Chapter 25
It was just after two o’clock when I found myself in the crowded deli, balancing a tray containing a sandwich that looked like it could single-handedly end world famine, and a Diet Coke, wondering where on earth I was going to sit to eat it. Someone was just getting up from the only spare table, so I hovered for a second, then sat down as soon as I could. To my surprise, a couple of women in the queue turned and glared at me like I’d done something terribly wrong. I glanced around, embarrassed, but it seemed like that was the system – you looked round, you hovered, you sat. Maybe they were just having a bad day. Or, if they’d taken against me for some other reason, there was nothing I could do about it.
So I took a slurp of my drink and a bite of my sandwich, got my phone out and settled in for what was clearly going to be a marathon eating session.
Just as I was chewing my first delicious mouthful, stingy with mustard and sharp with pickle, my phone rang and Ross’s name popped up on Facetime.
My first thought was, Great! He’ll be so pleased to catch me here, at the place he recommended. Then I thought, Shit, have I got mustard on my chin? Should I message and say I’ll call him back? Then I remembered that he might have news on Zack, so I answered the call immediately, propping my phone up against a sugar canister, relieved that my headphones were already in so at least I wouldn’t give the women in the queue another reason to hate me.
‘Hey, Lucy.’ Ross wasn’t in my flat this time; he was outside somewhere, sitting on a bench in the late afternoon sunshine. ‘How’s it going?’
‘Good,’ I muttered through a mouthful of sandwich, then swallowed. ‘Sorry. Yeah, great, thanks. I saw the Statue of Liberty this morning, and now I’m having lunch.’
‘You sure are,’ he said. ‘And you’re in Katz’s, aren’t you? How’s the pastrami?’
‘Off the scale.’ I held the unbitten half of my sandwich up so he could see.
‘Oh my God. I’m so jealous. Which table are you at?’
‘I don’t know. Do they have numbers? It’s kind of in the middle.’
‘Show me.’
So I angled my phone around a bit to take in the room, puzzled but humouring him, because he seemed so vicariously excited by it all.
‘Lucy! Mate, do you realise you’ve got the table?’
‘What table?’
‘Look above your head.’
I obeyed, and saw what I hadn’t noticed before: a sign suspended from the ceiling, which read “Where Harry met Sally... hope you have what she had! Enjoy!”.
Right. That explained the daggers looks from the two women in the queue. Presumably they’d planned to film themselves faking orgasms over their lunch and put it on their TikTok or something, and I’d come along and ruined it. Well, I was sorry about that, but realistically what could I do? I was here, they were already sitting somewhere else, and the queue was building so quickly that I knew if I stood up, someone else would grab my place before the two women even noticed my random act of kindness.
’So I have,’ I said to Ross. ‘How cool is that?’
‘Awesome,’ he agreed, grinning.
Suddenly, I knew what I was going to do. I was here in Manhattan, in this iconic eatery, with the right sandwich, sat at the right table, with a captive audience of not only the two disgruntled women but also Ross.
Ross loved old movies. Ross would think I was confident and hilarious. The women whose table I’d unwittingly stolen would be mollified. It would be rude not to.
I took a bite of my sandwich, chewed and swallowed, and then let out a theatrical moan, throwing my head back in bliss.
‘Yes!’ I said, running my hands through my hair. ‘Oh God! Yes! Right there!’
I moaned, gasped and moaned again, sliding lower in my chair. ‘Oh yes! Yes, yes, yes!’
My eyes were half closed in theatrical bliss, but I could sense heads turning to look at me. But I was in the zone now, so I carried on.
‘Oh my God! That’s so good! Oh yes. More, more, more!’
Another loud moan, a few more gasps and sighs, and I reckoned I was done. I sat back upright, pushed my hair back, dabbed my lips with my napkin and turned back to my screen.
Ross was looking at me, perplexed but half smiling. ‘Lucy? Are you okay?’
I glanced around. People at the neighbouring tables were staring, some discreetly and some less so. One of the annoyed women hastily put down her phone, but I was pretty sure she”d been filming me.
My giddy excitement evaporated as quickly as it had arrived, replaced by a prickle of doubt – maybe I’d gone just a bit too far. But it was okay – it was only Ross watching me.
Ross and a roomful of strangers.
My face burning, I took a gulp of Diet Coke. ‘I’m fine. I was just… you know.’
Ross cleared his throat. ‘Anyway. I’ve got news for you.’
I felt a surge of excitement that almost – but not quite – wiped away my embarrassment. ‘You found Zack’s secret Instagram account?’
‘I did. And I can reliably inform you that every Thursday at about eight, when he’s finished work, he goes too the Campbell Apartment and has a dry martini, straight up with a twist.’
‘Seriously?’ Typical Zack, ordering the most James Bond cocktail in the world.
‘Seriously. At leat, he has done for the past three weeks. Hashtag thirstythursday might move on somewhere new after a while, but it would make sense for that to happen on a monthly basis. So tonight, if you go there, odd are you’ll spot him.’
‘Amazing! Thanks so much. I can’t believe you— How did you find out, anyway?’
‘Easy.’ He smiled smugly. ‘Bryony told me. She’s followed him on Insta for ages. I didn’t tell her why, just mentioned that a friend was in New York and looking for somewhere cool to drink, and she said Zack had raved about this place, and showed me his grid, and here we are.’
‘Right.’ My mouth felt all strange and numb, like when you’ve been to the dentist, and I was struggling to get the words out. ‘Looks like you nailed it. Thanks, Ross. I’d better go now – you know…’
I gestured vaguely at the people standing around waiting for a table.
’Gotcha. Let me know how it goes, okay?’ He sounded just the same as usual – well, just the same as he’d sounded recently, since things had stopped being weird between us.
It looked like they’d just got weird again.
‘Will do,’ I said, although I had no intention of speaking to him ever again, unless it was strictly necessary, like at work.
I ended the call and unpropped my phone. Then I looked down at my sandwich. Almost all of it was left, but I didn’t feel in the least bit hungry any more. It felt like a massive waste of food, but there was no way I could eat it, and no way I could take it out and give it to some homeless person, half-chewed as it was.
So I just left it, and what was left of my Diet Coke, although I was still hungry. I tucked a ten-dollar bill underneath the sugar canister, slipped my phone into my bag, and left.
And then, although my feet were still hurting from the previous day’s marathon sightsee, I walked and walked, barely noticing or caring where I was going.
I’d made a fool of myself. I’d let myself believe that I could be the kind of woman Ross might fancy – an extroverted, self-confident woman who travelled abroad on her own, who was capable, sassy and sexy.
And to try and prove it, I’d faked a bloody orgasm for him, on camera, in the middle of one of New York City’s top sightseeing spots.
I’d forgotten – or let myself forget – that he had a girlfriend. My sister’s friend.
She showed me his grid – that meant in person, not over WhatsApp or whatever. He was still seeing Bryony. It was early evening in London, so he was probably on a date with her right now. I imagined the two of them sitting together in some trendy bar somewhere, drinking cocktails, and Ross saying, ‘Hey, don’t suppose you know of any good places like this Stateside? My mate’s over there at the moment.’
Mate. He’d even called me mate. I bet he didn’t call Bryony mate.
And then I’d seen fit to stage a spot of amateur porn while she went for a wee or out for a vape.
Or worse still, sitting right there opposite him while he looked at my fake O-face on his screen.
I couldn’t do this. I was no better at relationships with men now than I had been four years ago, when I’d let Kieren use me and humiliate me.
I deserved to be alone – and it was just as well I was used to it, because clearly that was how I was going to stay.
My furious speed-walking had carried me quite a way from Katz’s Deli by now, and I realised I was lost. I didn’t want to sightsee any more; I wanted to go home. Except of course home was thousands of miles and many time zones away. I wanted my sister, except I was hiding a secret from her that I couldn’t reveal until I’d confirmed if it was true.
Blindly, I walked down into the nearest subway station, figured out the best way back to Brooklyn and boarded a train.
Half an hour later, I was back in the apartment, my laptop on my knees. I’d been neglecting work, but I was going to make up for it now. I was going to compose a reply to Kit, and I didn’t need any AI to help me do it.
Dear Kit
I’m sorry to hear your girlfriend won’t put out – that must come as quite the blow to your male ego. I suppose you think that now you’re dating someone, you get the whole package – someone to listen to your problems, someone to show off to your mates, someone to meet your physical needs.
And now she’s not playing ball. Isn’t that a shame?
You know, Kit, this is something I’ve said before in this column. Women are people, too. I know it’s hard to understand, but they’ve also got needs, desires and – wait for it – boundaries. And there you are, chip chip chipping away at hers, and she’s pushing back.
And you don’t like it one bit, do you?
There’s something I’d like you to think about for just a moment, Kit. When a man wants sex and a woman says no, and the man pushes for it anyway, and insists, because after all he’s a nice guy, or he bought her dinner, or they’re married, or whatever – there’s a word for that. It’s not a word you want to use in the context of your relationship, is it?
So give that some good thinking, Kit, back off from this poor woman and stop being a sex pest.
Oh, and don’t be a dick.
Yours, Adam
I’d been typing at warp speed, and the tips of my fingers felt almost bruised from bashing the keyboard so hard – but it had barely relieved my feelings. I saved the document, deciding to wait before filing the copy to the subs desk just in case there were any more pearls of wisdom I needed Kit to hear.
I was done with him, for now. Maybe later, I’d have another look in Adam’s inbox and see if there were any other men who deserved a piece of my mind. Fuming, I thought of all the measured, kind responses I’d sent, both with and without the bot’s help. All those men I’d tried to understand and sympathise with – and for what?
They were all just the same. All of them – and Zack, who my sister had fallen in love with. And Ross, who I’d allowed myself to think might like me despite the fact that he was not only miles out of my league, but also dating someone else.
I couldn’t deal with Ross now; I felt too bruised and humiliated. But Zack?
Brother-in-law, I’m coming for you, I promised.
I closed my laptop and stripped off my clothes and showered, then carefully made up my face, blow-dried my hair and put on the black dress I’d backed just in case I ended up going anywhere smart. My trusty Docs would have to do – I had no other shoes with me except my battered Converse.
But, with my hair done and my legs out and dark glasses hiding most of my face, I was confident Zack wouldn’t recognise me. To him, I was just Amelie’s plain, frumpy older sister. He had no reason to expect to see me – no reason to expect that I was coming to get him and give him his just deserts.
My bag slung over my shoulder again, I left the apartment and headed back into Manhattan, towards Grand Central Station and the Campbell Apartment, feeling like Uma Thurman in Kill Bill only without the hair, the yellow jumpsuit or the legs to go with it.