Starstruck (28 page)

I
am covered in foam, I am drunk, life is good.

Dylan
is also covered in foam, drunk and still wearing his mask. I can still see his
mouth though, and I don’t think he has stopped smiling for a second tonight.

We’ve
spent the entire night drinking and dancing in the foam. It’s been great
hanging out in public with Dylan without being approached by anyone. No one has
given us a second look all night, we just blend in with all the other monsters
and witches.

I’m
waiting for Dylan outside the little boys’ room and dancing like no one is
watching. Dylan staggers through the doorway and falls into me, pinning me
against the wall.

‘Caught
you!’ I shout and we both find it absolutely hilarious.

‘I’m
so hungry! There’s a seriously stacked mini bar in my room.’

‘What
are we waiting for?’ I yell.

As
we make our way towards the exit Dylan grabs my arm, linking up with me.

‘Don’t
want you falling,’ he yells over the music, although I’m not sure who is
holding up whom. We stumble out onto the street, which is crawling with people
all dressed up in costumes.

‘Sorry
mate,’ Dylan says, stumbling into a lamp post.

‘There!’
I point down the road towards the little side street where the hotel is
located. ‘That’s where we need to be.’

We
walk down the road slowly but surely. It’s for the best in these (drunken)
circumstances.

Dylan
is singing to himself in a high pitched voice and we’re both laughing
uncontrollably. I try to shush him as we approach the hotel because it’s so
quiet outside. There isn’t a soul around, not even a doorman outside the hotel.

Just
when I think we’ve made it in once piece Dylan topples over and because he is holding
my arm he drags me down with him. We fall really awkwardly and somehow Dylan
manages to land right on top of me. We freeze for a few seconds then carry on
with our hysterical laughter. Dylan’s mask has fallen off and his hair has gone
all flat so I run my hand through it to make it look less sticky and to make
him look less like a drunk as he walks through the hotel lobby.

‘Are
you ok?’ he whispers.

‘I
am, but you’re squashing me. And your mask has come off.’

‘Shit.’
He stands up, still laughing, and looks around the floor for his mask, almost
taking another tumble. ‘I think it went under that Mercedes.’ He points towards
the car parked next to us. ‘I’ll get it.’

‘No,
no, no, no,’ I beg. ‘Leave it. You might set off the alarm or something. I’ll
never wear it, I assure you. It doesn’t go with anything I own.’

‘Ok,
let’s go eat!’ he announces, slapping his hand across his mouth when he
realises just how loud his voice is.

‘Shhhh!’
I tell him, giggling and taking him by the arm. ‘Try and act sober, ok?’

I’ve
had some hangovers recently, but this one really takes the alcohol-soaked cake.

My
memory of last night is hazy. Come to think of it, I’m having a lot of trouble
with my memory at the moment. I’m beginning to think it has something to do
with alcohol.

I’m
right in the middle of a king size bed and it’s oh-so comfortable. If only I
didn’t have this banging headache.

There’s
a massive TV on the wall facing me, already switched on. I never get to watch
much daytime TV because I’m always either asleep or at work, but for a moment I
am totally captivated by a man – no, a woman - telling the story of his sex
change. Her sex change? Either way, it’s fascinating. I hear a groaning noise
coming from the bottom of the bed, which is so huge I actually have to crawl to
the bottom just to see what is on the floor. Face down, sprawled out across the
carpet (which looks surprisingly comfortable) is Dylan.

‘You
alright?’ I extend a leg and give him a prod on the shoulder with my big toe.
He doesn’t say anything, he just laughs at me.

‘Say
that again,’ he demands.

‘What?’

‘What
you just said, say it again,’ he insists, still lying face down on the floor.

‘You
alright?’

‘I
fucking love your Yorkshire accent.’

‘Oh
God, what do I sound like?’

‘Yo’rite!’
he teases.

‘I
don’t sound like
that
!’ I insist, with a sneaking suspicion that I do
sound exactly like that. ‘You alright?’ I say to myself, smiling because I see
exactly what he means.

‘Listen,
you want to visit the village where I grew up and hear an old farmer talk with
a proper Yorkshire accent, you’ll fast go off it.’

‘Go
on then, how would they say it?’ He rolls over onto his back and puts his hands
behind his head.

‘Y’alreyt?’

He
laughs. ‘Sounds the same to me, babe.’

I
give him the finger and he sticks his tongue out at me.

‘It’s
hearing that dodgy accent that reminds me how much I miss spending time with
you. Last night was fun.’

‘How
much of last night do you actually remember?’ I ask, standing up and adjusting
my outfit. There is nothing quite like the pain of falling asleep in an
under-wired bra.

‘Well,
none of it, but it was bloody good fun. Thank you for looking after me.’ He
smiles sincerely.

‘Any
time. Can I use your bathroom?’

‘Sure.
You leaving me?’

‘Yeah,
I’m late for work, and you have to go home and grovel to your wife, remember?’

‘Ah,
shit. I remember.’

I
close the bathroom door behind me. Another nice big bathroom to remind me how
crap my own is, no pun intended.

‘What
the hell are you watching?’ I hear Dylan shout.

‘God
knows! It was on when I woke up.’

‘Oh
God! They’re showing the surgery!’ I hear him cry.

‘Turn
it off,’ I laugh. ‘It’s only going to scare you!’

Looking
in the mirror, I am half tempted to wear my witch’s hat on the way home because
not only does my hair looks awful but it might distract people from my make-up
smeared face. I wet a towel and try to wipe the smudges off, careful not to
wipe it all off because that would be as bad as going outside naked. Despite
being late for work I have no choice but to go home and smarten myself up, even
though work is much closer.

‘How
do I look?’ I give Dylan a twirl.

‘Like
you spent a night in a hotel room with a rockstar,’ he says with a wink.

‘That’s
what I’m afraid of. It’s like the walk of shame, without the shame.’

‘Would
it really be a shame?’ he teases.

‘Shut
up you!’ I lean forwards and give him a kiss on the cheek. ‘Right, some of us
have proper jobs to get to, so I must leave you here in your five star hotel,
poor you. Maybe you should tidy up a bit, the room is a tip.’

‘It
looks like we gave the mini bar a good bashing. I’ll see you soon, I promise,’
he calls after me as I walk towards the door.

‘I
hope so,’ I tell him with a smile, but I’m not convinced.

As
I go down in the lift, I look at my reflection in the mirrored walls and fidget
with my hair and clothes until I look as presentable as possible. Stepping out,
I look across the lobby and see a huge crowd gathered outside the hotel
entrance. As I walk closer I notice that that it’s the paparazzi with only a
couple of hotel security guards to stop them coming inside. Armed with super
high-quality looking cameras, I selfishly hope that whoever they’re waiting for
doesn’t come out at the same time as me because I’d hate to get caught looking
like this in the background of one of the photos – knowing my luck it would end
up on the front of a national newspaper.

I
wonder which celebrity they are waiting for. Whoever it is, I can’t help but
feel a bit sorry for them. This is exactly what Dylan was telling me about last
night. Dylan! As soon as I’m out of earshot I’ll give him a call and warn him.
They wouldn’t be able to believe their luck if they were waiting around for
someone else and Dylan King strolled out. Two for the price of one!

I
manage to walk out of the door and down the steps before one of them calls out,
‘There she is!’

 I
spin around to see which mega-star they are waiting for, only to have them all
point their cameras at me.

‘Nicole,
over here,’ one man calls out. I don’t know what to do so I turn around and run
towards the main road. Looking over my shoulder, I realise they are all chasing
me but I don’t have the energy or the right shoes to escape them. Shit, shit,
shit. As I get to the main road I look left, then right. I don’t know where to
go. The photographers catch up with me almost instantly, and carry on snapping.
Standing here helplessly with them all surrounding me, I have nothing to do but
panic. They're all shouting things at me, but I can’t work out what anyone is
saying and instinctively hold my witches hat over my face.

‘Out
the way! Move!’ I can just about make out a broad Yorkshire accent booming
above the rest. I feel a pair of hands on my shoulders and feel myself being
ushered away from the photographers.

‘Get
in ‘ere. Quick.’

With
the hat still held firmly over my face, I get in the car. I don’t know who this
person is, but if he had both hands on my shoulders then he can’t have been one
of the men trying to take my photo.

As
I feel the car moving I finally let go of the hat and gaze out of the back
window, only to see the crowd of photographers try and chase the car before
admitting defeat.

‘You
ok?’ I hear the driver ask. Oh thank God, he’s a taxi driver.

‘Yes.
I think so.’ I let out a sigh of relief. ‘Thank you for saving me.’

‘Wasn’t
gonna stand by and watch ‘em harass a young lass. Especially not a local.’ I
see him smile in the rear-view mirror.

‘Where
can I drop you where you’ll be safe, love?’

I
give him the name of the street where my office is, it’s much closer than home.
‘What do I owe you?’

‘You
don’t owe me owt, happy to help.’

I
key his driver number into my phone. He saved me and I can’t let that go by
unacknowledged.

‘If
you don’t mind me asking love, what is it you’ve done to ‘av ‘em chasing you?’

Looking
into the rear-view mirror again, I make eye contact with my hero.

‘I
wish I knew.’

I
leg it through the ByeBanter office without making eye contact with any of the
geeks. Finally through the Starstruck door, I am greeted by a worried looking
Jake and Emily.

‘What
the hell is going on?’ I cry out, assuming they already know.

Emily
and Jake look at each other in a which-one-has-to-tell-her kind of way.

‘Tell
me!’ I try to calm down. ‘Please.’

Emily
hands me a copy of today’s Daily Scoop. I take the wretched tabloid in my hands
and examine the headline. 

‘Dylan
goes Wilde!’ I read out loud. There is a large photograph underneath the
headline featuring me on the pavement with Dylan on top of me. We’re gazing
into each other’s eyes and I’m running my hand through his hair.

‘I’m
fucked!’ I throw the paper as far away from me as possible. ‘Guys, nothing
happened.‘ I feel tears roll down my cheeks.

‘We
know,’ Jake puts his arm around me, but I noticed that Emily keeps clear.
‘Maybe if you just explain what actually happened-’

‘Are
you kidding?’ I snap. ‘I was there, I know that nothing happened, and even I
think it looks fucking dodgy!’

I’m
not sure how I’m going to talk my way out of this one. The photos from last
night show me arriving at the hotel and the photos they took this morning show
me leaving the hotel – it’s going to look like I spent the night with Dylan. I
mean, I know I did spend the night in his room, but nothing happened. Neither
of us did anything wrong, we didn’t even share the bed!

 ‘Why
are you looking so sheepish?’ I ask Emily, noticing her picking up the paper
that I threw. She’s being awfully quiet, or maybe I’m just being over
sensitive.

‘Tell
her,’ Jake insists, and I’ve never heard him sound so forceful or so angry.

‘Tell
me what?’

Emily
fidgets with the newspaper, sorting the pages back into the right order.

‘Tell
me what, Emily?’ I scream at her, making her jump. Never in my life have I
shouted at Emily and doing so makes me feel even sicker than I already do.

Still
not saying a word she hands me the newspaper and points to the byline.

‘Words
and pictures by Vicky Mason,’ I read. I can’t believe my eyes.

‘How?‘
I look at Jake and follow his gaze towards Emily.