The Revenge Date/Ten Reasons to Say I Don't Bundle (Romantic Comedy)

by Geraldine Fonteroy

  ‘Come on girls, plenty of time for a good long chat later.’

  And then the three of them were gone, leaving Henri alone.

  In a house full of strangers who felt strangely familiar.

  Henri couldn’t help but think of what the priest had said about things being right, not wrong.

  So far, everything about this bingo job felt right.

  Except, of course, the bingo job itself.

  After a delicious dinner of meatloaf, talk of bingo and Peter (alongside the disappointment of learning that Jess wasn’t home for dinner), Henri thanked the Calinkos and went up to her room.

  The bingo job apparently meant standing in front of a group of rather crabby old people, calling out numbers in what Pastor Paul called a ‘witty and entertaining way’.

  She needed a good night’s sleep before her big bingo debut the next day. At least that’s what she told them. In truth, they were a tad overwhelming after her recent austere life in the dank hotel room.

  Once she was tucked up in bed, Henri realized it was impossible for her to sleep so early, particularly as her room had three windows and it was still light outside. Upon spying the radio in the room, and despite her internal protestations at the act, Henri tuned into Peter’s programme.

  Why do it to yourself? Henri’s subconscious grizzled. It’s only going to make you angry.

  And resentful.

  Which it did.

  This time, 50-year-old Billie (a female), wanted to ditch her husband of 30 years for the younger man who came and mowed their lawns.

  ‘I don’t want to cheat on Leroy,’ the woman explained, ‘So I thought the simplest thing to do was to dump him and run off with Jack.’

  The hairs on the back of Henri’s neck bristled. ‘As if the gardener was going to run off with her,’ Henri grumbled.

  What on earth could the listeners say to encourage the breakup of a 30-year-old union?

  Plenty, as it turned out.

  Reason Number One: ‘Yeah, you go, you cougar girl. Why stay with your old dude if there is a chance of good sex with hot Jack?’

  Um, because the old dude loved her; was faithful and by all accounts a living saint?

  Reason Number Two: ‘You want someone to look after you when you die. Go for the younger guy.’

  Henri groaned. Come on, the younger guy will just leave her stuck at home in her wheelchair, or whatever.

  Reason Number Three: ‘You won’t have to pay for the gardening any more.’

  Couldn’t argue with that?

  And so it went on, with Peter making suggestive, uncouth comments throughout.

  At times, Henri laughed out loud. Gosh, she missed her brother. Well, that was only natural, she had lived and then worked with him her whole life.

  But then she thought about Peter’s hand in her ill-fated relationship with Rodney, and she wanted to ring into the damned show herself.

  Ten reasons why Henri should never speak to her brother again.

  She could rattled off about twenty, just for starters.

  CHAPTER NINE

  THE BINGO CALL WAS MARGINALLY better than she had imagined. But only just. A bunch of retired people of all ages gathered in the huge hall next to the church, staring up at her with a keening expectation to provide a humorous take on traditional bingo. They wanted her to be just like her famous brother.

  ‘Number three,’ she called.

  ‘Give it some punch, honey,’ an old lady with a pair of cat’s eyes glasses and a permanent wink squawked.

  ‘Er, number four, knock on the door.’

  ‘Was that a joke?’ This time her critic was an old man who had to be one hundred if he was a day.

  ‘Come on, give us Ten Reasons to stay and listen to you!’ A younger man, around 80, called.

  ‘This is a church hall,’ Henri moaned to Pastor Paul when it was all over and the patrons had filled themselves on the delicious homemade fare and left. ‘My brother is x-rated, which is why I refused to do that show with him. I am hardly going to copy his crude nonsense here, am I?’

  ‘It’s the fame thing. Your brother’s face is plastered over lots of billboards. They don’t think past that.’

  ‘Is this worth it, anyway? I mean, you give away free food and drink, and this hall looks new, it must have cost a fortune.’

  Pastor Paul grinned. ‘Well, we do this four times a week. Each person pays $10 each for their game card, and over the course of ten games, we probably get about three hundred people in and out of here. I also insist that there is no donations given through the church – if people want to give they have to come and play bingo. It brings the community together, and for those people who actually win; gives them a little something to perk their lives up. I know God doesn’t really appreciate gambling, but sometimes you have to do what you can to draw in the flock.’

  ‘Wow. I figured bingo was big here, but I didn’t realize it was that big.’

  ‘We give away about a third in prizes, which, as you can estimate, leaves quite a lot each day for paying back the building loan, and buying refreshments and the like.’

  ‘And you’re only paying me $200!’ Henri said jokingly.

  ‘Actually, we also pay shares of net profit. But given the amount we spend on food . . .’ There was that twinkle in his eye, again.

  Suddenly, Jess, the errant son, appeared near the stage steps.

  ‘The roof is fixed.’

  Pastor Paul’s jovial smile disappeared. ‘You didn’t need to do that. I told you. Old man Simpson does the odd jobs around here.’

  ‘He might kill himself, trying to climb the ladder. Besides, I need to do something. Earn my keep.’

  ‘Go back to law school, that’s what you need to do.’

  ‘Dad, we’ve discussed this.’

  ‘And I am going to keep on at you until you go and do something that uses that brain of yours.’

  ‘I’m going to paint that new shelf you put up in the back of the hall.’

  ‘It looks okay natural, Jess. Don’t worry about it.’

  ‘It’s no problem.’ Without another word, Jess turned on his heel and walked out to, presumably to locate paint and a brush.

  ‘Sorry about that.’ Pastor Paul looked embarrassed.

  ‘Don’t worry about it. But why did he drop out of law school?’

  ‘No one knows. Started late, troubled childhood thanks to his mum dying. But then turned it around. Did brilliantly at Yale, got into Harvard Law, then, six months later, he is back here and won’t speak to anyone.’

  ‘Strange.’

  ‘Yes. We assume it is women troubles, but because he clams up each time Em or I try to talk to him about it, it could be anything.’

  Then Jess was back, painting implements in hand. As Henri watched him sanding down the stout set of brown shelves, she wondered what on earth that weird feeling in her gut was.

  The feeling she got each time she looked at Jess.

  Later, at dinner, Jess actually made an appearance, and whilst Amy nattered about her day at school, her brother said nothing at all, with the exception of ‘pass the bread’ and ‘no thanks’ to gravy on his chicken.

  Henri was a bit put out that he didn’t want to know anything about her. Even when Pastor Paul asked him if he’d heard about her brother’s show.

  ‘What?’

  ‘That Ten Reasons show on the radio. That’s Ms Prime’s brother, you know.’

  ‘Oh.’ Jess’s incredible eyes flicked briefly over Henri then turned back to his dad. ‘Some of my friends listen.’

  ‘Friends?’ Em perked up at this, clearly hoping her stepson was starting to forge a new live from the ashes of whatever disaster had befallen him at Harvard Law.

  ‘From the pizza place.’

  ‘Fellow workers,’ Amy said, for accuracy.

  ‘I suppose,’ Jess replied.

  ‘Well, that was delicious, Em,’ Pastor Paul rubbed his large tummy in satisfaction, whilst the other diners murmured their agr
eement.

  ‘Gotta get to work,’ Jess announced.

  ‘I’ll drive you, it looks like rain.’ Em was clearly trying to milk her stepson for information.

  The stepson wasn’t stupid. ‘It’s around the corner, Em, and I’m okay, really. You can stop tiptoeing around me.’

  ‘We just want to know what happened at Harvard,’ she said bluntly.

  ‘Nothing, I just gave it up. That’s all.’ He ruffled the curls on Amy’s head and continued eating the excellent roast chicken, taking slow, precise mouthfuls.

  Henri couldn’t help sneaking glances at him when she thought he wasn’t looking. Now that she considered it, his face wasn’t perfect: his nose was slightly too large for his face, and she suspected he kept his hair quite long because his left ear stuck out a little too far. But those eyes, and that mouth . . . what was it about this man, the same age as her but at the same time so unworldly and . . .

  He looked up and caught her.

  Sod it.

  Knowing that she was blushing, Henri tried to cover it up by asking for more water.

  ‘But your glass is full?’ Amy peered over into it, confused.

  Not embarrassing. Not embarrassing at all.

  And then, dinner was over and Jess was gone.

  Eva and Peter were dancing around each other. She seemed to be wearing more revealing outfits as the days went on, and they were driving Peter crazy.

  But if he asked her out again, it meant that she was more to him than a one night stand, and for so many reasons, Peter wasn’t sure that he wanted to send out that message to any woman, ever.

  He wished he could speak to Henri about Eva, but his sister continued to ignore his calls and texts. Okay, she replied to the texts, but only with terse comments that left him in no doubt that Henri was still really pissed off at him for hijacking the radio show.

  ‘On in ten,’ Chewy the producer called out to him from the production booth, and he gave him a thumbs up. In spite of the initial rocky start, Chewy and X were actually pretty cool, and as far as friends went, they were probably the closest Peter had come since school.

  Eva came over to him with a P.R. schedule. ‘L.A. next week. You’re going to do the show from our studios there. Steven and X will come with you, so it should be business as usual.’

  The top she was wearing was so low cut that Peter had to look away to control his growing desire at the memory of what her breasts looked like when freed of all restrictions.

  ‘Peter, did you hear me?’

  ‘Sorry, yes. L.A., no problem.’

  ‘I’ll book you a double room then?’

  Was she asking that for any particular reason? Peter panicked. ‘No need, a single will be fine.’

  A flicker of disappointment crept across his face when she showed no emotion at his statement. ‘Okay then. That’s good. Cheaper for the station!’

  And she walked off, leaving him to savor the sight of her arse in the tight, wrap skirt.

  After dinner, Henri announced she was going for a walk. The neat houses on the street directly behind the church and its large grounds led to a small row of strip shops, one of which was a pizza place.

  Inside, the tall form of Jess taking orders at the register could just be made out.

  ‘What the hell am I doing?’ Henri asked herself, feeling nerves build up at the thought of seeing the moody Jess again.

  Feeling, oh not again, that weird knot her gut.

  What was that?

  She’d never actually sought the company of a man before; they’d always approached her.

  Plus, what kind of excuse was she going to use to buy pizza, when Jess knew she’d just eaten.

  Loitering out the front, Henri felt conspicuous and stupid.

  ‘Psst!’

  What was that?

  ‘Psssssssst, over here!’

  Henri followed the voice and found Amy hiding behind a bus shelter.

  ‘What are you doing, Henri?’

  Rumbled, Henri could only shrug. ‘To be honest, I have no idea. I was drawn here, but now, well, I feel like an idiot.’

  Amy pondered the problem. ‘I have an idea. Come with me.’ She led the way to a small collection of houses just past the shops, and into a dreary little apartment block that sat at the back of some nicely tended homes.

  ‘Come on,’ she beckoned, indicating that Henri should climb the stairs with her. The block was reminiscent of a council estate in Britain – it had the same sad and tired feel about it.

  Amy boldly knocked on the door, and a girl the same age answered.

  ‘This is Adele, my friend from school.’

  Henri shook Adele’s hand, and then the hands of two smaller children, presumably siblings.

  ‘Adele babysits the Craven kids every afternoon whilst their mum works at the bus station. She lives next door.’

  ‘Oh.’ Henri had no idea where all of this was going.

  ‘So,’ Amy continued. ‘I thought that they might like a pizza, as a treat.’

  The two tiny kids began clapping their hands enthusiastically. Reminds me of my brother, Henri thought wryly.

  Brilliant idea. Henri got it at once. Buy pizza for these kids – that was a pretty good excuse to go into the shop. Except: ‘Hang on, they shouldn’t be eating pizza for dinner, should they?’

  Amy dragged her aside. ‘They can hardly afford food. The church sends food parcels to both families. I don’t think a pizza will hurt.’

  Gosh, the kid was wise beyond her years. Henri nodded in agreement and asked what type they preferred.

  ‘Pepperoni!’ a scream so loud that Henri jokingly covered her ears.

  ‘Pepperoni it is.’

  Leaving Amy at the small apartment, Henri almost raced back to the pizza shop.

  What was wrong with her?

  But when she arrived, disappointment was the order of the evening: Jess was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘Yo, can I help you?’ The boy was Jewish, but dressed as if he was about to star in a rap video.

  So Henri ordered the pizza, paid for the pizza, and then left it with Amy and the kids, shaking her head at the tousled-haired preacher’s daughter.

  ‘Let me guess, he was out on a delivery.’

  ‘Must have been.’

  With nowhere to go and nothing to do, Henri went upstairs to listen to the end of Peter’s stupid show, and cry herself to sleep, once again.

  CHAPTER TEN

  HENRI’S DAYS BEGAN THE SAME WAY, hopping out of bed quickly so that she might have breakfast with Jess. But no matter how early she seemed to get up, the sullen Jess managed to beat her to it, and was already out doing chores, or dropping food parcels from the church.

  She’d even tried the pizza scam again a couple of times, telling Amy that she wanted to help out her little friends, but each time she went to order a pizza Jess had vanished. No matter what the time, he seemed to be doing deliveries, or restocking or something.

  If she didn’t know better, she might think that he was trying to avoid her, but why would he?

  They were in the country kitchen of the house, and Paul was making a pot of tea, in deference to Henri’s heritage. Unfortunately, he made it as thick and dark as their coffee, and Henri didn’t have the heart to correct him on it.

  Jess was probably busy. Of course he was. After all, there was no reason for him to avoid her, because he had no idea she liked him. Liked him. God, she sounded like she was in high school.

  ‘How’s it going?’ Pastor Paul asked after that day’s bingo.

  ‘I seem to be improving. At least they aren’t calling out abuse now. Well, except for Mrs Antipore.’ Mrs Antipore was a 96-year-old ex-army sergeant who certainly didn’t take any prisoners when it came to speaking her mind. Yesterday the old dear told Henri she’d heard more enthusiasm on the subway announcements.

  ‘I should warn you, Mrs Antipore is threatening to start a petition to have you wear, er, less old-fashioned clothes.’

  Henri stared
down at her knee-length skirt and floral blouse. ‘I just brought this from Brooks Brothers.’

  ‘Oh, really?’

  Amy, who had just arrived back from school, tut-tutted at the outfit. ‘My 50-year-old teacher has that shirt. Did you know it also comes in a size 30? And it’s such a nice, stretchy fabric.’ She yanked at the material on Henri’s arm.

  ‘Okay, I get it. I dress like an old woman. Why should that bother the bingo crowd. Apparently I am paying homage to them via my wardrobe.’

  Amy tried to explain it. ‘Old people around here like to mind everyone else’s business. They enjoy some gossip. A good-looking, single young woman should give them something to gossip about. Dressed liked that, the only way you will create gossip is if you accidentally trip on the podium and you’re wearing a thong underneath those old peoples’ clothes.’

  ‘Amy!’