Chapter 10
Alexander
“Alexander?” she asks nervously.
At first glance, she looks like a doll come to life, but her expression gives her away—she’s shy.
“Do we know each other?” I ask. Wouldn’t be the first time someone came running up after a one-night stand.
But I haven’t been in London for what feels like an eternity, and I’d remember someone like her.
Unless she completely reinvented herself.
She’s not really my type anyway—I go for classic elegance, not so colorful.
“My name is Vanessa. I’m London’s best friend. Your PA.”
Perfect. Just what I needed.
“And I take it she has no idea you’re here talking to me?”
“I’ve been texting her all afternoon, but she hasn’t replied. London gets so wrapped up in work she forgets everything else.” She takes a step closer. I’m only a few feet from my car. “I wanted to apologize in person. London had nothing to do with the church incident.”
“Well…” I appreciate her loyalty, but still: “As far as I remember, she stormed into the church.”
“Yes, but that’s my fault. I gave her the wrong address on purpose—I didn’t realize a wedding was happening there. She was so determined, and I panicked. It’s all on me. Please don’t fire her! She loves her job!”
I sigh. "And to tell me this, you came all the way here to talk to me?"
“I took a taxi.”
“You don’t drive?”
“I had a few drinks.” And she's been crying too. "Things are a bit rough right now,” she sobs. “And now I’ve ruined London’s career because I—” Her words dissolve into loud, bitter sobs.
“Okay, okay. Breathe.” I should have some tissues in the car. I dig into the glove box, find a pack, and hand them to her. She follows me and immediately goes through two of them.
“I’ll drive you home and you’ll get some rest, okay?” That sounds like a reasonable idea.
She nods tearfully and I step aside so she can slip into the passenger seat. Looks like I’m taking a detour tonight, but this way I'll get to know her a bit better. With some luck, she might share some insider stories about London and give me teasing fodder.
I slide in, buckle up, then remind her: “Seatbelt, please.”
“Oh—right! Yes, yes..." She needs another tissue, then she puts on her belt too. “By the way, this is a really nice car.”
“Mhm,” I reply, , before I start questioning her. “So, you’re best friends?”
“Oh yes, since forever. We met in school and clicked right away. I was very shy back then, and London used to beat up the boys who teased me.”
“Did she really?” I chuckle as I start the engine.
“Yes. She’s always been a fighter. Probably because of her three older brothers.”
"She has three of them?" I was spot on with my theory.
"Yeah, and they're tough as nails. Her father too. She had to learn early on how to stand up for herself, otherwise she’d have been trampled. You’d think being the youngest—and the only girl—she’d be spoiled.
But nope, London was raised her like one of the boys for the first few years.
Had to go on fishing trips, played soccer, and the boys would beat her up sometimes when they fought over candy.
" That sounds awful. "She then took up karate, later Krav Maga.
Once she broke a guy's nose when he hit on us in a bar. "
"Just like that?" I ask in astonishment as I pull out of the parking space. Good thing she didn't punch me. That would have been interesting.
“He grabbed my breast and her butt. Next thing, he was on the floor bleeding.”
"So, she packs quite a punch?"
“Yes. But she also broke a nail. She’d just had them done, too, the day before. That was honestly the worst part of the whole thing."
"Hmm." Got it. "How long ago was that?"
“Oh, ages ago—maybe when we were nineteen or twenty,” Vanessa adds with a sigh. “She’s really a good person.”
“Yes, I get that now. I’m not mad at her anymore. She’ll apologize to the bride and groom, then it’s over.”
“So, you’re not firing her?” she asks, looking surprised and happy at the same time.
“She’s good at her job, and my father’s her biggest fan. If she keeps it up, I’ll probably keep her.”
I don’t like crying women. Or tears on leather seats. But apparently my answer sets her off again. This time, she’s crying with joy.
"That sounds wonderful! Really! Oh, thank God! I haven't been able to sleep the last few nights!"
“Where do you live, anyway?” I ask, starting to drive without thinking.
“Um… we need to turn right soon, then pass Big Ben, and then… quite a bit further.”
“What’s the address?” When she tells me, it’s no wonder she took a taxi. Public transport would have taken her at least two hours. With the car, we only need about forty minutes.
I’m lucky. Vanessa falls asleep almost immediately. At least she’s not crying anymore, and I have some peace and quiet during the drive.
Forty-three minutes later, I pull up in front of her apartment building and park. She has a nice place here. Upper-middle class.
“Vanessa? We’re here.” I gently touch her shoulder. She grunts softly and stirs awake, rubbing her blonde mane out of her face.
“What happened?” she asks drowsily.
“We’re at your place,” I explain.
“Oh. Good. That was quick.” She yawns, digs out her keys from her handbag, and mumbles, “You’re such a nice, decent guy. I don’t understand why London thinks you’re so… shitty.” She pats my cheek. “Thanks for the ride. See you around.”
She tries the door but fails. Clearly too little sleep, and way too much to drink.
“You can tell her I drove you home. That should earn me a few points on my karma account.” I unbuckle and get out. Better help her upstairs before she collapses in the stairwell.
I could totally see that happening.
I walk around the car, and open her door, but getting out doesn't quite work since she's still buckled in.
I quickly fix that and carefully help her out of the car, stand her upright, and close the door.
I lock the car and carefully support her, but after a few steps, she can walk on her own and doesn't need my help anymore.
“I should’ve met you instead of that miserable cheater,” she complains desperately, tears streaming again. “How could he do this to me? Why do you men do such things?" she asks me, sobbing.
“Unfortunately, some people don’t value faithfulness,” I say, guiding her to the hallway. “Which floor?”
“The first.”
We climb up the steps. And she fumbles with the key on her door, so I help her again. The door opens and she stumbles inside.
“I mean, just look at you. Such a good guy. Bringing me all the way home and not even trying to grope me.” She says like she’s proud of me and sighs softly as I guide her to her living room.
"That should be the standard. The absolute minimum," I tell her.
"A walking green flag!"
"Excuse me?" I ask.
"You're a good guy. Such a good..." She stumbles toward the couch and falls. I wasn't quick enough to catch her. But she appears to be lying comfortably and has fallen asleep again.
It was all too much for her, I suppose. I assume that adrenaline was responsible for her earlier more awake state, and the short power nap confused her senses.
I take off her shoes, put a blanket over her, and go to the kitchen.
There I take out a bottle of water and even find some painkillers.
I bring those to the living room and place the bottle on the table, the pills right next to it.
She'll surely be happy to find them once she's awake.
I want to leave, but when I reach the hallway, I notice the many framed photos hanging on her walls.
London is in most of them and looks happy and lively.
The two women appear at different stages of their lives—young girls in school, on a trip to an amusement park.
They even went through their emo phase together and later partied often.
Smiling, I study one picture more closely: the two of them lying in a meadow with little daisies in their hair. The radiant smile is contagious.
Not bad, Miss Waverley.
If London ever smiled at me like that, I could easily fall in love with her. I stare at the picture longer than I should, then turn away. No. Wait. I take a step back. I want to see it again. Just for one more brief moment.
I pull out my phone and snap a photo of it. I just have to. Only then do I head to the door, take out the key, and place it on the sideboard before leaving Vanessa’s apartment.
Well, well. So, London told her how much she hates me? That must have been around the time she threatened to make my life hell.
Three older brothers. I wonder if London will tell me about them if I ask more directly? I’m curious.
I go back downstairs to my car.
That was a really interesting conversation. It’s a shame Vanessa was so drunk. A little tipsy would have been enough to get more out of her. But now I know where she lives, and maybe I can pay her a visit sometime if London herself doesn’t provide new information.
Sitting in the car, I look at the photo again.
Oh, London. You’ve just become a lot more intriguing than I ever would have guessed.
And this city isn’t as bad as I remembered it five years ago when I moved to New York.