Love by the Book (22 page)

Three buses and a long walk later, I found the address Adrian had texted me, but I wasn't entirely sure I'd found the party. I walked around the shuttered warehouse for ten minutes trying to find an entrance before sending Adrian a nervous text asking if I was in the right place. The nights had started to get shorter and it was dark by
8:00
p.m., so the area was cloaked in darkness, presumably hiding all manner of scary people and things. I stood in the silent parking lot and felt a swell of panic rise. I smoked a cigarette and stared at the peeling Sedco Building Supplies sign to calm myself.

I'd give it five more minutes and then I'd forget the whole ridiculous seduction plan and go find Lucy in the pub back in Old Street. My eyes misted over briefly, thinking of a warm spot in the Eagle: civilization.

Suddenly, a rumbling mechanized noise ripped through the air and I watched in horror as an enormous chunk of the building appeared to rise up and disappear into itself, leaving a black hole in its place. I braced myself to run, quietly cursing Belle for her insistence that I wear moderate heels rather than Converse.

Out of the black hole, a monstrously tall figure appeared in silhouette.

“
CUNNINGHAM
! What the fuck are you doing just standing there? Come and give me a bon voyage kiss!”

I nearly collapsed with relief as Adrian, wearing a towering Uncle Sam hat, emerged from the shadows.

“You scared the fucking bejeezus out of me!”

“Well, why didn't you just come in rather than lurking around out here?” Adrian came over and put his arm around me. “Nice skirt, by the way. You look like a sexy estate agent.”

I shoved him away, despite the fact that my stomach had somersaulted when he'd touched me. “I couldn't find the fucking door! What the hell are we doing here, anyway?” We went through the gaping hole, which I now realized was a garage door.

“A friend of mine lives here. Converted the whole thing herself. Wait until you see the inside: it's mental.”

He took my hand and led me down a dark corridor to an enormous corrugated iron door. “After you, my dear,” he said, sweeping into a deep bow.

“Careful of your hat,” I said as I pushed the door open.

He wasn't kidding when he said the place was mental. The door led to a cavernous living space, all exposed brickwork and vaulted ceilings. The space was divided by a series of stone archways, each being supported by a gaggle of artsy-looking hipsters sipping from old jam jars. The floor was covered with Pashtun rugs and minimalist furniture.

“Jesus,” I mumbled.

“Amazing, right? She made the table and chairs herself,” Adrian said, pointing to a gorgeous wooden table and leather-backed chairs. “And that sofa.” He gestured toward a low couch covered in a stiff blue material. “That one's made entirely of reclaimed materials. The base is old milk crates and she wove the cover out of IKEA bags.”

“Sounds like she's really something.”

He nodded dreamily. “She's incredible.”

My heart sank. Whoever this chick was, she'd obviously made quite the impression on Adrian. My only hope was that she was ugly.

“My pet, have you found her?” I heard the voice before I saw the face, but I knew immediately that I was fucked: she was French. And as every non-French woman knows, in the romantic game of Texas Hold'em, there is one hand that trumps them all: the French Woman.

And then she was in front of us, all coltish legs and kohl eyeliner. She looked like she'd just rolled out of bed after the best sex of her life. I glanced over at Adrian's adoring face: maybe she had.

Adrian clasped her wrist like she was the last lifesaver on the
Titanic
. “Lauren, this is the amazing Emmanuelle.” He presented her to me like she was a finely wrapped gift. “Emmanuelle, this is my friend Lauren.”

She gave me a slow, lazy smile. “Lauren! The American! I've heard so much about you.” She enveloped me in the arms of her enormous feathered coat.

I gave Adrian a suspicious sidelong look. “You have?”

“Of course! Adrian has been talking about you nonstop since he arrived. You are very welcome here. Let me get you a drink—would you prefer Aperol or Campari?”

“Um, do you have any bourbon?” I had a feeling I'd need something a little stronger to get through the evening.

“Ah, so very American! I do love that. I'll see what I can find for you.” She dashed off in a blur of feathers and tousled hair. Adrian looked like he was going to be sick with longing as he watched her go.

So, this was my competition. I was clearly screwed. Or, more accurately, I was clearly not going to be screwed.

Adrian started singing Emmanuelle's many praises as soon as she was out of sight, and I did my best to tune them out. I tried to look at him with clear eyes: why exactly was I trying so hard to get this goon to want me? I took in his glasses and his ridiculous hat and tried to conjure up disgust, or at least indifference. Just look at the puppyish way he was gazing at the empty space Emmanuelle had just occupied while telling me about her latest community art project: pathetic! He was just some washed-up nerdy try-hard. She could have him, I thought. He wasn't even good in bed.

An image of him pressing me against the wall of my balcony flitted through my mind.

Okay, fine. He was good in bed. But he was still an asshole. Good riddance.

Emmanuelle reappeared holding a tumbler full of promising-looking brown liquid in one hand and balancing a ludicrously long cigarette holder in the other. She handed me the glass and took a deep drag, blowing the smoke into perfect white rings.

I thanked her for the whisky and admitted that I'd never been able to manage a single smoke ring.

“It's simple. I'll teach you.” She held out the cigarette holder so I could take a puff. I nearly choked when I inhaled: she was smoking Marlboro Reds. “Now,” she said, “watch my mouth. Put your lips together and push your tongue against your teeth. Blow.”

I coughed up an inelegant spurt of smoke and Adrian let out a snicker.

“Sorry. I guess I just don't have the touch.”

“Nonsense. Try again.”

She took another long drag on the cigarette and then offered it to me. A few more of these lessons and I'd be using an iron lung by the end of the night.

“Now blow.” She shaped her mouth into a cupid's bow and blew another series of perfect rings. “Gently.”

I tried again, and let out a yelp of delight when a little white circle emerged from my mouth and into the air.

“Perfect!” She put her arm around my waist and whispered in my ear, “I knew your mouth could do great things.”

I glanced over at Adrian, who looked like he was about to spontaneously combust from this display. Suddenly, Belle's voice was in my head: if the guy you want takes a shine to another woman, there's an easy solution: take them both home.

And so it was that I decided to embark upon my first threesome.

I excused myself and went outside for a cigarette and a pep talk. “You can do this,” I thought to myself. “You are a woman of the world! An extremely hot Frenchwoman is totally hitting on you! You can have sex with her! Or do whatever having sex with a woman entails! You can also have sex with Adrian! At the same time! . . . Somehow.” I thought of the practical logistics and tried to remember what I'd seen on Tumblr the day before. I consoled myself with the thought that lots of people had threesomes all the time, and they all seemed to get along swimmingly. Besides, I was pretty good at Tetris; I'd probably excel at this.

I slipped back into the room and threaded my arm through Emmanuelle's. “So, will you give me a guided tour of this amazing apartment of yours?”

“Of course!” Emmanuelle took my hand and led on. Adrian followed behind us, eyebrow raised quizzically in my direction.

I had to give it to her, the apartment was incredible and she seemed to know exclusively extremely beautiful foreign people. Everywhere I looked, an exotic person was dripping off a perfectly formed design piece or an artfully reconditioned lighting fixture, having hushed conversations with each other about I could only imagine what. What did gorgeous foreign artsy people talk about? Monaco? Existentialism? And, as Adrian wouldn't stop pointing out as Emmanuelle led me around, she had made almost everything by hand. She kept demurring as she ran her fingers lightly across the small of my back.

I spent the next few hours being pawed at gently by Emmanuelle and pawing right back at her in turn. It turns out flirting with a woman is pretty similar to flirting with a man, but with more opportunities to share make-up tricks. It was fun! Weird, but fun.

Adrian's delight at the display was shading into annoyance: it was obvious he felt left out. When Emmanuelle disappeared to get me another drink, leaving a fug of Le Labo Ambrette behind her, he pulled me to one side.

“What's got into you, Cunningham? I didn't know you had Sapphic inclinations.”

I tried my best to look mysterious and sexy. “There's a lot you don't know about me. I'm a woman of the world, you know.”

“Well, you've certainly taken Emme's fancy, you lucky little slag.”

I smiled beatifically at him. “I didn't mean to steal your girlfriend, A.”

Adrian looked baffled for a moment before letting out a low guffaw. “She's not my girlfriend, my sweet American friend. She went out with a friend of mine a few years ago and we've stayed mates, sort of. She heard I was moving stateside and kindly offered the use of her place for my farewell soirée.”

“Oh. I just figured . . .”

“You know me, Cunningham: footloose and fancy free! Besides, why would I tie myself down when I'm about to be surrounded by gorgeous American women just dying to hear my lilting accent? Not that I'd kick her out of bed, mind. No man can resist a hot Frenchwoman.”

This was my chance. I was about to go all Scary Bitch on his ass. But in a good way, I hoped.

I arranged my features into something I thought might resemble coy. “How about a hot American
and
a hot Frenchwoman?”

Adrian looked bemused. “Why, Miss Cunningham, you surprise me. Are you implying what I believe the French call a little
rouler dans le foin
with the two of you?”

“I don't speak French but I think I catch your drift. And yes, that's exactly what I'm suggesting. Do I shock you, Mr. Dean?” I tried to channel my inner Belle and smolder.

Adrian smiled. “You never cease to shock me, Miss Cunningham. But do you think our French friend will be game?”

I glimpsed Emmanuelle smiling at me as she weaved through the crowd, proudly holding another large whisky aloft. “I'll see what I can do,” I said. “Think of it as your farewell present.”

I felt Emmanuelle's hand on my back as she handed me a drink. “Here you go, darling. Drink up!”

I leaned over so I could whisper in her ear. “Shall we go someplace a little more private?” I was impressed by my own boldness. I was a total Scary Bitch when it came to the ladies.

She smiled and said, “I've been thinking that all evening. Follow me.” She grabbed my left hand and I grabbed Adrian's with my right.

“Adrian too?” I asked sweetly.

Her eyes flickered over Adrian and her smile broadened. “Of course! What is it you say? The more the merrier?”

Adrian looked like a puppy who'd just been given a sirloin steak. “Precisely!” he said, before bowling down the hall to what I assumed was Emmanuelle's bedroom. She smiled at me, a little shyly this time, and tugged me along after her.

Her bedroom was in sharp contrast to the rest of her apartment: instead of plush fabrics and hand-hewn wood, it was extremely minimalist. Everything was done in shades of gray, and in the center of the room was an enormous bed. Seriously, the biggest bed I've ever seen. Emmanuelle placed her hand on my back and gave me a gentle shove toward it. Adrian had already made himself at home and was sprawled out on the comforter.

Emmanuelle slipped behind me and kissed the back of my neck while Adrian got to his knees and started unbuttoning my blouse. I froze. Oh fuck. Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh
FUCK
.

I pulled away. “I'm going to run to the bathroom,” I said. My voice sounded unnaturally high and strangled. “Be right back!”

Adrian gave me a slightly annoyed look as I slipped out of the room.

The party was still in full swing and someone had decided it was time to play German trance music. My head throbbed and I started to sweat. I ran into the bathroom, opened the window and lit a cigarette.

“Get a grip, champ,” I said to myself. Suddenly, Madonna's “Like a Virgin” started up in my head. “Madonna wouldn't be hiding in a bathroom,” I thought. “Madonna probably encounters this sort of shit every day. She's like,
Oh, is it a Tuesday? It must be Threesome Day!
Fucking Madonna.” I tried to channel my inner Scary Bitch.

I tossed my cigarette out of the window and stared at my reflection in the mirror. “You, Lauren, are a sexual dynamo. Now go in there and get yourself some sexy French lady ass.” I took a deep breath and pulled open the door: I was ready.

“Everything okay, Cunningham?” Adrian appeared in front of me. “You're not getting shy, are you?” He pulled me into him and pressed against me. “Because I have never been so hard in my life.”

“No!” I trilled. “Not at all! Just, um, powdering my nose!” My voice was getting higher and higher; soon, only dogs would be able to hear me.

He leaned down and bit my collarbone slightly too hard. “Let's get this party started!” He took off his giant Uncle Sam hat and threw it down the hall, where it hit a Brazilian model and her coked-up art dealer. “Sorry, Ana!” he called as he pulled me toward the bedroom.

I took a deep breath, pushed open the door and silently thanked Belle for forcing me to buy nice underwear.