Styling Wellywood: A fashionable romantic comedy (Wellywood Series Book 2) (13 page)

W
e rip each other’s clothes off, banging our arms and legs against the inside of the car in our haste.

Finally
seeing and feeling his taut, professional athlete’s body, bathed in the light of the moon, is even more incredible than I’d imagined, and we ravish one another with such an urgency I feel as though he’s the only thing that matters in the world to me.

And the sex?
Albeit somewhat hampered at times by the snug fit in the car - even despite the aforementioned almost fully reclined seating facilities - was nothing short of incredible.

And thankfully
memories of the fast fumble with Dan Ostenberg are now vanquished completely from my mind.

After our post coital
glow has started to wear off and I’ve mentally settled on ‘Jesscot’ instead of ‘Scottica’ as our celebrity couple name, I notice it’s close to one in the morning and the practical issue of how I’m going to get Mum’s car from the other side of the city occurs to me.

I’ve sobered up now and
Scott offers to drive me to my car, but this time it’s at a somewhat more sedate pace. He drops me at my car, giving me one final, lingering kiss.

“
This was real. I’ll text you, baby. Bye.”

I watch him drive away
while I sit in the front seat of Mum’s car, thinking if it wasn’t for the minor pain I feel from the knock I gave my chin during one particularly acrobatic moment in his car, my whole evening could have been just a fantastic erotic dream.

“
Ever made love in a Mustang?
Are you
kidding
me?”

Laura is
standing in her kitchen in fits of laughter as I regale her with the details of my date with Scott. Not exactly the reaction I was expecting - I had thought she might be jealous of my adventures.

“
Look, the way you say it makes it sound tacky, but it wasn’t like that! It was
incredibly
hot.”

In my defence we had just been kissing and I was pretty worked up by the time he said
it. Otherwise, yes, I do have to admit it could have had more than a whiff of cheesiness about it.

W
hat did Laura know, anyway? Not only was she not there but she doesn’t realise quite how sexy Scott is.

The man’s like a drug
.

“
And on Mt Vic? Jess that’s about as clichéd as you can get in this city. Didn’t you lose your virginity up there with… now who was it again…?”

“
Dan Ostenberg. Yeah, yeah, I know. But believe me, this was
nothing
like that extremely short-lived, messy experience,” I reply grudgingly.

Dan’s skills had been sorely lacking, no doubt because
, like most teenage boys, he’d learned what little he knew about sex from his dad’s porn collection, a source not exactly famed for its accuracy on female pleasure.

“
I’m sorry.” Laura is still laughing at me, wiping her eyes as she attempts in vain to toss a green salad. “I bet it was all really romantic. So tell me, when are you next seeing this guy? What’s his name again?”

B
efore I have the chance to answer, in walks Ben holding a bottle of beer and wearing an apron with
‘Real men like it hot’
emblazoned across it.

“
Oh there you are, you two. Like my apron? Kyle got it for me specially,” he says, grinning from ear to ear.

We’re
over at Laura and Kyle’s for a barbeque, although in true Wellington style the heavens have opened and the boys have had to take turns holding umbrellas over themselves in a kind of endurance barbequing relay team. Luckily for Laura and Kyle her parents have taken the boys for the evening, and Laura for one is making the most of it with the chardonnay.

“
Of course we’re here,” I respond, turning to him, holding a tray of baked potatoes. “We’re where every self-respecting Kiwi sheila should be at a barbeque - in the kitchen, doing all the
real
work.”

“
As it should be. Good little women,” he jokes. “Hey Jess, how’s your new business going with Morgan? And where is she tonight?”

He looks around as t
hough she may spring out from behind the curtains shouting “
Surprise
!” at any moment.

Ah, the six million dollar question.

I indicate to Ben we need to sit down for this conversation, so after putting the potatoes in a serving bowl we head into the lounge and find a comfy sofa together, leaving Laura to toss salads, still smirking happily away to herself.

I tell him all about how Morgan left me in the lurch with Stephanie and how she now
seems to have disappeared for an indefinite period of time. He’s really sympathetic, but I can’t help thinking there may be a ‘told you so’ lurking in the background somewhere.

“
That’s really rough, Jess. I’m sorry. Have you talked to Dave?” He looks genuinely concerned for me.

“
No. Do you think I should? I don’t want her thinking I’m checking up on her.”

“
Checking up on her? Jess, are you crazy? You’re meant to be running a business together and she’s just disappeared into thin air. It’s your right to know what’s going on. She’s left you in the lurch in your first ever week in business together.” He shakes his head. “It’s poor form, Jess.”

Now he seems quite angry. Note to self: don’t
ever piss Ben off.

“
You’re right. I’ll get in touch with him and see what’s going on.” I nod.

“
Is she telling you all about lover boy?” Laura plonks herself down between us on the sofa with a cheeky grin on her face and a large glass of chardonnay in her hand, breaking up our little chat.

Ben t
urns to me with raised eyebrows. “What’s this?”

“
Oh I’ve just been on a date, that’s all. Not much to tell.”

I suddenly feel really embarrassed.
It’s one thing to tell your girlfriends about your ‘sexcapades’, it’s quite another to tell your male friends, even when they’re good mates like Ben.

“
Ha! Yes there is. There’s plenty to tell. They did it in a car. On Mt Vic! Classy, eh?”

Laura poke
s Ben in the ribs with her elbow, sloshing half of her wine onto his lap. He jumps up instantly, looking extremely annoyed.

“
Thanks a lot, Laura!” He huffs off to the toilet to clean himself up.

“
Sorry,” she giggles as I shake my head at her good-naturedly. “God, what’s with him?”

“
Oh he’s just annoyed with Morgan on my behalf. I’ve been telling him the whole sorry saga.”

“
Of course he is, he’s in
lurve
with you!”

Laura’s
finding herself extremely funny and clever this evening, it would seem.

“
What? No he’s not, Laura. You’re dreaming,” I reply, shaking my head.

At it again, trying to match-make her single friend.

“And anyway,” I continue, “he’s got Amber.”

I admit I never really like
d Amber, she was a bit too sickly sweet and false for my liking. And Ben and I always had the best nights out when she wasn’t there. Although he said she liked me I could tell she didn’t. She would always ask the right questions to look like she was showing an interest in me as one of Ben’s friends, but she’d never really bother listening to the answers.

If I’m honest it didn’t help she was two sizes smaller than me, always dressed in the latest, expensive fashions, and seemed to
have Ben wrapped around her professionally manicured little finger.

“
Well, I think you two would be perfect together,” Laura says, not letting up on her little matchmaking fantasy.

“
Yes, I get it. Thanks, Laura.”

A joke’s a j
oke but she’s starting to make me feel a little uncomfortable now.

Truth be told
Ben and I had kissed one night about eighteen months ago. Not that I’ve told anyone. It was Christmas and a group of us Kiwis who weren’t heading home had treated ourselves to an outrageously expensive ‘orphans’ dinner’ at Nobu, a very chichi sushi restaurant in swanky Mayfair. You know, the traditional Kiwi sushi and cocktails Christmas dinner?

We had a competition to see who could order the best cocktail, rated on colour,
complexity, and accoutrements – the latter sadly lacking in the slick Nobu cocktail we discovered, much to our disappointment - and needless to say, not only was our bill astronomical by the end, but so too was our drunkenness.

And
come to think of it we never did determine who’d ordered the best cocktail. Things got a little fuzzy, to say the least.

A
fter flagging a cab down on Park Lane I lent in to kiss Ben goodbye on the cheek but we got our wires crossed and ended up knocking noses painfully, both grabbing for them, laughing as our eyes watered.

And then,
suddenly the mood changed and we both spontaneously lunged at each other, madly kissing. It only lasted a moment and we both came to our senses and stopped, feeling ashamed. After all, I had Luke at the time and he had Amber.

So we bade
one another a somewhat embarrassed farewell, I got in the cab to head back to my flat to sleep the excesses of the night off, and neither of us ever spoke of it again, putting our one-off kiss down to nothing more than drunken horniness.

Later in the evening Ben corners me.
“Who’s the lucky guy, Jess?”

“
What?” I answer, trying to act as though I’ve no idea what he’s talking about, but failing abysmally.

“
Oh, um, Scott Wright. You know, the tennis coach?” I ask.

“
Oh.” He raises his eyebrows at me.

Oh no, is he goi
ng to get all sensible-older-brotherly on me again, tell me to be careful, blah blah blah?

But instead all he does is
nod and say, “He’s a nice guy.”

What, no advice?
Ben, you’re slipping.

“
Right, all you people in my house, it’s time for you to leave so I can shag my husband senseless without having to keep quiet so we don’t wake the babies,” Laura proclaims loudly after the spread’s been devoured.

Apparently Laura’s been expressing her milk and freezing it like some sort of possessed bovine over the last few days in preparation for their first night without the twins, but let’s face it, we do
n’t want to know the details, do we?

Kyle looks slightly embarrassed but happy
about Laura’s drunken proclamation, and having absolutely zero interest in witnessing what is quite clearly about to take place, we all decide to call it a night and head to our respective homes.

Over the next couple of weeks I have to admit life seems pretty sweet back here in Wellywood. Mum and I are getting on well as housemates and she hasn’t once intoned, “You’re treating this house like a hotel”, or
other such expressions parents seem to enjoy throwing at their adult offspring. Which is a very good thing.

Although
, now I think about it, staying in a hotel for free would be pretty nice, and I wouldn’t have to put up with death by lavender in my bedroom, for a start.

Still,
it’s all pretty good on the home front, so I can’t complain.

Mum
’s in the kitchen cooking up a Middle Eastern feast in preparation for this evening’s imminent Big Meeting with Sydney, my mother’s boyfriend. Boyfriend? Still can’t get used to that one. People
my
age have boyfriends, not people
her
age. So what do I call him then? Her life partner? Her beau? Her
lover
? God forbid! Images, images, be gone from my brain!

Anyway, he’s about to arrive any minute and I have to say I’m approaching this whole thing with
a little bit of nervousness - what if I hate him? What if he’s not good enough for my Mum? - but mainly with a healthy dose of curiosity.

The door
bell rings and Mum almost jumps out of her skin. On edge much, Mum?

“
I’ll go,” I call to her breezily as I wander towards the front door.

“
No, no.” Mum comes rushing past me, the fastest I’ve seen her move in heels for years. “It’s only appropriate I invite him into the house, dear. He’s my guest. You run along into the living room and I’ll bring him in to introduce him to you there. If it’s worth doing…”

“
…it’s worth doing properly,” I finish her sentence for her, smiling good-humouredly.

She’s always been a stickler for doing things by the book.
My mother could teach the Queen of England a thing or two about etiquette, I imagine.

“
Quite,” she replies, removing her apron and smoothing her navy A-line skirt.

She actually looks very
chic
this evening, clad in the aforementioned skirt teamed with a pale blue chiffon blouse over a matching camisole. All thanks to a brief styling session with her talented daughter earlier on in the evening.

I even managed to tear her
beloved pearls away from her - quite literally, as it happens - and replace them with a much more modern, chunky necklace, the overall effect of which makes her look far less ‘mother-of-the-bride’ and much more ‘attractive, go-getting middle-aged hottie’.

Where I get my
innate sense of style from I have no idea, with a mother who styles herself on the Queen and a John Lennon hippie type for a dad. Now I think about it, it’s a miracle I have any sense of style whatsoever with that particular combination of parental influence.

I hear Mum answer the door and greet Sydney from
my designated spot in the living room. A moment later they walk through the doorway hand in hand, looking like nervous teenage lovers, about to meet the parents for the first time, realising they have to be on their best behaviour to make a good impression.

I feel like asking Sydney what his intentions are towards my mother
as a joke, but decide perhaps it’s not the best conversation opener, amusing as it may be to me.

“
You must be Jessica.” Sydney smiles broadly as he approaches me, letting go of my mother’s hand with a little squeeze. He’s one of those quite nondescript looking men - medium height, medium build, greying hair. But he has a kindly face and twinkly hazel eyes so despite my reservations I warm to him immediately.

“
Yes, it’s so nice to meet you, Sydney.”

We shake hands
somewhat formally as Mum looks on with an excessively proud and happy look on her face.

“
And you. My goodness, I’ve heard a lot about you,” he adds.

“
Well, me too. About you, that is.”

He laughs graciously at my extremely weak joke.
He really does want to make a good impression on me.

“
Now, I must get back to the kitchen,” Mum chirps in. “Jessica, dear, why don’t you offer Sydney a drink and have a wee chat? Dinner will be served in ten minutes.”

“
Lovely idea, sweet pea. We have a lot to talk about, don’t we, Jessica?”

It takes me a moment
to work out who “sweet pea” is.

“
Ah, right, yes,” I reply. “Drink?”

“
Lovely. Your mother usually serves me a nice, crisp sauvignon blanc, very grassy. From Marlborough, of course.”

“
No problem,” I reply, smiling at him, thinking that’s all quite specific.

Imagine if I returned,
god forbid, with a glass of merlot from Hawkes Bay? What would he do?

“
One crisp sav from Marlborough coming up then,” I say as I head to the kitchen.

“
Got a sav there,
sweet pea
?” I ask Mum cheekily.

Mum
laughs nervously, looking slightly uncomfortable, so I add, “He seems really nice, Mum.”

“
Oh, you think?” she gushes immediately. “He is.
So
nice. I’m so pleased you like him, dear.”

She seems lost in thought, so I delve into the fridge, locate the requested bottle and pour three glasses.

Back in the living room Sydney has made himself quite at home on the sofa and pats the spot next to him as I walk back in, glasses in hand. I hand him his wine and dutifully sit where directed.

“
Cheers, Jessica. Here’s to getting to know you better.”

We clink glasses and
each take a sip.

Then ensues the expected subtle interrogation
– me of him, that is. I don’t quite ask about his intentions towards Mum, but I don’t really need to, it’s pretty clear he’s totally smitten with her.

It turns out they’ve been dating for over
five months now, and he’s just returned from a trip to Melbourne where he saw his grown children and told them all about Mum. Meeting me appears to be the next step in “cementing their relationship”, as he puts it.

“
So they’re very keen to meet you as well,” he says enthusiastically.

It’s starting to feel a bit
like The Brady Bunch now and I half expect Alice the housekeeper to pop out of somewhere. So I’m thankful when Mum calls us into the dining room for dinner.

At the end of the evening when Sydney says goodbye and I’m heaving a sigh of relief there’s no suggestion of a sleep over,
it’s frighteningly obvious Mum is extremely interested to know what I thought of him.

“
Well, dear, I wondered if you wouldn’t really take to him. He’s so different from your father, and I know how you idolise him.”

“
I don’t idolise Dad!” I reply sharply, feeling indignant.

Perhaps I did when I
was a kid, but hell, don’t most kids? And that was a lifetime ago. I’m nearly thirty!

“
I’m not criticising you. I think it’s lovely you and your dad are so close. But I know Sydney’s quite a different bag of fish from your father, that’s what I mean.”

“
He seems great, Mum, and totally into you. I’m happy for you.”

She can’t suppress her smile.

“But right now I’m off to bed. Plenty to do tomorrow and I need to be sharp for it.”

“
Night then, dear.” She gives me a little peck on the cheek.

I can hear her humming away to herself as she does the all important cushion plumping and curtain straightening before turning in for the night. I’m glad she’s so
happy and am relieved Sydney seems so nice. She deserves some happiness, and if Syddo’s the man to give her that, then bring it on, I say.