only subject I might have preferred not to discuss than my date was my search for gainful employment. I’d spent many happy years working as a hotel concierge until I’d finally given in, reached for the stars and spent six months in LA working as a stylist. Between a little natural talent (OK, I’m being modest, I was awesome) and a lot of luck, I’d managed to bag some pretty sweet gigs. But when you weigh that up against living with a high-class hooker, there really wasn’t a lot of choice when my lease came up for renewal. And besides, as I told myself at the time, it was styling. I could be a stylist anywhere. Except, uhh, no.
‘Everyone in New York hates me,’ I whined. Hyperbole? Me? Didn’t you hear, I’m not a reader. ‘They’re all like, oh, we were hoping to work with someone with more experience. The only place that called me back was MTV.’
‘To style Jersey Shore or Teen Mom?’ Angela asked with a laugh.
‘Jersey Shore,’ I whispered back.
‘Oh, Jenny.’ She didn’t know it, but on occasion Angela Clark sounded exactly like her mom on the phone. ‘You get out what you put in, you know that. If you’re putting negative energy out there, you’ll get negative results.’
And sometimes she sounded just like me.
‘Thanks for the pep talk.’ The Lower East Side was alive with people as the cab cruised through town. Well, it was a Tuesday. And wasn’t Tuesday the new Friday? Or was that Thursday? I was so out of touch. ‘I just don’t want to have to go back to the hotel.’
‘You loved working at The Union,’ she reminded me. ‘And they would totally take you back.’
‘But that’s just it,’ I replied. ‘It’s going back. I … I just can’t.’
‘I understand, I do. I just don’t want you to be bored and miserable.’
It was a uniquely English ability to know how to point out the obvious problem without being, well, obvious. I was bored. I was miserable. But I wasn’t going back to The Union. Besides, the lack of work was only half the issue. Both Angie and I knew the real reason I’d come back from LA, and it was six feet tall, blond and went by the name of Jeff. Heartbreak beat out hookers and homesickness every time.
‘I know.’ I was too tired to get into it. At 9.15 in the evening. Jesus. ‘We still getting lunch tomorrow?’
‘Yep,’ she confirmed. ‘Twelve, Noho Star. Are you sure you’re OK? Do you want to come over?’
An evening in front of the TV with my best friend and her perfect boyfriend? I’d rather go back and apologize to Brian Williams. I was happy for Angie, I was, and it wasn’t like she and Alex hadn’t faced their ups and downs, but I still hadn’t figured out how she got to move here from England and hook up with one of the hottest guys in the city right away. Some of us had been putting in the groundwork for years. Actually, there was a chance I’d put in a little too much groundwork and that was part of the problem, but you know what they say: practice makes perfect.
‘I’m good,’ I gave her a yawn to demonstrate just how fine. ‘Just gonna take a bath and hit the hay. An early night won’t hurt me.’
‘No, but five in a row will,’ she pointed out. ‘You’re going out this weekend.’ It sounded more like a threat than a promise. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’
I dropped the phone back in my bag just as we pulled up outside my apartment. Just two minutes and seven flights of stairs until I was snout deep in a tub of Chunky Monkey. Live the dream, Jenny Lopez, live the dream. Yeah, it had been a pretty bad week.
CHAPTER TWO
‘Oh my god, Jenny, you look like shit.’
Erin and I had been friends for years but still, that kind of hello was not going to fly.
‘Hey Erin,’ I replied with two breezy kisses. ‘Your ass looks fat. How’s married life working for you?’
‘My ass is twice the size it was a year ago and I’m fucking ecstatic.’ She pushed a bellini across the table towards me. ‘What’s your excuse?’
‘I’m having tons of super-hot sex with super-hot strangers all the time,’ I lied. ‘Ten orgasms a night take their toll on a girl.’
She narrowed her eyes, flicked her newly bobbed blonde hair behind her ears and shook her head. ‘Right.’ She tapped the platinum bands of her engagement ring and wedding band against the stem of her glass. ‘Only, I can tell by looking. If ever anyone needed to get laid, it’s you.’
‘She told you about her dating drama then?’ Angela dropped into the spare seat on the opposite side of the table with a cheery smile. A cheery smile that vanished as soon as she registered my expression. ‘What? What did I say?’
Erin laughed happily and ordered another round of cocktails, even though it was Wednesday and even though we still had full glasses in front of us. Oh to be a married PR maven in Manhattan.
‘So, bad date?’ She had the decency to wait until we’d ordered before quizzing me any further, but curiosity finally got the better of her. ‘Tell me everything.’
‘I’m glad my tragic encounters with the opposite sex keep you guys entertained.’ Even though I was thoroughly depressed about my single status, I couldn’t deny that I loved being centre of attention, and when you’re the only single lady at a table full of coupled-up gals, you’re pretty much the star attraction. ‘It was nothing, that Brian guy I met at your birthday party.’
‘The cute geek?’
‘He had glasses, yeah,’ I frowned at the definition. It was a slur against geeks. ‘He wasn’t a geek though. Just an asshole.’
‘Example?’ Angela requested.
‘He didn’t own a TV.’
‘Ouch.’
‘And he said he most closely identified with Kierkegaard.’
‘Oh, no.’
‘And he said women couldn’t understand Ayn Rand.’
‘Strike three,’ Erin said. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Hang on, wasn’t Ayn Rand a woman?’ Angela looked confused.
‘She wrote the book Robbie tried to loan Baby in Dirty Dancing,’ Erin replied.
‘You went on a date with the Brooklyn equivalent of Robbie the Creep?’ Angela shook her head sadly. ‘I can’t believe it’s come to this.’
‘Some people matter and some people don’t,’ I confirmed. ‘So, yeah, he wasn’t the one.’
‘Did he at least have an Alfa Romeo?’ Erin couldn’t help herself. ‘That’s my favourite car.’
I coiled a loose chocolate-brown curl around my finger and tried not to think too much about what she’d said when I came in. Did I really look like shit? Maybe my tan had faded a little since I’d gotten back from LA, and my hair could use the teensiest trim, but my Ella Moss sundress
