Air Kisses (13 page)

Aw, he remembered me laying into a late-night booze meal. This could be love.

‘You’ve got me there.’

‘You say this with surprise? Hannah, you’re not giving me enough credit.’

Who was this man? He was too good, too smooth. I wondered how many dates he must have been on, and how
many women he must have bedded with these very same moves. It was probably in the hundreds. But, right then, I didn’t care. And so I flirted, and he flirted, and we were both clever and sharp, despite our hangovers, and it was dreamy.

‘So, why are you here again? Not that I wasn’t completely listening last night, of course…’

‘I’m looking at a development down on the river that’s about to be built. A lot of people back home are keen to invest here, because it’s a growth area and the tax is a joke for foreigners, and also because the girls here are supposed to be really loose.’

‘They are, are they?’ I smiled cheekily, internally amused that I could quite possibly be about to prove his joke to be correct.

‘The shoeless, sausage-sandwich-eating ones are supposed to be the loosest.’

I giggled and blushed. I’d never been with a guy who was so flirtatious, funny and sexy all at once. I was used to the three being exclusive.

After he told me a story about a malevolent squirrel, an overweight neighbour and his front doormat, which had me crying with laughter, I decided to buck all of the rules. I wanted to see him every day for the rest of his time here.

Which, at the end of the date, after a delicious goodnight kiss that involved wandering hands and gentle moans, I found out was only 11.3 days.

Thank God Iz had made me go out tonight.

Chapter Fourteen

‘Because he is sexy. And leaving the country forever. And because I have decided to stop being so prim and dull, and start being the girl everyone expects you to be if you’re single and you work for
Gloss
magazine.’

Iz looked at me with a surprised smile. Then she cocked her head and grinned. ‘No explainers or disclaimers required, miss. I am beyond stoked that you have a fully fledged holiday fling going on. In your own hometown. And that you’ve stopped those silly rules, too.’

I wasn’t sure why I had worried about what Iz would think. Maybe I was now so used to the idea of being tough on guys that I was anxious Iz would think that had all been a façade, and the real me, the weak girl who fell for boys after one walk home and a date, had fallen so hard she had bruises.

‘I’ve gotta be at work in ten minutes, but I’m
very
happy for you, and I don’t want to even have the discussion about whether you should sleep with him tonight, because there is only one answer and it starts and ends with YES.’

An hour later I was heavily glossed and smoky-eyed and sitting across from Dan at a café frequented by people who liked to wear black and talk loudly about films and galleries. We were here because next door was an art-house cinema and we were off to a movie Dan had been dying to see. Which was about an Amazonian tribe and an ancient cursed canoe. Apparently.

As I sat across from him, wondering if he used product in his hair or if it just naturally went like that, and what our children might look like, I realised that Dan was everything Jesse was not.

He spoke with fervour about worldly things, was well-travelled, liked to cook, and was a brilliant surfer. He was an ‘active’ guy, whereas Jesse was a ‘papers and coffee’ guy. And, as any women’s glossy magazine will tell you, such a contrast to one’s ex is like kerosene to a freshly heartbroken girl’s flame.

Dan ate his mussel linguine, twirling it like a pro, as he talked about his impending snowboarding trip to Osaka. I started to speculate on whether I would in fact sleep with him later that night. The thought made me very nervous. He seemed so confident, so sure of himself. What if I were no good? Or he was too good? Or he expected a head job? The more I thought about it, the more terrified I became. The solution was simple: I would have to get raucously drunk. I gulped down the remainder of my red wine.

Iz had been concerned nothing would happen because I had performed not one but
two
fateful acts of sexpectation: getting a Brazilian wax and cleaning my room. I knew the immutable law that if you expect sex, you won’t get it.
Whereas if your room is a pigsty and you are wearing your nastiest, oldest undies, you’ll get lucky for sure.

I had to stop thinking about it; it was too much pressure. I was even biting my nails, which, as a beauty editor, was a very bad thing indeed. Especially as I was wearing red polish. You can always tell when a woman is getting some: she’ll have red nails. I was a case in point: the day after meeting Dan I applied a fire-engine red polish to my fingernails and
I never wore red
. Pink was as dark as I got. But now, since meeting Dan, I wanted red this and red that. Red lips, red dresses, red shoes. It was bizarre.

I stood out with my red talons – every other beauty editor wore OPI’s Bubble Bath. ‘It is easy to apply and maintain,’ I’d written in
Gloss
a few issues back, ‘and can be done at your desk three minutes before you race out the door!’

‘Hannah? Are you listening?’

‘Hmm? Oh, yes. Sorry. What were you saying?’

‘Never mind. Hey, I like your dress. Your style is very LA, you know. Cool LA,’ he corrected himself. ‘West Hollywood LA. Not Beverly Kills LA.’

‘Um…thanks. Don’t they all wear velour tracksuits there?’

‘Not in my hood. It’s a velour-free zone. And you’re colourful, I like that you wear colour.’

I looked down. I was wearing a red-and-white polka-dot shirtdress, and black peep-toe patent pumps. It was another no-fail outfit: sexy but pretty, the kind that was perfect for a midweek afterwork date, because it was great for daytime functions but held its own at a restaurant, too. With an extra button undone, of course.

Hussy. I smiled coyly and took another enormous gulp of wine. I needed liquid courage. Lots of liquid courage.
I realised, looking at his olive skin and watching him animatedly tell a story about the house he was staying in, that I didn’t want to see a movie, I wanted to talk and kiss in his car.

‘Do you want to skip the movie and go get a cocktail up the road?’

I smiled in shock; it was as though he’d read my mind. Shit balls.

What else had he seen while he was poking around in there? I got all nervous about sex again. But then, if we were going for cocktails, my get-drunk plan would work beautifully.

‘Are you sure? I know how much you want to see the movie…’

‘Bah, let’s go get high on sugared-up rum and lime. I’ll get the bill.’

‘Thank you, Dan. That’d be nice.’ I grinned like a fool. He smiled back and his dimples pricked his cheeks in the way that had made me think of his face all day during work.

‘I’ll be right back.’ I grabbed my bag from the back of my chair and headed to the bathroom, trying to walk in a sexy way. I touched up my concealer and gloss and added some more crème blush to disguise the fact I’d been up since 6.30 a.m. My phone beeped as I was applying it. I checked the message. It was from Dan.

Sexpectation nothin’. I was
very
glad I’d had that wax.

Chapter Fifteen

Fiona took a deep breath. She was sitting in the back seat of a taxi with Yasmin, telling A Story. I was sitting in the front and so had to keep stretching my neck back to listen.

Yasmin had become quite close to Fiona lately, and Fiona now accompanied us to functions most of the time. I’d got over being scared of her, but I was still shy around her, because, well, she was still kind of indifferent to my existence.

But Fiona was a terrific, dominating storyteller. My role was simply to listen and offer terrifically encouraging eyebrow movements. She relayed stories with wild gesticulation and deliberate pauses and dramatic hair flicks. She wore her singledom like some form of glorious evening gown, and
was always dating lots of inappropriate men. And had such a number of boy tales she had to give all her men nicknames so we could keep track of them. These were attributed according to appearance (Bad-Hair Boy), stand-out traits/incidents (Tongue Guy/Married Man) or job (Vet).

‘So, like, Tight Shirt and I are sitting on the couch, and I’m completely sober, because I’m on antibiotics for my ear infection, and all of a sudden he starts kissing me.’

‘Is Tight Shirt “Gappy Teeth”?’ Yasmin asked, texting furiously as usual, but still listening in.

‘No, Gappy Teeth had left the party – remember, he had tried to kiss me goodbye while he was holding Midriff Girl’s hand? Tight Shirt is the unemployed guy with the Diet Coke body and the stubble.’

‘That’s right, sorry. Keep going.’

‘So, we’re kissing and he’s gorgeous, right, but all these thoughts race through my mind: “I haven’t waxed; I haven’t fake-tanned; what if someone walks in—”’

‘Ohmigod. I smell threesome,’ Yasmin said.

For beauty girls, taxis were the arena for the most salacious talk, as though we were in some form of secrecy bubble and the person driving were deaf or invisible.

I kept nodding encouragingly at Fiona as she described her dramatic brush with a sexual sandwich, but my mind wandered. Today’s function was bound to thieve at least two hours, and when I was going to finish writing my very-due beauty feature – ‘The Lazy Girl’s Guide to Glowing Skin’ – I had no idea. With precious few days till Dan left, I was not at all interested in staying back at work.

Plus, this evening we were going to a new Spanish tapas place that was supposed to be brilliant. Suddenly I was beside
myself with excitement. And not about the chorizo.

My buzz lasted around twelve seconds.

‘So, Hannah, I saw your ex yesterday,’ said Fiona casually, as if she were commenting on the state of the traffic. Seems I was to be included in the taxi talk today, after all.

‘Mm-hmm,’ I said, feigning a nonchalance that
I
thought was convincing.

‘He was with one of the Taylor sisters. Not sure which, all three are so tall and gorgeous and insipid,’ Fi continued, throwing out more worms.

I was refusing to bite, but Yasmin was ready for a nibble: ‘Aren’t they those lingerie-model sisters?’

‘Don’t know if they all are; I think the youngest one is just bikinis actually. We shot her last month for our denim issue. She ordered a platter of raw vegetables then proceeded to drink four coffees and smoke a deck of Marlboro lights instead,’ Fiona said with relish. We all
loved
to hear about what the models ate, or didn’t, on a shoot.

‘Well, that’s flattering to you, isn’t it, Han? I mean, think of Jennifer post-Brad: if you were gonna get dumped for anyone, you’d want it to be Angelina, right? Or a bikini model, in this case.’ Yasmin was trying to salvage the situation. Poorly.

I was aware both girls were waiting for my reaction. But I didn’t quite know what to do.

‘Anyway, Fi, what makes you think they’re dating? Maybe they’re just doing a TV show together. Or plotting a new route for NASA to get to Mars.’ Yasmin was now trying to diffuse things with a paltry attempt at humour.

‘I didn’t say they’re dating, I just said I
saw
them together.’

Yasmin exhaled dramatically. ‘Actually, and Han, baby, you know I’m on your side, we all are… But, Phoebe, my
fashion editor, said word is they
are
dating. We shot the girl last week and apparently she spent the whole time she was getting her make-up done talking about Jesse.’

My heart sank.

‘I’m sorry, but Phoebe’s so full of shit.’ Was Fiona now trying to play Switzerland? These girls were switching from good cop to bad with such speed that I was getting confused about who to hate more.

‘Yeah, okay, usually she is, but why would she make this up?’

‘Yeah, well, maybe you should stop now anyway. I’m sure Hannah doesn’t want to hear any more…’ Fiona had noticed the conversation had become a little too heavy, and, despite her having triggered it, was now trying to backpedal.

And all the while, I couldn’t say a thing.

‘No, shut up, Fi. I know Hannah better than you, and she knows I’m not doing this to hurt her, I’m doing it to help her. Han, I’m only telling you this so that you don’t hear it from someone else. And so you can feel safe knowing he is still clearly going through his compulsory sleep-around-with-every-dumb-pretty-slut-available phase, which he’ll inevitably get over.’

That was enough for me. ‘Driver, can you pull over please?’

I needed to get out. I needed to be away from these creatures, these bitches who pretended they were doing the right thing by me, when really my life was just another arrow in their gossip bow.

‘
Yasmin!
’ Fi was desperately trying to hold on to her slipping halo.

‘Hannah, honey, stay in the car. It’s finished now.’

‘I’m fine. I’d just rather walk.’

‘Excuse me, holy fuckin’ one, but it was you who brought this whole thing up,’ exploded Yasmin. ‘
Hannah
. I’m not trying to fuck with you. You know that. I only say this because I’m trying to protect you. It’s what decent friends do.’

We pulled up to a red light. I grabbed my bag and opened the door.

‘Yeah, well, strange version of friendship you’ve got,’ I said, and slammed the door.

In a matter of minutes I had changed from excitable honeymooner to an angry, angry person. I had not needed that information. It surprised me how upset I was, because I was so consumed with Dan, but I was very grumpy at the news Jesse was with yet another perfect-breasted imp.

But I’d be fine. I was fine, fine, fine, fucking fine. Stomp, stomp, stomp, search for invite to check address, stomp, stomp, go in door, wipe tears, take deep breath, smile, see PR, kiss on the cheek, overcompensate with cheerfulness and sound like on speed, relax, remember comments in cab, seethe, seethe, sip, smile, shudder, feel the lump in throat rising, excuse self, walk to toilet, slam door, sit, sigh, sniff, sob, shake head at self, sniff, sigh, slump.

I needed to pull myself together. I couldn’t just walk out and run, this was work. I looked up to the roof to stop the tears dribbling down. It was a nice one, all Art Deco style. I took some more deep breaths and tried to think happy thoughts. Like how Dan had lecherously tongue-kissed me this morning at breakfast in front of a whole café full of people. And how I would be seeing him in mere hours’ time. But it wasn’t like I could tell him about all of this; it was about my ex, for God’s sake, and Dan wouldn’t care anyway, he’d probably never had a bad break-up in his life.
Ah, Dan, Dan, the miracle man…

Pfft
, I suddenly thought. Who
cared
what Jesse was doing? I had Dan, and he meant far more to me than any vapid bikini model could ever mean to that germ.

I went over to the basin and started to reapply my make-up, which was all smudged and blotchy. By the time I’d finished putting eye drops into my red, puffy eyes I was feeling a lot better. I had overreacted a little, I guess.

I triumphantly walked back into the restaurant, sporting a smile that could bluff even Iz. As I turned the corner, past an immaculately placed array of candles, I was ambushed by a flurry of hair and eyes.

‘Oh, you’re here!’ Fi exhaled in relief.

‘Guys, I’m
fine
; I am truly fine. I’m good. Don’t look at me like that; I am okay, really.’

‘H, I’m – we’re – so sorry we were such arseholes,’ Yasmin said, in a tone I’d never heard from her.

‘Okay, well, I just think maybe – maybe – I don’t need to know that he’s dating other girls.’

‘Totally understand. No more.’ Fi crossed her heart with her finger.

‘
Stop staring at me
– you’re making me uncomfortable. I’m fine!’

Truth was I was nowhere near fine, but I was going to fake it till I felt it. I was getting good at that.