The Wild One (18 page)

“She's fine!” I say quickly. “I promise. She just … she has to tell you something.”

Aidan sighs. “Oh. Look, I don't want to be an asshole, but I don't want to see her.”

“Please?” I say. “She feels
so
bad, and she really … she loves you, I think, I mean, I know she does, and, um—”

Joe interrupts. “Aidan. I'm Joe.”

Aidan looks at Joe. “Hi.”

“I know you feel like shit, I've been where you are. I told her not to bother to ask for a second chance. I wouldn't give her one either.”

Aidan raises an eyebrow. “Are you trying to make me feel better?”

“Look. Just come downstairs with us and listen to what she has to say. Then you can come back to your lovely posh hotel room and sleep on your eight-hundred-thread-count sheets.”

Aidan rubs his temple, nods, and grabs his slippers and room key.

“This is your key, by the way,” says Joe, handing it over.

Aidan gives a half laugh. “I wondered how you made it up here.”

We head back to the lobby, Aidan wearing his pajamas and slippers with the kind of blasé self-assurance that reminds me of Pia and Angie. That's the definition of confidence: wearing pajamas in public without batting an eyelid. When we get out to the street, it finally dawns on me what is about to happen.

Pia is standing on top of the food truck. The microphone stand is set up in front of her, and the speakers are on the truck. She's going to
sing
? Pia is scared of singing in public! A crowd has gathered: the doormen, hotel guests, people walking past, cars that have stopped. All waiting to see what's about to happen.

“Are you kidding me?” Aidan stares up at Pia incredulously.

Pia looks so alone and vulnerable up there. I can see her hands shaking. Why the hell is she doing this to herself?

Because she loves Aidan, I suddenly realize. She loves him, and she'll do anything to get him back.

Pia clears her throat.

“Aidan, I am so sorry I hurt you. I will never hurt you again, I just want to be with you, I … it was the biggest mistake of my life, and … and you're the, you're the only one for me, I, um…”

Her voice is hardly audible. Oh, God, she's freaking out. I try to send her a message via ESP.
Breathe, Pia
.
Breathe …

What if she loses her shit and has a panic attack? It's happened before!

I look around for the girls. Madeleine, Julia, and Angie are all standing in front of the taxi, next to the speakers. Madeleine pointedly elbows Julia in the ribs, Julia glares at her, pressing Play on an iPod.

The music starts, and I hear the opening notes to … wait, I know this song, I'm sure I know this song.

Pia clears her throat, and starts to sing.

 

CHAPTER
19

“Imagine me and you…”

Pia starts softly, stammering over the words. There are more and more people now, coming out of nowhere: hotel guests, from bars and restaurants on the street, from the cars and cabs backed up as they try to pass.

Pia is staring at Aidan, and suddenly her eyes flick to Joe and me, and out of the corner of my eye, I see Joe give her a thumbs-up. That's all it takes. Pia's voice grows louder, stronger, more confident, building slowly until she belts out the chorus and—

Wait! I know this song! My mom and dad used to sing this in the car. “Happy Together,” by some old band called the Turtles.

I glance at Aidan and see his face crack into a huge smile. He loves Pia. He can't help it. The chorus starts, and led by Julia, Angie, and Madeleine, the entire crowd, everyone outside the Ace Hotel in the middle of New York City joins in, shouting joyously.

“I can't see me loving nobody but you for all my life…”

Joe grabs me and dips me into a huge Hollywood kiss, and I smile through our kisses as the whole of New York sings “Happy Together,” all around me, and all I can think is,
My friends are the best.

Aidan forgives Pia, of course. I can see it happen the moment she hits the chorus.

And the crowd is on her side. Everyone is singing along, and most of them are filming it on their phones. This is going to end up on YouTube, for sure.

When the song is over, the crowd cheers wildly as Pia gets down from the truck, looking as scared as I've ever seen her, and walks up to Aidan.

“I'm so sorry…” she whispers, her eyes big and pleading. “I will never hurt you again. Please forgive me, please. I love you.”

Aidan stares at her, then
boom.
They start kissing, and crying, and kissing, and crying some more.

“Well, this is all very emotional and dramatic,” remarks Joe.

I grin, gazing up at the city around us. The night is so warm, and the lights are so bright, that it doesn't feel like the middle of the night. At moments like this, New York City feels timeless, hourless, limitless. Like the entire universe begins and ends here.

I glance over to see Madeleine climbing up to the roof of the truck, her eyes glittering intently. As soon as she grabs the microphone, music starts pumping out of the speakers again, and Madeleine throws her fist in the air and belts out the opening lyrics to “Just a Girl,” that '90s song by No Doubt.

“Take this pink ribbon off my eyes…”

A ripple of interest goes through the crowd. Pia's song was romantic and cute—an adorable only-in-New-York anecdote to tell their friends. But Madeleine's voice and stage energy, or charisma, just plain old talent, whatever you want to call it, is undeniable. She's wearing jeans and a black top, yet somehow it's like a light is emanating from her. And to say her voice is
extraordinary
doesn't begin to do it justice.

“It's not just me, right?” says Joe, staring at her proudly, his arm slung around my shoulders. “She's really got something.”

“It's not just you,” I say. “She's the best.”

“What's her name?” says a voice behind us.

“Madeleine.” Joe glances at the guy and then does a double take. “Ian James? I'm a huge fan. Joe Nolan.”

They shake hands while I check out Ian James. Is he famous? He must be, right? He's short and tanned, and is wearing a weird little hat. He's one of those people who look like they
should
be famous, if you know what I mean. New York is full of people like that.

“Is she signed to anyone?”

“Not yet,” says Joe. “She's with a band called Spector. I'm the manager.”

“Well, the name has to change.”

“Oh, totally.” Joe nods quickly. “It started as a covers band. You know, old Phil Spector stuff, with a noise rock edge, uh…”

Ian nods. “Great.”

I can see Joe is about to say something else, when Ian's phone rings, and he quickly answers it and walks away.

“Fuck me, Ian James…” says Joe under his breath. He glances at me. “Music producer. Big. Huge.”

We both gaze expectantly at Ian James's back, but he walks down the street without pausing. He's already forgotten Madeleine.

“I should go after him. I should ask him for advice. I should…” But Joe is rooted to the spot.

“Go!” I say. “What's the worst that can happen?”

“He says no and laughs at me,” says Joe. “Isn't that always the worst that can happen?”

Madeleine finishes the song, to more rapturous applause and whistles, and climbs down.

People in the audience are shouting, “More! More!” I cheer and clap and scream until my throat starts to crack. My friends, taking over New York, helping each other. We are all in this together.

Joe pulls me in for a quick kiss, just before he bounds over to the food truck and reaches for the microphone.

“If you guys want to see Madeleine playing live with her band Spector, check out the Potstill Brooklyn Web site!”

But now that the show is over, the crowd has lost interest, too jaded and busy to care.

I head over to the girls, who are congratulating Madeleine.

“That was incredible!” Angie is saying.

Madeleine grins, looking shy but euphoric. “Julia's idea.”

“You are amazing! Fivies!” Julia is in hyperactive mode now, everyone's little cheerleader. Everything she says has an exclamation point. “I expected someone to come up and give you a record deal immediately!”

“Totally.” Madeleine rolls her eyes to let us know she's joking. She looks over to Pia and Aidan, who can't keep their hands off one another. “Well, at least Pia's plan worked out.”

“Seriously,” Angie says. “I don't know what you're doing wasting your time as an accountant.”

“Raking in the Benjamins,” replies Madeline.

“You mean counting someone else's Benjamins.”

“That too.”

Joe walks up, grinning. “I love New York. At any moment you could run into people who are really
doing
something with their lives, you know?”

“Yeah, it's a fucking nightmare,” says Angie, lighting a cigarette. “We're so close to everything we want, but so far away.”

 

CHAPTER
20

Later, back at Rookhaven, Joe and I are upstairs in my room when I'm suddenly overcome by shyness. That nervous flutter in my tummy is bigger than ever.

I like him.

Joe is lying stretched out on my bed. He's such a big guy that his feet hang off the end, and his long arms easily reach the sides.

I perch awkwardly next to him.

“I'm hot,” he says. “Can you put the air on?”

“It is on,” I say. “Sorry. It's kind of old.”

“No problem.”

Joe reaches up, taking his shirt off over his head. I eye his broad shoulders and muscled arms and am suddenly stabbed by desire. God, I want him.

“You want to lie down?”

Joe moves over an inch so I can lie down on the pillow next to him. We're so close that I can feel the heat from his body, and I'm having trouble breathing. I reach up to turn off the bedroom lamp, but Joe grabs my hand.

“Leave it on?”

Then he leans into me, and slowly, so slowly I'm almost aching, kisses me.

How can kissing, fully dressed, with a lamp on, somehow feel more intimate than having real actual sex in the dark?

Because we just had such a weird, crazy adventure, the kind that only my friends can have?

Or because I can pretend to be someone else in the dark? Because in the dark you can just forget yourself in desire?

I don't know.

All I know is kissing Joe is making me forget how to breathe.

Then I wonder if he's looking at my nose and thinking that it's ugly, or that I have a double chin, so I prop my head up on one hand, elbow resting on the pillow. I hope this is a more flattering pose. Then Joe does the same, and suddenly we're face-to-face, eye-to-eye. He grins at me, and I grin back, but I'm so tense right now, it's more of an awkward grimace.

“What's that book?” Joe asks, squinting at my nightstand.

“
Anna Karenina.
I'm rereading it.”

“What's it about?”

“Um … love,” I say.

“Stealing education again? Why don't you just go legit, enroll in college and use your prodigious reading ability to earn a degree?”

“I'm not smart enough,” I say, trying to sound offhand about it.

“Course you are,” says Joe. “You just have to believe in yourself.”

“I've never believed in myself,” I say flippantly. “Sometimes I think I'm imaginary.”

“I believe in you. I believe that you can do anything you want to do.”

That's the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.

I glance up and we meet eyes. Joe smiles, and I smile back, and then look away, my insides cramping with nerves. I pretend to sigh and close my eyes again, like I'm really sleepy, and secretly look down through my lashes at his body, the sinews of his muscles, and his flat stomach with those little hip curves that lead to—

“Can I ask you a question?” asks Joe, interrupting my about-to-be-R-rated train of thought.

“Yes.”

“The first time we, you know, made sweet, sweet love…” He pauses as I snort with laughter. “Was it your first time?”

Midsnort, I start coughing awkwardly. Why is Joe asking that? Because I was so terrible at sex?

“You were amazing,” he says, reading my mind. “Truly. The skill of Mata Hari.”

I laugh despite myself. “Um, okay, well, no. That wasn't my first time.”

“Was it okay for you?”

“It was lovely,” I answer honestly. “Why?”

“I don't know … Sometimes I feel like there's a barrier up, like there's a part of you that you're holding back. Something in reserve. I wondered … I don't know.”

There's a long pause.

“There was one other person,” I say finally. “His name was Eric. I thought he was my friend and, um, he wasn't. And I didn't want to have sex with him, but we did.”

“He—he forced you?” Joe suddenly looks furious.

“No! No, I mean, not exactly … It just, you know, it happened and I didn't really expect it to. It wasn't how I would have wanted it.”

“What a fucking asshole,” Joe growls.

“Worse than that. I, um…” The words come out before I can stop them. “I got pregnant.”

“Shit,” says Joe.

I take a deep breath. “I got an—an—you know.”

“I know.”

I gaze into Joe's face, trying to read if he's judging me, or hating me. But he's not. All I see is understanding.

“My sister had one,” says Joe. “She went to England for it. It's still illegal in Ireland.”

“It's
illegal
?”

He nods. “Of course, it still happens. It always happens.” He sighs. “It's not fair. It takes two people to do it, but the girl deals with the consequences alone.”