Single Woman Seeks Revenge: Another Very Funny Romantic Novel

by Tracy Bloom

  Drew left the miss-named Grand Ballroom to go in search of the bar and face the rest of his colleagues. He hoped they would already be hyped up over the free drinks and the hilarity of seeing each other in full-on fairy tale fancy dress to the extent that they would be distracted from asking him about his spectacular last meeting with his ex-fiancé.

  “We’re not getting married in the morning, ding dong the bells ‘aint gonna chime,” chorused the other six dwarves as he approached the bar.

  “Thanks guys,” he muttered grabbing a free drink and looking for escape. He headed out towards the reception area intending to grab some fresh air but got nobbled by the photographer hired to record the staff of the Manchester Herald as they arrived, in advance of them getting completely legless.

  “Come on son I’ve not done you yet have I? Stand over there.”

  Drew shuffled over to the backdrop set up by the photographer. As he stood there alone feeling utterly miserable he realized that a night on which you were forced to have your picture taken standing in fake polystyrene snow next to a stuffed reindeer, dressed as a dwarf did not have success written all over it.

  “Tell you what,” said the photographer, “I’ve been wanting to try this all night. You take your shoes off and get down on your knees and put them in your shoes, so you look like a real dwarf. Come on it’ll look hilarious.”

  Drew was stopped short of punching him by the sound of Snow White arriving.

  “Christ you can’t get the dwarves these days can you?” said Suzie appearing from behind the photographer dressed in a picture perfect costume complete with jet black wig.

  “Just in time,” said the photographer. “Come on we need you in this photo and tell him to get on his knees,” he said pointing at Drew.

  Suzie clutched her full skirt and swooped into the frame. Drew’s heart was pounding at full throttle. She looked as if she’d stepped straight out of a fairytale. How on earth was he going to pull off his plan tonight especially looking more like a troll than a dwarf? Suzie really hated trolls. He must be mad. This wasn’t a fairytale, it was real life where the dwarfs don’t get to be with the princesses. What on earth had he been thinking?

  “Come on, on your knees,” she said interrupting his panic. “If you stand up you’ll just look like some homeless drunk who staggered in from the street. At least if you’re on your knees people will realise you’re supposed to be a dwarf.” She grabbed his hand and gestured for him to sink to his knees.

  He realised he couldn’t speak so did the only thing he could do. He sank to his knees and tried not to gaze up at Snow White.

  “Great,” said the photographer snapping away. “One for the mantelpiece,” he said finally when he had finished.

  Suzie hauled Drew up and waited in silence as he struggled with his buckled shoes.

  “So, how’ve you been?” she asked as they made their way back to the bar. “I was going to call but I figured you probably needed some space.”

  “It’s been a rough week, put it that way,” he said trying to make saliva return to his dry mouth.

  “But probably rougher for Emily,” replied Suzie.

  “Yes, yes of course,” he said quickly.

  Just as they were about to step into the bar she stopped and turned to him.

  “Look Drew,” she said. “I want to say thank you for helping with everything over the last few weeks. I couldn’t have done half the things that I’ve done without you.” She was looking at him so intently that Drew wondered whether now was his chance. Perhaps he should get it over with and confess everything. Ditch all the fancy stuff.

  “I should tell you though that I’ve planned to do my last revenge tonight,” she continued. “I know I haven’t mentioned it before but I figured that you had enough on your plate.”

  Drew’s mind started to race. She’s doing her last revenge tonight? So that has to mean Spanish guitar troll is here. Who could it be? The men who worked at the Herald were all generally such a shambles that he couldn’t imagine Suzie getting involved with any of them. Unless. No, she wouldn’t would she? As if in a wind tunnel his mind went racing back to that morning in the café when he’d been checking out Gareth’s blog in a jealous rage. He remembered now Gareth listed guitar as one of his hobbies. He remembered because he’d instantly pictured the stomach-churningly romantic site of Gareth serenading a love-struck Suzie. So Suzie had had some secret liaison with Gareth. That’s why she’d said it was complicated and she wouldn’t talk about it. What didn’t make sense was why Gareth was so supportive of Suzie’s revenge column. Surely he saw himself as a target. Then again he was so blindly ambitious that he would deal with anything that helped in his climb to the top.

  “Drew are you listening?” asked Suzie cutting through his thoughts. “I just wanted you to know so you’re not surprised when it happens,” she said.

  “Yeah, sure,” he said still reeling. He realized he had to stop his plan right now. He couldn’t do it tonight. Not if she was planning all this.

  “Right, I just need to go to the ladies and then let’s go and get a drink before we torture ourselves with what lovely surprises Secret Santa has in store.”

  Drew stood rooted to the spot in a daze before he let out a cry.

  “Fuck,” he shouted before he raced off in hot pursuit of Suzie. He had to get to Secret Santa before she did.

  Chapter 22

  “Dear Suzie, thank God you’re here,” wailed Clare, the new trainee reporter, as soon as Suzie stepped into the toilets. “What am I going to do?” she cried draping her arms around Suzie’s shoulders and sobbing into her neck.

  Suzie was at a loss. She’d barely said two words to the girl since she started let alone had any bodily contact. She awkwardly patted Clare’s back in a consoling manner.

  “Clare’s boyfriend Theo has been chatting up Becca since he arrived,” explained Maddie from Sales. “He can’t keep his eyes off her. He even bought her a Cosmopolitan and just got Clare a Bacardi Breezer.”

  Clare raised her head and attempted to speak whilst spattering Suzie with spit and tears. “P … p …. p …. pineapple,” she blurted. “He bought me pineapple and he knows I hate pineapple. What am I going to do Dear Suzie?”

  Suzie looked over her shoulder for some assistance only to find that a small crowd had gathered to observe the commotion. They all stared back at her expectantly and she realized they were waiting for her to solve Clare’s dilemma on the spot.

  “It’s all right,” said Maddie, stroking Clare’s back. “Suzie’s here now. She’ll tell you what to do.”

  Suzie was knocked sideways. It wasn’t that long ago that she’d had been mostly ignored by the younger females of the office, written off as a failed journalist who was blocking their upward career path. And here they were gazing at her like some kind of Yoda of Romance patiently awaiting her pearls of wisdom.

  Well if that’s what they wanted, that’s what she’d give them. She was Dear Suzie after all. Soon to be tabloid columnist and TV mega-star.

  She grasped Clare by the shoulders and pushed her gently away so that she could look her in the eye.

  “Firstly I want you to give up alco-pops,” she said firmly. “Nothing good can ever come of a girl who drinks alco-pops okay?”

  “Yes of course,” sniffed Clare nodding her head vigorously.

  “And secondly …” she paused for dramatic effect, sensing her audience lean forward. “I want you to go out there and tell him to leave immediately.”

  “What?” said Clare looking taken aback.

  “Tell him to leave,” repeated Suzie. “He’s your guest here. He’s behaving inappropriately so ask him to leave. It’s your only hope of enjoying yourself tonight believe me.”

  Clare stared at Suzie wide-eyed. There wasn’t a sound from behind them as they all waited for Clare’s response.

  “Of course,” she shrieked. “I just tell him to go. Simple as that. He has no right to make me feel miserable at my office party
has he? Oh Suzie thank you.”

  “Don’t mention it,” she replied. “Just remember, no Bacardi Breezers,” she said feeling a warm glow of smug self-satisfaction start to spread over her.

  She turned to the mirrors to check out her make-up when the door burst open and Sandra rushed in. “Am I too late?” she gasped. “Di just said that Suzie was giving out free advice in the toilets.”

  Wow thought Suzie, she’d need her own TV Show soon. Suzie’s Party Nightmares.

  “Oh Suzie thank goodness you’re still here. Listen, my husband’s ruined my night. He just told me my Miss Piggy outfit suited me. What shall I do?”

  Suzie sighed. Really this was too easy.

  “Go back out there and tell him that when you have sex you fantasise about Kermit the Frog because anything would be better than looking at his pathetic overweight saggy body.”

  The room exploded into laughter.

  “Perfect,” said Sandra and promptly turned round and ran back out again.

  “At least her husband came,” muttered Brenda. “Mine refused. Said he would rather stay in and watch paint dry than come out with me.”

  Suzie turned around to face their sixty-year-old cleaner.

  “Go home,” she bellowed at her.

  “What?”

  “Go home right now. Collect a pair of your skimpiest knickers and your toothbrush then tell him you’ll see him in the morning. You’re staying here tonight. And when you go home tomorrow you refuse to tell him where you’ve been. Let him stew for twelve hours. No, let him stew for a week. That’ll teach him to take an interest in what you’re doing.”

  Brenda blinked back at Suzie for a moment and then did an about turn.

  “I won’t be long,” she shouted over her shoulder.

  Suzie looked around her at a sea of hands raised and her name being shouted. How many male-related disasters can you get at your average Christmas do she thought? It was a minefield. She raised her hands to quell the cacophony of problems. When silence finally fell she told them all the answer to everything in one fell swoop.

  “If in doubt, dance,” she shouted. “They can’t upset you on the dance floor. Come on, what are we all doing in here when there’s dancing to be done.”

  They followed her as though she was the pied piper out into the Grand Ballroom and within moments she was surrounded by a jumping mass of joyous hormones. Suzie felt she was on top of the world. These women adored her. She made them happy. Who would ever have thought that her horrendous relationship history would end up being the making of her? Who needs men she decided. This was making her far happier than any man had ever made her. And the high point of the evening was still to come. Her final revenge in front of her adoring fans. She couldn’t wait.

  Three songs later and a riot nearly broke out when the DJ, misjudging the mood, started to play a soppy version of All I want for Christmas is You. Suzie felt so proud as she watched an angry army of women demand it be taken off immediately and replaced with I will Survive. Confident they had the DJ under control she decided she’d go and get Secret Santa over with before dinner was called and wandered back into the bar to find the makeshift grotto.

  If the concept of Secret Santa wasn’t bad enough, it had been made infinitely worse by being forced to sit on the knee of Chris from IT, his enormous belly bursting through fake fur as he got cheap thrills asking female colleagues if they had been good little girls all year. The only bonus was that Chris had utilised his team to produce what could only be described as an über grotto. Digital images of the North Pole were projected onto a screen behind him and neon snowflakes appeared to fall from the sky disappearing into nowhere, creating an impressively magical effect. One of Chris’s minions sat behind a laptop orchestrating the whole tableau whilst two others looked grim, dressed as Santa’s little helpers clutching sacks full of presents that nobody gave a toss about.

  “Suzie,” cried Santa Chris as she came into view. “You look hot as Snow White.” His eyes were wide with pleasure. Out of nowhere a loud wolf whistle rang out. The minion behind the laptop looked sheepish.

  “Inappropriate Santa,” said Suzie shaking her head at him. “Can we get this over with as quickly as possible?” she asked holding her hand out. “Hand it over and let me go okay?”

  “Sorry Suzie. Santa needs you to sit on his knee and tell him that you have behaved yourself this year first,” said Santa Chris, his eyes gleaming.

  “Fuck off Chris,” she said. “I’m not letting you have some weird Snow White fantasy for the rest of the decade just because I sat on your knee. Now hand it over.”

  “Or what?” he asked defiantly.

  “I’ll report you to the Secret Santa Union for withholding crap gifts.”

  “You do that,” he said. “See if I care. I don’t need you. I’ve just had Cinderella on my knee for two and a half minutes.”

  “Two minutes 36 actually,” chirped up the minion laptop operator.

  “You mean you’re timing how long we sit on your knee?” asked Suzie.

  The minions sniggered.

  “We’re running a tab on it actually,” said Chris. “We’ve got you down to be in the top three seeing as you’re single and desperate. So come on, there’s money riding on this.”

  “You’re all disgusting. You can keep your Secret Santa,” she said turning away.

  “So you don’t want this gold envelope then?” He held it up.

  Suzie stopped in her tracks. An envelope? Now that was different. An envelope had potential. It could be cash which would be such a sensible thing to put in a Secret Santa gift or it could be a voucher for something like a manicure which was always handy. Envelopes were good. Envelopes didn’t involve packaging that would no-doubt hide some hidden horror. She turned around and moved forwards to take it but Santa Chris pulled it quickly out of her grasp.

  “Oh no you don’t,” he chimed. “For being a naughty girl you have to sit on my knee and open it,” he said, looking smug behind his white whiskers.

  “Stop messing about,” she said, trying to grab it again as he quickly whisked it out of the way. She noticed Dwarf Drew appear at that moment looking flustered. “Drew, tell him to give me my Secret Santa,” she whined. “He says I’ve got to sit on his knee to get it.”

  “Tell him to keep it. It’ll be crap anyway,” urged Dwarf Drew.

  “But it’s an envelope,” pleaded Snow White. “Envelopes can be good. They’re not like wrapped presents, they have potential. I need to see what’s in it.”

  “You’re being sucked in,” he said. “This is Secret Santa; it-will-not-be-any good. Remember what you said the other day.” He held his hands out towards her. “Just walk away from the Secret Santa, you can do it.”

  Snow White looked from Santa Chris to Dwarf Drew. She should walk away, she knew she should. But what if it was good? What if someone had finally nailed the perfect Secret Santa gift and she walked away? She knew she couldn’t do it. She had to know what was in the golden envelope. She turned towards Drew letting her shoulders sag as if in defeat before she twirled around at lightning speed, her bright yellow skirt knocking over a decorative silver Christmas tree. She leapt up and grabbed the envelope clean out of Santa Chris’s hand.

  “I got it,” she shrieked jumping up and down. “I got it.”

  “Why don’t you open it tomorrow,” leapt in Dwarf Drew. “Or save it for Christmas day.”

  “No way,” cried Suzie. “The only good thing about Secret Santa is that you get to open them straight away. She tore at the envelope dropping pieces of gold paper on the floor. She pulled out the stiff white card and read the typed out words that had been painstakingly glued onto it.

  “What does it say?” asked the three minions in unison as they gathered round her.

  “Be on the dance floor below the glitter ball at midnight for your extra special delivery from Secret Santa,” she said slowly. There was silence as they all tried to understand the cryptic message.

  S
he turned on Santa Chris. “This better not be you after a grope in the dark,” she barked.

  “Not me,” he said his hands held up in submission. “Great idea though. Perhaps I’ll try that on Debs in payroll next year,” he said thoughtfully.

  “I don’t understand,” Snow White said staring at the message. “What on earth could it mean?”

  “Secret admirer,” muttered one of the helper minions. “Got to be. He’s going to reveal himself at midnight, don’t you see? So romantic,” he sighed.

  “Do you really think so?” asked Snow White.

  “No it’s not,” said Dwarf Drew grabbing the card away from Suzie. “It’s someone winding you up, bound to be. It is you isn’t it Chris? Don’t let them con you Suzie. Just forget all about it.” He tried to put the card in the top pocket of his jacket until he realised he had no top pocket, just a red-wine-stained tabard.

  Snow White grabbed the card back off Drew so she could read it again.

  “Remember what you said,” urged Dwarf Drew. “Secret Santa disappoints without fail. Santa is a man after all so let’s bin it shall we?”

  “Yes,” she said finally looking up. “You’re right. Chris, you’re a dead man.” She swooped out of the room holding her Snow White chin up high and trying to ignore the fact that for just a moment her heart had soared when the words secret admirer, midnight, glitter ball and dance floor had come together in one conversation. No soaring hearts she said to herself quietly. This is the office Christmas party after all. Fertile ground for soaring hearts to be crushed in an instant. The session in the toilets was testament to that. No, she must focus. Tonight the last troll would be well and truly buried. That was what mattered this evening, not someone’s idea of a sick Secret Santa joke.

  Chapter 23

  By the end of the meal Drew was almost feeling relaxed and relieved that he wasn’t going to confess all to Suzie that night. Although it had been a close shave with Secret Santa. He’d realized that asking Chris for Suzie’s present back would reveal his identity and rouse too much suspicion. Better to convince her that she was being wound up by someone else he thought. Get her to dismiss it and leave it at that. Present his pumping heart to her another day.