know.’ I always had been very eloquent.
‘And secondly – and it is very, very important that you think about what I’m about to say.’ Jenny grasped my shoulders a little too tightly. ‘Your mom lives a long way away so she’s not here to explain one of life’s fundamental lessons to you. When a real-life hunk of a man makes a move on you, you let him. You know I like Alex, when he’s not being an asshole at least, but Angie, this is a genuine movie star. A drop-dead-gorgeous, prime specimen of a man. And he obviously wants you. What is wrong with you?’
‘Jenny …’ I protested feebly.
‘Has Alex called you?’ she asked.
‘No,’ I said.
‘And have you called him since I last asked you?’
‘No,’ I sipped the Diet Coke innocently.
‘Have you texted him?’
‘Yes,’ I admitted to the floor.
‘Then you have no excuses. You have to do this for me.’ She looked as though she meant it. I couldn’t think of a time I’d seen her look so committed to a cause. ‘OK, so you don’t have to sleep with him, but where’s the harm in dancing with him? Maybe making out a little? Alex will never find out. And besides, you’re in the middle of an argument, you’re practically on a break.’
‘Jenny, if I learned anything from Friends, and I did, it’s that being on a break doesn’t mean anything.’ I pulled my left foot out of my ridiculously high shoe and rested it on the cold floor for a moment. Ahh, sweet relief. ‘And besides, I told you, I’m going home. I have had far too much to drink tonight.’
‘Just dance with the man and let me watch,’ she pleaded. ‘If you’re going to guilt-trip me about making out with that guy back at the table, at least let me live vicariously through you.’
‘If you can tell me the name of that man, I will book you the honeymoon suite at The Hollywood.’ I gave her a moment.
‘John?’ she shrugged.
‘Not even close.’
‘Whatever, Angie.’ Jenny pointed to James as he wandered through the bar, looking for us back at the table. Looking for me. ‘Just one dance. And then you can leave. I’ll even take you home myself.’
‘Maybe that’s the problem though,’ I said, feeling a familiar tickle in my stomach. ‘If I dance with him, I don’t know if I’ll be able to go home.’
‘Awesome,’ Jenny grinned, pushing me away from the bar and pulling me back over to the table; in these heels, I was in no position to try and stop her.
Either the music was getting louder in the bar or I was getting steadily drunker, Diet Coke be damned. The bass pounded through the floor and up the slender stems of my heels. I really wanted to dance with James. Or go home to bed and conduct the rest of my interview with James over the phone. Or dance with James. Which was how I knew it was definitely time to go home. But Jenny dragged me onwards, back to Blake, ‘John’ and some random tiny brunette sat awfully close to my James. Not my James. Just James.
‘Angela,’ James held out a hand and pulled me down into the seat next to him with a bump. Jenny sashayed past Blake and set herself down, returning his filthy look with her own killer stare. I loved that girl. ‘Angela, Jenny, this is my friend, Tessa.’
The new girl, clad in denim hot pants, big boots and a baggy white T-shirt held out her hand, but it was so tiny, I hardly dared to take it. I felt like Jabba the Hut shaking hands with Tinker Bell.
‘Hi,’ she said, shaking hands with Jenny. ‘Have we met?’
‘Yeah, it’s Tessa DiArmo, right?’ Jenny shook her hand smoothly. ‘We met at The Union last year.’
I watched Jenny schmooze Tessa like a pro, in complete awe. She really ought to be the one interviewing celebrities, no one fazed her. And no wonder I didn’t remember Tessa; everything about The Ivy was a bit of a blur, except for the toilet floor. Living in London with Mark, I’d barely been able to open a bottle of wine on my own, but since I’d moved out to New York, I could get a cork out with a pair of eyelash curlers in under a minute if needs be. The privileges and perils of being freelance.
‘Right, The Union. I don’t stay anywhere else in New York. Except The Grammercy. And maybe The Bowery. Or The Hotel on Rivington.’ Tessa nodded thoughtfully, clearly not registering that Jenny actually worked at The Union. ‘I should go back soon – it’s been like, weeks. Maybe the Soho Grand. We should hang out. I love your outfits. I so need a new stylist. Your dress is awesome.’
I realized Tessa’s wide-eyed stare was aimed at me.
‘Well, no one styles me except for Jenny,’ I joked, looking down at my black dress. Well, she had picked it. ‘She’s a miracle worker.’
‘Yeah? Maybe you could help me out. I have this awards thing tomorrow night,’ Tessa went on, oblivious. ‘And I don’t know, nothing anyone brings me is like, interesting?’
I started to laugh but a sharp elbow to the ribs from Jenny turned my giggle into a cough. Then a squeeze from James’s hand turned the cough into a squeak. And then a hiccup. I was getting more drunk by the second.
‘Well, why don’t we go shopping tomorrow?’ Jenny suggested carefully in her I’m-so-casual-about-this-it-hurts voice. ‘I could pull a few things together for you, I’m sure.’
‘Sure,’ Tessa beamed. Apparently she’d been to the same charm school as James. Her grin practically knocked me back against the chair. ‘Where?’
‘Melrose maybe? I would love to see you in some Betsey Johnson,’ Jenny started, grasping Tessa’s hands in hers. ‘Something short, flirty, maybe a puffball?’
‘Wow, that’s totally not me,’ Tessa looked at Jenny with a mixture of awe and fear. ‘You don’t think that’s going too far?’
‘Honey, I’m so over the Uggs.’ Jenny patted her hand. ‘Trust me. I never get it wrong. So, for shoes, I’m thinking maybe Choos? Something metallic?’
‘As fascinating as this is,’ James whispered into my ear, snapping my trance, ‘How about a dance?’
On the other side of the table, Blake and the former object of Jenny’s affections looked equally pissed off. It seemed that Jenny’s man was not amused at having lost his conquest to a discussion about designer shoes, and Blake was just burning up, watching James lead me across the room. I looked back at Jenny and Tessa, both waving their arms around, enthusiastically debating the merits of Giuseppe Zanotti heeled glads over Roger Vivier platform peep-toes. They wouldn’t miss me for a moment. And I really did want to dance, however bad a feeling I had about dancing with James. A distinctly inappropriate warm, tingly feeling. Sod it, I thought, letting myself be pulled along. One dance wouldn’t hurt anyone. Well, it might hurt Blake and, right now, that was actually a total plus.
The music seemed to get just a tiny bit louder, a tiny bit faster, as James pulled me in towards him and began moving with the beat. He pressed his hands palm to palm against mine for a second, then pushed his fingers through mine, entwining our hands and pulling me closer. Happily,
