trying to get hold of you, mate,” said the English man sitting next to him, gesturing at his vibrating jacket pocket with a grin.
Michael raised his eyebrows and shrugged. “I’m trying to go AWOL tonight.”
“Ah, the missus giving you a hard time?”
"Sort of. Not the missus. The mistress.” He snorted at his own joke.
The English guy gave a knowing grin and a wink. “Big girl trouble, then. Husband found out?”
“Oh God,” groaned Michael. “I damn well hope not.”
“Friend of yours, is he?”
“You could say that.” Michael ordered another beer, and one for his new friend. “He’s my boss.”
“Wife of the boss? That takes brass balls, mate.” He shook his head. “We’ve got an expression at home: don’t dump on your own doorstep.”
“Yes, well,” Michael said. “I wish I’d heard that a few weeks ago.”
“Cheers.” The man lifted his glass. “Here’s to secrets and lies.”
Secrets and lies? Michael knew that this wasn’t who he wanted to be, wasn’t how he ever wanted to live.
“No,” he said, pausing. “Here’s to fresh starts and new beginnings. ” And he drank the rest of the bottle down in one.
He is asleep when he hears the ringing. Over and over. At first he hears it in his dream, and swimming up to consciousness he understands it isn’t in his dream, it’s real. He reaches for the phone only to hear the dialing tone, at which point he realizes it isn’t the phone, it’s the doorbell.
He glances at the clock as he stumbles through the darkness to the buzzer. 2:37 a.m. Who in the hell is ringing his doorbell at 2:37 a.m.?
“Yup?” His voice is fuzzy with sleep.
“Michael? It’s me. Jordana.”
“Jordana? It’s 2:37 in the morning. What are you doing here?”
“Michael, will you just buzz me in?” she says. “It’s dangerous out here.”
Moments later she appears at Michael’s front door.
“I’ve left him,” she announces, rolling a large Louis Vuitton suitcase into his tiny apartment.
“What?” Michael is almost speechless, but manages to splutter out this one word.
“I’ve done it,” she says, looking at Michael, tears in her eyes, but whether they are of sadness or happiness he’s not altogether sure.
“What do you mean, you’ve left him?” Michael feels as if the wind has been knocked out of him; he has no idea what to say.
“We had a huge row tonight,” Jordana says, wheeling her case into the bedroom as if she belongs there. “I’m not proud of myself but I told him he didn’t make me happy and that our marriage was over.”
“He doesn’t . . .” Michael feels sick. He looks up at Jordana, incredulous at what she has done—and Jesus, if she’s done this, who’s to say she hasn’t told him everything. “He doesn’t know about . . . us?”
“No!” Jordana laughs. “Are you nuts? He’d kill me. God, he’d probably kill you too. There’s no way I was going to tell him about you, although he asked me if there was someone else.”
“What did you say?” Michael is still struggling to wake up from what is feeling increasingly like the worst nightmare he has ever had.
“I said why do men always assume there’s someone else, why couldn’t it just be that I’m unhappy and I don’t want him anymore?”
“Oh God, Jordana,” Michael says. “I just . . . I didn’t expect you to do this. We could have talked about this, you could have prepared me. Where are you going to go?” He looks up just in time to see her face fall.
“What do you mean? I thought I could stay here. With you. Jesus, Michael. I thought you’d be pleased.”
“I . . .” He sighs. “I’m just shocked, Jordana. Of course you can stay here. Tonight. But you can’t stay here after tonight. If Jackson found out it would kill him.”
“Jackson’s not going to find out.”
“It’s not a chance I’m willing to take.”
“Fine,” Jordana says. “I’ll get a hotel around the corner or something so we can sneak back and forth. Hey! Sounds kind of romantic!”
She walks over to where Michael is sitting on the bed and stands in front of him with a seductive smile on her face, a smile that Michael used to find so sexy, but now finds downright terrifying.
“Tell me you’re pleased,” she coos, reaching down with her small, cool fingers, stroking him gently in just the way he likes. “Tell me you’re happy to see me.” She pouts like a little girl. “I thought Mikey was going to be happy to have his girl all to himself.”