Page 7 of Hard
In the first-floor bedroom of her swanky Chelsea pad, I find Chastity slipping on her pale green dress, the silk chiffon floating down her slim frame like a cloud of seafoam.
‘I really don’t see what difference it’ll make,’ I say, dropping my oversized makeup bag on her bed. ‘I’m not in the mood.’
‘I’m aware,’ she says, catching my gaze through her dresser mirror as she unfastens the large rollers from her hair. ‘But trust me.’
‘But I really don’t want to go,’ I say, throwing myself on her soft, downy bed. ‘They were never my friends. Not really. Unless you’re counting them by proxy.’
‘I hope you’re not including me in that assumption.’
‘Of course I’m not,’ I reply, plucking at the hem of a decorative pillow sham. ‘If it wasn’t for you, I’d be on a plane for bumfuck nowhere by now.’ Or, bumfuck Lamberston in Upstate New York. Population: 3,012. And I’d be the girl who snagged a British singer—someone famous—only to lose him again. Of course, no one would mention how I’d moved out of Lamberston to follow my career to Albany for WTEN, making sure the faces for theWake up with 10show didn’t go on air looking like zombies. Or how I’d moved to NYC to de-zombie-ize the stars and guests ofGood Morning America.Nope. Because like lots of small town folk, the gossip would focus on how I couldn’t keep my man and how my fabulous London life was just a bubble that was bound to burst.
I suppress a shiver at the thought of going back. I might not be feeling exactly fabulous right now, but at least I’m not in Lamberston.
‘Those kinds of friends you don’t need, sweets.’ Chas is referring to my supposed London friends who dropped me like a pair of dirty panties when Robin and I split. Though her assumption could equally relate to my thoughts.
‘It’s a good thing you chose me over him is all I can say.’ Chastity is one of the many people I met through Robin, my ex-fiancé. She was one of his friends originally. She also happens to be the only one who hung around after we split.Hung around. Offered moral support, a kind ear. Then later, a job and a place to live.
‘Like there was even a choice to be made.’ Sitting next to me, she takes my hand in hers. ‘I, for one, am so very pleased you’re still in London. And while I would’ve preferred you not to have suffered the indignities of finding out your fiancé was cheating on you, it’s better you found out now rather than later.’
‘Yeah, like after the wedding.’ I chuckle, though it sounds as forced as it feels. I’m no longer heartbroken, but I’m still sad. I’m also grateful for Chas, and squeeze her hand as though this could somehow convey just how thankful I am. Without her, I wouldn’t be functioning, never mind making a living while I look for something new. Without her, I wouldn’t even have a roof over my head.
‘And he won’t be there today, not that it matters. It’s time, darling. Time to move on and show those around you that you’ve moved on. That they and their fair-weather friendship means nothing to you.’
‘But if I’m no longer part of their world, I don’t need to go.’
‘Good try,’ she answers with a sad smile, glancing down at my stained robe. ‘But it’s time to try harder now.’
‘But it’s still hard,’ I whisper.
‘I know it is. But it’s the other kind of hard you need. We just need to get you out of that grubby thing and into your dress because that look isn’t doing it for anybody.’
‘Except for Max.’
‘Darling, he’d do my dog. If I had one.’
‘Thanks,’ I respond, laughing a little.
‘For God’s sake, put a little of this on,’ she says, hefting my makeup bag between us. A bag with a slogan that reads,contouring is my cardio.
Makeup is my world. At least, it’s what brought me to London in the first place. I met Robin at work. He had a short interview as part of his tour, though, at that point, he was still largely unknown. There I was, working and making faces look a little lessI get out of bed at 4 a.m. for this shit,when he’d sat in my chair. I’d tucked the tissues into the collar of his shirt, our eyes had met, and the rest, as they say, was history.
The ancient kind of history now. Long dead and crumbling to dust.
‘Chas, promise me you’ll never fall in love with a rock star.’
‘Rock star, my left tit.’ She snorts—the kind of snort unbecoming of a lady. ‘And I don’t give a flying fuck if he hates the labelpop starbecause he’s not even that. Not that I’d find the label very flattering, either.’
‘He’s more folksy pop.’
‘He’s more the grandma crowd, as well as a complete arse wipe.’
Both are sadly true. He does play the kind of music that appeals to families. Middle-of-the-road stuff. Though I would never have said it to him. His ego is... delicate. At least, I thought it was. Until I found him screwing Tamara, his assistant. Or his assistant’s assistant.
‘God, what had my life come to that I’d call Robin’s hangers-on my friends?’ I find myself asking.
‘Exactly.’
‘So much I took for granted—so much I thought I knew. I thought I knew him. I thought his songs were about our love! Sung from his heart, standing on the stage with his guitar and his messy, roan hair.’
