“He’s not right for you.”
“I’m sorry?” She looks him straight in the eye.
“The man you’re thinking about. He’s not…good enough for you. Not even close.”
The man in the hat sits down slowly, as though waiting for her to object. Two glasses earlier she would have. He takes his hat off, a chivalrous gesture. She knows she shouldn’t respond to things like that, but she can’t help liking it a little.
“And who might you be?”
He sighs… seemingly pondering his response. “I am Hyde.”
“Well, Hyde, what makes you think you know my situation well enough to speculate?”
“If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me.”
“That sounds like a line from a movie.”
“It probably is; would you like a drink?”
“A martini please. Vodka, with an olive.” She takes a note out of her purse and holds it out between two red nails. She is relieved when he takes it. It’s one thing to talk to a strange man in a bar, quite another to let one pay for your drink. She doesn’t like martinis that much but ordering one makes her feel like a Bond girl. She watches as he walks to the bar. Not her usual type at all; not that her usual type is any good. This one is softer somehow, almost too beautiful for a man. He walks back with her martini and a tumbler half full of something amber, scotch probably.
“So?”
“So?” He fixes his stare on the wall behind her face. “I’m your guardian angel.”
“My…?” Her eyebrows raised.
“You heard me.”
“Right.” She smiles.
“You don’t believe me.”
“Of course not.”
“Well, I’m not trying to convince you.”
“That’s probably for the best.” There is a long pause, during which she looks all around the room. His gaze rests gently on her face.
“So why isn’t he good enough for me?”
“Because he’s selfish, and arrogant.”
“Mmm…”
“Not enough?”
“No offence but you kind of all are. Men I mean…Not guardian angels.”
“OK…Because he’s shagging someone else.”
She takes a big sip and closes her eyes for a long time.
“Who?” She asks without opening them.
“Does it matter?”
“Of course.”
“It’s not who you think it is.” His voice is soft.
“If you’re really an angel…”
“Yes?”
“Never mind.”
“What do you want to know? Why am I here? Is God a woman?”
“Where are your wings?”
“They were confiscated when I told them I was coming to talk to you.”
“Really?”
He laughs. She notices his dimples.
“What is with the flying obsession? Why do you all picture us bobbing around cumulonimbus clouds, playing harps? Do you know how heavy harps are?”
“So no flying?”
“If I could fly, I’d be swooping around like superman, not floating like a rubber duckie waiting for my turn to play Greensleeves. I’d probably have been so distracted chasing rockets that I would have let you screw that creepy wigged-out sleazebag Rayle.”
“Dodged a bullet there.” She looks closely at this man who knows so much about her.
“Small and fast, sounds accurate. Does he think you’re coming home tonight?”
She searches his open face for that indefinable thing you think you can see in serial killer’s mug shots after you know they are serial killers. She can’t find any shadows, only big clear eyes.
“No.”
“So, maybe you should? Just to be sure…And speaking of flying, maybe it’s time you went away somewhere warm and sunny.”
“Maybe.”
He drains the rest of his tumbler, picks up his hat and holds it to his chest. “You never know who you’ll meet on holidays.”
One beautiful smile and he’s gone.
She gets a taxi home. Lets herself in as quietly as her shaking fingers will permit. His grey striped tie is draped across three of the carpeted stairs in a dishevelled knot. She exhales her held breath in a gush and feels winded. She winds her way up the staircase. Hears the evidence; frantic, rhythmic slams coming from her bedroom. Their bedroom. At the very top she discovers another tie, black and unfamiliar in a crumple in the bedroom doorway. She hears a guttural grunt. Inhaling sharply, she snaps her head up and pushes through the door.
It’s not who she thinks it is. It’s his secretary. It would be such a cliché if his secretary wasn’t a young, sexy brunette called Damien. She goes to Jamaica a week later and meets a man on the plane who takes his hat off when he first meets her and drinks his scotch neat. He has dimples when he smiles. He’s not her usual type.
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