Double Ex
A Romantic Comedy about Lost Love & Lookalikes
by
Lee Daniel Bullen
Copyright © Lee Daniel Bullen 2014
Smashwords Edition
About the Author
Lee Daniel Bullen is the bestselling author of Double Ex, Beset and several comedies and short stories. He previously worked as a teacher, illustrator and screenwriter but now solely devotes his time to crafting natty novels. His personal interests include squirrel romancing, ferret fondling and stringing the guitar. His more intelligible writings are available in paperback and eBook.
Author Introduction
Thank you for buying Double Ex, a romantic comedy about two heartbroken friends who pursue lookalikes of their exes. I hope this light-hearted look at love, friendship and obsession is both entertaining and disturbingly-relatable!
This book is dedicated to my children, Nadia and Danny. With enormous thanks to Amanda Hayes, Xena Fox, and my loving, supportive friends and family. It has been an incredible thirteen month journey – soul hugs to you all!
Table of Contents
Title Page
About the Author
Author Introduction
Chapter 1: Hit & Run
Chapter 2: Plates & Spin
Chapter 3: Pray & Prey
Chapter 4: Whiskey & Lies
Chapter 5: Meetups & Letdowns
Chapter 6: Coffee & Complications
Chapter 7: Flight & Fancy
Chapter 8: Rock & Rot
Chapter 9: Cocktails & Trees
Chapter 10: Lift & Fall
Chapter 11: Hippie & Shake
Chapter 12: Heads & Tales
Chapter 13: Days & Weekends
Chapter 14: Hell & Back
Chapter 15: Hosts & Visitors
Chapter 16: Red & Alert
Chapter 17: Dig & Dirt
Chapter 18: Lists & Schemes
Chapter 19: Dreams & Reality
Chapter 20: Pedestals & Pitfalls
Chapter 21: Winners & Participants
Chapter 22: Whole & Holes
Dedication
Connect with Lee
Copyright Page
Chapter 1
Hit & Run
‘That’s it! That’s it!’ she growled in his ear. The line put him off; he was used to his ex-girlfriend yelling Italian in the heat of the moment. He lost fire and decided to change position. The girl reminded him of his ex from behind, with her hair spread across the pillow like a concertinaed fan and face buried deep in the mattress; like it was his beloved Sofia that he was making love to and not this lookalike he’d picked up earlier in the night. He arranged her flowing hair and turned to the glow of lamplight illuminating a patch of the bed. Perfect! The right light, the right shadow; he looked down and smiled, ‘Sofia!’ Soon he’d be holding the girl tenderly in his arms, the moment he got his fix.
When Nick sneaked out of the apartment at three in the morning reality bit and short-term pleasure was overcome by remorse. Since Sofia left him six months previously he’d discovered that lookalikes transported him to a brief alternate reality and the ritual had become an unhealthy habit. Initially it happened by chance, his eyes lighting up at anyone who slightly resembled Sofia, sometimes hoping he’d inadvertently bumped into her, but as time passed he slowly developed a dependency to the artificial feelings and couldn’t let go.
As his long frame lumbered along the dark backstreets of this unfamiliar corner of West London, some way from his home in Camden, the strands of his fair hair sashayed like sidewinders in the summer breeze. He flagged a black cab and prepared himself for the interrogation to come; not from an angry partner or concerned parent, but his disapproving room-mate and closest friend, Konrad – or Kon-radical as he was monikered due to his environmental activism and anti-establishment leanings – a fate far worse than a scorned girlfriend waiting up to hurl kitchenware.
‘Nicholas Green! You’re worse than Pol Pot!’ Konrad screamed like a berating mother, more ratty than genuinely aggrieved after waking abruptly on the sofa, ‘Abusing women for your own selfish gain! Do they know you’re only with them because they look like The Italian Witch?’
‘Pol Pot? Really?’ Nick replied sarcastically, tossing his keys on the cluttered living room table.
‘She seems like a nice girl, did you bother to find out?’
‘Kon, not now, mate.’
‘I think now’s the perfect time actually!’ he said sternly as Nick rolled his eyes and removed his jacket, idly tossing it in the corner of the room, ‘Answer me this; what’s her name?’
‘Who?’ he replied impatiently.
‘The girl you just took advantage of.’
‘I don’t remember.’
Konrad nodded, ‘Are you going to see her again?’ Nick simply glared at his room-mate. ‘Are you going to see any of them again?’
‘No, Kon. I’m not.’ he said dismissively.
‘And why not?’
‘You know why.’
‘Dude, I hate to do this, and I know it’s been a long time since I last had to…’
‘Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me…’
‘But I have to administer a little Konrad Corporal Punishment…’
‘You waited up to do this?’
Konrad rose from the shabby sofa and brushed away the crumbs stuck to his tubby torso; he ran his fingers through his mousey hair and stood in front of Nick, ‘Take it as a man!’ and he readied himself, placing his hands in front of his nipple area.
‘Kon, we’re not twelve anymore!’
‘This is gonna hurt me more than you.’ He blew on his fingertips and rubbed them in preparation, ‘Tweak and twist, learn from this!’ and he pinched Nick’s nipples with as much force as humanely possible; tears welled in his eyes as he yelped and dropped to one knee. ‘I did that because you need to wake up! This isn’t about the girls or because you ditched me at a club in the middle of the night again! This is for your own mental health!’
‘Bloody hell, mate.’ Nick painfully protested.
‘You’ve been moping around this flat for months, you’re not working and you’re not getting on with your life!’
He struggled to his feet, slightly overcome by this particular late-night chat with his best friend, ‘Kon, it’s okay. I’m alright.’ he argued dimly.
‘No, you really aren’t, and I can’t watch you self-destruct anymore.’ He scooped up his duvet from the sofa and shook off the crumbs, ‘If you don’t sort yourself out I’m going to move out!’ and he went to his room leaving Nick smarting from a more than impressive dressing down. He flopped on the sofa; bite-sized debris bounced up and settled back into the crevices. He grabbed the tortilla chips and began to snack but within minutes was sprawled across the seats, dreaming of Sofia.
Several streets away, Lucy Caulston was entering her sister’s elegant apartment in Camden Square with a besuited mystery-man. In the hall she turned to him, swept his dark hair back and meticulously parted it to one side.
‘So your girlfriend’s out of town?’ she asked seductively; the man nodded. ‘Then you’d better stay the night.’ He smiled excitedly and removed his glasses. ‘No, leave them on.’ Lucy said with a wink and took his hand and led him into her bedroom. In the next room her older sister was awake in bed, a thousand concerned thoughts swimming round her mind.
Nick awoke to the sound of a large tea mug slamming on the living room table; he sat up and the packet of tortilla chips slid off his chest and distributed its contents on the sofa.
‘Thanks Kon.’
he croaked, rubbing his eyes as Konrad busied around the apartment preparing to leave. ‘Where you off to?’
‘Oh, I just thought I’d torture myself by driving past my ex-girlfriend’s to see if she’s home and if the black Mercedes is parked outside again.’ he answered sarcastically; Nick slumped into the sofa, ‘Then I’ll probably have a drink in the pub round the corner hoping to bump into her, and if I don’t I’ll just keep drinking till I spot someone who looks a bit like her then try to shag her.’
‘Sod off! I’m not doing that today.’ he groaned from underneath a cushion. Konrad whipped it away.
‘And don’t even think about calling me from a club later when you’re drunk and want company!’
Nick sat upright, irritated, ‘Alright, alright. Thank you!’ He took a gulp of tea, wincing as it burned his tongue. It was still enormously gratifying though, his mouth was as dry as the snacks layering the back of the settee and his body felt the onset of a nasty hangover. ‘So where are you going?’ he asked, delicately placing the mug on the table.
‘I’m looking at flats.’ Konrad replied with a sly grin.
‘You’re serious? It’s a bit drastic, mate. Let’s go out for a pub lunch and talk about it?’ Konrad shook his head and left the apartment, leaving Nick to lick his alcohol-induced wounds alone.
Lucy sipped her tea as her sister silently prepared toast and passed her two slices with a coating of savoury brown sauce.
‘I still don’t know how you can eat it with that.’ Amanda said gruffly and popped more bread in the toaster, ‘Will your guest want some?’ she asked pointedly. Lucy looked at her sister and shrugged. ‘So who is this one?’
‘Can we do this later?’ Lucy said. Amanda turned and refilled the kettle, nostrils flaring. She tried to resist lecturing her younger sibling but quickly succumbed to the burning need.
‘You know I’m always here for you and will always support you, but this habit of yours…’
‘Amanda, please.’
‘When are you going to accept that he’s gone and turn the page?’ she asked sympathetically; Lucy looked to the ceiling for help. She stepped closer and affectionately brushed Lucy’s auburn hair from her eyes, ‘Babe, it’s not normal. And I suppose your friend is a dead ringer for him?’
Lucy knew the question was rhetorical, she sighed and embraced her sister, pressing her busty chest into Amanda’s abdomen who responded by planting a concerned kiss on her forehead, ‘It was seven months yesterday.’
‘I know, babe. It’s time to let go.’ Lucy took a bite of toast and gave a non-committal look. Amanda knew better than to press further; she turned and started to clear things away, ‘Any plans today?’
‘When he wakes up I’ll see what he wants to do.’
‘You’re going to spend more time with him?’
‘I hope so.’
‘Do you think that’s a good idea?’
‘Yes! I’m sorry, but I do. Right now I really need to pretend a little bit longer.’
Nick entered the pub near Sofia’s house feeling worse-for-wear but looking as understatedly serene as ever. He had a natural ability to glide rather than walk; his height, features and confident air caught people’s attention without being pretty or brash. He sat at the bar and scanned the surroundings; the pub was empty but it was still early Saturday afternoon, she might pop in for a late lunch or early dinner and he planned to hang around in case she did. He ordered a pint; hair of the dog for the progressive hangover wreaking havoc on his insides. He’d showered, scanned Sofia’s social pages for movements and driven past her home: no updates, no recent sightings, no mysterious black Mercedes outside. Not knowing about her troubled him greatly; imagining what she was doing was always more tortuous than the truth. He cringed as he sipped his bitter drink and turned to the television, showing intense graphic-heavy football coverage; he pulled a cigarette from his pocket and went outside to light up. On the other side of the street a dark slender woman hurried home with shopping bags and he gazed after her until she disappeared from view:
HAIR: Long, black and wavy – Likeness Match: 9/10
FACE: Indeterminable from this range – Likeness Match: n/a
HEIGHT: 5’7” – a couple of inches shorter than Sofia – Likeness Match: 7/10
BOOBS: Fuller than Sofia’s perfect ‘ski-slopes’ – Likeness Match: 8/10
ARSE: Good protrusion – Likeness Match: 8/10
LEGS: Bit stubby – Likeness Match: 7/10
SCENT: Indeterminable from this range – Likeness Match: n/a
OVERALL: Decent. Go talk to her!
He sighed to himself, from that distance the woman looked a lot like Sofia. He was so lost in red-blooded nostalgic thought that he nearly failed to notice a black Mercedes park outside the pub and a couple get out. He suddenly recognised the license plate; it was the Mercedes. He turned hoping to see Sofia, even though it would only confirm his worst fears, but the girl was a petit redhead; his heart sank. Maybe he should have been pleased but subconsciously all he wanted was to see her again, even if it was with someone else. He exchanged a look with the man as the couple approached the pub, ‘Arrogant snob!’ he thought simply because he wore glasses over a self-important expression and had a fancy suit on, ‘If he’s with the redhead he’s obviously not seeing Sofia, so there must be another reason why his car’s always outside.’ he concluded. Feeling slightly relieved he tossed his cigarette and went inside the pub.
The girl was affectionate with the man as they stood at the bar, stroking his back as he bantered with the barman; Nick smiled to himself as he sat on the stool next to them to force down his waiting beer. The girl planted a tender kiss on the man’s cheek and made her way to the toilets as he took a sip from his drink and looked sideways at Nick; he put his drink on the bar, paused and winked at the bartender.
‘You’re Nick Green aren’t you?’ he asked confidently. Nick was taken aback.
‘Yes.’
‘You’re an artist, right?’
‘Yes.’ he replied curiously.
‘How’s that going?’
‘I mainly do graphic design now.’ he said honestly, ‘Steadier money.’
‘I suppose so, especially if you’re not very good.’
Nick prickled at the comment but decided it was probably offhand; he even faked a snort and politely added, ‘Yeh!’
‘A mutual friend told me all about you.’ the man said.
‘Josh owns a big art gallery in Soho.’ added the bartender, drying a glass.
‘I understand you’re struggling for work at the moment?’ he asked, smirking at the barman.
Nick was unsure how to take the direct questioning, ‘Things are a bit quiet but they’ll pick up soon.’ he said noncommittally.
‘Still, nice to see you have the pennies to treat yourself to a nice pint!’ Josh said; the barman scoffed as he wiped around the inside of a wine glass. Nick sensed he was the subject of an in-joke and decided to ignore them. After an uncomfortable silence Josh spoke again, ‘Didn’t you go out with that lovely Italian girl, Sofia, for a few years?’
Nick shuffled uncomfortably on his stool, ‘Yes.’
‘They say you were awfully cut up about it?’ Nick ignored him and Josh winked at the barman, grinning as he started drying plates. Josh put his drink to his lips and uttered under his breath, ‘At least now she’s getting it from a real man!’ and he took a sip as the barman childishly snickered.
Time seemed to freeze as the words whirled around Nick’s mind trying to register, ‘Did he really just say that? Could I have misheard?’ but there was no time for reasoning, red mist flooded his brain and choked any benefit of doubt. He sprang from the stool and punched Josh’s face, shattering his glasses and sending him crashing to the floor. The barman froze as Nick turned to him, the look in his eyes and devastating dismissal of his friend filled him with apprehension; he knew trying to eject this particular patron was probably a bad idea. Fearful that Nick might attack, he launched the cer
amic plate he was holding and ran to the back office; the plate spun through the air like a Frisbee and hit Nick hard, thudding off his forehead and smashing on the floor. He stumbled back, dazed by the unexpected missile and sharp pain searing through his brain. The redhead appeared from the toilets and stopped short at the sight of Josh on the floor and Nick blankly looking at her. Blood suddenly gushed down his face and reality returned, he dabbed at the wound and tried to speak to the girl – offer an explanation – but no vocabulary existed to vindicate him from the scene in front of her. Instead he turned and staggered out of the pub. The barman looked round the door and saw the girl rushing to Josh, still motionless. He hurried over.
‘I called for an ambulance and police are on their way. Did the bloke leave?’
‘Yeh. What happened?’
‘He went berserk. Hit Josh for no reason.’
‘You’re joking?’
‘Don’t worry, we know who he is…’
Josh began to groan. The girl crouched down beside him, reluctant to clean the glass from his blood-red face, ‘Don’t move, Christopher. Everything will be alright.’
‘Christopher? His name’s Joshua.’
‘Oh, yeh. Sorry. We only met last night.’
‘I’m Tony.’
‘Lucy.’ she replied, parting Josh’s matted hair.
Chapter 2
Plates & Spin
The jam-packed Club Salsa in Covent Garden was particularly sticky this late-June Saturday night; the tinny rhythms, toothy grins and over-pronounced dance steps were in abundance and Nick was in his element. He wasn’t a fan of the music nor was he a keen dancer; it was las chicas latinas that tickled his fancy – plenty of Sofia-lookalikes in salsa bars. Trumpets and the dank aroma of body-heat filled the tatty club as Nick staggered around, alcohol-soaked and worse for wear. People moved out the way as he approached, intimidated by the unsightly gash on his forehead. He went from tall slender brunette to tall slender brunette – anyone slightly resembling his ex – but without success. Meeting girls usually happened easily but a whole afternoon drinking and worrying about the pub incident was plainly showing.
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