‘What could possibly go wrong?’
Two Bison Grass vodka shots later and they were both more relaxed about what lay ahead. Dixie was concerned she might have bigged the night up a little too much (she couldn’t of course recall what she’d actually told him), but after ambushing him like that, she wanted to make sure he had a damn good night out. The poor man – she couldn’t even begin to understand what he had been through and how he was coping. His loss made a mockery of her first-world concerns about where the next debauched indulgence was coming from and how she looked on Instagram or how many hits she got on Tinder. His evident pain scared her, and excited her. All that and he still managed to be kind and thoughtful, and light up a room with his smile. But she wondered what lay beneath, where all the hurt and worry was buried. No one ever left a tragedy unscathed, and as charming and engaging as he was, Dixie told herself to be careful and keep her distance. He was damaged goods.
The party was, as she suspected, underwhelming with sides of kitsch and cliché, but it was in the most incredible penthouse with insane views over Central Park. But the fact the party was half empty and full of boring old men and slutty-looking hostesses (she fitted right in!) just made the evening funnier. They both laughed and giggled all night long, standing by the caterer’s door stealing the best canapés as they came by and drinking as much booze as they could handle. Their hands met occasionally, a brush, a light touch, but enough for Dixie to feel the electricity between them. The only awkward moment was when she was obliged to introduce Freddie to Evgeny Mobachov and stumbled over the introduction, describing him as her ‘consort’. Where had she even found the word!? Evgeny quickly left them alone with a confused look and encouragement to make the most of all the facilities (whatever that meant!). She was sure that their evening was not quite what Peter had intended for her, but she really didn’t care. She just felt elated and free.
When they finally decided to call it a night, Freddie took her hand and offered to escort her back to SoHo. He stopped the cab a few blocks short, suggesting they walk a while. As they were strolling down Third Avenue, Dixie dreaming about what it would be like if she actually lived there, he suddenly grabbed her and pulled her into a dark side street that looked like something out of a cop show: empty bins rolling on the ground, steam drifting out of vents, and car horns blaring in the background. He slammed her up against the wall and started to kiss her with urgency and longing, searching her, wanting her, and she could feel him hard against her. She let out a moan of pleasure as he stroked her through her jeans. She wanted more but she felt so vulnerable. Nothing good ever happens in a dark alley. It was exciting and terrifying all at once knowing that anyone could be watching. With one deft move he undid her trousers and slipped his hand inside the silk, pressing into her wetness with his fingers. She was moist and ready, and as she reached for him, he pushed her hand away and immobilised her against the wall. As he kissed her, his tongue flicking and exploring hers, as the pressure of his finger grew, she could feel herself about to come. She wanted to resist but knew it was hopeless. She was out of control. He quickened his pace with the heel of his hand on her clit and his fingers deep inside her; she let out an uncontrollable groan as her body jolted against him.
‘So,’ Freddie said, eyes bright with excitement.
‘Where did that come from? I haven’t been finger-banged in the street in over twenty years!’
‘Expect the unexpected, young Dixie… I just wanted to give you something to remember me by. Just in case you were thinking about trying to forget me.’
‘Forget you? Now why would I want to do that,’ she whispered breathlessly as she rearranged herself, tucking her green silk shirt back into her jeans, totally thrown by the whole episode. Freddie, the scientist. Hmm, it seemed there was more to him than she’d first thought. Perhaps she had finally met her match.
He put his arm around her and lit a cigarette as they continued the three-block walk back to SoHo House. It was a cold night, but the sky was clear and even in the hustle and bustle of the city that never sleeps, there was a calmness between them, a funny familiarity like they had known each other for years, like they were old souls. As they reached the dimly lit lobby of the hotel, Freddie turned to her and kissed her on the lips and whispered in her ear a quiet, seductive ‘goodnight’, nothing more, and then disappeared into the back of a waiting cab before she’d had time to react. Dixie was stunned. She couldn’t believe he had just left, and yet it made her smile. Usually she was the boss, she was the one who pulled the stunts, but not this time. Expect the unexpected? What the hell? It left her wanting more and made her completely intrigued with him. In twenty-four hours her life had been turned upside down by a man with a dead wife. That was certainly not in the game plan. And when was she going to see him again? What was happening to her? Dixie Dressler never worried about the next date, unless it was how to elegantly avoid it!
She couldn’t rest. Her stomach was in knots and she lay on her king-size hotel bed doodling, pondering whether she really did to want to see him again, or whether she just enjoyed being surprised. She ordered herself a big bowl of fries, turned on CNN so she didn’t feel so isolated, and started to draw. Sketching was her escape, her personal form of expression. She often just drew without really even knowing she was doing it. She could draw anything that didn’t require her thought and commitment, but the minute it was her book, she couldn’t deliver. She was terrified of the judgement, of not being good enough. Coming around, she was surprised to see that she had drawn an illustration of Freddie. She had caught that wicked glint in his eye, that slightly foppish hair, the long searching fingers, and as she stared down at the picture and into his eyes, she knew she was feeling things that she really wasn’t very used to. She felt a little nauseous, like vertigo. Eventually she dozed off to sleep, wondering as she did where Freddie was now, and if he was wishing he was in her bed as much as she was.
Dixie was woken early by the traffic in the street below. Brakes screeching and horns competing through the double glazing. It was 9 a.m. The night’s exertions had overcome any jet lag. She jumped in the shower, chose a killer pencil skirt and clingy cashmere jumper, and headed downstairs to grab a cab. Heading down in the lift, she noted that she’d checked neither Instagram nor Tinder. She was irritated that there was nothing from Freddie, but then the receptionist handed her a piece of paper.
‘A gentleman left this for you early this morning.’
‘Thank you,’ Dixie stuttered, taking it nonchalantly while bursting inside.
It was a leaflet for an exhibition by an artist that she must have mentioned, and it was on only a few blocks from her hotel. On it he had written, ‘I thought you might enjoy this. Sorry I can’t join you, but maybe see you on the other side of the pond. Fx’
Initially she was disappointed she wasn’t going to be seeing him again in NY. But this was such a kind thought. Handsome and caring?! Too good to be true. That’s just the way the world works. Waiting while the doorman hailed her a cab, she posted a photo of the hotel frontage with a comment: Always expect the unexpected. Out of habit, or perhaps to try to distract her mixed emotions, she flicked through Tinder, swiping right on a few possibilities. None, she was irritated to note, anywhere near as hot or mysterious as Freddie. But she knew a smart girl always keeps her options open. No good ever came of getting too attached, too soon. Never.