Lindsey Kelk 5-Book ‘I Heart...’ Collection. Lindsey KelkЧитать онлайн книгу.
OK?’
‘I’ll be fine,’ I slurred, ‘let’s just get to karaoke. Seriously, I have Singstar, it will be fine.’
‘I kinda meant are you sure you’re not gonna puke,’ Jenny said as I marched off after the girls. ‘But apparently you’re good.’
We walked until I sobered up and hit a completely different part of town. The shops and hotels of Soho gave way to dark loud bar after dark loud bar, punctuated by little random-looking shops.
‘Welcome to the East Village,’ Jenny gestured around. The glossy girls looked a little out of place alongside the hipsters and goths that spilled out of the bars and smoked on the pavement, but they really didn’t look as if they cared. A couple more blocks away, we piled into a slightly slutty looking bar, all red walls and zebra skin booths with Black Velvet belting out of the stereo, with more than thirty of Gina’s friends, colleagues, well-wishers and good-looking people picked up along the way. And it seemed that out of all of them, I was the only one half-cut. It was only once I’d been pushed all the way down the narrow bar, I realized they weren’t playing Black Velvet. Someone was singing Black Velvet. Someone really bloody good. This wasn’t Singstar territory.
I’ll just take it easy, I told myself as I slid onto a bench and tried to look casually through the song list. I won’t drink, I’ll just sit here and be calm. These people are my potential friends. I don’t want them to think I’m some loser lush who got dumped and came to New York to drink herself to death.
‘Hey, English,’ Gina stood in front of me with an enormous, lurid margarita. ‘This is yours. I put me and you down for some Spice Girls. Make you feel at home.’
‘Oh, thanks.’ One more drink couldn’t hurt, could it?
CHAPTER NINE
The next morning, or early afternoon, came all too quickly, given that I couldn’t remember anything after my rousing rendition of ‘Wannabe’. Glancing around the room (which would have been much easier if it would have just stopped spinning) I saw my dress, my shoes and my handbag all littered across the floor, so at least there didn’t appear to be too much collateral damage. As I tried to roll over, the bed covers turned into a straitjacket and alcohol induced kitten-like weakness or not, I had to get them off. Kicking madly, I pushed all the sheets off until I was laid, in my underwear, diagonally across the bare bed.
And that was when I heard the shower.
Nowhere in the room was there evidence of another person. I hurled myself off the edge of the bed, fighting back the urge to throw up, and pulled on the first thing I found, yesterday’s white shirt, but the shower stopped. I froze, squatting in the open shirt, hanging onto the edge of the covers. The lock on the bathroom door clunked out of place. Unkindly, the full-length mirror showed me exactly what the person in the shower would be seeing in a couple of seconds and it wasn’t pretty. Elegantly messy bob was a bird’s nest and Razor had lied. There was definitely a cut-off point when smudging my eye make-up did not just make it look better. And the idea of a woman in a black bra, black pants and white shirt over the top might sound sexy, but trust me, right then, it was not. I desperately, desperately tried to think back – who could it be? It wasn’t the banker guy, he hadn’t even been at karaoke, it could be Gina’s friend, Ray, who had performed a show-stopping duet of ‘You’re the One That I Want’ with me, but no, he was definitely gay. What about the short bellhop who had completely wowed us with ‘Don’t Stop Me Now’. Nope, gay again. Shit, it couldn’t be Joe. Not the impossibly gorgeous waiter, Joe. Please no. Please no. Please – too late, the bathroom door opened.
‘Afternoon, sleepyhead,’ the voice sang happily. ‘Now, I had a great time and I think you’re a great girl but, well, I have to get going.’
Thank God, it was Jenny.
She stood in front of me, all smiles, fluffy towels and wet hair, laughing her back off.
‘You didn’t know who I was did you?’ she managed to squeeze in between chuckles. ‘Shit, Angie, you are the worst drinker I’ve ever seen. And not to be funny but you’re not looking your best either. You might want to work on that before you ride that horse.’
I stood and stared for a moment, waiting for it all to come back to me. Nope. The only thing that was coming back was … sushi. I’d eaten sushi. And now, it really was coming back to me. I pushed past Jenny and headed straight for the toilet. Thankfully, this time she didn’t just laugh and proved herself to be not just a great life coach but a great hair-holder-backer and glasses of water provider. Once she’d stripped me down and helped me into the shower, I began to feel slightly more human. This was definitely a crash course in friendship.
‘Feeling better?’ Jenny was back in last night’s dress and had pulled her hair into a high ponytail. At least she sounded sympathetic even if she looked as though she might crease herself laughing at any second. ‘I guess you learned not to mix your drinks. Those Perfect Tens you were drinking in the Grand so do not mix well with margaritas.’
‘I thought they were non-alcoholic,’ I said, slathering my face in moisturizer and slipping into a waffle robe. It felt as if dozens of little clouds had attached themselves to my body to carry me back to bed. ‘I guess not.’
‘Not so much,’ Jenny said. ‘Listen, I have to get back to the apartment to see Gina off, but meet me in reception at seven – sound OK?’
I nodded. ‘Will you tell her I’m sorry I can’t be there and about last night and stuff?’
‘You don’t need to apologize,’ Jenny said as she slipped into her stilettos as if they were slippers. A skill I needed to learn. ‘Seriously, we had a great night. And I was glad for the excuse to leave when you passed out. It was way past my bedtime.’
‘I passed out?’ I couldn’t believe it. Even during the annual Drink the Bar Dry event at uni, even after five jugs of sangria on holiday, even after eight shots of Sambuca on Louisa’s hen night, I had never passed out from drinking. Thrown up, yes, lost some shoes, OK, yes, but never passed out.
‘It’s OK, Angie,’ Jenny said vanishing through the door. ‘Consider that a baptism of fire. We’re going out again tonight, if you want to come. Just for dinner? Oh and Erin said she would meet you for lunch if you were feeling human. She’s so the perfect girl to give you dating advice before your hot date.’
After Jenny had gone and I had puked a few more times, I steeled myself to leave the hotel. It was another beautiful day in Union Square Park. The sun shone just as it had on Sunday. In three short days, the sheen of ‘new’, of ‘other’, had worn away leaving something even more exciting to me. It looked familiar. It looked like home. I had walked through that gate, I had used that subway station, I had run full pelt away from that bench. I picked up my (still beautiful) Marc Jacobs bag, swiped on some MAC Lipglass, a wipe of mascara and a bucket load of blusher. Even with one of the worst hangovers I’d ever had, I still looked a million times better than I had pre-makeover. Jenny Lopez was a saint.
Manatus was a sweet looking restaurant, nestled at the top of Bleecker Street in Greenwich Village in between a twenty-four-hour pharmacy and a designer lingerie store. I loved New York. I’d grabbed a cab outside the hotel, against Jenny’s express orders to take the subway, but I really didn’t like my chances of staying vomit-free on the train, so instead I motored along with my head out of the window. Luckily, I recognized Erin from the window. Petite, long blonde hair tied up in a ponytail, really pretty. No wonder she was Jenny’s dating guru, I just couldn’t believe she wasn’t taken already.
‘Hey!’ she stood up and welcomed me with a kiss on the cheek as I manoeuvred myself through the tables and prams. ‘I was worried you might not recognize me.’
‘You don’t forget someone you’ve shared a duet of “Baby, One More Time” with that easily,’ I said, quickly sitting and taking a long sip of iced water. ‘It’s all starting to come back to me now. Tragically, all of it.’ I shook my head