No life
Changing places
Toby Young
New York 've been spending the past week franti- cally -trying to put my affairs in order before I move back to London. The whole business is complicated by the fact that I don't know whether the move is permanent or temporary. My girlfriend Caroline has agreed to live with me, but for only three months, after which she'll decide whether she wants to take things further or not. It's as though she's leased me with an option to renew. Consequently, I'll almost certainly be back here on 1 May.
Unfortunately, when I explain this to my friends they don't believe me. They think I'm only being pessimistic for superstitious reasons and that, in reality, there's very lit- tle chance I'll ever come back. Naturally, they all want to know what I'm intending to do about my flat. It's not particularly luxu- rious or anything but because I share it with Sophie Dahl every single one of my male friends is anxious to take my place. Indeed, I've been able to tell just how good a friend a person is by counting the seconds between my telling them I'm going to Lon- don and their asking me what I'm doing with my room. So far, I've never got to more than three.
Not that I've any intention of giving it up. I'm merely subletting it for three months. Of course, this didn't put off any of my friends. They told me they'd be more 'Spare some change, mate?' than happy to give up their flats just for the opportunity to live with Sophie for one week. I ended up having to put together a short-list and submitting it to her so she could choose the lucky winner. She plumped for an old friend of mine called Euan Rellie, primarily because I assured her he hasn't looked at another woman since getting together with his current girl- friend 18 months ago. Unfortunately, when I gave him the good news he whooped with joy, explaining that he'd very recently become single again. Sophie is now in a state of mortal terror. In his day, Euan was quite a swordsman. After sitting next to him at a dinner party once, my cousin Con- suelo described him as being like 'an octo- pus on crack'.
Several of my friends have asked me, rather pointedly, why I'm not having a leav- ing party. Am I trying to skulk off like some pathetic loser in the hope that no one notices? The answer is yes, actually. The fact that I might be back here in three months means I don't want any of the big PR companies to take me off their mailing lists. In the past year, for instance, I've started receiving invitations from Lizzie Grubman, 'the reigning queen of New York nightlife', according to New York magazine. Grubman, whose father is Madonna's lawyer, is one of the so-called Seven Sisters, the young, blonde PR mavens who control access to the city's most glamorous parties. She has a database of 10,000 names divided into categories like Model, Celebrity, Fashion, Junior, Older Social, Editor-in-Chief and Clubber. I don't know which category I'm in and, frankly, I don't care. It's taken me five years of dedicated social climbing to get on Grubman's list and I'm not about to jeop- ardise that by throwing a leaving party.
My final act in New York was to send all my friends one of those round-robin e- mails, thanking them all for being so kind and reassuring them that I wasn't abandon- ing them; it was just that I'd fallen in love. Rather shamefully, there was only one American on the list, a scrappy entrepreneur called Cromwell Coulson. With characteristic efficiency, he replied to my message immediately, copying his response to everyone else. It read: 'Anoth- er immigrant dream of success and riches in the New World is slowly shattered by the harsh realities of NYC. It's a tearjerker!'
I e-mailed him back, pointing out that the real tragedy will be if I return. The worst-case scenario is that things won't work out with Caroline and I'll be back here in three months whereupon I'll have to start all over again from scratch. My friends won't ever call, no one will offer me any work and the Seven Sisters will have deleted me from their Palm Pilots. For years to come, whenever I bump into an old acquaintance at a party they'll say, 'What are you doing here? I thought you'd gone back to London.' Euan Rellie, mean- while, will be going out with Sophie Dahl.
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