Air Kisses (11 page)

Walking upstairs, I wondered why I felt so low. I figured it was because what he’d said was right. I never contacted him. I
was
a shithead. I didn’t deserve someone as sweet as him.

I texted him three kisses as a kind of goodbye. No response.

Over the next few days, Trucker did not contact me at all, even when I texted him to see how he was, which is the very
best way to screw with someone who has hurt you. It was a disturbing reality check about how painful no contact can be, whether you’re the dumper or the dumpee. It wasn’t like I needed him to reply, or beg to stay friends, but I did think he was being a bit severe. And because he had always been in the palm of my inbox, it was a violent transition.

As it happened, Iz and Kyle were going through a nasty patch just as Trucker and I finished up. This was of great concern to me, because I knew how much she liked him. Even though he was three years younger than her. Even though he worked at a bar when he wasn’t modelling German software or Tahitian spring water or organic bloody pet food. Even though he thought showing four centimetres of his brand-name underpants over his jeans was unreal.

They’d had a fight because he’d told her he’d come over to her place after he finished up at a bar, but he still hadn’t arrived by the time she left for work at 7 a.m. And he hadn’t called or texted to let her know what had happened. She’d tried calling, but he hadn’t picked up, which made her very, very anxious. And, by 11 a.m., very, very angry.

When he’d finally called her, at 4 p.m., she had been so irate he could barely get a word in. Turned out he’d ended up going out with his mates and they’d taken some pills and ended up at a day club, and he’d left his phone at work and didn’t know her number off by heart.

As
she’d
thought he was dead in a gutter, and was now embarrassed for thinking that, she told him to get fucked and hung up. He called back, told her she was overreacting and carrying on like his mum. She hung up. She called back, told him he was a juvenile and she needed a ‘real’ man. He hung up. And so on.

We had heard that Kyle and Trucker and the whole catalogue-collective were going around telling everyone we were bitches, old hags, hos, whatever they managed to spit out in a drunken rant at someone’s party. I was definitely offended, and thought about texting Trucker to tell him what a little arsehole he was being, but Iz was not only offended, she was hurt. Deeply.

‘Han, why would he do something like that? I mean, I get why Trucker would…’

I laughed. ‘Thanks.’

‘You know what I mean. Is Kyle really that much of a child? Dissing me to everyone? Seriously. How dare he?’

I felt so bad for Iz. Kyle was being a little gremlin. I felt like tracking him down and giving it to him, but that would hardly make him race up to Iz with foliage and apologies. If only I hadn’t ended things so badly with Trucker, we could’ve masterminded The Great Romantic Comeback.

I decided the hurt had to end. Iz had to tell Kyle how she was feeling – after all, she wasn’t into communication starvation like I was. If she was upset, it was in her nature to simply call a guy and tell him her feelings.

‘Why not call him, Iz? Get it all out?’

So she did. And gave it to him. But then she accidentally cried.

And he came over. And apologised. And promised never to fight again. And they ‘made up’. All night.

I couldn’t help but miss Trucker a little when I saw Kyle and Iz all happy and together again the following weekend. Or, rather, my ego missed him. But I knew finishing it had been the right thing to do. Even if I had felt a little lonely for the last few weeks. And all that loneliness made me think of Jesse, because I still had reserve loneliness left over from him.

I wondered if he and Lisa were buying engagement rings yet.

Chapter Eleven

For the first time since starting at
Gloss
, things had slowed down. My usual crazy stream had stemmed to a paltry trickle. All at once, the cosmetic companies eased up on PR activities, which meant no functions. And no busy. Just as I craved frantic, extreme busyness as a substitute for Trucker, who’d distracted me from thoughts of Jesse, the universe stripped me of it. Being stuck at my desk all day – rare, near unheard of – meant I got lots of work done. And could leave at 6 p.m. Which was great. Except that
I hated it.

I missed my regular routine. I was used to, say, a natural skincare launch at 8.30 a.m., complete with soy smoothies, bio-dynamic eggs, a yoga class and free iridology consultations, followed by a 12.30 lunch with a PR to talk about their new tanning range, then a 2.30 two-hour boardroom meeting with Karen and Marley, and, to finish, a 6 p.m. cocktail function in a
hotel lobby with every hairdresser in the metropolitan district. It was loopy but, just like the strange rash I’d contracted from a cheap dry-body oil a few weeks back, I was used to it now.

Not having stuff on made me all clingy and strange. I forwarded stupid clips from YouTube, changed my Facebook profile picture incessantly and wrote inconsequential ramblings on Iz’s wall; I Google-stalked Bailey Thomas, my high-school sweetheart, but mostly I found myself hitting the Send/Receive button above my email inbox.

It wasn’t just me. Yasmin was cranking out the emails too. We both had work to do, but we were bored.
So bored
. We were used to fragmented office time, screaming out of hallways and impatiently jabbing lift buttons, redoing our make-up four times a day, stomping in contempt when a taxi failed to stop for us.

Ding.

I touched my forehead. Was it so frowny that they thought I needed Botox? I grabbed my mirror and peered at my skin, making faces to accentuate the lines. Surely I wasn’t at the
Botox stage yet? I looked at my face again, pulling my skin back to test for elasticity. Seemed fine to me. But was I silly to knock them back? After all, I knew how expensive Botox was.

I shook my head, tsk-tsking. I wasn’t going to be sucked into an expensive obsession out of insecurity caused by a PR desperate for a story. I was shocked at how vulnerable I had become. If someone had offered me Botox a few months back, I would’ve burst out laughing.

Out of nowhere I suddenly wished I had Dec’s email. Not to use it, necessarily, but just to have it. In fact, scrap that – I wished he had
mine
, so he could send me a quick-fire shot of his elegant humour and cheekiness. He had a way of making me see the forest for the trees, or rather the forehead for the frowns. I smiled, thinking of his kiss a few months back. Why had he done that? And why then? He had probably just been drunk. Or
maybe
he was not as perfect as I painted him to be; maybe he was a sleazy little octopus who loved nothing more than locking nubile nymphs in candlelit bathrooms under the guise of ‘helping’.

I shuddered at the thought. No, that wasn’t Dec. I knew he wasn’t like that. He was the Nice Guy. He was definitely the Nice Guy, I was just over-thinking the situation. I sent a text to Iz to break the train of thought.

Finally, I had something I could look forward to. I didn’t love the Randy Panther, which was smack bang in the city’s hobo-chic ghetto, but I would’ve drunk from a puddle to have a plan that night.

By the time I arrived at the Randy Panther, which should’ve been renamed the Drowned Kitty for the evening, I was in a foul mood: it was raining, there had been no cabs and I’d had to walk three blocks in uncomfortable – and now ruined – suede heels. My hair was flat and greasy-looking and I was sure my mascara had run. I stomped to the bathroom to quickly fix myself up.

Walking out of the bathroom, I looked up to see Jesse.
Fuck!
What was Mr Boat Shoes doing in an underground bar like the Panther? I panicked: my top was clinging to my stomach in a most unflattering fashion, and my quickly-tied-back hair, now happily having made the transition from soaking to frizzy, was about as chic as the brown stained carpet under my feet. And why,
why
had I not reapplied my bronzer and blush in the bathroom? This was all just
awesome
. Thank you, Universe.

I wondered if I could quickly duck behind the group of loud artistic types to my right. No dice. Jesse saw me, and his face immediately broke into a big grin. My expression was more like that of a teenager busted shoplifting. He came over and went to kiss me on the cheek, but I pulled away so he kind of grazed my chin instead.

‘Hannah! I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch. I’ve been meaning to call—’

Jesus! It was all so awkward.

‘Don’t, Jesse. Just don’t.’ My voice shook a little bit, but I tried to remain strong. I was
supposed
to be acting agonisingly indifferent. I was irritated that I was having such a stupid reaction to him, when in all my revenge daydreams I was ice-cool when faced with his blue eyes and blond, floppy mop.

He dropped his eyes and took a deep breath before looking at me again.

‘I’m so sorry that things turned out this way…’

‘
Don’t.
’ I could feel tears rising.

‘So!’ he said in falsetto. ‘How is the job?’ Sensing I was about to bolt, he was trying to normalise the situation by babbling.

‘Oh, you know, it’s okay…keeps me busy.’ Insert fake smile.

‘So, I’ve, ah, I’ve been pretty flat out, you know, travelling and stuff for work…just got back from overseas, actually.’

‘Really? How nice.’ Clearly he was gagging for me to ask about his job, but I was not going to give him the satisfaction of showing I was interested at all, even though every hair follicle and pore on my person was screaming, ‘How’s your new girlfriend
Lisa
? Are you happy with
Lisa
? Is
Lisa
good in bed? Does
Lisa
cook French toast as well I do? Can she reverse park as well as I can? Does
Lisa’s
breath smell when she wakes up in bed next to you in the morning, or is she just one ongoing, flowery-smelling fairy princess who you would never, ever cheat on?

I could suddenly hear, feel,
smell
the hurt and rage bubbling within me. I needed to get far away from him.
Now
.

‘So, are you seeing anyone?’

He came out with it just like that. As if he were asking if I had seen the new Pixar movie.

What the hell are you supposed to say when your ex asks you that? ‘Yes’ would make me sound as though I had moved on, and although that
could
work by making him jealous, it was a big risk to take if he was at all interested in trying again…while ‘no’ made me sound like a loser who couldn’t get
a date. I knew the fundamentals, at least: always ensure the ex-boyfriend thinks you are having far more sex than he is.

‘Actually, I’ve been doing a bit of multi-dating.’

Ohmigod. What did I just
say
? I had
no
idea where that had come from.

Jesse’s eyebrows shot up. Fast.

‘Multi-dating?’

Can’t back down now. ‘Sure. Everyone’s doing it. And, you know, as long as you don’t sleep with all of them, it’s totally kosher.’ I nodded for extra sincerity and authority.

Jesse’s eyebrows still hadn’t come down.

I cleared my throat.

There was an excruciatingly loud silence.

I needed to leave. Terrible things were streaming out of my mouth without my permission.

‘Uh, well, I should go.’ I smiled with my lips closed and eyebrows up and swivelled away quickly.

Yes!
I secretly cheered, at least I had salvaged the farewell. It was crucial to end any conversation first, so you appeared busier than him. Hopefully, Jesse would now be wondering if I was here with a guy. Or five.
As long as he didn’t see Iz.

Just as I had spied a table in the far corner where I could hide and wait for Iz, I looked up to see her walking through the door.

Thank
God
.

‘HE’S HERE,’ I said through clenched teeth. ‘I just spoke to him. I need you to find out who he’s here with, except I’m meant to be here with a harem of young sexy men, so be subtle for chrissakes.’

‘Slow down, honey,
who
is here? Trucker? I thought Kyle said he’d moved to Milan for work?’

‘JESSE.
Jesse
is here. I need you to see if he’s with Lisa Sutherland.
Now
. Please?’

‘Oooooh,’ she said, drawing it out to show she now understood perfectly. She started looking around furtively before standing up and stalking away.

Three excruciating minutes and 67 million possible-outcome thoughts later, and she was back.

‘He’s not with her,’ she said, settling back onto her stool.

‘Oh thank God.’ My heart soared.

‘But he is with another bird…but don’t worry, I didn’t see any body contact and she literally looks as though she might be seventeen years old.’

My heart sank. Swear words swirled around my head. Jesus. Didn’t take him long to move on, jumping from one pretty thing to another as though he were some form of hyperactive-mating tree frog.

‘Honey, that she’s seventeen is
good
. It means she’s just a toy.’

‘He’s disgusting. I hate him.’ I folded my arms and glared in his general direction.

‘Do you want to go?’ Iz could see how pissed off I was.

‘Can we? Sorry, Iz. I’m not really in the mood…’

Sitting in the taxi, I fell completely mute. Once again it felt like Jesse had won. And what did it matter if I’d said I was multi-dating? It didn’t, since he was the one actually doing it.