The Revenge Date/Ten Reasons to Say I Don't Bundle (Romantic Comedy)

by Geraldine Fonteroy

  That night - with Alex; all that she felt, that she thought he felt. It was all one great big lie.

  Worse, he still owed her the money from the Askie job, but there was no way she was going to ask for it.

  Then, suddenly, he was there.

  The nightmare continued.

  ‘Hi.’

  The voice was unmistakable.

  Alex.

  Rosie couldn’t believe he had the nerve to show up and bother her again. ‘Fuck off, Alex, haven’t you done enough.’

  ‘I want to explain. And to give you a check.’ He handed over an envelope. ‘You’ve got to believe me, it wasn’t really what I wanted to do–’

  Rosie pushed the envelope into her jeans. ‘Then why did you?’

  ‘I had to, for the money. My mother is ill, Hugo wouldn’t let me pay him back . . .’

  Priceless. ‘You know what the worst thing is, Alex? You didn’t have to actually sleep with me. I managed to do my job with Felix and Cliff without that, but you are a bastard and a user. You had sex with me under false pretences.’

  ‘But I didn’t. Just hear me out–’

  Rosie was standing in front of the business class lounge for BIA.

  ‘Forget it, you arsehole. I hope you and your little mate Hugo rot in hell.’

  And with that, Rosie walked into the lounge, showed her ticket, and disappeared from view, forcing herself not to look back.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  DR ROSSWELL’S SURGERY WAS FULL of freaks, as per usual. Roger, the masturbating maverick; some guy grooving to music on a non-existent iPod; and an old woman who kept calling out ‘dysfunctional’.

  Tell us something we don’t know.

  Finally, it was Rosie’s turn.

  The Grey Virgin hadn’t changed, unless you could describe a foul new puce vest as a makeover.

  ‘I’m surprised to see you here, Rosie.’

  ‘I felt I needed to come.’

  ‘Your mother seems to think you’re cured.’

  Still chatting with dear old Mother, I see.

  ‘Well, given I was never a sex addict, that’s not a surprise.’

  ‘You nearly got married, I hear. That’s progress, isn’t it?’

  Didn’t the woman listen to anything I said?

  ‘That was a sham – I got paid to lead the guy to the altar and humiliate him.’

  The Grey Virgin smiled serenely. ‘And how did that work out for you, then?’

  Rosie shrugged. ‘Worked out worse for him.’

  From what she could gauge from the press, Cliff Askie still hadn’t returned from an ongoing booze fest on his private Caribbean island. Shares were plummeting.

  ‘So, you’re back to indiscriminate sex with strangers then?’

  Oh God.

  ‘No, actually. I am in love.’

  Dr Rosswell was unmoved. ‘How nice for you.’

  ‘But he doesn’t love me.’

  Now the Grey Virgin appeared shocked. ‘Goodness, really? Is he gay?’

  Finally, finally, a conversation with her therapist worth having.

  ‘I know, right? Well, the problem was, that guy I stood up when I went to New York–’

  ‘Yes, your mother told me about that.’

  Hmm. ‘Anyway, that guy, Hugo, took out a revenge date hit on me.’

  Confusion was etched on the Grey Virgin’s already deeply wrinkled face. ‘A what?’

  ‘It’s where you date someone, get them to fall for you, then drop them like trash and humiliate them.’

  ‘And this man did that to you?’

  ‘Yes, I fell for the guy who carried out the hit.’

  ‘Oh dear.’

  ‘Tell me truthfully, Dr Rosswell. Should I forget him?’

  ‘My dear, from what you’ve told me, there is only thing I can say on the subject.’

  Not that a therapist should be saying stuff anyway!

  ‘And what’s that?’

  ‘You, my dear, are totally and utterly fucked.’

  Scarlet and Rosie were sitting outside Bar Italia in Soho, the former listening to the therapy woes of the latter. ‘I suppose therapists call it like they see it.’

  ‘Do you think I should forget him?’

  ‘He did say that it was professional integrity versus his feelings for you. I mean, he does have to make a living.’

  ‘If he really loved me, he could have risked upsetting Hugo, couldn’t he?’

  ‘Depends on how much Hugo paid. What did Alex say he used the money for, again?’

  ‘Hospital bills for his mother.’

  ‘And you don’t believe him?’

  Rosie drained the remainder of her latte. ‘I suppose, but it’s not really the point. He was callous and mean and I hate him. I just wish I could stop thinking about him.’

  Someone sat down behind Rosie and bumped against her chair. ‘Bloody Londoners,’ she said, rolling her eyes at Scarlet.

  ‘The question is,’ Scarlet continued, ‘if he were here right now, what would you say to him.’

  Rosie looked down at her empty cup. ‘Probably start with, get me another cup of coffee.’ She held up the cup and pulled a sad face at Scarlet.

  Suddenly, someone took the cup out of her hand.

  Turning, assuming some arsehole freak was trying it on again, Rosie saw a tall, familiar figure, casually dressed in chinos and a western shirt.

  Alex!

  What was he doing here?

  In London.

  In Bar Italia?

  Fuck.

  Now what?

  ‘Double shot decaf skim latte, right?’ he said, a wry smile on his gorgeous, perfect lips.

  Stay calm, Rosie. Remember the wedding. Remember what he did to you, in front of Hugo, right on Fifth Avenue.

  ‘What the fuck are you doing here? Come to stick the boot in again?’

  ‘Scarlet called me. Said you might still like me, and if I liked you, to come and get you.’

  Turning furiously, Rosie was relatively unsurprised to see Scarlet had vanished.

  Wait until I get a hold of her!

  ‘Well, Scarlet is insane. I hate you. Now go away.’

  But he said down in Scarlet’s chair instead. ‘Look, Rosie, let me explain. The moment I got to know you a little, I didn’t want to do it, but my mother has this weird blocked artery and we needed to pay this top flight vascular surgeon to stop her leg from being amputated. My ex wife insisted on taking half the house and the business, so I honestly couldn’t find a cent from anywhere. That’s when I started to do the revenge date stuff – that much was true. And I was looking for someone like you, to fulfill the jobs on Felix and Cliff. But then Hugo approached me, offered me a hundred grand to stitch you up. At the time, it was a godsend. By the end of it I was feeling miserable, especially after we–’

  ‘Fucked. Just a fuck,’ Rosie said, more to herself than him.

  ‘Right, after that, I knew I felt more, called Hugo, tried to get out of it, but he threatened to sue me, and with mum’s surgery already done, I had to pay the surgeon. There didn’t seem to be a way out.’

  ‘I could have given you my half of the revenge date money, that would have helped.’

  Alex shook his head. ‘I couldn’t ask you to do that, it wouldn’t have been right. You’re already way out of my league.’

  Rosie sighed. ‘I could have shagged the surgeon then, got your bill wiped.’ It was a wry joke, but he took it seriously.

  ‘But the thought of that would have killed me. You see, Rosie, I love you. I do. Circumstances conspired against me and I didn’t know what to do. We don’t always make the right decisions when it comes to love, you know.’

  ‘Just ask Cliff and Felix,’ Rosie commented, wryly.

  ‘Felix is back with Julia, you know.’

  ‘Unbelievable. She’s nuts.’

  ‘Well, thanks to you, he can’t get it up. She’s trying to help him through his, er, problem.’

  ‘And Cliff?’

  ‘St
ill knocking back gin slings on that island of his. Georgia is beside herself with joy.’

  They sat there for a moment, the afternoon sun warming their backs as they simply stared at each other.

  Rosie wasn’t sure of what to do. She loved him, she knew it. Had known it for the longest time, way back when she first saw him. Just couldn’t admit it to herself. But now, there was a chance to be happy. A chance for a proper relationship. A chance to prove the Grey Virgin wrong.

  ‘So,’ Alex said, taking her hand.

  ‘So,’ Rosie said, grabbing his face with both hands and kissing him deeply. ‘Where’s that latte you promised me, then?’

  THE END

  Ten Reasons to Say I Don’t © Geraldine Fonteroy 2011

  Published worldwide by Furrow Imprint.

  Contact: furrowimprint@ymail.com

  All rights reserved in all media. No part of this book can be forwarded, copied or reproduced in any matter online and/or electronically and/or in physical form without express written permission of the copyright owner.

  The moral right of Geraldine Fonteroy as the author of the work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Designs, Patents and Copyrights Act 1988.

  Cover image © Chi Le at sxc.hu

  The Revenge Date cover © Barunpatro at sxc.hu

  Cover quote: Novels & Chicks.

  All characters and events featured in this book are entirely fictional and any resemblance to any person, place, organization, event or thing, living or dead, is entirely unintentional and purely coincidental.

  “Radio is a medium of entertainment which permits millions of people to

  listen to the same joke at the same time, and yet remain lonesome.”

  TS Eliot.

  “It's not true I had nothing on, I had the radio on.”

  Marilyn Monroe.

  For C.

  PROLOGUE

  Transcript from the Henri & Pete ‘US’ Show, Blast London Radio. January 15.

  HENRI PRIME

  So, dear brother, now for your favourite segment of the week.

  PETER PRIME

  That’s right, Henri. It’s Peter’s Phony Friday Phone Call.

  SFX: Sexy whistles.

  HENRI PRIME

  What’s with the whistles?

  PETER PRIME

  Today’s phony phone call is to the premier gentlemen of British cinema, Hugh McMann.

  HENRI PRIME

  And? He’s a serious actor. Two Academy Awards, as I recall.

  PETER PRIME

  Wait and see, little sis, wait and see.

  SFX: Dialing of telephone.

  HUGH MCMANN

  Hello?

  PETER PRIME

  Mr McMann, this is Constable Pervis of Scotland Yard.

  HUGH MCMANN

  Yes?

  PETER PRIME

  We need you to come down to Victoria Police Station to confirm a person we are holding in our cells is your wife Cordelia.

  HUGH MCMANN

  My wife? Why would you be holding my wife?

  PETER PRIME

  Well, sir, I’m sorry to have to tell you she was arrested an hour ago for solicitation outside Victoria Tube Station. Dressed in a rather unflattering and revealing outfit, I must say.

  HUGH MCMANN

  Cordelia was doing what? Oh, oh, God, no. Oh, er, I, my heart . . . (Line cuts off).

  PETER PRIME

  Where did he go? Did you lose him? Did he hang up? I haven’t finished.

  HENRI PRIME

  I think we’re both finished.

  CHAPTER ONE

  ‘ANNOYING EVIL PRAT,’ HENRI Prime stared worriedly at the expanse of stone paving in front of the huge MNC Broadcasting building in Manhattan and promised that this time she would take the nearest sharp object available and plunge it deep into her older brother’s heart.

  ‘Chill, babe,’ he’d told her, only five minutes ago. ‘There’s a flight early in the a.m. I won’t miss your precious meeting.’

  ‘Our precious meeting,’ she had reminded him. ‘This is our big chance, remember?’

  A guy standing nearby with briefcase and laptop observed her with keen interest. The only criticism ever leveled at Henri concerned her weight – she was far too skinny for a girl of her height – but Henri never felt hungry (in direct contrast to her portly brother, who never seemed full). But at five seven, with (artificially) wavy honey-brown hair that fell to the small of her back, and a slim build that she dressed had sedately that day in grey tailored trousers, navy jacket and white tee with a jaunty chintz scarf for a touch of glamour, Henri often attracted the attention of men.

  Until they discovered she wasn’t that sort of girl.

  Then, the average man ran a mile.

  ‘Life throws lots of things at you, sis. You need to go with the flow.’

  ‘Death, Peter. Death is your future, if you don’t appear at MNC in time for the audition.’

  She didn’t even want him in on this New York deal, but Mother had insisted. ‘You can’t just abandon him, after all he has been through.’ The fact that Peter had lost them their last show in spectacular fashion seemed not to have crossed her mind. But Henri, being the dutiful daughter and not wanting to upset anyone, had included Peter in the offer to MNC.

  And look where it had got her!

  ‘You need to get laid, you know. That might relax you.’

  Don’t speak to me about sex, Henri thought. It just reminded her of her ex – Rodney Smith – aka the Bastard Who Doesn’t Believe in Marriage Before Or After Sex.

  ‘Going against my personal beliefs is going to relax me? I doubt it.’

  ‘Not normal, being a virgin at twenty-six. And our parents are atheists.’ He put on his best Godfather voice: ‘Don’t go against da family, Henri. Get shaggin’ now!’

  ‘It’s not about religion. It’s what I feel is right. And what’s not normal, Peter, is that we have the opportunity to get the ‘Us Show’ syndicated across the U.S., and you are wasting time and energy worrying about my love life.’

  ‘Not a life, without sex. Just an existence. A rather pathetic one at that.’

  Her brother was the male version of a total and utter slut. Egged on by their father from a young age, Peter had been chasing girls since before he could walk. A legendary tale amongst the males in the Prime family said that Peter’s tenacious clinging to female skirts as a toddler was just a sneaky way to look up female relatives’ skirts.

  And to this day he asserts that their great Aunt Sylvia was one of the first proponents of the crotchless panty.

  ‘Just get here, okay. If we don’t get this job, we’re done for. Without an income, we can’t afford our flat, and you know what that means?’

  ‘No way. Not moving back in with the parentals. Bad enough for my street cred to be shacked up with my sister in North London.’

  ‘You are from Hampstead, remember? You can drop the tough guy act. And if we get this job, we can move to Manhattan and rent the flat out, start paying it off.’

  Peter low whistled into the phone: ‘And so begins Peter Prime’s U.S. journey, tentatively titled: American Pussy.’

  ‘You have to get the job first, which means you have to get here. So go to Heathrow, and get on a plane. Now!’

  ‘Hey, we are the Donny and Marie of UK radio. They’re gonna love us.’

  Henri hoped so. Because if she had to go back and face her bastard ex, she might actually commit violent fratricide.

  In spite of growing up with a mother who was a major supporter of the peace movement.

  Putting down the phone in London, Peter Prime stared at the unfortunate reflection in the wardrobe mirror and wondered again, for the millionth time, why he should board that friggin’ plane to JFK.

  Why not end it all now? Life was pointless. A few good moments in amongst a whole load of crap.

  The depression he’d suffered as a kid and its return with force a few years ago were a secret that no one really knew the half o
f.

  He’d considered various suicide options over the years, but as his size ballooned, his favorite became exhaust fumes and a car.

  When he’d lost them the gig in London earlier in the year, he’d tried to do it, but the hose had come unstuck and by the time he got his parents’ house to himself to try again, Henri had told him about the new job, and he didn’t want to let his sister down.

  But he didn’t want to fail her either.

  Why did he do the things he did, then?