sipped the thick chocolaty soup, opening up the interview. I skipped through their art school beginnings, the first two albums achieving critical acclaim. Like every other underappreciated New York band, they had a huge UK following. Slight exaggeration, I thought, but I’ll let it go. But now they were releasing their third album. I put down my drink and read on. It was a more deconstructed sound, the sound of a band that had stripped themselves apart and put themselves back together again.
‘“If it sounds that way, it’s because that’s what it’s about,” says lead singer, Alex Reid.’ I whispered out loud to myself. ‘“The album was written really quickly and recorded in a couple of weeks. It’s just what we were going through as a band, some stuff I was going through personally. It’s about what happens when you have your whole life pulled out from underneath you and how you go about working out your place in the world again. I think pretty much everyone can relate to that.”’
I pushed the magazine across the table, closing it and turning it over. He hadn’t called me and I hadn’t called him. I’d thought about it, a million times. I even thought I’d seen him at a welcome back party we threw for Gina at some hip club on the Lower East Side before she upped and left for Paris permanently. I tucked the magazine into my bag, knowing I should just throw it away. But I was so proud of him. His face peered out of my bag, next to my copy of The Look UK. He would be so proud of me.
I took a deep breath and rustled my phone out of my pocket. Before I had a chance to talk myself out of five months of aversion therapy, I dialled.
‘Hello?’ he answered on the first ring.
‘Hey,’ I said softly, thrown by his voice. ‘Alex?’
‘Angela?’ he asked. He sounded sleepy.
‘Yep,’ I smiled. When was I going to learn to think about what I was going to say on the phone before I called people? ‘I was just thinking about what you said? About seeing the city when it snowed. And I saw the interview. About the new album.’
‘Interview? Snow?’ he yawned. ‘Angela, are you in New York?’
‘Yes,’ I said, hopefully. ‘Actually, I’m in Max Brenner’s. I was thinking about – about, well, you.’
‘You were?’ he asked. I hoped I could hear a smile in his voice.
‘I wondered if you fancied a hot chocolate?’ I asked, crossing as many of my fingers as gripping my phone would allow.
‘Uhh,’ he paused for half a moment. ‘Angela?’
‘Yes?’ I said. Please don’t hang up, I prayed silently.
‘You took a really long time to call me,’ he said. ‘But I’m really glad you did.’
‘Me too,’ I said happily. ‘Now get your arse out of bed and come meet me.’
I hung up and put my phone in my bag, taking out The Look. I opened it on my page and looked at the intro.
The Adventures of Angela. Twenty-something ex-Londoner, Angela Clark, guides us through life and love, finding friends and finding her way in the Big Apple.
It wasn’t a very complete description, I thought, but at least it was somewhere to start.
LINDSEY KELK
I Heart Hollywood
For Big Bear and Little Mouse (not as nauseating as it sounds, honest)
Contents
Dedication
The wedding was perfect.
Just ten people at City Hall, no hymns, no readings, no fuss; and then over to Alta in the West Village for the reception. Tiny candles flickered in the faces of my favourite people: Jenny, Vanessa, Erin. And Alex. God, he looked pretty in a suit. I made a mental note to get that boy a three-piece more often. Like maybe at our wedding…no,
