Authors: Portia MacIntosh
No
luck finding a photo on his company website, although there are plenty of
photographs of his office and... wow! It’s bigger than my office, it’s bigger
than my flat and it’s bigger than my office and my flat combined. Next stop,
Facebook, because everyone has a Facebook. The good news is I have found him -
and I know it’s him because we have Dylan as a mutual friend – but the bad news
is that Mr Pace has a super-private profile and I can’t see his photo. Dammit!
I have exhausted all my resources, I’d make a pretty rubbish secret agent. I
wonder if MI5 use Facebook? If they don’t then they probably should, as long as
they don’t stumble upon a private profile they’ll be fine.
Time
for some work, Nicole. Closing Facebook, I grab my Dictaphone and begin playing
back the interview. The sooner I type this up, the sooner it’ll be the big day.
Yesterday
I had a bit of an accident. The kind of accident you have in Harvey Nichols
when you spend more on one outfit than most people do on their rent.
I
don’t usually go this crazy, but I’m going to be in a magazine with a bunch of
people who have way more money than me so I have to at least try and compete. For
the past couple of days I have been dropping the fact that I am going to be in a
magazine into every conversation possible, even when it has been entirely
irrelevant.
I
bought a dress, shoes and a clutch bag – I won’t tell you how much it cost, but
let’s just say it wasn’t entirely out of choice that I bought the rest of my
accessories at Topshop. Anyway, I’m hoping that everyone will be a bit to flash
to know that’s where my jewellery has come from - I just hope no one asks me
where I got any of it.
If
I’m being honest, the magazine deal isn’t the only reason I’m trying to look my
best. I seem to have developed a bit of a thing for Charles – for his voice at
least. We’ve chatted on the phone quite a lot over the past couple of days and
last night our call lasted over an hour. I’m dressing up to impress a man, with
no idea what he looks like
and
he isn’t even in a band. I’m sure the
novelty will wear off when I meet him and there’s no sign of any instruments.
I
place my outfit carefully in my case, which I must absolutely not forget to
take with me. I resist the urge to try it on one last time because, you’ve
guessed it, I’m running late.
I’ll
be arriving in London this afternoon and then heading straight to the hotel to
be introduced to Crystal, something I’m not exactly looking forward to. The
wedding is being held at The Trenton hotel. I’m booked in for a couple of
nights and I do love my big glamorous hotels – especially when I’m alone - so
at least I have that to look forward to.
Big
glam hotels, magazine shoots, celebrity weddings – this is the life. My job may
only be glamorous in certain areas, but it’s fascinating how I’ve become
accustomed to certain things. Soon after making friends with Dylan I realised I
could live like a rockstar without actually being one, and that suits me just
fine. I get to sleep in the hotels and attend the fancy parties and when I’m
with Dylan I get to enjoy all the perks of his fame without any of the crap he
has to put up with.
I
know how weird my life must seem to outsiders. I’m fairly sure my dad - who is
a big, serious business man who deals in big, serious important business -
thinks he’s paying my rent while I play office with my friends, and my friends
from school just think I’m a groupie. I think the fact that I’m not doing what
they’re doing baffles them. They’re all married or have kids (never a
combination of the two) and their only window into my life is via Facebook,
which only shows me partying with bands, it doesn’t show me sitting in my
dressing gown writing until dawn. I don’t know why I don’t want the boyfriend
or the husband or the kids, but I just don’t. I feel very much stuck in the
middle as far as my life is concerned. I’m not a child, but I’m not an adult
either – I’m like a teenager that has been left home alone while their parents
are away from the weekend. That makes sense, my life is one big party. It
probably has something to do with the people I hang out with. They get paid a
shit-load of money for a few hours work which means they can spend their days
doing what they like and they have women falling at their feet so why would
they stick to just one girl? People like Dylan, Luke and Eddie are a bad
influence on me. I’ve spent pretty much all off my adult life living by their
rules and the consequences are that I have no idea how to behave in the “real
world” now. It’s got to a point where I wouldn’t know what to do with a
boyfriend, I’ve forgotten the rules of the game. I’m pretty sure sharing beds
with band boys is a no-no, even in an entirely platonic way, but in my world
it’s totally normal – we’ve all got to sleep somewhere. You can sleep where you
like, dance with who you like, flirt with who you like and no one cares.
Everyone is happy.
So
what if I don’t have a boyfriend... I’m going to be in a magazine!
Thankfully
when I arrived in London I didn’t have to travel very far to get to the hotel.
I decided to get a taxi anyway because I almost always get lost in London and
the last thing I need is to get lost the day before Dylan’s wedding. He’d
probably think I’d done it on purpose to avoid babysitting Crystal on her hen
night – I really can’t hide the fact that I am not looking forward to that, but
I do plan on getting very drunk so hopefully it won’t matter.
I
am currently sitting in the lobby of The Trenton Hotel, the most jaw-droppingly
gorgeous hotel I have ever seen. If, for some reason, I had to get married (for
example, if someone put a gun to my head) I’d want to do it here.
All
the wedding guests are staying here, I can’t even being to imagine how much
this wedding must be costing Dylan but I’m pretty sure it’s more than I’ll ever
see in my lifetime. Everyone around me looks important and expensively dressed,
and then there’s me in my grungy train outfit looking a little like the love
child of Ke$ha and Jon Bon Jovi (circa 1986). I stick out like a sore thumb. In
fact, I feel a bit like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman – although hopefully I
look less like a prostitute.
Before
anyone gets chance to show me the exit, the lift doors open and out steps Dylan
looking every inch the rockstar he is. Oh, and the girl he knocked up is with
him – I mean his fiancée, Crystal Slater.
It’s
weird, I had expected to feel awkward, fat and scruffy standing next to Crystal.
But I don’t. My Pretty Woman moment is over because not only does Crystal look
even more out of place than I do, but she actually look like a prostitute too.
Despite
being heavily pregnant, she is wearing a pair of bright pink hot pants and a
halter neck vest, her massive belly poking out between the two. Even if she
wasn’t knocked up, her outfit is a little inappropriate for a hotel like this –
and that’s without mentioning the fact it’s October and we’re in London, not the
Bahamas. Her hair is bleach-blonde and her tan would make David Dickinson sick
with jealousy.
I
mentally tell myself off for judging her before she’s even opened her mouth,
making a pact with myself that I won’t hate her unless she gives me a good
reason to do so.
‘Oh,
you’re
Nicole.’
And
there it is.
‘Erm,
yes,’ I reply, not entirely sure what she meant by that.
‘Well
I didn’t expect you to look like
that
.’
Is
she taking the piss? Well, two can play that game.
‘Really?
Because you’re exactly what I expected,’ I reply, turning to Dylan to kiss him
in the cheek.
‘Hello
you.’
‘Hey
babe, thanks for coming. In case you hadn’t guessed, this is Crystal,’ he says,
gesturing towards the big, orange and now angry looking woman next to him.
I
smile and nod in recognition and she scowls at me. Tonight is going to be just
wonderful. Not.
‘So,
are you looking forward to tonight?’ Dylan asks me. It’s as though he’s reading
my mind.
‘I
cannot wait. Super stoked!’ I exaggerate. ‘What have you got planned, Crystal?’
‘My
sister Daisy has organised it all, we’ll soon find out. Alcohol free fun - are
you coming dressed like
that
?’
Yep,
tonight is going to be a blast.
‘I’m
going to head up to my room now and get changed, don’t worry.’
‘About
that...’ Dylan starts, and I know I’m not going to like what he has to say.
‘Small problem, Crystal solved it.’
‘We
didn’t book enough rooms and the hotel is fully booked,’ she says brightly. ‘So
I suggested to Dillly – what with you being so cool about partying with the
girls tonight – that you wouldn’t mind sharing a room. So we’ve put you in with
my sister, Daisy.’
‘Right.’
‘There
are two beds, and it’s a big room,’ Dylan offers. ‘Is that ok?’
‘Yeah,
fine,’ I reply. It’s not like I have much choice.
‘Well
Dillly, you had somewhere to go, right? I’ll take Nicole to her room,’ Crystal
suggests, kissing Dylan goodbye.
‘You
girls have fun tonight. Behave, yeah?’ Dylan teases us.
‘I’m
sure I can keep her under control.’ I laugh, amusing Dylan but definitely not
Crystal.
‘The
next time we all see each other, I’ll be getting married!’ he yells, attracting
a lot of attention and consequently getting a few dirty looks – not that he
cares, he seems on top of the world.
So
here we are, Dylan’s best friend and his pregnant one-night-stand, about to
embark on a teetotal hen night in a bar that’s only a few floors from where my
real friends will be having fun at a stag do. I know where I’d rather be.
‘Who
does your hair extensions?’ Crystal asks me as we head up in the lift.
‘I
don’t have hair extensions,’ I tell her honestly.
‘Fuck
off!’ She tugs on my hair until she is convinced. ‘How do you get it that
long?’
Do
I let her in on my secret, you know, the one about hair growing?
‘I
soak it in urine,’ I tell her as the lift pings, stepping out first and leaving
her there for a moment to process what I just said. She sniffs the hand she was
touching my hair with and catches up to me, which is fortunate because I don’t
know where I’m going.
We
stop outside a door, Crystal knocks and we wait several minutes before a large
girl with a mass of curly ginger hair and an ill-fitting hotel bathrobe answers.
‘Daisy,
this is Nicole. Nicole, this is Daisy,’ Crystal says unenthusiastically.
‘Right, I have to go and get my hair done. Laters.’
‘I
suppose you’d better come in then,’ Daisy welcomes me. Sort of.
The
room is an absolute tip, but I can just about make out the one and only double
bed underneath a pile of clothes and towels.
‘You’re
not a lesbian, are you?’ Daisy asks – as you do.
‘I’m
not...’
‘Good.
‘Cause I don’t want you looking at me.’ Daisy eyes me cautiously, before
dropping her robe. I have no idea where to look as she tries on various
outfits.
‘Am
I ok to use the bathroom?’ I ask.
‘Yeah,
I’ve already used it.’
Wow,
she really
has
used it. The bathroom is even messier than the bedroom,
with empty bottles of complimentary bath products scattered around along with
all the towels. There’s a hand towel still on the rack, I guess that one is
mine. As I start to tidy up I realise that one of the towels is actually the
other bathrobe, which she has also worn.
I’m
not going to let her ruing my plan to have a nice long bath, and now I’m
looking forward to it more than ever, especially because it means I don’t have
to be in there with Daisy the cow.
Leaning
over the huge bath to turn the taps on, I spot the huge clump of hair clogging
up the plug hole. I’m squeamish at the best of times, but other people’s hair
in plug holes makes me feel physically sick. I can’t touch it. There goes my
bath.
Instead
I have a shower, careful to avoid the clumps of ginger hair scattered around
the room. I wonder if ginger is Crystal’s natural hair colour too – does that
mean Dylan will have ginger kids? Whatever colour their hair is, let’s hope
they inherit Dylan’s personality.
Massaging
the shampoo into my hair, I am interrupted by a bang on the door.
‘Nicole?
Are you going to be long? I need the toilet.’
This
is going to be a long long night.
I
have made friends with a lovely barman named Liam and he has agreed to sneak
vodka into each one of my cocktails, despite Crystal’s “if I can’t drink, then
no one can” rule. I love Liam. Although no matter how drunk I feel, the Slater
sisters are still doing my head in.
Crystal’s
friends are basically clones of her, all with similar hair and outfits –
although Crystal is the only pregnant one as far as I can tell.