by Mary Whitney
“Because it’s not true. By the way, you’re a sweet man and a wonderful cousin, but you are no gentleman.” She plopped her garish and undoubtedly expensive handbag on the table by the door. “I’m sure that had something to do with the break-up, but you can tell me your story, and I’ll sort out what you should do.”
“You know, when you were young and so conceited and bossy, it was amusing, but you’re in your mid-thirties. You can’t go around speaking this way.”
She sneered. “I’m one of the most respected critics in the art world. What you call conceit and bossiness is actually my greatest asset.”
“Right. I’m sure that’s what your co-workers say.”
“Oh, they all have miserable personalities. I’m the nice one.”
“Good God. Remind me to avoid the art world.”
“Don’t you already?”
“Yes.”
“You can pour me some wine now. I prefer white with curry,” she said as she walked to the kitchen.
For the first hour, we chatted and ate Riya’s excellent curry. When I began asking Sylvia about her recent publishing party for her latest art book, she said, “Why didn’t you come?”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Isn’t that woman in New York?”
“Yes, but we were never really dating.” I pushed my plate away, saying, “There’s really nothing to talk about.”
She rolled her eyes. “Let’s play a game. I’ll ask you yes or no questions. I think it will be easier, okay?”
“Okay.” How bad could yes or no questions be?
“What her name?”
“That’s not a yes or no question.”
“Please. I do need her name. You don’t have to give me her full name, just her first one. Knowing what she does for a living might be a help as well.”
“Oh, all right…” I sketched out the briefest of biographies of Allison.
“She sounds lovely. I’m guess you got on well…physically?”
“What are you a bloody shrink?”
“I’m just asking if you had a good physical bond. I’m presuming you did.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means what it means.” I took a swig of my pint wondering how the hell I could get out of this.
“So you didn’t have sex?” Sylvia was shocked to say the least.
“No.” I took another quick drink and said, “I never even kissed her if you have to know every last fucking detail.”
“Really? She wasn’t a virgin was she?”
“No. Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Was there another man involved?”
“Yes. She had…has…a boyfriend.”
“So she chose him over you?”
“In effect.”
“Is that a yes or a no?”
“That’s a yes.”
“Oh dear. We have a terrible case of unrequited love.” Her eyes widened. “You tried to steal her away, and she wouldn’t leave him for you. That would be disheartening.”
“Yes, it would,” I muttered.
“And if I were you and that happened to me with a girl I really fancied…that would be devastating.”
I glared at her. “Are we done now?”
“No, no, no. I’m sorry to have strayed from our format. Back to yes or no.” She crossed her arms and leaned on the table. “Is the bloke she’s with a good guy?”
“No. He’s a sorry piece of shit.”
“Does he also live in New York?”
“Yes.”
Sylvia leaned in further as if it was the most compelling tale rather than my pathetic life. “Who is he? Why is she with him? Do tell me. I’ll be able to help you more if I know more.”
I hesitated, but then gave in. “Oh, fuck it.” I reasoned telling Sylvia was safe. She’d never do anything to hurt me—at least intentionally. So I spilled the beans about Allison, and for the most part, Sylvia was quiet. There was only the occasional catty commentary. She didn’t know Trey personally, but she knew of his family because they gave a lot of money to the arts in New York. At the end, I said, “So that’s it. My short and ultimately doomed foray into real romance. At this point, confirmed bachelorhood looks like a nice fucking place to be.”
“No, no, no. We can’t have that.”
“Why not?”
“Because I love Aunt Margaret. Your mum is wonderful, and I see how she looks at Little V. You’re going to give your mother a grandchild.”
“A grandchild?”I shook my head. “First of all, I’m not responsible for my mother’s happiness. Second of all, I’m sure she’s given up on me by now.”
“Well, yes, she probably thinks it’s unlikely. She’s not stupid after all, but I bet she hopes.” She scowled at me. “Confirmed bachelor. Rubbish. You just spent thirty minutes talking down that Trey character. Do you really want to be like him in twenty years? I don’t think so.”
“All right, all right. I won’t rule out being with someone new. It just seems highly unlikely.”
“But you don’t want to be with anyone new, do you? You want to be with her.”
“I do, but she needs to come to me.”
“What?” Sylvia sneered.
“I can’t go back to her begging.”
“I hope you haven’t had any fantasies of her showing up on your doorstep begging you to take her back…not that it sounds like you ever really had her in the first place, but you know what I mean.”
Indeed, I did have those fantasies all the time. What was so wrong with them? “Isn’t she the one who needs to realize Trey is a jerk and then dump him?”
“Yes, but even if that happens, coming back to you is difficult.”
“How so?”
“Because you’re a man perpetually on the make who always has a woman around. She’s not going to fly all the way to London and beg if she thinks you’ve just gone back to your womanizing ways.”
I rubbed my eyes in exhaustion from Sylvia’s interrogation and the long workday. “Supposedly, you were going to help me. What would you have me do?”
“You need to send her a sign that you’re still here and still interested. Sort of a smoke signal.”
“You’ve been in America too long. A smoke signal? I’m not an American Indian.”
“They’re called Native Americans.”
“Whatever. They’re just another set of indigenous peoples who got screwed over by the English.”
“Can we get back to your love life? Or should I say lack of love life?”
“Get on with it then. What is this smoke signal then?”
“A note or a little gift. Just something that apologizes.”
“What do I have to apologize for?”
“You did put her in an awful position. You did make her feel like an idiot over Trey.” She craned her neck closer to me. “What do you mean ‘what do I have to apologize for’? You, of all people, always have something to apologize for.”
“I don’t know…”
“Trust me.”
“I’ll consider it.” Even if I thought it was the greatest fucking idea on earth, I’d never tell her that so quickly. “So what’s going on with your love life, Sylvia? Are you dating anyone?”
“Not right now.”
“There’s always Angus…”
“Angus!” She was about to sip her wine, but she set it down instead. “I’ve given you some sound advice and you, in turn, suggest I go out with Angus? He’d just give me a venereal disease.”
I mulled it over. Other than work, I had plenty of time to think. I wasn’t seeing anyone. At a time when I should’ve been making an effort to see other women, I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. I had no interest in finding a woman, and the ones who threw themselves at me were even more unappealing. So there was plenty of time to mull over what to do about Allison.
After a few days, I sat on my sofa late one night, watching football highlights while I replayed my life’s
lowlights. As painful as it had been to have been rejected by her, the easy way out was to ignore Sylvia’s advice and move on. Granted moving on might’ve taken a few years, but eventually it would happen. The harder thing to do was to try again because the odds of me being rejected again were high.
I hated how things ended between us—and not simply because she left me. Somehow I wanted to have the last word, and I wanted it to be a positive one. There would be no opportunity, though. Unless the stars aligned and we were again in the same airport, there was no reason that we would ever bump into each other again.
Probably because I was watching football, but that silly saying came back to me—you miss one hundred percent of the shots you don’t take. I sank deeper into my sofa, realizing it was true. Wasn’t Allison worth one more shot? If I didn’t take another shot, I’d be giving up on her. She’d been a sweet friend. I couldn’t give up on that.
The next day, I began digging in my desk drawer looking for the stationary that Elinor stocked for me. With the blank page before me, I stared at it wondering what I could write that wouldn’t be so awful if Trey read it. I decided to keep it simple.
I’d sent Allison the note to her office address. When I heard nothing after a few weeks, I wondered if the letter was lost in the mail. I’d tell myself it was small, an irregular size for business communication so it fell aside in the large Greystone mailroom. In my heart, I knew that most likely wasn’t the case. The card wasn’t lost in the mail; in fact, it wasn’t lost at all. It was in its proper place in a landfill or at a recycling plant. I wondered if she’d even opened it up, or if she’d seen my name and the return address and simply tossed it aside like a junk advertisement that she couldn’t be bothered with.
That’s what the note had been—an advertisement—a shout into universe with the hope that by chance she might take a chance on it. With each passing day, it became clearer that while the adage was true that you missed one hundred percent of the shots you don’t take; it was also true that you could take every shot and still not score.
In the beginning, I was a moody son-of-a-bitch. Elinor commented that I seemed down, but I waved her off. As the weeks turned into months, I settled into the sadness and became more of my old self, except for the woman thing. I still swore off birds. They would only complicate my life. I had four sole activities: work, working out, watching football, or playing football. Occasionally, I’d get together for dinner with friends or family, and I was thankful the holidays and all of the emotions they could evoke came and went quickly.
Sensing I was a sorry mess, Adam didn’t ask too many questions. He did offer a brand of therapy that I believed in: a night at the pub or a day at the football pitch. Admittedly, I wasn’t a good teammate at times. My temper was worse than usual, and I got into a few rows with opposing players. A fist fight did ruin an otherwise good game, though at least I could guarantee a win at that.
Then one Monday evening, I was coming back to my flat after a few hours at the gym. As I walked up the few steps to my door, my phone buzzed, saying a text had arrived. My hands were full with my gym bag, keys, and water bottle, but I juggled everything to see the text, hoping it was a friend’s answer about some Liverpool tickets he’d tried to find. I squinted when I saw the text was from a New York number and not Hardeep, but my eyes popped open when I realized who it was from.
Hi. It’s Allison. I’m in town this week. Are you free for lunch? You can say no. I understand. I hope you’re doing well and wish you the best.
I wanted to drop everything, sit on the stoop, and reread the text right then, but I controlled myself. I took a deep breath and smiled, one of the few genuine smiles I’d had a in a while. Slipping my phone back in my pocket, I endured the three minute wait as I picked up my mail, opened and shut doors, and placed bags and shoes in their proper place. After everything was done, I sat on my sofa and read her message again. You can say no.
I laughed and said aloud to my empty living room. “Like I’d ever do that. I’m a glutton for punishment.”
It took me a moment to type out a response I was happy with.
It’s good to hear from you. Lunch would be great. I have a trip to Geneva on Thursday. I hope tomorrow or Wednesday might work for you.
I popped on the telly. During twenty second intervals for the next ten minutes, I checked my messages before going back to watching TV. Finally, she replied.
Tomorrow works for me. Do you have a place you like to go?
I ran through potential restaurant options for the lunch. Sadly, it couldn’t be a fun pub. It needed to be a business-like place we could talk. It was a positive sign that she’d reached out to me, but I needed to take it at face-value. I couldn’t get my hopes up because most likely they’d be dashed again.
All my life, I’d been a confident bloke. Only my family knew how much of the confidence was actually bluster. Sitting in the restaurant the following afternoon, I felt like I was showing my hand to the world. I was nervous as fuck to see her again. How could I have been that excited when most likely I’d walk out of there with no change in the situation? She’d be off planning a wedding with Trey while I’d be turning into the sodding male Bridget Jones of London.
I arrived early at one of my favorite business lunch spots, Rivoli, and the hostess, Cherie, a cute little American, didn’t fail me. She placed me at the best table in the house. We’d had a torrid night together the year ago, but she was a mercurial one. It turned out she liked girls better than boys. Luckily, she was good-natured enough to take my jokes about a threesome in stride, and it was best she didn’t realize I was only partially kidding.
When Cherie brought Allison to the table, I made sure my head was buried in the menu. I didn’t want to look like an eager twat desperate for her to pay attention to me, even if that really was the case. I looked up just as they arrived. Allison was wearing a dark gray suit with trousers that made her look hot and commanding as hell. She also wore her hair up which just made her profile more beautiful. “Hello,” I said, rising from my seat.
Cherie pulled out Allison’s chair for her, as Allison said to me, “Hi, David. It’s good to see you.”
“And you,” I said, sitting back down. “How are you?”
“Good,” she said as she took her seat.
Cherie placed her fingertips on the table, as if to signal an interruption. “Excuse me, but can I get you a drink?”
Allison turned to me. “What are you having?”
“Sparkling water.” I knew I wouldn’t be able to handle my drink in a situation like this.
“I’ll have the same,” said Allison to Cherie.
Cherie smiled. “I’ll bring you and David a bottle.”
As Cherie walked away, Allison smiled. “Another friend of yours?”
“Er…” I was reluctant to tell the truth because that was partially what got me in trouble the last time. “Yes, but we weren’t a good match.”
Shaking her head, she briefly closed her eyes like she was remembering something. “There is no one else like you.”
“Not true. I’ve told you I’m a very common variety.”
“I don’t think so.” She took a sharp breath and said, “You’re special.”
“Aw, thank you.” Feeling my emotional footing giving way beneath me, I nervously chuckled. “I think you know how I feel about you.”
“Well, I thought you probably hated me.” She held my gaze. “Thank you. Thank you for the note. After how I treated you, I don’t think I’d have the courage to see you if you didn’t send that to me. You’re a bigger person than me.”
“Twas nothing at all.”
“Well, I owe you an apology.” She jerked up her head when she saw Cherie arrive with our bottle of water, and we waited in silence as she poured her a glass. After telling Cherie thank you and watching her walk away a bit, she said, “You may have heard, but Trey and I broke up.”
“Oh. Pity.” It was the best I could do. I certainly couldn’t say I wa
s sorry with a straight face. I was fucking elated. I could run out and scream for joy and then drop a thousand quid on lighting candles in every bloody church in London. This had to be a sign there was a God.
“Yeah, it sucks.” Her mouth set in a hard line.
She obviously didn’t feel the same as me, but I was still happy with the outcome. I tried to find some sympathy for her. “It must’ve been hard. When did it happen?”
“Three months ago. Not long after I last saw you. It was horrible.” She gestured to me. “You were right. I was wrong. Trey cheated on me.”
I waited for the next line, but none came. Who had she caught Trey with? I knew Declan just talked to him the day before, so I didn’t think he and Melanie had been discovered, otherwise he would’ve been sacked by now. Especially in America, you just couldn’t fuck your assistant without getting sacked. The boss was always in the wrong, even if it was a consensual relationship. In this case, there was the age difference to boot, making it look even worse. The waiter came and took our orders, and afterward, I asked the other big question, “How did you find out?”
“I found a damn bra in his suitcase. He’d come to my apartment straight from the airport one night. When he took a shower the next morning, I happened to notice some pink lace peeking out of his closed suitcase. I opened the lid, and there it was.”
“Oh, dear.” I cringed. “Did he try to deny it?”
“Of course.” She rolled her eyes. “He told me the most ridiculous lie. He said he’d spent some time at his cousin’s when was in L.A. – which was in fact true. He’d called me from Jennifer’s house. But he said that it must’ve gotten mixed up in his clothes in the laundry.”
“Huh?” I’d always thought Trey would be a great bullshit artist. Sometimes you had to bluff when you gambled, so I could lie pretty well myself. I had to think through what his strategy was with that lie. Was it so far-fetched that he hoped she had to believe him? I tried to lighten the situation. “Somehow my cousin’s lingerie and my laundry have never made it into my suitcase together.”
