The next morning, I woke up just as suddenly as I’d fallen asleep. Having more or less passed out, I hadn’t drawn the curtains and August’s sweaty sunlight streamed through my window, demanding I get up immediately. In one hand was a half melted cookie and in the other, the remote control. Friends was still playing on the TV. I was more or less sure that it was a different episode … According to the clock on the nightstand, it was Monday, eight a.m. and my first full day in New York. I rolled out of bed, trying not to look in the mirror, and took a glance out of the window. Union Square was already buzzing. The subway station was swarming with people and a sprawling market had sprung up and taken over. I was just about to hop in the shower, as a knock at the door shook me out of my wow-I’m-really-in-New-York-and-let’s-not-think-about-why trance.
‘Room service,’ a polite, cool voice accompanied the knock and without thinking, I opened the door to easily one of the best looking men I’d ever, ever seen. He was over six feet tall, thick black hair, parted in the middle and falling to his collar, deep doe brown eyes and baby soft olive skin that contrasted sharply with his crisp white collarless shirt. ‘Miss Clark?’
I think I made some sort of noise but it wasn’t really an acknowledgement, so I followed it up with a nod. I knew my face was covered in pillow creases, I still had melted chocolate chip cookie on my right hand and I really, really wanted to be wearing my bra. Which was at least ten feet away from where it needed to be, strewn on the floor by the corner of the bed.
‘Jenny asked me to make sure I brought up everything she would want for breakfast, so that’s pretty much everything on our menu. I’m Joe,’ he pushed a fresh, steaming trolley into the room and quickly swapped it for the ravaged mess Jenny had left last night. ‘She also asked me to give you a note, it’s just there. Enjoy your breakfast.’ He flashed the most amazing smile and strolled out of the room. How was he a hotel waiter? I wondered, lifting lids and taking big sniffs of everything on the trolley. Omelette, not a fan, bacon and eggs, maybe a little early, pancakes, always time for pancakes, and on the bottom shelf, an array of cereals, pastries, hot chocolate, milk and my because-you’re-English tea. I was so thankful.
Post-shower, post-breakfast, post-another episode of Friends, I opened Jenny’s note.
Hey,
Hope you found something you enjoyed, like I said,
I’m an eater.
I’ll be in reception at 9.30 a.m. sharp, don’t bail on me or I’ll cut off the room service. Today is the first day of your recovery program with Dr Jenny, I hope you’re ready for it!
Jenny x
p.s. hope you enjoyed Joe too, I bet your ex didn’t bring you pancakes in the morning looking like that …
I laughed out loud, but it sounded so strange. I realized I hadn’t heard myself laugh for a good couple of days. Better than crying. But laughter and hot waiters aside, it was time to face facts. And more terrifyingly, it was time to look in the mirror.
The lighting in The Union had been designed to be as flattering as possible but even low wattage bulbs, soft focus mirrors and twelve hours’ sleep couldn’t repair the damage a break-up could do to your skin. I rummaged around for my make-up bag and emptied the contents out on the bathroom counter. Not a lot to work with. I flicked on some mascara and dabbed gloss onto my lips. Not a lot happening there. And my hair was the same tragic story. I’d been growing it for what seemed like for ever to achieve Louisa’s dream bridesmaids’ chignon, but now it just looked limp and pathetic. I managed a ponytail and hoped for the best. My wardrobe choices were even more limited. Jeans, T-shirt or bridesmaid dress. And I really hoped Jenny would be taking me somewhere I could grab some new underwear, because I was seriously lacking. When I’d decided to take on my great adventure, I figured I had everything I could need. In reality, I had two T-shirts, three pairs of knickers and a bra. And the Louboutins. Sigh. Beautiful. I grabbed my handbag and bit the bullet. It was 9.25, time to meet Jenny in reception.
Jenny was easy enough to spot. The reception was just as dark and cool as it had been last night, but Jenny glowed in a corner, leaning against the concierge desk in a flirty lemon sundress and delicate gold flip-flops. I felt like her grandmother. And I hadn’t noticed how impossibly long her legs were last night. Maybe this wasn’t a great person to befriend mid-break-up … Before I could bolt for the door, she saw me and beckoned me over.
‘See!’ she said to the girl behind the counter. Another glowing goddess, this one decked out in the concierge uniform of black collarless shirt and trousers. ‘She’s real! She’s a total hero!’
‘Wow,’ the girl breathed, staring at me. I felt like a museum exhibit from a 1997 Eastenders set. A pony-tail? I thought I could get away with wet hair in a ponytail? ‘You’re like, a total inspiration. You rock. I’m Vanessa.’
I smiled awkwardly. I rocked?
‘Hi,’ I said to them both, trying not to think about whether or not I had muffin top. ‘I wasn’t sure what we were doing so I wasn’t sure what to wear.’ According to the mirror behind Vanessa, I did have muffin top.
‘You’re dressed fine,’ Jenny said waving away my concerns and taking my arm. I waved goodbye to Vanessa, but instead of heading to the door, we were moving towards the lift. ‘Today is phase one of your transformation.’
‘Transformation?’ I asked. We slipped into the lift and Jenny pressed a button labelled Rapture Spa. Did I look that bad?
‘Sure,’ she said. ‘Rule one after a major break-up, you must submit yourself to complete and utter pampering. Welcome to Rapture.’
The lift doors opened on a large airy space, the complete opposite of the hotel reception. It was flooded with light and smelt of citrus and vanilla. Dozens of serene looking beauticians wandered around in pale blue tunics laughing and joking, carrying salon sized bottles of shampoo, massage oils and bundles of towels. Motown played on the PA system, low but loud enough to sing along to. One of the girls spotted us and waved us over. She was tiny with jet black hair pulled back in a severe bun, emphasizing ridiculously sharp cheekbones and beautiful lips Angelina Jolie would need Restylene to achieve.
‘Hi!’ She and Jenny kissed briefly on each cheek and then the girl pulled back and looked at me. ‘This has got to be her, right?’
Jenny nodded. ‘Angela Clark, meet Gina Fox, our hottest beautician. She’s going to make you over from head to toe. Sound good?’
Without giving me time to respond, Gina took my hand and walked me through the spa, past reception and back towards a large locker room area. ‘Jenny told us about your break-up honey, you’re amazing.’ She gestured towards one of the pale blue robes and I guessed I was supposed to get undressed. ‘But when you break-up with someone, you got to make some changes. You heard the saying “Wash that man right outta your hair”? Well, I’m going to cut him out of yours.’
Jenny was picking at a plate of brownies on the bar by the doorway. ‘I think a cute little bob, something classic,’ she mumbled through a mouthful of pecans.
Gina spun me around and considered my hair from every angle. ‘Great cheekbones, a bob would look good. A few highlights, maybe …’
‘Oh, I don’t think I’m a highlights kind of a girl,’ I stuttered, starting to panic. Highlights sounded very white jeans and glittery vest top, not very me.
