by Rosie Nixon
I immediately deleted her from my phone. I didn’t have time for bad karma today.
When I joined Rob in the canteen, he was sitting with Astrid, and she was flanked by the two reserve Icons she’d been with when we partied at Le Bain.
‘So, Amber, what have you got for us?’ she asked. ‘Everyone’s buzzing about having you on board. We can’t wait to hear your thoughts on the finale.’
‘Well,’ I began, wondering whether it might be an idea to nip out and get the words ‘Winging it’ tattooed onto my forehead. ‘I’ve got an idea for something pretty spectacular. I’d like to get it worked up a bit more first though. Ron’s asked me to present to him and the board tomorrow.’
‘Ooh, mysterious!’ she cooed, nudging Rob. ‘Is your girl always this secretive?’
‘She can be,’ he replied diplomatically.
Thankfully, as well as miso and kale, the canteen served real food, too, and after Astrid had left, as I devoured a chicken wrap and a blueberry muffin, I divulged my plans to Rob. He listened patiently and looked enthusiastic in all the right places.
‘I knew you’d be perfect for this job, my super stylist girl,’ he said, leaning across and touching my cheek when I had finished. ‘I’ve got a bit of news too,’ he continued, fiddling with the empty wrapper for his sandwich on the table. ‘Ron’s asked me and the team to fly back to London to film a bit about the excitement for the show building there. He’s keen the brand feels transatlantic, doesn’t want it to be too New York-centric, you know?’
I gulped. ‘For how long?’
‘Only a few days. It will give me an opportunity to catch up with Dan and Mum too. But—’ He looked up, pulling a mild grimace expression, as if he was afraid to tell me something.
‘What?’
‘He wants me on the plane this evening.’
‘Tonight?’
‘Afraid so. We’re on the red eye.’ He read my face. ‘I know. But what can I do? What Ron wants, Ron gets.’ Now that we shared the same employer, I couldn’t deny that I knew exactly what he meant. ‘So I’m going to finish up here then pop home to pack. If you leave bang on six, we can grab something to eat together before I go.’
‘Oh, baby, I’ll miss you!’ I squeezed his hand under the table. What I really wanted to do was envelop him in a big bear hug, but I wasn’t sure how many people in this company knew we were together – and whether displaying affection in the staff canteen was cool.
‘I’ll be back by the end of the week. Surely you can’t get into too much trouble before then?’
‘I’ll try,’ I said, despite the fact that my stomach was already feeling tight with nerves. I’ll be alone in New York. Suddenly, I really wanted to call Vicky.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The rest of the afternoon went in a flash. I was like a child in a toy factory as I combed my way through the lingerie, familiarising myself with the whole collection and dreaming up some formidable outfits for the show. Caroline had left me sketches of the costumes Ron had approved from the former stylist, as these were already underway, being crafted by Dimitri and his team behind locked doors in his design studio on the opposite side of the floor to mine, so, thankfully, I wasn’t starting completely from scratch. I also spent some time on the phone with Maurice, telling him my vision and winning his support for the finale. We agreed to meet the following afternoon, assuming my pitch to Ron was successful.
Rob had already left the office to go home and pack by the time I was ready to head back too. Taking the subway, I felt exhilarated when I was stopped by a tourist asking the best way to Times Square and was able tell her off the top of my head, as if I had lived in this city all my life – only my accent could have possibly given me away. In my head I had developed a new persona: Amber Green, New York native, but educated at a fabulously expensive English school on the Upper East Side. Yet knowing Rob was about to be out of town for a few days had suddenly given me the feeling of being the tiniest cog in the Coney Island ferris wheel. I felt envious that he was going to be back in our home city – that he would be able to sniff the steely London air and feel the warmth of a hug from his mum. I was craving the familiarity of home so badly that my finger hovered over Vicky’s cell number in my address book. I knew meeting up with her wouldn’t be a good idea, though. I had a few precious days to focus on the Angel Wear show and get my plans off the ground, and I needed to take advantage of it. The more Dimitri seemed to want me to fail, the more I wanted to prove him and any other doubters wrong. Instead, on the subway, I wrote a note on the back of an Angel Wear promotional postcard for Rob to post to my parents. It helped to annul a little of the guilt I felt for not being in proper contact with them.
‘Dear Mum and Dad,’ I wrote.
‘Firstly, let me apologise. I’m sorry for being a rubbish daughter this past month. New York has felt like a whirlwind and I’ve been caught up in trying to get some work to pay my way out here. Anyway, it’s going well. I did a few jobs through an agency, including one styling babies (never again). But now I’m freelance and Karen from next door’s daughter is right, I’m the lead stylist for a big fashion show out here! It’s happening in a week’s time so I’m crazy busy getting all the costumes together, but it will be amazing for my CV.
‘Rob and I have a cosy apartment in a place called Williamsburg in Brooklyn. Yes, we have contents insurance, before you ask. We’ve not had much time to check out the big sights yet, but we plan to, when he gets back from London. He’s popped back for a couple of days for filming. I wish I could go in his suitcase, so I could come round for a roast dinner, but I’ll be back before you know it, I promise.
‘Please squeeze Nora for me and tell Lucy I love the slippers. I’ll bring them back a ton of Reese’s Pieces when I return.
‘Love you,
‘Amber
‘xx’
When I got back to the apartment, Rob was packed and getting ready to leave.
‘I’m sorry, the flight was earlier than I thought,’ he said. ‘Don’t get into trouble. And remember, you’re the hottest thing since Vicky left your straighteners on.’ I went to swipe him, and he ducked.
He smiled cheekily. ‘I love you.’
‘I love you too,’ I replied.
‘Now come here,’ he said, pulling my waist to meet his and then taking my face in his hands. ‘I wish we had longer,’ he whispered.
‘Me too,’ I gasped, moving my hand down to his belt and gripping it. ‘Miss your flight?’
‘Oh, baby, you know I’d love to, but can you imagine? I’d be sacked on the spot.’
After one final lingering kiss, he pulled away and picked up the handle to his case. I closed the door behind him and New York suddenly felt a whole lot bigger.
About an hour later, after I’d put some washing on, nibbled some cheese and spent a while stalking old friends back home on Facebook, I picked up my phone.
‘Hello, Victoria speaking,’ answered a very polite Vicky.
‘I know,’ I replied. ‘I called you.’
‘Oh, sorry mate, wasn’t sure who this was,’ she replied.
‘You deleted me from your phone already?’
‘Well, you did chuck me out of your flat! It wasn’t exactly what friends are meant to do to one another. Remember?’
I bit my lip.
‘I know. I’m sorry. We didn’t know what else to do.’
‘Is that why you’re phoning – to apologise?’
‘Apologise? You nearly set our apartment on fire! I’m not sure we’re the ones who need to—’
‘It’s all “we” and “our” now, is it? You and Rob. Rob and Amber. Love’s young dream. What happened to “we” being you and me, Amber? What happened to not being one of those people who gets a boyfriend and ditches their girlfriends?’ I could picture her face frowning. I frowned back. ‘Anyway, the fire was an accident. Haven’t you left your straighteners on before?’
I mentally pictured the hundreds of times on my way to work in
London that I had sprinted back from the end of our road, or got to the tube and called Vicky to check my straighteners weren’t still on. Roughly half the time they were. ‘This isn’t about straighteners, anyway, is it?’ Vicky continued.
‘Listen,’ I reasoned, despite the fact that her comment about ditching my girlfriends was stinging. ‘I just wanted to tell you that Rob’s in London for a couple of nights, so, if you’re homeless, you’re welcome back here.’ I hadn’t yet mentioned this idea to Rob, but I would, if she said yes.
‘That’s sweet of you,’ she said, coldly.
‘If you’re sorted, it’s no worries,’ I added breezily, despite the fact that inside this frostiness between us was hurting me deeply.
‘Don’t worry, I’ve not been sleeping on the sidewalk,’ she said, ‘I’ve been staying with Noah, in an amazing hotel suite. So…’
‘But I thought he was gay?’ I asked.
‘He is, so it’s perfect,’ she trilled. ‘We top and tail. It’s like I’ve known him forever. He is so much fun. He needed a beard to be his plus-one at events, and I needed a roof over my head, so what’s not to love?’
‘Sounds perfect,’ I muttered, berating myself for bothering to make the call.
‘Anyway, I’ve got to go because we’ve been invited to a screening of his latest commercial. It’s for Tom Ford.’ Her voice moved away from the handset. ‘Yes, babe! Two secs! That’s Noah. Got to dash. Bye, Amber.’
And she hung up. I sat on the sofa, dumbfounded. I’ve lost my best friend. I really have. How could this have happened?
Instead of drowning my sorrows in a litre of wine with Tina from next door, which would have been my natural reaction to this horrible situation – her pregnancy saved me from this option – I decided to put my energy into creating a brilliant presentation for Ron and the board for the following day. I spent over two hours Skyping with Maurice, marvelling at how he had already managed to turn my vision into some beautiful fashion sketches, a talent from his decades in the industry. As he held them up to the screen the aesthetic blew me away and we could hardly contain our excitement about bringing it to life on the runway.
It was eleven o’clock by the time I realised I was starving and, as I pulled back the cellophane on a microwavable meal for one, there was a knock on the door. I imagined it was Tina in need of Gaviscon, or Max checking whether Rob fancied an impromptu bottle of Jack Daniel’s. Max seemed to have ditched his health kick and was now displaying signs that he was having issues dealing with his wife’s decision to quit alcohol, from what I could glean from Tina.
My heart rate quickened when I opened the door and saw Vicky.
‘How did you get through the main door?’ I asked, surprised.
‘Max was outside having a fag, he let me in.’ She held out her hand, formally. ‘Hi.’
I took her hand and we shook. ‘Hi,’ I said, warily. Has she really come round to have a go at me in person?
She apologised: ‘I’m sorry for being a bitch earlier. I was hurt and you caught me by surprise.’ She was dressed up in a beautiful long grey coat, presumably cashmere, which was open at the front revealing her extraordinarily long legs in a short black dress and some towering silver sandals.
I looked into her brown eyes with my blue ones. The same eyes that had looked into one another’s for so many years, through so many life stages.
‘I couldn’t be in the area without popping by,’ she said, and looked down at her amazing shoes and polished toes. ‘Especially knowing you’d be home alone. Rob going to London – is everything okay with you two?’
‘With us?’ I almost choked on the words. ‘God, yes! Of course – we’re great, never been better!’ I sounded way too cheery, defensive almost. ‘Why wouldn’t we be okay?’
‘Well, you know, just how things were last week.’ She was clutching the door frame as if she might topple over if she let go. I was sure she’d been drinking – I recognised that wobbly, slightly pissed Vicky instantly.
‘But are you okay?’ I asked warily, turning the tables. ‘I mean, do you want to stay? Is that what this is about?’ There had to be another motive behind her sudden appearance on my doorstep this late on a Monday night.
‘No, God, no, I’m great! Never been better! I’m off out!’ she said. It tickled me that we were as stubborn as each other and now we were in an ‘everything’s great!’ stand-off. We stood there looking at each other for a moment, fake smiles across our faces.
‘Vick, shall we go now?’ a male voice called from downstairs.
‘Who’s that?’ I asked.
‘There’s someone who wants to meet you,’ she said, grabbing my hand. I flicked the latch on the door. Two run-ins with the fire brigade in a fortnight is more than enough – I’m not falling for that one again. And I followed her downstairs.
Noah West was standing on the doorstep, smoking a Marlboro Light with Max.
‘Hey, you didn’t tell me you had celebrity friends, Am?’ Max said, his eyes sparkling with excitement. ‘Tina’s gonna be so pissed she went to bed early.’
I looked at Noah. He was ridiculously handsome: piercing blue eyes, groomed wavy dark-brown hair with subtle chestnut streaks, stubble that surely had a stylist of its own, and a jaw more perfectly chiselled than something by Henry Moore.
‘Noah,’ he said, holding out a hand. Even his hands were good-looking. He definitely went in for manicures. What a waste for womankind. ‘I’ve heard so much about you from Vic. Great to meet you.’ Then he turned his attention back to Vicky. ‘Listen, babe, we’re meant to be at the after-party and Tom won’t be impressed if I don’t make an appearance.’ He sucked deeply on his cigarette and took a swig from the large silver hip flask Max had passed back to him. Max didn’t know it but the Tom he was referring to was the one and only Tom Ford. Squee!
‘I know, babe. Come too?’ Vicky turned to me. ‘We can get Amber in, can’t we, babe?’ They call each other babe?
‘Sure, babe.’
It wasn’t necessary for his camera-ready eyes to look me up and down, I knew.
‘Give me thirty seconds to sling on a dress.’ There wasn’t enough time to consider whether this was A Good Idea the night before a big presentation. I was more disturbed by the fact that I never seemed to have more than two minutes to get glammed up for a night out.
The location was the rooftop of the Natural History Museum. Above the Halls of Dinosaurs, Birds and Amphibians, the terrace had been boxed in matt black and filled with sleek cube seating, in keeping with the current slick and minimalist Tom Ford aesthetic. We were immediately ushered through and led to a roped-off area. The place was heaving.
‘These are for you,’ Noah said pushing two miniature glasses in my direction, no sooner had a waiter deposited them on our table. ‘You’re playing catch up.’
I sniffed one of them and recoiled. Tequila. Lots of.
Before I could make an excuse about having a big presentation tomorrow morning, Noah was whisked off by a woman introducing herself as ‘Mr Ford’s PR’ – presumably, she doesn’t need an actual name – to schmooze the glitterati at the party.
I stared at the shots and wished Rob was here to down one of them for me; he was good with tequila. I was less so.
‘Well, go on,’ Vicky mouthed.
‘Okay, okay,’ I mouthed back, thinking, I really shouldn’t but I’m out now, I may as well enjoy myself. I shuddered as I lifted the first to my lips, swallowed and sucked on the wedge of lemon she thrust into my palm immediately after. The second went down better. And then a glass of champagne sailed down, followed by a whiskey-based cocktail that was supposed to ‘embody the flavour of the new collection’. Only in fashion.
While Noah was busy mingling, the drinks kept arriving at our table and with each one, the ice thawed between Vicky and I. She informed me that Trey had been back in touch.
‘He’s traced me to New York,’ she said, not looking particularly happy about it.
‘Isn’t that great
?’ I replied. ‘Must mean he’s missing you.’
‘Doubt it,’ she quipped. ‘He’s left a couple of voicemails.’
‘Well, what did he say?’
‘Nothing really,’ she continued. ‘Just that he knows I’m here and he arrives tomorrow. I haven’t replied.’
‘Well, if he’s flown all the way here, he must want to make things up to you.’ I looked at her expectantly. ‘So, are you going to meet up with him?’
‘Not sure yet,’ she muttered. ‘Anyway, it’s not like he flew in to make it up with me – he’s in town for a junket. Of course, he had to mention that.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Putting work first. Again. I’ll see. He’s here all week, so there’s no hurry. Besides, I’m starting to feel that I don’t need him any more, anyway.’ She looked across the room to where Noah was bathed in the glow of five photographers’ flashes, as he posed with Tom Ford and supermodel Dara Kashova.
‘Of course you don’t – you’re best bloody mates with Noah West, babe! It isn’t exactly a bad position to be in, let’s face it.’
She laughed. ‘Yeah, and I figure if I hang out in the gayest venues in the whole of Manhattan, I’m unlikely to run into Trey.’
‘Sounds like a plan,’ I said, and we chinked cocktail glasses.
By the time Noah had rejoined us, Vicky and I were back to BFF status, just like before the awkwardness of ‘Sardine Tin-gate’ – as we had christened the episode. It felt so good to have cleared the air, and having Noah around didn’t feel like a crowd at all – the three of us had a great time together, gossiping about all his fashion industry friends. It turned out Maurice had given Noah his first big break, inviting him to walk the catwalk for him, when he was starting out in modelling as a teenager. As the evening progressed and the music became louder and louder, we hit the dance floor. At one point, the actual Tom Ford came and danced next to us – Vicky nearly went flying over her heels when she noticed it was him and we spent an entire Lady Gaga medley trying to avoid eye contact whilst dancing self-consciously alongside Tom. It wasn’t easy, especially when my arm brushed against his and I got a whiff of an extraordinarily sexy scent. At some point I remembered my promise to Joseph back at Selfridges, but it didn’t feel opportune to slip a phone number into his slick suit top pocket. I’d probably get escorted out of the building if I were to attempt it. Sorry, Joseph.
