Unsticky

by Sarah Manning

  ‘The Fire Department could shut us down. We’re way over capacity.’ The door whore was very socially responsible for someone wearing a tutu.

  Grace floundered, thought about stamping her foot, but wrung her hands instead, while Noah and friends went into a huddle like they were about to bolt and go somewhere else to keep their alcohol levels topped up.

  Salvation appeared in the form of the Skirt posse who couldn’t wait to get back to civilisation. ‘Great party, Gracie,’ Lucie trilled as she pushed her way towards the door. ‘Really looking forward to the next one.’

  The velvet rope was finally unclipped and Noah and his plus eleven bundled in, including Alex who gave Grace an ironic salute as he shouldered past her. Grace was immediately tackled by Noah, who pulled her into an enthusiastic and sweaty hug. ‘Please tell me that there’s still free booze.’

  She wriggled free before she got Noah stains on her new dress. ‘There’s lots of vodka left but no sausage and mash. Where’s Lola?’

  Noah shrugged. ‘Don’t know. We’re not together any more.’ He didn’t seem particularly bothered about it. ‘Shall we go and sneak a fag?’

  The gallery manager was snapping his fingers at Grace. ‘I can’t, but I have models. Upstairs. They’re all dancing very badly and ruining my vibe so feel free to try and separate one from the herd.’ She touched Noah’s arm. ‘When you see Vaughn, will you please be nice to him?’

  ‘Gracie, that’s no fun,’ Noah said, wagging his shaven head from side to side as she looked at him imploringly. ‘Oh look - if it means that much to you, I guess I could manage a hello.’

  ‘It does, and if you could even muster a “good to see you and this is a great party” too, then that would be even better.’

  The last guests left just before one, and after Grace had paid the DJ she wearily climbed the pretzel staircase to the first floor where Vaughn, Noah, Piers and a few stragglers had fetched up on a group of sofas. Grace pulled on a bright smile but she’d have much preferred to be back at Vaughn’s having her last cup of tea of the day.

  The whole evening had been one stress bomb after another, and now as Vaughn came back from fetching the remaining few bottles of vodka, Grace realised there was nowhere for him to sit. Vaughn cast his eyes over the sofas, realised he was out in social Siberia, and looked as if he might actually cry.

  ‘I need the loo,’ she hissed at him from her spot at the end of one of the couches. ‘Sit here and I’ll perch on the arm when I get back.’

  It would have been a perfect solution achieved with minimum ease, except that when Grace stood up in her nosebleed-high heels, after far too much vodka, she pitched forward and ended up sprawling across the low table in front of them. Thank God she was wearing opaque tights.

  There was a chorus of, ‘Are you all right?’ and Grace wished that everyone would shut the hell up and allow her to limp to the Ladies accompanied by what was left of her pride.

  ‘Did you eat any dinner?’ Vaughn asked.

  ‘I had too much to do,’ Grace said, rubbing her knee. ‘And then it was all gone.’

  ‘You can’t drink on a stomach that’s only got cayenne pepper and lemon juice in it.’

  Grace was about to point out that her five-day detox was something that she didn’t particularly want to share with the group, until someone piped up, ‘Does that diet actually work, because I really can’t face doing Atkins again.’

  ‘I lost four pounds in five days,’ Grace admitted, though most of it had been water. That was the starter for ten. They were meant to be hipsters, scene kids, art iconoclasts and tastemakers, but they suddenly morphed into a bunch of housewives swapping diet stories. Grace was appalled. It was like being back at work.

  Dieting was one subject that Vaughn excelled in, and when Grace finally hobbled away he had a rapt audience as he explained the benefits of weight training. ‘Muscle actually weighs three times more than fat, but the more muscle you have, the more calories you burn.’ Gustav had created a monster.

  When Grace returned after trying to rescue her smoky-eye make-up, which was looking a little too racoon, they were well into the bottles of vodka.

  ‘You must be starving,’ Vaughn said, his arm automatically locking around Grace’s waist as she settled on the arm of the couch. ‘And are you going to be comfortable there?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Grace assured him, and he smiled at her. Grace was used to Vaughn’s smiles now. He had about twenty and she knew what each one meant, from the cold, wintry twist of his lips when he was trying to stay calm in the face of extreme provocation, to the dopey, dazed grin he’d give her when they had a lazy fuck on a Sunday morning. But Grace was sure that she hadn’t seen this smile before. It creased his face, wrinkling his eyes and giving him two deep dimples as he looked at Grace like she was the reason the sun came up and flowers grew, and he was very pleased that she was currently leaning against him. It was that good a smile.

  Some impulse that she wouldn’t have given into if she hadn’t drunk so much vodka made Grace bend her head and press her lips against Vaughn’s forehead. Which just made his smile broaden so Grace leaned in even closer because she wanted to kiss the grin right off his face. She didn’t even have time to pout her mouth into a perfect kiss-shape when Noah swapped places with the person who’d been sitting on Vaughn’s other side, and the spell was broken.

  ‘So, can I pick your brains about showing in New York?’ he asked Vaughn, and Grace ceased to exist as they started this incomprehensible back and forth about galleries and dealers and the new curator at the Whitney Museum of American Art.

  Grace started talking to Piers, who was shooting Vaughn these anxious looks like a little boy staying up way past bedtime who hoped that his daddy wouldn’t notice, and Alex about their mutual love of Rodgers and Hammerstein musicals. It was far more interesting than the big group discussion about how all the original YBAs had ‘sold out’. Grace really didn’t see what the big deal was about selling out. Languishing in obscurity was all very well, but unless you were a Trustafarian, it led to bad things like not being able to pay the rent and yellow ice in your toilet bowl.

  Vaughn was rhythmically stroking her hip, while he pleaded the case for the opposition and laughed at the howls of protest. Grace wondered if maybe they should do this once a month. Not another raucous party because her nerves couldn’t take it, but hosting a low-key drinks and art salon, where Vaughn was at his best, rather than skulking on the sidelines as people pogo-ed to The Horrors. And he should always wear suits; he could become known for them. He did look so good in a suit.

  The party ended when the gallery manager wandered up the stairs and stood there rattling his keys. Vaughn got up to settle the final bill and Grace clumsily slid on to the warm patch where Vaughn had been sitting.

  Noah nudged her with his arm. ‘He’s not so bad, I guess.’ He looked at Vaughn who was handing over a huge wad of notes. ‘For a heartless, commerce-obsessed scumbag.’

  ‘You’re warming to him, I can tell.’ Grace nudged him back. ‘He’s actually very sweet and kind, if you give him the chance.’

  ‘Yeah, I’ll take your word for it. Anyway, I thanked him for the invite and the booze and it’s all good,’ Noah said, stroking his bristly chin. ‘You fancy going on somewhere else? There’s a little bar around the corner with a late licence.’

  Grace raised her eyebrows. ‘Do they serve food?’

  ‘I’ll treat you to a kebab on the way,’ Noah said with a mischievous grin, which suited him much better than his usual smirk.

  ‘You’ve got yourself a deal.’ Grace levered herself up and walked over to Vaughn, who held out his arm so he could pull Grace in for a kiss.

  ‘You’re a very clever girl,’ he murmured in her ear, looking over to where Noah was sprawled out on the sofa. ‘I’ve never seen Noah smile so much.’

  ‘It was nothing,’ Grace insisted. ‘Well, actually it’s taken years off me but I think we pretty much rocked it. And Noah wants to carry
on drinking so you might as well make the most of it while he’s in such a good mood.’

  Vaughn shook his head. ‘Noah will keep. Let’s get you home. You must be dead on your feet.’

  Grace lifted up her leg. ‘No, I’m wearing my eight-hour heels and actually I think I’m getting my second wind. There might even be dancing.’

  She grabbed Vaughn’s hand as a prelude to pulling him down the pretzel staircase after the others, but he stayed rooted to the spot. ‘It’s really late and I have an early conference call in the morning. Well, in a few hours actually.’

  ‘Just half an hour then,’ Grace begged, because she’d been on duty all night and the prospect of a relaxed little nightcap was just what she needed to decompress. Plus all she could think about was a kebab, with chips and the really hot sauce. ‘Oh, come on, Vaughn, it will be fun.’ She gave him the look that he always told her she should only use for the power of good because it was so persuasive. ‘Please.’

  ‘You go,’ he said slowly, as if it was against his better judgement. ‘Though you’re not going to be in any fit state for work tomorrow if you pull an all-nighter.’

  ‘It won’t be an all-nighter. An hour. Or two hours, tops,’ Grace promised as she carefully picked her way down the stairs, clinging tightly to the rail because pretzels and high heels and vodka were not a good combination.

  ‘You always say two hours when you really mean at least four,’ Vaughn sniffed, as they reached the ground floor. ‘I’m not going to wait up for you and I’m definitely not going to phone in sick for you either when the hangover kicks in, in the morning.’

  ‘I hardly ever get hangovers,’ Grace said blithely, and Vaughn just laughed like it was the funniest joke she’d ever cracked before he disappeared out of the door, snapping over his shoulder at Piers that he wanted a word with him.

  chapter thirty-one

  How drunk did you have to be when a feckless reprobate like Noah Skinner decided that you needed to be put in a taxi? Very, very drunk indeed.

  The after-hours drinking den hadn’t been just round the corner but a half-hour’s walk away, and had looked like someone’s front room. Grace never did discover if it was someone’s front room, but they’d had a cool collection of sounds, more vodka and although it was meant to close at two, they’d had a lock in.

  After that, it had all become a bit of a blur, though Grace did remember buying a round of drinks for everyone in the house on Vaughn’s credit card, possibly singing ‘A Total Eclipse of the Heart’ and there had finally been a trip to a kebab shop. When she’d tried to leap the counter so she could shave the elephant’s leg, after much encouragement from Alex, Noah had marched her to the nearest minicab office.

  Now she was standing outside the gates of Vaughn’s ridiculously big house, unable to remember the security code and also having extreme difficulty in locating the buzzer.

  Her fingers had turned into fat, stubby sausages so Grace hit as many buttons as she could see on the security panel until Vaughn’s voice floated through the ether.

  ‘Grace?’

  ‘Lemme in! I’m freezing my arse off out here.’

  The gates slowly swung open and Grace staggered up the drive. The front door opened, light spilling out, and there was Vaughn standing in the doorway.

  ‘I didn’t mean to wake you,’ she bellowed when she was halfway up the drive. Her voice had sounded a lot less shouty and slurry in her head. ‘Did you wait up for me? You didn’t have to ’cause I was fine.’

  She finally reached the front door and almost fell through it; only Vaughn’s hand seizing her elbow stopped her from falling over for about the fifth time that night. ‘Did you miss me? I missed you.’

  Vaughn pulled Grace through the door and slammed it shut behind her, smiling thinly as she jumped. ‘You’re drunk,’ was all he said, as she wobbled on one leg and tried to take off her shoe.

  Grace gave up on the buckle and tugged the shoe off with great force, nearly toppling over again, before she attempted the same manoeuvre on the other foot. ‘Maybe a little bit tipsy,’ she corrected him. ‘Just a little bit.’

  She brushed back the curtain of her hair that was in her face, spitting out a few stray strands that had ended up in her mouth, and froze at the look on Vaughn’s face. He was furious and she didn’t know why.

  ‘What the hell have you been doing?’ he hissed, reaching her in a few short strides so he could grasp Grace’s upper arms and haul her close. ‘It’s nearly four o’clock.’

  She wriggled in his hold. ‘It’s not that late,’ she insisted. ‘It doesn’t feel that late.’

  ‘I’ve been calling you and calling you. I even called the car company and they hadn’t heard from you. How did you get home? What the fuck have you been doing?’ He was spitting questions at her and shaking her slightly when he got to the end of each one.

  ‘Why are you so mad at me?’ she whimpered. ‘You said I could go and I didn’t hear my phone ’cause I couldn’t find my phone. Noah got me a minicab because he said . . .’ Grace closed her eyes because she couldn’t bear to look at Vaughn’s red face any more and she needed to think exactly what Noah had said ‘. . . I was too much of a princess to get the night bus.’

  ‘Did you fuck him? You fucked that little shit, didn’t you?’ This time he shook Grace so hard she was sure that her teeth were no longer attached to her gums.

  ‘What? No!’ She tried to struggle free but Vaughn refused to ease the punishing grip that was going to leave bruises. ‘I didn’t fuck anybody! What are you talking about?’

  ‘Then why is your lipstick so smeared and you’re missing buttons. Ripped them off in the throes of passion, did he?’

  Grace looked down at her dress, which was missing a few buttons, where she’d caught the hem on the edge of the table when she’d tried to get up and had fallen over. But even with her brain fogged with vodka she knew that it redefined the concept of a flimsy excuse. She stuck with the easy to explain. ‘My lipstick’s smudged because I had a bloody kebab. Here, smell!’ And she breathed onion fumes in Vaughn’s face, which was the secret code to make him let her go so she could rub her arms reproachfully. ‘You think I fucked Noah?’

  Vaughn folded his arms and looked at Grace like she’d just heaved her way out of some primordial swamp. ‘Well, didn’t you?’

  ‘No, I didn’t! How could you think that? I wouldn’t do that - I’m with you!’ She felt like she should be shouting but there was too much hurt in her voice to make it do anything other than throb.

  ‘I don’t believe you,’ Vaughn said flatly, as if that was all there was to it.

  ‘You don’t believe me?’ Grace didn’t feel quite so drunk any more as she stood there in her stockinged feet with Vaughn towering over her, disappointment and disapproval etched into his face. It was one hell of a reality check. ‘How could you? I would never do something like that! I was just drinking with him and about ten other people. Seriously!’

  Vaughn was still staring at her, his eyes flickering from Grace’s face to her body as if he had UV vision and could see Noah’s fingertips all over her.

  ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake!’ Grace wrenched up the skirt of her dress. ‘You want proof I didn’t shag him, be my guest.’ She was already yanking down her tights and she didn’t know how far she was going to go with this, how far Vaughn expected her to go, but she wasn’t going to be found guilty of something so completely ludicrous.

  ‘Stop it! Just stop it!’ Vaughn snapped out of his funk and his hands were on Grace’s, pulling up her tights, smoothing over her hips again and again as if he could brush away Noah’s phantom touch. ‘I swear, Grace, if you ever, ever fuck him, I’d kill you and then I’d kill him.’

  It was such a silly, melodramatic thing to say in a fight that had already seen too much silliness and melodrama that Grace wanted to laugh, but Vaughn’s voice was so low and urgent, his eyes blazing into hers, that all she managed to croak was, ‘I haven’t and I’m not going to, but if you think
I’m the kind of person who would fuck someone else behind your back then I’m leaving.’

  The onions in the kebab were repeating on her and Grace pulled a face as Vaughn cupped her cheek, wiping the corners of her mouth where her lipstick had bled. Five minutes earlier, she’d have smacked his hands away but now she curled her fingers round his wrist and stroked the spot where his pulse was thundering away.

  Vaughn cleared his throat. ‘Just in case you were wondering, Grace, this isn’t an open relationship.’

  She suddenly pulled away from him and flapped her hands ineffectually as she opened her mouth and then wished she hadn’t.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Vaughn asked, as Grace turned a full 360 degrees because she couldn’t decide the fastest way to get to the guest bathroom. Vaughn was already half-lifting her by the elbows and propelling her down the hall.

  It was a three-second dash before Grace was on her knees and bringing up everything she’d put in her mouth in the last three hours.