Lindsey Kelk 5-Book 'I Heart...' Collection (11 page)

A page into my scribblings, I saw the hot chocolate being placed in front of me. I nodded a thanks, too lost in my rant about how hard dating rules were to understand when I realized whoever had delivered the hot chocolate had sat down opposite me. I looked up slowly to see the cute guy from the corner of the restaurant smiling at me, resting his chin in his palm, elbows firmly on the table.

‘Hi,’ he mouthed.

I paused my iPod and stared.

‘Don’t you just wish you could go up to people and say, hey, let me take a look at your iPod?’ he said, reaching out and taking mine from the table. The earbuds popped out onto my notebook. ‘That way, you would know whether or not to ask that person out right away. Say, they were listening to … angsty lesbians,’ he looked up at me. He had a sexy pale skin, dark eyes thing happening, as if he was pretty much nocturnal. ‘Most men would be scared off. But some other men would go back to the artists page and look for some other, more encouraging signs, like … hmmm, Justin Timberlake?’

‘It’s a good song,’ I defended weakly. Even I didn’t believe me.

‘Well, the ladies love Justin,’ he said and carried on scrolling. ‘And at least it cancels out the lesbian thing.’

‘I’m not a lesbian!’ Too quick to my own defence.

He looked up again and laughed. ‘Great.’ He pulled his chair a little closer to the table. ‘Oh, this just gets better. Bon Jovi?’

‘It’s “Living on a Prayer”, it’s a classic?’ I protested weakly, dropping my head to my hands. ‘Why aren’t you looking at the cool stuff? I like cool stuff too …’

‘Like what?’ he asked, looking back at the iPod. ‘And don’t say all kinds of music. I hate when people say they like all kinds of music. That just means you don’t love any. Well, you’ve got the new Stills album, I hear they’re good.’

‘I’ve seen them live!’ I said quickly. ‘I saw them in London. They were quite good. I actually prefer the first album though.’

‘Always good to get honest feedback,’ he held his hand out. ‘Alex Reid.’

I took his hand and bit my lip. ‘You’re in Stills, aren’t you?’

‘I am.’

‘And you saw Justin Timberlake on my iPod.’

‘And Bon Jovi.’

This was not how I had imagined meeting the ridiculously sexy lead singer of a super cool New York band. In most of my rock star fantasies, (which were wide and varied), I was usually looking dishevelled and sexy, wearing fishnets, heeled boots and a lot of black eyeliner at some swank after party at an edgy East London bar. Instead I was wearing a pink T-shirt and baggy jeans with bright orange flip-flops, had a crunchy, damp ponytail and hoped, just hoped, that my mascara hadn’t completely melted away under my eyes just yet.

‘But I do have your album,’ I said, trying to buy some cool points. ‘And, like, I don’t know, The Arctic Monkeys?’

‘Very 2006,’ he said, handing me back my iPod and settling into his chair. He was still smiling and it was very off-putting. ‘But you do have some cool stuff and you did come and see my band.’

‘I do and I did,’ I confirmed. Please ask me out. Please ask me out. I couldn’t be further away from not needing a man to ‘validate’ me. I needed the good-looking man to ask me out. Fuck you Mark Davis, the hot rock star asked me out. Bwah ha ha.

‘And if you bought both albums and a ticket to the gig,’ he sighed and ran a hand through his messy, floppy black hair, letting it drop back down over his eyes.

Oh.

‘With the weak dollar, I figure you have spent, what, twenty pounds on the band?’

‘And I bought a T-shirt,’ I said seriously. ‘That was twenty on its own.’

‘As long as it was from inside,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Those sons of bitches outside selling my Tshirts for ten bucks? Don’t they know all the money comes from the Tshirts?’

I laughed nervously waiting for him to join in. He did, thank God.

‘So, I know you have an … “eclectic” taste in music,’ Alex started, ‘and I owe you about, what, sixty, nearly eighty bucks? But I still don’t know your name.’

‘I suppose since I know yours,’ I said, hoping I was coming across funny and flirty and not nervous and starstruck. The more I thought about it, the more I remembered how good his band really was. ‘Angela Clark.’

‘And are you on vacation, Angela Clark?’ he asked, helping himself to my hot chocolate. I was about to complain but figured I could afford to lose one hot chocolate in the pursuit of a rock star. Well, lead singer of a slightly obscure indie band I’d seen once in Islington. Much closer to rock star than the banker at HSBC who I’d been going out with for ten years.

‘Sort of,’ I said, not wanting to get into it any more than I had to. ‘I’m staying with a friend for a while.’

‘Well, if you’re not planning to stay in and listen to Justin, would you like to go to a party with me tonight?’

He asked me out. He had asked me out.

And I couldn’t go.

‘I would really like to,’ I said, desperately trying to work out my excuse. ‘But I already have plans tonight.’

‘Should have guessed,’ he said, picking up my pen and opening my notebook to a blank page. ‘So here’s my number, I’ve got tickets to the best show on Saturday night and I would love for you to go with me. What do you think?’

‘I would love to,’ I agreed, watching all of Erin’s advice flying out of the window and down the road to tell her what a bad student I was. Accepting a Saturday night date on a Wednesday, shocking.

‘Good, I kind of thought you might blow me off.’ He stood up and stretched. Skinny jeans, but not too skinny, obligatory faded band T-shirt, just short enough to reveal his flat stomach when he stretched, accessorized by a thin trail of black hair tracing a path from his belly button to his waistband. And of course, sunglasses. He dropped his book into a leather satchel so battered, I was afraid to let my Marc Jacobs catch sight of such appalling abuse. ‘If your friend hadn’t left when she did, I was going to give up. Who listens to all that bullshit?’

‘What bullshit?’ I asked, distracted by his oddly muscly biceps. I guessed from playing guitar. Again, oh.

‘Yeah, seriously,’ he said as he walked away. ‘Don’t listen to her, dating rules are bullshit. Engaged three times and not married? Not the best person for advice.’

I felt my mouth drop open. He had heard all of it? ‘But how could you hear? You had your iPod on?’

‘So you had noticed me.’

So bloody cocky.

‘Anyway, Max Brenner’s at Union Square on Saturday – about seven? It’s kinda touristy but it’s the best hot chocolate in town. No offence to this place.’ He gave the waitress a puppy dog smile on the way out. I watched her visibly wilt as he strode past the window without a second look.

And with that, I was in love.

Again.

Vanessa was on the concierge desk as I blew into the lobby, the overpowering whiff of the scented candles already feeling like home.

‘Hey, Vanessa. Is Jenny around?’

She nodded. ‘Sure, she’s in the back. We have this band staying and they’ve decided she’s their favourite concierge in the whole of for ever. You want to go bust her out of hiding?’ Vanessa buzzed me through the seamless, invisible door and into the employee lounge where I saw Jenny’s high ponytail peeping over the top of a squishy sofa.

‘You’ll never ever guess what,’ I yelled across the room. ‘I’ve only bloody found myself a rock star … Jenny?’

Rounding the sofa I stopped short. Jenny was red, blotchy and her mascara had run all down her pretty face.

‘You’re crying,’ I said, stating the bloody obvious.

‘Hey, that’s great,’ she sniffed, rubbing her face on the arm of her black shirt. ‘Tell me all about it.’

‘No, you tell me,’ I said, sitting beside her. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Oh, it’s stupid.’ She tried to smile but just succeeded in letting some more tears slip out. ‘I saw Jeff. My ex.’

‘Oh,’ I said, not really knowing what else to say.

‘Well, what happened? Did he say anything?’

‘Nothing good,’

‘What a shit!’ I shook my head and sat down beside her.

‘Uh-uh,’ Jenny shook her head sadly. ‘I’m the shit. I cheated on him.’

‘Really?’ Jenny wasn’t a cheater, she was such a nice, considerate person who cared horribly about other people. It wasn’t possible. ‘You did?’

‘Yeah, I was really, really stupid,’ she sighed, rubbing her forehead. ‘And he just came by to accidentally let it slip that he’s seeing someone else.’

‘But, I mean, you broke up with him for someone else?’ I tried to make sense of it in my head without sounding judgemental but it was hard. Turned out I was pretty judgemental.

‘No, I got really drunk, slept with Joe from the hotel and then I told my boyfriend because I felt so guilty,’ Jenny said numbly. ‘So he called me a whore, kicked me out and I moved in with Gina. I never wanted to break-up, I just made a mistake and there was no way to take it back.’

‘Oh.’

‘I know what you must be thinking,’ she said quietly.

‘Honestly, I don’t know what I’m thinking,’ I said, squeezing her hand. ‘But I can only go on what I know about you, which is that you’re lovely.’

‘Oh, God!’ Jenny burst out crying loudly. ‘I miss him so much.’ She dropped slowly sideways into my lap. Not knowing what else to do, I gently combed my fingers through her ponytail and stayed silent until she stopped sobbing. It was a long five minutes before Jenny let out a big sniff and pulled herself up. She smiled and squeezed my hands in hers.

‘I know you must be thinking I’m a complete slut, but honestly, it wasn’t like that,’ she said earnestly. ‘It’s not something I do. Sometimes people just make mistakes. I wish I could make Jeff see that I would do anything to get him back. Anything.’

‘If it’s meant to be, he’ll realize eventually,’ I offered, but I didn’t know if it was true.

‘Yeah,’ Jenny nodded. ‘What do you say we go get gussied up and celebrate your rock star? I could use a drink.’

I smiled and took her hand. ‘Sounds like a plan.’

The celebratory night on the town I’d anticipated quickly dissolved into a strained silent meal at a neighbourhood restaurant near Jenny’s apartment. Between Jenny’s frequent teary trips to the bathroom, punctuated by several dirty Martinis and torrents of filth aimed at the band staying at The Union who had decided that Jenny was in fact not a concierge but their own personal plaything, my delayed hangover and the details of Erin’s failed pitch for a new cosmetics client, the night was a complete nightmare. Three Cosmos later and tongues were loosening, even if things weren’t exactly picking up.

‘If someone cheated on you, would you take them back?’ Jenny asked, drawing the burned orange peel across the surface of her drink. ‘And I don’t mean, like, had a relationship, I mean a one off.’

I pursed my lips and sat back. I really didn’t want to get into a ‘once a cheater, always a cheater’ conversation.

‘I don’t know,’ Erin said, sipping her drink. ‘If I cared about him, then no. But if I would be prepared to cheat on him, then yes.’

‘I took a boyfriend back when he cheated,’ Vanessa said. ‘And he cheated again and again. I think once they know they can get away with it, they’ll cheat on you as long as you’ll let them. I know it’s a cliché but it’s true.’

‘Hmm,’ Jenny looked at me sideways. ‘What do you think, Angela? If your ex turned up right now with a bunch of roses and an apology, what would you do?’

‘I don’t know,’ I said, staring hard at my glass. ‘I suppose I’d just send him right back where he came from.’

‘No, you wouldn’t,’ Jenny shook her head and downed her drink. ‘You’d take him back in a heartbeat. You know it.’

‘Wow,’ I bit my lip. ‘Where did the anti-Oprah come from?’

‘Jesus,’ Erin said, putting the cocktail menu down and standing up. ‘Welcome to the dark side, Angela. Meet Drunk Jenny.’

I looked at my new friend, her head resting on the edge of the bar, her shoulders drooped.

‘Deep depression, check. Determined to bring everyone else down, check. Won’t quit until she’s offended everyone she’s ever met, even when she’s a new friend and she’s celebrating getting a great job, check,’ she shrugged on her coat. ‘I’m not hanging around for this sweetheart. She’ll be fine tomorrow’

Erin kissed me and Vanessa on the cheek and slapped Jenny on the backside on her way out. ‘Buck up doll or that one night stand is going to cost you more than just a boyfriend.’

‘This is so the opposite of fun,’ Vanessa sighed, finishing up her drink and making to leave. ‘I’m sorry, Angela, I can’t do this again. Some friends of mine are going down to Bungalow, why don’t you come? There’s no point when she’s like this.’

‘No, I’ll stick it out,’ I shook my head, not sure what sticking it out would mean, ‘but thanks.’

‘You sure? Lots of hot guys and my friend can totally get us in?’ Vanessa gave me half a second to change my mind and then she was gone, waving as she went.

I looked back at Jenny.

‘I’m so pathetic,’ she mumbled into her folded arms. ‘You should leave me here.’

‘I should, but I guess I won’t,’ I said. I had some tolerance for self-pity but not enough. ‘Does this happen often?’

‘Only if I think about him,’ she replied, still face down.

‘And do you think about him often?’ My turn to finish my drink and put on my coat.

‘All the time,’ same muffled whine.

‘Have you thought about putting your own advice into practice at all?’ Pulling her up off her stool was harder than it should have been given she weighed as much as a flea.

‘Thought about it,’ she said, allowing me to slide her jacket onto her shoulders. ‘Never managed it. I don’t deserve to be over him.’

‘Look,’ I said, staring her hard in the eyes. ‘You did something wrong and you might never get back with your ex, but if I’ve learned one thing from the last week, it’s that there’s running away, wallowing and, hopefully, a happy medium called getting on with life. And you’re going to have to get on with life, otherwise, you have no authority as my life coach and then where will I be?’

‘I suppose you do need me,’ she sniffed. ‘I just can’t work out how to get over him.’

‘Have you tried running halfway around the world? It works wonders.’ I grimaced as we shuffled out of the bar. ‘And I’ve got to say, right now, running away looks a lot better than your moping.’