Lindsey Kelk 5-Book 'I Heart...' Collection (118 page)

‘I wish I could eat like you,’ Sadie commented as I speared my second mouthful of perfectly cooked steak. ‘I’d love to just pig out whenever I wanted.’

‘I can’t even begin to imagine how you would cope with solids,’ I replied. ‘If you had to keep them down, I mean.’

‘You have to make sacrifices for your dreams.’ Sadie stretched her arms over her head and arched her slender back. And then without missing a beat, added, ‘Jen tells me you’re gonna get kicked out the country for sucking. What’s going on with that?’

‘Jen’ spat her cocktail across the table and exploded into a coughing fit.

‘Angela’s got it all under control,’ she spluttered, pressing a napkin to her glossy lips. ‘Dontcha, Ange?’

‘All under control,’ I lied, ready to put all my gambling monies (all thirty-six dollars) on Cici Spencer and Sadie Nixon being BFF.

‘And did I tell you Erin’s having a baby?’ Ever the diplomat, Jenny steered the conversation in the opposite direction as quickly as possible. But it was too late. Sadie had her foot down for a head-on collision.

‘Wow, Erin’s having a baby?’ Her eyes never left mine. ‘So exciting. And you’re being promoted. And you’ve got that delicious man. Everyone has so much going on right now. So, Angela, how is it that you’re not going to get your ass-hand delivered back to England?’

She snapped a breadstick in two and leaned back in her chair.

The cow.

‘I have to use the loo.’ I threw my napkin down on the table and pushed my chair backwards in a hurry. I would not cry at the table; I wasn’t a child. We were about as far removed from a youth hostel in the Peak District as it was possible to be, and Sadie was not Karen Thompson, my year nine nemesis. I would not rise to her heckling.

Safely locked in a stall, I let a couple of frustrated tears escape. What was wrong with some girls? Why did they have to make you feel like shit to give themselves a happy? And I hated myself for knowing that the prettier and more successful they were, the more it stung. Now there was a throwback from Robinstone Comprehensive. It was all Fuzzy Peach perfume, Boots 17 lipstick and tears before bedtime. I distinctly remember my sixteen-year-old self swearing it would all be different when I was older, but here I was, all Chanel perfume, MAC lipstick and Christian Louboutins, snivelling in the toilets. And this time Louisa wasn’t here to talk me down. Because Louisa was at home, with her husband, having a baby. Just like Erin. And super-successful Jenny was too busy talking to her new best friend. I’d seen Mean Girls (loads of times). I knew how this worked.

Not ready to go back out to the table, I went through the crying-girl-in-the-toilet motions. I carefully wiped away any mascara smudges with a tissue, reapplied my lip gloss, powdered my nose and scrolled through my phone. Nothing from Alex yet. An email from my dad telling me to have fun on holiday. Thank God it didn’t say ‘don’t do anything I wouldn’t do’. A text from Louisa to say the baby had just kicked her awake. More reminders that life went on without me. If I had to leave New York, how long would it take my friends here to forget me? It had only taken eighteen months for everything I knew in England to change completely. Louisa was married and pregnant, my parents were crack-head swingers. My ex hadn’t even waited for me to leave to replace me. How long would it take Alex?

‘Angela, are you in here?’

I heard Jenny’s hooker heels click-clack across the bathroom tiles before she spoke, which gave me just enough time for the ol’ flush and blow. I waved my hand in front of the sensor, waited for the toilet to flush and gave my nose a good old honk so she wouldn’t know I’d been crying. The perfect crime.

‘Oh my God, are you crying in there?’

Damn it.

‘No,’ I replied, putting down the lid and sitting back down. ‘I’m just … thinking.’

‘In the restroom of a restaurant?’

‘Shut up.’

‘Angie, Sadie wants to apologize. She’s tired, she’s been working a lot, she didn’t mean to be a bitch.’

‘Then where is she?’ I asked. ‘How come you’re in here and she isn’t?’

‘Uh, she has a phobia of public bathrooms,’ Jenny replied. ‘I know, I know. Just come on out, OK?’

‘I don’t want to.’ Sometimes I could be incredibly mature.

‘Don’t make me come in there, because I will do it.’

‘Course you will.’ I looked at the gap under the toilet door. Plenty of room for someone as skinny as Jenny, but there was no way she was going to crawl around on the floor of a lav in Herve Leger. ‘I won’t hold my breath.’

‘Wait no more, bitches.’

Silly me. Of course Jenny wouldn’t get down on the floor of a toilet (sober, by choice). But she would climb over the stall. In six-inch heels.

‘How are you doing that?’ I marvelled as she threw one leg over the partition, then the other, hooked her hands to the top and dropped down onto the floor.

‘Clearly you never had to leave a date via the bathroom window,’ she replied, shimmying her dress back down over her arse. Thank God she was wearing underwear. ‘You’d be amazed at what I can do, Clark.’

‘All bets are off with you, Lopez.’ I shuffled across the toilet seat to make room for her tiny bottom. ‘Now what’s this about you getting promoted?’

‘Aww, it’s nothing.’ She screwed up her face. ‘It’s not really a promotion. I’m just taking on more work, really. That’s practically a demotion, right?’

‘Um, no.’ It was hard to hug someone sitting on a toilet, but I found a way. ‘New title? Pay rise? Tell me!’

‘Basically, Erin emailed me to say she wants me to take on more stuff while she’s away on her baby vacay, like running a few of the accounts as well as organizing the events,’ she said, trying to play it down, but I could see she was excited. ‘I’ll be managing a few people. It’s probably gonna be a nightmare.’

‘It will be amazing. You know it will.’

‘Yeah.’ She rested her head on my shoulder. ‘I kinda kick ass at this job thing, don’t I?’

‘You kind of do,’ I confirmed. ‘But you always do. You were a kick-ass concierge, you were a kick-ass stylist. I bet you were a kick-ass babysitter at some point, weren’t you?’

She nodded decisively. ‘Four years’ professional babysitting and not one fatality.’

‘I’ll take that as a yes.’

‘So, are you going to get your ass out of the bathroom and come join the party? We’re gonna hit up Ghostbar.’ She stood up and held out a hand. ‘Or are you going to stay in here and be a Debbie Downer.’

‘Debbie Downer,’ I grumbled.

Jenny slapped me around the top of my head. ‘How about tomorrow we do something, just me and you?’

‘I don’t want to be a knob, but I would love that,’ I said, taking the hand and leaving the toilet stall behind. ‘Do I really have to go back out there and deal with her?’

‘Not if you don’t want to,’ Jenny said. ‘It’s your vacation. Do you want to go back to the hotel? Shall I call the car?’

I considered my options. Super-swanky club with super-swanky girls, doing shots, dancing until dawn in a dress that made me feel like my RE teacher, or finding out how long it took to fill up that tub in the middle of my room and go to bed. I spent a good three seconds trying to convince myself I wanted to go to the club before answering.

‘There will be another club tomorrow, won’t there?’

‘There will.’

‘Hotel, then, please.’

‘Your wish is my command.’ Jenny waved me towards the door with a flourish. ‘We are living in a fairytale, and I am your fairy godmother, lady.’

‘Jenny. How drunk are you?’

‘Angela. Very?’

‘Thought so.’

Twenty minutes later, I was back in my room, truffling through the mini bar and running the world’s most exciting bath. So, my first day in Vegas had been a bit of a let-down. It always took a little bit of time to unwind on holiday, didn’t it? And I had a lot to be wound up about. Visa worries safely locked up in an emotional box that could give me an ulcer another day, I thought I was safe and sound. Cast your cares away, worries for another day. But now, joy of joys, I had to share my holiday with Sadie, and I couldn’t cast her nearly as far away as I would have liked.

Slipping off my butchered dress and wriggling out of Sadie’s mum’s underwear, I stepped into the bath, feeling appropriately decadent. All I was missing was a Flake. Stupid American chocolate. It was strange, the things I missed about England. Obviously, I missed my family and I missed Louisa. I missed X Factor Saturdays. I missed mooching around Boots to kill ten minutes. I missed Percy Pigs, Wotsits and proper lemonade. Why didn’t America have lemonade? Sprite was not lemonade. But that wasn’t a patch on what I’d miss about America. Three hours of Come Dine with Me on a Sunday was not a fair trade for the love of your life. Speaking of whom, my phone buzzed into life on the cleverly placed table right by the bathtub.

‘Hello?’

‘Hey, it’s me.’

Talking to Alex on the phone always put me on high alert. I hated using the phone in general, a throwback to calling my mum and lying through my back teeth about where I was spending the night as a teenager, I was sure. It just set me on edge; but at least when it was with Alex, it was a good edge.

‘Are you here? Are you in Vegas?’

‘Yeah, we’re at the Wynn,’ he yawned. ‘It’s nice. And Jeff’s friends seem pretty cool. We’re gonna hit the tables.’

‘I couldn’t convince you to come over and tuck me in, then?’ It had to be worth a try. ‘There’s a mini bar and an amazing view and all of the TV channels. All of them.’

Alex replied with a low laugh. ‘I don’t think that fits in with the “guys only” theme of the weekend, but I could probably get away tomorrow?’

‘I’m supposed to do something with Jenny.’ I dangled my leg over the side of the bath. If I smoked, I’d be having a cigar right now. ‘But I really want to see you.’

‘We’ll work it out,’ he promised. ‘Where are you? Can I hear water?’

‘I’m in the bath.’ I splished and splashed for maximum effect. ‘It’s amazing.’

‘You’re calling me from the bath, but you tried to convince me to come over by way of mini bar and cable TV?’

‘Yes?’ There was a chance I was not the world’s premier seductress.

‘I love you, Angela Clark.’

Cue warm, fuzzy feeling that was nothing to do with the bath.

‘I love you,’ I whispered back. Sometimes I was still scared to say it. Like I had a finite number of uses and one day I’d run out and it would all be over.

‘So you get back to your bath, I’ll go make our millions, and we’ll see each other tomorrow.’

‘What are you wearing?’ I asked quickly, desperate to keep him on the phone.

‘A leather harness and a banana skin,’ he replied without pause. ‘This is boys’ night. You can try to seduce me all you like, but I am made of steel. But only because I know I’m going to see you tomorrow.’

‘Go on then,’ I relented, placated by his qualifier. ‘Have fun. But not too much fun. And no strippers. Or lap dancers. Or lap-dancing strippers.’

‘Just straight-up hookers then, I got it. Get some sleep.’

‘OK.’ I wished I hadn’t come back to the hotel. I was sure I wouldn’t be missing him half as much if I was dancing on a bar in my underwear somewhere while The Situation did body shots of my friends. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow. No hookers.’

‘No hookers.’

Forget you, William Shakespeare. Had there ever been a sweeter goodnight between lovers? I think not.

The next morning I woke up bright and early at nine a.m. Technically the middle of the night by Vegas standards. After a good ten minutes spent staring out of the bedroom window (I opened the drapes from my bed with a remote control. This room had everything), I dragged myself into the lounge and gazed down upon my kingdom. In reality, if I were the King of Vegas, I probably wouldn’t be wearing a Star Wars T-shirt and giant pink cotton pants, let alone be wide awake and staring at an almost completely abandoned Strip before ten in the morning, but I was.

These were the benefits of being an early riser, I told myself smugly – you got time and you got space. Not that I’d normally know; I hardly ever saw anything outside of my eyelids before ten, but my brain was still on New York time, making it twelve and a perfectly reasonable time for me to be vertical. At least when I stood half-naked in this window, no one could see. Well, if they could see, more power to them. That would have to be one very powerful telescope and one very committed pervert. We were ever so high up.

A trail of handbags, high heels and empty packets of crisps suggested Jenny and Sadie had made it home at some point before sunrise, but their doors were firmly closed. Pouting, I paced the giant room, sitting on a sofa, getting up to look at the view, peering in a cupboard, flicking on the TV. A good night’s sleep had left me restless, and I didn’t quite know what to do. I could go for a swim, but I was hungry. I could order room service, but then I’d still be in the same place. Only one thing for it. I was going to have to go on an adventure.

Suitably stuffed into a pair of skinny J Brand jeans and one of Jenny’s cast-off Splendid Tshirts, I grabbed my satchel, tossed in my phone and room key and called for the lift. There was something a little bit heartbreaking about leaving the room – it was so beautiful; but my stomach was rumbling in a big way. It was going to be tough to go back to my apartment on Sunday night. Probably a good thing, The Voice popped up out of nowhere; good idea to get used to saying goodbye to things.

Ooh, you bastard, I thought in response, how dare you have a go before I’ve even had a cup of tea?

Given the state of the street outside, I was expecting the casino floor to be quiet at the very least, if not empty. I was wrong. All traces of the early morning sunshine were erased and replaced with the most unnatural light known to man. Even though the casino looked just as shiny and exciting as it had when I’d passed through the night before, something was off. Slot machines clunked and rang with sirens of success, crowds huddled around the roulette tables, crumpled and tired, with no idea of the time. The card tables were even more frightening. Aching, bloodshot eyes stared at bored-looking dealers, just waiting, waiting for that one card they knew was the next out of the deck. All I would have to do was touch them, just a gentle tap with one finger, and they would shatter into a million pieces. It was intense. And it didn’t look like fun.