JENNY LOPEZ HAS A BAD WEEK: AN I HEART SHORT STORY

скачать книгу бесплатно


That statement was of course made before I met my online prince charming.

‘Just be at Hotel Delmano at eight.’

Ooh, nice. I liked Hotel Delmano.

‘And don’t wear stupidly high heels, we probably won’t stay there.’

Oh.

‘It’s like fifteen dollars for a cocktail,’ Angela defended herself against my silence. ‘I’m unemployed and dating an impoverished musician.’

‘You’re freelance and he’s loaded,’ I argued. ‘Fine, whatever. I’ll meet you there. This guy’d better be awesome.’

‘He’s a music producer.’ She sounded quite proud of herself. ‘Alex met him while he was doing that soundtrack stuff for James Jacobs’s new movie and they’re apparently best friends now. He’s just moved back to New York from LA, like you. I thought you’d be a good match.’

‘Sounds good,’ I admitted. ‘OK honey, I’ll see you there.’

‘See you later,’ she signed off.

Five hours to make myself fabulous. I flopped back down on the sofa. There was so time for another nap.

CHAPTER FOUR

‘What is this?’ I stood in the bar of Hotel Delmano, Williamsburg’s swankiest, overpriced cocktail jaunt and pointed at the man in the chair next to Angela. ‘Is this supposed to be funny?’

‘You look hot, dollface.’ The guy, who blatantly was not a music producer just flown in from LA, stood up and gave me an offensively big hug. Ah, Axe body spray, Febreze and just a hint of BO. ‘I am so glad you asked me out.’

Angela dropped her head onto her forearms. ‘I’m so fucking sorry.’ She mumbled, face down. ‘He cancelled. This was the best we could do.’

‘This’ was someone I’d had the misfortune of meeting before. ‘This’ was Alex’s bandmate, amateur bass player and professional asshole, Craig. Cute, yes, blond, yes, potentially carrying the herpes virus, absolutely. I couldn’t believe I’d wasted my Robert Rodriguez LBD on this guy. And I couldn’t believe Angela would do this to me.

‘Hey, Jenny, let me get you a drink.’ Angie’s boyfriend, Alex, unfolded himself from his seat, further illustrating Craig’s shortcomings. Alex was skinny, sure, but he pulled it off by having actual biceps and broad shoulders. Craig was a good five or six inches shorter and just an out-and-out runt. How he was so popular with the ladies, I would never know. Hanging out with Alex couldn’t possibly be helping him. I’d never admit it to Angie, but the first night she’d taken me out to vet the dude, I’d nearly tripped over my own tongue. He was so ridiculously super-hot. But he was still on BFF probation with me after dicking her around on vacation in Paris. Long story short, even though she said everything was OK, as the best friend I was still duty-bound to be on his back until he proved himself. Plus he’d stolen my best-ever roomie, and for that I would never really forgive him.

Not knowing what else to do, I took Alex’s empty seat opposite Craig. There was no way I was sitting within touching distance of that guy. Angela gave me her big apologetic eyes and while I was impressed by her make-up application, I still wasn’t impressed by her choice of last-minute date.

‘I don’t know why you look so pissed.’ Craig settled back into his seat, not looking too pleased with proceedings himself. ‘You’re the one who can’t get a date. I’m doing you a favour.’

‘OK, I’m out of here.’ I stood again but Angela placed her hand over mine and gave me the look one more time.

‘Just one drink,’ she said quietly. ‘Craig’s just joking.’

‘No I’m not.’

‘No he isn’t.’

I wasn’t sure which of us answered first.

This was going to be the longest one drink of my life.

‘And then, and then,’ Craig waved his arms around manically, ‘he tripped on his guitar lead and totally face-planted onto the stage. It was awesome. Right, Alex?’

It turned out that if you were to drink three cocktails, real quick, Craig wasn’t nearly such a bad date. Through my gin-flavoured fug, he was funnier than I remembered. Maybe I was just giving him a bad rap. It was Angela that was always telling me what an asshole he was, but it wasn’t as though dating a band boy had gone badly for her. If you overlooked the fact that he was thinner than one of my thighs, he was cute.

‘Yeah, and I dislocated my shoulder and we had to cancel three shows,’ Alex replied. I noticed he and Angie were drinking way slower than Craig and I. Lightweights. ‘It was hilarious.’

‘So tell me about this job tomorrow.’ Angela changed the subject without much subtlety. As was her way. ‘This super-important job that is an epic responsibility and carries one of your best friend’s careers on its shoulders.’

‘It’s nothing.’ I waved her concerns away, almost waving my drink off the table in the process. ‘It’s babysitting. Fancy babysitting.’

‘Babysitting with a hangover is always a good idea,’ she commented, sipping her cocktail. ‘Do you want to get something to eat? We could go over to Café Colette?’

‘No way,’ Craig slammed his beer and banged the empty glass on the counter. ‘Eating’s cheating. Let’s move this party on.’

‘Yeah,’ I pushed myself up to my feet. Maybe I should have had that grilled cheese earlier. Eating might be cheating, but throwing up in the street was not OK. Not even in Williamsburg, As far as I was concerned. ‘Where are we going?’

‘Manhattan Inn?’ he suggested. I was impressed. Yes, the bar was in Greenpoint, but it was also kind of classy for Craig. There was a live jazz pianist and actual candles on the tables despite the risk of hipster-induced arson. ‘I know a guy there.’

‘He knows a guy everywhere,’ Alex replied, nodding to the girl behind the bar for the check. ‘It’s only usually a problem if their girlfriend knows too.’

I was genuinely surprised. After the rocky start, Craig had been a perfect gentleman. He picked up my drinks, held the door open and even asked if he could hold my hand on the way to the next bar. It couldn’t just be booze that was making my head swim. This was sort of sweet. Wandering through McCarren Park, holding hands with a cute boy at twilight was so nice. I’d almost forgotten how nice.

‘You know, I don’t really know all that much about you,’ Craig said, slowing his pace a little to let Angie and Alex get a head start. ‘Like, where are you from, originally I mean?’

‘I grew up upstate.’ I took in the groups of kids sitting on blankets in the park, almost every single one of them with some tiny instrument or other. Oh, Williamsburg. ‘Moved here for college.’

‘They’re still upstate? Still married?’ he asked.

‘Binghamton and yeah, thirty-five years and counting,’ I nodded. ‘My dad runs a construction company up there. My mom runs my dad.’

‘That’s awesome. My parents divorced when I was three. I never really knew my dad.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ I immediately felt guilty for having a functional family. Something that happened more often than I’d like. ‘Did your mom remarry?’

‘No,’ he shook his head. ‘It was just me and her. She’s amazing, you know? Strongest woman I ever met. I owe her everything.’

‘Doesn’t seem like you’ve suffered for the lack of a male role model,’ I smiled and rubbed his arm.

‘You’re funny,’ Craig said, squeezing my hand.

It wasn’t often that I was lost for words, but in this instance I just didn’t know what to say. I mean, sure, I was as funny as the next girl, but it wasn’t something guys often threw into the middle of a conversation. Not when they could be looking at my boobs.

‘Thanks?’

‘You don’t know how to take a compliment, do you?’ He slowed down until we were standing in the middle of the park, all alone.

Now that was not true. I loved compliments. I actively encouraged them at all times. But for some reason, my mouth was glued shut. I could feel myself blushing under Craig’s steady gaze, his half-closed eyes, his slightly too long hair. Even his weird smell was growing on me – less BO, more man-scent. Yeah, I’d had too much to drink.

‘Jenny,’ he said in a low voice, leaning in towards me. ‘Would it be OK if I kissed you?’

‘Yes?’ I squeaked. It came out as a question because I really, really wasn’t sure.

But to a guy, a yes is a yes. Even one with a very clear inflection. I stood on my tiptoes, both my hands in both of his and let him kiss me. Even half wasted, I could tell it was a good kiss. This boy was no amateur; he had laid one on many a ladyface before me. Breaking away, I saw the sun sinking behind the Empire State Building over Craig’s shoulder and sighed happily at my romcom moment.

‘Wow,’ he squeezed my hand and stroked my cheek. ‘That was kind of amazing, Jenny.’

‘Yuh-huh,’ I agreed, squeezing back and breaking his hold. For some reason, the way he kept saying my name was making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and not in a ‘sexy times’ way. I just had a feeling that he needed to keep saying it for fear of forgetting who I was. ‘Let’s get to the bar.’

Because another drink was just what I needed.

When we finally caught up with Angie and Alex, they were already at Manhattan Inn and had a booth, drinks, and faces like thunder.

‘Nice walk?’ Angie asked. I nodded silently, slipping into the seat across from her. How could she be mad at me? This whole date was her fault. Wasn’t the fact that we were getting along a good thing?

‘I’ll get you a drink, sweet thing,’ Craig said into my hair, making me shiver. Although, again, not really in a good way.

‘Did you kiss him?’ Angela demanded, the second Craig was out of the room.

‘Oh, wow, I just suddenly really, really need the bathroom.’ Alex leapt out of his seat, rubbing his head awkwardly. ‘Ladies.’

‘Did you kiss him?’ she repeated.

‘Yes … ’ I admitted. ‘But it’s fine. Really. He’s sweet. You always painted him to be such a dick and he’s not. A little practised, maybe, but not a dick.’

‘Let me guess: he asked about your childhood, told you about his parents’ divorce and then told you that you were really smart?’ She stared at me across the table. ‘Classic Craig.’

‘He actually said I was funny.’ I pressed my fingers into my temples. ‘Man, am I so out of practice I don’t know when I’m being played?’

‘I want to say no but signs point to “You think?”’ Angie kicked me under the table. ‘You can get out of this any time. You have work tomorrow, I’m here to back you up and, bloody hell, it’s only Craig. You don’t even need an excuse.’

‘I guess.’ I couldn’t believe it. And I was trying to work out why he’d told me I was ‘funny’ if his standard line was ‘smart’?

Not giving me time to work anything out, Casanova reappeared with two large, garishly coloured cocktails. But it was too late. My buzz was officially killed and the idea of even sipping on that thing made my stomach turn over. I had another date scheduled for that evening and it was with a grilled cheese and my bed. Alone.

‘These are the best, baby,’ Craig’s hand slipped under the table and onto my thigh. I sat up straight, my eyes open wide. Why hadn’t I worn jeans? ‘One taste and you’ll never want anything else.’

‘What’s it called?’ I asked, trying to wriggle backwards into my fixed seat, but instead of loosening his grip, he took it as a come-on and his hand slid closer to something he would never, ever get his dirty paws on.

‘I call it the Craig,’ he crooned into my ear.

Dude, really?

‘You are so freaking hot. I cannot wait to get you home,’ he whispered. ‘If we even make it home. The bathrooms here are—’

‘I need to make a phone call.’ I shoved Craig out of his seat and pushed my way past him, heart beating fast, breath tight and ragged. No way. No way was I being propositioned to get it on in a public restroom on a Thursday night in Brooklyn. Or any night in Brooklyn. Or any public restroom. It had not come to this.

And so, for the second night in one week, I hailed a cab and ditched a date. So glad that this week was looking better than the last one.

CHAPTER FIVE

‘Oh god,’ I groaned when my alarm rang the next morning. ‘Just no.’

Even though I’d only had three drinks the night before, my brain was rattling around inside my skull as if I’d taken it out and freeze-dried it before bed when, in fact, I had actually cleansed, toned and moisturized. Score one for Lopez. Although, I probably lost any points gained due to my intense desire to vomit. Maybe I wouldn’t be running an extra mile that morning. Instead of lacing up my running shoes, I ran a bath, summer time be damned. There were times when only a bath would do.

I was so disappointed in myself. Old Jenny would never have suffered the trials and tribulations I’d endured this week. My gaydar was totally down, my asshole-recognition software was corrupted and I’d got drunk the night before an important job. Clearly I needed a kick up the ass. And a bloody mary. As soon as I was out the bath, skin moisturized, teeth cleaned and flossed, hair tied back in a practical pony, I turned to my wardrobe. If anything had the power to calm me, it was my closet. I’d spent five years in LA working as a stylist, but I’d spent thirty years living as a fashion addict. When I was broke, I would scour the newspapers for sample sales, hunt down every last designer thread in New York’s finest – and shittiest – thrift stores. No semi-precious stone was left unturned. As soon as I had a real job and real pay-check, I stepped up my game. I started saving, I started splurging, I started my collection.

The Union had been an awesome stepping-stone job to make connections. As head concierge, I’d had to meet the needs of a lot of persnickety celebs, and that meant hooking them up with ensembles on demand. Within weeks I had every one of the city’s top PRs, fashion houses and department stores on speed-dial and made it my business for them to love me. It wasn’t just my job that depended on it, it was something way more precious. Employee discount. Thanks to secret online checkout codes and special handshakes used in downtown boutiques, my wardrobe had swelled to mammoth proportions. And it was beautiful. Nothing hurt me more than the condition of Angie’s Marc Jacobs satchel. That thing was archive, totally irreplaceable, but it was a mess. I couldn’t even bear to look at the torn lining. Once, it had been a thing of wonder, but as far as I was concerned, it was approaching sad.

Today’s ensemble needed to be practical, stylish but not too flashy and, above all else, cute. One thing I’d learned working in LA was that no one who was professionally hot wanted to hang around with someone they considered to be gross. You couldn’t be hotter than them, but you had to make some kind of an effort. I settled on skinny black James Jeans pants and a black-and-white striped Rag and Bone tank top with my comfy black YSL Tribute 90 pumps. I was useless in flats. Throwing my Balenciaga motorcycle bag (a well-deserved gift I treated myself to from my old LA roommate’s collection) over my shoulder, I looked myself over in the mirror, gave myself an approving nod and moved over to my dressing table. And so to the make-up.

Sadie’s driver buzzed my cell just as I was walking through a light spritz of Gucci Guilty.

‘I’m coming,’ I said out loud. One more look in the mirror and I was out of the door. The sparkling black town car whisked me through the streets of Manhattan, all the way uptown. Erin was holding her event at The Union but Sadie was staying at The Hudson.

‘First time you’ve worked with Sadie?’ the driver asked me as we rounded the corner of 57th Street.

‘Yep.’ I checked my tasteful make-up in my powder compact and pressed my lips together to refresh my gloss. ‘I hear she’s a handful.’