New York Valentine (12 page)

Even Lana had said: ‘A Flirtini? Go on, Mum … I’ve always wanted to try one.’

‘You’re under-age,’ Annie had whispered back.

‘No one’s asking,’ Lana pointed out, head cocked defiantly, blinking blue eyes up at Annie the way she’d done ever since she was tiny.

‘Just one,’ Annie said, relenting in the face of those melting eyes, as usual.

‘And no maraschino, it’s very important,’ the girl with a short and severe brown fringe added, ‘I’m like totally allergic to food colouring. I’ll go into shock and you’ll have to EpiPen me.’

‘Oh dear God no,’ one of the guys laughed, ‘not again!’

Annie managed to make her huge cocktail order at the bar, adding on a glass of wine for herself. The barman got down to the elaborate production performance, shaking ice cubes about here, flipping cucumbers into the air there, sliding glasses up and down the bar. Maybe it would have been fun to watch if she hadn’t been standing all on her own at the bar, feeling like the heaviest, oldest person in the entire world: an invader in the world of twiglet-like, young, gilded, beautiful people.

The row of glittering drinks was set before her on two silver trays.

‘And no maraschino,’ the barman repeated, putting the last cocktail into place.

As her glass of wine was added to the tray, he informed her: ‘That’ll be $238.55.’

Although this was almost double the amount she’d expected to pay, Annie managed to rein in her gasp. A quick check of her purse and she found the relevant cash: a $100 bill, then another, then two twentys.

She put the money on the counter.

The barman looked at it, then looked up at her. ‘Is there a problem?’ he asked.

What?

‘No …’ Annie wondered if she’d misheard. Maybe it was $338. Maybe these were the most expensive cocktails in the universe and she’d somehow been crazy enough to order six of them. Maybe it was $538 and she wouldn’t have enough to pay. She’d be flung into a New York jail and never see her other children again because by mistake she’d wandered into the most expensive bar in Manhattan and ordered a round of drinks.

‘What have I done wrong?’ she asked, panicky now. ‘I’m not from New York, I don’t know the rules.’

At this, the barman leaned on his elbow towards her. He was yet another perfect New York physical specimen. What was it about this town? Did they round up the ugly people at the bridges and refuse to let them in?

‘Aha, OK new-to-New-York lady. Here we give great service because we expect a great tip.’

‘Oh.’

‘And not some pussy 10 per cent tip either. If I did a good job, it’s 20 per cent minimum. Only pay less if you want me to spit in your next drink.’

Urgh.

‘Right, OK, I see …’ She began to rummage in her bag again, doing the maths. She owed him another $46! He was pocketing $46 per round of drinks. No wonder he looked so gorgeous and well-dressed.

She put another $50 on the counter and asked if he would at least help her take the drinks to the table.

‘No problem,’ he said, rolling up the money and stuffing it into his back pocket.

As the drinks were handed out, Annie searched for a spare chair to add to the end of the table and finally found a plush velvet stool. Unfortunately, when she sat down, she was about eight inches lower than the banquette.

Plus everyone else was in a hubbub of conversation and although they were quite happily sipping at the drinks she’d bought, they didn’t exactly seem concerned about letting her into the conversation.

Lana, who would have cared, who would have made sure her mum was involved in the chat, had been moved along to the very far end of the table.

Annie sipped at her wine and watched: three girls, three guys, all young, all full of the excited energy of a night out; the adventure and possibility that lay ahead.

The blond-haired guy was laughing with Lana, who turned all of a sudden in Annie’s direction, pointed to her and announced: ‘My mum’s on TV, you know,’ kindly trying to bring her into the group.

This caused a little ripple of interest. Everyone now turned to her with curiosity.

‘In TV? Over here? Which network?’ one of the guys asked.

‘No, in Britain. I was doing a show with Channel Four,’ Annie replied. ‘Sort of a fashion, magazine-style thing. I was the presenter.’

‘You’re on TV?’ the blond guy couldn’t really have looked more surprised.

‘Yeah,’ Lana dug him playfully in the ribs. ‘Over a million viewers every week.

‘How many seasons have you done?’

‘Is it filming right now?’

The questions came in thick and fast until the moment when Annie had to admit that the show was ‘taking a break’ and there was no new commission at this exact moment.

Then the faces turned away again, the interest faded to nothing and Annie was left gazing at her wine glass.

Nice.

When Elena went off to the bathroom, Annie dared to slip from her little stool up onto the banquette.

Really, she wanted to hear what the blond guy was talking to Lana about, but once she was up on the leather bench, severe fringe girl suddenly wanted to talk to her.

‘Jeeeeeeez, they just love real-looking people on British TV, right?’

This was her opening line.

‘Real-looking’ didn’t exactly sound like a compliment.

‘Yeah, I think they do,’ Annie replied. ‘But it was a girls’ show. It was for girls, by girls and we made people feel good by not being too perfect. We were keeping it real.’

‘Yeah … smile,’ the girl instructed Annie.

Annie did, wondering if the girl was going to whip out her phone and take a picture.

But no, instead, Miss Fringe said: ‘Real British teeth and everything. No Botox. That is just so unusual. Over here, you could not be on television. No way.’

Annie was feeling more than a little insulted now.

‘What about you?’ Annie decided to change tack, ‘what do you do?’

‘I’m at
Elle Decoration
. I’m an editorial assistant.’

‘That’s great and what about your friends?’

‘Well, Taylor, he’s the blond guy who seems sooooo interested in your daughter, he’s doing an internship at
Vogue
. He’s at college, majoring in journalism. Then Mick is at
Elle
with me. He’s one of the contributing editors, he writes about architecture and Donald is a news photographer. He’s with the
New York Post.’

‘And you all kind of know Elena because of Sye?’ Annie asked.

‘Yeah. He’s crazy about her, I don’t think she has any idea.’

‘No. I don’t think she does.’

Silence.

Annie looked over at Lana again. Handsome blond – Taylor, she remembered – was leaning right over her; he looked as if he was about to kiss her.

Annie felt herself bristle.

But instead, Taylor turned and whispered in Lana’s ear.

‘So I guess,’ Miss Fringe went on, ‘even though you’re on television, you must eat carbs and everything. That would never happen over here. I know this girl who’s trying to get into presenting. She’s way, way thin and they still keep telling her she’s too fat to make it.’

Now Annie was bristling all over.

She turned to her wine glass, but she’d emptied it ages ago. No one had offered to buy her another and she wasn’t going up to the bar to be charged twenty quid for a second glass.

‘We have to go,’ she said, standing up abruptly, ‘Lana, do you remember? We said we’d have to be at the … the thing before midnight … so we have to go now.’

Lana looked up at her in dismay.

‘Vat thing?’ Elena asked, back just in time to hear this.

‘It’s a private thing,’ Annie said and now she felt torn. She didn’t want to drag Lana away, but she couldn’t take this any more. Carbs. Carbs! Of course she was allowed to eat carbs even though she was on TV. These people were absolutely mad. Obsessed. She couldn’t bear to sit beside them for another second.

‘Please, Lana,’ Annie added in a voice which was a little too pleading.

Lana turned to Taylor: ‘Lovely to meet you. I really mean that. I’m in New York for a few weeks. I hope we’ll bump into each other again.’

‘Bump into each other?’ Taylor asked, looking confused.

Obviously this was not an expression which crossed the Atlantic well.

‘See each other …’ Lana began but then blushed and came to a halt. Because even she knew what ‘seeing each other’ meant in US-speak.

‘Good-night.’ She smiled at the others then began to pick her way out of the banquette.

‘See you later,’ Elena offered.

As soon as they were outside the bar, Lana turned to her mother full throttle.

‘Why are we leaving? I was having the best time. I do not want to go home now. It’s early. You could have gone home on your own you know, you didn’t have to bring me into it. I’d have been fine with Elena.’

‘I didn’t want to leave you with Elena and those people. They all seemed really, really shallow,’ Annie said. She was feeling flustered.

‘Shallow? Because they work on magazines and take photos? You used to work in a fashion store and now you work in TV. I don’t think that makes you one teeny bit more deep and meaningful than they are,’ Lana stormed in reply.

‘You’re just angry because that guy didn’t ask for your number.’

‘So? Why shouldn’t I want him to ask for my number? Maybe if I’d been able to stay there and talk to him, he would have asked. Instead, I’m being dragged home by my mum like some six-year-old.’

‘Ouch.’

‘What did that girl say to you, anyway?’

‘What girl?’

‘You know, the one sitting beside you. One moment you were chatting away, the next you were standing up, wanting to leave. What did she say?’

‘Nothing.’

For several seconds they walked along the sidewalk together. A brisk wind had picked up and it felt surprisingly cold walking along in thin summer dresses without any coats.

‘Was it about your weight?’ Lana asked in a much calmer, gentler voice.

At first Annie said nothing.

Then she finally admitted: ‘Maybe.’

‘New Yorkers are very weight conscious.’

‘I’m very weight conscious,’ Annie protested, ‘but that doesn’t seem to help me. I just get bigger and bigger.’

‘Poor old Mum,’ Lana said and slipped her arm round Annie’s waist.

‘Can we have less of the “poor” and less of the “old”?’ Annie said, putting her hand over Lana’s and patting it. ‘I’m not even forty and I’ve got this gorgeous grown-up daughter who completely overshadows me. It takes getting used to, babes, it takes some getting used to. I can tell you.’

‘You’re lovely and you’re famous,’ Lana added kindly. ‘Can you walk in those shoes?’

When Annie nodded yes, Lana insisted they walk some of the way home.

‘I’m not going to get thin just by walking,’ Annie protested.

‘It’s a start though,’ Lana insisted.

‘I didn’t think Taylor looked very nice,’ Annie confided, ‘he was too handsome and very full of himself.’

‘Mum! Don’t say that. I really,
really
wanted him to ask for my number.’

‘Did you?’

‘Yes!’

‘And you still came with me?’

‘Yes!’

‘That is very, very kind of you,’ Annie said.

‘I know. Too kind. But maybe he’ll ask Elena for
my
number. What do you think?’

Librarian Lana:

Green capri trousers (Miss Selfridge)
Pink shirt with ruffles (New Look)
Green messenger bag (Fossil)
Yellow heels (borrowed from Elena)
Highly kissable pink lip gloss (Mac)
Total est. cost: $220

‘Shut up!’

When the first rays of sunshine stole in through the little kitchenette window the following morning, they found Lana deeply asleep on the sofa bed, her head shrouded with dreams of noisy New York streets and handsome New York men.

Annie was already at the café table, quietly tappity-tapping on the laptop. She was reading through her business email about fabric and factories, checking her personal email and looking at the photos Ed had just sent through this morning.

Her lovely babies were sitting on Owen’s lap eating something which looked worryingly like chocolate brownie! Ed must have been in charge of that. Dinah would never, ever let the twins have chocolate brownies.

‘What are they eating and should I be worried?’ she typed to Ed, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to reply for hours because he was already at school. She’d phone Dinah later in the day and make sure the babies were really absolutely fine. Dinah would tell her just exactly how well Ed was coping without her around.

Meanwhile, Annie had three factories not far from New York to call. She also had a list of discount fabric warehouses in the area. If they could somehow find some very cheap fabric, maybe they could use the remaining few thousand pounds just to get the very first dresses off the production line.

She and Elena were going to have a very busy day, so after switching on the coffee machine, Annie also decided to turn on the TV news at low volume to gently wake the household. It was 6.45a.m. Time to kick New York ass, no matter what time it had been when Elena had stumbled over their sofa bed in the dark last night.

With something of a groan, Lana opened her eyes, but then immediately put her hand up to shield them against the sunlight.

‘Just be grateful I only let you drink one Flirtini,’ Annie said.

‘What time is it?’ Lana asked.

‘Nearly 7a.m.,’ Annie replied.

‘Too early!’ came the shout from next door.

‘It’s never too early for New York,’ Annie called back, ‘we’ve got a busy day. I’ve got a whole list of factories and fabric suppliers, you need to drink coffee and help me call them all.’

A long, loud groan came from Elena’s bedroom.

‘Yeah and if you drank enough cocktails at that place to make you groan, you’re going to need to sell a serious amount of dresses.’

Elena entered the kitchen in her by now very familiar micro floral dressing gown.

‘Hey, Lana, I have message for you,’ she began, after a lengthy yawn. ‘Taylor give me his number for you. He make interview at New York Central Library today, he say if you come at 12.30, you can get special visitor library tour with him. Exciting, no?’