Chapter Forty #2
‘I like you, too. I like everything about you. It was instant for me. The second you looked up at me on Exchequer Street in your white vest and denim shorts, I felt it. I can’t explain it.
Then when we started to talk, I just knew.
It was your energy. I don’t think you know just how special you are, but believe you me, I will show you.
I will treat you like you’ve never been treated before.
And I’ve a plan for tonight, if that’s okay?
We’re going to curl up on my bed and watch The Mirror Has Two Faces – you mentioned you’d love to see it – order Wagamama and a big tub of Ben or suite thirty-two where Jean Harlow spent the last of her three honeymoons! ’
‘This isn’t Jeopardy we’re playing.’ Amanda rolls her eyes, good-natured. ‘The answer I am looking for isn’t what is Chateau Marmont! How’d you know all this anyway?’
‘I’m a big fan of old Hollywood, and the hotel is synonymous with it. It’s where Bette Davis fell asleep one night with a lit cigarette while watching one of her own movies on TV – almost burned the place down!’ I’m like a giddy goat.
‘Right. So, what are you charging her?’ Amanda’s shrewd eyes pierce mine.
‘Four-thousand eight-hundred euro for the dress. One dress. Because I’m worth it!’ I do that flick of my hair movement, even though my hair is piled up in a messy knot.
‘Isn’t that freakin’ amazin’, sis?’ Donal chimes in.
I’d told him all about the phone call this morning as we lay in bed, my head resting on his chest, looking out over Fitzwilliam Square.
I’d read his tattoos, Born to be mild. The same as his T-shirt.
And inked across his back, And Now These Three Remain; Faith, Hope, Love. But The Greatest Of These Is Love.
‘Sure is, nice one! That is all I needed to hear. You’re gonna catapult! Right, come with us.’ Amanda looks to Donal who nods at her and a huge smile grows on his face.
‘What? Catapult? Where? I’m not dressed!’ I balk.
‘Where we’re going, you don’t need clothes,’ Donal says, in an unbelievably accurate impression of Doc Brown in Back to the Future.
‘Seriously? I think you’re in the wrong business,’ I tell him. ‘You could be a stand-up impressionist. You’re so good.’
Amanda snorts. ‘He wouldn’t have a gaff like this if he was!’
Donal takes me by the hand as we follow Amanda out. She opens the front door.
‘Where are we going? I’m in my bare feet! Let me get dressed!’ I dig my heels in as Amanda skips down the granite steps, she turns to the gate in the railings, opens it and steps onto a metal staircase.
‘This way,’ she calls up to me.
‘Don’t worry, it’s all good,’ Donal whispers, so I follow them. Down a set of steps and then down another ten steps.
‘The basement,’ Donal proclaims as I look at him, more than a little bemused. His hand is on the slim, gold handle of a very modern door in a dark charcoal with The Basement in slim, gold lettering written diagonally across it.
‘Has its own private entrance, as you can see,’ Donal says, as Amanda produces a key and opens the door. We all step in.
‘Holy shit!’ I exclaim, slapping my hand over my mouth.
It’s much more than a basement. It’s an oasis.
Sunlight manages to streak in via the long window below the steps in glorious beams, casting wonderful slats of light.
It’s got a crazily high ceiling for a basement, and the original floorboards are sanded.
The original wooden beams run across the top of the room, crisscrossed over one another.
It’s a perfect square. It’s a perfect space.
‘I salvaged almost everything down here,’ Donal tells me, flicking a wall switch on as a central, classic antique chandelier glistens above us, making the place glow spectacularly. It gives the room an instant regal feel.
‘It’s so beautiful.’ I walk in my bare feet around the room, running my fingers along the exposed red brick of the four walls, feeling strangely at home.
‘And back here is a separate workspace and small kitchenette.’ Donal takes me by the hand.
‘Show her the cool bathroom, too!’ Amanda practically bounces as she speaks.
Donal flicks down a slim, silver handle and the door creeps open to reveal a curved, frosted-glass shower unit and an ultra-modern stainless-steel sink beside the toilet.
‘It’s astonishing,’ I gulp.
‘So, we were thinkin’ . . .’ Amanda gestures to Donal to take up her baton of words.
‘Wouldn’t this be perfect for your first By Grace Algar bridal store?’ Donal says, and I swear I get light-headed.
‘Shut up. D-don’t . . .’ I lean my body back against the cold red bricks, hold my chest with the palm of my hand.
‘Grace, just hear us out,’ says Donal.