Page 45 of Big Sexy Love
Poop. AnotherSunday Night Livefan. ‘No. It’s not me. I was not onSunday Night Live. Goodbye. All the besttoyou.’
I back away, shielding my face from the man. He’s calling after me, something about the New York Daily paper, I think. But I ignore him, spin around and hurry off down the street, pulling on the beret as I do and tucking as many of my curls as I can upintoit.
Securing my umbrella underneath my chin, I take out my phone and turn the camera on to check if I’m stillrecognisable.
Aha! My disguise worked. Without my mass of mad curls, I just look like any other girl in New York, casually wearing a beret like I’m the kind of person who can pull it off! No one will recognise me now. I feel sweet relief sweep over me.NowI can get back tomyday.
But before I do, I pout into the camera, snap a pic and immediately send it to Birdie withatext.
Who would have guessedI would suit a beret so much? I feel like maybe this is who I truly am. Do youlikeit?
Within 30 secondsshe sends areply.
You looklike Samuel LJackson.
Ilift my chindefiantly.
I will choose to take that as acompliment.
* * *
Using trusty old Google,I find that the nearest mailbox isn’t too far away on 106thStreet and West EndAvenue.
As I approach it, I pull the bumbag out of the grocery bag and unzip the back pocket to find Mrs Ramirez’s postcards, and as I do I hear a vaguely familiarvoice.
Huh? I don’t know anyone in New York? Ooh, is it someone famous? I turn my head around to follow the sound of the voice and… Oh. My.Goodness.
Whatthehell?
Standing under a red bar canopy, waiting out the rainfall and chatting casually to a beautiful strawberry blonde woman with the kind of good skin that comes only from a true dedication to expensive face masks, is thatabsoluteturd.
SethHartman.
The dirty, rotten queue-jumping identitythief.
OceanofPDF.com
ChapterSeventeen
Text from Colin:G’day from sunny Australia! Hope NYC treating you well and weather good. What do you think we should do on our indoor date? You know I give an excellent Indian headmassage;) ;)
Fury immediately sparksthrough my entire body. Even my earlobes and toes and my butt cheeks. There is furyeverywhere!
What are the chances? In a city so big and busy, what are the chances that the person I have spent the entire morning wanting to kick in the goolies is here? A few metres away, ripe for thekicking?
I take a deep breath, adrenaline whizzing through my blood, geeing me up to race over there and destroy thosegoolies.
Then I stop myself. Violence is never the answer. Except in 1994 when Tracy Henshall stole my beloved Ninja Turtles pencil case and I threatened to snap her rainbow pen in half, unless she gave it me back at once. But I’m a grown-up now. And I’ve already gotten myself into enough trouble. I should just go over there. Calmly tell him that I think he is a bad person. That he has made me upset, that sharing my likeness on national TV is simply NotFuckingCool.
The blonde woman throws her head back and laughs at something Seth is saying. Ugh. I bet it’s not even thatfunny.
I feel anger bubbling up in my chest like hot lava about toboilover.
No, Olive. Keep calm. Be a grown-up. Do not lose control. You are not a woman who losescontrol.
‘Oi!’ I bellow, not calm atall. ‘Oi,you!’
Seth, the blonde woman, and another five surrounding people all swing their headsaround.
