I Heart Paris. Lindsey Kelk
down address after address in my notebook, but somehow my mind kept flitting back to an image of me and Alex skipping along the banks of the Seine, him in a black polo neck, holding a cigarette, and me in a very fetching stripy sweater dress and beret. Sometimes I was clutching a baguette. Sometimes I relocated us to the top of the Eiffel Tower. It was all very Tom and Katie. Except less creepy.
An irritating beeping snapped me out of my fantasy. I looked around, but for some reason, everyone was staring at me. It took me a couple of moments to realize that it was my phone ringing and a couple more redfaced seconds to find it in the bottom of my bag.
‘Hello?’ I answered, eventually.
‘Is that Angela Clark? This is Esme from Belle magazine. You have an appointment with Donna Gregory tomorrow at nine. Please be in the Belle reception at eight forty-five a.m.’
‘Uh, OK?’ Esme from Belle magazine was all business. ‘Will Emilia be in the meeting?’
‘Sorry?’ Esme from Belle magazine sounded confused.
‘Emilia. Bob, Mr Spencer, said she was keen to meet me,’ I explained, feeling a little bit like an idiot.
‘Oh. No.’ Esme from Belle magazine confirmed I was in fact, an idiot. ‘Do you need directions to the offices?’
‘No, I actually work on The Look so—’
‘Oh, cute. Then we’ll see you at eight forty-five,’ Esme from Belle magazine confirmed. And hung up.
I lay back on the grass and stared up at the sunshine. This was going to take some thinking about. Writing my blog was great, but writing for Belle? It could just be incredible…Everyone read Belle, it was global, it was massive. And surely Mary was just throwing a hissy fit because she was pissed off that Bob had gone over her head. It made sense, she didn’t like having her writers poached for bigger publications. She was the online editor at TheLook.com. With Belle, we were talking the printed pages of the world’s biggest fashion monthly. There was way too much at stake here for me to worry about offending Mary’s ego, that wasn’t going to get me anywhere fast. She had offered me the moon on a stick when I’d pulled off the James Jacobs interview and so far I’d seen an awful lot of the stick and not very much else. Where was my monthly column in The Look? Still ‘under discussion.’ This was an opportunity that I would not cock up.
My phone was still hot in my hand from my brief chat with Esme when I felt it vibrate into life again.
Did u get ur hair cut yet? It looked like shit last week xoxo
Of course it was Jenny. I checked my watch for the time difference between LA and New York, five p.m. here, two there. Knowing her, she’d probably just woken up. My best friend and first New York roommate, Jenny Lopez, had been out in LA for the last five months, and from the look of the constant stream of photographs she sent over, she was having a fairly good time. If you considered partying with pop stars, hanging out with celebutantes and twenty-four-seven shopping with someone else’s credit card for ‘work’ having a good time. Which I was fairly certain she did. And while it was much easier to get my work done without Hurricane Jenny in the apartment, I missed her horribly. Even with the continuous flow of text messages, emails, phone calls and, ever since she’d bought her new laptop a month ago, video calls, New York sometimes felt empty without her. And America’s Next Top Model marathons just weren’t the same without her screaming ‘Smize, bitch!’ at the top of her voice. It was good to know I could always trust her to be worried about the big issues at all times. Rolling over on to my stomach, I quickly tapped out a reply.
YES. Guess what? Going to Paris with Alex next week!
I checked to make sure my skirt was still covering my knickers while I waited for her reply. Maintaining your modesty was never easy when your skirt only just covers your pants in the first place.
GOOD. And Paris? 4real? Yay-we’re-movin-in-together trip?
I paused to tie up my newly chopped hair. The loss of my split ends was great, but it was just too hot to have my long bob flopping around the back of my neck.
Just a trip. Talk later x
Having managed to get myself into a relatively uncomfortable, relatively non-knicker flashing position that was, for the time being at least, out of the sun, I flipped through my phone book, looking for someone else to talk to so I didn’t have to move.
Hey Lou, you still up? A x
Before I could send another message, my phone started to buzz again and Louisa’s name flashed up on the screen.
‘Hey!’ I answered happily. ‘How are you? What are you up to?’
‘Hello you,’ Louisa replied over a crackly line. ‘I was just online. I’m trying to book a caterer for our wedding anniversary.’
Louisa had been my best friend for ever, but I hadn’t actually laid eyes on her since I’d accidentally ruined her wedding reception. It wasn’t like I’d meant to break her new husband’s hand, but I was a little bit upset having just found my fiancé shagging some tart in the back of our Range Rover. Of course I’d upped sticks and run away to New York the very next day. Who wouldn’t?
‘Oh my God, it’s been a year already?’ I couldn’t quite believe it. So much had happened. ‘It’s gone so quickly.’
‘It’s been a year,’ Louisa said. ‘Think you’re ready for a repeat performance?’
‘Maybe not just yet. You’re having a party?’
‘Er, yes. Tim thought,’ she sounded as though she was picking her words very carefully, ‘it might be nice to have a bit of a do what with last year’s…fireworks.’
‘Right,’ I pressed my lips together in a tight, thin line. ‘Well, you can tell him not to worry about me. I’ll actually be in Paris.’
‘You’re going to Paris?’ Lou squealed. ‘But that’s so close by! You have to come to the party.’
I held my phone away from my ear. ‘Oh, I’d love to,’ I was lying a lot today. ‘But Alex is playing at a festival and I’m reviewing it for Belle, so I just wouldn’t be able to get away.’
‘Really? Belle? Wow!’ Louisa made a small mewing noise that I chose to ignore. ‘But you can’t be so close by and not come and visit. What did your mum say?’
‘My mum hasn’t said anything because I haven’t told her yet,’ I said quickly. ‘And I’m not convinced I’m going to so please don’t say anything if you see her.’
‘Oh, Angela,’ I could feel a lecture coming, ‘I know your mum can be hard work, but she does miss you.’
‘Playing the mum card is the wrong way to guilt trip me into coming home. You of all people should know that,’ I warned. ‘Besides, since she and dad took that internet course I can’t bloody get rid of them. Did you know they have Skype?’
‘I had heard,’ Louisa said. ‘She’s always on about it to my mum in the supermarket. So Alex is playing a festival? I can’t believe you’re going out with a rock star. Is it amazing? Has he written any songs about you?’
‘He’s not a rock star,’ I gave my official line. ‘He’s just Alex.’
I felt myself flush from head to toe. It wasn’t entirely true. I absolutely loved that Alex was in a band. I loved that I got to watch him get all sweaty onstage, singing songs he’d written for me. I loved to see a room full of chin-stroking hipsters and doe-eyed girls with ironic tattoos in vintage dresses staring at him while he did something he loved, something he was amazing at. But really, day in and day out, it wasn’t about him being a rock god. It was about him buying tea bags for his apartment without me asking, even though he hated tea, the way he always Tivo’d Gossip Girl for me, even the repeats, and how, when he was writing a new song, he would sit cross-legged on the living-room floor with his