Jemima J. (37 page)

“Lauren? It’s JJ.”

“Hi!” She sounds extraordinarily pleased to hear from me. “I was just thinking about you!”

“That’s lucky,” I say, “because I was just thinking about you.”

“So what’s the plan, Stan?” she says.

“What are you doing tonight?”

“I was looking forward to yet another miserable bloody take-out from the local deli, and stuffing my face in front of the TV.”

“Does that mean I can’t tempt you with a girlie night out?”

“Tempt me, tempt me,” she laughs.

“It’s just that Brad’s got a meeting so I’m on my own, and I thought maybe we could check out that new restaurant on Main Street.”

“Cool, schmool in the pool,” she says, in a perfect Californian accent as I laugh, wondering where on earth she gets her expressions from. “I’m there. Listen, what are you doing now?”

I look at my watch. “I’m off to the gym.”

“Me too. Why don’t we meet at the gym, grab some lunch after the workout, and then we can arrange what to do later?”

_p. 278
“Perfect,” I say. “Oh, by the way. Lots to tell you.”

“I can’t wait,” she says, and we put down the phone.

It’s only when I arrive at the gym that I realize that I’m actually excited about seeing Lauren again. For the first time since I arrived, I’m starting to feel more at home. I’ve got a home, a boyfriend, and now, finally, I’m starting to find friends. Lauren may be the only friend I have out here right now, but it’s a start, and it’s starting to compensate for missing Geraldine. I’m even missing Sophie and Lisa
‌
—although they can be bitches, at the end of the day I’m probably closer to them than to anyone. I mean, I live with them. They’re practically family.

But Lauren’s someone who could become a real soulmate. Isn’t it funny how sometimes you can instantly connect with people? How, despite being almost strangers, you can feel that you have known someone all your life? The ideal is for this to happen with a man, a potential soulmate, life-partner, but it can, honestly, be just as gratifying when it happens with a friend, someone like Lauren.

And thank God I’ve found her, because the more I think about it the more I realize that it really wouldn’t have been much fun, spending so much time on my own, particularly as Brad seems to be starting to take me slightly for granted. I mean, think about it. I’ve flown all this way to be with him, I’ve even changed my flight for him, and he hasn’t had the decency to take time off work.

Admittedly, he’s busy, but he seems to be getting busier and busier with every passing day, which doesn’t seem to be exactly fair on me, but before I get too pissed off he is the greatest lover ever, and he is sweet to me. Hell, he loves me, for heaven’s sake. What could be better than that?

So I meet Lauren at the gym, and we work out together, which is much more fun than working out alone, and truth to be told I’m starting to get the eensiest, weensiest bit bored with the gym, and on the way out we bump into Jenny, who, it seems, is starting to make an effort.

_p. 279
“This is my friend Lauren,” I say to Jenny, partly to be friendly and partly to goad Jenny, to see whether she’d still be rude to a friend of mine. “And this is Jenny.”

“Hi,” says Lauren with a friendly smile.

“Hi,” says Jenny warmly, or at least warmly for her. “Nice to meet you.”

“Working hard?” I try, still stuck for conversation with this difficult woman.

“God, it’s gone crazy in here,” says Jenny, rolling her eyes to the ceiling. “Your poor boyfriend’s run off his feet.”

Now that is a result. It’s the first time Jenny has referred to Brad as my boyfriend, and is this just because Lauren’s here or is some of the frostiness disappearing?

“Poor you.” I say warmly. “Don’t let him work you too hard.”

“Don’t worry,” says Jenny. “It’s all part of the job. Anyway, have a good day.” She smiles as she disappears, and I turn to Lauren with my jaw practically on the floor.

“Was it my imagination or was she reasonably friendly?”

Lauren shrugs. “She seemed fine to me. Why? Isn’t she normally?”

“Maybe it’s just me, but the last couple of times we’ve met she’s been the bitch from hell.”

“She’s probably just jealous of you,” says Lauren as we walk to the changing room. “She’s not exactly a goddess is she?”

“Yeah, but neither was I, and I know what it’s like.”

“Have you told her that you used to be like her?”

“I tried, but she didn’t want to know.”

“It’s tough isn’t it? Looking at you now, I have a problem believing you used to be fat.”

I sigh and run my fingers through my hair. “Me too,” I say with an uncomfortable laugh. “But I was, and I know how unhappy it makes you, and I can see so much of me in Jenny.”

“What if you tried to help her?”

“I don’t think she’d accept it.”

“Maybe she’s one of those people who’s happy the size she is.”

_p. 280
“Next you’ll be telling me she’s got a gland problem.”

“Maybe she has.”

“Bollocks. The only reason anyone’s that size is because they eat too much. Trust me. I know.”

“Look,” says Lauren. “Why are you getting so worked up about her? She’s only Brad’s bloody PA isn’t she?”

I nod.

“Exactly. She doesn’t have anything to do with your life, and, while I admit that it’s always a good idea to get their secretaries or
[“of”]
PAs or whatever on your side, she seems perfectly fine now, so just relax about it.”

“Maybe you’re right.” And I should relax and I should forget about it, but during lunch, even as I’m laughing with Lauren, and Lauren whoops with joy, I can’t quite get Jenny out of my head, and I can’t quite figure out why.

“So come over to me at seven tonight, okay?” I scribble down my address.

“Bloody hell,” says Lauren, simultaneously taking the piece of paper and looking at her watch. “It’s four o’clock! Where on earth did the afternoon go?”

“Who cares,” I laugh and kiss her on the cheek. “At least it went. See you later,” and I wave as we walk off in opposite directions.

When I get home there’s a message from Brad on the answerphone. I call him back, miraculously he’s not in a meeting, and he apologizes profusely for not being around in the evening. “What will you do?” he asks.

“I think I’ll just pop out for a quick drink with Lauren. What time will you be home?”

“Not late,” he says. “Around nine?” It’s a question, and I say that’s fine.

“I love you, baby,” he says, his voice as smooth as honey. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“That’s okay,” I say.

_p. 281
“I love you too,” I add. As an afterthought.

So I glue myself to the television set for the rest of the afternoon, and finally at six o’clock, I start getting ready to go out, and I know this must sound crazy but I feel more excited than I’ve felt in ages. I shower, dry my hair, take an incredible amount of time putting on my makeup, and choose a little black number for tonight. “What the hell,” I say out loud, modeling in front of the mirror. “Why not?”

At seven on the dot the doorbell rings, and there, on the doorstep, is Lauren, equally done up, and we both laugh.

“Thank God,” says Lauren. “I thought I’d gone a bit over the top, but you obviously had the same idea. Now we can go clacking off to take this town by storm.”

“Do you think everyone can tell we’re English?” We’re standing side by side in front of the mirror in the hall.

“Dunno really,” says Lauren. “I’d say from the neck up we look like two Californian babes, but from the neck down, tarted up like this, we’re as English as tea and scones, which can only be a good thing.”

“What do you mean?”

“The Americans love our quaint accent. How posh can you be?”

I put on my best Queen’s English accent. “The rain in Spain stays mainly on the plain.”

“In Hertford, Hereford, and Hampshire, hurricanes hardly ever happen,” says Lauren, and we both give each other high fives in the classic American style.

“Before we go you’ve got to show me round,” says Lauren, already peering round doorways, so I naturally give her the full guided tour.

“I’m not surprised you’re staying,” says Lauren, when she’s inspected every room, every gadget, every appliance. “It’s bloody gorgeous.”

“You’re right,” I smile. “It is bloody gorgeous. And I’m bloody lucky.”

_p. 282
“That you are,” says Lauren, and linking arms we leave the house.

The restaurant’s so well hidden from the paparazzi we almost miss the bloody place. Eventually, after trooping up and down the road, Lauren spies a lone doorman standing outside a huge pair of cast-iron doors.

“Maybe that’s it?” she says doubtfully, because there are no signs, no windows, nothing.

“Let’s go and ask.” Where did this new-found confidence come from? We troop up to the doorman, but before we can even open our mouths he has said good evening to us, and swung open the door.

“Are we in the right place?” I whisper, as Lauren strides down the hallway through to the double doors at the end.

“I bloody well hope so,” she whispers back. “I haven’t got the nerve to ask, it sounds so naff. We’ll soon find out,” she says, pushing open the next set of doors, and, sure enough, we step into the restaurant. At least I hope it’s
the
restaurant. It could be any restaurant, except when we look at the other side of the room we see a huge, stainless-steel bar running along the whole length of one wall, and we know this must be it. Even this early in the evening there are scores of people crowded around, all busy talking to one another and scouring the room at the same time, just to check that someone more interesting hasn’t arrived.

“Thank God,” says Lauren with a sigh. “This, finally, feels like home. In fact, if I close my eyes I could almost pretend I’m in Saint.”

“Saint?”

“You must know Saint. The bar?”

“Oh of course,” I lie. “Saint,”

“Please allow me to buy you a drink,” says a smooth, swarthy man with chiseled cheekbones and come-to-bed eyes.

“No, thank you.” I drag Lauren away before she gets the chance to completely melt away. “We’re fine,” and I pull her to the other end of the bar.

_p. 283
“What did you do that for?” pouts Lauren. “He was delicious.”

“He was disgusting! Lauren, for God’s sake, talk about being in love with himself.”

“With those cheekbones I’d be in love with myself too,” she says, looking over my shoulder and trying to find the guy, trying to give him meaningful eye signals.

“You can do much better than that,” I say purposefully, leaning over the bar and trying to catch the bartender’s attention, which doesn’t take long at all because he’s staring at Lauren like it’s his birthday, Christmas, and Thanksgiving all rolled into one. “Ladies,” he says, with a well-practiced smile. “What can I get you?”

“Phwooargh,” whispers Lauren, eyes glued to his well-muscled torso as he pours us cocktails, and, I have to say, she has a point. “Now he’s much more my type.”

“You are incorrigible!” I laugh, but if I didn’t have my gorgeous Brad I’d be thinking the same thing.

“It’s all right for you,” says Lauren, reading my mind. “You’ve got a man. And he’s divine. I’ve only had the crap-in-bed Charlie, and I’m still on the lookout.”

“Can you just try and make it a bit less obvious?” I whisper. “Nothing puts a man off more than a woman who’s desperate.” I’m interrupted by the bartender, who places the drinks in front of us and holds Lauren’s eye for about twenty seconds longer than is altogether necessary.

“What were you saying about men being put off?” smirks Lauren, sipping from her cocktail and checking out the bartender’s bottom.

“Oh shut up! Cheers.”

“Here’s to men!” says Lauren, clinking her glass to mine.

“Here’s to friendship!” I say.

“Here’s to both!” And we take a good, long swig.

The cocktails are a lot stronger than Jemima and Lauren realized, and two hours later they’re both rip-roaringly drunk. Men surround them all evening, and Jemima, despite despairing of Lauren’s hunting earlier on, is having the time of her life.
_p. 284
Never has she felt more beautiful, more desirable, and she’s flirting and laughing as if she’s looked this way, had this much attention, all her life.

“I’ve gotta have a piss,” says Lauren, half falling off her stool and stumbling off into the distance. Funny, she thinks, as she holds the door open for a girl who looks very familiar as she scuttles off with her head down. “Isn’t that girl that Jenny?” But no, she thinks. It can’t be. What would someone like that be doing among all these beautiful people here?

At 10:30 Jemima looks at her watch. “Shit!” she shouts. “I’m supposed to be home.”

“Don’t worry about it,” giggles Lauren. “Play the
Rules
! Be hard to get for a little while!”

“I’ve got to go,” says Jemima, who’s slightly more sober than Lauren, “and you’d better go too.”

“No!” says Lauren, banging her fist on the table to emphasize her point, except she misses the table and ends up banging her thigh. “We’re staying,” except it comes out “shtaying.”

“Nope.” Jemima gets up and pulls Lauren to her feet. “I’m putting you in a taxi.”

“Just give me one sec. Oh shit. Shit.” She turns to Jemima. “What’s my phone number?”

“I don’t know,” says Jemima. “Can we just go?”

“Not until you’ve looked up my phone number.”

Jemima digs out her address book and shows Lauren her phone number, and as Lauren tries to focus on it she shouts the number out to the bartender, who’s hovering nearby with pen and paper in hand.

“Got it,” he mouths. “I’ll call you.”

“All right,” says Lauren, as the pair stagger out. “Well would you bloody believe it? Now
that’s
what I call a result.”

Amazing how quickly you can sober up when there’s a crisis. Not that Jemima’s having a crisis exactly, it’s just that she expected Brad to be home waiting for her. She didn’t expect to come home to an empty house.

_p. 285
“Brad?” she calls, after fumbling at the door with the key for what feels like hours. She manages to get in, dumps her bag, and slowly climbs up the stairs. “Sweetie?” she says softly, pushing open the bedroom door. “Oh,” she says, seeing the bed’s empty. She checks every room in the house, but he’s not there, and she’s not feeling good about this. Not feeling good at all.