I Heart Vegas Page 5

  Cici gaped like a guppy. Lovely teeth. And I had to admit, this was a curveball I did not see coming. How exactly was letting Cici wear a beautiful, exclusive designer dress revenge of any kind?

  ‘Me? Wear a brand new Thomas design?’ She actually gasped. ‘Where do I change?’

  Confused-dot-com, I watched as Jenny pointed Cici in the direction of one of the bedrooms, but just before she vanished behind the heavy white door, she flashed me a wicked smile and raised her eyebrows in a silent promise. She would have made a great Bond villain. What was her wicked plan? Maybe she was holding Cici’s head down the toilet and flushing repeatedly while I stood there watching a closed door. I wondered whether or not it was too late to retract my Christmas list and ask for a sopping wet Cici from Father Christmas this year. I wanted it even more than a Mulberry Alexa. No, really.

  ‘Part of me is convinced she’s going to come out of that door naked,’ a very familiar voice groaned over my shoulder. ‘She’d set a dog on fire for attention if she thought it would work.’

  I turned and almost dropped my tray. Right in front of me was Cici’s double. The same long limbs, the same blonde hair, even the same icy blue eyes, but instead of knocking me on my arse with the evil equivalent of a Care Bear stare, her baby blues just looked tired and bored. On closer inspection, this Cici was altogether less frightening. The elaborate hair pleat had been replaced by loose waves, and the show-stopping red gown had given way to a classic black sheath. Still stunning, but in a ‘wow, you look great’ way, not ‘wow, please don’t steal my soul’. It was a subtle difference.

  ‘I’m Delia.’ She held out her hand and I couldn’t help notice the lack of manicure. Was it possible that this Cici clone actually workedfor a living? ‘The living Barbie doll is my sister. Twin sister. For my sins.’

  And suddenly it all made sense. Cici’s sister. Why did I know Cici had a sister? Clearly it wasn’t from our cocktail hour heart-to-hearts …

  ‘I’m Angela.’ I took her hand and shook it, as was traditional amongst humans. ‘Cici and I actually used to work together. Sort of. Because, you know, she doesn’t really work.’

  Delia’s eyes flashed with recognition and I readied myself for a slap. It was one thing to slag off your own sibling, but it was quite another to have Krystal the Call Girl-cum-Waitress do it for you. She raised her arm, but before I could duck I was pulled into a huge hug and her dry voice gave way to a glorious laugh.

  ‘Angela Clark!’ She pushed me away then grabbed my arms. I dropped my tray but managed to stay upright, so I took it as a win. ‘Ohmygod, I love you!’

  I froze, wide-eyed, and took the hug.

  ‘Thank you?’

  ‘No, really.’ Delia had quite the firm grip. ‘I love you. I used to read your blog all the time. I told Grandpa I was never going to speak to him again when he killed it.’

  Grandpa. Delia’s grandpa was Cici’s grandpa. Who was Bob Spencer, the owner of my previous employer, Spencer Media. Who had fired me after reading a particular email that was somewhat peppered with expletives and other colourful expressions describing his little princess. Every single one of which was justified, but still, I imagined very few people would enjoy seeing their pride and joy described as a ‘raving psycho that should be beaten to death with a spoon’, even if it was true.

  ‘Thank you?’

  And again.

  ‘And I know it probably doesn’t help, but I’m so sorry – I know what a bitch she can be.’ Delia finally let go of my arms. Funnily enough, I still couldn’t really relax. ‘One time, when we were in high school, she pretended to be me to get a date with this guy. I was super-excited to get to school on Monday morning and find out I’d lost my virginity when I thought I’d been in the Hamptons studying.’

  ‘Woah, really?’ That was genuinely evil. Maybe Jenny had competition in the Bond villain stakes. ‘Who is that evil that young?’

  Delia shrugged. ‘She didn’t want to get a reputation, so she gave me one instead. Not the best birthday present I’ve ever gotten. Happy sweet sixteen, Delia. I bought her a Tiffany charm.’

  ‘And you didn’t kick her arse?’ I would have actually killed her. Actually murdered her.

  ‘Living well is the best revenge,’ she replied. ‘Or something. And with Cici, that means just ignoring her. There’s no point going to war with someone like that, sister or not. I’d rather just not deal with her.’

  ‘You’re my hero.’ I pressed my hand against her shoulder. ‘I’ve been having some trouble controlling my rage lately, and I won’t lie, I’m a bit worried about being in the same room with her.’

  ‘Oh, please, feel free to punch her in the face.’ Delia gave me a beatific smile. ‘After what she did to you? She totally deserves it. So what are you doing now?’

  I looked down at my outfit and back at Delia.

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  We stood in awkward silence for a moment while I tried to think of something to say that didn’t involve how much I hated her sister. This was the season of goodwill, after all.

  ‘Christmas, eh?’ I nodded at the black PVC tree in the corner of the room. Obviously Thomas’s tastes ran to the more exotic, but I was always excited by the presence of a Christmas tree. The mini dildo baubles made me blush a little, but still, ’twas the season. Each to his own. ‘Any exciting plans?’

  ‘Just to actually have Christmas.’ Delia gave me a tired smile. ‘I just can’t believe another year has gone by already. I swore I was going to get myself together before New Year’s, and here I am again. Still working for Granddaddy, still under the thumb.’

  ‘You work for Bob – I mean, Mr Spencer?’ I corrected myself quickly. We probably weren’t still on ‘Bob and Angie’ terms any more. ‘You’re at Spencer Media too?’

  ‘Bob, yes,’ she replied. ‘Spender Media, no. He runs a bunch of real estate businesses too – I’ve been there for a few years. I’m overseeing an apartment complex in Brooklyn right now.’

  ‘I live in Brooklyn!’ I exclaimed. Probably wasn’t any need for me to sound quite so excited about having something so minor in common, but still, common ground. Nice. ‘Do you like it? The real estate thing?’

  ‘I actually always wanted to work in publishing,’ she admitted. ‘But of course, Cici got there first. Cecelia always gets there first. Once she had a foot in the door, there was no way I could follow, and I wanted to stay on at school, get my masters. She went straight into the office.’

  ‘If it helps, she’s not there all that often.’ I thought back to all the times I’d got her answering machine when I was calling Mary, our boss. ‘I don’t think Anna Wintour needs to worry about her position.’

  ‘I know, I just hate competing with her. This is the problem with being the good twin. She’s always going to play dirty to get what she wants, and I can never win.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know about that.’ I tapped her on the arm and pointed towards the bedroom door. ‘This should be good.’

  Jenny emerged first, a smile stretched all the way across her face. She looked like she’d just been for a quickie with Bradley Cooper. But this was much, much better. This was something we could all enjoy. Following her out of the bedroom and into the party was a very proud, very smug, very almost naked Cici Spencer.

  ‘For the love of God,’ Delia groaned as she made her full entrance.

  Once she had worked her way into the middle of the room, I could see that Cici was actually wearing something, and as soon as I laid eyes on it, despite never having seen any of his work before, I knew it was a Thomas. The bum-skimming white silk shift dress draped artfully off one shoulder, rendering a bra unwearable, and the sheer nature of the silk meant that it was a flesh-coloured thong or nothing. Cici had opted for nothing. It was the modern sartorial equivalent of the Emperor’s new clothes, and Cici looked every inch the Empress.

  But that wasn’t enough for her. Under Jenny’s instruction, she gave us all a spin, allowing me to sp
ot the real coup de grâceof the ensemble. On the front of the dress was a black and white screen print of a great big cock. Seriously. Cici was wearing, to all intents and purposes, a see-through T-shirt with a picture of a knob on it. Thomas, you are a master. Jenny, you are a genius.

  ‘Is it me,’ Delia started, ‘or …’

  ‘It’s not you,’ I stopped her. ‘It’s really not you.’

  ‘Delia!’ Cici trotted over, proud as punch and not even drunk. ‘You came? You never come.’

  ‘Thomas is buying one of my condos,’ Delia explained, ignoring the fact that her sister was standing in the middle of a very glamorous Christmas party ninety-nine per cent naked. ‘I thought I’d show my face. Good of you to show everything else.’

  I couldn’t help but think it must be something of a strange sensation to see your twin, your identical twin, parading around a formal cocktail party more or less in the buff. It must have been like taking a really annoying funhouse mirror with you everywhere you went. And tonight, it was a bit of a pervy mirror as well. I didn’t want to be staring at her tits, but I had very little choice in the matter. Jenny stood behind her looking like the cat who got the cream. Then spiked the cream with acid and served it to Cici.

  ‘I know my dress is amazing,’ she said to me. ‘But you could be less obvious while you’re checking me out. What’s wrong? Get bored of turning other people gay?’

  ‘It’s a very lovely dress,’ I said, trying not to giggle, but half a cackle managed to escape as a squeak. ‘You look charming.’

  ‘Right.’ She pursed her lips and raised an eyebrow. ‘So, that guy you were seeing? Alan?’

  ‘Alex.’ I took a couple of deep breaths. It really didn’t matter what she said, this was too good. She was this close to being stark bollock naked and still giving me attitude. There was something faintly admirable about it. Or at least there would be if she weren’t Satan.

  ‘Yeah, Alex. Did he dump your ass yet or are you still his charity fuck?’

  Jenny physically recoiled as though she’d been hit, but before she could strike, I stepped in. I had this.

  ‘You can’t dump charity at Christmas,’ I said, smiling politely. ‘We’re still together, thanks.’

  ‘I’m sure he’s going to get tired of you soon enough,’ she shrugged. ‘You should give me his number. I still work in the media. I could help his band.’

  ‘His band doesn’t need help, and actually, I still work in the media,’ Admittedly it was just barely, but still. Semantics schemantics.

  ‘Only because I couldn’t get the UK office to fire your ass.’ She looked me up and down. ‘It’s actually kind of amazing how easy it was to get you blocked. Maybe because you suck? I figure it will take me longer to get you banned from whatever this is –’ she paused to wave a horrified hand at my ‘waitressing’ outfit – ‘because I don’t usually hire the help, but give me a couple of days and you’ll be out on your ass. Again.’

  ‘Blocked?’ I blinked.

  ‘Maybe it wasn’t me,’ Cici mused. ‘Maybe every publisher in New York canned your ass because you don’t understand simple words.’

  So that was the reason no one at Spencer would hire me. Not because I sucked, but because Cici did.

  ‘Are you for real?’ Her sister spoke up before I regained the power of speech. ‘Seriously, what is wrong with you? Why do you always have to have an enemy?’

  ‘Eff you, Deals. She threw a coffee at me!’

  ‘You got me fired!’ I shouted. Inside voices, Angela, inside voices. ‘And blew up my shoes! And you’re a massive cow!’

  ‘Uh, I’m a massive cow?’ she scoffed. ‘I didn’t know they made fetish outfits in a plus size.’

  ‘I wasn’t calling you fat, I was …’ A red mist settled over my ability to form a sentence. It was impossible to enjoy shouting at someone if they were too stupid to understand exactly how you were slagging them off. ‘You’re an idiot.’

  I looked at Delia. She looked at me. I looked at Jenny. She looked at Cici. Cici looked far too happy with herself. As I saw it, there were two ways this could go. I could be the bigger man, turn around and walk out of the party with my head held high. Or I could slap the mare silly.

  ‘Sorry, Jenny, I have to go.’ Apologizing, I stepped out of my borrowed shoes and picked them up. There was no such thing as a speedy exit in Louboutins. ‘I’m really sorry to let you down.’

  Before Jenny could reply, Cici let out a tiny wicked cackle. ‘Are you sure you can afford to pass up work? And dude, those shoes are clearly not yours. Christian Louboutin would set them on fire before he let you walk around in his shoes.’

  Now that was a mistake. Insult me, fire me, but never insult my shoes. Even if they were actually borrowed. Besides, I was never more dangerous than when I had a pair of Louboutins in my mitts, but GBH by way of shoe had been done before and so instead I grabbed a glass of red wine from a passing tray and took aim.

  ‘Not the dress!’ Jenny yelled, dashing to stand in between me and Cici. ‘Kick her ass, but don’t hurt the dress!’

  I paused. On one hand, I really did want to throw the wine at her. On the other, I didn’t want Jenny to get fired.

  ‘Angela, give me the wine,’ Delia said, taking the glass out of my hand. ‘Just hit her. We all know she deserves it.’

  ‘Please, she couldn’t hit for shit,’ Cici said, smug and safe behind the outspread arms of Jenny Lopez. ‘No one cares what you think, Delia.’

  ‘Oi, Cici.’ I waited for Jenny to move, for Delia to stop blushing, for the entire assembled mass of the party to be watching. ‘No one cares about you, full stop.’

  And then I punched her in the face.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ‘And then Jenny had to fire me but it was OK and she said it was OK and then she called me a cab and I don’t think it really hurt that much because her nose didn’t bleed or anything but ohmygod, Alex …’ Pause for breath. ‘I hither.’

  More to make me feel like a big man than anything else, I was seated on our sofa with a freshly purchased bag of frozen peas on my fist, relaying to Alex the tale of how I slayed my second dragon.

  ‘This punching people thing –’ He held the peas against my knuckles with one hand and stroked the hair back from my forehead with the other. ‘Is this something I should be worried about?’

  ‘Apparently I’m only into girl-on-girl fighting,’ I replied, flexing my fingers. They didn’t really hurt, but I ouched for good measure. ‘I don’t think you need to be concerned about domestic violence. Yet.’

  ‘I love that you’re a feminist.’ He planted a kiss on my forehead then went to the fridge to get more beer. Because I needed more beer. ‘And you met her sister? And she wasn’t a bitch?’

  ‘She wasn’t.’ I shook my head. ‘She was nice, actually. I might friend her on Facebook.’

  ‘You are a strange girl.’ He stood in front of me, bearing a Corona and staring into my glittering, fevered eyes. ‘And just so it’s clear in my mind, Cici the Satanist was naked during the foxy boxing, and you were wearing … this?’

  Of course I was still resplendent in PVC.

  ‘She wasn’t naked,’ I tutted. ‘Honestly.’

  Trust a man to actually find this sexy. If someone had goaded Craig into punching them hard in the face, Alex would have fist-bumped him and then got beers. I suppose I did have a beer.

  ‘And you’re missing the key points here. Not only did she get me fired, she’s stopping me from getting any other work. Cici is the reason I have to renew my visa. She’s the reason all this shit is happening. She’s the reason there’s a problem.’

  ‘I thought there wasn’t a problem,’ he said. ‘With the visa.’

  ‘Oh, yeah,’ I pouted. Now really wasn’t the time, was it? ‘Well, just … I suppose … worst-case scenario stuff …’

  ‘You’re such a pessimist,’ he said, dropping back down on the sofa and folding me into a very big, very careful hug, avoiding my injuries. ‘Chill. Just w
ait until after Christmas and then we’ll work it out. No one can deal with stuff like this close to the holidays – their brains are already on vacation.’

  I knew all I needed to do was to sit down with my boyfriend and explain exactly what was happening, tell him exactly what the INS had said and have a simple, grown-up conversation. But I was so tired and so mad at Cici and, well, making excuses. I also felt I lacked some integrity in the outfit I was currently wearing, so instead of having an adult conversation with my adult partner about my adult situation, I let him give me a hug and sulked quietly instead. I would talk to him tomorrow. I would start researching options for the visa. I would make everything right. Immediately after I had burned the French maid’s costume.

  After a long and involved Saturday of research, googling, watching True Bloodand thinking about pizza, I managed to rouse myself to prepare for Jenny’s Christmas party. Or to be more culturally sensitive, holiday party. But I have never been much for cultural sensitivity when it involves a fat man in a red furry suit, so I was getting ready to get my Christmas on. I added Jenny’s borrowed shoes (one more wear couldn’t hurt?) to my red silk Marc by Marc Jacobs dress and attacked my face with blusher. The two-seasons-old (aka ancient) frock was one of the few survivors from my pre-Paris wardrobe, but happily it was perfect for a Christmas party. Ruby red, little puff sleeves and a fitted waist that still allowed for the over-consumption of mince pies. I had made mince pies.

  I had also absolutely, one hundred per cent planned to talk to Alex about my visa sitch. I’d even got The Letter out of my handbag to show him, but he’d run out early in the morning (for him) and hadn’t resurfaced until it was time to get ready for the party. Plan scuppered. Now I was going to have to build my nerve all over again tomorrow. And by build my nerve, I meant knock back a couple of white wine spritzers. As much as we’d been through, as much as I knew he loved me, there was still that little voice in my head whispering that he was pleased I was going home. That he was pleased I would leave and he would be free. And that little voice could only be silenced by two things – kissing and booze. And it was very difficult to talk during the kissing.