Hello there, this is quite a long story which I have been working on for a while. I would really really appreciate all feedback and votes so please take the time to leave a comment and vote, I can only learn from any constructive criticism which I may receive. Many thanks didix
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Angelina
It's Saturday night and I am sitting at home as everyone has plans. Delphine has gone out with Max, my niece and nephew are being babysat by my parents and Gabriella, my best friend is currently holed up in a swanky hotel somewhere, sipping champagne from her boyfriend's belly button, given that he has just returned from a world tour with his band Sphere. Ergo, I am curled up very happily on my sofa reading Vogue and my telephone is ringing. After watching numerous episodes of Sex and the City, I know that it is acceptable to be sitting in on a Saturday night and screening my calls, I am just not so sure I'm supposed to be doing it in my pyjamas, eating a huge bowl of ice cream and finishing off a half bottle of wine. So anyway, the phone has stopped ringing and my answer machine has kicked in and I hear a familiar yet almost forgotten voice,
"Lee, you there?"
I lift my head from the shoes in the magazine over which I am currently drooling and give my full attention to the machine, which is bringing a very distant voice from the past right into my living room..
"Lee, I know you're there, I just saw Delphine and she told me; just pick up the phone I'm dying to hear your voice."
I am incensed. I will kill Delphine when I see her, I am willing to bet money that she is in some posh wine bar with her husband and she has had a bottle of wine too many and has now started on the Slippery Nipple shots (very ugly) which turn her into the whore of Babylon, much to her husband's delight, and makes her tongue so loose that she reveal the location of King Solomon's Mine! You know how there are some people who just shouldn't drink? She is one of them. Alcohol makes her lose that veneer of poise that makes her the sophisticated ice queen and turns her into a raging harpy. So amidst curses of my sister, I continue to listen to the message,
"Ok, so it seems like you don't want to talk to me, but I just thought that as your birthday is coming up, it would be quite nice to take you out somewhere as a gift, and I remember you saying how much you loved Christie's so thought maybe we could go there? Anyway, I don't much like talking to machines so I'll leave you my number, and you can give me a call if you wish. Take care; I hope to hear from you soon."
With that, he reels off a mobile number and a work number and clicks off. I find that I am perched on the edge of the sofa, dream shoes forgotten, staring at the machine in some kind of wonderment. That voice was familiar, its tones smooth as chocolate which still manage to send shivers down my spine.
I find myself spirited back to the last time I had seen the owner of the voice, or rather, had been supposed to see it, which had been two years earlier. It was a Friday night in October and we had been due to meet at 5.00pm. We were supposed to be going to Christie's for my birthday dinner. As you can probably guess, we didn't make it to Christie's, in fact; I didn't make it to Paris at all
* * * * *
Three years earlier
"Please please please let me borrow them, I promise I'll be careful with them, it's just that they are so beautiful and you're always telling me how I need to be more adventurous and athletic in bed, and how I should treat sex as an art form and how it would be best for me to broaden my horizons, well I am planning on broadening them, in Paris, in the Georges V hotel, around the corner from the Champs Elysees in beautiful satin red La Perla lingerie and the best thing to set them off would be your Prada ballet pumps with the fuck me heel."
Gabby raised an eyebrow at Angelina and sat down on her now very messy bed where Angelina had been writhing, begging to borrow the shoes. Gabby began her time worn speech gently.
"Now, you and I both know how you are with shoes, and we both know that you tend to have issues with my designer wear and we had a talk the last time I let you borrow my white silk Armani dress and you put it in the wash with your cheap pink knickers from the market and it came out the strangest colour with a big hole in the back, and," She held up her hand to stop her friend from interrupting, "And, rather than you not being my friend any more, which I have to admit I was really tempted to do, we decided together," she emphasised the last word, "We decided that you wouldn't borrow any more of my stuff so that we could preserve the beautiful relationship that we have."
Angelina felt herself severely chastised and realising that Gabby really wasn't going to let her borrow the shoes, was feeling a little cheesed off with the fact. She decided to give it one last try,
"Gabby, please, you know how things are with Marcus..."
"And you know how I feel about Marcus" Gabby retorted sharply.
"Let me finish." Angelina interrupted, wringing her hands.
"As my friend, you can let me make my own choices, and if you find that he makes me happy then surely that should be the best thing in the world, no?"
Angelina raised her eyebrows hoping that Gabby would fall for the act. It didn't work.
"No! Because you simply won't see sense and that's another reason that you shouldn't borrow my shoes,"
She threw up her hands with renewed vigour as if to slam home her point,