Chapter 21
21
‘Whoa, look at you. You’re gorgeous!’ Nick leaned in and kissed Jess on the cheek.
He smelled gorgeous, she noticed, inhaling deeply. It reminded her of the aftershave Owen had been wearing at dinner the other night. Under strict instructions from Nora, she’d had her hair blow-waved that afternoon, and it fell softly around her shoulders in a halo of deep red ripples. She’d made an effort with her make-up, too, spending ages to make it look like she had no make-up on at all except for the deep plum lipstick she’d opted for to give her face drama – or at least that’s what the magazine she’d copied the look from said it would do. As for the dress, well, it was worth feeling like a sausage stuffed into a skin that was far too tight for its meat filling if she got a reaction like that, she decided as he opened the car door.
She made sure she climbed into the low-to-the-ground sports car in as ladylike a way as possible in order to keep her secret support weapons discreetly under wraps. It was far too early in their budding relationship to give him a glimpse of those!
Nick manoeuvred the sports car with the expertise of a man who knew the streets of central Dublin well. He was in control, and it was rather sexy, Jess thought, her eyes sliding to the right for a sly glance. His fingers, she noticed as they loosely gripped the steering wheel, were long, his nails well manicured. Owen’s fingers had been thick and calloused – a working man’s hands.
Stop it right now, Jessica ! she told herself firmly as Nick suddenly swerved into a red-roped cordoned-off area on Dame Street, where a young valet waited to take the car away and park it elsewhere.
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 special.
Swinging her legs out, Jess decided there would be no pics of her in the paper flashing her nana knickers, 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 modern, 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 on the edge of the settee. The dress didn’t 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’d chosen the smooth, masculine drink because it suited him. It might have been a tad off-putting if he’d ordered say, a 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 hold-ups 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; 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 escorts’ every word as they sipped prettily coloured concoctions. Money talked, all right. 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.
‘Jess, hi! You look deep in thought; what’s on your mind?’ It was Joe, a young reporter for the Express .
‘Oh, hey, Joe. 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.’
‘I’m not that young,’ she muttered, remembering the rogue squiggly grey hairs she’d 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 Joe wasn’t dressed in his customary old jeans, hoodie and sneakers. He’d 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-up, 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.
Joe 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 Joe, any woman over thirty would seem sophisticated. ‘Well, technically I’m working, too, because I shall file my observations on our ageist society for comment in my column sometime in the near future. Don’t tell Niall you saw me drinking on the job.’ She winked, and Joe 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.’
Joe 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, Jess. I’m 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 Joe; Joe, 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 Joe’s face.
‘Er, Joe’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 Joe’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, Joe – behave yourself.’
Joe shot a swift glance at Nick before turning his attention back to Jess. ‘You behave yourself and make sure you don’t get bitten, all right?’
‘What did he mean about not getting bitten?’ Nick frowned, watching Joe’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’d swiftly followed up with a pina colada – she’d forgotten all about what Joe had told her. Nick really was good company, she thought, erupting into a fit of 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 1 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’d 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 they’d find a way to warm up and pass the time while they waited.