I Heart Forever

by Lindsey Kelk

  ‘I really need tonight to go smoothly,’ I said, staring at the stranger in the mirror. Jenny could work wonders with an eyeshadow brush, so it barely even looked like me. Sometimes I forgot she was a fairy godmother disguised as an extra from Sex and the City. ‘Jen, I’m just so tired all the time.’

  ‘You’re going to have a good time,’ Jenny promised. ‘Think about it. Dancing, hanging out with the only three genuinely cool people you work with, taking sneaky selfies of celebrities to post on Facebook which will make people you went to school with super-jealous. You’ve been working your balls off, Angie. Go enjoy yourself.’

  ‘You’re right,’ I said, with a happy ‘humpf’. ‘I’ve forgotten what actual fun feels like. Maybe I need to blow off a bit of steam. Are you sure you won’t come?’

  ‘I wish I could but I can’t.’ A huge grin crept across her face as she admired her handiwork. ‘Mason is taking me out for dinner. He’s been crazed this week, I’ve barely even spoken to him and we have so much wedding stuff we need to lock down.’

  ‘Like a date?’ I suggested. ‘And a destination? And a budget?’

  ‘Quit worrying about my wedding and go kick some ass at your party,’ she said, holding up her hand for a high five. ‘Maybe you can smother Joe Herman with your epic cleavage.’

  ‘I’d love to try to explain that to HR!’ I gave her a kiss on the cheek, careful not to disturb my epic contouring and searched for my borrowed, diamanté-studded Judith Leiber clutch. ‘Me and the bump might be late, so don’t worry.’

  ‘We’ll probably stay at his,’ she replied, patting my stomach goodbye. ‘That’s where we keep the sex swing.’

  I paused as I bent down to slip on my shoes; her face was the picture of innocence.

  ‘I don’t even want to know if you’re joking,’ I muttered. ‘Are you sure people will get my costume?’

  ‘Oh yeah,’ she said, stretching out her arms to bow down. ‘This is the best costume ever.’

  ‘You’re right,’ I said, checking myself over in the mirror by the door. ‘It’s good. Better than the Ghostbusters costume I wore last year.’

  ‘Just because Bradley Cooper mistook you for a janitor doesn’t mean it was a bad costume,’ she argued. ‘Maybe just not a good Ghostbusters costume.’

  ‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ I said, grabbing three stuffed dragons from the bed.

  ‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,’ she cackled as I walked out the door, flipping up my middle finger as I went.

  Whatever reservations I may have had about Cici managing the party were swept away the second my cab pulled up in front of Capitale. Outside the venue, huge pale pink banners sporting the Gloss logo billowed in the wind and there were just enough paps hanging around to make me feel confident she’d pulled in the right kind of famous types for me to impress Jenny later on. They all looked up as my driver opened the car door and I delivered a dazzling smile. En masse, they glanced at my face, gave my boobs a cursory once-over, then went back to fiddling with their cameras.

  ‘Arseholes,’ I muttered, jogging up the steps and adjusting my long, blonde wig.

  Two extra-large security guards smiled at me as I walked up the staircase and rushed to open the doors for me.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said with a small curtsey. ‘Nice to see there are still some gentlemen around.’

  ‘Anything for the Mother of Dragons,’ said the guy on the left.

  ‘Thank god,’ I laughed, relieved. ‘I was worried no one would get it. Last year everyone else had the most elaborate costumes and I looked like a right idiot.’

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ said the guy on the right. ‘This is definitely the best costume of the night.’

  ‘I bet you say that to all the girls,’ I said happily as I walked inside.

  The huge smile on my face evaporated the second they opened the doors. The party was immense. Music was pumping so loudly I could feel it in my lungs and there were already so many people inside, laughing, smiling and dancing, a wave of body heat slapped me where I stood. He most certainly had not said that to all the girls.

  Not a single person was wearing a costume. Except for me.

  ‘Angela?’

  Megan stood in front of me, gorgeous in a gold sequin mini dress, her hair framing her beautifully made up face in perfect beachy waves. Unless her costume was ‘Stunning New York Beauty Editor’, she had not even attempted to get dressed up. And neither had anyone else.

  ‘No one’s in costume,’ I said, eyes flitting back and forth. ‘No one is dressed up.’’

  ‘Cici sent a memo?’ Megan replied, stepping back from me very slightly. ‘You cancelled the costumes?’

  ‘No one is dressed up …’ I breathed as people began to turn and stare. I was standing in the middle of one of the fanciest parties I had ever attended, a party hosted by my magazine, and I was dressed as stupid Khaleesi from stupid Game of Thrones, and if the obscene frock, ridiculous wig, and RuPaul’s Drag Race-inspired make-up weren’t drawing enough attention my way, the three stuffed dragons I was dragging behind certainly raised one or two questions.

  There were two options. Run for the door, fly back to England, and pretend I’d never heard of New York City or, somehow, style it out.

  ‘What would Jenny Lopez do?’ I whispered to myself as people began to pull out their phones. I was seconds away from becoming a viral sensation. ‘What would Jenny Lopez do?’

  It was a long time since I’d had to invoke that little mantra. I rolled back my shoulders, raised my chin and took a deep breath. Platinum blonde hair was in. Super-slutty dresses designed for fantasy warrior queens not so much.

  ‘If anyone asks,’ I said, ignoring the burn of humiliation in the pit of my stomach, ‘the dress is archive Versace.’

  ‘Is it?’ Megan asked, giving me a good once-over.

  ‘Nope,’ I replied. ‘But the fact you asked instead of laughing in my face means I might get away with this.’

  Leaving Megan behind, I pushed through the crowds and headed for the giant double doors that led to the dance floor and, most importantly, the VIP area. If I could make it onto the other side of the velvet rope, no one would look twice at me. Who cared about an overly contoured magazine editor when there was the very real possibility of a Kendall Jenner sighting?

  Surreptitiously swiping at my overly bronzed cheeks, I pushed through the crowds, the pulsing music carrying me onwards until I found the promised land.

  ‘Hi, I’m the editor of the magazine.’ I smiled at a tiny black-haired girl holding a tablet and the enormous bald man beside her. Neither looked even slightly impressed. ‘Angela Clark?’

  ‘I’m going to need to see some ID,’ the girl replied. The bouncer remained stoic and unmoving. Apparently, Targaryens strolling through New York parties were a regular thing.

  ‘It’s right here,’ I said, pawing through my tiny borrowed clutch bag. I knew I’d put my driving licence in there; I remembered taking it out of my wallet with my credit card and – oh shit, leaving both of them on the kitchen top.

  ‘Because I’m an idiot, I think I’ve left it at home,’ I shouted over the music. ‘But I can see some of my friends in there, if I could just pop in and get one of them, they’ll confirm I’m me.’

  ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t let you in,’ the girl replied as the bouncer stepped in front of her, legs spread, hands in front of his nuts, intimidating middle-distance stare.

  ‘I’m the editor of Gloss,’ I insisted, pointing up at the neon sign that buzzed above the stage. ‘This is my magazine’s event? Really, if you’d just go and ask those two people over there …’ I pointed towards Jason and Sophie who were laughing their heads off and edging as close as humanly possible to someone I thought I recognized as a Jonas Brother.

  ‘If you could step aside, that would be great,’ the girl said. ‘Otherwise, we’re going to have to ask you to leave.’

  ‘By god, it’s Angela Clark!’

  A loud British voice boome
d in my ear and I was suddenly hoisted into the air and thrown over someone’s shoulder. I grabbed at the front of my dress and prayed that my knickers weren’t showing. I’d already made a show of myself once, I didn’t need a wardrobe malfunction to make matters worse.

  ‘James?’ I yelped, suddenly face to face with a very firm, tuxedo-clad arse.

  ‘Expecting anyone else?’ James Jacobs replied as the girl immediately unfastened the velvet rope and ushered us inside. ‘Look at your tits!’

  ‘I didn’t know you were in town,’ I yelped as he bounced me up and down on his shoulder. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? I haven’t seen you in bloody months.’

  ‘It’s been more than a year, actually,’ he sniffed, before slapping my arse. ‘Which you’d know if you really loved me. Why are you dressed as Elsa from Frozen?’

  ‘You know you broke my heart after you left Les Mis,’ I ignored him as we sailed past the velvet rope, no questions asked. Such were the perks of being a legitimately famous actor. ‘I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to speak to you again.’

  ‘What if I told you I’d auditioned for Doctor Who?’ he asked, setting me down in front of a red velvet corner booth, separated from the action by a sheer curtain.

  ‘No way,’ I gasped, hastily shoving my boobs back where they belonged.

  He nodded as he slid into his seat. ‘Yes, way. Didn’t get it though, did I? Too scared of a good thing.’

  ‘Well, that’s their loss,’ I assured him, trying not to look too disappointed and joining him in the booth. ‘You would have been amazing.’

  ‘I know.’ He tipped his head to one side, his curly dark hair falling in front of his eyes and smirked. ‘I did rub my balls on the TARDIS console, though, so good luck to the new Doctor.’

  ‘Classy as always.’

  Sonic screwdrivers were all well and good, but I hoped they had some Dettol wipes on board.

  He yanked me into his lap and kissed me full on the lips. I was sure I saw a camera flash somewhere, but me and James Jacobs caught mid-snog was beyond old news. We could have had full sex in the middle of the dance floor and no one would have believed he was straight, his closeted ship had long since sailed.

  ‘It’s good to see you, Clark. Where’s that devastatingly handsome husband of yours?’ James asked. He glanced around the room to check out the quality of the other celebs and smirked to himself. He was easily the most A-list person here and I wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing. Great for the ego but perhaps not so good for the profile.

  ‘He’s away,’ I said, pulling the fabric of my dress neatly over my lap to avoid presenting my vagina to Justin Bieber. Hadn’t Cici told me he wasn’t coming? ‘He’s been travelling around South East Asia for a couple of months but he’s due home any day.’

  ‘South East Asia?’ James wrinkled his perfect nose and nodded at the waiter who appeared with two glasses of water and two cocktails. ‘Without you? Should I prepare his coming out party?’

  ‘Maybe.’ I took a sip of the water and then picked up the cocktail, preparing to nurse it for the rest of the evening. I was getting good at fake drinking. ‘He did say he’d been spooning Graham.’

  ‘Makes sense that he’d be a top,’ he nodded confidently. ‘While the cat’s away, the mice must play. Let’s get smashed.’

  He raised his glass to mine before taking a deep glug.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked when I hesitated. ‘Knocked up?’

  I opened my mouth to give him one of my routine answers. I was on antibiotics, I’d drunk too much the night before, I needed to stay sober because it was a work thing. But before I could say a word, his eyes opened wide and he began to cough, spluttering his sticky cocktail all over the table.

  ‘Jesus Christ on a bike.’ He grabbed a napkin from a passing waiter with a tray full of canapés and wiped his mouth before the drink stained his white shirt. ‘You are bloody well pregnant, aren’t you?’

  ‘Please be quiet!’ I begged, edging around the booth until we were side by side. ‘No one knows because I only just found out. I haven’t even told Alex. You have to keep it a secret.’

  ‘Everyone knows I can’t keep a secret,’ James whined, raking his hands through his hair and throwing his head back like the big drama queen he was. ‘Unless it’s about my sexuality for thirty-three years, then, yes, but in general, absolutely not.’

  He had a point.

  ‘Well, you’re going to have to try,’ I said, giving him my sternest mum look, complete with a mouth like a cat’s arse. ‘You massive bellend.’

  ‘It’s just unexpected, that’s all.’ He pulled me into another big hug, hiccupping as he kissed the top of my head. He smelled of cheap beer and cigarettes and I realized this was not James’s first party of the night. ‘I’m so happy for you. Is it Alex’s?’

  I replied with one arched eyebrow.

  ‘Just making sure,’ he said, slurping down the rest of his cocktail then eyeing mine. ‘Does this mean you’re not going to drink that?’

  ‘So, this is like a terrible outfit, even for you.’

  I gave James a gracious smile before turning to find Cici standing beside our table. She was wearing a floor-length white gown with two slits in the front running all the way up to her hip bones, barely skimming the underwear I hoped she was wearing. Her hair was piled up on top of her head and huge diamond solitaires sparkled in her earlobes. She looked like an actual goddess. Not someone dressed up as a goddess, of course, because I was still the only person at the entire event who was in fancy dress.

  ‘Did we decide not to do costumes?’ I asked while James busied himself by braiding the back section of my wig. ‘Because I don’t remember discussing that.’

  ‘Yeah,’ she replied, eyeing James over my shoulder. ‘I told you, on Tuesday. And Wednesday. And Thursday, when I asked if you had something to wear tonight.’

  I pursed my lips and tried to recall. She’d spent so much time in my office this week and all of it was a blur.

  ‘Never mind,’ I said, yanking my head away from James. ‘Pack it in, I’m not a bloody Girl’s World.’

  ‘I always wanted one of those when I was little,’ he sighed, holding out a hand to Cici. ‘James Jacobs, charmed.’

  ‘Yeah, sure,’ Cici replied, entirely unimpressed. Her Upper East Side ice-queen personality was not an act. She genuinely did not care whether or not James was famous.

  ‘The party is amazing,’ I told her, still smiling at the look on James’s face as he set about demolishing my cocktail. ‘You’ve done such an amazing job.’

  ‘I did pretty great,’ she acknowledged, complimenting herself in the way that only millennials know how. ‘Planning stuff is easy. You just tell people exactly how it is, what you need, when you need it, and how much they’re getting paid. If they don’t like it, there are at least a million other people in New York who do what they do.’

  ‘So, you threaten them?’ James asked.

  Cici shrugged and nodded.

  ‘Oh, Angela,’ he slurred into my ear. ‘I like this one. Can I keep her?’

  ‘No,’ I replied without looking at him.

  ‘Did you know she’s pregnant?’ he asked Cici.

  ‘James!’ I slapped his arm as he covered his mouth theatrically. ‘What is wrong with you?’

  ‘Oops,’ he replied. ‘She’s not really, I made that up. She’s just getting a bit fat and isn’t drinking because she hates fun.’

  ‘I need you on stage,’ Cici said, ignoring James Jacobs for the second time in one night and probably only the fourth time in his entire life. ‘You have to thank the sponsors.’

  ‘Oh, shit.’

  I looked down at my dress and my boobs looked back.

  ‘Is it really obvious that I’m in costume?’ I asked.

  ‘No,’ James replied.

  ‘Yes,’ Cici said at the exact same moment.

  ‘Hello, hello!’

  Joe sidled up beside Cici, resting an arm on h
er waist until she took a wide step sideways, moving out of his reach. Interesting.

  ‘Great to meet you, I’m Joe Herman.’ He reached out to shake James’s hand. ‘I’m a huge fan of your work. I see you’re getting to know our editor, Ms Clark.’

  ‘We’re sharing secrets,’ James replied, batting his lashes at my boss. I dug two fingers into his ribs until he squealed and remembered himself. ‘No secrets! No secrets at all.’

  ‘I’d love to stay and chat with you both,’ I said, sliding out of the booth and taking Cici’s arm, ‘but I have to make a quick speech. Be right back.’

  As I stood, Joe looked me up and down, eyes widening with confusion as he took in my ensemble.

  ‘It’s an inside joke,’ I said hurriedly. ‘I’ll explain it later. James, behave.’

  ‘Yes, Mum,’ he replied before slapping his hand across his own face to silence himself. I flashed him one last warning look as we went. I was still trying to work out how to save my magazine and the last thing I needed was for Joe to find out I was knocked up. There was no in-office crèche on the spreadsheet he’d shown me.

  ‘He is so gross,’ Cici muttered as we crossed the VIP area and disappeared backstage.

  She wouldn’t get an argument from me.

  ‘I heard you used to go out with him,’ I said casually, keeping my chin high as every person we passed gave my outfit a double-take. ‘Didn’t end well?’

  ‘That was years ago,’ she replied, scoffing at the very thought. ‘I can’t believe Dee Dee hired him, he’s an asshole. Actually, that’s not fair, at least assholes are good for something.’

  It was an interesting point.

  ‘I’ll tell the sound people to set up the mic,’ she said, trotting off behind the stage and leaving me conspicuously alone.

  Doing my best to ignore the whispering partygoers around me, I pulled out my phone to check my messages. Five missed calls from Jenny and two voicemails. Tottering over into a quiet corner, I dialled in immediately. Something had to be wrong, Jenny hated to leave voicemails, why else wouldn’t she text like a normal person?