Second Chances

Chapter 1

I was in Manhattan. Yes in Manhattan and I know I am very lucky to be staying in a nice flat between high buildings or skyscrapers as we now call it. When I say high I mean I am surrounded with buildings having at least 20 floors and I should really have to crack my neck so as to catch a glimpse of the sky which I think is losing its original blue to turn into a polluting grey. I was driving my Porsche along the busy streets on the 31st Avenue and going home after a very laborious and strenuous day running in courts and helping the Prosecutor's office by putting as many criminals as we can behind the bars. Of course I winked at the guys when I passed them in my two seats coupé black Carrera 911. It has an effect on man when they see a woman in a sports car, and I am still wondering why. I am proud of my car. I bought it from my brother. According to his wife Kate, a Land Rover was better adapted to a family with three underage children. His wife was happy to have the Land Rover. I was happy to get my hands on the wheel of this one here. Lucas, my brother was still sulking that his wife convinced him into letting go of his first love which, he took care of and nurtured like his very own baby since he acquired it when he got a job as a certified chartered accountant in a prestigious firm employed as consultants for bigger and richer companies. That sounds really boring, but I must admit Lucas is very good with figures.

I listened to where the streets have no name from U2, and I allowed myself to relax. My job was not an easy one and I chose to do it though. I could have very well accepted something less stressing, and I would have been able to go on this vacation I had been dreaming of since I was in college. But some stuff got in the way, and I forgot it all or pushed it somewhere far away in my mind. I turned in the parking lot and switched off the engine. I took several deep breaths like my shrink told me to do and picked up my briefcase. My home was a little thing compared to what I had back in England. My parents had a nice cottage in Hampshire with a yard and lots of green. I loved it...for a while...it did not last long. For sure when you grow up flipping through pages of Vogue and Elle every day well green pastures and old ladies having lunch on the patio is the least thing on your mind.

As I took the stairs I could hear Oasis singing live forever on the hi-fi. I told my room mate who was also my best pal whom I know for a couple of years now to always think of the neighbours living next to us. And he will always say to me it's not a nuisance if we play loud music only once a week and that no one is over fifty years old or is abnormally sensitive and bla...bla...bla. Contrary to what you would think he is no lawyer. In fact he hates lawyers and politicians because most politicians had been lawyers before. Peter was a cute guy who worked for a newspaper and was also gay which he proudly says to every girl who hit on him thrice a week. What a shame they would moan. Me! I can only brag am lucky to have him as my best friend and the second brother I never had. I could not date him anyway. He is a great cook, marvellous friend with great sense of humour but too nosy and motherly for me.

I took my keys from my briefcase to groan annoyingly when I noticed the door was opened. Darn him. One day he could get himself killed for stupidity. I smelled roasted meat and butter. What is he trying to do? Get me hospitalised for stroke or cardiac disease. Was it not the same thing?

'What are you cooking?' I shouted as I threw my leather bag on a table nearby and flopped myself on the couch in an unfeminine like manner which I'm sure my granny would disapprove.

'Can't you smell it?' Peter shouted back over the loud music. He walked to the hi-fi and lowered the volume.

I watched him under tired eyes and thought again how someone like him is a waste to the female world. I sighed and removed my red high-heeled strap leather sandals. 'You got roasted lamb and buttered potatoes in the oven correct? I think you want to make me fat because you're jealous of my body.'