Two to tango, p.22
Two to Tango, page 22
‘I can spread the word, if you like, see if anyone is auditioning? It wouldn’t necessarily be in London but if you don’t mind travel, I think we can find a theatre company.’
‘I would love that, thanks so much.’
We leave the dance studio in London’s West End and head off in different directions. I walk west, back toward my apartment, excited about the stop I am making on the way.
I reach Sam’s music store just before he closes. It’s a small place in Notting Hill. Old green wood is marked quite simply with ‘SAM’S’ above the entrance. The window is lined with sheet music, everything from the Beatles to Faith Hill.
A bell rings as I enter.
‘Sam?’ He’s nowhere to be seen, which I have come to realize means he is probably drinking tea with three sugars out back.
He totters in, hunched from age in his old cricket jumper.
‘Izzy. She’s ready for you.’
I clap excitedly and do a little jig on the spot. Sam lifts my new six-string acoustic from its leather travel case. ‘I’ve been calling her Betty, after my late wife,’ Sam says. ‘I think it suits her. Especially with that floral shoulder strap you had me put on.’
I take hold of the guitar, pull the strap over my shoulder, and strum.
‘She sounds perfect. Betty, huh? I like it.’
I carry Betty in her case back to my apartment and up to my bedroom. I take another look inside my wardrobe and a thrill runs through me. At a guess, I would say 70 per cent of my designer labels are currently being sold online.
I sit down on the bed with Betty and a notepad and pencil. I write a song about a lost love. I call it ‘Betty.’
No one will ever replace you, my love.
I found in you something that will stay with me for a lifetime.
But I don’t see Sam’s late wife in my mind. I see one man. The man. I see Brooks.
As I’m playing ‘Betty’ for the tenth time, or maybe more, Anna comes into my room. She looks at the almost empty wardrobe then at me.
‘I still can’t believe you’re selling your clothes. What is even scarier is that you’ve cut up your credit cards. And what is scarier still is that you seem happy about all this.’
I laugh and shrug. ‘I’m twenty-eight, Anna. It’s about time I started standing on my own two feet.’
‘This isn’t like the time you went vegan, is it? Because if you change your mind in three weeks, you can’t just get the clothes back.’
‘No, Anna, it’s not like that. Oh, hey, hold Betty.’ I hand over the guitar as I move around to the other side of my bed.
‘Betty?’
I ignore Anna’s question.
‘There is one thing I decided not to sell.’ I take out my latest Mulberry, the one Anna desperately wanted when I bought it, the last one in the store, and hand it to her. ‘It’s yours. For putting up with my tears.’
Her eyes fill and I hold her to me, smiling. I cried over losing the love of my life. She cries over being given a Mulberry. I see how ridiculous I must have seemed to Brooks when we first met.
‘All right, all right.’ She pulls back and wipes the mascara shadows from under her eyes. ‘What are you wearing to Marybella and Edward’s engagement party tonight?’
‘Urgh.’
‘Izzy, stop. You said you would come. They are big family friends and you’re shocking Mummy enough at the moment without refusing to go.’
‘Fine. I don’t know. I kept a few dresses. Can I wear black in honor of the inevitable divorce?’
‘What a thing to say! Why would they get divorced?’
‘Because she craves attention and money and he craves other women and money.’
‘Ergo, they have a lot in common.’
I can’t help but laugh. ‘True.’
Mr and Mrs Rochester welcome you to celebrate the engagement
of
Marybella Elizabeth Charlotte Rochester
and
Edward Harold George Wellington-Purrell
I stare at the gold-embossed sign at the entrance to the Rochesters’ ten-bedroom home in Mortlake, one of the wealthiest suburbs of London. Anna and I went to school with Marybella. Mrs Rochester, or Victoria, is one of the leading LOLs – ladies of leisure – in my mother’s clan.
I can imagine Brooks reading the sign and saying something like, Who needs all those names? You only use one. I curl my fingers against my clutch: gold, like my shoes, because Anna said I had to add some color to the black dress. I feel my mobile through the material of my bag and wonder whether I should call Brooks, or just text him. See how he’s doing. See what he’s doing.
‘Isabella, come on, darling.’
My mother calls from the top of the steps that lead to the Rochesters’ home, her arm linked through my father’s. She’s in a silver and blue sequined dress, he in black tie. Anna has already found a friend and gone inside. I’m quite pleased; her fuchsia dress was beginning to hurt my eyes.
The house has been turned into a gala hall, with waiters serving canapes and champagne as a concert harpist plays in one corner.
‘Ah, Isabella, how wonderful to see you.’ Claudia Huckleberry almost swings me by the shoulders to face her. I perform the obligatory air kisses. ‘It has been too long. Your mother told me about your new book. She’s very proud. Said it’s a best-seller. New York Times, is it? A thriller? Oh, excuse me, I must say hello to Helena Delaney. Her daughter just got the results for her pre-university testing. It hasn’t gone well. Everyone knows about it. Helena will be distraught. We’ll speak soon.’
And I was just about to say hello, Claudia. Shame.
As a waiter passes, I take a glass of champagne. From the next, I take a caviar canape.
‘Darling, do be careful,’ my mother says. ‘We are having a three-course dinner. You don’t want to overeat. I didn’t think you drank alcohol these days.’
‘Mm, yeah, it’s a new me,’ I say, purposely leaving caviar in my mouth as I speak. I know I’m turning over a new leaf and doing things for me rather than to piss off my parents but, well, I couldn’t help myself.
‘Isabella, do not embarrass us this evening.’
‘I would never, Mummy.’
A marquee has been erected in the grounds at the back of the house. It is lavish inside. Crystal chandeliers, red carpets, white-clothed tables with tall, floral centerpieces. They’re going to have to really up their game for the wedding. As I think that, I snort-laugh at my own wit. People already seated at my designated table scrutinize me, then get back to their conversations. I take my seat, recognizing some of the faces from Chelsea’s social scene. Boy-girl seating has been enforced, with a rule that we all rotate two seats to the left at the end of every course.
‘Hi, I’m Marcus Hendrickson.’
I take the hand offered to me by the guy to my left. He’s kind of puny but his suit has been cut to fit his thin shoulders and skinny arms. He has a big forehead that I think is shiny from face cream. His hair is slicked back with so much product, he looks like Leonardo DiCaprio’s version of Jay Gatsby.
Brooks wears a suit far better than this guy, or any of the five men at this table, for that matter.
‘Nice to meet you, Marcus. I’m Izzy.’
‘Izzy…?’
Trying not to roll my eyes, I tell him, ‘Coulthard. Izzy Coulthard.’
Now he can mentally assess whether I’m worth talking to. Whether I might be able to do anything for his social standing.
‘Oh, you’re Izzy Coulthard. I heard about your book deal. The stunt with the roughneck. Brilliant idea. I bet that sold a few extra copies.’ He sort of laughs and sort of chokes on his red wine as he speaks. Whatever he does, it’s disgusting. ‘You know, I’ve been thinking about doing something similar, trying to get close to reality TV stars, to put my name on the map, so to speak.’
If Brooks were here, I think there’s a good chance he would punch this Marcus guy in his upturned nose. Since he isn’t…
‘For your information, Marcus, it wasn’t a stunt.’ I rise, my chair scraping the floor as I stand. ‘Brooks Adams is a million times the man you could ever hope to be.’
I drain the wine from my glass and bang the empty down on the table. Then I leave the trivial, stuck-up party and the farce of everything that is my life in London.
‘Look, I told you I didn’t want to be there. The guy was a dick.’
Anna stands in front of me with her hands on her hips, looking a little green. Maybe she should have slept off more of her hangover.
‘You know what, Izzy, why don’t you just go back to New York if you prefer it so much?’
I put my headphones into my ears. ‘Be careful what you wish for. I’m going for a run.’
I set my wristwatch and start a half marathon. I run through Chelsea, Kensington, around Hyde Park, checking my watch at each mile. By the time I reach thirteen miles, I have shaved eight minutes off my best-ever time.
I bend forward and drag air into my lungs, then start to walk off the run. My smile is so wide, my cheeks ache. At the next store I pass, for the first time in as long as I can remember, I buy a chocolate bar. I take it to a bench in St. James’ Park and I watch people walking by as I enjoy my treat, square by square. Brooks was right. If you work hard, a reward is fine. I don’t feel guilty at all.
Working on cardio with Brooks was what got me to my best time today too. I take my phone from the bottom pouch of my yoga pants and snap a selfie.
I type the words:
You shaved eight minutes off my half marathon with your brutal cardio. You know the saying, nothing tastes as good as skinny feels? Well, it’s bullshit. This chocolate bar tastes bloody amazing.
I hesitate before finally hitting send and then enjoy the last of my sweet treat.
38
BROOKS
‘What do you think?’ Drew asks.
I lean back against the window ledge and take another look around the second floor of the old building, just off Wall Street. It’s the perfect location for the new gym. And the space is enormous. But the renovations were abandoned by the previous tenant, and it’s hard visualizing a gym around polystyrene drapes and scaffolding.
A lady called Gloria is showing Drew and me around. She’s a realtor his firm regularly works with.
‘You need to think outside the box,’ Drew says. ‘The space always looks smaller when it’s empty. Try to imagine yourself working out in here.’
I pace around the room but I’m not sure I can imagine myself here.
‘I think the ceilings are tall enough to have office space on a mezzanine level, like you do in your current place,’ he adds, walking around in jeans, boots, and a hard hat that’s a match for mine, only his is red and mine is blue.
As I try to ‘think outside the box,’ I receive a text message. The name on the screen is the last one I expected to see and the only one I’ve been hoping for.
I smile at a picture of Izzy in her sports gear, who’s sitting on a bench, eating chocolate, and admitting that my interval training has got her fitness up.
God, it’s only one text message but I feel like I can breathe again.
I reply:
It’s not just my cardio training. The squats and lunges have given you more power in your quads too.
She replies in an instant and I actually laugh out loud.
Smart arse!
With more energy than moments ago, I walk into the middle of the floor and turn on the spot. I see Izzy running on a treadmill, looking out on the view of the Hudson. I see her pummeling a punch bag, her music playing in her ears, or in the stretch-out area maybe humming her own songs as she winds down.
‘I’m in,’ I say.
Drew throws an arm around my shoulder. ‘Let’s make this happen, buddy.’
Out on the sidewalk, after exchanging details and agreeing on a time to talk through next steps, I have a thought. ‘Gloria, do you also deal with residential apartments? I’m in the market for a new two bedroom. My only stipulation is a view.’
Stopping the car in the usual spot I would pick up Cady – on the edge of the cul-de-sac – I give myself a pep talk. This is Alice. Just Alice. Sweet, beautiful Alice. She can’t hurt you any more. You have to do this for Cady.
Putting the car in gear, I drive down the road, following Cady’s instructions. In front of a large, detached house, I see the black Range Rover she told me would be in the driveway.
Come on, dude, keep your cool.
Cady is already out of the house when I shut the door of the truck behind me. As she walks into my arms, I see Alice over her shoulder, standing in the doorway. She’s older. She doesn’t look exactly like my Alice. Her hair is a darker shade of blonde. There are a few different colors, not one light shade, not like Alice in Wonderland. And her hair is short, just below her chin. But her big, blue eyes are just the same. And she’s glowing, like she did when she was pregnant with Cady.
‘She won’t bite,’ Cady whispers into my ear.
For the first time, as I meet the stare of my Alice, I know she won’t bite. I also know she is no longer mine. The strange thing is, it doesn’t upset me, or bring me to anger. The relief I feel carries me to the door.
Cady steps inside ahead of me and disappears down a long corridor, leaving just the two of us. Up close, Alice’s eyes are different. There are fine lines at the corners. Her once pale, clear skin has makeup partially covering freckles.
Her lips curve into a smile. That I recognize. The way her skin folds at the corners of her mouth. She’s the same Alice and yet so different.
‘Hi, Brooks.’
‘Hi, Alice.’
It’s hard to say which of us makes the first move. We end up locked in an embrace, squeezing each other hard. Holding the past and letting it go at the same time.
‘Can we eat? I’m starving!’ Cady shouts from somewhere, presumably the kitchen.
Alice and I pull apart, still smiling at each other. ‘You always did look beautiful pregnant.’
‘You always said that and I always felt dreadful.’
‘I guess I missed that.’
‘It’s good to see you, Brooks.’
‘It’s good to see you too, Alice.’
I follow her along to the kitchen, walking over the high-polished wood flooring, passing white walls filled with pictures of countryside and beaches. Cady is already perched at the farmhouse-style table.
‘Richard, this is Brooks. Brooks, Richard,’ Alice says.
Richard is around five ten in height and thinning around the crown. He turns from where he’s putting bacon onto four plates, wiping his hands down an apron as he does. He holds out his hand and I shake it. Firm, but not aggressive.
It turns out Richard isn’t the alpha douche I expected, ordering Alice around while he sits with his feet up in checked slippers, smoking a pipe all day. Go figure.
We eat bacon, eggs, and French toast. All cooked by Richard. It’s not the nightmare I have thought about for years. It’s… nice. Alice and I share a few glances and tell Cady and Richard a few stories of when we were kids. It’s surreal but fine.
Eventually, we get on to Cady’s drop-off day at college. We agree to all go with her. College fees are never mentioned. It was agreed a long time ago that I wanted to, and would be, paying those. But Richard does ask my permission to buy a few niceties to make Cady feel more at home in the dorm. I respect the guy for asking and I have no problem with it.
It’s hard to describe the weightlessness I feel as I drive back into the city. It’s like Alice, or the thought of her, has been a concrete block crushing my chest for so long, and now, everything feels easier, lighter somehow.
As I roll to a stop at a red light, my hand braced on the top of the steering wheel, I also realize for sure that what I felt, feel, for Izzy is nothing like what I have been feeling for Alice all these years. Alice was a sense of loss. Any happiness was nostalgia.
If Alice is water, Izzy is fire. What I feel for Izzy is not calm, passive, past. It’s exciting, scary, hot, and so very present. It’s real, tangible, and something I want back.
Alice is happy without me. I see that. She was young when her parents told her she couldn’t be in love with me.
Maybe… what if Izzy isn’t happy without me? What if she does want something different from what her parents want for her, and I was too afraid to wait and find out?
As the light changes, I look down at my bicep and the image of Alice in Wonderland I had inked on me a lifetime ago. I decide to make one more stop before I head home.
39
IZZY
Week 3 Without Brooks
I wake from a dream I can’t remember but one that left me happy and sad and thinking of Brooks. I haven’t heard from him since I sent that text message after my run.
He told me he loved me once. I haven’t stopped loving him and craving him since I last saw him. Could he have stopped wanting me already?
I put on my dance clothes and head down to the studio. Francesca is working with two ballet students when I enter.
‘Izzy, come in. We’re almost finished and I have something I need to discuss with you.’
I nod and sit on the floor to start stretching. I haven’t yet looked at my phone this morning but I take it out now and see I have a message from Brooks. My heart flutters and I press my hand to my stomach.
There are two messages. Both images.
The first is a picture taken through a window looking out toward New York’s skyline. I recognize the Empire State Building immediately. The caption reads:
You were right. I did need a change of scenery. This is the view from my new pad.
‘It’s stunning,’ I whisper for my own benefit.
I click the second image and it takes me a moment to realize that what I am looking at is Brooks’ bicep. I recognize the inked forest that spreads from the beams of sunlight on his chest, the familiar birds and musical notes.
