you,’ I stopped her. ‘It’s really not you.’
‘Delia!’ Cici trotted over, proud as punch and not even drunk. ‘You came? You never come.’
‘Thomas is buying one of my condos,’ Delia explained, ignoring the fact that her sister was standing in the middle of a very glamorous Christmas party ninety-nine per cent naked. ‘I thought I’d show my face. Good of you to show everything else.’
I couldn’t help but think it must be something of a strange sensation to see your twin, your identical twin, parading around a formal cocktail party more or less in the buff. It must have been like taking a really annoying funhouse mirror with you everywhere you went. And tonight, it was a bit of a pervy mirror as well. I didn’t want to be staring at her tits, but I had very little choice in the matter. Jenny stood behind her looking like the cat who got the cream. Then spiked the cream with acid and served it to Cici.
‘I know my dress is amazing,’ she said to me. ‘But you could be less obvious while you’re checking me out. What’s wrong? Get bored of turning other people gay?’
‘It’s a very lovely dress,’ I said, trying not to giggle, but half a cackle managed to escape as a squeak. ‘You look charming.’
‘Right.’ She pursed her lips and raised an eyebrow. ‘So, that guy you were seeing? Alan?’
‘Alex.’ I took a couple of deep breaths. It really didn’t matter what she said, this was too good. She was this close to being stark bollock naked and still giving me attitude. There was something faintly admirable about it. Or at least there would be if she weren’t Satan.
‘Yeah, Alex. Did he dump your ass yet or are you still his charity fuck?’
Jenny physically recoiled as though she’d been hit, but before she could strike, I stepped in. I had this.
‘You can’t dump charity at Christmas,’ I said, smiling politely. ‘We’re still together, thanks.’
‘I’m sure he’s going to get tired of you soon enough,’ she shrugged. ‘You should give me his number. I still work in the media. I could help his band.’
‘His band doesn’t need help, and actually, I still work in the media,’ Admittedly it was just barely, but still. Semantics schemantics.
‘Only because I couldn’t get the UK office to fire your ass.’ She looked me up and down. ‘It’s actually kind of amazing how easy it was to get you blocked. Maybe because you suck? I figure it will take me longer to get you banned from whatever this is –’ she paused to wave a horrified hand at my ‘waitressing’ outfit – ‘because I don’t usually hire the help, but give me a couple of days and you’ll be out on your ass. Again.’
‘Blocked?’ I blinked.
‘Maybe it wasn’t me,’ Cici mused. ‘Maybe every publisher in New York canned your ass because you don’t understand simple words.’
So that was the reason no one at Spencer would hire me. Not because I sucked, but because Cici did.
‘Are you for real?’ Her sister spoke up before I regained the power of speech. ‘Seriously, what is wrong with you? Why do you always have to have an enemy?’
‘Eff you, Deals. She threw a coffee at me!’
‘You got me fired!’ I shouted. Inside voices, Angela, inside voices. ‘And blew up my shoes! And you’re a massive cow!’
‘Uh, I’m a massive cow?’ she scoffed. ‘I didn’t know they made fetish outfits in a plus size.’
‘I wasn’t calling you fat, I was …’ A red mist settled over my ability to form a sentence. It was impossible to enjoy shouting at someone if they were too stupid to understand exactly how you were slagging them off. ‘You’re an idiot.’
I looked at Delia. She looked at me. I looked at Jenny. She looked at Cici. Cici looked far too happy with herself. As I saw it, there were two ways this could go. I could be the bigger man, turn around and walk out of the party with my head held high. Or I could slap the mare silly.
‘Sorry, Jenny, I have to go.’ Apologizing, I stepped out of my borrowed shoes and picked them up. There was no such thing as a speedy exit in Louboutins. ‘I’m really sorry to let you down.’
Before Jenny could reply, Cici let out a tiny wicked cackle. ‘Are you sure you can afford to pass up work? And dude, those shoes are clearly not yours. Christian Louboutin would set them on fire before he let you walk around in his shoes.’
Now that was a mistake. Insult me, fire me, but never insult my shoes. Even if they were actually borrowed. Besides, I was never more dangerous than when I had a pair of Louboutins in my mitts, but GBH by way of shoe had been done before and so instead I grabbed a glass of red wine from a passing tray and took aim.
‘Not the dress!’ Jenny yelled, dashing to stand in between me and Cici. ‘Kick her ass, but don’t hurt the dress!’
I paused. On one hand, I really did want to throw the wine at her. On the other, I didn’t want Jenny to get fired.
‘Angela, give me the wine,’ Delia said, taking the glass out of my hand. ‘Just hit her. We all know she deserves it.’
‘Please, she couldn’t hit for shit,’ Cici said, smug and safe behind the outspread arms of Jenny Lopez. ‘No one cares what you think, Delia.’
‘Oi, Cici.’ I waited for Jenny to move, for Delia to stop blushing, for the entire assembled mass of the party to be watching. ‘No one cares about you, full stop.’
And then I punched her in the face.
CHAPTER FIVE
‘And then Jenny had to fire me but it was OK and she said it was OK and then she called me a cab and I don’t think it really hurt that much because her nose didn’t bleed or anything but ohmygod, Alex …’ Pause for breath. ‘I hit her.’
More to make me feel like a big man than anything else, I was seated on our sofa with a freshly purchased bag of frozen peas on my fist, relaying to Alex the tale of how I slayed my second dragon.
‘This punching people thing –’ He held the peas against my knuckles with one hand and stroked the hair back from my forehead with the other. ‘Is this something I should be worried about?’
‘Apparently I’m only into girl-on-girl fighting,’ I replied, flexing my fingers. They didn’t really hurt, but I ouched for good measure. ‘I don’t think you need to be concerned about domestic violence. Yet.’
‘I love that you’re a feminist.’ He planted a kiss on my forehead then went to the fridge to get more beer. Because I needed more beer. ‘And you met her sister? And she wasn’t a bitch?’
‘She wasn’t.’ I shook my head. ‘She was nice, actually. I might friend her on Facebook.’
‘You are a strange girl.’ He stood in front of me, bearing a Corona and staring into my glittering, fevered eyes. ‘And just so it’s clear in my mind, Cici the Satanist was naked during the foxy boxing, and you were wearing … this?’
Of
