Page 89 of I Love My Mistake

NICOLE

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Two Long Weeks Later

Walking up to Ella, a hip trendy bar in the East Village where I’m due to meet Jess and Amber for cocktails, my phone goes off. It’s awful how sensitive I’ve become to the ringtones, or the vibration when I’m in a place so loud I can’t hear the sound. A call or text from Mark never goes unnoticed and my heart always jumps high and fast. We’re only talking business now, but it never feels that way. My cells are still attached to ideas I can’t let myself entertain.

I stop just outside the front door of Ellaand dig in my bag, disappointed by the name Jack Fleming staring back from the screen.

“Jack. Hi.”

His tone has the usual been-there, done-that quality. “Good news, Ms. Henry.”

I cover my free ear so I can hear him better. “Yeah? What’s that?”

“The R.S.V.P. list is growing exponentially. We’re going to have a packed reception.”

My stomach flips over. “Ugh.”

He chuckles. “Remember when I said…”

“Good news,” I finish for him.

“Yes.” He chuckles again. “This is probably normal for a first show. I wouldn’t know… I don’t give people their first shows, normally.”

I look toward a few men walking up to the bar. I step aside so they can go in, ignoring one of them who smiles at me. Don’t smile at me.

“Well, I’m more than a little freaked.”

Mashing the phone against my ear to hear him better over the bouncer’s talking, I step aside for privacy as Jack says, “Well, go have a drink and make it all go away.”

“Are you watching me?” I laugh. “I’m in front of a bar right now.”

He snorts. “Of course you are. And when you toast tonight, toast to The New Yorker.”

I choke, “The New Yorker is coming?”

“Mmmhmmm. Are you ready for greatness?”

“You know I’m not!” He laughs again and I blurt out, “Jack, you’re enjoying this too much.”

I can hear his sick little smile. “I am, aren’t I?”

“I’m hanging up now.”

He sings goodbye just as I click off the phone.

I’m beginning to really like that jerk.

I swing open the door and look toward the shiny bar for my girls, to see if they’re sitting on the stools. It’s hard to see in here at first, but I can’t see Amber’s blond hair – always an easy thing to spot in a dark room. The framed portrait of Greta Garbo hanging over the bartender’s head beckons for me to hold it together; she urges me to maintain glamorous grace and style no matter what. I flip her off.

Jess calls out through the crowd, “Nicole!” I look ahead of me from where I’m standing by the front door, and see her and Amber waving in a red leather booth. I amble over to them and slide in next to Amber, sitting opposite Jess.

“I need a drink!” I look down at a pink martini thing that’s sitting in front of me. “What’s this?”

Amber smiles naughtily. “We ordered it for you. It’s called the Social Smoker.”

I roll my eyes. “Funny. Ha. Ha.” What they don’t know is that hearing the word smoker makes me want a cigarette. Badly. But I’m not going to tell them that. I can’t take Amber’s disappointment right now. Or a lecture.

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