Authors: Sarah Manning
Unsticky (57 page)
‘You looked gorgeous, babe,’ Dan insisted, stepping between Lily and Vaughn so he could mark his territory. ‘You know, Grace used to go out with my friend, Liam. Great guy.’
Vaughn’s work was done. ‘Really?’ he asked without much interest. ‘There are some sofas downstairs if you want to sit down.’ He took hold of Grace’s hand. ‘Will you excuse us?’
Grace had never been more pleased to be excused. The gallery had really filled out while Vaughn had been trying to broker the peace deal. There was a crush at the bar and even though she’d told the DJ that she wanted background music, Grace could hear Northern Soul booming down from the first floor so loudly that the bass made the walls vibrate. Some of the models Grace had invited from Nadja’s agency were even dancing, gawky limbs flailing like wraiths caught in a stiff breeze. ‘Well, at least people turned up.’
‘Is Noah here? Did he say he was coming?’
‘I’m sure he’ll be here soon.’
‘Well, he’d better,’ Vaughn muttered darkly and strode off.
At ten thirty there was another swell of arrivals and Grace decided that she might as well call the party a success. The sausage and mash had run out, but there was still plenty of vodka and the upstairs space had become the unofficial dance floor. If nothing else, everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves and had merged into a seamless, heaving throng that might possibly cause a Zeitgeist. Fortunately, Piers had invited some proper grown-ups so Vaughn had people to talk to, but Grace could see him frowning as he failed to spot Noah.
Grace had officially given up on Noah, but as she came back from the loo, she was corralled by two of the gallery staff because someone on the guest-list had arrived with eleven people in tow. As Grace got nearer, she could hear Noah saying belligerently, ‘Listen, sweetheart, I’m on the fucking list.’ He looked up, saw Grace rushing over and waited with arms folded.
‘It’s OK, you can let him in,’ Grace assured the girl on the door. ‘He’s on the list.’ She lowered her voice so Noah wouldn’t hear. ‘He’s Mr Vaughn’s special guest.’
‘The Fire Department could shut us down. We’re way over capacity.’ The door whore was very socially responsible for someone wearing a tutu.
Grace floundered, thought about stamping her foot, but wrung her hands instead, while Noah and friends went into a huddle like they were about to bolt and go somewhere else to keep their alcohol levels topped up.
Salvation appeared in the form of the
Skirt
posse who couldn’t wait to get back to civilisation. ‘Great party, Gracie,’ Lucie trilled as she pushed her way towards the door. ‘Really looking forward to the next one.’
Skirt
posse who couldn’t wait to get back to civilisation. ‘Great party, Gracie,’ Lucie trilled as she pushed her way towards the door. ‘Really looking forward to the next one.’
The velvet rope was finally unclipped and Noah and his plus eleven bundled in, including Alex who gave Grace an ironic salute as he shouldered past her. Grace was immediately tackled by Noah, who pulled her into an enthusiastic and sweaty hug. ‘Please tell me that there’s still free booze.’
She wriggled free before she got Noah stains on her new dress. ‘There’s lots of vodka left but no sausage and mash. Where’s Lola?’
Noah shrugged. ‘Don’t know. We’re not together any more.’ He didn’t seem particularly bothered about it. ‘Shall we go and sneak a fag?’
The gallery manager was snapping his fingers at Grace. ‘I can’t, but I have models. Upstairs. They’re all dancing very badly and ruining my vibe so feel free to try and separate one from the herd.’ She touched Noah’s arm. ‘When you see Vaughn, will you please be nice to him?’
‘Gracie, that’s no fun,’ Noah said, wagging his shaven head from side to side as she looked at him imploringly. ‘Oh look - if it means that much to you, I guess I could manage a hello.’
‘It does, and if you could even muster a “good to see you and this is a great party” too, then that would be even better.’
The last guests left just before one, and after Grace had paid the DJ she wearily climbed the pretzel staircase to the first floor where Vaughn, Noah, Piers and a few stragglers had fetched up on a group of sofas. Grace pulled on a bright smile but she’d have much preferred to be back at Vaughn’s having her last cup of tea of the day.
The whole evening had been one stress bomb after another, and now as Vaughn came back from fetching the remaining few bottles of vodka, Grace realised there was nowhere for him to sit. Vaughn cast his eyes over the sofas, realised he was out in social Siberia, and looked as if he might actually cry.
‘I need the loo,’ she hissed at him from her spot at the end of one of the couches. ‘Sit here and I’ll perch on the arm when I get back.’
It would have been a perfect solution achieved with minimum ease, except that when Grace stood up in her nosebleed-high heels, after far too much vodka, she pitched forward and ended up sprawling across the low table in front of them. Thank God she was wearing opaque tights.
There was a chorus of, ‘Are you all right?’ and Grace wished that everyone would shut the hell up and allow her to limp to the Ladies accompanied by what was left of her pride.
‘Did you eat any dinner?’ Vaughn asked.
‘I had too much to do,’ Grace said, rubbing her knee. ‘And then it was all gone.’
‘You can’t drink on a stomach that’s only got cayenne pepper and lemon juice in it.’
Grace was about to point out that her five-day detox was something that she didn’t particularly want to share with the group, until someone piped up, ‘Does that diet actually work, because I really can’t face doing Atkins again.’
‘I lost four pounds in five days,’ Grace admitted, though most of it had been water. That was the starter for ten. They were meant to be hipsters, scene kids, art iconoclasts and tastemakers, but they suddenly morphed into a bunch of housewives swapping diet stories. Grace was appalled. It was like being back at work.
Dieting was one subject that Vaughn excelled in, and when Grace finally hobbled away he had a rapt audience as he explained the benefits of weight training. ‘Muscle actually weighs three times more than fat, but the more muscle you have, the more calories you burn.’ Gustav had created a monster.
When Grace returned after trying to rescue her smoky-eye make-up, which was looking a little too racoon, they were well into the bottles of vodka.
‘You must be starving,’ Vaughn said, his arm automatically locking around Grace’s waist as she settled on the arm of the couch. ‘And are you going to be comfortable there?’
‘I’m fine,’ Grace assured him, and he smiled at her. Grace was used to Vaughn’s smiles now. He had about twenty and she knew what each one meant, from the cold, wintry twist of his lips when he was trying to stay calm in the face of extreme provocation, to the dopey, dazed grin he’d give her when they had a lazy fuck on a Sunday morning. But Grace was sure that she hadn’t seen this smile before. It creased his face, wrinkling his eyes and giving him two deep dimples as he looked at Grace like she was the reason the sun came up and flowers grew, and he was very pleased that she was currently leaning against him. It was
that
good a smile.
that
good a smile.
Some impulse that she wouldn’t have given into if she hadn’t drunk so much vodka made Grace bend her head and press her lips against Vaughn’s forehead. Which just made his smile broaden so Grace leaned in even closer because she wanted to kiss the grin right off his face. She didn’t even have time to pout her mouth into a perfect kiss-shape when Noah swapped places with the person who’d been sitting on Vaughn’s other side, and the spell was broken.
‘So, can I pick your brains about showing in New York?’ he asked Vaughn, and Grace ceased to exist as they started this incomprehensible back and forth about galleries and dealers and the new curator at the Whitney Museum of American Art.
Grace started talking to Piers, who was shooting Vaughn these anxious looks like a little boy staying up way past bedtime who hoped that his daddy wouldn’t notice, and Alex about their mutual love of Rodgers and Hammerstein musicals. It was far more interesting than the big group discussion about how all the original YBAs had ‘sold out’. Grace really didn’t see what the big deal was about selling out. Languishing in obscurity was all very well, but unless you were a Trustafarian, it led to bad things like not being able to pay the rent and yellow ice in your toilet bowl.
Vaughn was rhythmically stroking her hip, while he pleaded the case for the opposition and laughed at the howls of protest. Grace wondered if maybe they should do this once a month. Not another raucous party because her nerves couldn’t take it, but hosting a low-key drinks and art salon, where Vaughn was at his best, rather than skulking on the sidelines as people pogo-ed to The Horrors. And he should always wear suits; he could become known for them. He did look so good in a suit.
The party ended when the gallery manager wandered up the stairs and stood there rattling his keys. Vaughn got up to settle the final bill and Grace clumsily slid on to the warm patch where Vaughn had been sitting.
Noah nudged her with his arm. ‘He’s not so bad, I guess.’ He looked at Vaughn who was handing over a huge wad of notes. ‘For a heartless, commerce-obsessed scumbag.’
‘You’re warming to him, I can tell.’ Grace nudged him back. ‘He’s actually very sweet and kind, if you give him the chance.’
‘Yeah, I’ll take your word for it. Anyway, I thanked him for the invite and the booze and it’s all good,’ Noah said, stroking his bristly chin. ‘You fancy going on somewhere else? There’s a little bar around the corner with a late licence.’
Grace raised her eyebrows. ‘Do they serve food?’
‘I’ll treat you to a kebab on the way,’ Noah said with a mischievous grin, which suited him much better than his usual smirk.
‘You’ve got yourself a deal.’ Grace levered herself up and walked over to Vaughn, who held out his arm so he could pull Grace in for a kiss.
‘You’re a very clever girl,’ he murmured in her ear, looking over to where Noah was sprawled out on the sofa. ‘I’ve never seen Noah smile so much.’
‘It was nothing,’ Grace insisted. ‘Well, actually it’s taken years off me but I think we pretty much rocked it. And Noah wants to carry on drinking so you might as well make the most of it while he’s in such a good mood.’
Vaughn shook his head. ‘Noah will keep. Let’s get you home. You must be dead on your feet.’
Grace lifted up her leg. ‘No, I’m wearing my eight-hour heels and actually I think I’m getting my second wind. There might even be dancing.’
She grabbed Vaughn’s hand as a prelude to pulling him down the pretzel staircase after the others, but he stayed rooted to the spot. ‘It’s really late and I have an early conference call in the morning. Well, in a few hours actually.’
‘Just half an hour then,’ Grace begged, because she’d been on duty all night and the prospect of a relaxed little nightcap was just what she needed to decompress. Plus all she could think about was a kebab, with chips and the really hot sauce. ‘Oh, come on, Vaughn, it will be fun.’ She gave him the look that he always told her she should only use for the power of good because it was so persuasive. ‘Please.’
‘You go,’ he said slowly, as if it was against his better judgement. ‘Though you’re not going to be in any fit state for work tomorrow if you pull an all-nighter.’
‘It won’t be an all-nighter. An hour. Or two hours, tops,’ Grace promised as she carefully picked her way down the stairs, clinging tightly to the rail because pretzels and high heels and vodka were not a good combination.
‘You always say two hours when you really mean at least four,’ Vaughn sniffed, as they reached the ground floor. ‘I’m not going to wait up for you and I’m definitely not going to phone in sick for you either when the hangover kicks in, in the morning.’
‘I hardly ever get hangovers,’ Grace said blithely, and Vaughn just laughed like it was the funniest joke she’d ever cracked before he disappeared out of the door, snapping over his shoulder at Piers that he wanted a word with him.
chapter thirty-one
How drunk did you have to be when a feckless reprobate like Noah Skinner decided that you needed to be put in a taxi? Very, very drunk indeed.
The after-hours drinking den hadn’t been just round the corner but a half-hour’s walk away, and had looked like someone’s front room. Grace never did discover if it was someone’s front room, but they’d had a cool collection of sounds, more vodka and although it was meant to close at two, they’d had a lock in.
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