Call Me, Maybe Read online

  I flinch. New York is where Nicole moved to and the last time I saw her was… well it wasn’t the best night of my life.

  It was New Year’s Eve, and we’d planned to watch the fireworks by the Queen Mary. We ate at the Vietnamese restaurant around the corner from her apartment. The same place we went on our first date, and lots of times after that, so it had sort of become ours. And after, we decided to blow off the fireworks and go back to her apartment instead. She opened the door, dropped her purse on the side table and kicked off her shoes. She poured us both a drink, which neither one of us finished before she took my hand and pulled me towards her bedroom, all in exactly the way she had on dozens of occasions over the fifteen months we’d been seeing each other.

  But this time something different happened.

  ‘So, I need to tell you something,’ she said, slightly nervously, straight after we were finished having sex. ‘I’m leaving.’

  She looked across at me and her hair was coming loose from her ponytail. I reached over and ran my finger over her nipple and watched as it pebbled into a little pink peak.

  ‘You can’t leave,’ I said. ‘This is your apartment.’

  ‘No, Jesse,’ she said. ‘I mean, I’m leaving town.’

  ‘What? When?’

  ‘Wednesday.’ She wrinkled her nose, almost like she was apologizing for it.

  ‘Huh? Nicole, it’s Saturday evening.’

  ‘Yeah, I know,’ she paused and shifted. ‘I got a new job. I start the following Monday. It’s just a contract, but –’

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘The UN, so… New York.’

  ‘Wow. How long’s the contract? Are you coming back?’

  ‘Uh. I don’t know. I wasn’t planning to.’

  ‘Wait… okay. So, possibly a stupid question, but, what does that mean for us?’

  She fidgeted, looked at the ceiling, took my hand and dropped it again, tried to look normal, but Nicole’s poker face was shocking.

  ‘Well. I mean, we’re going to be in different time zones –’

  ‘Oh, what the fuck, Nicole? Are you kidding?’ I moved and she rolled away from me.

  ‘I just think… I’m going to be so busy, especially at the start. I guess you can come visit, but I feel like that’s going to just delay the inevitable.’

  ‘Delay the inevitable,’ I repeated, slowly, forming the words in my mouth and allowing the gravity of them to sink in as I said them. Each one felt heavy and sticky. Like talking through a mouthful of taffy. I reached to the floor for my clothes and started to pull them on.

  ‘What are you doing? Are you leaving?’

  ‘Are you serious? Have you or have you not just dumped me? What did you expect me to do? Stay over? Of course I’m leaving.’

  I looked back at her and watched her chew her lip. Outside the fireworks were just starting down by the ship. People were ringing in 2012, full of hopes and dreams and resolutions, and as far as I could tell, I’d just been dumped. During sex. After picking up the entire check at the restaurant. Worst New Year ever.

  ‘You don’t have to go, Jesse. I don’t want you to go. We should talk about this.’

  ‘Yeah, I don’t think so,’ I said, dressed by then, and taking advantage of the fact that she wasn’t. I could be out of her front door before she’d even put her robe on. I could have rounded the corner before she’d even left her apartment, and she’d never argue with me in the street. Besides, I didn’t want to talk about it. I just wanted to get home. ‘You literally could not have been clearer.’

  ‘Please don’t be like this.’ She sat up, clutching her sheets up over her chest. She swung her legs over the side of her bed and I took that as my cue to leave.

  ‘Happy new year, Nicole,’ I said, slamming the front door behind me as I left.

  * * *

  Brandon seems to sense my discomfort at the thought of going to New York.

  ‘Maybe you could see where the land lies?’ he says, gently. ‘I mean, it’s been a few months and you haven’t mentioned anyone else…’

  No sooner are the words out of his mouth than Cassie’s profile picture pops into my head. Wavy hair and Wayfarers, and how in the snapshot she sent me the first time we talked she’s all mussed hair and intense eyes and bare legs.

  Suddenly I want the comfort of our everything and nothing conversations, but it’s four in the morning in London and she won’t be awake yet. I reach into the pocket of my hoodie and clamp my hand around my phone. I’ll just send her a message. She’ll get it when she wakes up. Then she’ll reply and we’ll go from there.

  ‘So, I’ll put you down, then?’ Brandon says, and it pulls my attention back to what he’s saying.

  ‘Err, yeah, definitely. Wednesday. Thanks.’

  ‘Tuesday,’ he corrects. ‘July tenth. Things alright? You seem a little distracted.’

  ‘I’m fine.’ I let go of my phone. That message can wait. I don’t want to admit that I might be crushing on Cassie from England because that’s just an exercise in pointlessness. But at the same time it was her I thought about just now. ‘It’s just been a really busy couple of weeks,’ I say.

  ‘Good thing you’re up here for a few days then. I don’t know how you still deal with LA.’

  ‘I like LA. For one, it’s great for work. And I’m not really in LA proper am I?’

  ‘True enough. You seen Mom and Dad lately?’

  He always asks me this when I visit, and the short answer is no, even though they only live a half hour drive away. We’re not close and it’s been that way since Franko broke up in 1999. Mom stops by sometimes, and she always brings food and fusses around and tries to do my laundry and looks a bit sad about the way things turned out. But Dad is never with her, and aside from family events, we haven’t spent any time together in years.

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘We saw Adam recently. He’s good. I’m sure you could crash with him in New York if you needed to.’

  I roll my eyes. ‘I’m sure I couldn’t. Dude, come on.’

  If the relationship with my parents is strained, then the one with my elder brother is practically non-existent, and has been since that day in Berlin. He was serious when he screamed at me that we were done, and when we do see each other it’s mainly so Mom doesn’t get upset. She tries to brush everything that happened under the carpet, and no one talks about it, but I know my leaving Berlin the way that I did caused a huge rift that may never be healed, and ergo, it wouldn’t have even occurred to me to call him when I’m in New York. There’s something fundamentally irreparable there.

  Brandon nods slowly. ‘Trav okay?’

  ‘Seems to be.’

  ‘Feel like getting a drink?’ he says, standing up. The chair rocks up and down and rolls back a little.

  ‘Sure.’

  * * *

  Lainey and I are sitting in the yard the following morning, drinking coffee and making loose plans for the week, mainly revolving around keeping Nancy amused and where we can see the best fireworks on Wednesday.

  ‘I just get so sleepy,’ Lainey’s saying. She pats her little baby bump. ‘It’s tiring making one of these.’

  ‘I don’t doubt it,’ I say.

  ‘It doesn’t help,’ she continues, ‘that your brother spends all his time in his office lately. I asked him to go to the grocery store the other day and he refused!’

  ‘Douche,’ I say, deadpan.

  ‘Right? I hated on him for the rest of the day. Like, hello! Are you growing a foot? No? I didn’t think so. Get me a snack, already!’

  She takes another sip of her drink.

  ‘Well, let me know if you want me to take Nancy out for you,’ I say. ‘Or, you know, get you a snack already.’

  Lainey’s expression changes and she looks incredulous. ‘You don’t have to. That’s not the reason Brandon asked if you wanted to visit. At all.’

  ‘Well, I mean she’s a nice kid.’ We both look over at her. Nancy is playing with a baby do
ll. She’s sat it up in the grass and is crouching next to it, pouring an imaginary cup of tea into a plastic teacup which she then holds to the doll’s mouth. The sun has lightened her hair and tight ringlets fall from a ponytail. ‘Plus, I wouldn’t want to obstruct your foot-growing schedule. And she likes me. How hard can it be?’

  ‘She adores you. Don’t tell Travis but you’re absolutely her favorite. She was super excited when we told her you were visiting.’

  ‘It’s ’cause I bring her Disney crap isn’t it?’

  Lainey laughs. ‘No! You’re good with her. Patient. When are you going to get married and have your own?’ The tone is jokey but I think there’s some underlying concern there.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I shrug. ‘There’s a vital component missing these days, in case you hadn’t noticed.’

  Lainey purses her lips.

  ‘Don’t worry about it, Lainey, I don’t.’

  ‘It was a shame about Nicole.’

  ‘Yeah well, shit happens.’

  She wrinkles up her nose and looks like she’s about to say something when my phone rings, and I’m relieved. Saved by the bell, quite literally. The number is withheld.

  ‘Hold that thought,’ I say, not meaning it. She nods but I think she gets the gist that the conversation is done. ‘Jesse Franklin,’ I say into the phone.

  ‘Hi. My name is Mick Paulson,’ says the guy on the other end. I don’t know anyone called Mick Paulson. He sounds like a gangster from a Guy Richie movie. What’s with the British looking for me lately? ‘I’m the tour manager for Kitten Tricks.’

  Who?

  ‘Kitten Tricks. Right,’ I say.

  ‘I’m looking for a bass player. Are you available?’

  ‘Uh. I don’t know, what kind of work is it? And for when?’

  ‘It’s short notice,’ Mick says. ‘And I’m sorry for that, but it’s this Thursday and Saturday night. The last two dates of their European tour.’

  ‘You do know I’m in California, right?’

  ‘I do mate, yeah, and because it’s such a tight turnaround, rates are negotiable, and obviously there’s per diem as well. And I’m aware it’s a holiday for you this week but we’re in a bit of a spot to be honest, so basically, name your price. Our guy’s had an emergency and had to pull out. Anyway, your name cropped up, hence the call. Are you clear for international?’

  ‘Depends. Where are we talking?’

  ‘London.’

  Well, shit. Things suddenly just got interesting.

  ‘I’m there,’ I say without hesitating. The words may have come out quicker than a blink but the thought process was clearly defined: one, it’s a long way to go for a couple of gigs, but two, the money will absolutely be worth the jet lag. And three, Cassie lives in London.

  ‘What?’ he asks.

  ‘I’ll do it. Can you send me the setlist, the itinerary, and a contract?’ I ask.

  Mick audibly exhales down the line. ‘Well, that was easier than I thought it might be. Consider it done. And thanks, mate.’

  Lainey’s pretending not to listen, angling her face up towards the sky and scraping her fingers through her hair, but I’m fairly sure she is. As soon as we’ve finalized the details and ended the call she asks me where I’m off to.

  ‘London,’ I tell her. ‘On Wednesday night.’

  ‘Oh Jesse! You’re going to miss the Fourth! And what about the jingles?’

  ‘I’ll be back on Sunday. It’ll be fine.’

  ‘You’ll be exhausted.’

  ‘It’s too good an opportunity to pass up. They’re going to pay me a lot. Plus, I can sleep on the plane.’

  Lainey raises her eyebrows. ‘Well, that’s all good then,’ she says.

  ‘It does mean I’ve got to go back today. I’ll have to get everything in order. And I’ll have some songs to learn.’

  ‘Figures. Nancy’s going to be bummed.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I’ll bring her back something nice from England. Is there a British Disney princess?’

  ‘Sleeping Beauty.’

  * * *

  Kitten Tricks are an all-singing, all-dancing girl group. Almost certainly manufactured. Probably put together on a talent show. Four of them. Young, and pretty in a chocolate box sort of way. Trendy. Big eyes and hair and bigger voices. I download the songs from the set list Mick sends over before I leave San Francisco, and listen to them all the way home. Their sound, predictably, is catchy, rhythmic, girl-power pop and the bass lines are funky with nice fills and slap tones thrown in. Even so, nineteen songs to learn in as little time as I have, plus travel, is a tall order, so it’s fortunate they all sound similar.

  When I wake up the morning after getting back from San Francisco, the thought I had as soon as I decided I was going to London re-emerges and it plays on my mind all day. I’m going to ask Cassie if she wants to meet. But when it comes to it I’m sort of lost for words and I type my message over and over until I’m happy with it, and wait until I know she won’t be online to send it because this doesn’t feel like the easy conversations we’ve been having. This isn’t chitchat about our days and the things we’re doing, or whether pineapple truly belongs on pizza, or what sitcom spin off is the best. This is levelling up, and it ends up kind of nonchalant, which isn’t how I really feel about it at all.

  So… remember that time a couple of months ago when you said I should make time to visit London? Well, I’ve landed a last minute gig there this Thursday and Saturday and I have the night off in between. So I know it’s really short notice, but do you feel like hanging out? Maybe you could show me around?

  As soon as it’s gone the nerves hit, and I instantly wonder what she’s going to make of it. It’s not lost on me that it’s as if the tables have been turned. She contacted me in the beginning, and yet I’m the one who’s gone out of the way to set something up. I’m the one who jumped at the chance to go to London and I’m not entirely convinced it wasn’t at least partly because I know she’s there. Nope, none of that is lost on me at all.

  Chapter Eight

  Cassie

  Holy Moses! I don’t believe it. Do I want to hang out? What kind of question is that? Is the Pope a Catholic? Do bears defecate in tree populous areas? Of course I want to hang out.

  Way to shock a girl on a dull Tuesday afternoon. Yes, hanging out sounds like fun. What do you feel like doing? And when do you get here? And how has this come about so quickly? Is that enough questions for now??

  Rhetorical question; that’s definitely enough for now. I send it and quickly close down the window, because now I’m terrified of that little green circle. Then I sit back in my chair and stretch my legs out under my desk. Our office is open plan. Rows of giant white desks stretch the entire length of the room. Each desk houses four workstations, and there’s a fictitious clear desk policy, which in theory means no one is supposed to have photos of their other halves or their kids and pets taped to their monitors, but in reality isn’t the case at all, and I know that Mimi stashes custard creams and an impressive array of pharmaceuticals in her desk drawer, and Sam has a boyfriend called Tarka with impeccable dress sense and that they’re cat dads to a silver tabby called Miles.

  I’m acutely aware that a timescale of such minuscule proportions doesn’t leave me long to calm down and get my shit together. But when I try to arrange to meet up with Rachel she tells me she’s busy with wedding stuff all week, so I have to go it alone. I spend the rest of the day doing what anyone in my situation would. I sack off work, take an extra long lunch break, and hit the shops instead. Mimi’s out of the office for the day, and Sam won’t snitch.

  At home, I look at all the things I’ve bought and have a little panic, and not just at the estimated size of this month’s credit card bill, but also because of the reason I bought it all in the first place. I got a new pair of super skinny black jeans that make my bum look phenomenal, a few tops, and a bodycon dress for if I am feeling brave on Friday and lay off carbs for the rest of the week. Trendy
, but not try-hard, apart from the dress, which definitely has an agenda all of its own.

  Later on, in bed, I lie with my covers pulled up to my chin and read Jesse’s follow up message.

  I’ll explain everything once I’m there. But in a nutshell, the bassist pulled out of the last two shows (some family emergency) so I got hired. Kerching $$$! I’ve had to rush home from San Francisco to sort everything out and learn the songs, and I’ll be leaving here on Wednesday night. I’ll be in touch properly when I arrive and let’s just see what happens. Is that OK? Are those answers satisfactory? :)

  I tap out of the app and put my phone on my nightstand. I couldn’t type anything coherent or sensible right now if I tried. It would be nonsense. He’d instantly know that deep down I’m not a cool girl, and I can’t have that. I’m not though, I can’t stop grinning. The Cheshire Cat has nothing on me. I can’t stop squeezing my hands into fists.

  The rest of the week is agony. I turn into one of those girls who sits and refreshes her messages far more than necessary. But the only thing that arrives is another message from Fred from Date My Mate, and my interest in that waned weeks ago.

  * * *

  To: CassieB83

  From: FredTed49

  Hi again Cassie,

  It’s Fred from Clapham. Sorry for the radio silence since our first message all that time ago. Things have been a bit weird to be honest. Martin went missing for a while. And then Tyler’s sister tried it on with me. And I didn’t know what to do. Turns out there’s no right way to handle that. Tyler went mental.

  You’ve probably met someone who is quicker off the mark than I am by now.

  Anyway, hope you’re having a nice week. Sorry again for not replying sooner.

  Fred

  * * *

  To: FredTed49

  From: CassieB83

  Fred! You’re alive.

  That was a loaded message if ever one was received. How is Martin?! That’s definitely a predicament with Tyler’s sister. I’m not surprised he went mental if you shagged her. Is that not part of Boy Code?! Aren’t sisters off limits?