The Good, The Bad and The Loaded

Chapter Four

Carl had wooed her, the way she always imagined a New Yorker would. Expensive restaurants with extravagent menus, and swish, shiny, decadent bars. She rented designer dresses for each of their dates, and Jimmy Choos from her fashion conscious Stateside best friend, Kelly Fontaine. He was working on Wall Street, a trader freshly graduated from college. She pondered keeping a blog to look back on once they were married and living in the suburbs.

His hours were frenetic, and unpredictable, as increasingly were his dates with Audrey.

A month passed, two months, and she had yet to see the inside of his apartment. Yet to meet anyone beyond his work colleagues, who due to the nature of the job, were inconsistent and she never saw the same person twice, she felt increasingly detached from him. She made excuses for him, when Kelly had enquired as to why he had never met her, or June and Mario. He was a busy man, with a lifestyle that wasn't condusive right now to anything other than dating and she would take whatever he could give. He provided her with his ravishing appeal, his smooth lines, and she complied with her absolute steadfast devotion. Looking back, what she saw was a desperate woman, clinging onto something that had never really existed.

She was falling in love, riding high on those looks he gave her. The way his hands felt gliding across her skin. Her nights with him didn't set her world on fire like she had imagined, but one look at his lithe, gilded torso, was enough to remind her how lucky she was that he even gave her the time of day.

He'd always meet her at a bar, and walking towards him she always felt the same buzz, the butterflies, skipping across her stomach in anticipation. Instead of a greeting, he was a kisser. He always met her with a heart stopping kiss, that made her weak at the knees and everywhere else. His tongue was like a professional dancer, twirling around her mouth with experience and liquid lust. She knew half of the other bar visitors wondered what the hell he was doing with her. She tried not to question it too much.

From their very first date, he had called her 'Queenie' and totally melted her heart. He'd explained that her accent drove me wild, and as she was English, and his 'girl', and being that England had a Queen, it was the perfect nickname for her. He knew exactly what to say, and when to say it, which was probably what gained him such a high profile position in such a short amount of time.

He'd taken her to 'Delara' his favourite Persian restaurant, one Friday night, and as they enjoyed their rainbow trout starter, he flirted with her, ran his finger over her lips, and lustfully stated that he was the luckiest man in the room to get to see her naked tonight.

As they awaited their second course, she had disappeared into the restroom to freshen up her makeup in anticipation for tonight. Carl was a well experienced lover, and the confidence he had in himself made him all the more appealing. Leaving the rest room, she spotted two men talking with Carl near the front entrance. Their backs were turned from her, so they didn't hear her approaching. It was a busy evening service and the sound of classical Persian music was a perfect accompaniment.

'She's fuckin' hot' she heard Carl's friend say. Blushing, she slowed down, wary about approaching them too quickly, incase they knew she had been listening. His friends language was crude, but she would take the compliment.

'Booty call of the century'. Carl replied, high fiving his friend. 'The beauty is, she never wants anything more. She just takes what she can get. She's grateful, you know?'

The three friends laughed.

She stood rooted to the spot. Her vision began to grow blurry at the periphery.

'So how does Miss Spain feel about Miss England then? Or Miss Argentina? Dude you'll have bedded your way across the world without ever leaving this fucking amazing city!'

More laughter.

'Don't hate me coz you aint me, brothers. Once I'm done, she might need a shoulder to cry on'.

At that moment he turned to look towards the rest room, and looked momentarily shocked that Audrey stood just metres from him, her cheeks blazing, hot tears pricking her eyes. Struggling to remain in control of her emotions, the lump in her throat tugged, bringing her closer to meltdown.

'Ooops' said one of his friends. 'We'll be outside when you've dealt with her.'

Biting her lower lip, she daren't look into Carls eyes. She was mortified. The bag holding her new outfit from Victorias Secret, fell to the floor. She didn't bother bending down to retrieve it. She felt ridiculous for the first time. All dressed up in a rented dress, Kelly's louboutin heels, and standing in front of a man that had given her every sign that he wasn't interested in anything more than casual sex.

She was nothing more than a booty call. Sex when he demanded it.

If he called, she always came running.

'You said you loved me' she muttered.

'What?' he asked, narrowing his eyes and leaning forward as if he hadn't heard her right.

'A few days after we met, before we slept together, you said you thought you were falling for me.'

A chuckle escaped his lips. She felt her bottom lip wobbling uncontrollably.

It was all his plan. Reeling out those lines to get in your pants.

He didn't try to comfort her. He didn't offer any words of consolation.

She stormed out of the restaurant into a torrential downpour, and in her haste trapped a heel in a drain. She felt the heel snag, and stopping herself from falling, she walked ten blocks in broken heels. Heels she didn't even own. She didn't need to glance behind her, she knew that Carl wouldn't follow.

He wouldn't call. He wouldn't cry any tears over her.

She was another notch on his belt, another story to tell the boys. Another meaningless, forgettable soirée in this great city.

(This chapter is dedicated to my lovely friend, Mrs Amy Day).