Babyville (9 page)

Julia collapses on a chair, bags strewn all over the floor, and makes a pained expression. “I tried, I really did, but it started with these fantastically flattering trousers in Banana Republic and it all went downhill from there.”

“I don't believe you.” Bella tries to count the number of bags. “And did you buy the whole of Saks or just the fourth floor?”

“I couldn't help it. This place is unbelievable. Everywhere I turned there were racks of clothes on sale, and I didn't even realize until I bought two jackets that there's a further thirty percent off today.”

“So of course you then had to go back and start looking all over again?”

“Of course! What do you think I am? A man?”

They both laugh.

“Wait till you see what I got!” Julia starts pulling clothes out of bags and holding them up. A Gucci coat reduced from $1,000 to $150, an Armani jacket a mere snip (or at least that's how Julia justified it) at $195, a DKNY shirt for $59.99.

“Bargains, the lot of them. I don't suppose we need to add it all up, do we?” Bella says.

“Absolutely not. What I can't add won't hurt me.” And she sits back in her chair with a grin as the waiter puts a wire basket of bread and crackers on the table, and fills their glasses with iced water.

“To us.” Bella raises her glass.

“To us.” Julia takes a sip and shakes her head. “Bella, I can't believe how different I feel being here.”

“New York does that to people. I told you.”

“No, it's not just that. God, I didn't want to talk about Mark, but this is the first time I've really been away from him and . . .” She stops, looks at the table mat, and takes a deep breath.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, it's just that saying this will make it a reality, which is pretty scary. You know how you can think something and as long as it stays in your head it's fine because you can pretend it's not really there, and sometimes it goes away, but then as soon as you say it out loud it becomes real and you can never take it back?”

“I know,” Bella says gently. “Just for the record, whatever it is you're about to say, you don't have to say it if it makes you feel in any way uncomfortable. If you don't want it to be real, maybe you should think twice before saying it.”

“No, it's not terrible. I'm not saying it's over or anything. But Bella, I've been feeling so trapped.” The pain in her eyes is clear, and Bella reaches over and takes her hand. “I've just felt so numb for months, and not being able to get pregnant, and . . .” She stops. “God! I haven't even thought about the pregnancy since I got here. Can you believe that?”

“Why is that so strange? You've been here less than twenty-four hours.”

“But Bella, I've been obsessed with getting pregnant for months. It's all I think about. I lie in bed fantasizing about my baby, and I wake up blaming Mark, and spend the rest of the day feeling alternately gooey and angry whenever I pass babies or baby shops.”

“Not a great thing to be feeling, considering there's the most enormous baby boom in New York right now and every second person you pass is a foot high and sitting up in a buggy.”

“Exactly! That's the point. I must have been aware of it, even today, walking around, but I didn't think about it in terms of how it affected me!” Her voice is excited, rushed. “Bella, I feel like the black cloud that's been following me around for months has finally gone.”

“I think,” Bella says seriously, “that black cloud is called depression. I personally would have suggested Prozac, but if retail therapy did the trick, then so be it.”

“I'm not on a shopping high,” Julia warns.

“Right. Sure.” Bella sweeps her eyes over the bags at Julia's feet. “But seriously, I do think you need the space to clear your head. That whole me, me, me thing is so typical. Isolating and being angry with the world because you can't control it isn't exactly abnormal when you're suffering from depression.”

“How come you know so much about it?”

“I'm a daytime television producer. I know very little about an awful lot, what's the expression? Jack of all trades, master of none? That's me. Don't question it. It's my job.”

“Bella, I love you.”

“I know, darling. I'm your fairy godmother. And I love you too, and more to the point I'm extremely glad you're feeling better because tonight, Cinderella, you shall go to the ball.”

It
isn't a ball. It's a private party in a large bar in SoHo. Julia manages to fight off her jet lag, and they arrive at 11:10
P.M.
, Bella resplendent in a red chiffon and feather number, and Julia in a more orthodox but still beautiful black dress and little beaded cardigan.

They push through the crowds of people to the bar, and within ten minutes they have each had two drinks apiece, bought for them by different men.

Julia shouts to be heard above the crowd, laughs and flirts all evening. She gives her—or rather Bella's—number to three men, and has the time of her life.

This evening she:

Drinks seven apple martinis. Or possibly eight. She loses count around six.

Is chatted up by five men, and is fairly certain of admiring glances from at least three more.

Hits the dance floor with wild abandon and lets her hair down in a way she hasn't done for years, and, what's more, knows she looks pretty damn good while doing so (although, again, that could be the apple martinis).

Passes Sarah Jessica Parker while walking through the room, and actually touches her arm to get past.

Meets Sarah Jessica Parker later in the loo, although it isn't actually Sarah Jessica Parker, just someone who looks very like her, but nevertheless the SJP-lookalike comes straight up to Julia and gushes, “I love your sweater, it's beautiful, where did you get it?” (Julia considers saying Whistles, but figures it wouldn't mean anything, so with an apologetic expression she simply says London.)

At 2:25
A.M.
Bella drags a protesting Julia to the door, only managing to get her out by promising her they'll go to another party the next night, “Although,” Bella mutters, shoving Julia into the back of a cab, “God knows if I'll be up for anything now.”

“Sorry,” Julia mumbles happily, eyes closing with exhaustion as she leans her head back, the jet lag finally catching up with her, “but didn't you have the most amazing evening of your life?” With a smile she's asleep.

“Not, clearly, as amazing as yours,” Bella says, smiling, as she leans forward and gives the driver her address.

9

“Hello, may I speak with Julia please?”

“Who may I tell her is calling?” Bella adopts her most formal British tone.

“This is Jack Roth.”

“And will she know what it's in connection with?”

“Yes.”

“Just one minute.” Bella covers the mouthpiece and looks over to Julia sitting on the sofa. “It's someone called Jack Roth,” she mouths. “Who he?”

Julia shrugs and holds her hand out for the phone. “Hello?”

“Is this Julia?”

“Yes.”

“This is Jack. Jack Roth.”

“Yes?”

“Jack whom you met the other night at the Hudson? In the bar? You gave me your number and said to call you as soon as I got back from Argentina.”

“How very presumptuous of me. And have you just got back from Argentina?” Julia hasn't a clue who he is, but is nonetheless rather enjoying this conversation.

“I've just stepped off the plane at JFK and I'm about to jump in a cab.”

“What? No limo picking you up? I'm not impressed.”

“Neither am I,” he laughs. “Someone somewhere's going to lose their job over this.”

“I hope you're joking.”

“I know all the British think the Americans have had a sense of humor failure, but yes, I was joking. So have you worn the Armani jacket yet?”

Julia's floored. God. Who is this man and, more to the point, what else did she tell him? “Um. No, actually.” Her enjoyment is starting to disappear, the memory loss rendering her somewhat out of control.

“The Prada coat?”

“Yes, actually. I wore that one today.”

“Shame I couldn't see it on you. Maybe you'll wear it when you have dinner with me.”

Julia pauses. She wouldn't have made a date for dinner with this man, not when the situation is still so unresolved with Mark. Would she?

“Am I having dinner with you?”

“Oh yes. Absolutely. You swore on your dog's life you'd have dinner with me when I got back from my trip.”

“I don't have a dog.”

“Maybe it was your brother's. I don't remember the details.”

“I don't have a brother, which is rather lucky because I imagine his life would be in some danger by now.” Julia laughs, as Bella jiggles next to her on the sofa, desperate to find out what's going on.

“So are you free tomorrow night?”

“I don't know. Hang on, I'll ask my social secretary.” Julia covers the mouthpiece as Bella reaches over and bangs the hold button down. “Am I free tomorrow night?” she asks Bella innocently.

“Never mind that. Who's Jack Roth and why are you flirting with him?”

“I'm not really flirting, am I?” Julia tries to look horrified but fails miserably. “Bella, I have absolutely no idea who he is,” she says impatiently. “If you remember correctly, I was completely shitfaced at that party, and I know I gave my number out, but God knows to whom. However, he sounds nice and he wants to take me out for dinner, and you were the one who said I needed to date.”

“You're right. You're right. But find out a bit about him, for God's sake.”

“Bella, I'll meet him at the restaurant. It'll be a public place. I won't go back to his apartment or do anything stupid. Relax. I'm not going to start asking him a billion questions on the phone.”

“I told you, when in New York—”

“But I'm not a pushy New Yorker looking for a husband. That's the last thing on my mind. I quite like the idea of having a Magical Mystery Evening.”

“Okay, okay. But can I come too and lurk invisibly at the bar just so I can check you're not with a madman?”

“Maybe. But only if you swear not to come over or make it obvious.”

“I swear.” Bella presses the hold button again and Julia puts the phone to her ear.

 “Hello?”

“Hello? Did you go on vacation?”

“I'm so sorry, my social secretary had lots of questions.”

“Ah. Tell her I work for Goldman's, I'm in Emerging Markets, hence my traveling to Latin America, I'm six-three with dark hair and brown eyes, which of course you'll remember, and I live on the Upper West Side. Will that satisfy her?”

Julia laughs and mouths to Bella, “Goldman Sachs.” Bella nods approvingly.

“So how about tomorrow night?” he continues.

“Bugger. I forgot to ask her. Hang on.” Julia confers briefly with Bella, rules out tomorrow night due to dinner with some of Bella's friends, and goes back to Jack to agree on next Thursday night.

Julia tells him she'll meet him at the restaurant and takes down the address for Orsay. She's about to ask how will she recognize him when she remembers this isn't a blind date, not as far as he's concerned, and she decides to turn up slightly late to make sure he's sitting at the table.

“Well?” Bella says urgently as soon as Julia puts down the phone. “Orsay indeed? Goldman Sachs indeed? I'd say your bait must have been pretty tempting.”

“Yeah. I actually offered him a lifetime's blow jobs with a free subscription to
Esquire
. What man could refuse?”

“Evidently not this one.”

“Bella, I haven't a bloody clue who he is. Is this completely mad?”

“Nope. Probably the sanest thing you've ever done. Getting out and having some fun.”

The
great thing about staying with someone who lives in New York rather than in a hotel, Julia muses a couple of days later, is that you have a chance to feel what it's really like to live in the city, rather than be a tourist.

Even her gait is different in New York. In London she takes her time, looks around her as she walks, whereas here she strides briskly, eyes fixed on the middle distance, looking as if she knows exactly where she's going and what she wants. A native New Yorker in the making.

She was completely delighted yesterday when two different sets of tourists stopped her in midtown and asked her the way to, first, Rockefeller Center and, second, F.A.O. Schwartz. Delighted and embarrassed, for the minute she opened her mouth she proved herself as alien as they.

Already she has developed something of a routine. Every morning she joins Bella for her workout, before walking her to the office. On the way back she goes a few blocks up to the Pick-a-Bagel on 77th and Lexington, grabbing a cinnamon raisin bagel and a large hazelnut coffee, taking it back to the apartment to eat while flicking between the final parts of the morning shows on CBS and NBC. Later she watches Bella's show on BCA, and late morning she'll leave the apartment for the rest of the day.

Sometimes she walks through Central Park. Sometimes she'll hit the museums. She's revisited her old haunts in SoHo, and found a few new ones. She's ogled her way down Madison Avenue, and bought, in stages, all the stock she can lay her hands on in the Gap.

She has no qualms about eating on her own, and if she isn't meeting Bella for lunch she'll have scrambled eggs and crispy bacon at EJ's, fresh sushi at the Atlantic Grill, a giant burger at Hamburger Heaven.

She has already understood why New Yorkers are always out. So much to see, so much to do, it's always a disappointment to go back home to the apartment late afternoon.

So far she and Bella have spent only one night at home. Julia insisted on Chinese takeaway. She had a vague memory of Cliff in
Dallas
always eating Chinese food out of a small cardboard carton, and remembers salivating at the time, and thinking how much more delicious Chinese food must be when eaten that way.

The food duly arrived in said cartons, and wasn't even a quarter as delicious as it had looked. Nevertheless she and Bella finished everything while watching reruns of
Seinfeld
.

Thursday
afternoon Julia walks in after spending a few hours trying to spot the polar bears in Central Park Zoo, and runs to get the phone that's ringing as soon as she walks through the door.

She picks up, unwinding her scarf and pulling off her woollen hat, relieved to finally be in the warmth.

“Hi, darling, it's me. How was your day?”

Julia smiles at Bella sounding like the dutiful wife. “Cold. I went to the zoo.”

“Great.” Julia can hear Bella isn't in the mood for a chat. “Listen, I've got a proposition for you. How would you like to have a job?”

“What do you mean, a job?”

“I mean we're running a new item on the show called ‘Baby Showers,' which will take a week to film. The bloody thing starts filming on Monday and Lisa, the producer, is in hospital with suspected malaria.”

“God. Poor girl. So what's ‘Baby Showers'?” Julia puts on a deep, and rather sardonic, American accent.

“For the last few months we've been doing stuff on parties. Every week we change it so we've had bachelorette parties, sweet sixteens, bar mitzvahs, pre-prom nights, that kind of thing. Think cheesy and American. And now it's baby showers, which is basically when everyone you know comes to your house when you're pregnant bearing gifts for the baby.

“We look at clever things to make as party favors, oops, I mean going-home presents, recipe ideas, themes, that kind of thing. We'll film it next week to air in two weeks' time, so we're now completely stuffed unless you say yes.”

“So you want me to produce it?”

“Julia, I badly want you to produce it, but I was so frightened to ask you because I didn't want to remind you about the baby stuff, but we're totally up shit creek and if you could handle it you'd be doing me the most massive favor. It's all set up, we just need someone to oversee the whole thing.”

“Don't I need an interview or anything? Doesn't anyone senior want to meet me? And won't I need a green card or something to work here?”

“You don't need an interview because it's a freelance position, and the responsibility comes down to me. All you'll have to do is send in a CV as a formality, but frankly they're all running round in a panic like headless bloody chickens, and they'll be delighted for someone as experienced as you to do it. As for a green card, normally of course you would, but BCA's a global company, so I'm pretty sure I can persuade the British office to pay you. Given this is such short notice, I don't think anyone's going to question us taking on a British producer. The fact is you're here and you're available. Look, if you want it, bash out a CV on my computer at home, e-mail it to me and I'll run it under their noses, but basically it's yours. If you want it.”

“Okay.”

“Okay what? Okay you want it?”

Julia takes a deep breath. It's only one week, she tells herself. The whole thing for next week is already set up, and all she has to do is go along and smooth ruffled feathers and make sure everything goes according to plan. All the hard stuff has been done, and God knows she's hardly an amateur. How different can America be, anyway?

“I'll do it,” she says finally.

“Yessss!” hisses Bella. “My laptop's under the bed. Do the CV now and send it over by the end of the day. You'll need to come in with me tomorrow, is that okay?”

“Oh, I don't know,” Julia says, the calmness in her voice hiding the excitement just starting to bubble up from her stomach. “I'll have to check my diary.”

“Oh ha, bloody ha. I'll see you later. Hang on. Tonight's the night, isn't it?”

“Night for what?”

“Jack Roth.”

“Oh yes. God, thanks for reminding me. I'd almost forgotten.”

“Is that why you went out and bought a shimmery pink dress from Scoop! yesterday?”

“Bugger. I can't get anything past you.”

“Damn right. I've got the most gorgeous Manolos that would look fantastic with it. They're in the wardrobe in my bedroom on the far left. Keep digging and you'll find them eventually.”

“Bella, you're wonderful.”

“Aren't I? I'll see you later, my darling, and I promise to remain incognito at Orsay.”

“Are you at least going to meet someone there?”

“Of course. I'm meeting Russell Crowe for a date. I wish. Which reminds me, just as added bait, next Thursday you're going to be filming the celeb vox pops.”

“Let me guess, I'm going out to film the Carol Vorderman and Anthea Turner of America?”

“You could say that. Although in this case you'll be filming Elle Macpherson and Uma Thurman.”

 “Elle Macpherson!
Wow!” Julia's awestruck. “Uma Thurman!”

“I know! Elle and Uma! Maybe you and Elle will hit it off and she'll be our new best friend. Or Uma. I'm not particularly fussy.”

“Elle Macpherson. Uma Thurman. Wow.”

“Okay. I can see I'm not going to get any sense out of you now. I should have told you tomorrow. Forget Elle and Uma and think of Jack. I want you to start getting ready now. Understood?”

“Have you met my new best friends Elle and Uma?”

Bella laughs. “You're incorrigible. See you later.”

Julia
is so excited about meeting Elle Macpherson and Uma Thurman she barely thinks about her impending date with Jack. She moons around the apartment like a teenager with a serious crush, all professionalism having long since hot-footed it out the door.

Imagine, Julia thinks, hitting it off with Elle and Uma. Elle liking Julia so much she'd invite her over for dinner with a few friends. Just the usual gang, Cindy and Rande, Brad and Jennifer, maybe Ben Affleck for her. Julia envisages walking into restaurants with Uma at her side, everyone stopping to stare as Julia pretends to feel pissed off at the attention.

Oh, for God's sake, Julia, get a grip. She shakes her head but still can't resist tapping out a merry little dance on her way to retrieve Bella's laptop from under the bed. This was the last thing she expected, after all. A few days' break in New York has turned into nearly two weeks, and now she even has work. Will she ever go home?

Because of course there is Mark to consider, and with a start Julia realizes she hasn't thought about him for days. She's been far too busy, she tells herself, checking her watch and ringing the machine at home, knowing he'll be at work on a Thursday, but not wanting to talk to him.

“Hi. It's me. Just checking in to say everything's fine. I'm having a great time and guess what? I've been offered some work so I'm off to film with Elle Macpherson and Uma Thurman next Thursday.” She tries to sound blasé but fails. “Still not sure when I'll be home,” she continues, “but I'll probably be here at least another few weeks. Hope everything's fine, and I'll talk to you soon. Bye.” She puts the phone down and sits staring at it for a while, thinking about Mark, their house in London, the life she flew away from, and she knows she's not missing it.