And just like that, little fragments of Thursday night come back to me. Three mimosas at the spa, a bottle of champagne from the hotel room minibar, a cocktail from room service. The pizza. The life drawing.
Eike heads to the counter to fill a glass of water and sets it in front of me.
Colette is staring at me, worried. “Say something, Ophelia.”
My voice sounds far away. “Eike, if you could just … run me over with the car …”
“Okay, I’m sure we can cancel.”
I snatch her phone from her hand and dial the number. If I have to conquer my introvert fear of rejecting people to conquer my other introvert fear of literally baring my asshole to a room full of artsy Londoners, so be it.
A bright, airy voice chimes through the speaker. “Hello, Clementine speaking.”
Bloody hell. Of course her name is Clementine. “Uhh, hi, Clementine. It’s Ophelia, the model for today.”
“Hi, darling! It’ssogood of you to volunteer. Every single ticket sold!” she squeaks, delighted.
“Yeah … about that … I’m so sorry.”
“Are you having second thoughts? That’s totally normal.”
I’m way beyond second thoughts. I’m in double-digit number of thoughts. “I was drunk when I signed up, and I amreallynot the right person for the job.”
“It’ll be so good for your confidence. It’s really empowering.”
I don’t think me on a table, sucking in my stomach and covered in goose bumps like a raw supermarket chicken is going to be empowering. “I’m not so sure.”
Her breathing sounds a bit stressed now. Like she’s imagining ringing each guest and telling them not to travel to the event. NowI’moverthinking it. What if someone has come from afar? What if this life drawing class is someone’s dream birthday activity? “Do I have to be naked?”
“What if we just covered a few bits with a sheet?”
“Yeah, but—”
“Yay! Thank you so much. You’re going to be so perfect. I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”
The line goes dead.
Colette holds both her hands out in awell?motion. “Did you cancel?”
“No.”
“No?” they both repeat.
Even Eike looks like he’s worried I’m having some sort of meltdown. “What now?”
“I dig a hole and crawl inside it, obviously.” I fold my arms on the table and drop my forehead onto them, letting out a mangled cry.
“Okay, well, let’s look at the positives.”
“Such as?” I snap.
Colette comes up blank. Eike peers over at the website listing of the event. “Free cocktail on arrival?” he offers, and it does make me laugh, only because Eike says an average of 2.5 words per day.
I push the wooden chair back and stand. “Let’s find a pub. I need something stronger than tea if I’m actually going to do this.”
DESPITE MY DESPERATEpleas for just a tiny little nonserious road traffic accident on the way to the event, Eike’s driving remains as smooth as ever. He pulls up outside what looks like a smart Victorian townhouse, rounding the car to open the door for Colette and me.
“I didn’t even shave my armpits,” I whisper, as Eike heads up the three stone steps to open the door for us.
