I Heart New York by Lindsey Kelk
‘I like to,’ he said. ‘It’s quiet, great food, and always a bunch of interesting people hanging out.’
Oh, he meant me. Sweet. ‘In that case I’ll have the chicken.’
As he started the small talk rolling, what did I do for a living, what did he do for a living, how long had I been in the city, what sights had I seen, I ran a quick comparison on Tyler and Alex. Alex was sexy and cocky and had the whole I’m-in-a-band thing going on, whereas Tyler was good-looking in a clean-cut, I take care of myself, let me take care of you, sort of a way.
‘Oh, well, I’m kind of a venture capitalist,’ he said, after he had ordered for us both. ‘But unless you’ve written some kids’ books about banking, I won’t even try to explain. Not to be patronizing but it’s impossibly dull. And I don’t want to put you off already.’
‘That’s OK,’ I said, brushing my hair behind my ears and ripping apart my warm bread roll as soon as it was put on my side plate. ‘I’m not a numbers person. I only really do words. And words for children at that.’
‘That saves us a really boring fifteen minutes,’ he said, pushing the olive oil towards me for dipping. ‘What is more exciting, is what you’re doing in New York? How do you know your friend?’
‘Oh, slightly longer story.’ I swallowed my bread in preparation. ‘Without going into a lot of off-putting detail, I broke up with…someone, so I decided to take a holiday and I’d never been to New York. I met my friend, the girl I’m staying with, in my hotel. She was looking for a roommate, I was looking for a room and so, here I am.’
‘Wow,’ Tyler looked bemused. ‘You just upped and came to New York? Must have been a bad break-up.’
‘I’m not supposed to tell you about it,’ I said. ‘My friend said no specifics about exes until the fourth date.’
Tyler laughed, nodding. ‘I do love The Rules. You can’t even tell me if I ask?’
‘You might not want to know.’ I paused, trying to weigh up Erin’s sacred advice over Tyler’s warm smile and crinkly eyes. Our first course appeared over his shoulder. Maybe if I told him while he was distracted by lamb. I would have to tell him eventually, anyway, wouldn’t I? It would surely come out before the black Amex funded wedding…
‘Go for it,’ he said, making room for his plate. ‘I’m asking.’
‘OK, but don’t you dare walk out before you’ve eaten.’ I didn’t want to pick up my fork until I’d got the whole story out. Even the short version. ‘I found my boyfriend having sex with this girl he’d been seeing in the back of our car at our best friends’ wedding, screamed at the bride and made her cry, broke the groom’s hand with my shoe and more or less ruined the wedding. Then I ran away to New York. How does that grab you?’
‘And I thought a children’s writer would be shy and retiring,’ he whistled. ‘Now it’s getting interesting.’
‘I suppose before Saturday, I could have been called shy and retiring,’ I said, cutting into the chicken. ‘But seeing your boyfriend’s boxer shorts around his ankles while you’re in a grand’s worth of bridesmaid dress will really give you a kick up the arse.’
‘Wait a minute,’ Tyler put down his knife and fork. ‘You’re talking about this Saturday? Saturday five days ago?’
I nodded thoughtfully. ‘It seems such a long time ago to me now, but I think that’s why I’m not supposed to tell you. Are you freaking out?’
‘Maybe I’ll get around to that later. At the moment I’m still trying to work out why you came to New York when you didn’t know anyone,’ he said. Knife and fork still down. ‘Jesus, all I did on Saturday was go for a run and get a haircut.’
Uh-oh.
‘I accept that it was possibly an extreme reaction. I don’t know, I just always wanted to go to New York, my boyfriend, my ex, never wanted to visit America, he hates to fly, so I thought this would be the perfect time to just get away,’ I said, going in for the mashed potato. If this was the only meal we were ever going to have I was going to eat it all. The mashed potato was amazing. ‘How do they get the potatoes so creamy without them going runny with the gravy? Wow.’
‘I can’t imagine ever doing anything like that,’ Tyler said. He reached for his fork, good sign. ‘The furthest I’ve gone when I’ve been pissed off after a break-up is the China Town Ice Cream Factory.’
‘Well, they were extreme circumstances,’ I said observing him closely. Had I blown it? He picked up his knife. Phew.
‘So this would be your first date since you broke up?’ The knife hovered.
‘Yes,’ I admitted, my eyes glued to the indecisive cutlery. ‘I just, I, well, honestly? I wasn’t really planning on going on dates or anything, but you seemed, you know, nice and normal so I just thought, why not?’
‘Well, I’m glad you did,’ he said. Knife back on the plate. ‘Your ex’s loss is Manhattan’s gain.’
‘Not all of Manhattan,’ I shook my head, ‘my roommate has laid down some fairly strict ground rules about that. The truth is, I haven’t really ever dated so I’ve got a lot to learn, I suppose.’
‘I think there’s a whole lot more I could learn from you,’ Tyler gave me a small smile and sliced up his lamb. ‘Want to try?’
And before I knew it, there I was eating food from his fork, just like in the movies.
A flourless Valrhona chocolate cake, two cappuccinos and a moonlit stroll through Soho later and the date was over. And I was sort of gutted.
‘I had a great time tonight,’ Tyler said, holding his arm out for a cab. ‘Best date with a children’s writer who broke a guy’s hand with a stiletto I ever had.’
‘Can I ask you something?’ I asked, clutching Tyler’s free hand. Even holding hands felt weird, Mark and I hadn’t been a hand holding couple. He nodded as a cab pulled over to the kerb. ‘Do you date a lot? I’m not going all Fatal Attraction on you, I just haven’t really spoken to many men since I got here so I don’t really know how this works.’
He held the door open for me to climb in and then slipped in beside me before he answered. ‘39th and Lex?’ he said to the driver, then turned to me. ‘I guess, honestly, I date kind of a lot. I haven’t had a serious girlfriend in about two years and it’s not for the lack of looking.’
‘OK,’ I said, staring straight ahead. He was being honest, that was good. Wasn’t it?
‘But I don’t date a lot of people at once,’ he went on. ‘And you usually know after one or two dates if it’s going somewhere.’
‘Really?’ I asked, turning towards him. He was even handsome in cab-lit profile. ‘It usually takes me ages to make my mind up about, well, anything.’
‘It sounds to me like you’ve been making some pretty snap decisions lately,’ he said, brushing my hair behind my ear. ‘And I for one am really glad about that.’
‘Maybe that’s another part of the new me,’ I said, not really knowing where to look any more. ‘But then again, I’m a Libran, indecisive, I suppose that will come out in the end…’
Before I could waffle on any more, he cut me off with a soft, gentle kiss. I closed my eyes and let him kiss me in the back of the cab, his right hand firmly holding my cheek, sliding back around my neck and into my hair. I could feel his left hand pressing against my thigh. For my first kiss with another man in ten years, it felt pretty good.
‘So can I see you again?’ Tyler asked as he broke away.
‘Mmm,’ I nodded, trying to control my breathing, I’d forgotten how delicious kisses could be. ‘I would really like that.’
‘How about Sunday evening?’ He still hadn’t moved his hand and my whole back was tingling. ‘Something fun, maybe the movies?’
‘Sounds great,’ I mumbled. Please kiss me again.
‘Fantastic. I’ll call you.’ He combed his fingers through the hair at the nape of my neck making me shiver all over.
‘Or I’ll call you? I mean, you can call me or I’ll call you or whatever,’ I’d more or less forgotten the date let alone The Rules.
‘I’ll c
‘So, how’d it go?’ Jenny was at the door before I’d even managed to work my key into the lock. She stood in front of me in pyjamas, hair in a towel turban, face mask on and feet in Bliss Softening Socks. ‘Oh my God, look at you, you kissed him!’
I felt myself blush from head to toe.
‘Oh my God, you did!’ she shrieked, jumping up and down. ‘Give me two secs.’
I let myself in and collapsed onto the sofa. It was such a strange feeling! A couple of moments later, Jenny reappeared minus the towel and with a peachy fresh complexion, softening socks still very much in evidence.
‘So, tell me everything,’ she said, bringing over a packet of Oreos and two cans of Diet Coke. ‘All the gory details. Did he pay? Was he amazing? Are you seeing him again?’
‘Um, yes, yes, lovely, and yes, Sunday!’ I said, staring ahead, slightly dazed still. ‘It was really nice, we just talked for ages and ate and then wandered through Soho for a little bit and then got a cab. And he asked me to go to the cinema on Sunday night, he’s going to call me.’
‘Wow,’ Jenny said, curling up and splitting her cookie in half to lick out the centre. ‘Sounds like the perfect first date. I’m so jealous.’
‘It was really nice,’ I admitted. ‘It still feels weird though. I just feel all, I don’t know, light and fluffy and like I want to scrunch myself all up into a ball and then explode or something.’
‘Well, let me see,’ Jenny went back in for the Oreos, not even bothering to split and lick, ‘you just went on a date with a hot Wall Street banker who arranged another date with you on the spot and you’ve got a date with a hot guy in a band who picked you up at brunch. I’d say not only are you dating but you are dating pretty well. You’re born to this honey!’
I sipped my Coke and shook my head. ‘I’m not going to say it doesn’t feel nice because it does. And I was a bit freaked out about kissing Tyler, but it was lovely actually. Really good.’ I took another sip and then a deep breath. ‘And when I was talking to Alex, I swear, I felt better than I had with Mark in, well, in for ever. I don’t know, it’s probably just a big rebound reaction thing.’
‘Maybe it is,’ Jenny shrugged, ‘but there’s nothing wrong with that. No one’s proposing, dating doesn’t have to be totally serious. Unless Tyler turns out to be a millionaire.’
‘He had a black Amex,’ I said, grabbing her arm.
‘Get the ring!’ she screeched. ‘Get the ring!’
CHAPTER TWELVE
Thankfully by morning, the city had the decency to cool down half a degree so I decided to walk to The Look. I grasped Erin’s directions in one sweaty palm, crossed Park and then made my way up and across to Times Square. The streets slowly became busier and busier, until I was really just being pulled along by the swarm. Even in the high heat of summer, it was heaving. I stared around, taking in the giant billboards, the garish restaurant signs, the rolling news tickers and tried to spot my destination without getting taken out by a Japanese tourist and his huge camera bag. I felt tiny. Everything looked as though the real world had been scanned, had the contrast turned right up and then enlarged by 500 per cent. It made Piccadilly Circus look positively anaemic. After I had crossed the same road about five times, I spotted a steady stream of very thin, very beautiful women dressed head to toe in black, heading into a narrow black glass doorway back where I had come from. The small tasteful sign next to the door? Spencer Media. Ah. Of course.
The building was tucked away in a corner off Broadway, a beautiful art deco building that stretched high into the Manhattan skyline, past the animated billboards and brightly lit ads. As I rode higher and higher in the lift, I passed my weight from foot to foot. Erin had said (my editor!) was called Mary Stein, but I had no idea what she was expecting. I’d printed out my last few diary entries and printed off the Amazon records of some of my books in lieu of a portfolio. Hopefully she wouldn’t just laugh me out of the office.
Mary’s secretary ushered me into her office after a quick silent appraisal. Apparently I passed and was offered a coffee before being left alone. The office was bright and light, with stunning views of the city. I stood staring out of the window and promised myself I’d go to the Empire State Building as soon as I’d finished.
‘Angela Clark?’
It was Mary. She hardly looked like a magazine editor, let alone a super cool web editor. Mary was easily in her fifties, no taller than five feet, had a short grey bob and just looked really, really nice.
‘Yes.’ I stretched my hand out for a firm and welcoming shake. ‘You must be Mary.’
She gestured to a seat in front of her desk and then sat herself down. ‘Erin tells me you’re a writer?’
Straight to business. ‘Yes,’ I nodded eagerly, bringing out my sales sheets. ‘I don’t have my portfolio with me right now, but I have some sheets showing the books I’ve written. They’re mostly children’s movie tie-in books but I can turn my hand to anything, really.’
‘Hmm.’ Mary flicked through the pages and then pushed them back at me. Maybe she wasn’t going to be so nice. ‘I need a blogger. You’ll have looked at what we have on the website already so where do you think your blog will fit in?’
She fixed me with a serious gaze. I hadn’t looked at the website. Eeep. But praise be for the hateful man in Starbucks, I did know what a blogger was.
‘Well, I’m going through a pretty one-of-a-kind situation right now,’ I started.
‘One-of-a-kind has no appeal to my readers,’ she said, already looking away at her flat screen monitor and wheeling her mouse.
‘Well, one-of-a-kind in a way, but in another way, it’s something every girl has gone through,’ I blagged. ‘I’ve split up with my boyfriend of ten years and now I’m dating for the first time.’
‘Go on,’ she said, still looking away, but the wheeling had stopped.
‘Well, I found out he was cheating on me at my friend’s wedding, made a bit of a scene and then sort of ran away to New York,’ I explained quickly. ‘And now I’m dating. Two men. A banker and this guy in a band.’ I had to admit, I thought it sounded pretty bloody interesting. Probably even more so if you weren’t having to go through it yourself.
‘Do you have some sample copy?’ she asked, her full attention back with me. ‘You’re what, Bridget Jones in New York?’
I handed over the print-outs of my diary. ‘I’m really not Bridget Jones,’ I said. ‘I’m not all about dating, I think it’s more about finding my feet and finding out who I am again.’
‘Hmm,’ she said, scanning the copy with pursed lips and a frown. ‘You’re certainly not Bridget Jones, but there is something here. And it is about dating.’
‘OK,’ I shrugged. I would write about being a one-armed gypsy horse rider if she would give me a writing job. ‘It can be about dating.’
‘Tell me more about the break-up. Is it funny? It sounds funny,’ she slapped the pages of diary I’d given her.
OK, suck it up, I told myself. She’s going to make you a proper writer. So I went through every detail of the break-up, trying to make it sound funny rather than bursting into tears. Mary stared at me emotionless and silent until I was finished.
‘Great. It is funny and I suppose you can write,’ she said, ‘OK, you write two to three hundred words a day and email it to me. The pay wouldn’t be great but it’s only on the website. If we go ahead, I’ll need a picture of you so find one, but it’s fine to keep everyone else anonymous.’
‘Oh.’ I didn’t know what to say.
‘Are you kidding me?’ Mary looked really, really pissed off. ‘I can’t pay you as staff if you don’t have a visa. You may as well just go.’
‘But I only just got here on Sunday.’ I stood up, desperately trying to get this back. ‘And, and, you don’t have to pay me! I’ll work for free!’
‘Free?’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘Really?’
I nodded, half in, half out of my seat. ‘Anything Mary, please, I’ll write the funniest dating column you’ve ever read. Honestly.’
‘I guess I can’t let you work for free…I could pay you as a freelance contributor,’ she mused, looking back at the diary. ‘And you say you only got here Sunday? So this happened this week?’
I nodded again.
‘Bring me your first three days’ diary, along with a 1000-word establishing piece and a photo on Monday and we’ll talk about everything else then.’
The meeting was over. I don’t know if Mary had a silent buzzer or made invisible semaphore signals but her secretary appeared at the door and gestured for me to leave. I never did get that coffee.
I couldn’t believe what was happening. I was going to be a writer. Actually writing for an actual magazine. OK, website of a magazine, but still. Clearly getting on that plane on Sunday was the best thing I’d ever, ever done. Jenny was working a double shift and Erin was out of town for the weekend but I needed to find some way of celebrating my job, my New York minute. Surely there was only one way? I set off down Broadway, proud, confident and on my way to the Empire State Building to share my success with the city.
Which would have been great if the city hadn’t been twenty-five degrees above average for August, full of overheated tourists, a whole load of children on their school holidays all with one very clear brief, to barge past me and, whenever possible, knock my (delicious) Marc Jacobs bag off my shoulder. Which was already tingling and a delightful shade of pink. By the time I’d staggered all the way down to 34th Street in the searing sunshine, I must have been suffering mild sunstroke as I attempted to pass Macy’s. Before I knew what was happening, I’d been sucked through the doors and was drinking a refreshing iced tea, using a comfortable and clean bathroom and spending $250 on the Benetfit cosmetics counter. An hour later, I wandered back out onto the pavement and around the corner, the queue for the Empire State Building was insanely long. The sun was beating down on me and my new purchases, threatening to melt my new make-up, and I was so close to home. My new writer’s pride had been replaced with buyer’s remorse, and before I knew what I was doing, my legs were carrying me across to Lexington, back to the apartment, back to my laptop and back to bed.