Second Hand Jane (18 page)

She couldn’t help but feel like a bit of a
celebrity as Nick walked round and opened the door for her. He
definitely knew how to make a girl feel she was special. Swinging
her legs out, Jessica decided there would be no pics of her in the
paper flashing her Nana knickers and so she was careful to keep her
thighs firmly pressed together like the women in
OK! Magazine
always did before she stood
up.

The bar they’d
pulled up outside was rocking and in the chilly autumn dark, its
brightly lit interior was like a beacon. She felt a jolt of
pleasure as Nick put his arm around her waist and steered her
inside.

Esquires was
sleek and modernistic, exactly the kind of place Jess normally
hated. Give her a cosy old pub with a roaring fire and a fiddler
over that awful dunk, dunk techno music any day. However, after her
second expertly shaken Cosmopolitan, she decided that maybe the
dunk, dunk music wasn’t so bad after all. Nick was being super
attentive as he made sure her drink stayed replenished and guided
her around the room, introducing her to the who’s who of Dublin
guest list.

“You know a lot
of people,” she leaned in and shouted in his ear.

“You have to
grease the right palms in my line of business,” he shouted back
before guiding her over to an empty red leather settee pushed up
against the floor-to-ceiling windows. Talk about a place to be
seen, she thought, perching down on the edge of the settee. The
dress did not allow for sinking back into sofas.

“
We might be able to hear ourselves without
bellowing here.” Nick grinned at her. He had such great teeth, Jess
noticed; they really were an orthodontist’s dream. He was
definitely a man who brushed and flossed twice daily. As he sat
down next to her, he swallowed a mouthful of his Manhattan and she
was glad he had chosen the smooth, masculine drink because it
suited him. It might have been a tad off-putting if he’d ordered
say, a
My
Pink Lady
or a
Mimosa.
She looked at her own pink
concoction. The problem with cocktails was that they went down so
easily, she thought before draining it. With an empty glass, she
listened, nodding every now and then in commiseration as Nick told
her about the frustrating holdups his latest project—converting an
old community hall into luxury apartments—was having.

“Some people
just can’t accept change or progress.” He finished with a shake of
his head and then, noticing her glass, he stood up and took it from
her. “I just don’t get the attachment to a cruddy old pile of
bricks. Can I get you another?”

She probably
shouldn’t, Jess thought; she didn’t want to get tipsy too early in
the night or he’d think her a right lush but then again how often
did a girl get access to unlimited free cocktails? “Yes, please,”
she chirruped.

As Nick
disappeared into the crowd, she smoothed her dress before surveying
the room, noticing the number of older paunchy gents. Standing next
to them were gorgeous twenty-somethings, poured into their own
versions of the LBD. They were tossing their long blonde hair over
their shoulders and hanging off their escort’s every word as they
sipped their own prettily coloured concoctions. Money talked,
alright. Why was it you hardly ever saw women with their
middle-aged spread well and truly spreading, out and about with
gorgeous twenty-something males unless they were out with their
sons? So much for living in enlightened feminist times. Some things
never changed, she thought ruefully, remembering her last transit
in Bangkok airport where she’d been horrified at the sight of
beautiful young Thai women heading off for new lives with men who
were old enough to know better. Her thoughts were suddenly
interrupted.

“
Jessica, hi! You look deep in thought;
what’s on your mind?” It was Jo, a young reporter for the
Express
.

“Oh hey, Jo. I
was just contemplating why it is money makes older men so much more
attractive, whereas for women it just gives them a bigger budget to
blow at the Botox clinic.”

“You’re far too
cynical for such a gorgeous young woman, Jess.”

“I’m not that
young, Jo,” she muttered, remembering the rogue squiggly grey hairs
she had had to tweeze out upon arriving home from her blow-wave
that afternoon. Not a good look, having what looked like three
white pubic hairs sprouting from one’s part line. It was then she
noticed that Jo was not dressed in his customary old jeans, hoodie,
and sneakers. He had dressed up for the occasion but the contrast
of his flash duds against his too-long hair and bum fluff beard was
odd. He looked like a boy playing dress-ups, she decided. Mind you,
now that she was officially heading toward her mid-thirties, any
man under twenty-five looked as if he should be in a cap and short
pants. “I like the outfit,” she lied.

Jo grimaced. “I
feel like a prat. I had to borrow the pants and shoes off my
flatmate but hey, I’d have come in a fecking toga if it meant
scoring free drinks.”

“Yes, I can see
you drew the short straw, having to cover a cocktail bar
opening.”

“I know it’s a
tough job but somebody had to do it. So what are you doing here
other than sitting about, contemplating deep and meaningful life
questions and looking, might I say, very sophisticated?”

“Why, thank you
sir.” Jess grinned, guessing that to Jo, any woman over thirty
would seem sophisticated. “Well, technically I am working, too,
because I shall file my observations on our ageist society for
comment on in my column sometime in the near future. Don’t tell
Niall you saw me drinking on the job.” She winked and Jo laughed.
“Actually, the fodder for my column is an added bonus. I was
invited by Nick Jameson—he’s over at the bar getting me another
drink. He runs a property development business.”

Jo frowned.
“Nick Jameson? I’ve heard of him. Isn’t he the guy behind
Progressive Construction? They sail very close to the wind; you
watch yourself there, Jessica. I am sure they were the guys behind
that development a year or two back where that group of elderly
people were ousted from their council flats. The guy swims with
sharks. Not your type, I would have thought; what are you doing
with him?”

She didn’t get
a chance to ask what he meant because at that moment Nick
reappeared.

“Nick, this is
Jo; Jo, this is Nick.” She did her introductions but the two men
didn’t shake hands as Nick’s were both full, which was probably a
good thing judging by the surly look on Jo’s face.

“
Er, Jo’s a reporter at the
Express
. He drew
the short straw in the office and got to cover tonight’s opening.”
Her giggle was a little too high-pitched.

“Tough job.”
Nick reiterated Jo’s earlier sentiment but the younger man didn’t
raise a smile, instead nodding curtly as he said, “Right, well, I
can’t stand here gassing all night. It’s time for me to mingle.
Good to see you, Jess. Catch up soon, yeah?”

“That sounds
good. See you, Jo—behave yourself.”

Jo shot a swift glance at Nick before
turning his attention back to her. “You behave
yourself
and make sure you don’t get bitten,
alright?”

“What did he
mean about not getting bitten?” Nick frowned, watching Jo’s back as
he vanished into the small crowd gathered on the dance floor. He
handed Jess her drink.

“
Oh, it was just a silly joke, a work
thing.” Casting her eyes around the room for a distraction, she
spied an orange spray-tanned wannabe from a reality TV show. “Oh
look, isn’t that, that girl Emma from
All Girls Together
? My God, that programme is the pits. Did
you see the episode where she got into a catfight with one of the
other contestants because she’d used her hair
straighteners?”

***

By the time
Jess had slurped down her sixth drink—having long since moved on
from the cosmopolitans to a rather delicious banana daiquiri, which
she had swiftly followed up with a pina colada—she had forgotten
all about what Jo had told her. Nick really was good company, she
thought, erupting into a fit of the giggles as he finished telling
her a funny tale to do with an encounter he’d recently had with a
woman determined to get to Ewan Reid through him.

“So Nora’s got
competition then?”

“If you count
crazed stalker types as competition then yes, she does.”

She laughed
again and glanced round the room. It was after one a.m. and the
crowd was slowly beginning to thin. If she were honest, the dunk,
dunk music was beginning to make her head pound and she strongly
suspected that if she were to mix another drink, she would be sick.
Nick looked at her amused and raised an eyebrow. “Time to go?” It
was loaded with promise.

Yes, Jess
decided, getting unsteadily up from the settee; it was definitely
time to go.

“I’ll pick the
car up in the morning,” Nick said, draping a proprietorial arm
across her shoulder as he steered her back through the bar. It was
chilly outside and the queues for cabs were as usual of nightmare
proportions, but as Nick leaned in and kissed her with a certain
slow confidence, she knew that they’d find a way to warm up and
pass the time while they waited.

***

Jess opened one
eye and then quickly shut it again. She was far too fragile to deal
with the obnoxious sunlight streaming into this foreign bedroom in
which she had wound up crashing the night. She rubbed her temples,
groaning out loud and telling herself that at her age she really
should know better. Her head felt as though an express train had
mown into it sometime in the night. Actually, she corrected
herself, make that morning because it had been gone one a.m. when
they’d left Esquires. Running her tongue across her teeth, she
shuddered; her mouth felt like something furry had taken up
residence in it.

Curling up into
the foetal position, she clutched her nauseous stomach. She must
have been poisoned—yes, that was all there was to it. Some naughty
kitchen hand in charge of plating up the hor d’oeuvres that had
been passed around from time to time last night and to which she
had helped herself to with relish had not washed his or her hands
after going to the toilet. She was the victim of someone else’s
poor personal hygiene because the horrendous way she felt at this
moment in time simply could not be due to the mismatch of alcoholic
beverages that had passed her oh-so receptive lips last night. God,
she’d kill for a lemonade icy pole!

At least she
was still dressed, she thought, risking a glance under the duvet,
though—oh mortification! The dress had ridden up to her middle over
the course of the night, leaving her undergarments in full view
should anybody have decided to sneak a peek. Nora would not be
impressed, either, at her ridiculously expensive LBD having been
used as a nighty. Oh well, Jess decided as she heard the shower in
the en-suite stop running; she had bigger things to worry about
than Nora. Besides, what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. The
door to the bedroom opened and she knew she was going to have to
sit up and open her eyes. It was time to face the music or rather,
Nick Jameson.

He had a towel
wrapped around his waist and even in her current poorly state, Jess
couldn’t help but notice the definition of his stomach muscles and
the tiny curling tendrils of hair running from his navel down to
his…she looked up, deciding to concentrate on the droplets of water
still clinging to his wet hair instead. He really was rather
gorgeous, she thought, suddenly becoming aware of the dishevelled
vision she must be. Oh my God, I probably look like a red-headed
Gene frigging Simmons! She tried to nonchalantly calm her curls
down by running her fingers through her hair.

“Good morning
and how are you feeling?” Nick grinned at her before turning away
to sift through his wardrobe. “I think that last daiquiri caught up
on you last night.”

Jess didn’t
think he’d buy her “poisoned due to poor personal hygiene”
theory.

“Um, I’ve been
brighter and I’m sorry I, uh…”

“Fell asleep on
me?” He turned around, a coat hanger with a shirt and pair of dress
pants in his hands. “Don’t worry about it, although I can’t say I
wasn’t disappointed.” He winked at her, and Jess felt her stomach
do a somersault and this time it wasn’t down to the alcohol and
cream swishing around in it.

“Would a coffee
and a couple of painkillers help?”

“Oh yes,
please—a strong coffee and some extra-strength morphine should do
it,” she croaked, trying not to look as he dropped the towel and
got dressed.

“That bad, huh?
I’ll be back in a sec.”

Nick left the
room and Jess took a moment to look around. The décor of the room
suited him. It was in keeping with what she remembered having seen
of the rest of his apartment when they’d arrived back last night to
carry on their snog fest in privacy. She flushed, flashing back to
how they’d tumbled on to his bed and how things had been getting
very hot and heavy, or to use Nora’s turn of phrase, fruity—OMIGOD!
Another thought occurred to her. What must he think of her and her
knickers? He’d gotten up to go to the bathroom and she remembered
thinking she should whip them off but everything went kind of black
after that and she must have fallen asleep. “God, you’re such a
prize, Jessica Baré,” she muttered, coming back to the present.

Nick’s bedroom was modern, minimalist, and
masculine all at the same time. But she didn’t have time to be
sitting here admiring the white ambience of his boudoir, she told
herself, grabbing her purse. Rummaging inside, she produced her
compact and snapping it open, gazed at the woeful reflection
staring back at her with distaste. Oh yes, the look she’d thrown
together this morning was very much KISS. Humming “I Was Made for
Lovin’ You”
,
she began
rubbing at the black smudges under her eyes, noticing that her
dramatic lips had long since disappeared and were now dry and
cracked, oh and crap—was that dried dribble snaking down the side
of her chin?