New York Girl (formerly known as Maple Street)

Chapter Four

If I had to write, a list of positives about my new job, Imogen Thompson, (my new BFF) would be right at the top. She was senior PR Manager who had been at Trask for the last two years and from the moment she turned up to work with a Starbucks in one hand and a magnolia bakery bag in the other, I knew we were going to get along just fine.

 In the short time I’d known her I was already more than aware of her ambition to become an -artist and not just any artist. Oh no! Move over Chagall and Warhol this girl was a force to be reckoned with! She reminded me a little bit of myself; ambitious, self- assured and deluded.

And did I mention she was a goddess? Tall and petite with eyes as green as an emerald stone - and don’t even get me started on her hair. A long mass of thick golden curls that flowed all the way down her back, Denise Richardson eat-your-heart-out!

'Are you coming for drinks tonight?’ She asked, spraying water onto the plant nearest to my desk. She was also into nature on a big scale and dabbled in a bit of (cough) naturism from time to time, but we’ll cover that later.

'Sure, why not.’                                                 

Prodding the soil with a dainty finger, she moulded it perfectly around the stalk. ‘They say it’s good to talk to plants – I read it in a self-help book once.’

‘I bet that’s what uncle John was doing that time we went to visit him. I haven’t seen him since. Mom said he just fell of the face of the universe.’

 ’What are you babbling on about?’

Before I had the chance to reply, she tottered off back to her desk, leaving me wondering how someone who ate so many cupcakes could maintain a teeny size six figure – I was only an eight myself but I couldn’t put away that many red velvets without it showing just a little.

 Snapping out of my cake induced fantasy; I focused my attention back to my screen when a sudden feeling of dread came over me – it had become quite a regular occurrence of late. And on some weird sub-conscious level a part of me believed I deserved it after the whole Alex thing. I mean what kind of a person jumps from a window ledge on the morning of their wedding?

'Guys, Can I have a quick word?'

My heart literally jumped out of my chest, when I discovered it was the guy I had met on my first morning- Edward or Eric? I wasn’t sure, all I knew was he had arms to die for and the face to match. I noticed the rest of the people in my team also stopped what they were doing including my manager Rachel.

'I’ve organised drinks tonight for the new starters.' he paused, looking at Imogen and then me. 'I thought it would be nice for us to get to know them and give them a Trask welcome!’

Everyone nodded in agreement including me - who of course still stood out like a sore thumb.

Downstairs, the evening sun dazzled above us as we enjoyed our well – needed beverages. There was a wonderful feeling of Friday in the air and I was relieved that I’d managed to make it through my first week without even a hiccup.

'What are you up to this weekend?’ Imogen asked, sipping on her third Mojito.

'I’m off to a birthday party tomorrow night. Do you want to come?’

 ‘I can’t, my wacko parents are in Town.’

‘Wacko?’

 ‘Oh believe me, you don’t want to know.’

‘Well if I didn’t, I certainly do now!’

 ‘Promise you won’t judge?’

‘Hello, you’ve obviously forgotten – window ledge, me jumping?’

She giggled, ‘True,’

‘So?’

 ‘Last year, on my twenty eighth -birthday- my Mom set me up with my cousin.’

‘What?!’

 ‘Shuuush!’

‘I’m sorry, I just can’t, your cousin?’

‘Second cousin,’

‘You didn’t go there did you?’

Her poor face looked horrified, ‘Are you kidding me? I’m not talking about this anymore, I shouldn’t have said anything.’

‘Don’t be silly. I’m glad you felt like you could open up to me.’

‘It’s just my parents, they’re really different you know, gosh I wish I was adopted or something.’

‘Well, I think they sound really interesting.’

‘You think?’

‘Totally! My parents are so unbelievably boring! The most exciting thing they do is mix vodka jelly with a smidgen and I mean a smidgen of rum.’

The relief on her face was palpable. ‘Thanks Lucy, I’ve never told anyone that before.’

‘So what happened in the end?’

 ‘I ran away.. to New York.’

‘Weren’t you raised in the City?’

‘I was brought up in Pennsylvania it’s not that far away, unfortunately.’

‘Wow.’

‘Yes, wow.’

‘I thought I had issues.’

She raised her glass, ‘To issues.’

We clinked and laughed and for the first time in ages I realised how happy I was but not just any kind of happy - content, relaxed, off – the – hook almost. The winds of change had set sail and I was going along for the ride.

There was no engagement ring on my apprehensive finger – instead I was now a super sleek PR marketer with a cool (albeit small) apartment in one of the most stylish cities in the world AND I made a great new friend. Damn straight I was smiling!

 ‘Don’t make it obvious Imogen, but the guy behind you in the white shirt. What’s his name again?’

She did a half - turn fiddling with the contents inside her bag until eventually she pulled out a tube of bright red lip gloss and dabbed some onto her lips. ‘Ethan Jones, he’s totally hot right?!’

‘Shush, he’ll hear you!’

‘And successful might I add, he’s one of the youngest directors to have been promoted within six months and now he’s pretty much a high flyer.’

‘Good for him.’ I replied nonchalantly.

‘Someone got the hot’s for him have they?’

‘Absolutely not, that’s absurd. And anyway I don’t believe in mixing business with pleasure.’

‘ Hmm..Looks like I’m not the only one with something to hide.’