Lindsey Kelk 5-Book 'I Heart...' Collection (69 page)

The Adventures of Angela: I want to be a part of it …

So it looks like my interview with James Jacobs was a hit! I hope you all enjoyed it; you have no idea what I went through to get it for you. Well, actually, I imagine you have a fairly clear idea. As much as I’d love to think otherwise, I’m guessing you check in on blogs other than mine from time to time … In hindsight, it was all worth it. And that only has a tiny bit to do with the handbag that was just delivered. Thanks James.

While I have you here, I’d just like to clear something up once and for all. I have never actually made anyone gay (as far as I know?), I just sort of brought it to the world’s attention, so anyone worried about my magical ability to ‘turn’ hot boys can sleep easy in their beds tonight.

Back to the blog. Have you noticed how pretty it is outside today? I’m not sure if it’s because spring is around the corner or just because I didn’t lose a toe to frostbite today but I’m so happy to be back in New York. Don’t get me wrong, Hollywood was fun and it has successfully stolen away my best friend, so I know I’ll be going back soon, but is there anywhere on earth that compares to New York City? I don’t have to worry about the paparazzi because, let’s face it, I’m just not New York news. I don’t have to worry about getting in the car just to go out and buy milk because the deli on the corner is open twenty-four hours a day. And I don’t have to worry about the constant reapplication of sunscreen twelve months of the year; although I can’t stress enough that we should all be wearing a moisturizer with sunscreen and, to be honest, waking up to sunshine was absolutely not the worst part of last week. Especially when you’ve been rolling yourself up in two hoodies, a dressing gown and four pairs of socks just to get from the bed to the bathroom every morning from December until March. Anyway, looks like I’m not going anywhere soon. At least not anywhere too far away …

I mailed the blog to Mary and curled up on the sofa. The flat really did stink. Thousands of dollars’ worth of flowers might sound like a great idea but in reality it was like living on the perfume counter in Bloomingdale’s. Too much. Alex’s apartment always smelled the same. Strong coffee in the kitchen, his fresh, soapy shower gel in the bathroom and, if he had the window open, a soft sweetness in the bedroom from the nearby sugar factory.

I got up and wrestled with the window to let in some air but it wouldn’t budge. Jenny had always been the only one who’d been able to get it open. Sighing, I gave up and tried the kitchen window. Alex’s sunflower sat in the middle of all the other ornate arrangements. Maybe I wasn’t designed to live alone, but was that a good enough reason to move in with someone? Where was Jenny when I bloody needed her. I knew she’d say I should just call her but it was early in LA and she had taken to sleeping in as late as possible since she‘d stopped working shifts. Before I could turn to the only people I knew would be able to give me good advice, the cast of Friends, I heard something in the hallway.

Popping up over the back of the sofa, like a meerkat, I watched the front door swing open to reveal Alex, holding a box of Cheerios.

‘I found these downstairs, you must have dropped them,’ he said sheepishly.

‘Didn’t you leave like, half an hour ago?’ I asked, climbing over the back of the sofa and taking the cereal.

‘Yeah, I’ve kind of been sitting on your front step,’ he admitted, slipping his key back in his hip pocket. ‘I was thinking.’

‘Thinking?’ That was never good.

‘I know you need time to think about moving in,’ he said, taking my hands in his. ‘So I wanted to give you something to think about.’

He pulled me into a gentle kiss that grew stronger and stronger until I was short of breath and pressed backwards up against the fridge door.

‘Well that doesn’t really help,’ I said, pushing him away. ‘How am I supposed to think clearly now?’

‘You’re not,’ he grinned, moving back in for another kiss. ‘You’re supposed to move in with me.’

‘You want to come over later?’ I asked as Alex pushed my hair back and held my face in both of his hands. ‘After practice?’

‘It’ll be late,’ he whispered in between kisses.

‘You have a key,’ I breathed hard. ‘Let yourself in.’

‘Sounds good.’ He kissed me once more and then slipped back out the door. ‘See you later.’

I locked the door and hugged myself tightly. Oh, this was not going to be an easy decision. But then, where was the fun in easy decisions?

So many thank yous to say – Lynne, Claire, Victoria and everyone at HC. When you come from inside the beast, you REALLY appreciate how much hard graft goes into making a book work. A million times, thank you.

Yo, Jimmy, LA wouldn’t have been the same without you and I couldn’t have ‘researched’ Hollywood half as well without Caterina (my favourite sassy blonde) Philipa and Squeaker. Thank you to Jane, Georgia, Keren, Catherine, Alison, Sam, Rich, Jimmy (again), Pete, Jenny, Ryan, Eric and Chris for abiding by the dress code, to James for going one better and coordinating completely and to Della, Lisa and Miss Aimee for distracting me to the point of almost not getting this done. I miss far too long phone calls, cocktails and boy-bashing with you. Other than that, thank you to everyone that’s emailed, Facebooked, tweeted and twittered at me about I Heart New York, you’re all brilliant. Unless you said it was crap. I’m just going to ignore you. Mwah.

I HEART PARIS

For Mabel, Kara, Joel and Chloe – hope you’re not too ashamed of me when you’re old enough to read this

New York hadn’t even attempted to cool down in the three days that I’d been away. When my friend Erin had suggested we get away to her beach house for a long weekend, I almost threw myself out of her eighteenth-storey office window to get there quicker. But three days beside the seaside only made it harder to be back in the sticky city. I’d only walked two blocks to the subway and my heel had slipped into the melting, sludgy tarmac between the paving slabs three times already. Ick. It almost made me long for a wet summer Saturday in Wimbledon. Almost.

In this cloying heat, the only way I could cope was to wear as little clothing as possible whenever I had to be outside, and spend as much time worshipping at the altar of the air-conditioning unit as humanly possible. Today’s survival ensemble was pretty much nothing more than a really long pale pink vest from American Apparel and a bangle. The bangle was to show I had actually put some thought into getting dressed and hadn’t just wandered out in my underwear. Back in London, I would never, ever have left the house in something so skimpy, but it was just too hot to worry about bingo wings. When I left the house, I didn’t feel as if I’d forgotten to get dressed. Right now, I was one towelling headband away from the crazy lady that liked to sit outside the twenty-four-hour deli opposite my apartment in her dressing gown and bra.

Once I was safely on the air-conditioned train, I flailed around elegant as ever, hanging from the pole in the centre of the carriage and swapped my shoes for the ever-present flip-flops in my Marc Jacobs satchel. I thought back to the precious moment when the bag had come into my life. I had treasured it more than anything else I’d ever owned, I never put it on the floor, always checked that pens had their lids on, lip glosses weren’t leaking and there was no way on God’s green earth, I’d have ever put a pair of dirty street shoes in it. Rummaging around for my left flip-flop, I wanted to shed a little tear for the unravelled stitching and the used subway cards, crumpled napkins and dozens of half empty packs of chewing gum that now littered the lining. Classy.

Changing from the Six train onto the L at Union Square, I felt myself begin to smile. The same nervous flutter started to pick up in the pit of my stomach that always attacked me when I stepped onto the train towards Brooklyn. So, maybe there was an upside to being back in the city. Alex. Of course, I wouldn’t have the L train flutters nearly as often if I would just move in with him, like he kept asking. According to my friends, it was ridiculous that I was keeping our relationship ‘bi-coastal’. I’d spent an awful lot of the weekend trying to explain to uber-Manhattanite Erin, who didn’t even venture below 14th street unless she positively had to, that Murray Hill to Williamsburg wasn’t exactly bi-coastal. And besides, I just wasn’t sure I was ready to take that step just yet. Yes, I loved Alex, yes, I wanted to spend time with him but did that mean I should shack up with him right away? No.

After I’d shuffled off the train and hauled myself up the stairs to the street, I paused for a moment to let my eyes readjust to the sunlight. As always, Alex was propped up against the corner of Bedford and North 7th, bobbing his head to whatever was coming out of his iPod, his thick, black hair pushed back off his face, messed up at the back as though he’d just got up. Which, given that it was only one in the afternoon, I guessed he probably had. Sticky August weather or not, Alex’s wardrobe never changed. Skinny black jeans clung to his legs, his T-shirt was tight to his chest and he was sipping from a steaming cup of coffee.

I shook my head. How could he drink anything hot on a day like this? Just looking at the cup made me break out in a sweat. Just looking at Alex made the flutter in my stomach graduate into a full-body shiver. I ran my ring fingers under each eye, clearing any potential mascara smudges – not even the most waterproof of mascaras could survive ninety-five degrees of New York City heat – and pulled my sunglasses out of my handbag before I started over.

‘Hey.’ Alex dropped his coffee in the bin beside him and leaned his head down to mine for a kiss. ‘How was Erin’s?’

‘Amazing,’ I replied, reaching back up for another slightly longer kiss that made me catch my breath. ‘You should come with us next time. Provincetown is beautiful.’

‘I’m not really beach people,’ he said, catching my hand in his and pulling me down the street. ‘And from the look of those shoulders, neither are you.’

‘Oh, I know.’ I shrugged the strap of my bag back on to the narrow strap of my dress, revealing my attractive lobster red skin. ‘I should just stay inside until September.’

‘Hmm.’ Alex squeezed my hand. ‘That’s not going to play exactly into my plans, but I’m not entirely against the idea.’

There was that shiver again.

‘And what plans are these?’ I asked as we walked up the block to Alex’s apartment. His place was only five minutes from the subway, but in this heat, they were five minutes too many.

‘So the band has been asked to play a festival,’ he said, forcing his hand into the skintight pocket of his jeans, feeling around for a key that wasn’t there.

‘Really? That’s great,’ I dipped my hand into the tiny pocket inside my bag and produced my key to Alex’s flat as we reached the door. He took it from me with a heart-stopping grin. It was sickening how much I fancied him. It was like, I’d see him every day and after a while I stopped seeing him. And then, out of nowhere, I’d just get a sidelong glance at him and the wind would be completely knocked out of me, as if I were seeing him for the first time.

‘See? This is why I need you to move in,’ he slid his hand around my waist and pulled me in for another, deeper kiss as we staggered sideways into the apartment building. My skin prickled with goosebumps from the shock of the air conditioning.

‘Or you could just remember to take your key out with you,’ I whispered, pulling away with stinging lips. Must remember to buy lip balm with a higher SPF. ‘Tell me about this festival.’

‘Tell me you missed me this weekend,’ he whispered back, running his finger over my bottom lip.

I paused, looking down at my flip-flops for a second. It was moments like this that made me feel like a complete idiot for not running back to Manhattan, throwing all my belongings in a bag and pitching up at the apartment in Brooklyn in a heartbeat.

‘Of course I missed you,’ I took the key from his hand and opened the apartment door. ‘Did you cry yourself to sleep every night?’

‘I cry myself to sleep every night you’re not here,’ he shot me a grin and walked over to the fridge, producing two icy beers. ‘But since you won’t move in, I’ve had to find a way through it.’

I dropped my bag onto one of his knackered old sofas (better for it than the floor) and took the beer. This was the perfect time to have The Conversation. To say, “I really do want to move in with you, but I’m ever so slightly shit-scared.” But I didn’t.

Alex vanished into his bedroom and I didn’t follow. Instead I looked around the apartment. The tiny open-plan kitchen, littered with takeout boxes and empty coffee cups. Two huge, squishy sofas faced the huge floor-to-ceiling windows with all of Manhattan laid out in front of us, sparkling in the sunlight. It didn’t look sweaty, hateful and oppressive from in here. It looked beautiful. And whenever I got bored of looking at the New York City skyline, if that was in fact possible, there was always the massive flat screen TV shoved in the corner, with the DVR already set to record all my favourite shows.

Was I being completely ridiculous? What was the worst that would happen? I’d move in, there would be fewer takeaway cartons in the kitchen, more products in the bathroom. We’d go to bed together every night, wake up together every morning, go out, come home, watch TV, cook, shop, clean, moan, bitch, stop having sex, stop talking, start cheating and end up hating each other.

Wow. I followed my bag down on to the sofa. Now that was not a healthy internal reaction to the idea of moving in with my lovely, lovely boyfriend.

‘So, the festival,’ Alex called from the bedroom. ‘It’s pretty cool, we’ve played it before, but they’ve asked us to come back and play again, it’s like the second headline slot.’

‘That’s amazing,’ I yelled back, trying to wipe those horrible thoughts out of my stupid head. ‘So when is it? Next summer?’

‘Uh, it’s kind of next weekend.’ He appeared in the doorway. ‘Yeah, it’s not that amazing. Someone else dropped out and we were first runner-up.’

‘But still,’ I let myself be distracted by the biceps peeping out of his T-shirt as he stretched against the door frame. ‘It’s better than a slap around the face. Is it in the city?’