Page 56 of Ex in the City
‘Maybe,’ I reply.
‘Oh my God, you’re Dylan King,’ a voice screeches.
We quickly part and turn to see a gang of four women, all with Dylan firmly in their sights. I worry for a second, that they’re going to notice the crying girl standing next to him, but then I realise that they’re all crying, all so overwhelmed to be in Dylan’s presence, so I fit right in.
As Dylan poses for photos with each of them, I take a step back. I feel so relieved – I don’t think I’ve ever known relief like it. I was stupid, at the time, thinking I knew best, that I could somehow trick him into becoming a better person. Since then, I’ve tried harder to help people, to genuinely make them better people, rather than just to spin things so they look good. Pretending to date his brother – the one he always wanted to be more like – felt like the only way out of a bad situation at the time.
I’m so happy it’s all out in the open now. The only thing that is left to worry about is awkward conversation number two. But we’ll save that one for another day.
26
My life, at the moment, is very much divided into two halves.
There is the half when I’m here, at home, making dinners and doing the school runs. I’m surrounded by all the mums and the manicured lawns and the bullshit. Then there is the other half, the old me, who gets to hang out with musicians, and spend time in London, and have the most fabulous days – like I used to when I was younger and cooler.
Flip-flopping between the two is so bizarre, but there is one constant in my life, whichever version of myself I am, and that is Dylan. When we’re in the city, in recording studios and seeing stylists, it feels like old times. However, when we’re here in the village, doing the school runs and helping out with the musical, things feel so effortless too. Wherever we are, whatever we’re doing, if we’re doing it together then you can guarantee we’re having a good time.
As I suggested, much to Rebecca’s annoyance, the theme for the evening is ‘celebrity’. This fundfair is all about the glitz and glamour of Hollywood, making attendees feel like a celebrity, for one night only (unless you’re Dylan, of course). As guests approach the school hall, they’re greeted by ‘paparazzi’ whoeagerly snap their photos on the red carpet. It feels like a star-studded event, even before you step inside, although beyond their main door is still a mystery, as I hover by the car, waiting to go in.
‘James Dean’ and ‘Marilyn Monroe’ walk past me, saying hello as they go, before making their way along the red carpet.
I smile to myself. I don’t usually look forward to these things – in fact, I actively dread them – so I can’t quite believe how up for tonight I am. I’ve gone all out with my Cher costume, channelling her iconic ‘If I Could Turn Back Time’ look. I stopped shy of fully committing to the bit here and there – mostly with my hair which, even though I could achieve the big, bouncy curls required, I wasn’t willing to dye it from blonde to black, so I have a wig, but that’s all good because it’s keeping my head warm, and I still have my coat on while I’m waiting.
Rowan had a meeting, so he said he would be arriving late. Honestly, I’m finding it harder to care than ever. We couldn’t be more like strangers right now – in fact, I briefly forgot that he would be coming at all. I guess, when I was at the school in relation to the boys, it all felt very much tethered to Rowan. Now, though, with Dylan being here, and the musical, this feels more like a me and Dylan thing.
Dylan also had somewhere to be, so I got ready at home, and arranged to meet him here, outside, so we could walk the red carpet together.
I’m relieved to see his car pull up, because it’s quite chilly out here, but as he steps out of the car, I am nothing short of speechless. He practically struts over to me, clearly incredibly proud of himself.
‘So, what do you think?’ he asks me.
I open my mouth to speak but nothing comes out other than a spluttery, indescribable sound – like a car that won’t start.
‘Come on, what do you think?’ he prompts me again.
‘I think you’ve lost your mind,’ I tell him with a cackle. ‘No pun intended.’
‘Well, with you being Cher, I thought it might be cute if I matched,’ he explains. ‘So I figured Meat Loaf would be a good shout. And I was thinking about my favourite Meat Loaf looks, and then I decided Eddie fromRocky Horrorwas my favourite. So, here I am.’
‘Here you are,’ I say, shaking my head in amusement. ‘In the sort of clothes that people have seen you wear a million times, but with the addition of a terrifyingly realistic head wound.’
‘Yeah, that’s where I was,’ he replies proudly. ‘I paid a special effects make-up artist to make it super realistic.’
Dylan is wearing a pair of blue jeans, a tight-fitting black T-shirt and a sleeveless black leather jacket with silver stud detailing. He almost certainly, without a doubt, owned all of these things already. And even though he is wearing Eddie’s exact outfit – which, on another man here, would be glaringly obvious – he just looks like Dylan King with a grossly fresh forehead wound.
‘Well, you didn’t waste your money,’ I tell him, still not quite believing my eyes. ‘You could definitely convince me that you’d just had a bit of slapdash brain surgery.’
‘Aww, thanks,’ he replies. ‘I’m loving the wig – the dark hair really suits you.’
‘Why, thank you,’ I reply.
I do kind of love the wig. My black hair is wild and curly, cascading over one shoulder – helping me to very much look the part.
I slip off my coat and throw it into the car, ready to head inside.
‘Oh my God, Nicole, look at you,’ Dylan says.
‘Do I look all right?’ I check.
