Tales From Sechs City
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welcome to Sechs City, a wealthy, middle-class costal area of Western America in the state of California. A gorgeous, quiet largely uneventful place, people move to the city to follow their dreams, to live their day-to-day lives. It's almost too perfect to be true...
Time seemed to be working against Liz Seymour. Every time she glanced up at the clock on the wall of her office she could have sworn that the minute hand was ticking at least three seconds slower than usual. There were eight minutes to go -- eight long, slow, painfully boring minutes -- before freedom.
It didn't help matters that today had been an unusually slow Friday afternoon for Sechs Solicitors. Liz had managed to get all of her work as a PA done well before lunch time, and now all she could really do was send one or two emails to various clients for her boss, who had taken the opportunity to leave work early and play nine holes at Sechs City's golf club, Rabbit Meadows. Liz had smiled politely as he had left, all the while thinking bitterly, 'Bastard, bastard, bastard!'
The afternoon sunshine flooded through the large wide window of the third floor office, and Liz saw grains of dust dancing in the bright yellowness of it. This did nothing to help her boredom and growing frustration. Now there were seven minutes left. Why did she have to be such a dutiful assistant? Why oh why couldn't she have had the guts to get up and go when she should of, when her boss had left?
She sighed and, for the hundredth time that hour, opened her email inbox on her flat screen computer. The usual same old same old: business correspondences; memos from current clients; requests for more information from possible candidates. Add to that the spam that was sent by the thousands on a daily basis and you had yourself a pretty unspectacular inbox.
Except, of course, for the emails from Artie. These were saved in their very own special little folder, and Liz often opened this when she felt depressed or work was dragging her down. There was often a new addition daily, sometimes even two. Throughout the folder you could make a kind of history of their relationship, from his first slightly hesitant email two days after they had first met, through to the slightly naughtier memories of their first nights together, and to the surprise request to meet him in their favourite restaurant, Alesandros, which led to him getting down on one knee and proposing in the sweetest, most wonderful way any girl could ask for.
From then on the emails took a distinct wedding-planning feel before they started being headed as 'For the attention of Mrs Seymour' and, finally, through to today's message:
'Happy First Anniversary Mrs Seymour! Here's to the next year...and the one after that...and the one after that! See you tonight! XXXX'
A year. They had been married a whole year. Sometimes it was hard to take in properly. It seemed like only yesterday that Liz had been sitting in the back seat of a gorgeous classic Aston Martin in her beautiful cream wedding dress, her long wavy brown hair tied in an intricate bow, her father sitting next to her and squeezing her hand tightly, the proudest smile she had ever seen on his lips. The nerves had never kicked in until that very moment, just before they arrived at the church. Thank god she'd stayed in that car instead of jumping out of it as she had fantasised about then. Marrying Artie had been a decision she had never regretted.
Padded footsteps behind her, the faint whiff of a familiar perfume of lavender and the feel of a pair of hands with bright red fingernails squeezing her shoulders playfully told Liz instantly that Inga wanted to chat. She looked up from her computer and smiled as her friend and co-worker sat down on the desk beside her, long slender legs crossed, her feet in smart black stiletto heels.
"So you all packed?" Inga asked, smiling. There was always a sense of mischief in that smile and those pretty features that was sure to be acted on sooner rather than later. Liz had learnt that very early on in their friendship.
"Yes," Liz replied, sitting back in her office chair. "Just one or two little things left -- lotion, toiletries -- but apart from that, I'm all ready. Are you?"
She knew what the answer was going to be; half of her wondered why she'd asked the question at all. "Nope. But don't worry, I'll sort it out tonight with a bottle of white wine. Just what every girl wants to do on a Friday evening."
"Oh? Paul not coming round?"
Inga sighed. "No, he's got some serious studying to do. It's partly my fault really. I've been distracting him a little too much recently. I told him that we'll be seeing so much of each other the next few days that tonight he should take the opportunity to do some actual work."
There was something that Inga wasn't telling Liz. She raised an inquisitive eyebrow, silently encouraging her to continue.
"Actually," her friend eventually said, a little slower, "I've been meaning to talk to you about that. I don't think it's going to last."
"What?" asked Liz, a little shocked. "Why?"
"I don't know. I guess...I guess I've been having those feelings again, you know? When it gets kind of stale? I'm too comfortable. I don't like it."
"But you two are so good together," protested Liz. "Artie and I thought it was going really well! You seemed so happy."
Inga started to fiddle with a strand of her long chestnut brown hair, which was slightly shorter than Liz's. "I was. I am. But I don't think I will be for much longer. I gotta listen to my feelings. You understand, right?"
Oh yes. Liz knew all about Inga's 'feelings'. It was typical of her friend to do this when a relationship started to get serious. She and Paul had been going out for a good five months now. Liz was actually not that surprised that they were having this conversation; she was more saddened.
"Well, I understand," she said, sitting upright. "But will Paul?"
Inga shrugged and jumped off Liz's desk. "He'll have to. But look, I'm not going to ruin the big trip for you and Husband Dearest, okay? I'll wait until we're back home before breaking the bad news. Just don't tell Artie, okay? This is just between us girls."
Liz sighed. "Okay, sure."
"Great," said Inga, smiling again. "So what you got planned for tonight? A nice long bout of Anniversary Sex?"
Liz had been Inga's friend long enough not to be shocked by her openness, but she still blushed a little. "Actually, if you must know, we're going to Alessandro's for a meal."
"Ah! The scene of the crime where you were taken away from all those gorgeous guys we used to flirt with in clubs! Well, enjoy. Think of me when you're stuffing your face with fine food or delicious wine or Husband Dearest's cock..."
"I'll try not to," replied Liz quickly, blushing again and glancing over at the clock. Two minutes. Surely she could escape now without feeling too guilty?
As Inga blew her a kiss and started to walk back towards her own desk, Liz asked her, "Inga? You sure about this? You and Paul, I mean."
