A Second Chance at Love

Love. They say it’s the greatest thing of all. All you need is love. Love will conquer everything. Don’t hurry love. She loves you yeah yeah yeah. I say that’s a load of bullshit.

Ten years. Ten years of my life I had given her. All through my 20’s 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 couldn’t wait to erase her out of my life. Everything that reminded me of her. Don’t ask me why, but that’s 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 didn’t 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.

“Now, just follow me and try not to do or say anything stupid,” Thomas told me, while walking up to her.

“What would I say?” I replied. “That 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.”

“See, that’s what I mean by not saying something stupid,” Thomas lectured me. “We’re not here to tell her what a bitch she is, we’re here to write her out of your life Steve. For good. After today you don’t have to ever see her again.”

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?

“Steve,” she said and stood up, holding her hand out. I didn’t take it.

“Janet.” 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.

“Shall we begin?” he said, and sat down in one of the hotel’s plush sofa chairs. I was still standing up. He tugged at my shirt and I finally sat down.

“Ok, we’ve already gone through this before Mr James,” Thomas said. “Your client just has to sign the final papers, and everything will be over and done with.” He reached for a pen inside his breast pocked and handed it over to Janet.

“Thanks, Thomas,” she said with a faint smile. He didn’t 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 “the dotted line”, 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 “throw away our Uni days on one partner”, 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 “till death do us part” vows. Marriage. Kiss. My. Ass.

“Steve, I never wanted it to end this way,” 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.

“If you had not wanted it to end this way, then perhaps you shouldn’t have started screwing the mailman,” I said heatedly.

“Steve!” 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.

“That’s the truth, though!” I said. “So, when did you decide I was too boring? When did you decide to shag the first person you could think of? I mean, for God’s sake! The mailman?? That’s so fucking cliché!”

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.

“Here,” she said, and tossed me the pen. “Sign it and let’s get this over with.”

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 day’s 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.

“Thank you Mr Henderson,” Derrick James said in a formal tone. “We’ll mail you the copies later on. Good bye”. And then they left the hotel. She didn’t 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 isn’t what it’s cracked up to be. According to all the magazines, you’re supposed to be happy about your new-won freedom. No more nagging to do the dishes, nobody telling you to change channel because she’s tired of watching football, and nobody asking you if she “looks fat in this”.

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 couldn’t even look at before. Even the rebound shags were legitimate.

Well, apparently I wasn’t cut out for single life.

“You need to get out more,” Thomas kept telling me. “Come on! Let’s go to some club. We’ll dance, grope some 20-year-old’s ass, and then get slapped in the face. What do you say?”

I didn’t say very much. In fact, I hadn’t said much the past month.

“For Christ’s sake!” Thomas said, finally losing his patience with me. “You’ve been like a bloody zombie ever since the divorce! I thought that’s what you wanted? A quick pain-free divorce.”

“It’s never pain-free,” I said. “A divorce can never be pain-free.”

Thomas sighed and opened another can of beer. He handed me one.

“Look, Steve,” he said. “I know it’s not easy. After all, you were together for ten years.”

“She was my first serious relationship. My first love.”

He put the can to his lips and took a sip. “Yes, your first love. But not the last.”

“How would you know?”

“Because that’s how things work. You fall in love. You get your heart broken. You fall in love again.”

“But why?” I asked him. “Why does it have to be like that?”

“Because life’s not a fairytale, Steve. It’s about loss.” He looked at me with sad eyes. There was no pity in them, only genuine sadness for my sake and concern.

“You have to get on with your life,” Thomas told me. “You have to live it the way you lived before you met Janet.”

I held the beer can in my hand and jiggled it about.

“How can I live my life the way it was before I met her?” I asked him. “How can I do that, when I can’t even remember what it was like not having her in my life?”

#

“Don’t worry about it, dear”, my mom said. “You’ll meet someone new.”

Taking the red and white chequered cloth I began to dry the dishes.

“Mum, I don’t want to meet someone new.”

“Of course you do, dear”, mum said reassuringly. “You’ll meet someone. And she’ll be nice.”

“Can you hand me those glasses, please?”

There was a clinking sound of glass hitting glass.

“Thanks.”

“You just need to meet the right person,” she continued. I wasn’t 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.

“Mum, I appreciate this, but there is no other ‘right person’”, I said.

“Of course there is!” Mum stopped scrubbing the dirty plate, foam soaking her hands and wrists. “Stephen Henderson!”

I was taken aback by the edge in her voice.

“Sometimes things don’t always work out the way we want them to, but you can’t just give up,” mum lectured. “You have to get a grip and lead your life the way it should be lead. With a future. Your future.”

Then her face softened. “I 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.”

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.

“I love you mum,” 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. “It’s a shame,” they said. “Such a shame.” And I couldn’t 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 lad’s night out. To him this meant booze and women. Not necessarily together, but it helped. And that’s how we ended up at a strip joint down in Soho.

“You have to start dating again,” Thomas said in his toxic state while ogling the cute blonde waitress passing us.

“Why?” I asked, motioning for the waitress to give me another bottle of beer.

“Because you have to get back into the game,” he answered. “Wow, check that bird out!” 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.

“I don’t get why everyone wants me to date,” I frowned.

Thomas kept his eyes on the redhead while swinging a last sip from his brown beer bottle.

“Man, you can’t live without a woman the rest of your life.”

“Who says I can’t?” 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.

“Thanks,” Thomas said and gave her a wink. “Hey, what’s your name cutie?”

“Brenda.”

“That’s a pretty name,” Thomas said. “Now, Brenda...”

“Yes?”

“Do you believe a man can live without a woman the rest of his life?” 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.

“No man can be without a woman the rest of his life!”

“See!” Thomas said triumphantly. “Now Brenda, don’t you find Stephen attractive?”

Another giggle and she looked at me with her deep green eyes. “Yes, he’s attractive...”

“Don’t you think Steve should be dating?” Thomas continued.

“Oh, definitely!” Brenda said, a hint of a smile gracing her lips. “You’re not dating?” she said and turned to me.

“No, I’m recently divorced.”

Her thin lips parted, forming a small “o”, and with genuine concern in her voice, she said:

“I’m so sorry about that. Breaking up is never easy and a divorce must be so awful.”

“Well, you live, you learn.” I shrugged my shoulders.

“Brenda,” Thomas interjected. “How would you like to go on a date with Stephen?”

“On a date?” She looked between the both of us, not knowing what to answer. “I’m... I’m not sure about that.”

“Why not?” Thomas persisted. “You find him attractive, and I’m sure he thinks the same about you, don’t you Steve?”

“Uh, yeah, sure...I mean...” Bloody idiot, he was setting us both up and we walked straight into it.

“Then it’s settled!” Thomas clapped his hands loudly and grinned widely. “This is his business card, give him a call when you’re available.” Thomas handed Brenda a white embossed card. She took it, looked at it and tucked it inside her bra.

“Take care guys, and have a great time here!” she said before sauntering off to the next table.

Thomas chuckled and opened his sixth bottle of beer for the night.

“So, seems like you got yourself a date, eh?” he said.

“I’ll get you for this later, you know that, don’t you?” I said and downed my beer.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” 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 wasn’t 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 wasn’t the biggest place around, but it was small and intimate. The woman was native Italian and had a heavy accent.

“What do you want?” 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 commentator’s voice.

“We’d like to have the lasagne and the house wine,” I ordered.

“Good choice!” The Italian woman smiled at us. “Dessert’s included, tip isn’t. I’ll be right back with the wine.” And then she disappeared into the kitchen.

“This is a cosy place,” 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 hadn’t 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.

“Brenda,” I said hesitantly. “With the risk of sounding like a total twat, what is the single world like nowadays?”

She looked at me, her catlike eyes reflecting the candle on the table. She smiled.

“Ever seen the show ‘Sex and the City’?”

Couldn’t say I had, but I had caught the odd views while zapping through channels.

“Well, not really,” I said. “But, isn’t that show a bit overdone? I mean, are women really like that today?”

Brenda burst our laughing. “Not all women, silly! But yes, there is some resemblance.” She took a sip of the wine and leaned closer to me, as if telling me a secret.

“We’re told by the media to be Miranda - intelligent, assertive, independent and goal oriented, yet sexy. We want to be Samantha, because she’s 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 she’s proud of it.”

I listen intently, finding Brenda’s take on a few TV characters strangely fascinating.

“Now, men believes women are like Charlotte, all sweet, innocent and romantic. Many men will be attracted to Charlotte, but as soon as you’re in the bedchamber, it’s Samantha they want. The classic Madonna and Whore scenario!”

The food arrived. I looked down at my lasagne, breathing in the aroma of oregano.

“Mmm, the food looks delicious,” I said, sticking my fork into the hot layers of pasta and meat sauce. “Ok, so we’ve 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?”

Brenda smiled once more. “We’re Carrie. We’re independent, smart and believe in ourselves. Our world doesn’t stop because there may not be a man in our life, but at the same time we long for someone to share life’s up and down’s with.”

I nodded and took a sip of my wine.

“And the sex then?” I asked, trying to hide my curiosity. “What about the sex?”

“The screwing around and dating is just a way to pass time. To weed out the Wrong’s from the Right’s.” She smiled. “We 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.”

“Doesn’t it get boring though?” I asked. “The screwing around?”

Brenda gave up a small giggle. “How long were you married?”

“Six years, but we had been together for ten.”

“Ten years,” she said. “And now you’re, what? Thirty-one?”

“Actually I’m thirty.”

“Was she your first love?”

“Yes.” I refilled my glass and took a big gulp. “Yes she was. We met at university.”

“Did you have any girlfriends before her?” Brenda asked.

“Not really, well, not any serious ones,” I said.

“Did you have sex before you met your wife?”

“Well, eh, no...” My hand automatically flew to my tie, pulling at the knot. Why did it suddenly feel so tight?

“So, you lost your virginity to your wife, and haven’t been with anyone else, is that correct?”

“Errr, yes...” I was really starting to feel uncomfortable now. How in the world did the conversation end up here?

“Then how do you know the dating scene isn’t your thing?” Brenda asked.

“Hey, I never said it wasn’t my thing,” I protested. “I just wondered if it doesn’t get boring – the weeding out.”

Brenda took held out her glass towards me. I poured more wine. Her eyes were twinkling at me from underneath her long fringe.

“Depends on who you’re spending the night with…”

#

Being the true gentleman, I followed Brenda home. She lived in Camden town, on top of a noisy pub.

“Let me check if my flatmate is around,” she said.

“You have a flatmate?”

“Of course I have!” she said, giving up a bubbly laugh. “Actually I have two, we all work at the club. How do you think I’d be able to afford the rent in London if I didn’t have flatmates?”

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 Janet’s 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 didn’t. Apparently she didn’t want anything that reminded me of her, and the house where we had spent our married life was now mine.