Breaking the Mould

Charlie

As soon as my desk clock hits six o’clock I’m shutting the office. I didn’t even bother with offering Rob a drink today – I’m going straight to Anne’s so I can hand her back her knickers and diary. She’s ignored my Facebook message, the bitch. Well, no, I don’t mean that. But it’s fucking out of order the way she’s acted. I haven’t relaxed all day for looking at my phone to see if she’s text or called me. I slam my key card onto the reader and leave the building. No woman has piqued my interest like Anne has. It’s like meeting her that one night and spending that time getting to know her has made her crawl inside my very soul and set up camp. Sure, it’s probably complete lust and something that may just fizzle out after today, but there’s no reason not to pursue if there is potential for success. If I gave up every time there was something in my way, well I wouldn’t be the business man I am now.

I flag the nearest taxi and hop in, directing the old man to Ealing. I’m going to see her and get to the bottom of this and I’m going to stay there all night if I have to. Shit. It’s pissing down outside and I’ve forgotten my umbrella again; it’s still sitting in my desk drawer. I pay the cabbie and stumble down Ranelagh Road, looking for number 37a. I’m getting soaked but I don’t even care at this point. I wander up the road and spot a lime green door with ‘37a’ on the outside. I consult the diary in my pocket and realise I’m in the right place. I take the steps two at a time and come to a stop outside a cream door with ‘Lindsey, A’ written on the post box on the wall. My stomach lurches and I steady my nerves before knocking. I ring the bell and wait. And wait. And wait.

The door swings open and I can see the disappointment register on Anne’s face before she even says anything. I also notice that she closes the door slightly – she must think I’m planning to barge my way into the flat or something.

‘Charlie, what are you doing here? How did you know where I live?’ she asks impatiently. I know I wasn’t expecting a hug but this frosty welcome could rival an ice-cream at the North bloody Pole.

‘Well,’ I reply, ‘you left these behind and I thought you might want them.’ I reach into my pocket and pull out the knickers and diary, showing them to her. I allow the underwear to swing teasingly on my finger. Anne begins to blush and takes them quickly from me, muttering her thanks. I notice she’s wearing a tracksuit and Ugg boots and although she’s not as dressy as when I first saw her, she never looked more beautiful. The natural look really suits her. I go to say so when I see the blushes disappear and the look of mild anger replaces it.

‘Look, I don’t mean to be harsh but I wasn’t expecting you and I’m busy at the moment.’ She sighs at me, again impatient at my presence on her doorstep. This prickles and I know I should hold my temper as I don’t want to look like a fool. Then again, she’s doing a pretty good job of making me look like one already.

‘Busy finding new underwear or a new bloke to ditch in the morning?’ I know I sound bitter saying that, but the truth is, in all my years no woman has affected me like her. I want her more than I want to breathe, and I don’t even know her. Anne recoils slightly at my tone of voice and I suppose I look a little angry. She moves to shut the door and I feel a flutter of panic in my chest.

‘Not my problem if you can’t let go of a one night stand, Charlie. Goodbye.’ The door starts to close and on impulse I shove my foot in the gap.

‘No wait,’ I say desperately, ‘I’m sorry, Anne, I just want to know why you don’t want to see what happens. I don’t know about you but when we were in the bar I felt there was potential. Tell me, and I swear I’ll leave you alone,’

I know I sound ridiculous at this point, and I know I’m making her feel uncomfortable, but I just can’t help myself. I have nothing to lose at this point. She looks like she’s steeling herself for something big, and I can see her eyes drinking me in for a split second. Then she drops the bomb.

‘I just don’t think that you’d be worth more. And I’m not looking for more than just casual sex at the moment. Yes, I had a good time, but I didn’t go to that bar looking for a relationship or a boyfriend or anything more than getting my leg over,’ she takes a deep breath, ‘Men do it enough and women don’t turn up on their doorsteps, Charlie.’

I stare at her, wounded. I was used. Actually and physically used. Most of my friends would probably laugh in my face for being upset about this; who doesn't want to be used in bed by a gorgeous woman?

‘What is wrong with you? What kind of woman bar hops to get laid? Are you some sort of unpaid whore?’ I don’t mean that last bit to come out and I guess she was right to slam the door in my face.

‘Try going to Ealing fucking High Road and look for a good therapist!’ I yell, ‘There’s one close by – her name is Lily Furot, she’s a psychotherapist! Give her a call!’

I hear all the locks go on the door and stomp my way down the stairs. I am fucking fuming on so many levels. I bang the door shut and head over to the High Street, shoving my hands in my pockets as I walk.

                                                            ~

It’s Wednesday; the longest day of the week in my office – meetings day. I have four different meetings with four different departments. Today I’m rearranging things and probably going to piss off the entire office as they have regimented Wednesdays which revolve around me. I call Sally and leave her a message at her desk to move my meetings back by an hour each and start getting ready for work. This morning I’m heading back to Ealing and going to offer Anne a coffee and a lift to work. I was completely out of order last night calling her a whore and offering her telephone numbers of psychiatrists and the guilt is actually starting to leech in. Anne is a woman who knows what she wants and I respect that, but I’m also a man who knows what he wants and she’s got under my skin.

There was one girl, when I was twenty two and still at university, who completely took me and everything I stood for and shook it up. Being that age as a man everything is about sex and where you get your next pint and fuck from, but this girl – Jamie Taylor – had me from hello. She was confident, tall and younger by two years. Unlike most university girls, Jamie didn’t indulge in falling out of clubs half dressed, drunk and covered in two-inch thick makeup. Jamie was cool, calm and always in control of everything she did. We had three of the most amazing years of my life together until she headed to Australia to live with family. She opened life up to me and not just sexually; Jamie was intelligent and pretty as well as versed in the Karma Sutra and its offerings. Anne is the same, and I lost that once a long time ago, I don’t want to be an idiot and let another gem go. I haven’t thought about Jamie in a long time, and Anne has stirred those same feelings.

One last try, I tell myself, grabbing a towel and stepping out of the shower. Just one more and I’ll let it go. I aim to get to Anne's flat for around eight o’clock and today I decide to drive instead of getting a cab. I may be a wealthy guy but even I refuse to shell out the kind of green they ask for black cabs. I take a slow drive over to Ealing and see that the main door to the flats is already open. I was never like this a few years ago, so obsessive and taken by a woman. I’m a man of tradition and I firmly believe men have the upper hand in most relationships. Women are like cats – the less attention you give them the more they crave it. I’ve never felt the need to chase after a woman like I do about Anne; I’ve never had to as the girls always chased me.