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Click hereLove. They say itâs the greatest thing of all. All you need is love. Love will conquer everything. Donât hurry love. She loves you yeah yeah yeah. I say thatâs a load of bullshit.
Ten years. Ten years of my life I had given her. All through my 20âs I had been a sucker for her. Then at 30 she had to get some mid-life crisis and fuck some other guy. Of course it had to be the mailman too. The mailman always rings twice, right? Well, when it came to my wife, he seemed to have made an exception. He rang more than twice. In fact he rang every time I left the building. Well, this was the last time. Elvis has left the building. For good.
The last divorce papers were to be signed today. It was about time. I couldnât wait to erase her out of my life. Everything that reminded me of her. Donât ask me why, but thatâs what us guys do. When we get hurt we make a conscious effort to forget. By erasing every trace of the woman who stole our heart, and then broke it, we do whatever it takes to forget her. Forget the pain she has caused. The signature on the divorce papers is the final sign.
It was Friday afternoon. Fall had arrived and the colours on the trees were shifting in red, orange and yellow. The sky was clear, just a few white puffy clouds lingering. It was a beautiful fall day. It would have been even more beautiful if I had still been married.
As I entered the hotel lobby where we were to meet her, we being my lawyer Thomas Slater and I, it didnât take long before I saw her. I recognised her right away even though she was sitting with her back to me. Her platinum blonde hair fell over her softly curved shoulders. She had tucked the hair behind her ears, and I could see she was wearing the gold earrings I gave her. The ones I gave her on our first anniversary. At that moment I just wanted to rip them out and take them back.
âNow, just follow me and try not to do or say anything stupid,â Thomas told me, while walking up to her.
âWhat would I say?â I replied. âThat she has ripped out my heart and made some victory dance on it? That I should have seen it coming, after all, there must have been signs. I was just too bloody blind not to have noticed them.â
âSee, thatâs what I mean by not saying something stupid,â Thomas lectured me. âWeâre not here to tell her what a bitch she is, weâre here to write her out of your life Steve. For good. After today you donât have to ever see her again.â
I loved Thomas. Not only was he one heck of a lawyer, but he was also my best friend. He was on my side, both professionally as well as personally. I had to buy him a pint later on.
We were standing in front of her now. With her she had her lawyer, Derrick James. Tosser, I though. Wanker. Arsehole. How could he be on her side when he knew perfectly well what she had done?
âSteve,â she said and stood up, holding her hand out. I didnât take it.
âJanet.â I stared blankly at her. And I still refused to take her outstretched hand. Somewhere to my right I could hear Thomas giving up a discreet cough.
âShall we begin?â he said, and sat down in one of the hotelâs plush sofa chairs. I was still standing up. He tugged at my shirt and I finally sat down.
âOk, weâve already gone through this before Mr James,â Thomas said. âYour client just has to sign the final papers, and everything will be over and done with.â He reached for a pen inside his breast pocked and handed it over to Janet.
âThanks, Thomas,â she said with a faint smile. He didnât smile back. As I said before, he was on my side.
Janet looked at her lawyer with a questioning look. He gave a small nod, and she put the Mont Blanc pen to the paper. I could hear the sound of the paper moving underneath her writing. As I saw the ink flow out of the cartridge I watched her sign the dotted line. I never did understand why they refer to it as âthe dotted lineâ, when it actually is a straight line. Not dotted at all.
As Janet signed her name, a flush of familiarity washed over me. I had seen her write her name thousands of times before. But the time I remembered the clearest was when she had signed the wedding wows. That had been six years ago.
We were fresh out of university. Had been together since the first year. Some found it strange we wanted to âthrow away our Uni days on one partnerâ, while others envied us for having found that special someone so soon. We lasted throughout Uni. We got married right after. Now we were getting divorced six years since giving the âtill death do us partâ vows. Marriage. Kiss. My. Ass.
âSteve, I never wanted it to end this way,â she suddenly said in a low voice.
I looked at her. Saw her slightly bowed head, but when she looked up at me, done with signing that dotted line, there was something in her eyes. Those big bright blue eyes. The same eyes I had drowned in during our first date. Eyes from where a tear of happiness had rolled down her cheek during the wedding ceremony. Now they expressed only one thing; pity. And then something snapped inside me.
âIf you had not wanted it to end this way, then perhaps you shouldnât have started screwing the mailman,â I said heatedly.
âSteve!â she looked at me with an almost shocked expression. As if hearing what she had done out loud made it sound worse than it really was. Perhaps it did. If that were the case, I would keep repeating it for as long as I should live.
âThatâs the truth, though!â I said. âSo, when did you decide I was too boring? When did you decide to shag the first person you could think of? I mean, for Godâs sake! The mailman?? Thatâs so fucking clichĂ©!â
I was really getting into this. I wanted to tell her exactly how I felt. I wanted to explain to her how much she had hurt me. How much I hated her. How much I still loved her.
Janet just looked at me with blank eyes. Whatever amount of pity she had for me seemed to disappear within seconds. She grabbed her small purse, another gift from me, and stood up.
âHere,â she said, and tossed me the pen. âSign it and letâs get this over with.â
I caught the pen in the air and put it to the paper. Stephen Henderson. There it was. I had signed away the past ten years of my life. The woman I had loved, and still loved, was gone. I should be happy, but signing that dotted line made it worse. Far worse. Because suddenly it meant I was alone. Nobody to talk to after a hard dayâs work. Nobody there to snuggle up with. No naked body lying beside me at night. No more making love to the woman of my dreams. I was alone.
âThank you Mr Henderson,â Derrick James said in a formal tone. âWeâll mail you the copies later on. Good byeâ. And then they left the hotel. She didnât even look back at me. Not even a single glance. I was alone. It was finally over. And with silent deprivation I realised I was in the rat race again. I was single once more.
#
Being single really isnât what itâs cracked up to be. According to all the magazines, youâre supposed to be happy about your new-won freedom. No more nagging to do the dishes, nobody telling you to change channel because sheâs tired of watching football, and nobody asking you if she âlooks fat in thisâ.
Single life was supposed to be a blast. Doing what you wanted, with whom you wanted. Drunken nights out with the lads, picking up girls you couldnât even look at before. Even the rebound shags were legitimate.
Well, apparently I wasnât cut out for single life.
âYou need to get out more,â Thomas kept telling me. âCome on! Letâs go to some club. Weâll dance, grope some 20-year-oldâs ass, and then get slapped in the face. What do you say?â
I didnât say very much. In fact, I hadnât said much the past month.
âFor Christâs sake!â Thomas said, finally losing his patience with me. âYouâve been like a bloody zombie ever since the divorce! I thought thatâs what you wanted? A quick pain-free divorce.â
âItâs never pain-free,â I said. âA divorce can never be pain-free.â
Thomas sighed and opened another can of beer. He handed me one.
âLook, Steve,â he said. âI know itâs not easy. After all, you were together for ten years.â
âShe was my first serious relationship. My first love.â
He put the can to his lips and took a sip. âYes, your first love. But not the last.â
âHow would you know?â
âBecause thatâs how things work. You fall in love. You get your heart broken. You fall in love again.â
âBut why?â I asked him. âWhy does it have to be like that?â
âBecause lifeâs not a fairytale, Steve. Itâs about loss.â He looked at me with sad eyes. There was no pity in them, only genuine sadness for my sake and concern.
âYou have to get on with your life,â Thomas told me. âYou have to live it the way you lived before you met Janet.â
I held the beer can in my hand and jiggled it about.
âHow can I live my life the way it was before I met her?â I asked him. âHow can I do that, when I canât even remember what it was like not having her in my life?â
#
âDonât worry about it, dearâ, my mom said. âYouâll meet someone new.â
Taking the red and white chequered cloth I began to dry the dishes.
âMum, I donât want to meet someone new.â
âOf course you do, dearâ, mum said reassuringly. âYouâll meet someone. And sheâll be nice.â
âCan you hand me those glasses, please?â
There was a clinking sound of glass hitting glass.
âThanks.â
âYou just need to meet the right person,â she continued. I wasnât sure if she was saying all these things only to make me feel better, or if she really believed I still had a chance at love.
âMum, I appreciate this, but there is no other âright personââ, I said.
âOf course there is!â Mum stopped scrubbing the dirty plate, foam soaking her hands and wrists. âStephen Henderson!â
I was taken aback by the edge in her voice.
âSometimes things donât always work out the way we want them to, but you canât just give up,â mum lectured. âYou have to get a grip and lead your life the way it should be lead. With a future. Your future.â
Then her face softened. âI know you loved Janet, dear, but trust me on this one; there will be others. They may not be perfect, but neither was Janet. You just have to find the one person you click with.â
There was no point in arguing with her. My mum. She had loved Janet almost more than me. How many times had they not sat on the front porch, a glass of lemonade in their hand, and giggled like sisters. It was as if their bond had been that of blood instead of marriage. I knew mum missed Janet too, but she was my mum. When hearing about the reason for our divorce she had stood by my side - her only son. The only family she had left since my dad had died last year in cancer.
âI love you mum,â I said and tenderly kissed her forehead.
My 60-year-old mother looked up at me, eyes reflecting my own feelings about the break-up. âItâs a shame,â they said. âSuch a shame.â And I couldnât agree with her more.
#
Dating.
It had gone two months since the divorce and we were heading for winter. The temperature had fallen, and in the mornings there were at times even a thin layer of frost clinging to the grass straws.
For some reason Thomas had decided it was time for me to start dating again. I had overcome my maniacally depressing state after the divorce, and for Thomas that had to be celebrated by a ladâs night out. To him this meant booze and women. Not necessarily together, but it helped. And thatâs how we ended up at a strip joint down in Soho.
âYou have to start dating again,â Thomas said in his toxic state while ogling the cute blonde waitress passing us.
âWhy?â I asked, motioning for the waitress to give me another bottle of beer.
âBecause you have to get back into the game,â he answered. âWow, check that bird out!â Thomas was admiring a petite redhead swinging herself around a pole on the stage. Wearing high stiletto heels, white stockings, bra and garter belt, I was amazed she even managed to walk, nevertheless dance.
âI donât get why everyone wants me to date,â I frowned.
Thomas kept his eyes on the redhead while swinging a last sip from his brown beer bottle.
âMan, you canât live without a woman the rest of your life.â
âWho says I canât?â I questioned him.
The blonde waitress arrived with my beer and put it on the table. Her pushed-up tits almost spilling over the generously cut uniform top she was wearing.
âThanks,â Thomas said and gave her a wink. âHey, whatâs your name cutie?â
âBrenda.â
âThatâs a pretty name,â Thomas said. âNow, Brenda...â
âYes?â
âDo you believe a man can live without a woman the rest of his life?â Thomas slurred slightly. Apparently the alcohol was finally getting to him.
Brenda placed one hand on her hip, putting her weight on her left leg, and gave a soft giggle.
âNo man can be without a woman the rest of his life!â
âSee!â Thomas said triumphantly. âNow Brenda, donât you find Stephen attractive?â
Another giggle and she looked at me with her deep green eyes. âYes, heâs attractive...â
âDonât you think Steve should be dating?â Thomas continued.
âOh, definitely!â Brenda said, a hint of a smile gracing her lips. âYouâre not dating?â she said and turned to me.
âNo, Iâm recently divorced.â
Her thin lips parted, forming a small âoâ, and with genuine concern in her voice, she said:
âIâm so sorry about that. Breaking up is never easy and a divorce must be so awful.â
âWell, you live, you learn.â I shrugged my shoulders.
âBrenda,â Thomas interjected. âHow would you like to go on a date with Stephen?â
âOn a date?â She looked between the both of us, not knowing what to answer. âIâm... Iâm not sure about that.â
âWhy not?â Thomas persisted. âYou find him attractive, and Iâm sure he thinks the same about you, donât you Steve?â
âUh, yeah, sure...I mean...â Bloody idiot, he was setting us both up and we walked straight into it.
âThen itâs settled!â Thomas clapped his hands loudly and grinned widely. âThis is his business card, give him a call when youâre available.â Thomas handed Brenda a white embossed card. She took it, looked at it and tucked it inside her bra.
âTake care guys, and have a great time here!â she said before sauntering off to the next table.
Thomas chuckled and opened his sixth bottle of beer for the night.
âSo, seems like you got yourself a date, eh?â he said.
âIâll get you for this later, you know that, donât you?â I said and downed my beer.
âYeah, yeah, yeah,â Thomas said, waving away my comment. His attention went back to the stage and a leggy African woman in a PVC catsuit.
#
The date.
Brenda actually called me. I wasnât sure if she would or not. Not that I would have minded not having to meet up with her, but somehow it felt surprisingly nice to hear from her. We decided to meet up a week later at a small Italian restaurant down on Clerkenwell Street. It wasnât the biggest place around, but it was small and intimate. The woman was native Italian and had a heavy accent.
âWhat do you want?â she asked while stealing quick glances at a small TV in the left side corner. Some football match was on. We could hear the low volume of the commentatorâs voice.
âWeâd like to have the lasagne and the house wine,â I ordered.
âGood choice!â The Italian woman smiled at us. âDessertâs included, tip isnât. Iâll be right back with the wine.â And then she disappeared into the kitchen.
âThis is a cosy place,â Brenda said. She was right; the restaurant was small and intimate. We were sitting by the window and perfect view of the road outside. We could watch people passing by, and they could look at us.
If anyone would look into that window he would see a man dressed in a newly ironed grey suit. A suit he hadnât worn since the day his divorce papers were signed. Somehow it had seemed appropriate to wear it for this date. The first one I had been on since I was 20.
âBrenda,â I said hesitantly. âWith the risk of sounding like a total twat, what is the single world like nowadays?â
She looked at me, her catlike eyes reflecting the candle on the table. She smiled.
âEver seen the show âSex and the Cityâ?â
Couldnât say I had, but I had caught the odd views while zapping through channels.
âWell, not really,â I said. âBut, isnât that show a bit overdone? I mean, are women really like that today?â
Brenda burst our laughing. âNot all women, silly! But yes, there is some resemblance.â She took a sip of the wine and leaned closer to me, as if telling me a secret.
âWeâre told by the media to be Miranda - intelligent, assertive, independent and goal oriented, yet sexy. We want to be Samantha, because sheâs sex on legs, has a glamorous career, confident and has no inhibitions whatsoever when it comes to sex. She wants it - she takes it. Then she leaves. She plays the field like a man, and sheâs proud of it.â
I listen intently, finding Brendaâs take on a few TV characters strangely fascinating.
âNow, men believes women are like Charlotte, all sweet, innocent and romantic. Many men will be attracted to Charlotte, but as soon as youâre in the bedchamber, itâs Samantha they want. The classic Madonna and Whore scenario!â
The food arrived. I looked down at my lasagne, breathing in the aroma of oregano.
âMmm, the food looks delicious,â I said, sticking my fork into the hot layers of pasta and meat sauce. âOk, so weâve established who the media wants you to be, who you want to be, and how men believe women are. Now to the real question; who are you?â
Brenda smiled once more. âWeâre Carrie. Weâre independent, smart and believe in ourselves. Our world doesnât stop because there may not be a man in our life, but at the same time we long for someone to share lifeâs up and downâs with.â
I nodded and took a sip of my wine.
âAnd the sex then?â I asked, trying to hide my curiosity. âWhat about the sex?â
âThe screwing around and dating is just a way to pass time. To weed out the Wrongâs from the Rightâs.â She smiled. âWe may screw around like men, but at the end of the day we all - both men and women - want to go home and snuggle up to that special someone.â
âDoesnât it get boring though?â I asked. âThe screwing around?â
Brenda gave up a small giggle. âHow long were you married?â
âSix years, but we had been together for ten.â
âTen years,â she said. âAnd now youâre, what? Thirty-one?â
âActually Iâm thirty.â
âWas she your first love?â
âYes.â I refilled my glass and took a big gulp. âYes she was. We met at university.â
âDid you have any girlfriends before her?â Brenda asked.
âNot really, well, not any serious ones,â I said.
âDid you have sex before you met your wife?â
âWell, eh, no...â My hand automatically flew to my tie, pulling at the knot. Why did it suddenly feel so tight?
âSo, you lost your virginity to your wife, and havenât been with anyone else, is that correct?â
âErrr, yes...â I was really starting to feel uncomfortable now. How in the world did the conversation end up here?
âThen how do you know the dating scene isnât your thing?â Brenda asked.
âHey, I never said it wasnât my thing,â I protested. âI just wondered if it doesnât get boring â the weeding out.â
Brenda took held out her glass towards me. I poured more wine. Her eyes were twinkling at me from underneath her long fringe.
âDepends on who youâre spending the night withâŠâ
#
Being the true gentleman, I followed Brenda home. She lived in Camden town, on top of a noisy pub.
âLet me check if my flatmate is around,â she said.
âYou have a flatmate?â
âOf course I have!â she said, giving up a bubbly laugh. âActually I have two, we all work at the club. How do you think Iâd be able to afford the rent in London if I didnât have flatmates?â
She did have a point. I was so used to my little house in Twickenham. During my studies I had lived in the halls, but thanks to Janetâs dad we got a good deal on a house early on. When the divorce proceedings were drawn up I at first thought Janet would fight for the house, but surprisingly she didnât. Apparently she didnât want anything that reminded me of her, and the house where we had spent our married life was now mine.