I Heart Paris (11 page)

‘Alex, he is the Brooklyn boy in your blog?’ Virginie asked.

‘He is.’ I nodded, sipping a truly terrible glass of wine. Wasn’t all wine supposed to be amazing in France? This was like paint stripper. ‘Do you have a boyfriend?’

‘No,’ she said, looking around. ‘I did, but he is cheating on me when I am in New York and so we break up. Alex, he is very attractive.’

‘Thanks,’ I replied, not entirely comfortable with the compliment and massively awkward about her revelation. What were you supposed to say to that? The bar was tiny and dark, much smaller than the places I was used to seeing Alex play in New York, and the bright lights that lit the stage made his black hair shine, his green eyes even more vivid and his pale skin glow.

‘Sorry to hear about your ex. Mine cheated on me too, not that it helps to know that,’ I raised my voice slightly over the sound check.

‘Really?’ Virginie spun around so quickly, half her ponytail made a break for freedom. ‘I cannot believe that someone would cheat on you. You are so pretty and funny and nice. And you have a lovely handbag also.’

‘Well, I didn’t have the handbag.’ I clutched my beloved Marc Jacobs tightly to me. ‘But to be honest, I don’t think that would have stopped my ex from shagging his tennis partner.’

‘He is an idiot,’ she declared. ‘Any man is very lucky to have you. I hope Alex, he knows this.’

I smiled awkwardly and sipped my drink. Ew, nasty. No one, not even Jenny I didn’t think, had ever said that. Alex was lucky to have me? Hmm, radical concept.

‘Well, don’t tell him, but we’re going to be moving in together soon,’ I said as quietly as the music would allow.

‘And he doesn’t know?’ Virginie sounded confused. ‘Maybe you should tell him before you begin to pack.’

I laughed loudly, squirting wine up my nose. It was no better up there than it was in my mouth. ‘No, he has asked me to, I just haven’t told him that I’m going to yet,’ I explained. ‘It’s a surprise for his birthday.’

‘Then he is even luckier,’ she said, knocking back her wine. ‘This wine is terrible. Do you want a mojito?’

‘That is one of my favourite questions.’ I put my dodgy wine back on the bar. ‘Yes. Yes I do.’

One and a half mojitos later, Alex was halfway through his set and I was standing in my favourite gig-watching spot. Leaning against the bar, behind the pulsing crowd, with a clear view of the band. I couldn’t count the number of times I’d seen Stills play in the last year (actually, yes I could, it was seven), but every time I saw Alex get up on that stage I fell for him a little bit more. Seeing him up there, everyone in the room hanging on his every word, made it a little bit difficult to believe Virginie’s words. How was he the lucky one? He could have anyone in the room, in any room mostly, and I was the one that got to take him home. And even though I knew that was what would happen tonight, and every night when we got back to New York, it was still sometimes hard to deal with the fact that every girl in the room was lusting after my boyfriend. Not to mention a few of the boys. Of course, I got a little rush of smug to know that they all wanted him and I had him, but it was still a difficult thing to get my head around. I hoped that made me human and not an arsehole.

The set was almost over when I spotted Solène at the front of the stage. Her blonde hair shone white under the bright lights that lit Alex, Craig and Graham, and I could see her dancing, holding another girl’s hand high in the air and jumping around. The bar was tiny and they were only a few rows of people away from us. I could see her singing along to every word, her eyes closed, dress riding up dangerously high every time she threw her hands up into the air. In between songs, she would stop dancing, pull down her dress, brush her hair back off her face and smile blissfully. So, she was a Stills fan.

‘This girl, you know her?’ Virginie asked, pointing towards Solène.

I shook my head. ‘Not really, I met her last night. She’s in a band here, I think they supported Alex’s band or something. I don’t know, we really didn’t talk that much.’

‘She likes your boyfriend very much.’

I looked back over to Solène, her eyes weren’t closed any more, this time she was looking right at Alex and singing directly to him, her hands clasped over her heart, tapping out the bass line. And I didn’t love it.

Virginie tapped me on the shoulder. ‘They were boyfriend and girlfriend?’

‘Uhh…I don’t know.’ I didn’t feel terribly eloquent as that theory flitted around in my head. Had they dated?

‘I thought, perhaps. They look like friends.’

‘I suppose,’ I nodded, starting to feel a bit sick. And it wasn’t from the mix of sangria, red wine and mojito. Well, it might have been, a little bit. ‘He hasn’t really told me anything about her.’

But he’s bloody well going to, I added to myself.

At the end of the set, I waited patiently by the bar while Alex unplugged a million cables and put things back in boxes. I’d offered to help once, but when I’d shorted an amp within three minutes, it was suggested that I take on a more supervisory role. Away from the stage and the very expensive instruments. This time at least, I was glad about that. While he was occupied, and Virginie was in the ladies, I followed Solène outside. Swapping from wine to rum might not be a terribly good idea given the amount of work I had to do the following day, but it did make me much braver than usual.

‘Hi, Solène?’ I waited for her to finish lighting up a cigarette before she spoke.

‘
Oui
?’ she replied, looking at me blankly for a moment. ‘Oh, Alex’s friend! I am very sorry. I forget your name.’

‘It’s Angela,’ I said, not sure how I was planning on managing this conversation. ‘Solène, did you used to go out with Alex?’

‘Go out with?’ She blew out a long line of smoke. It might have been a disgusting habit, but it was sexy. Bitch.

‘Sorry, did you date Alex?’ I asked again, starting to feel incredibly awkward. I noticed the other girls from her band heading out through the door towards us.

Solène nodded. ‘He did not tell you this? Yes.’

‘No, he didn’t,’ I said, a little surprised to have my suspicions confirmed so readily.

‘I am not surprised.’ She laughed and offered me a cigarette. For some reason, I took it. ‘He is dating so many girls, why would he mention me?’

The other girls surrounded Solène and laughed along. Not really knowing what else to do, I laughed too. Wasn’t it hilarious that my boyfriend had shagged so many beautiful women, he didn’t see fit to mention to me that one of them was the lead singer of a French rock band who made the Victoria’s Secret models look like a bunch of dumpy porkers.

‘It was a very long time ago.’ She lit my cigarette and carried on talking. ‘Many years, we were very young, I was living in New York and it was just for fun. You should both come tomorrow, we are having a party. It would be good to talk to Alex again.’

‘Your band is playing tomorrow?’ I asked, my voice tight with cigarette smoke. Why was I smoking? Why?

‘
Non
.’ Solène shook her head. ‘My boyfriend and I are just having a party. At our apartment, you must come. Here, I write the address.’ She held her cigarette in her lips and scribbled an address on the back of my hand with a marker pen produced by one of her minions. With my free hand, I took another unwelcome drag on my cigarette. Seriously, it was disgusting, how did people do this for fun? I spluttered a little and tried to smile.

‘You give me your number,’ she commanded, holding out a pristine white hand. Her nails were super short, just like Alex’s. She must play guitar as well as sing, I thought with utter jealousy as I wrote my number out. I couldn’t do either, despite what I might think after five frozen margaritas at Sing Sing karaoke on Avenue A.

‘We begin at eight, please come.’ She took a last drag on her cigarette, stamped it out and gave me two elaborate air kisses before turning on her chunky heel and leaving. ‘
Au revoir
, Angela!’

‘Angela?’ Virginie appeared beside me, concern in her bright brown eyes. ‘You were talking to that girl?’

‘I was,’ I said, holding my cigarette behind my back. ‘It’s fine, but I think I should find Alex. And I think you should get home. You’ve been amazing today.’

‘
D’accord
.’ She gave me two quick kisses and hugged me tightly. ‘Today was so much fun. I meet you in the hotel at ten tomorrow?’

‘Ten.’ I smiled tightly. I did not feel well.

I watched Virginie skip off down the road towards the
Métro
and leaned back against the cool wall of the bar. Staring at the half burned-out cigarette, I thought about Alex and Solène. So they’d dated. Did that mean she was La French Bitch? It hadn’t sounded like it had been a serious relationship. Plus she said she was living in New York when they’d dated. I wasn’t sure if that was good or bad, better the devil you know, after all. Either Alex had dated a super hot French singer ages and ages ago, who now had a new boyfriend and had invited us to her party as a couple, or he’d dated a super hot French singer and at least one other French girl whose level of hotness was a completely unknown quantity. Hmm.

‘Angela, are you smoking?’

‘Shit.’ The cigarette had burned down to my fingers. That would teach me not to pay attention.

‘Angela?’ Alex put his guitar case down on the pavement and took the burned-out, butt from my fingers. ‘Are you OK?’

‘Yes?’ I said, but even I didn’t believe it.

‘Come here.’ He pulled me towards him, his brown plaid shirt all sweaty and hot from the gig. Performing always put him in the mood and to be honest, watching him wasn’t terrible foreplay.

‘No, don’t.’ I tried to push him away, but he’d caught me off balance and I fell against his damp chest. ‘I’m disgusting. Again.’

‘I don’t mind that you taste like an ashtray,’ he said, holding my wrists tightly. ‘In fact, I kind of like it.’

‘But I’m going to be sick,’ I said quickly, the words not quite making it out before I spun around and vommed all over the street.

‘And you didn’t want to kiss me because I’d been smoking,’ Alex said, picking up his guitar in one hand and scooping me up with the other. I clamped my hand tightly over my mouth and let him half drag, half carry me across the road and into the hotel lobby. ‘I don’t think anyone saw.’

I nodded. Wanting to say thank you, wanting to tell him I loved him, wanting to ask him about Solène, but I really, really couldn’t take my hand away from my mouth.

‘Wait here a second,’ he said, carefully resting me against one of the chairs in the lobby and running back out through the door. I watched him go with my hand still firmly attached to my mouth. I looked around the lobby. It was awfully well lit. A soft coughing noise turned my attention to the reception desk. A tall, crisp shirt-wearing hotel worker stared at me. His disgust wasn’t even thinly veiled. I took one hand off my mouth and gave him a thin wave. By my reckoning, Alex had about three seconds to get back before I was thrown out or I threw up. Again.

‘
Madame
?’ the man on the desk started.

‘It’s OK,’ Alex ran back into the lobby and helped me to my feet. ‘It’s OK, she’s a guest here. She has food poisoning.’

‘Yes. Food poisoning from French food. And it’s
Mademoiselle
,’ I yelled back through my hand. ‘
Mademoiselle
!’

‘You are such a freaking lightweight,’ Alex said, picking me up and tossing me over his shoulder. A really bad idea given that I was about to puke again at any second. ‘I can’t take you anywhere.’

‘Whatever,’ I sighed, trying not to be sick on him. I lifted up my head to watch the concierge, night porter and other assorted staff pop their heads out of the door to follow our progress to our room before my eyes began to flutter involuntarily. ‘And it’s not the booze, it’s the fags.’

‘You are all class, lady,’ Alex said, somewhere above me. ‘You’re not gonna pass out, are you? Angela? You still with me?’

‘Nuh-uh,’ I mumbled, desperately trying to keep my eyes open.

‘Because I will be pissed if you don’t at least give me time to return your anti-smoking lecture,’ he said, stopping and rummaging in a pocket for room keys. ‘And it would be better if you didn’t choke on your vomit.’

Which were the last romantic words I heard before I passed out.

Asking Alex about his relationship with Solène at four a.m. the next morning while he was holding my hair out of the way so I could vom, might not have been the best idea I’d ever had, but to be fair, I was hardly in the right state of mind to be making my best decisions. Almost as soon as my eyes were open, I had to clamber over Alex and run into the bathroom. Dutifully, he followed, combing my hair out of my face and running cold water on a flannel to cool me down. I chose to take his loveliness as an admission of guilt for plying me with that cheap sangria in the first place, although I wasn’t nearly as drunk as I should be to get so ill. Stupid jet lag. Stupid cigarettes. Stupid me. Throwing up sober was horrifying. And so it was with my forehead leaning against the cool steel of the radiator, knees tucked under my chin that I asked Alex the big question.

‘So, Solène. She was the French girlfriend?’

Alex looked up from his spot resting against the sink.

‘Yes,’ he replied, staring straight at me.

Hmm. ‘And you weren’t going to tell me?’

‘Kinda want to know who did tell you,’ he said, unfolding his long legs and standing up. I felt tiny, all crumpled up by the toilet while he stretched in the doorway.

‘You’ll be pleased to know I worked it out all by myself.’ I pulled myself up, using the radiator for leverage and trying not to fall down the toilet. Graceful has never been a word anyone has used to describe me. Rinsing my mouth out with water, mouthwash and then water again, I went in for the kill. ‘And then I spoke to her tonight—’

‘You spoke to her?’ He cut me off verbally and physically, suddenly stopping and blocking my exit from the bathroom. ‘Why did you speak to her?’

‘Mainly because she was practically dry humping you onstage and, quite clearly, I had too much to drink tonight,’ I half yelled, pushing past him. ‘You don’t have to freak out, she didn’t sound half as bothered about the whole thing as you were anyway. I just wanted to know.’