by Lindsey Kelk
I looked at the screen of my laptop. It glowed impatiently, demanding me to spill every last little fact like an iJenny. But I couldn’t do it. It had been so easy, practically cathartic, to write about things with Tyler, but this was different. I wanted to protect it. Instead of hashing out every new position, every new sensation, I found myself bashing out 200 words on The Adventures of Angela: When is it OK to break The Rules? I wrote about Jenny and Jeff getting back together, I wrote about accepting dates less than two days in advance, and I wrote about just how bloody hard it was to stick to the stupid bloody things. Who came up with them in the first place? They hadn’t seemed to work for anyone I’d met yet. Erin was rocketing through husbands like last season’s Manolos, and Jenny cheated on her ex, but got him back. That wasn’t in The Rules.
I stopped tapping away and paused. There was so much I could say about Alex, but it just didn’t seem to want to put itself into words. It wasn’t as if I was denying Alex’s existence, I just didn’t want to go into details yet. Or mention I’d stayed over. Or that I’d had the most incredible sex ever. I wanted to keep that to myself for a little while longer.
Well, I was open to sharing with Jenny. And Erin. And the manager of Scottie’s Diner.
‘What happened to Jenny’s life plan? I thought she was making all your big decisions for you?’ Erin asked, sipping on some iced water. ‘Like she does for everyone else whether they like it or not.’
‘She’s not been so helpful since she got back together with Jeff,’ I said, shaking my head at the goofy grin on Jenny’s face. ‘She’s not actually been very much of anything apart from gagging for it as far as I can tell.’
‘So what?’ Jenny grinned, munching away. ‘My head is kind of somewhere else. But, and you know I like Alex, realistically, I think you’re going too fast too soon and you should be out there having fun. You’ve been single for what, two weeks?’
‘Is it really only two weeks?’ I suppose it had to be. I felt as if I’d been in New York my whole life. ‘Feels like for ever.’
‘All the more reason to keep seeing this Tyler guy,’ Erin said, gingerly trying a chip. ‘If you’re going to fall head-over-heels for Alex, who we already know has more or less fucked his way around the whole of lower Manhattan, you need to keep a part of yourself detached. Seeing Tyler might help take the pressure off.’
‘Well, clearly Jenny has filled you in,’ I said, giving Jenny the look. ‘But he didn’t have to tell me about his past already. He could have just, you know…’
‘Used you? Playing devil’s advocate,’ Jenny held up her hands, ‘and that’s all I’m doing, but how do you know he’s not? Both Alex and Tyler know you’ve got to go back home sooner or later, how do you know this isn’t just a totally harmless fling for both of them, and they’re not seeing seventeen other women on the side? I just think you should pull back a little before you start getting attached.’
‘She’s right, and you know I hate saying that,’ Erin gave me a half-smile, ‘but what’s going to happen if you let yourself get totally wrapped up in Alex, then go back to England and you never hear from him again?’
‘I know all that, I’m just having fun,’ I lied badly. I didn’t want to think about Alex using me, and I certainly didn’t want to think about going home. ‘And you know, they could say the same thing. They could say I’m using them.’
‘Well, honey. You kind of are.’
I shook my head. ‘No, I’m…Well, I’m just not.’
Cue awkward silence.
‘OK, maybe Tyler.’
‘So,’ Erin wiped her hands on a napkin, ‘you’ve got two and a half months left unless you start applying for a work visa right now. You came here to get away from your ex and sort your head out, work out what you want to do. Have you done that?’
‘I don’t know,’ I confessed. ‘Is that really bad?’
‘No,’ Erin smiled. ‘But you shouldn’t be worrying about any relationship stuff with either of these guys until you can answer those questions.’
‘I know. It’s just loads more difficult than I thought it was going to be. When I’m with you two, it’s easy to be OK, and I think yeah, this might be me, even if I’m a bit of a whiny cow. Tyler makes everything easy in a different way, like, I don’t even need to think because he’s already thought of everything. I don’t have to stress about anything, so I’m just kind of the same person I’ve always been, but with better sex and presents.’
‘And with Alex?’ Jenny asked, signalling the waitress and ordering more or less the whole dessert menu.
‘I really, really like how I feel when I’m with him, but realistically, I don’t know if I could keep it up all the time. It’s bloody hard work being on all the time,’ I said, surprising myself with my answer. ‘But maybe I’m just being lazy. It’s hard work, but it’s amazing. He makes me feel amazing. Bloody hell, you two must be so bored of me.’
They were quick to refute it, but even I was sick of hearing myself whine on. ‘Do you know what? Forget it, I just want to hear about Jeff and Jenny.’
Jenny was quick to pick up the baton. Unfortunately, it was a highly detailed and descriptive account of Jeff’s baton, which made eating a little bit difficult.
‘Did you have to give her an in?’ Erin grinned, ditching her diet and getting stuck into the cheesecake that had joined the ice cream on the table. ‘Honestly, I can’t listen to you two talk about your amazing sex lives any more. I’m over The Rules from right now.’
‘Man, I hadn’t even got started,’ Jenny laughed and pointed at me with her spoon. ‘And you should remember that Jeff and Alex’s bedrooms are only separated by about a foot of interior wall before you start calling me on my performance.’
I blushed, horrified. ‘Really? God, that’s so embarrassing.’
‘Pretty inspirational, actually,’ Jenny grinned, clearly enjoying watching me squirm. ‘I don’t know exactly what’s going to happen to you doll, but I do know you need a good night’s sleep tonight.’
She wasn’t wrong. Once we’d finished up, all three of us headed back to the apartment for a Friends marathon in the hopes of getting some sage advice from the thirty-five-year-old twenty-somethings, and before I knew it, I was out for the count.
Having passed out in a cheesecake coma so early the night before, I woke up at the crack of dawn on Tuesday determined to work out some answers. Erin and Jenny were right, I’d come to New York looking for something, and it hadn’t been men. I headed out early, passing Erin on the sofa bed, Jenny still snoring in her room, so pleased to have found some fellow anti-nine-to-fivers. I’d promised myself I would keep walking until something hit me, so I took the subway as far as I could go and still be in Manhattan and walked back to Battery Park. Seemed like a good place to start. Leaning back over the railing that Jenny had first brought me to, more than a fortnight ago, I reflected on how much life had changed, leaving out the boys. Yes, I had new hair, new clothes (and a fabulous handbag) but (almost) more importantly, I had my confidence. I was doing this, actually living. It didn’t matter that there was a legally imposed schedule, helpfully enforced by US immigration, I had lived more in the last two weeks than I had in the last two years. I gave the Statue of Liberty a thankful smile and headed back north, thinking about all the other things I had to be grateful for. Jenny, despite her mildly schizophrenic Jeff-related issues, was clearly a good person. Erin was a complete sweetheart. And I was actually writing. I was writing my own words for a massive international magazine’s website, not ghostwriting movie novels about mutant hero turtles or style advice for billionaire tweenagers.
Looking up I realized I was heading towards Ground Zero. As I passed through, I could hardly believe that so much life was going on all around this site of utter devastation. Shops, hotels, restaurants, offices, everything. It seemed like such a short time ago that I had watched this place literally collapse on TV, but the entire city had picked up and moved on, healing rapidly around this ugly scar. I al
most slapped myself in the street. If everyone here could pick themselves up and dust themselves down, what did I have to be so mopy and introspective about? It was just like Jenny had said, New York wasn’t somewhere you came to find yourself again, it was somewhere you came to become something, someone, new.
In a Starbucks with wireless internet I logged on. My blog was short and to the point. The Adventures of Angela: Moving On From Moving On. Yes, I had a lot of crap to wallow in, and I could feel sorry for myself for the next five years if I wanted, but I also had a lot to be glad about and from here on in, that was what this diary was going to be about. I emailed it to Mary and sat staring out of the window, occasionally catching my reflection when a car parked up or someone paused to look inside. I didn’t look different any more, I just looked like me. One battle won.
‘Hey, excuse me,’ a tall, skinny girl stood at my shoulder, clutching a takeaway coffee cup. ‘Are you that girl from The Look website?’
‘Oh,’ I said, flustered. ‘Yes, I suppose I am.’
She sat down at my table and beamed, pushing curly red hair away from her lip gloss. ‘I knew it was you, I saw the Marc Jacobs bag. I was just reading your last entry. My friend is like, obsessed with blogs, she forwarded me yours. I’m Rebecca’
‘Oh,’ I repeated. It hadn’t occurred to me that people might recognize me. Eeep. ‘Sorry, I’m Angela. Did you like it? The blog?’
‘Shit, it was hilarious!’ She grinned. ‘It’s like, you’re totally living my life. My boyfriend cheated on me too, he was a complete shit. But your life is way funnier. And I didn’t hook up with two really hot guys, like, days later.’
‘Oh,’ I really didn’t know what else to say. I hadn’t looked at the website since it went live, I just couldn’t bear to see that before picture of myself again. ‘It’s not totally like that, I mean, I’m not, you know.’
‘So it’s not real?’ She frowned. ‘You make it up?’
‘No,’ I said quickly. ‘It is real, it’s just a bit weird talking about it. You’re the first person I’ve met who has read it.’ I managed a smile. ‘Sorry.’
‘No worries,’ she smiled again. ‘You’re just a total hero to me. I wish I had got up and done something amazing when I found out about my ex, instead of throwing up for three days and then burning all his stuff.’
‘I wouldn’t have been against burning his stuff. Between you and me, I might have peed in my ex’s toiletry bag. I know, it’s disgusting.’
‘Oh my God,’ she squealed. ‘That’s awesome. I didn’t think British people did shit like that. Are you going to be in the magazine?’
‘I don’t think so.’ This was fun, I was a minor celebrity! ‘It’s just a little online thing. I can’t believe you’ve even seen it.’
‘Are you kidding me?’ She shook her head in disbelief. ‘Haven’t you seen how many hits your page has had? It’s like, thousands.’
‘Really?’ I asked, looking at my laptop. Was she serious?
‘Yeah, like, so many more than the other Look blogs. Yours is so the best thing on that site.’ She stood up, leaving her coffee cup half empty, behind. ‘I’ve got to run back to the office, but it was so cool to meet you. I hope they print the diary, I’m totally going to email them.’
‘Bye, nice to meet you!’ I called after her. The second she was out of the coffee shop, I was back online. There it was, TheLook.com, The Adventures of Angela. And according to the counter, there had indeed been thousands of visitors to the site. Hundreds of thousands. Thousands of people reading about me. It felt out and out weird. And then, when I thought about what I’d written, it felt scary. Forget Alex’s mum, what if my mum read it? And Mark. He had no right to know what I was doing. Who I was doing…The post about my night with Tyler, oh my God. Not good.
While I sat scanning my previous posts, wondering if Mary would let me go back and edit, an email popped up in my inbox from her Look email address.
Angela,
Got today’s entry, really interesting. So did you see the blog is a big success?
Can you make a meeting on Friday? 4.00 p.m. my office.
Thanks,
Mary
I pulled out my mobile and hit Alex’s number. It clicked through for a moment giving me just enough time to think and hang up.
He hadn’t called.
Why hadn’t he called?
It had been more than a whole day since I had left his apartment. Instead, I dialled Jenny at work, hoping she had made it to the concierge desk on time.
‘The Union,’ she answered in a sleepy monotone. Still playing sleep catch-up from the night before, clearly.
‘Jenny, it’s me,’ I said quickly, rambling the whole story about the blog and the hits and the redhead fan and Mary’s email, leaving out the part where I faux-called Alex. I had promised not to go into the boy stuff until I’d sorted out the Angela stuff after all.
‘Wow, that’s so cool,’ she yawned. ‘You want to come over here? I’ve got a break in half an hour.’
‘I’m supposed to meet Tyler for dinner,’ I said cautiously. ‘I should probably go and get changed or something.’
‘You should go and buy something fabulous,’ she said, giving me permission to abuse my credit card without even knowing it. ‘Seriously, I’d totally celebrate. And you need more stuff if you’re going to be a celeb.’
‘I really don’t need more stuff!’ I shut down my laptop and placed it back in my (sigh) bag. ‘I think my credit card is about to snap. See you tonight.’
‘You’re not going to stay at Tyler’s?’ she asked. I wasn’t sure if this was a test or not.
‘Don’t think so,’ I said, as offhanded as I could manage. ‘I’ve got stuff to do tomorrow and I’m sort of thinking about breaking it off.’
‘Cool,’ she yawned again. Clearly too tired to be testing me. ‘Well, I’ll be home around midnight. Provided that Disney bee-otch staying in the penthouse doesn’t decide to throw another orgy I have to cover up. See you then?’
‘I love that this is your everyday life. Have you thought about counselling her?’
‘I told her she was worth more when I found her butt naked on the balcony with three of the Gossip Girl cast this morning,’ Jenny sighed. It was a beautiful image. ‘And she told me she was worth exactly seventeen point six million at the last count and could I bring up some clean towels. She’s eighteen. I’ve started to worry about my future as the next Oprah. Oprah wouldn’t want to knock her ass over the balcony.’
‘Try and refrain from manslaughter and remember it’s all material,’ I said, hanging up.
I checked my missed calls list.
Nothing.
I was so annoyed with myself. I really thought I’d got somewhere today and now, here I was, obsessing over why Alex hadn’t called me.
‘Why don’t you just call him?’ asked the little voice in my head. It seemed like a good idea, why didn’t I? Before I had the chance to second guess myself, I dialled and let it ring. And ring. And eventually, go to answer phone.
‘Hi, Alex, it’s Angela, uhhhhh,’ I started. One day I’m going to have the perfect answer phone message. Just not today apparently. ‘I just wondered if you wanted to do something tomorrow, but don’t worry if you’re busy or something. Talk to you later. Bye.’ I hung up and frowned.
Maybe I did need a little bit more stuff.
CHAPTER TWENTY
When Tyler rang my buzzer at seven, Alex still hadn’t called. I refused to think about what that did or didn’t mean and instead, took one last look in the mirror and checked out my make-up. It looked fairly good, better than I would have managed two weeks ago. And my new Nanette Lepore dress was gorgeous. Seriously though, why hadn’t Alex called? I checked my phone once more, then threw it into my (wonderful) bag and walked out of the door.
From the moment I ducked into the cab, I knew I should have cancelled. Tyler was his usual lovely self, asking me questions about my week, which I evaded by bouncing them right ba
ck.
‘Same old, same old,’ he smiled easily, directing the taxi driver downtown. ‘Been running a lot, work’s been a pain in the ass the last couple of days. I actually could really use a break. Just a couple of days away somewhere.’
‘Yeah,’ I said, staring out of the window, watching the Washington Square Arch zoom by. ‘It’s good to get away.’
‘You want to do it next weekend?’ he asked, squeezing my hand. He looked immaculate as usual. Yes, he was a city boy like Mark, but the similarities really did start and end there. His hair was ruffled from product, not a slightly off-putting nervous hair-tugging habit and his suit was immaculately cut, and I was fairly certain it wasn’t M&S crease-resistant. It certainly wasn’t machine-washable. ‘My friend has a house in the Hamptons, and he’s going to be away on business. You would love the Hamptons, parties to go to, it’s way cooler than in the city, and there’s the beach. Did you bring a swimsuit?’
‘Oh, uh, swimsuit?’ I asked, caught off guard. I’d been staring at his forearms for just a second too long. Was it wrong to have a fetish for forearms? They were more tanned than Alex’s, but maybe not as nice. Not that I was thinking about Alex. At all. ‘Where are we going tonight?’
‘Oh, Balthazar, it’s great. The moules frites are perfection, and it’s probably just cool enough for you,’ he teased. ‘Been to any gigs lately?’
‘Not since I saw you last.’ I didn’t want to think about gigs.
‘Are you OK?’ Tyler asked as the cab pulled up. ‘You seem a little out of it.’
‘No, I’m fine.’ It hardly seemed fair, mooning over Alex’s forearms when he hadn’t even called, and Tyler was here, taking me out to dinner, offering to take me away for the weekend. ‘I’m sorry, I’ve just been thinking about the website and stuff. My editor asked me to come in again, but I don’t really know what for. I suppose I’m a bit worried.’
‘It’s all good though, right?’ he asked, directing me inside. The restaurant was stunning, a packed-out little French bistro, crammed with beautiful people. More Brownie points for another amazing venue. ‘The website thing?’
