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 shamefully.
‘It was fun,’ Erin said, waving over a waitress for a menu. ‘And we were relieved to see you were human. Since Sunday, all I’ve heard from Jenny is how incredible you are and, not to sound like a total bitch, when you walked into the bar, looking like a model, I kind of found it difficult to feel sorry for you. I mean, who looks that amazing and needs man help?’
‘Oh, I, well, me? And I think it’s just help in general I need.’ I wasn’t sure whether to thank her for the compliment or apologize. ‘And no one is mistaking me for a model. Really.’
‘Well, the hair, the dress, and wow, the shoes,’ she said. Luckily her eyes were shining brightly and I knew I’d found another genuine person. ‘But when you get drunk, you get drunk, huh? Now what are you having?’
The waiter hovered at our side, waiting patiently.
‘Toast,’ I said, not even having looked at the menu. I had a feeling Erin didn’t waste a lot of time with things as trivial as menus.
‘And I’ll take the granola with a fresh fruit cup,’ she said, handing the menus back to the waiter. ‘Anyhoo, Jenny tells me that hot thing you were talking to at the bar in the Grand has asked you out. Did you call him yet?’
‘Shit, no,’ I said, scrabbling for my wallet. There was his card. Safe and not vomited on. ‘I’ve been in no fit state.’
‘OK, call him now,’ Erin said, signalling for more coffee. ‘Seriously, call him.’
She passed me her phone but I just stared at the numbers. ‘What do I say?’
‘Hi, it’s Angela Clark, we met at the Grand last night,’ she said breezily. ‘I just wondered if you still wanted to meet up for dinner tomorrow? How’s that?’
‘Better than what I had,’ I muttered, dialling before I could think about it.
‘Tyler Moore,’ he answered on the first ring.
‘Hi, uh, it’s Angela, Angela, erm, Clark?’ I stumbled over my own name. Sexy.
‘Hello, Angela Clark,’ he replied. I couldn’t tell if he recognized me or not. ‘I was wondering if you’d call.’
He did remember me!
‘Of course,’ I said, trying to emulate Erin’s breezy approach. She made a rolling motion with her hands, I needed to get on with it. ‘I just wondered if you still wanted to meet up for dinner?’
‘Yeah, tomorrow right,’ he said. It sounded as though he was leaning forwards, flexing those muscles. Oh, dear. ‘How about the Mercer Kitchen at eight?’
‘That sounds great,’ I said. I’d done it! I’d got a date! ‘Shall I meet you there?’
‘Perfect,
