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As soon as I’d said it, I knew it was absolutely true. I couldn’t get the look on Jenny’s face when she talked about Jeff out of my head, and I didn’t want to ever feel that way about me and Alex. ‘I don’t believe that you two are in love. If you were, you wouldn’t care who knew, you’d just want to be together.’
‘As if it’s that easy,’ James snapped back. ‘I’m not some random guy that can just do whatever he wants when I want, Angela. My career depends on my reputation. It’s all a character, everything I do.’
‘Oh shut up. It’s not the Fifties any more, you idiot.’ I took my turn to push him; unfortunately his six-foot-plus frame didn’t actually budge. ‘No one cares if you’re gay.’
‘It wasn’t the Fifties when I was growing up either, but they cared then,’ he fumed quietly. ‘I’m not doing it, so just pack it in. Blake understands why we have to do things the way we do.’
‘Do I?’
For the first time I realized Blake wasn’t leaning against the (actually hilarious in any other situation) giant sloth because he was too cool to stand up, he actually couldn’t stand on his own. His eyes were no longer a little bit red around the edges but wet with real tears.
‘Do I, James?’ he asked again. I suddenly felt extraordinarily uncomfortable. Oh bugger.
‘We talked about this last night,’ James said, in a considerably softer tone of voice than the one he’d been using with me. ‘You said—’
‘No, you talked about it last night.’ Blake’s voice got louder as James’s got quieter. ‘And I didn’t say anything, but I’m saying something now. Bitch’s right. There’s no need for all this bullshit any more. I know you had a hard time when you were younger but it’s over. You’re here now and you’ve got me. If you felt the same way I did, none of the rest of it would matter.’
I paused in my steady backtracking out of the way. Did Blake just call me a bitch? Arse, I was on his side!
‘Blake, don’t.’ James’s pretty face was dangerously close to crumpling. I swapped positions with Blake, him holding James’s shoulders, me clutching the oversized paw of the sloth. He looked fascinated by the proceedings. For a giant, infamously lazy plastic creature.
‘Don’t what? You remember when you asked me not to make you choose and I said I never would?’ Blake placed a hand against James’s cheek. ‘Well, I changed my mind. I’m asking. In fact I’m telling. If you do this interview with her, I’m gone. Call me when you’ve made up your mind. Or don’t. I won’t be at the hotel when you get back.’
We watched Blake stalk across the park and out of sight before James turned to me.
‘Drama,’ I said, raising my eyebrows.
‘Is it too early for a drink?’ James asked, holding out his hand.
I hesitated before I took it. He looked exactly how I felt. He looked exactly like Jenny had that morning. He looked heartbroken.
‘It’s a bit early,’ I said, slapping his hand away and walking on ahead. ‘But that’s never stopped me before.’
After our third block of driving in silence, I fished my phone out of my bag and willed it to ring.
‘Oh, just call him,’ James said without turning to look at me. ‘It’s like looking at puppies in the window of a pet shop. I can see your reflection in the window.’
I smiled tightly and speed-dialled Alex, but it still didn’t connect, no answer phone, no anything.
‘Hold this,’ I said, passing James my phone and emptying my handbag out onto the car seat. I knew it was in there somewhere.
‘Good God woman, how much crap have you got in that handbag?’ he asked as I sifted through Post-it notes, loose dollar bills and chewing gum wrappers. ‘I’ve seen apartments with less stuff in them.’
‘I know, I know,’ I said, shaking out an address book for loose entries. ‘I promised myself when I got this bag that I’d look after it but, well, I’m just a bit rubbish.’
‘Wait until I see Marc next and tell him what you’ve done to his bag,’ James tutted, sorting through assorted tampons and lip glosses. ‘He’ll be disgusted.’
‘You know Marc Jacobs?’ I froze mid-dig. ‘You actually know him?’
‘I did some ads for him,’ James nodded. ‘He’s cool.’
‘Keeping that from me until now is officially the shittiest thing you’ve done,’ I said, unfurling a screwed-up bit of old receipt from the back of my diary. ‘Got it.’
Before I could regret it, I dialled.
‘Jeff, it’s Angela. Clark. Alex’s girlfriend? Jenny’s friend?’ I said quickly before he could even speak.
‘Yeah, I actually had you at Angela,’ Jeff replied. ‘What’s up?’
‘Uh, well, I was wondering if you knew if Alex was in?’ I stammered. ‘He’s not answering his phone and well, I’m not in the city. Is he about?’
‘He’s not, no. He didn’t tell you where he went?’ Jeff sounded surprised. At least it seemed as if there was one person in the world who hadn’t heard all about my ‘Angela’s Adventures in Hollywoodland’. It was just unfortunate that it was my best friend’s ex-boyfriend who I was absolutely forbidden to speak to ever again. ‘Hey, uh, how’s Jenny doing?’
‘He went somewhere?’ I leaned forward, resting my forehead on my knees.
‘Yeah,’ Jeff replied. ‘He came over last night and asked me to keep an eye on his place. He had a bag, seemed in a rush to get someplace. So, she’s OK?’
‘What? Oh, Jenny, yes,’ I lied. ‘She’s fantastic actually.’
‘Cool, tell her I said hi,’ Jeff said. ‘OK, well, when he comes back, I’ll tell him you called? Bye.’
‘Shit,’ I said, sinking back against the car seat. I felt as though I’d been kicked.
‘Bad news?’ James asked.
‘Until you say “Angela, I’d like you to organize my coming out interview in as public a forum as possible,” I think everything is going to be bad news.’ I frowned at him. ‘Don’t think you’re forgiven because your boyfriend dumped you. We’re not even yet.’
‘Tell me about Alex,’ James said, sliding his arm around my shoulders. It was weird how quickly that had gone from stomach-flippingly exciting to stomach-churningly irritating. ‘Tell me why he’s worth all this.’
‘This isn’t all about him,’ I said. ‘This is about you not being an arse and giving me my life back. I only just got one, for God’s sake, it’s hardly bloody fair that I should lose it so quickly.’
‘Just shut up and tell me about him.’
‘Fine. Alex is …’ I didn’t know where to start. ‘He’s kind, intelligent, he’s sweet, he’s thoughtful, creative—’
‘You haven’t mentioned hot yet. Or good in bed. Come on, you’re not describing him to your mum.’ James slapped my knee. ‘Sorry, carry on.’
I gave him as filthy a look as I could muster. ‘He’s just … he’s passionate about things. About his music, about me. That’s what was missing from my life for so long. Passion. Passion for something, anything really.’
‘I know this isn’t going to make me popular,’ James said. ‘But you know they say passion doesn’t last? They say that for a reason. You can’t seriously be asking me to throw my entire career down the shitter because you really like doing it with a boy in a band.’
Just when I thought we were making headway. ‘Passionate, not passion – there’s a difference; and besides, that’s not everything. I love him because he makes me feel like I can do anything. He makes me feel like the person I want to be.’ I tilted my head to one side. ‘I feel so sorry for Blake.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Don’t you feel the same way about him?’ I asked.
James didn’t say anything.
‘Excuse me,’ I leaned forward to speak to James’s driver, ‘could we please head back to The Hollywood?’
‘Yes ma’am,’ he nodded curtly.
James gave me a sideways glance and sighed.
‘So are you going to do it or not?’ I asked finally, as we pulled up outside my hotel.
‘You still don’t get what you’re asking me,’ James shook his head. ‘There’s so much more riding on this than your boyfriend.’
‘I know,’ I said. ‘There’s my job, my visa, my apartment, my reputation, the respect of my family and friends. Oh, and your boyfriend.’
‘Don’t think this is easy for me,’ he closed his big blue eyes, the hollows underneath looking more pronounced in the dim light of the limo. ‘But, I’m sorry, I can’t do it.’
It took all my strength to push open the car door and step out on to the pavement. I really had thought he would come through, if not for me then for Blake. The limo pulled away quickly before I could get back in and beg James to change his mind, leaving me standing alone in the street.
Not knowing what else to do, I dialled Jenny. When it went straight through to her voicemail for the fourth time, I gave up. There was no point calling Alex again and Mary didn’t want to hear anything I had to say unless it was ‘can’t wait to whore myself all over Icon next week’. And as much as that was looking pretty inevitable, I just couldn’t bring myself to make the call.
I forced myself through the twilight of The Hollwood’s lobby and into the lift. The gold-tinted walls softened my reflection, but even the tiny security camera in the ceiling could see how pathetic I looked. My hair had frizzed out in the humidity and all the make-up I’d plastered on in Fred Segal had melted or been silently cried off in the last three minutes. I wasn’t sure it would be good or bad to see Alex at that exact second. He’d see what a mess I was in, but he’d also see what a mess I was. Not exactly love-of-his-life material. Why hadn’t I just told him I loved him? Why hadn’t I said it at Erin’s wedding? Or before I left for the airport? There had been so many opportunities.
Exhausted, I crashed through my bedroom door, pulled the curtains closed on the Hollywood Hills and rolled onto my bed. Nothing to do now but wait for Mary to call with the bad news.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I woke up a little bit disoriented, the seams of my jeans sticking into my legs, but it only took a couple of seconds and a quick look at the bedside clock to remind me why I was in bed on a Wednesday afternoon. It was six in LA, nine in New York. Time was up. There was no way now to sort things out before Mary agreed to the Icon interview and Jenny took over as my personal kiss-and-tell stylist. At least I might look half decent in the photos that would be ruining my life next Tuesday. I did need a new Facebook profile picture.
One of my favourite things about staying in good hotels was their ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ policies. Even though housekeeping had replaced several vomit-tinged towels from the bathroom floor, they had happily restocked the mini-bar. In fact, there might have actually been more vodka in there than yesterday. Clutching my mobile, I sat cross-legged in front of the fridge. For the want of a better plan, I mixed a vodka Diet Coke and drank it down in one. And mixed another. And drank it down.
After making it through the rest of the vodka, the gin and the white wine, I grabbed hold of the counter and pulled myself up. Hmm. Too drunk to stand up easily without support, but not drunk enough to move on to the Jack Daniel’s miniatures. I slicked on some lip gloss and changed my T-shirt quickly before grabbing my room key and barrelling through the door. There really was only one place to go in times of trouble. The place where everybody knew your name.
‘Angela?’
Of course, in this instance, there was only one person who knew my name and that was Joe. But a bar was a bar and a drink was a drink.
‘Hey,’ I said, dropping onto a stool in front of him. The pool bar was practically empty, sun-worshipping hotel guests gone in to get ready for the night ahead, local party-ers not even nearly ready to come out yet. ‘How are you?’
‘Uh, I’m OK,’ Joe replied, not looking convinced that the same could be said for me. ‘So what’s going on with you?’
‘Fucking. Nothing,’ I said, bashing my hand on the bar with each word. ‘He’s a knob, Joe. Everything on the internet, it’s all shit.’
‘I’m gonna go out on a limb and say you’re talking about my good buddy James Jacobs,’ Joe said, passing me a cocktail menu and some nuts. ‘So you’re not, you know?’
‘Mojito please.’ I scarfed a handful of nuts. How long was it since I’d eaten? ‘And ew, not even. I’m too good for him anyway. Not that he could, anyway. He wouldn’t know what to do with me if he had the chance. What’s that all about?’
‘I’m pretty sure I don’t know,’ Joe said with a grin. ‘But you are right, you’re too good for him.’
‘Yeah I am,’ I nodded enthusiastically, while Joe pounded away at the mint, sugar and lime. He really did have great arms. At least as good as James’s. ‘Are you OK, Joe? We haven’t seen you since Monday.’
‘I’m fine,’ he nodded passing the drink across the bar. ‘You get used to dealing with assholes in this town, Angela. But I guess you get used to dealing with assholes everywhere, right?’
‘Mmm-hmm,’ I agreed. It was a good mojito. ‘Everywhere.’
‘So, is there any chance I can convert you to LA?’ he asked. ‘Since the assholes are pretty much a global epidemic?’
I shook my head so violently, I had to grip the edge of the bar to keep from falling off my stool. ‘Nuh-uh.’
‘Still in love with New York, huh?’ Joe slipped another straw into my drink and took a long sip. ‘There’s nothing you like about LA?’
‘I don’t hate this,’ I said, bumping foreheads with him as I leaned in for another sip.
‘Me either,’ Joe said, holding my gaze for a moment. Nose to nose, eye to eye, I felt myself flush from head to toe.
‘I’m having dinner with Jenny later. You should come along.’ I pulled away, losing my balance again. ‘Or are you working?’
‘I actually get off at seven but you guys don’t want me along.’ Joe took out a pair of shot glasses and a bottle of tequila. ‘You’re gonna be talking about your boyfriends and shoes and shit. What am I gonna add to that?’
‘Shut up,’ I slapped his arm, spilling the tequila as he poured. ‘We would totally want you there. And trust me when I say there will be no boyfriend talk. Jenny doesn’t have one, you know.’
Joe held out my hand and kissed it. After an impossibly long second, he sprinkled salt along the damp lip print. ‘On three?’
‘Three?’ I whispered.
‘The tequila?’ Joe put a full-to-spilling shot glass in my free hand.
‘If I do the shot, will you come to dinner with Jenny?’ I stared at the gold liquid. I had some sense of awareness that this was a really bad idea but the salt was on my hand now, what was I supposed to do? I had been brought up not to waste food. Or drink. Or condiments.
‘I’ll come to dinner,’ Joe nodded. ‘One, two, three.’
‘Eurgh.’ Ignoring the sting of the tequila in the back of my throat and the instant urge to retch, I bit down on the lemon wedge Joe held out for me. ‘I hate tequila.’
‘But you did it like a pro,’ Joe said, refilling the glasses. ‘One more and then I figure I can get out of here.’
I nodded, taking the glass. The sun was starting to set behind the Hollywood Hills, the lights on the hidden homes of the rich and famous starting to twinkle. If I were to sit on the roof of The Union at seven in the evening, in March, in jeans and a T-shirt and, oh, I’d forgotten to put on shoes, I would actually freeze to death.
‘Angela?’
‘Yu-huh?’ I snapped back. Joe held up his own shot glass.
‘I said three, like, five times.’
‘OK then.’ I necked the shot, shuddered and slammed down the glass. ‘Where should we go for dinner? I’m starving.’
‘You might want to change first,’ Joe said, logging out the till and handing over to a tall blonde girl in a matching black collarless shirt.
‘We’re going somewhere posh?’ I asked.
‘No, but your shirt is inside out and there’s make-up all over it.’ Joe scooped me up off my stool and carried me over to the door.
I giggled, slight hysterics overtaking me at being held off the ground. ‘What? This is what all the hipsters are wearing in New York.’
‘Well in that case …’ Joe set me down and peeled off his own shirt, turning it inside out and slipping his arms back through the sleeves. Thank the lord, he didn’t fasten it back up. ‘… Better?’
‘Much,’ I agreed, falling into the lift as the doors opened.
‘You so can’t come in my room,’ I said, fighting with the key card and lock. ‘I’ll be two minutes.’
‘I’ll behave myself,’ Joe said, pushing in close behind me before I could shut the door, ‘I swear.’
‘Yeah you will,’ I said, stepping over the pile of bottles, glasses and dirty T-shirts I’d created by the mini-bar. ‘But my main concern was you seeing what a shit-tip I’d left this place.’
‘Angela, this is a hotel, I have seen much worse.’ He stooped down and retrieved my mobile from the sticky mess of discarded bottles. ‘You have missed calls.’
I took the phone and scanned down the list, holding my breath. Mary, twice, Jenny, once. No James. No Alex. I tossed it on the bed and turned back to the wardrobe, determined not to cry. Or fall over.
‘Not the right person, huh?’ Joe said. I screwed up my face.
‘Angela, I don’t know exactly what’s been going down but I do know that you would never do anything to hurt anyone,’ Joe said softly, crossing the room and pulling me into a warm hug. ‘So whatever you’re beating yourself up over, you can stop it now.’
‘Nyuh,’ I agreed into his shirt, arms hanging helpless by my sides.
‘Do you remember when you first came to New York and we went out to karaoke?’ Joe asked, stroking my back, catching the very ends of my hair. ‘And Jenny sent me up to bring you breakfast. I remember her telling me all about your ex, about how he cheated on you and you caught him. You seemed so devastated.’
‘I was.’ My voice was muffled by Joe’s chest. ‘And I wouldn’t ever cheat.’
‘I know,’ Joe said. ‘You’re just not that kind of a girl. I know that.’
‘But Alex thinks I did,’ I said quietly. God, he smelled even better than James, if that was possible. ‘He’s gone away.’
‘Then he’s even more of a dick than I thought he was.’ Joe pushed me back slightly and tilted my chin up to face him. ‘I would never have let you come out to LA on your own. I would never let you out of my sight.’
‘He won’t even take my calls,’ I said weakly. I eyed the bed behind us. I really needed to be in it, alone. But surely I wasn’t supposed to be alone in such a time of crisis?
‘He isn’t taking your calls?’ Joe asked. ‘He doesn’t believe you?’
‘I would never cheat on him.’ I shook my head, my fingers curling around the open edges of his shirt. ‘His friend said he left. I … he … I tried to explain but … I think he’s finished with me.’
‘Then this isn’t cheating.’ Joe’s hands slid up my back and into my hair, pulling my face into his. His kiss was soft, warm and gentle, his chest hot and hard. I knew it was a bad idea, a much worse idea than the tequila but equally comforting. No, I was a bad, bad, bad person.
‘I was going to change my T-shirt,’ I mumbled, breaking away from the kiss. Woah. Dizzy. ‘For dinner.’
‘Let me help,’ Joe said, slipping his hands under the thin material of my shirt and guiding it up over my head and then hooking it back around my waist, holding me close to him. ‘You want to change your jeans too?’
My skin burned where he had touched me and my lips were desperate for more kisses but, really, my primary concern was just staying upright. Kisses were bad. Even if they felt delicious, they were bad. ‘I’m all right in my jeans actually,’ I managed eventually. Joe released his grip around my waist only for me to fall forwards into him. Stupid traitor legs.
‘You should definitely change.’ Joe dropped my T-shirt and found the waistband of my jeans. Why did I wear slouchy jeans today? If I’d have been in my skinnies, he wouldn’t have been able to get a toothpick down there, let alone an entire hand down the back of the waistband. Oh, and now down the back of my knickers. If the room would just stop spinning for a moment, I’d be able to sort myself out.
‘Nope, no, I’m fine,’ I insisted, pushing him away. Or at least I hoped I was pushing him away. There was every chance I was actually just thrusting myself into him. Everything was starting to get a little bit confusing. ‘I think I should go to bed.’
‘I think so too,’ he said, his breath hot on my neck, followed by his lips, followed by his fingers, all wrapped up in my hair. I tried not to close my eyes but it was hard. I tried not to let Joe push me back on the bed but with one slightly graceless shuffle, my resolve and my balance caved in.
‘Where were we with your jeans?’
‘I think I should call Alex,’ I whispered against the weight of Joe on top of me. Why was a big heavy man so much more preferable than a quilt when you’d had a drink? ‘This is not good.’
‘Not good?’ he whispered in my ear, planting a string of kisses from my throat up to my lips. Where was my T-shirt? Why was I in my bra? ‘Doesn’t it feel good?’
‘No?’ I protested weakly by holding my hands out in front of me. Apparently this was also a come-on. Someone laced their fingers through mine and pushed my hands up above my head. I was so tired and so warm and so … no, something wasn’t right. And it wasn’t just the fact that I couldn’t really see any more. ‘I have to speak to Alex.’
‘How about I be Alex?’ said the low voice in my ear. ‘And you just do what you’re doing.’
‘You’re Alex?’ I closed my eyes just for a moment. When did that happen? But yay, Alex. ‘Oh, I love you.’
‘Yeah, I love you too,’ the voice whispered back. ‘You’re not going to fall asleep, are you?’
‘Nope,’ I replied, closing them for a moment more. ‘I don’t think so.’ And it was true: passing out wasn’t exactly the same as falling asleep, was it?
Waking up with a throbbing head, a mouth like Gandhi’s flip-flop and the overwhelming urge to turn my stomach inside out was not something I’d ever planned on turning into a hobby, but here I was, the second day in a row, getting ever so good at it. As well as drinking enough to put an elephant down, I’d also apparently forgotten to close the curtains, and the painfully bright LA sun beamed through the floor-to-ceiling glass. Not nice.
I peeled my face off the pillowcase (drool was an amazing natural adhesive) and pushed myself into a semi-vertical sitting position. Which was when I realized that there was someone else in the bed. And I was in my bra. And, a quick shuffle confirmed, my pants. Thank Christ for that at least. Not that there was any guarantee that they had been on all night long.
As my heart dropped into my stomach, I felt it start to race, apparently in competition with my brain. But there was nothing. Complete blank. I leaned over the edge of the bed, trying not to disturb the clearly rumpled bedclothes, and groped around on the floor for my T-shirt. Whoever this was and whatever I’d done, I didn’t want to deal with it in my underwear. Even if he had already seen me in it. Apparently.
Walking my fingers along the floor until the tips just reached my top, I noticed another larger, darker shirt beside it. A black, collarless shirt looking just like the millions of work shirts from The Union that Jenny left lying around our apartment. Oh shit. Oh shit shit shit shit shit. Really not wanting to confirm what was already coming rushing back to me, I turned my head slowly. Lying beside me, completely out of it, was Joe. I didn’t dare peek under the covers but next to his shirt were his shoes. And next to them, his trousers. Oh shit shit shit shit. Without thinking, I bolted out of the bed as fast as my wobbly legs would carry me, grabbed my phone from the bedside table and made for the door.
‘Jenny!’ I yelled, hammering her door down, while pulling on my T-shirt in the hallway. I nodded at a passing couple, too stressed to be embarrassed about being busted in my underwear in a hotel hallway. This was the walk of shame in the extreme. ‘Jenny, for fuck’s sake, open the door.’
A couple of seconds later, I heard the latch click and the door gave way to reveal a mighty pissed-off-looking Jenny. ‘Angela, it’s really, really freaking early. What the fuck?’
‘Just let me in,’ I pushed past her into the identical hotel room. Unsurprisingly for Jenny, it was a complete shit-tip. Clothes, carrier bags, shoes and towels everywhere. ‘I need your help.’
‘What else am I here for?’ she muttered, closing the door behind me. ‘It’s not like I have a hangover or anything.’
‘Where were you last night?’ I asked, surveying the bombsite that was her room. From the four-inch heels and slinky dress lying in a silky, spiky pool by her bed, I guessed she’d been out.
‘I told you, Tessa invited me to the awards thing she was doing. You got my message, right?’ Jenny yawned and grabbed the hotel phone. ‘Hi, could I get coffee and uh, I don’t know, toast?’ She paused and gave me a questioning look. I nodded back, knowing for a fact that I wouldn’t be eating anything for a good couple of hours yet. ‘Yeah, coffee and toast sent up? Thanks.’ She threw herself backwards on the bed and started popping M&Ms from an open pack on the bedside table. ‘I love being on the other end of that phone. So what’s up? You look like shit.’
Gingerly, I joined her on the bed, trying not to make it bounce for fear of vomming. ‘Uh, I think I’ve done something really stupid?’
‘So what’s new?’ Jenny raised an eyebrow. ‘I told you not to go meet James yesterday. What did you do now?’
‘It’s kind of a “who did I do?” problem.’
‘What?’
I knew she was paying attention when the M&Ms she was throwing down her throat missed her mouth and clattered against the window. ‘Angie, what the hell?’
‘Well, things didn’t go well with James and so I came back and had a couple of drinks.’ I really hadn’t thought this through. How could I phrase this? ‘A lot of drinks, actually. And then I went upstairs for more drinks.’
‘When we get back to New York, I swear I’m putting you in AA,’ Jenny muttered. ‘Or at least getting you one of those Lindsay Lohan ankle monitors. You picked up a guy in the bar?’
‘Mm-hmm,’ I traced the edge of my big toenail and wondered when I’d chipped my pedicure. ‘Jenny, I’m such an idiot.’
‘Angie,’ Jenny scooted across the bed and put an arm around my shoulders. ‘People do stuff when they’re stressed, calm down. What was it your mom said to me when I lost Kirsten Dunst’s dry cleaning? Worse things happen at sea?’
‘I think in this instance my mum would say, “Angela you great big dirty slag, I can’t believe you shagged the barman”,’ I took a deep breath and looked up. This time Jenny couldn’t even pick up the M&Ms; her hand was frozen in mid-air.
‘Joe?’
‘Joe.’
I wrinkled my nose, trying to force my prickling tears back into my eyes.
‘You slept with Joe?’
The arm around my shoulders had got very tense all of a sudden.
‘I think so.’ I picked out a red M&M and passed it to her. ‘I just woke up and, I don’t remember, but he’s in my bed and his clothes are not.’
‘He’s still there now?’ Suddenly she was on her feet. ‘He’s in your room?’
‘Yes, hence my being in here,’ I replied, steadying myself on the bed. Fast movement, queasy stomach. Badness. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Angie, you were so drunk you don’t even remember what happened, right?’ she bolted towards the door. I followed as quickly as I could. Not that quickly. ‘And he was working so he was sober, at least he should have been. And I hardly think you threw yourself at him, you don’t exactly have any precedent for one-night stands. I’m gonna kill him.’
‘Jenny, wait,’ I chased her down the corridor, pulling my T-shirt as far over my pants as I could. ‘I don’t even know what happened, please don’t—’
But it was too late: she’d swiped her key card and thrown open my room door before I could catch her.
‘OK assface,’ I heard her yell as I staggered through the door.
‘Jenny, please.’
But aside from the wild-eyed brunette slamming into the bathroom, it was empty. No barmen in the bed; no closeted gay movie stars in the bathroom: no one.
‘Jenny, will you please calm down and talk to me?’ I closed the door behind me, giving the same couple that had passed me in my pants earlier a polite wave. ‘Please?’
‘Angie, I just can’t believe he would do this,’ she said, dropping to her knees and checking under the bed.
‘I don’t think he’s under there.’ I stepped around the pile of bottles by the mini-bar and retrieved the last standing Diet Coke. ‘As embarrassed as he might be about waking up in my bed.’
‘He had better be on a plane to Mexico,’ Jenny said, clambering back to her feet.
‘I’m not that bad.’ I closed the curtains, still feeling a little mogwai-ish. Turned out bright lights and eating-slash-drinking after midnight were bad for me too. ‘Although I’m guessing it wasn’t my best performance.’
‘Oh shit, Angie,’ Jenny stopped for a split second. ‘That’s so not what I mean. Don’t you even feel bad about this for a second. He totally took advantage of you and for that I’m going to end him.’
‘You’re not pissed off?’
‘Why would I be pissed?’
‘Because I’m a big slag who can’t remember doing it with the boy you were planning on doing it with?’
Jenny laughed. ‘Honey, I think we already agreed that I’m so not ready to do it with anyone. Of course I’m not pissed – not with you, anyway. You’re my best friend. You do stupid stuff. I sort it out. This is our thing, it’s the thing that we do.’
‘This is true,’ I agreed, starting to sip the water. At least the drama had taken my mind off my hangover. Until now. ‘I just can’t believe I’m so stupid. What am I going to tell Alex?’
‘You’re not going to tell Alex anything,’
‘But I can’t lie to him.’
‘And what’s going to happen? Assuming he comes to his senses over all this James Jacobs shit and I allow him to get back with you, if you tell him he’ll break up with you all over again.’ Jenny pulled me over to the bed. ‘It’s not like you’re getting a free pass, you still have to feel like a piece of crap, but telling Alex is the stupidest thing you can do. Yeah, you’ll clear your conscience but he’ll never ever forgive you. You want to lose him over a drunk one-night stand?’
