UBER LUCKY

AUTHOR’S NOTE

As implied by the title, part of the storyline involves the ridesharing company, Uber. I have taken artistic license on the way Uber connects riders with drivers.

As per my previous story, I’ve done my own editing which probably means there’s little mistakes I’ve missed because I’m too familiar with my own words, but I hope the mistakes are not huge enough to distract or detract from the overall story.

Thanks, and happy reading.

UBER LUCKY

JESUS BLOODY CHRIST! How does Lexie sleep through this night after night?

“Yes! Oh God, yes! Fuck me, Randy. Fuck me!”

Of course, he’d have to have a name like Randy.

What would a Saturday night at Lexie’s be without listening to her neighbor, Tiffany, squeal her joy at being pounded into the mattress by some jerk named Butch or Hunter or Tanner? Where does she find these guys? Why do none of them ever have normal names like Mike or John or Tom?

As I laid and pondered (like pondering was at all possible with the caterwauling going on next door, but, hey, give me points for trying to keep it PG) what would a Friday night be without it either? Come to think of it, it didn’t matter what night of the week I stayed over, she was always howling. God knows her vagina must be made of leather by now with the constant pounding it received.

According to Lexie, Sunday’s were the quietist. Like the good Lord, Sundays, it seemed, were Tiffany’s day of rest. Even insatiable nymphos needed a day to recharge their batteries and rest their overworked snatches. Just my luck that Sunday was the one night I rarely slept over because I had a class first thing on Monday morning.

I groaned and not in a good way. Tiffany might be a hot looking babe, but even if I wasn’t in love with Lexie, I still wouldn’t want to bed the nympho. Secretly, my nickname for Tiffany was Squeakie. During sex she made sounds that reminded me of a baby’s squeak toy. She’d start out slow and random, but the more aroused she got, the louder and closer together they became. By the end it was one long squeak, with the only thing that varied being the pitch.

Even Crumpet, Lexie’s cat, hated Squeakie. She’d meow like crazy every time Tiffany’s performance began. I couldn’t say I blamed her. Then again, maybe I had it ass about—maybe Crumpet loved Tiffany and thought of her as some long lost relative or something.

Sighing, I rolled onto my back feeling peeved that my cock didn’t agree with my irritation. What is it with dicks? Why the fuck do they seem to have a mind of their own? And usually contrary to what the big brain is telling them. I wanted to sleep—I had a full day of driving to look forward to on the morrow—but Tiffany’s squeaks, and cries of “Yes! Just there”, and “Harder, yes, harder. You’re fucking me so good, Randy, baby”, had little James saluting… again. Big brain was annoyed but effing little brain could have drilled a hole through concrete.

I turned my head to glance at Lexie. Unbelievable. She was dead to the world. Again, the question skimmed across my mind. How the hell does she sleep through this night after night?

Little head urged me to wake her, but big head knew that would be about as successful as asking a snowflake not to melt in the midday sun. Most of the time Lexie was sweet and funny but not in the mornings, and especially not if woken from deep slumber.

So, no relief likely from the fiancé. What were my other options? Bury face under pillow? Earplugs? Or dare I try and avoid blue balls and spank the monkey? If Lexie could sleep through Tiffany’s yodeling and Crumpet’s meowing, could she sleep through me engaging in a bit of wrist action?

Tiffany squealing like a stuck pig decided me. Randy was clearly on the homeward stretch. I could hear the slap of skin on skin and decided to slap a bit of skin myself. I grabbed a handful of tissues, proud of myself for thinking ahead, and slipped my hand into my boxers, taking matters in hand. It didn’t take me long to get up to speed if you catch my drift. Panting as quietly as I could, I quickened the pace of my five-fingered tango with the aim of timing my climax to theirs.

“Yes! Yes! Yes! Oh Randy, you’re gonna make me come!” Tiffany squeaked. Christ, she’s noisy. What’s the bet she’s faking it?

As per usual, her orgasm, real or fake, went on and on, and by the sounds of it, she was taking Randy along for the ride. The guy did a good imitation of someone in their death throes. I smirked. Yep, little death you are such sweet sweet agony.

I wasn’t far behind him. After a quick check of Lexie to confirm she was still out for the count, I grabbed the wad of tissues and cleaned off my torso.

Like hitting the snooze button, my post-orgasm lethargy didn’t take long to make my eyelids heavy and my limbs loose and relaxed. Sated, I rolled onto my side, spooned my girl and drifted off to sleep.

I SLIPPED OUT OF bed and paused in defiance of my bladder that was telling me it wasn’t the size of a small country and needed me to empty it. I ignored it, staring at my sleeping girlfriend.

As per usual, she looked like an innocent angel with her blonde hair a cloud about her head. You’d never guess by looking at her how mischievous and sassy she was. Both qualities which I loved about her, right along with her generosity and sense of humor. It was no wonder she was one of the top sales persons for the menswear chain she worked for. Apart from being pretty with a great figure, she could charm the birds from the trees. That was how we met—I went into her store and she sold me a shirt. She absolutely bowled me over. The next week I was back, and she sold me some trousers. The next, another shirt. And so it went on until I finally plucked up the courage to ask her out. The running joke between us was that she only said yes because she was running out of things to sell me.

She says she loves the way my smile lights up my face, whatever that means.

I genuinely have no idea what she means by that. All I know is I cringe every time she says it because for the rest of the day all I’d hear on a bloody loop in my head is that old toothpaste ad; Show us your smile. White is in style. Are your McLeans showing? It’s not a sin. It’s how you grin. That’s your McLeans showing.

 Why couldn’t she say she loved my baby blues or messy black hair? Or maybe, my intelligence and personality? Better yet, my six-pack abs or sparkling wit? I mightn’t be as sexy as that guy on Game of Thrones that she was so enamored with, but, hey, I wasn’t chopped liver either, but, no, it was always the damn smile.

With a final glance at my sweet Lexie, a parody of my infamous smile on my face, I succumbed to the demands of my bladder and headed for the bathroom.

Having shit, showered, and shaved, not to mention, relieved myself, I headed back into the bedroom to find Lexie still fast asleep. I sighed—if I had any sense I’d be jealous of her bed. She sure as hell seemed to have a love affair with it and sleeping.

Her bottom lip looked soft and full from sleep and I wanted to suck it into my mouth and really kiss her, but I pushed my lustful thoughts down and instead stooped and placed a light kiss on her forehead before grabbing my gear, intending to dress in the lounge so as not to wake her.

Once dressed, I checked the fridge and pantry, not surprised to find very little on offer. Keeping house and cooking weren’t Lexie’s strong points, something my mother regularly pointed out to me. Mum was horrified that I did most of the shopping and cooking when I stayed at Lexie’s despite the menswear boutique Lexie worked at being in a shopping center with two supermarkets along with a specialist greengrocer, butcher, and delicatessen. When Mum would start on Lexie’s lack of homemaking skills I’d just shrug and either remind her how caring Lexie was of her grandmother or tell her she should thank the gods I’d listened when she attempted to teach me cooking and other life skills.

I made myself some toast and logged into the Uber app on my phone to start my self-designated shift. Before I’d even made it to the front door, my last slice of toast hanging from the corner of my mouth, I had a ride request—airport to a hotel in the CBD. With a quick press of a finger I accepted the job and headed out to my pride and joy; a fully restored 1967 Rolls Royce Silver Cloud III. Really, with her black duco, silver bonnet, plush red leather and wood trim interior, she was too nice a car to be used for ferrying people all over the city, but her uniqueness had certainly earned me many repeat customers who appreciated elegance, fine craftsmanship and mechanics.

The day passed quickly, helped by a lot of fares and little down time. Of course, that meant I hadn’t gotten much study done in between fares but I could make that up while Lexie was away for another visit with her sick gran in Melbourne. Besides, as per usual, I needed the money from my part-time Uber driving to pay my half of next semester’s course fees.

I pulled into my parent’s driveway, tired and hungry after working twelve hours solid. God, I hoped my mother had cooked one of her famous pot roasts. She, unlike Lexie, had excellent homemaker skills.

Luck was on my side; not only was pot roast on the menu but her mouthwatering potato bake, and, if my nose wasn’t deceiving me, an apple pie was in the oven. Fan-fucking-tastic. All I had time for was a quick clean up before taking my place at the dinner table.

“How was your day, Jamie?”

“Good, Dad. Lots of rides, and long ones, so good for the dollars and light on the fuel consumption.”

My father nodded approvingly; he was a man big on a person paying their own way through life. With my car, as with my uni course fees, he’d said he’d match me dollar for dollar, but he wouldn’t just go out and buy me a car as soon as I was old enough to hold a license. He maintained that things that were received too easily weren’t appreciated or looked after and that a little blood, sweat, and tears, along with some sacrifice, was the best way to teach a person to appreciate what they had. When I’d saved half the cost of a dilapidated Rolls Royce, Mum had thought I was crazy, but Dad was a man of his word and hadn’t baulked at coughing up his half. He’d even spent many a Saturday helping me source parts and restore her to her former glory. Now she was worth almost ten times what we’d spent on her. Lexie teased me, calling my car my mistress but she was pleased she was going to be ferried to the church in such a classy ride.

Dinner conversation went along the usual route and once I was done eating I excused myself to call Lexie. I never liked to let a day go by when I didn’t hear her sweet voice.

“Hey, babe. How was your day?”

“Good. Lots of fares. What did you get up to?”

“Not much. Had a nice sleep in, and then pottered around. Watched a movie.”

“What was the movie?”

Lexie named some chick-flick and I zoned out as she gushed about how romantic it was.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to take you to the airport in the morning? I have enough time before my lecture.”

“No, I’ll be fine, Jamie. Actually, I’d best stop gabbing and go pack.”

I frowned. She’d had all day to pack and she waited until the only time I had free to get around to it? I opened my mouth to comment but closed it again. No point in ending our last conversation, before she left to see her gran, in an argument. We’d had enough of them in recent times as it was.

“Okay, bye, babe. See you at the end of the week. Love you.”

I opened my mouth again, this time to tell her I loved her, but before the words could pass my lips she’d hung up. I shrugged, trying to shake off my annoyance, reminding myself she was probably stressed about all the last-minute things she needed to get done before our wedding.  

THE SOUND OF an incoming message woke me as the first rays of dawn slipped through the gap in my curtains. I rubbed my eyes and cursed myself for having forgotten to mute the volume on my smart phone before calling it quits the night before.

Thinking it could be Lexie changing her mind about a lift to the airport, I grabbed my phone from the bedside drawers. No missive from Lexie, but rather a generic one from Uber asking for available drivers as they were low on drivers and high on demand.

After a quick glance at the time I replied in the affirmative, saying I was available for approximately three hours. Their reply thanking me came through immediately, coinciding with my phone chiming an incoming message—my first ride being a run from the city center out to the international terminal.

In under ten minutes I managed to take a leak, throw on some clothes, pack my uni bag, brush my teeth, and grab my car keys. I stopped in the kitchen long enough to leave my parents a note, grab a handful of muesli bars, and fill a bottle with water.

As I navigated the almost deserted suburban streets that led to the highway into the city, I mused about my time as an Uber driver. I quite enjoyed it and now knew the city like the back of my hand. On top of that, I’d met a lot of interesting people, some of whom could well prove useful once I’d completed my engineering degree. One guy had even had me drive around the block a few times while he explained a concept to me that ended up helping me get a high distinction pass on my essay for that subject. He wouldn’t let me discount the fare and even left me a generous tip along with his business card.

With the streets reasonably quiet due to the early hour I made good time to the hotel. Parking in their pick-up zone, I flicked off a quick text to the client via the Uber link to let him know I was ready and waiting. Ten minutes passed with no sign of my fare but just as I was about to send off a second text a guy who appeared anxious and stressed exited. He looked up and down the pick-up zone, clearly in search of someone or something.

I clambered onto the sidewalk. “Stephen Cummings?”

A relieved smile broke across his face. “That’s me. Sorry I’ve kept you waiting. Check-out took longer than I expected.”

“Cool. No worries. Let me give you a hand with that,” I said, taking the handle of his roll-on suitcase and heading for the rear of my car.

I didn’t like it when people threw their cases on the back seat as their wheels often left scuff marks on the upholstery. The easiest way to avoid the issue was to take their cases from them and place them in the trunk myself.

“Sweet ride, mate. She’s a real beauty.” Stephen commented, letting himself in the back on the passenger side, immediately reaching for the seatbelt. His sigh was audible, coinciding with the click of his seatbelt. I glanced in the rear vision mirror as I turned the key and the engine purred into life; he had his glasses clasped in one hand and his head resting back, eyes closed.

“Tough day to look forward to?” I asked.

“The worst. We lost a big project we thought we had in the bag to a competitor and now I get to go back and tell that to the board. I’m just hoping they don’t shoot the messenger. It doesn’t help that it was my design too.”

“Well, that sucks.”

“Sure does. Probably means I can kiss an end of year bonus goodbye which in turn means no going on the cruise my wife has her heart set on.”

“Don’t give up yet, man. Miracles do happen.”

Even to my own ears the platitude sounded empty and lame.

Stephen fell silent and to all appearances seemed to be dozing. I concentrated on navigating my way through the increasingly busy traffic.

“Stephen, we’re just about at the drop-off zone.”

At my quietly spoken words, Stephen roused and looked about. “Wow. That was quick.”

I pulled in behind a taxi, taking my car out of gear and pulling on the handbrake. I met Stephen at the rear of my car.

“Man, I don’t mean to overstep the mark, but I’ve been thinking about your problem. If it was me, I’d try one last pitch. I’d ring their head honcho and confirm with him, he and his cronies have truly compared what you and the other guy have to offer. Tell him again all the things where you trump your opposition and counter any arguments where they better you. Maybe offer to meet those? Is the design flexible? Maybe change a few things? You already have a ‘no’ so what have you got to lose by giving it one last shot?”

Stephen looked at me long and hard. “You’re not like any taxi driver I’ve ever come across before.”

I grinned. “That’s because I’m Uber.”

A grin to match my own spread across Stephen’s face. “Well, you certainly have given me some uber good advice. Advice I’m going to take.”

I nodded, still smiling. “It ain’t over till the fat lady sings. Right?”

“Right.”

I watched Stephen walk into the terminal and fancied his step was a little lighter and his shoulders more squared.

I turned my attention to my phone, looking through Uber for my next ride, hoping to find something nearby that would take me back toward downtown or the uni campus. Just as a frown creased my brow a new job slotted into the list. Yes! A fare from the domestic terminal to Randwick. I smiled at that—Randwick was near the University of New South Wales campus. It couldn’t be more perfect. As quickly as I could I gave the affirmative for the job.

The drive between terminals was a short one and I was pleased to find a guy waiting at the designated pick-up point.

I wound down my window. “Richard Stroker?”

“The one and only.”

Leaving the car idling, I climbed out and, as with my previous client, took his suitcase from him and headed toward the rear of my car.

“Looks like you’re planning to stay for a while,” I observed, nodding at the size of his luggage as I heaved it into the trunk.

“Yeah. I’m here for a week long fuck-fest with a bird I met and hooked up with about a month ago at a sales convention. I’ll probably spend the week naked.” He laughed. “So maybe I’ve overpacked.”

I did a double-take at his bluntness.

“Good for you,” I replied dryly.

A sidelong glance at his face told me my sarcasm had gone over his head, which was just as well—no need to lose a good fare just because I thought the guy was a jerk. Who was I to judge, anyway? Perhaps the woman in question was no more looking for commitment than he was.

“Mind if I join you in the front? I hate sitting in the back.”

“Suit yourself.” My voice was neutral but inwardly I groaned. Hopefully, the guy wasn’t a chatterbox.

No such luck.

“This is a cool car, dude. Can’t believe I’m riding to a hook-up in a Rolls.”

“Thanks,” was all I could think of to reply.

“So, yeah, I met this chick…”

“Sorry to interrupt, Richard—”

“Call me Rich.”

“Ah, okay. Rich, what street in Randwick?”

“Um, let me check.” I waited while he pulled his phone from his shirt pocket. “Carrington Road.”

I hesitated for a moment. “Great. Know it well.”

“So, yeah, as I was saying. I met this chick last month at a sales seminar the company we both work for held in Melbourne. Being new to the company it was my first seminar, but she’s worked for them for a few years and has been to several. The guy I replaced introduced me to her. Said he’d had a good time with her at the last one.”

I had intended to tune him out and only give noncommittal noises to his ramblings, but his words jolted me. Last month Lexie had attended a convention held by the retail chain she worked for. That too had been in Melbourne… surely a coincidence. Yes, it must be a coincidence. Melbourne probably hosted a hundred or more conventions and the like every week.

“She acted all sweet and innocent but sure as hell didn’t dress that way. She looked as sexy as hell and once I got her back to my room, man, was she hot to trot.”

Part of me wanted to go with my original plan of tuning him out, but something, something small but compelling, kept me listening.

“We barely got through the door and she was pulling my pants down. She blew my dick like it was the last cock left on Earth. Later, after I’d laid the pipe to her, she kept babbling about how it had to be a one-time thing. That she had a boyfriend back in Sydney who could never know about what she got up to when she was in Melbourne.”

At that moment his monologue was interrupted by an incoming text on his phone. Melbourne must be the place to go, I decided. Seemed like everyone but me went regularly. Lexie certainly did—every long weekend she headed down in order to visit her gran.

“Excuse me,” he said, a smirk pulling at his lips as he read the message. “Like I said, she was absolutely gagging for it. Just like she is now. Wants to know if my flight arrived on time. Says she’s waiting for me in her prettiest pink nightie.” He laughed. “She won’t have that on for long if I have my say.”

I wanted to gag at his cockiness. The guy clearly thought he was God’s gift to women.

“In fact, if I have my way, she’ll be naked for the entire week.”

I forced a laugh and a nod, using the need to change lanes as an excuse not to speak.

“She’s gotten rid of her boyfriend for the week and I intend to take full advantage of his absence. She’ll be walking bowlegged by the time I’m finished with her. I intend to go home with a sore dick and an empty ball sac.”

“Um, it doesn’t bother you that she’s already in a relationship? That she’s cheating on her boyfriend with you?”

Dick Stroker, as I’d silently dubbed him, merely shrugged. “Not up to me to be the morality police. With sluts like her, if she wasn’t cheating with me, she’d be cheating with somebody else. Hell, according to the other guys, she’s done half the company, so why should I deny myself such a hot piece of ass? The bird is a bit of a nympho, if you ask me. She couldn’t get enough the last time we hooked up. Every time I came, she gave me all of five minutes to recover and then she was sucking me, trying to get me hard again. Besides, despite telling me our night had to be a one-time thing, she’s been texting and emailing me for a month, wanting a repeat.”

“Lucky you.”

“Too right! Hope she waxed that pretty blonde pussy of hers like I asked.”

I coughed, choking on my own breath.

Dick laughed. “Have I shocked you, man?”

I nodded, putting on my indicator. He sure as hell didn’t sugarcoat it. His crassness went beyond locker room talk and mildly repulsed me.

Dick laughed again. “Hey, it’s just guy-talk. Right?”

“Sure. Whatever you reckon.”

Dick nodded. “I’m even hoping she’ll invite her neighbor in for a threesome. She’s apparently a bit of nympho too. The blonde on her own would be worth using up a week’s worth of my annual leave, but a threesome with two hotties, well…”

A sick seed of fear bloomed in the base of my belly. I fought against its need to grow and multiply, its need to overwhelm and take over. Nigh on three years of loving and trusting Lexie at war with a growing list of coincidences.

Surely not? Surely, she wouldn’t? Not my sweet Lexie. What had I ever done or said that would warrant her treating me like this? Why would she want to? We were happy, weren’t we? Hell, we were getting married as soon as I finished my degree in November. In three short months.

The loyal fiancé in me denied she was capable of such betrayal, but the more pragmatic, analytical side of my nature, the side my engineering studies cultivated, analyzed the month since she’d returned from the conference. The month where she’d run hot and cold, one minute almost gushing in her loving, the next distant and short tempered. The month where, despite the mood shifts, she’d been more aggressive in bed. In fact, the more I thought about it, the more I saw a pattern. Every trip to Melbourne precipitated a change in behavior in Lexie. Sometimes the moodiness lasted only a week or two, this last trip it had lasted a month and counting. In the past, I’d always put it down to concern over her beloved gran.

And then my inner battle was over.

With a few words, Dick ended my internal war.

“Her nickname amongst the guys is Flexie Lexie, ‘cause, man, that girl is flexible. Fairly tied herself into a pretzel the last time we hooked up.”

Sounds like a train speeding past a platform roared in my ears. An invisible clamp encased my chest making breathing impossible. Years later, when I looked back on the moment, I would never know how I managed to keep my hands on the wheel and avoided causing an accident.

“We’re almost there, Rich. What street number?” My voice sounded strange to my own ears, but a brief turn of the head showed Dick behaving normally and checking his phone again.

“Number 28, unit 7.”

If I’d had any remaining doubts about Lexie’s duplicity, Dick had just destroyed them. Confusion and anguish washed through me like a tidal wave. Why? Why would she do this to me? To us? I was loving and attentive. I was supportive. Sure, I had some habits that annoyed Lexie but nothing to warrant this. The degree I was on the brink of completing would see me into a well-paid job with great career potential, even the possibility of working overseas which was one of Lexie’s dreams. When we were ready, she’d be able to give up work and raise our babies with no money worries hanging over our heads.

I felt like turning the car around and driving in the opposite direction but the compulsion to see Lexie’s betrayal through to the end kept me on course, as if I were the fish and her betrayal the line reeling me in. I didn’t understand the compulsion. Was it masochism? Self-destructiveness? Was it to remove any and all doubt—hell, that was already accomplished. Perhaps it was self-preservation; once seen there would be no unseeing. No being able to allow her to fool me with lies and half-truths. No being able to succumb to her pleadings, which, I suspected, would be many.

“Cool. I’ll have you there in about five minutes.” I spoke the words, marveling at my ability to speak at all with the turmoil raging in my guts.

Dick didn’t reply. One quick look told me why—he was flicking off a text. I couldn’t read it all but saw enough to need to swallow the bile that had risen in my throat.

I pulled to the kerb, killing the engine, and climbed out. I strode to the back of the car on shaky legs and retrieved Dick’s suitcase.

“Here. Let me help you with this. You’ve got me curious about this hot, nympho blonde. Mind if I get a perve of her in her pink nightie to see me through the rest of my boring shift?”

Dick, the jerk, laughed. “No probs, man. Feel free to grab an eyeful.”

“Thanks.” I gave him what I hoped passed for a smile. “Lead the way.”

Dick’s walk was in keeping with his attitude—cocky. With his laptop bag slung over his shoulder he strutted up the path leading to the apartment block entry. I followed with his suitcase and if looks could kill I’d have turned the guy to ash.

But he was probably right. If not him, it would almost certainly be some other walking dick. If what he’d said was true, there’d already been a long line of dicks.

Lexie’s apartment was on the second floor. It took every ounce of self-discipline to wait while Dick the Wanker figured it out for himself and found the ancient elevators.

With each passing second anguish morphed into rage. Not the rage that burned and scorched like a forest fire leaving devastation in its wake. No, I felt cold inside. Cold all over. Cold as Artic ice. With each pulsing roar in my head another shard of ice broke free and coursed through my veins.

I was glad for the ice—it kept the confusion and anguish at bay. Time for them later, when I was alone. I was glad of the ice water of hatred flowing through my body, for hatred of Lexie it was, hatred for her lies, for her deceit. The icy rage felt good. Empowering. So much better than the crippling emotions of pain and betrayal.

The elevator creaked and groaned. Dick Wanker muttered under his breath. And I waited, silent.

The doors slid slowly open. Dick sighed impatiently. “God this contraption belongs in a museum. Another good reason to not leave her apartment the whole week.”

Dick looked left and right and again I had to exert restraint and not direct him to Lexie’s door.

And then we were walking, thankfully in the right direction.

At Lexie’s door, I almost laughed. Dick ran a hand through his hair, straightened his clothing, and then adjusted his crotch. I half expected him to check his breath.

He rapped his knuckles on Lexie’s door three times. The sound of the last knock had barely died when I heard Lexie’s reply.

“Coming!”

Even through the door I discerned her breathless excitement.

The wait seemed long, but in reality, was but a few moments. I stood slightly to the side as the door swung open revealing Lexie posing in a pink, gauzy baby-doll negligee. Again, I almost laughed. To Dick, perhaps, she appeared sexy with her boobs and legs on display and everything in between broadly hinted at. To me, she merely looked ridiculous and contrived.

“Hey, lover,” she breathed, looking at Dick. I stepped to the side, putting myself within her line of sight. “I’ve been waiting—”

Lexie’s gasp took Dick by surprise. He looked down, checking, I suspected, if he’d spilled something on himself during the flight.

“You’ve been waiting,” I prompted.

Lexie remained silent, staring at me in wide-eyed horror.

“What?” Dick turned and looked from Lexie to me and back again.

“Here, let me help you, Flexie Lexie. You’ve been waiting for Mr. Dick Stroker here to come and spend a week with you pounding you into the mattress. Am I right or am I right? I can’t help noticing how apt his name is. Fabulous coincidence, don’t you think? Almost poetic.”

Again, Dick looked confusedly between Lexie and myself. “Dude, what?”

As if in slow motion one of Lexie’s hand rose to cover her mouth while her other reached for me.

“Why, thank you, Lexie. Yes, I would like the engagement ring I gave you in love and trust returned seeing as neither applies any longer.”

I grasped her extended hand, slipping the ring from her finger, shoving it in my jean pocket. I mocked her with the smile she said she loved before taking a step back.

“I’ve held up proceedings long enough. I’ll leave now and let you two lovebirds to get on with your planned fuck-fest. Happy fucking, Flexie Lexie and Dick Stroker.”

As I turned and walked away I heard Dick Wanker asking Lexie who I was and what the hell was going on. She blubbered something incomprehensible. Good. She was crying. I hoped the traitorous bitch did a whole lot more of it. I hoped regret ate out her heart like acid. I hoped remorse curdled her guts.

I made it to my car, surprised at my calm. It all seemed so surreal. One day, I was one half of a loving couple planning a late spring wedding less than three months away, the next a single man. One day, I was a man who thought he was loved and respected. The next, one who had to face he was looked upon with contempt, for contempt was the only interpretation possible for her actions. How and why Lexie’s feelings had changed I would never know, and after her ongoing betrayal I didn’t care to ask her. How would I know if her words were truth or merely self-serving lies?

On autopilot, I put the car into gear and flicked on my indicator. With a last check over my shoulder I pulled out. I heard my name called. No, screamed. In the rear-vision mirror I saw Lexie run barefoot down the footpath, still clad only in her barely-there nightie, tears streaming down her face.

I smiled, grimly this time. I liked her this way—in my rear-view mirror.

WEEKS PASSED WITH Lexie following what I came to think of as the Cheater’s Guidelines. She phoned, she sent text messages, cluttered my inbox with emails, and hounded my family, urging them to get me to talk to her. She covered all the usual bullshit along with bleating about all the cancellation fees and forfeited deposits her parents were upset about.

I ignored it all.

The fact that neither her mother or father contacted me, or my parents, directly told me they at least suspected why a previously besotted fiancé had suddenly called off the wedding.

My mother, I think, was as devastated as I was. For all of Lexie’s homemaker shortcomings, Mum still loved her. Heck, Mum had loved all my girlfriends. She’d seen them all as the daughter she’d never had. Lexie was no different. To her credit, despite her feelings, she never once urged me to listen, let alone forgive, Lexie. The worst she did was tell me, for my own sake, that at some point I’d have to speak to Lexie, so I could have what she called closure. Personally, I felt actions spoke louder than words, and the retrieval of the engagement ring had spoken loud enough about the closure of my relationship with Lexie.

Ideas of revenge simmered. I didn’t want her dead or even maimed. I wanted her to live a long life, one where she had plenty of time to regret her choices. Regret her actions. Regret her loss. I wanted her life to be long and miserable. I wanted her to be sad and lonely. I wanted her to pine for what she’d once had, for what she so wantonly threw away.

I fantasized about her being devastated again and again by her partners doing the dirty on her. I pictured her face, the look of horror and pain, when she once again walked in on her current partner screwing another woman. Oddly, it was never my face or body I saw pounding away at the other woman.

When I woke from dreams of her loneliness and misery, dreams where she was filled with remorse for what she’d done to me, to us, dreams where she longed to return to a time of innocence and happiness, I smiled, feeling no guilt. “Karma,” I thought. “Karma will one day bite her on her promiscuous ass.”

AS PER MY mother’s repeated urgings regarding closure—personally, I thought it a bunch of psychobabble mumbo-jumbo—I agreed to meet Lexie for a coffee.

Stirring sugar into my coffee, I looked around the small café, pleased with my choice for our first face-to-face. As I lifted the cup to my lips, Lexie came through the doors. Trust her to ruin that first blessed sip of liquid heaven. I watched as she paused in the entryway while she looked around the room.

Once she spotted me, she flashed one of her big smiles. I looked for signs of nervousness and couldn’t find any. Was she really that confident? Perhaps, she thought smiling prettily was all it would take to lure me back into the fold. That and wear what she thought was a sexy outfit. I concealed a smile—each item had been selected to highlight her considerable assets. Little did she know her considerable assets no longer had the ability to move or arouse me. It amazed me how little attraction I felt for her. Her actions had managed to dissolve three years of loving and lust in less than a day and nigh on eight weeks later I felt even less drawn to her. Now, instead of seeing sweetness and beauty, I saw vanity and selfishness. Instead of being charmed by generosity and humor I was repulsed by accomplished lies and wanton betrayal. It was like plucking what looked to be a juicy red apple from a tree only to find when you bit into it, it was rotten and worm-ridden inside. Suddenly, you lost your appetite for apples. I’d lost my appetite for Lexie.

Had she been a lady, I’d have acted like a gentleman and stood and pulled out her chair. As it was, my remaining seated helped me avoid her attempts at a hug. Instead, she brushed her tits over my bicep. Another sign of her planned tactic to seduce me. I refrained from shaking my head. I’d never thought her dumb before, but, clearly, she was no tactician. Sex was what had landed her into the mess she was currently in and most definitely not the tool to win me back with. She’d have done better to use her brain and do her best to convince me of her remorse and earnestness.

“Oh, Jamie. Thank you for seeing me. I’ve missed you so much. I have so much I need to tell you,” Lexie gushed.

It took all I had not to cringe. For a split second I considered abandoning my promise to my mother to listen to what Lexie had to say.  Mum was certain that one day I’d be glad I’d given Lexie the opportunity as I would supposedly be left with no uncertainty, no unanswered questions in my heart. That presumed Lexie would be truthful, which I doubted.

“I’m here. I’m listening. I don’t have a lot of time so please say what you have to say so we can both move on.”

Seeing hurt flash across her features gave me a sense of satisfaction I wasn’t particularly proud of, but I can’t deny I enjoyed. I really did want her in my rear-vision mirror.

“Please don’t talk about moving on, Jamie. Please forgive me. We’re meant to be together. I know that as much now as I did on our first date.”

“Really?” Before I could say another word, Lexie barreled on.

“It’s just that it hit me—our wedding was only three months away and I’d never sewn any wild oats and then Tiffany said I’d best do it now while I was young and not later when we had a family. I never intended for you to find out and I thought what you didn’t know wouldn’t hurt you. You have to believe I love you. I want to spend my life with you.”

It struck me, she was implying her week-long fuck-fest with Dick Stoker was her first trip down the infidelity highway. That pissed me off. Even now, she couldn’t be honest.

“Really? You have a funny way of showing that. Since when did introducing a third party, which fucking around does, a great romance make? Do you think if Romeo had caught Juliet in bed with Mercutio, he’d have been understanding and agreeable if her excuse was, ‘I’m young. I need to sow some wild oats. I’ll just screw him when you’re out of town. Don’t worry I’ll be discreet.’ Is that reference too high brow for you? How about your favorite Twilight character, Bella Swan? Do you think Edward would have thought it okay when he walked in on her sucking Jacob’s dick if she said to him, ‘Don’t be hurt. I only screwed him when you were off hunting for the week.’ So please, don’t insult my intelligence by spouting a load of shit about loving me and us being destined for each other.”

And so it went with Lexie spouting all the usual excuses and rationalizations. One by one, I checked them off in my mind. I made counter arguments, but Lexie kept to her script, ignoring anything that didn’t suit her case. Had she not been so intent on mounting her defense she would have noticed my lack of emotion.

“You cheated on me, Lexie. No matter how you try and justify it, it doesn’t change the fact you cheated. You went behind my back and screwed another man. You cheated. Cheated? That doesn’t sound harsh enough for what you did. It totally minimizes what you’ve done. It’s like putting what you did on a par with peeking at the answers when we play Trivial Pursuit, which, by the way, I know you do. Ironically, I used to think it was cute. Stupid me for not seeing it for the character flaw it was. Cheated? Christ, the more I say it the more I hate that word. Who, the hell, came up with that term for what you did? Probably another cheater. Someone who was afraid to call a spade a spade. Someone who thought using more truthful words were too harsh, words like liar, traitor, and backstabbing murderer.”

“What? I didn’t murder anyone!”

“Not someone. Something. I’ve sat here and listened to all your bullshit excuses and rationalizations. If I were to believe you, what you did was no worse than sneaking an extra chocolate for yourself. As long as I didn’t know I wouldn’t be hurt or offended or feel I’d missed out. What you’ve done is so much worse than cheating. You murdered us. You killed our future, our plans, our dreams, our life together. You lied to the person you have spent years professing you love. You stabbed me in the back. You betrayed the team that was us. You and me against the world? Remember? You betrayed that, and by that betrayal you murdered us. So, yes, you are a murderer.”

I sat back and watched the fall-out of my words. I meant every one of them tenfold. I could have said more. I could have called her on her lie of omission—if Dick Stroker was to be believed, and he had no reason to lie, she’d been sowing her wild oats a whole lot longer than a few months—but I didn’t bother. It didn’t matter to me. One or hundred-and-one was irrelevant. Betrayal was betrayal. A lie was a lie. She’d killed us the first time she deceived me to be with another man.

Watching Lexie’s face was like watching a B-grade horror flick; one of the ones where someone gets transformed into a zombie or a werewolf or some grotesque monster. Each emotion was momentary but easily recognized. Shock morphed into fear; pain to guilt, shame to remorse and desperation to despair. When she peaked at devastation, it was as if her face collapsed in on itself. She hovered there for a moment before her psyche drew her back from the edge and I watched the reversal of emotions. It was too much for her to accept. I’d known that going in, but I’d always have the memory of her momentary realization of the full repercussions of her actions.

“No,” she whispered, her face settling in sad denial. “No.”

I remained silent, enjoying seeing her stew. My anger ran deep because the pain she’d caused me was equally deep. You don’t get a deep rage without a deep hurt first. Sadly, for Lexie, my anger had totally eclipsed the love I once had for her.

“No,” she whispered again. “You have to forgive me. You have to give me another chance.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Please, Jamie. Please don’t give up on me, on us. Please. I won’t ever do it again.”

I didn’t bother with the usual logic about never being able to trust her again, about it being her who’d given up on us, not me, or quote how once a cheater always a cheater. They would have been wasted words, and now that I’d had my beautiful moment of watching her soul collapse I wanted to leave. Sure, her conscious mind rectified itself in a matter of moments, and sure, she may never fully comprehend the level of betrayal she’d perpetrated on me, but the seed had been sewn. I’d watched it take root. Now all I could do was hope her subconscious mind would haunt her with the truth for the rest of her life.

“I don’t know, Lexie. You hurt me bad. Let me think about it. Call me in a week or two. If nothing else, maybe, in time, we could be friends.”

SHE GAVE ME four days. I gritted my teeth and agreed to another coffee date. Why, I’m not entirely sure. I think part of it was my pride, or maybe, my ego, which had taken a huge hit with her infidelity. Seeing her miserable and groveling was a salve.

This time she beat me there and had even bought me a coffee. As expected she came dressed to impress. Her only problem was, I wasn’t impressed.

I plastered a half smile on my face and silently urged her on as she waffled on nervously about her week while flashing her rack at every opportunity. The times she enquired after me, I gave brief replies.

I kept one hand on my cup, the other in my lap. The one time I placed my free hand on the table she reached for it. Keeping my features neutral, I suffered her touch briefly so as not to cause a scene before withdrawing and replacing it in my lap.

Despite needing the boost to my self-esteem that her chasing after me to reconcile provided, it was harder than I expected to be in her presence. When I looked at her I didn’t see beauty any more, only ugliness. It took real resolve to remain seated. I lasted thirty minutes; my last sip of coffee almost cold enough to be classified as an iced coffee.

Looking at my watch, I stood. “I have to go now. See you later, Lexie.”

“Wait,” she said, also standing. “There’s a Humphrey Bogart retrospective on at the Palace Verona cinema next week. I know you like that sort of thing, so I wondered if you’d like to go?”

“I’ll think about it. Call me in a few days and I’ll let you know.”

She was right; I did like the old black-and-white films as well as some of the classics of cinema. My dad got me into them. He had a huge collection: Bogey, Cary Grant, and Gregory Peck to name but a few. It was embarrassing the number of times we’d sat together and watched movies like The Maltese Falcon or North by Northwest.

“Okay. Love you,” she called to my departing back.

I didn’t turn or respond.

I SURPRISED MYSELF when I said yes when she called a few days later. All I could do was liken myself to a moth and Lexie’s pursuit of me to a flame. I loathed her but needed her desire to get back together to heal my wounds. At least in a movie theater I wouldn’t have to look at her or listen to her thinly disguised sales pitch.

Her choice of night—Wednesday—coupled with her vagueness as to which Humphrey Bogart film we’d be seeing got me curious, so I checked out the Verona’s website. I had to chuckle—she had us going to see Sabrina.

They were showing a different Bogey film each night. We could have seen Casablanca, The Maltese Falcon, The Treasure of the Sierra Madre, The Caine Mutiny, High Sierra, or The Big Sleep had we gone on any other night of the retrospective. All of which were guy films, or at least not a romantic comedy.

I rolled my eyes as I logged off my laptop. What did she think? That I’d see Bogey fall in love with Audrey Hepburn’s character and go to mush and fall on bended knee and ask her to marry me again?

She tried to convince me to pick her up, but I fobbed her off, saying I’d meet her out front of the cinema at six-forty-five. She wasn’t happy.

Knowing what a crap-shoot it was to find a park on, or even in the vicinity, of Oxford Street, I opted to bus it in. It meant leaving straight from campus and getting in a little early, but there was always plenty to see and do on the famous street, so I didn’t mind.

At six-forty-five on the dot, I sauntered down to the cinema. As expected, Lexie was already there. I had to smile—she wasn’t usually so punctual.

“Where’d you park?” she asked me after giving me a hug which I didn’t return. She tried to plant a kiss on my lips as well, but I turned my head, my ear copping the brunt of her greeting.

“I didn’t. I caught a bus straight from uni.”

“Oh,” she said, disappointed. “I was kind of counting on you to give me a ride home after the movie as I caught a train straight from work.”

“Well, you know what they say, Lexie.” She raised a confused eyebrow at me. “Never ASSUME as you only make an ASS out of U and ME.”

She attempted a smile. It wasn’t very successful.

“Shall we go in?”

Lexie nodded, reaching for my hand. I dodged the attempt by shoving them in my jeans pockets.

She was further displeased when I stood aside at the ticket counter so she could pay for her own ticket. I didn’t feel bad or ungentlemanly about it. Technically, she’d asked me out, and if I wanted to get picky, she was employed in a full-time job whereas I was a student working part-time.

Within ten minutes of the movie being under way I knew I’d made a mistake in agreeing to see it with her. The entire film was spent evading her. I was so busy watching her out of the corner of my eye in order to avoid her as she tried to hold my hand, dip her fingers into my popcorn, rest her hand on my knee, and reach over and kiss my cheek that I missed most of the movie.

If Lexie was displeased at the beginning of the night, she was outright impatient by the end and doing little to conceal her frustration. Observing her irritation was like that first slick of aloe on a burn; soothing and healing.

“Okay. Thanks, and see you around.”

“What? Aren’t you even going to walk me to my bus stop?”

“No. My next bus home is due shortly and leaves from a different stop to yours. If I miss it, I’ll have a forty-minute wait for the next one. Besides, you’re a big girl.”

“We could go grab a bite to eat and catch later buses home,” she suggested, looking at me hopefully.

“No can do. I have some study to do. Bye.”

I smiled, not at her but at the look of disappointment on her face. Another slick of balm over my wounds. I turned and walked away.

I’D NO SOONER shoved my laptop in my backpack when the opening lyrics of Bon Jovi’s You Give Love A Bad Name sounded from my jeans pocket. I groaned. The song was an oldie but a goodie and it seemed almost criminal that it was my new ringtone for Lexie, replacing the sappy love song she’d picked for herself way back in the early days of our dating.

An angel’s smile is what you sell

You promised me heaven, then put me through Hell

The words rang out as I pondered whether to answer or let it go to my message bank. Message bank won. I wasn’t in the mood to subject myself to more of her whining pleas to see her. I had things to do; exams to study for, essays to finish, and I wasn’t about to blow four years of hard study by being heartbroken and distracted by a slut who couldn’t keep her legs shut.

That was one of the best character building things about studying to be an engineer—it perfected the ability to compartmentalize and deal with one problem or issue at a time. I’d deal with Lexie’s latest effort at reconciliation later.

MY SHOULDERS AND neck relaxed for the first time in two weeks. Finally, it was over. My last exam was behind me. No more essays to write. No more revising notes in prep for a test. It would be a couple of weeks before I knew my results, but I wasn’t worried—I was confident I’d done well. I knew my stuff and, God knows, I’d certainly put in the work.

I shouldered my backpack and turned in the direction of the pub where I’d agreed to meet up with some of my fellow students to celebrate the end of our studies. The afternoon breeze was welcome on my slightly sweaty face—the hall had been stuffy; two-hundred-and-fifty young, nervous, and probably mostly sleepless bodies, too much for the ancient air-conditioning system.

I heard the sounds of celebration long before I reached the pub; the lyrics of Pink Floyd’s Another Brick In The Wall floating on the wind.

We don’t need no education

We don’t need no thought control

I chuckled—they may sing they don’t need it, but each student singing had paid a pretty penny for it. As my father oft said; no such thing as a free education in Australia.

Regardless, I was joining in before I’d even taken two steps inside.

As I bellied up to the bar to order my first beer, a swish of movement in my peripheral vision caught my eye. I turned my head in case it was someone I knew. I didn’t know her, but she was a looker and so I let my gaze linger.

She turned and smiled. “Better watch it; if you look any longer you may have to buy me a drink.”

“How about I buy you three then, ‘cause I could be a while.”

“Quick,” she said, laughing. “I like a guy who can think on his feet. I’m Stella.”

“Jamie. What are you drinking?”

“Pear cider.”

I placed our orders and we chatted. Stella was vaguely familiar and after comparing notes we concluded we’d shared one or two lectures where our majors had crossed—she was studying to be an architect; me, a civil engineer. She had one year to go, poor thing.

She invited me to join her and her friends and so with drinks in hand we eased our way through the crowd.

Stella looked like what I pictured a Stella to be. I admit, my addiction to watching The Fall with the ever-sexy and enigmatic Gillian Anderson playing DSI Stella Gibson colored my idea of what a Stella should look like. Both were only average height but that was the only thing average about either of them. Stella wasn’t intense like the TV character; no, she laughed freely and often. She was smart, just like her namesake, a fact which just added to her overall attractiveness.

As I was laughing at yet another amusing story about one of Stella’s more quirky lecturers, I felt a hand on my bicep. I turned, expecting to see one of my mates.

Instead, I came face-to-face with Lexie.

Surprised, I moaned in disappointment.

She looked furious, but at my moan I saw what I thought was a flash of hurt fleetingly cross her features. Like the turning of a page, it didn’t last long.

“What the hell are you doing, Jamie? You blow off my suggestion of dinner and clubbing to celebrate your last exam so you can be here flirting with…” Lexie hesitated for a moment, eyeing Stella balefully. “With what’s-her-face?”

“Yes. Easy decision if I do say so myself.”

“How can you be so cruel? If you hadn’t broken it off, we’d be getting married in a week. Instead… instead of trying to work things out you’re chatting up other girls?”

“Hey, at least I waited until I was single, unlike someone else taking part in this conversation.”

Stella and her friends had fallen silent. I could only imagine how uncomfortable they felt at witnessing the scene.

“Go home, Lexie. I don’t want to celebrate today with you. I want to celebrate it with my friends. With people who are upfront and honest with me and not out to stab me in the back.”

I watched the red spread from Lexie’s chest and neck up to her face. It was surprisingly fast, like watching a flash flood rush down a previously dry riverbed.

“How could… I-I-” With a final gasp she spun around and practically ran through the crowd, pushing people aside in her haste to find the exit.

Taking a deep breath, I turned back to Stella and her friends. “Sorry about that, ladies.”

If I thought an apology would suffice I was badly mistaken. Inside of ten minutes they had the entire story. Sympathy flowed, with many a beer being shoved in my hand, and by the end of the night Stella poured me into a taxi, but not before she tucked her phone number into my shirt pocket.

WITH LEXIE’S BETRAYAL having thrown all my plans out the window, I was somewhat directionless in the lead-up to Christmas. What was meant to be a time jam-packed full of last minute preparations, a wedding day, and a two-week honeymoon was now filled with Uber driving.

I couldn’t believe the number of people I ferried around who had come to Sydney just to do their Christmas shopping. Were they nuts? In this day and age why would they choose to get bogged down in traffic and deal with crowds wherever they went? Had they never tried shopping online?

Lexie called. Stella called. I was honest with both. Stella appreciated it. Lexie not so much.

Lexie begged me to visit her on what would have been our wedding day. My mum overheard the conversation.

“Forgiving her, you know, doesn’t have to mean you have to like or condone what she did. It doesn’t even mean you have to be friends moving forward. It means you letting go of the anger and hurt and all the other negative emotions this has festering inside of you. It means freedom to move forward for you.”

“I’ll think about it, Mum, but I think, at this point, my telling Lexie I forgive her would only make her double her efforts to win me back and she’s relentless enough as it is.”

My mother nodded. “Even if you did forgive her, Jamie, you don’t have to tell her. The forgiveness is for your benefit, not hers.”

CHRISTMAS CAME AND went. So did New Years. I had a couple more coffee dates with Lexie, and even bought her a Christmas card. The message in it was generic, but she lit up like a Christmas tree when I gave it to her. Me, I wanted to do a runner when she placed a gift-wrapped box on the table before me. She’d bought me a watch. It was a great timepiece, looked quite expensive, had all the bells and whistles, but I knew I’d never wear it. I could see the disappointment on her face when I thanked her but closed the lid rather than don it. She asked, but I declined her invite to bring the new year in together.

I sent off a few job applications, but being January, they were few and far between. A lot of engineering firms in the city closed until mid-January. In the interim, I drove. At least my bank account was looking healthy.

Throughout February and March Lexie continued to call. She was persistent, I had to give her that. And if I’d had any doubts as to why she was a top salesperson her relentless pursuit answered them. Whenever I felt particularly low, which worked out to be about every third or fourth invite, I’d say yes. Nothing that could be construed as flash or romantic in any way; usually a coffee date, or once, another movie.

Stella also continued to call. Now that was more fun. The girl had one hell of a sense of humor. Our latest date a point in case. Picture it: It’s the seventeenth of March… Saint Patrick’s Day. The Irish population are going berserk and us Aussies, as per usual, are joining in. Everyone’s getting into the spirit of the day; dressing in green and putting on Irish accents. Four leaf clovers and leprechauns abound. The pubs have even dyed the beer green. There was even green mashed potato with my meat pie floater.

What does Stella get me to do?

Dress as Where’s Wally?

Yes, that’s right. In a sea of green, I’m running around dressed like a kid’s cartoon character in blue jeans, a red and white striped jumper, red and white beanie, a walking stick, and round geeky glasses. And I think she paid someone at every pub we stopped at on our pub crawl to notice.

Someone would inevitably shout, “Where’s Wally?”

And some joker would grab me by the arm and yell, “Here’s Wally.”

Still, it did earn us quite a few free beers. And that walking stick sure did come in handy.

WORD FILTERED BACK to me after St Pat’s day that Lexie was badmouthing me, telling anyone who’d listen I was leading her on and cheating on her, trying to make her jealous. Me, leading her on? Me, cheating on her? That got me mad. It was the veritable straw that broke the camel’s back.

Suddenly, thoughts of revenge resurfaced.

“LEXIE, I NEED to speak with you. It’s really important.”

“Sweetie, you know I’m always here for you.”

I cringed at the endearment and the false over-the-top gush, knowing all the disgusting untruths she was spreading about me, but I persevered.

“How about on tomorrow? Sunday? The first? Maybe around eleven?”

“That sounds wonderful. I can’t wait. I’ll have a coffee ready for you along with your favorite muffins.”

“Great. See you then,” I said, hanging up.

PARKED IN FRONT of Lexie’s apartment block, I stopped for a moment to gather myself. One last deep breath and I was on my way, loping across the street with a spring in my step. Life was good.

Lexie threw open the door after my first knock. She was lucky I had good reflexes, or my second rap may have ended up with my knuckles in her face.

“Come in. It’s so good to see you.”

The smell of freshly brewed coffee, and if I wasn’t mistaken, apple and cinnamon muffins, filled my nose. Life was definitely good.

I waited until we were seated at her dining table, coffees and muffins in hand.

“You won’t believe it, Lexie. When it all went down you were the first person I thought of.”

“Oh my God, what?”

“Ages ago, I gave this guy a lift. Stephen Cummings was his name. He was really bummed because his firm had just lost out on a big contract and I sort of gave him a bit of a pep talk and some advice.”

I checked Lexie’s face—yes, I had her interest.

“Well, it turns out he took my advice and his company won back the big contract.”

“That’s wonderful, Jamie.” She sounded nonplussed, probably wondering why it was so momentous.

“It gets even better. The company he works for has offices in Sydney, Melbourne, and get this, New York and London.”

“Have they offered you a job?”

“You bet they have.”

The tone of happiness and pride in my voice was genuine.

“Here in Sydney?”

“Nope.”

I made her ask.

“Where? Melbourne?”

“Wrong again. Try London!”

“Oh my God, wow!”

“Wow, all right. It turns out Stephen’s the head engineer and he wants me to be his right hand for this bridge they’re building just outside of London. The project is going to take a year. They pay for my flights and accommodation over there. They’re even paying for Stephen’s family to join him over there.”

“Oh my God,” she said again.

“It’s just like we dreamed; living and working in England. Europe on our doorstep. Just think; The Eiffel Tower, The Louvre, Amsterdam, Venice, Florence, and Madrid just a hop, skip, and a jump away.”

“Oh, and Paris… the Champs-Élysées,” breathed Lexie, a dreamy look coming over her face.

“And then there’s the Hofbräuhaus in Munich, and the Parthenon in Rome.”

“And all the famous castles and churches.”

I smiled; Lexie was getting right into it. How many conversations had we had over the years about these very places? Too many to count.

“And don’t forget the food.” I laughed. “I think I can already taste a buttery croissant, or maybe one of those fruit flan thingies.”

“Oh god, yes. Paté foie gras.” Lexie was nigh on salivating as she said the words. “And they have all those fancy cooking schools.”

I had to smother a laugh at that one. Lexie was not a keen cook, though she did like to watch cooking shows.

“And, just imagine, a real bullfight.”

“Oh, no. That’s barbaric.” She looked aghast and again I had to bite back a smile.

I shrugged, “How about some of the festivals. There’s that one in Spain where the whole town gets covered in tomatoes or Oktoberfest in Germany.”

“Oh my God, yes.”

“I have to say, there’s a whole heap of British things I’m itching to try too, like their pub food. You know; bangers and mash, or a beef and Guinness pie. And I gotta say, I want to visit the Tower of London.”

“Oh yes, and the Portobello Road Market, and the one at Camden. London is supposed to be so fantastic for shopping.”

I smiled as if in agreement.

“When do we leave? How soon do I need to hand in my notice at work?”

“Excuse me?”

“When do we leave?” Lexie asked again.

“Oh, there’s no ‘we’, Lexie. Just me. I’m the one who gets to live the dream.”

“But I thought… You were so eager to tell me… You—”

The smile that Lexie supposedly loved spread across my face; so wide and bright it could have lit the island of Manhattan.

“April Fools, Lexie!”

EPILOGUE

Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on how you viewed it, my pained wishes for Lexie came true. She did walk in on husbands one and two screwing other women. One she had considered a friend; the other someone the hubby worked with. Luckily, in neither case were there children involved, so no broken families. She was now on to husband #3.

And me? Yes, I did live and work in Europe for a few years. No, I didn’t fall in love and marry Stella, though we remain great friends to this very day. Me, I met and married an English rose, well, she’d kill me for calling her that because she’s actually Scottish.

Guess what our wedding date was? You guessed it—April Fools Day.