Wallace - Charlotte Street

Australia

HarperCollins Publishers (Australia) Pty. Ltd.

Level 13, 201 Elizabeth Street

Sydney, NSW 2000, Australia

http://www.harpercollins.com.au

Canada

HarperCollins Canada

2 Bloor Street East - 20th Floor

Toronto, ON, M4W, 1A8, Canada

http://www.harpercollins.ca

New Zealand

HarperCollins Publishers (New Zealand) Limited

P.O. Box 1

Auckland, New Zealand

http://www.harpercollins.co.nz

United Kingdom

HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.

77-85 Fulham Palace Road

London, W6 8JB, UK

http://www.harpercollins.co.uk

United States

HarperCollins Publishers Inc.

10 East 53rd Street

New York, NY 10022

http://www.harpercollins.com

Or Dont Leave Me Alone with Her

Well, this was embarrassing.

I hadnt known where to suggest to meet Abbey when she texted. Id been thrown. She wasnt supposed to call. Dev had convinced me. Hed said it had all been about the review, and Id reluctantly, and in the sober light of day, conceded that, yes, it probably was. She was younger than mecooler than me. And yet shed texted, not once mentioning anything about The Kicks, and said shed be in town at the end of the week for a friends birthday and did I fancy grabbing a bite, or something.

Id replied quickly, worried the offer was somehow as permanent as dust on a window ledge, here one second, swirling and moving and gone the next.

How about Charlotte Street? Id said.

Yeah, so there were reasons I favored Charlotte Street. But I figured Charlotte Street gave the right impression, too. It was adaptable. You can go either way with Charlotte Street. You can impress someone. Buy them a double-figure cocktail from the Charlotte Street Hotel if theyre that way inclined. Buy them a pie from the boozer round the back if theyre not. But you need to start somewhere in the middle, so you know which way to head once you get the lay of the land. Something halfway between a pie and a cocktail.

Something midrange.

Welcome to Abrizzis! said the lady on reception. A magical slice of pizza heaven!

I was a little early, and mildly distracted by this, but even so, her words seemed very familiar, though I struggled to place them.

Have you booked? she said.

Um, yeah, I said. Table for two. Priestley.

She started to scan her list, but then paused, and for the briefest of moments I thought I saw something explode behind her eyes. Her eyes flicked toward me.

Jason Priestley?

Just so pleased youre here, said Gino, the manager, a wiry man with a watch too big for him. Really welcome back.

He had one hand on my shoulder and he kept trying to shake my hand with his other.

Not at all, I said, staring straight ahead.

Just, please, enjoy your meal, and let me arrange something special for you, too.

Okay... , I said, willing him away, and it worked, because he went.

This was horrible.

A magical slice of pizza heaven had, of course, been my official opinion on Abrizzis, in my dashed-out and only-out-of-guilt review. But it looked like theyd taken it seriously. Really very seriously indeed. Because a magical slice of pizza heaven now seemed to be their official slogan. It was on napkins. It was on menus. It was on the T-shirts and shirts of each and every member of staff.

And not just that. But underneath every single one of them: my name.

Jason Priestley, London Now!

Theyd even added an exclamation mark, so deeply excited and inspired were they by my talk of magic.

Again: this was horrible .

When Abbey came inall ripped Bowie T-shirt and skinny jeans and electric-blue eyelinershe would see me, Jason Priestley, surrounded by dozens of people carrying bits of paper or wearing bits of cloth with my name on. She would see a menu full of pizzas, with my name on every page, assuring her that whatever she chose, she was guaranteed a magical slice of pizza heaven. She would see balloons and notepads and one woman in a baseball capall proclaiming she was about to have the night of her life in what wasand this is what the quote should have beenone of Londons most average restaurants.

And worse, it would look like I was proud of this. I could hardly claim it as a mistake, or a weird coincidence. I could hardly say, Actually, Im not much of a fan of this place. I am clearly a massive fan of this place. And denying it would not only harm my journalistic credibility, but make her wonder why Id brought her here if its so dreadful. Its not like I could say, I didnt know if you were a pie girl or a cocktail girl, so I split the difference and thought Id just lob pizzas at you.

So Id just have to sit here and wait for her to walk in and pray she didnt notice. Because maybe she wouldnt notice. That was possible.

That was possible, right?

That was not at all possible.

Well, this is unusual, she said, sitting down and placing on the table the flyer shed been given outside, which had my name in eighteen-point Palatino right across the top.

Id hoped maybe she was talking about the fact that two people, strangers just a week before, could meet up and share a magical slice of pizza heaven, but no: now she was pointing at a waiter in what I will now refer to as a matching Jason Priestley T-shirt and baseball cap set and she was looking concerned.

I suppose it is a bit unusual, I said, before, adding quite urgently: I didnt bring you here to impress you. Im not trying to impress you.

Well, thats nice to know.

No, I mean, if I wanted to impress you, this isnt the way I would impress you.

Your name is everywhere , she said, looking at the menu.

I know, I said. I know.

Look. Theyve taken other quotes and put them under the relevant dishes. The Margherita is a delight!

I grabbed the menu and looked at it.

I guess it must be, I said, shaking my head, which is strange, because Im not usually a fan. Look, do you want to get out of here? Maybe youd prefer a cocktail, or a pie?

She wrinkled her nose at me. People dont do that much.

Hello, sir. Hello, madam!

It was the manager. He was back. And he was bearing gifts.

With our compliments! he said, packed with pride and full of goodwill.

Two giant glasses, filled with prawns and lettuce, slathered in a bright pink sauce, and surrounded by little cocktail-stick Abrizzi flags with tiny Jason Priestley quotes on them.

Why? Why hadnt I put more effort into that quote? Hemingway had hundreds, all brilliant. Wilde spat them out like pips. What if this is the only thing people remember me for when Im gone? What if this is my legacy?

Oh, thank you, thats... , I began, and as I looked up, I could see the manager willing me to say something else, something nice, something they could get printed up on a flyer, or perhaps attach to the back of a plane and have flown around central London. Thats a lovely big glass of prawns.

The manager semi-smiled, going through the quote in his head, rolling it over and over, but knowing he probably couldnt use thats a lovely big glass of prawns very effectively in his next marketing blitz. He backed away, never once taking his eyes off our prawns, just to make sure they were just right, still perfect , and we waited for him to disappear.

I think pie, said Abbey.

We were over the road from Percy Passage and I was secretly pleased Abbey was a pie girl and not a cocktail one. You find me a pie girl and Ill show you a girl who knows about life. Find me a cocktail one, and Ill compliment her shoes, because all I know is, they get very funny with you if you dont.

So whats the official verdict on this place? she said, looking around the pub, fork in hand. Is someone going to come out wearing a full Jason Priestley bodysuit, and then start singing the Jason Priestley song, all about quality pies at low, low prices?