baptism of fire. We’re going out again tonight, if you want to come. Just for dinner? Oh and Erin said she would meet you for lunch if you were feeling human. She’s so the perfect girl to give you dating advice before your hot date.’

After Jenny had gone and I had puked a few more times, I steeled myself to leave the hotel. It was another beautiful day in Union Square Park. The sun shone just as it had on Sunday. In three short days, the sheen of ‘new’, of ‘other’, had worn away leaving something even more exciting to me. It looked familiar. It looked like home. I had walked through that gate, I had used that subway station, I had run full pelt away from that bench. I picked up my (still beautiful) Marc Jacobs bag, swiped on some MAC Lipglass, a wipe of mascara and a bucket load of blusher. Even with one of the worst hangovers I’d ever had, I still looked a million times better than I had pre-makeover. Jenny Lopez was a saint.

Manatus was a sweet looking restaurant, nestled at the top of Bleecker Street in Greenwich Village in between a twenty-four-hour pharmacy and a designer lingerie store. I loved New York. I’d grabbed a cab outside the hotel, against Jenny’s express orders to take the subway, but I really didn’t like my chances of staying vomit-free on the train, so instead I motored along with my head out of the window. Luckily, I recognized Erin from the window. Petite, long blonde hair tied up in a ponytail, really pretty. No wonder she was Jenny’s dating guru, I just couldn’t believe she wasn’t taken already.

‘Hey!’ she stood up and welcomed me with a kiss on the cheek as I manoeuvred myself through the tables and prams. ‘I was worried you might not recognize me.’

‘You don’t forget someone you’ve shared a duet of “Baby, One More Time” with that easily,’ I said, quickly sitting and taking a long sip of iced water. ‘It’s all starting to come back to me now. Tragically, all of it.’ I shook my head shamefully.

‘It was fun,’ Erin said, waving over a waitress for a menu. ‘And we were relieved to see you were human. Since Sunday, all I’ve heard from Jenny is how incredible you are and, not to sound like a total bitch, when you walked into the bar, looking like a model, I kind of found it difficult to feel sorry for you. I mean, who looks that amazing and needs man help?’

‘Oh, I, well, me? And I think it’s just help in general I need.’ I wasn’t sure whether to thank her for the compliment or apologize. ‘And no one is mistaking me for a model. Really.’

‘Well, the hair, the dress, and wow, the shoes,’ she said. Luckily her eyes were shining brightly and I knew I’d found another genuine person. ‘But when you get drunk, you get drunk, huh? Now what are you having?’

The waiter hovered at our side, waiting patiently.

‘Toast,’ I said, not even having looked at the menu. I had a feeling Erin didn’t waste a lot of time with things as trivial as menus.

‘And I’ll take the granola with a fresh fruit cup,’ she said, handing the menus back to the waiter. ‘Anyhoo, Jenny tells me that hot thing you were talking to at the bar in the Grand has asked you out. Did you call him yet?’

‘Shit, no,’ I said, scrabbling for my wallet. There was his card. Safe and not vomited on. ‘I’ve been in no fit state.’

‘OK, call him now,’ Erin said, signalling for more coffee. ‘Seriously, call him.’

She passed me her phone but I just stared at the numbers. ‘What do I say?’

‘Hi, it’s Angela Clark, we met at the Grand last night,’ she said breezily. ‘I just wondered if you still wanted to meet up for dinner tomorrow? How’s that?’

‘Better than what I had,’ I muttered, dialling before I could think about it.

‘Tyler Moore,’ he answered on the first ring.

‘Hi, uh, it’s Angela, Angela, erm, Clark?’ I stumbled over my own name. Sexy.

‘Hello, Angela Clark,’ he replied. I couldn’t tell if he recognized me or not. ‘I was wondering if you’d call.’

He did remember me!

‘Of course,’ I said, trying to emulate Erin’s breezy approach. She made a rolling motion with her hands, I needed to get on with it. ‘I just wondered if you still wanted to meet up for dinner?’

‘Yeah, tomorrow right,’ he said. It sounded as though he was leaning forwards, flexing those muscles. Oh, dear. ‘How about the Mercer Kitchen at eight?’

‘That sounds great,’ I said. I’d done it! I’d got a date! ‘Shall I meet you there?’

‘Perfect, that’ll give me time to go home and change,’ he said. ‘See you in the bar at eight, Angela Clark.’ And he was gone.

‘So, you’re going?’ Erin asked, tapping her feet under the table.

I nodded and bit my lip. ‘We’re meeting at the Mercer Kitchen at eight. Is that good?’

‘That’s really good,’ she approved as our food arrived. ‘Mercer Kitchen is a great first date. Low lighting, great food, cool people and lots of potential for after date drinking. That’s a good pick.’

I nibbled on a piece of dry toast. Maybe this wouldn’t be as terrifying as I had thought. ‘What’s the dress code, is it posh?’ I asked, worrying slightly. I couldn’t afford to go shopping again.

‘Mmm, lots of after work suits and trendy girls but nothing too try-hard,’ she said shrugging. ‘You’ll be just fine in a cute dress or jeans and a cool shirt. He’ll probably just be in his suit.’

‘He said he was going home to change,’ I said, gingerly nibbling at my toast.

I could keep it down. I could keep it down.

‘Really? Hope he doesn’t show up dressed like Fabio or something,’ Erin laughed. Seeing the fear in my eyes, she stopped with a little cough. ‘Sure he won’t. Now, New York dating basics?’

‘Definitely,’ I nodded. ‘Dating basics in general. I don’t know how much Jenny told you…’

‘More or less everything,’ Erin said. ‘And what she didn’t know, you filled in last night. I’m guessing I know more about your sex life than your ex.’

I blanched and swapped the toast for the tea again. The waitress had topped it up with hot water making it weak as wee but I drank it anyway. ‘Sorry.’

‘No need, I have to have all the facts before I take on a pupil,’ she said. As Erin reached out for the honey I noticed her fingers were completely decked out in diamonds–solitaires, eternity rings, trilogy rings, every finger except her ring finger. ‘And believe me when I tell you I know
everything
. You were really quite graphic.’

‘Oh, God,’ I rubbed my forehead trying to remember exactly what I’d told her. Maybe I hadn’t remembered everything. ‘Go on then.’

Over the next hour and several cups of coffee for her and weak, weak tea for me, Erin, my answer to Dr Laura crossed with a head cheerleader, briefed me on the dating dos and don’ts of New York City. A beginner’s guide to The Rules. Do let him pay if he offers, don’t forget to bring your credit card in case he doesn’t. Do ask him questions about himself but don’t ask about exes. You can talk about jobs but don’t push financial questions, you don’t want to come across money hungry. If he asks you about your relationship history, give him the facts but not the details. Should the date go really well, you can accept a second date then and there, but since the date was on a Thursday, I was, under no circumstances, to accept a date for Friday or Saturday night. Saturday daytime maybe, Sunday, fine. It all seemed a little bit unnecessary.

‘You just don’t want to reveal anything that would put him off. And I mean anything at all,’ she said with incredible seriousness, ticking off her points on her diamond laden fingers. ‘Don’t be too funny, guys like funny but they don’t want to marry a comedian, right? The guy is supposed to be the funny one. Don’t overeat, if he orders for you, all the better. Don’t drink too much, at best he’ll think you’re an easy lush. At worst he’ll bail altogether.’

‘You mean it’s worse to have a man ditch me than sleep with me and then never call again?’

‘Oh honey, this is New York,’ Erin shook her head. ‘Getting him as far as the bedroom is half the battle–fingers crossed you’ve got
some
skills there, and then there’s a chance he’ll take you out for a second spin. It’s hard, but if you’re a really great lay, you can change a first impression. Sometimes.’

‘Okaaaaaay,’ I felt myself colour up. ‘I’m not sure I have that many “skills” so I’d just better not drink too much.’

‘Hmm. Well these are just the dinner rules, there’s a whole heap of other rules for when you start sleeping with him. But basically, don’t screw on the first date. Ever.’

‘Not a problem, I’m sure. So since it seems I know absolutely nothing about dating or men, tell me everything else I need to know.’

Listening to Erin’s instructions, helpful, well-intentioned and requested as they were, was a little bit like being given driving instructions, so I’d more or less lost her by the third turn. Now, rather than being a bit worried about my date with Tyler, I was scared shitless. While she was clarifying how far I was allowed to ‘go’ if I wanted to see Tyler again I was too busy trying not to get caught looking at the man in the corner of the restaurant. He was hiding behind his battered Murakami novel, emerging only to fiddle with his iPod and order more coffee. Something about his messy black hair and vivid green eyes was vaguely familiar, but I wrote it off as him just being really, really hot.

‘So as long as you play by The Rules, you’ll be fine,’ Erin carried right on, not even noticing that she had completely lost my attention. ‘And it’s not like you’re wanting this guy to marry you right now is it, you just want some fun, yeah?’

‘Um, yes, nothing serious,’ I said, trying to push away the idea of myself and Tyler in Tiffany’s, Tyler on one knee, me crying and everyone clapping. ‘Erin, can I ask you a question?’

‘Of course,’ she said. ‘What kind of teacher would I be if I wasn’t open to criticism?’

‘Oh, nothing like that,’ I said quickly. ‘I was just wondering, well, I was just wondering why you aren’t married? I know it’s not the law to be married, but you’re just a complete dating encyclopedia and you’re so perfect looking and you’re so nice and…’