Page 8 of Time of Your Life

Four

Ysolde

I walk into Quaglino’s, Aleki trailing behind me, and I swear his size and demeanour brings more attention to us than I inherently do myself. We spot my friends and he sits at his own table, giving us some smile.

“Oh my god, look who it is,” Chloe quips as she spots me.

She’s prettier in person, I think. I mean, she’s pretty onstage too, but she wears too much makeup up there.

In real life, with her dyed jet-black hair and dark blue eyes, she doesn’t really need much else.

Usually just sports a very pink lip. Last year Rolling Stone declared her to have taken the crown from Madonna as the queen of pop. (Madge did not take well to that, FYI.)

“Mrs. Joah Harrigan,” Pixie Fife chides. Very blond hair chopped very short, skin like it’s never seen the sun a day in its life. The absolute fucking worst PA you’ve ever met in your life, she is. Regrettably, she is mine though.

“Stop—” I roll my eyes at both of them as I throw myself down in the chair next to Lala, who doesn’t say a word, just throws her arm around me and kisses my cheek.

“No—” Chloe shakes her head. “We have some questions.”

I settle back in my chair and brace myself. “I’m sure you do.”

Lala subtly elbows me because she thinks Chloe’s too nosy at the best of times.

“How the fuck did this even happen?” Chloe smacks her hand down on the table, frightening away a waiter, who Lala touches the arm of and nods at me. “Tom Collins for her when you can, thanks.”

“I love Fallow—” Chloe keeps going. “I’ve been to all their shows, and I’ve said so many times in so many interviews that they’ve been a huge influence for me.

” She’s frowning now. “I always position myself in Joah Harrigan’s line of sight, both at the shows and whenever we’re out and they’re like, there or whatever, and nothing—”

La gives her a judgmental look. “Well, that’s probably why.”

“Do you like him?” I ask Chloe.

Lala rolls her eyes. “She doesn’t know him.”

“Well, not biblically like Sol does now, presumably,” she laments.

Lala tosses me an annoyed glance. It’s supposed to be subtle, but it’s not.

Lala’s terrible at hiding her expressions.

Whatever she’s feeling, it’s always clear as glass.

Some people hate it—lots of people, actually.

I love it. I think it’s funny; it can make people really uncomfortable around her, but I think it’s refreshing.

“How big is it?” my PA suddenly asks.

I give her a warning look. “Pixie.”

“No—” Chloe shakes her head. “I’m with her: How big is it?”

I turn to Lala, try to change the subject.

“Where’s Riley?”

“Japan,” La tells me. “Press tour.”

Pixie’s undeterred though. “Just tell me when—”

She starts with her hands close together, slowly draws them apart.

I roll my eyes at her ridiculousness. “Stop.”

She does indeed stop—hands frozen—she stares at the measure between them, crestfallen. Not even two inches between her hands.

“Really?”

“What—?” I shake my head, confused by her reaction and then I realise. Roll my eyes again. “Oh, no—Pix—” I look at Joah’s supposed measure again and start laughing. “No—”

“Okay, so just say when then!” Her hands start moving again, slowly farther apart. “Just say when…” The distance between her hands grows a little more. “When?” It keeps growing, her face falters. “When?” Growing still. “Oh my god—”

I take an exasperated breath. “Pix, I will take this opportunity to gently remind you that you are quite possibly the very worst personal assistant who exists on the planet. You barely ever assist me generally, let alone personally, so I do suggest that when I say ‘stop’ you do in fact…stop.”

Pixie nods once with an obedience she rarely ever sports. “And zip.” She mimes it as she says it.

“Well.” Lala gives me a sorry look. “To be fair, I’m not your PA and I’d actually like to know how big—”

I lean in towards her, cover my mouth, and whisper. “Maybe two or three centimetres bigger than that butter knife.” I eyeball the already quite-large butter knife that sits in front of us on the table and Lala snaps her head to face me immediately.

“Fuck! Off!” She stares at me in disbelief, then asks genuinely, “Are you okay?”

Chloe huffs across the table, arms crossed, a tiny bit annoyed, but I don’t care at all.

“I’m perfect, thank you very much,” I tell them all, my nose in the air.

“God—” Chloe shakes her head at me, a bit (albeit reluctantly) impressed. “She really does have that lovely after-sex glow, doesn’t she?”

“Unzip”—Pixie mimes unzipping her mouth—“fuck, Solly, please, I just want to know everything. When did it happen? And actually, where? Every place, doesn’t have to be chronological, though that would be preferable if not helpful—”

I give her a long-suffering look, as though it pains me to talk about it—as though I haven’t replayed the last few days in a loop in my own mind even when Joah’s been lying right next to me.

“Sunday night was the first time, like when we met—We were at Groucho. Then we left and he followed me to Hertford—”

“I didn’t know he followed you!” Chloe blinks in disbelief.

“Oh my god!” Pix squeals. “Joah Harrigan following you. Fittest man in the world, go on…”

Lala gives me a silent but encouraging smile.

“And then we…went to my hotel…and we…you know…” I trail.

Which evidently was not enough information for Pixie.

“Was it like, you know—on the bed?”

I think back to it. “Yes.” I pause. “Well, the first time.”

“And the second time?” Lala asks with a smirk.

“Oh—actually, and the second time,” I concede.

Pixie’s eyes pinch. “What about third time?”

“Oh my god, Pix!” I growl, exasperated. “Fuck!” I rattle them off my fingers as I think back over the past few days. “Balcony, bathroom vanity, up against a bookcase, on a piano, in my town car, in the loo of the Claridge’s lobby. In Selfridges—”

“In Selfridges?” Chloe repeats back, horrified but a bit enthralled.

“Yeah, just a quickie. He’s really strong.”

“With the stamina of a horse, apparently,” Lala adds, impressed.

“How many times is that?” Pixie asks.

I squash a laugh and try not to look too starry-eyed as I answer. “Infinity.”

Chloe stares at me, not blinking. “I can’t believe you’ve had so much sex with Joah fucking Harrigan that you’ve actually lost count.”

I shrug a sorry.

Pixie squeals and I suppose that’s when Lala deems her over-the-top, because she just slides away Pixie’s cosmopolitan so it’s out of her reach.

Chloe breathes out, annoyed. “I have never been so jealous of a person in my whole fucking life, like I sort of want to punch you—”

I give her a curt smile. “I would prefer you didn’t…”

“When are you seeing him again?” La asks.

“I don’t know—in like an hour probably? He’s having lunch with his brother…”

“Oh my god!” Chloe sits up straight. “Can I date the brother? That works too.”

I take a giant sidestep around the “too” in that sentence—trade looks with Lala for it though. Obviously—and shake my head, because I don’t know.

“I haven’t met the brother.”

“Are you going to their show tomorrow night?” Chloe asks, eyebrows up.

Lala’s eyes flick over all of Chloe. “You know too much about them.”

“Yes,” Chloe concedes with a nod before she looks back at me. “But are you?”

“Well, yeah—he asked me to go.”

Chloe’s eyes go wide. “Oh my god.”

I look over at Lala. “But I said I’d only go if you go, Lalee.”

She huffs out her nose, at least a bit because I called her Lalee and she pretends to hate it, but she doesn’t really.

“Twist my arm, why don’t you—” my best friend says with a reluctant smile, then she grabs my hand and pulls me up and away from the other two girls. “Okay, come on, we have to talk—”

“Wait no, that’s not fair, come back!” Pixie calls to us but we’re already a bit away. She pouts. “I hate it when you two leave us out—”

“Well,” I remind her, “ we are best friends, and you are technically my employee…”

Pix rolls her eyes and Chloe waves a hand like, um hello?

“Well, what about me, then?” Chlo asks.

Lala shakes her head. “You benched yourself with your enthusiasm for the boy she’s fucking.” Lala gives her a curt smile. “Bye.”

She pulls me into the disabled loo and locks the door behind us, pulling a face at our friends.

“Fuck, that was a lot—”

“Them, or Joah and I?”

She sniffs a laugh before she turns to look at herself in the mirror—she glances at me through our reflections. “It is just… fucking though, right?”

My mouth opens to speak but nothing comes out.

Lala freezes. “Is it…?”

My brows go low, face puzzled as I look for the words.

“Oh my god, it isn’t—?” She gawps at me. “You like him!”

I still don’t say anything back.

“Wait—no—” She shakes her head. “Ysolde, are you in love?”

Now I shake my head quickly because—that’s mad, and I haven’t even pondered the thought myself because of course I’m not. I’m definitely not. Probably. I’m probably definitely not in love with him. I think. Fuck.

“Look at your face!” Lala points at me accusingly. “Oh my god, you fucking love him!”

She smacks me in the arm.

“I couldn’t!”

“But you do! I can tell! Oh my god, Solly—” She reaches for me now, mildly concerned.

“La, I’m a mess. Like an addict. I hate being away from him, I hate not touching him—”

“Well.” She considers this. “You have pretty big daddy issues so that separately checks out…”

I point at her sternly. “Fuck you and that’s not what this is about.”

She tilts her head, makes an “mmmm” sound, as though she’s not so sure.

“Lala, you had two sessions with Ruth Westheimer several months ago, it’s time to cut the cord.”

She ignores me. “So where are we on the scale of lovers past? Are we talking mild infatuation like when you shot that campaign with Marky Mark and you didn’t leave his hotel room for thirty-six hours…

? Or like…Kelly Slater, when you followed around after him for a good chunk of 1994 and wore a lot of Roxy and puka shells? ”

I purse my lips. “Kelly Slater was child’s play.”

“Oh, fuck.” Her mouth falls open in a bit of genuine surprise. “Okay.”

She nods, thinking it through. Me going through a surfing phase meant that we went through a surfing phase, and La was okay with the bigger, more commercial islands, but she wasn’t a fan of some of the weirder places we’d go.

And don’t tell me she didn’t have to come, because all that does is tell me you’ve never had a codependent friend before and that’s your problem not mine and actually, I feel sorry for you.

“I am properly obsessed with him, Lalee,” I breathe out. “I cannot tell you what a relief it is to say this out loud, it’s been eating me up inside, having to play it cool with him—”

“Why?”

“Because I need him to like me! I need him to think I’m cool!”

Lala gives me an exasperated look. “Sol, you’re literally the coolest person on the planet.”

“No.” I shake my head with fervent conviction. “I was . I’m not cool anymore, I’m a complete loser now.”

Lala rolls her eyes like I’m being dramatic, but I’m not. I’m just telling the truth.

“I just think about Joah Harrigan all the live long day like every other fucking girl in the world—”

“Right—” Lala gives me a look. “But— unlike every other fucking girl in the world, Ys— hopefully —you’re the one he’s actually, literally fucking…”

I sigh. “I suppose.”

“It is mutual, right?” Her face grimaces as she asks that question and my jaw falls to the floor.

“I beg your pardon, the nerve! Of course it’s fucking mutual! Obviously, it is.” I give her a good glare for that one, but she just shrugs, unfazed.

“He can be fucking you and not into you. Case in point: Heath Ledger .”

“Oh my god!” My shoulders slump. “Why would you bring that up? That just hurts my feelings—”

“Because—” She gives me a look. “You are a goddess and that is true regardless . But if it’s not there, it’s not there—”

“It’s fucking there, okay? He’s there.”

“Okay.” She shrugs again, and I can tell she’s not trying to have a row, just trying to be my friend.

I reach for her hand again and squeeze it. “You will come tomorrow, won’t you?”

“Oh yeah.” She nods. “I want to watch the world’s biggest butter knife sing you love songs, one hundred percent.” She squeezes my hand. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”