Read Online Strawberry Tattoo by Lauren Henderson - Free Book Online Page A

drinking, they served cocktails as a matter of course, and they stayed open till very, very late. It was paradise, really.
    “Oh, by the way,” Kate said to me, “Carol asked you to come in tomorrow and she’ll take you to lunch. She said about twelve-thirty.”
    “Come in earlier if you like and I’ll show you some of the stock,” Laurence offered. “We’ve got some weird and wonderful stuff.”
    “That’s probably a good idea,” I said. “Get myself out of bed and onto New York time.”
    “About eleven-thirty,” he suggested. “I find that after more than an hour of looking at art, one’s eyes glaze over.”
    “It’s a date.”
    “What can I get you?” the waitress said, coming up to our table.
    New York bars even had table service. You didn’t have to move if you didn’t want to.
    Kate ordered a margarita. I immediately seconded that.
    “They have margaritas here,” I said dreamily as the waitress left us. “I like it already.”
    “They have margaritas everywhere in the city,” said Laurence pityingly. “I didn’t realise you Brits were so starved of culture.”
    “Yeah, right. Like there’s centuries of history in America,” I retorted.
    Suzanne laughed. Laurence rounded on her at once.
    “Suzanne, you’re from
Belgium.
You can’t talk.
I
know,” he went on gleefully, “let’s play Ten Famous Belgians! We haven’t done that in at least two weeks.”
    “Shit,” said Kate, “I was going to write them down last time so I could reel it right off next time we played.”
    “It’s a game we invented a while back,” Laurence explained to me. “To taunt Suzanne for being a snotty European. First one to name ten famous Belgians gets a free drink.”
    “Surely she always wins?” I said, looking at Suzanne, who was lighting a cigarette. She rolled her eyes at me, but didn’t comment.
    “Oh, Suzanne’s banned from playing, of course,” Laurence said airily.
    “That’s not very fair.”
    “Oh, we get her a drink too. We’re not total bastards.”
    “Yeah, yeah,” said Suzanne witheringly. But she seemed to take theteasing with a good enough grace. And when you’re tall, blonde and built along the lines of a ship’s figurehead, it’s easy to convey that you consider petty mockery beneath your notice.
    Our margaritas arrived in big ribbed half-pint glasses, studded with ice and a hefty straw.
    “God, this is good,” I said, downing half in one slurp and beaming round the table.
    “So how do you like it here?” Java said.
    “Do you mean here in the bar or here in New York?”
    “Well, either, really. But I meant the city.”
    Everyone pricked up their ears. They genuinely wanted to know. I thought this was quite sweet. Londoners wouldn’t have asked the question, not giving a damn about the answer; our attitude would be that if New Yorkers didn’t like it in London, they could sod off and die. And the first part was optional.
    “I’ve only been here about ten seconds,” I said, drinking some more margarita, “but so far it seems great. The gallery is a wonderful space. I’m really looking forward to planning out my installation. Ugh, that sounded so naff and gushing,” I apologised. “I’m usually much nastier than this.”
    “We’ll make allowances for the jet lag,” Kate said kindly.
    “I need to know where to go shopping,” I said with decision, as my eyes fell on her extremely nice bead choker. “I should get started as soon as possible. I’ve only got a month.”
    “Clothes?” she said.
    “What else is there?”
    “OK, I’ll give you some places. Kinda downtown, funky stuff, right?”
    “Where are you staying?” Laurence asked.
    “I’ve got a sub-let on the Upper West Side.”
    “Where exactly?”
    I gave the address, which was on West End Avenue in the lower seventies.
    “Great! We’re practically neighbours!” he said cheerfully. “I’m in the lower eighties.”
    “Don’t you guys need oxygen masks that far uptown?” Kate said