This can’t be Chuck Allen,canit?
‘Hiya!’ I say uncertainly. ‘My name isOlive.’
The guy just stares at me, so I clear my throat and tryagain.
‘Are… is your name Chuck Allenatall?’
‘Who wantstoknow?’
‘I’m Olive Brewster. I have a message from Birdie. Chuck’s, um… teenagesweetheart?’
He nods slowly, looking me upanddown.
‘Yes,comein.’
Bingo!
OceanofPDF.com
ChapterTwelve
Text from Birdie:Doctor BJ is single = yay! BJ stands for Bruce Jim = nooooo! I think that might be worse than BJ… What do you think? Anyway, I flirted up a storm with him after our call last night but he was entirely professional. Little does he know that his honourable ethics only make me fancy him more. Ah well. It’s nice to have a crush, even if it is a futile activity. Sometimes meaningless things can be fun just for fun’s sake. SO, did you go to the roof? Have you been to Gramercy Park yet? Is Chuck there? I’m DYING to know. (Is it still a sick joke if I am the one dying? It made me laugh anyways.) Tell methings.Xx
IfollowChuck Allen through a grand hallway. Looking up, I notice the high ceilings are etched with gorgeously intricate fleur-de-lis cornicing. We enter a living room that looks like something from a glitzy American period drama! It’s large and grand, the walls painted in a dark bottle green, the sofas all made of velvet, lamps at every possible spare floor point and, best of all, a beautiful, huge open fire, flames flickering away. Wow. Chuck Allen is, as Taller Joan would say, ‘Not short of a bobortwo’.
‘Drink?’ he utters, indicating that I shouldsitdown.
I perch myself on the end of a massive mustard-coloured sofa, hands folded in my lap like I’m about to meet thequeen.
‘Just a water will do, thanks,’ I say, smacking my nervous, dry mouthtogether.
Chuck throws me a look of disgust. ‘Water? Howdreary.’
Ignoring me, he saunters over to a mahogany side table topped with crystal bottles full of amber liquids. He pours out two small glasses and hands onetome.
Frowning, I give it a sniff. ‘Whisky?’
‘That’s a thousand-dollar bottle of bourbon,’ he declares, as if he’s bestowing me with the HolyGrail.
‘Oh, a water will be fine.’ I smile, handing him back theglass.
He takes it from me and pours the liquid into his own tumbler, but still doesn’t get me awater.
He clears his throat. ‘What’s your name?’ He stares at me, eyes icy and clear, not a wrinkle on his beautiful face. Does… does Chuck Allen Botox? The lack of movement in his expression is a bit eerie. I squint, trying my best to understand what Birdie saw in this guy. But I can’t. He’s much prettier than she would ordinarilygofor.
‘My name is Olive,’ I tell him again. Digging into my bumbag, I pull out Birdie’sletter.
‘Olive is not a name, it’s a snack food,’ Chuck says, giving me that weird blankstare.
I laugh a little, because logic tells me that he’s joking. But he doesn’t even crack a smile. I’m not sure hecancrack a smile.Birdie, what the hell were youthinking?
‘You have delightful hair,’ Chuck says, narrowing his pale blue eyes. ‘Thick. At first glance it looks wild, but…’ he steps forward, his hand reaching out, almost touching my head. ‘On closer inspection, one can see that there’s a certain beautiful uniformity in each of thecurls.’
A shudder runs down my back, beads of sweat form on the back ofmyneck.
I’m officiallycreepedout.
He gently touches myhead.Argh!
