Double Ex: A Romantic Comedy about Lost Love & Lookalikes

by Lee Daniel Bullen

  ‘Have we finished with the other conversation then?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So all of a sudden it’s me?’ he asked confused.

  ‘Yes, Konrad.’

  ‘Because it kind of felt like we were in the middle…’

  ‘Not now, another time.’ she said growing irritated. ‘Anyway, tell me about you.’

  His face screwed, ‘Another time? When’s there going to be…’

  ‘Passions!’ she interrupted bluntly, ‘What are you passionate about?’ She took a deep breath, ‘I’d really love to know… I think.’

  ‘Well trees mainly.’ he said after a pause long enough to be deemed a dramatic build.

  ‘Trees?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Oh.’ she said with notable disappointment. During the uncomfortable silence that followed she considered her options, ‘Okay then… tell me all about trees.’

  It has been philosophised that we live our lives moving forward and understand it looking back, with personal knowledge coming from experience; however, it would take Nick a long time to sufficiently realise what he was experiencing with Lucy, cuddled asleep next to him in bed. He lay awake motionless, his expression far-off, his mouth open – jump forward some weeks and he’d recognise this blissful paralysis as love – but while his feelings and awareness were absolutely brilliant they were not in tune. Lucy didn’t fit the template; she wasn’t his type. This didn’t make sense and would mercilessly play on his mind. He gazed out of the open patio doors at the starlit sky and serenity shrouding the world outside. Lucy felt his energising contentment and squeezed him tighter, burying her head deeper in his chest. He could have accepted her loving affection and allowed warmth into his heart again – the person and feelings were right – instead he looked down at her ashen complexion and hair glowing pale under the moonlight and wanted it to shimmer dark and slick like Sofia’s.

  ‘Well I think that’s amazing! You’ve saved woodland and done all that stuff for the environment?’ Corsica said staring at Konrad with admiration. ‘And everyone in the country knows my stupid name? Decent people like you should be celebrated not celebrities; shows how screwed up we are!’

  ‘Oh, I dunno…’ he offered shyly, his cheeks reddened and Corsica touched his upper-arm.

  ‘I do. I think you’re noble and good. You’re outside of the money-go-round and I’m so jealous! I want to be more like you.’

  ‘Stoppit!’

  ‘I do! I want to do things for important causes rather than always maximising saleability! I’m so bloody sick of it all!’

  ‘I guess it must be exhausting, but being famous must have its perks, eh?’

  ‘Ha! Not as many as you think, and when you consider that most of my relationships have changed beyond belief and I’ll never have a private life again, no matter what the future holds, I’m not sure the sacrifices have been worth it.’ Konrad nodded sympathetically; he’d often pondered how famous people cope with the intense levels of manipulation and distrust that accompany such a life.

  ‘I suppose it must be tough.’

  Corsica sized up the small walled space around her and yawned, ‘No one’s coming for us tonight, are they?’

  ‘I doubt it now.’ he replied and saw anxiety underneath her drooping eyelids. He took her hand, ‘If you want to rest that’s okay, you know you’re safe with me.’

  She searched his eyes, ‘I know, thank you. It’s been a really long day.’ She removed her jacket and rested her head on it, ‘Are you tired?’ she asked looking up from her makeshift pillow with weary eyes.

  ‘A bit.’ he said checking what floor space he could occupy without imposing on her resting frame. He didn’t have much to work with and she noticed his considerate preoccupation.

  ‘Konrad, it’s okay; you can make contact with a celebrity. It may not be very nice but it’s unavoidable given the room we have!’

  ‘Wanna go top and tail?’

  ‘No.’ she answered shortly, tired of his faffing.

  ‘Sure?’

  ‘Yes! It’s really not necessary.’

  ‘Alrighty then.’ he said, awkwardly sliding on his right side and backing into the spooning position with minimal contact. ‘Okay?’ he checked again.

  ‘Yes, fine.’ she huffed into her jacket sleeve.

  ‘Great.’ and he rested his head on his right hand, breathing as quietly as possible to afford her relative privacy.

  ‘Than’ you, Kon…’ she drooled as her head sunk into her soft jacket.

  Stillness soon enveloped their humble accommodation and Corsica breathed a pleasant sigh. She imagined she was camping in the mountains on a balmy summer night, clothed and huddled on the hard ground under a magnificent starry sky. Fatigue and low spirits had brought on exhaustion and Corsica was content to drift and let imagination run free. Only the album’s closer, a tender ballad playing several floors above, offered signs of life beyond their peaceful shelter; not that she noticed, she was too busy pretending Konrad was Jo-E Williams and that they were enjoying a night of unadulterated freedom in the wilderness far from prying eyes and celebrity hassle. She felt herself starting to drift. Konrad, however, was less restful.

  ‘Bloody music!’ he moaned, startling Corsica from her relaxed state. ‘Oops, sorry.’ he apologised after she momentarily lifted her head to cast him a venomous look. ‘I wasn’t criticising the quality of the song you understand? It sounded a perfectly fine power-ballad of that… particular variety.’ he coughed weakly; he composed himself and ploughed on, ‘It was only that I was trying to rest, you see? And it was disturb…’ Suddenly the music stopped and, at least momentarily, so did Konrad. Quietness filled the lift. ‘Oh, thank god for that! I mean, really…’

  ‘Konrad, shut the hell up!’ she yelled and total silence promptly resumed.

  The welcome hush that wafted through the building like a sharp wind on a hot day, bringing peace to Konrad’s restlessness and saving him from a likely slap across the chops, was thanks to one Sergeant Alberto González Reverón. Local police carrying out a raid on the eleventh floor had caught the shaggy drug dealer shimmying to loud music and in possession of a dizzy array of iffy substances. They moved swiftly to detain him, and in the process halt his personal expression, but it was Señor González who realised the ear-splitting volume was needlessly complicating the arrest and ordered its immediate cessation. As further testimony to Señor González’s integrity, later that night on his way home he remembered to buy milk for his wife and helped a neighbour’s cat out of a tree.

  Unfortunately the night was marred by the escape of the grey-haired dealer who made off with most of the cash; he heard the police coming up the stairs and hid in a neighbouring doorway as they charged the apartment. He managed to flee the building while police were shouting over Corsica Coleman’s Baby, You Drive Me Crazy; it’s rumoured the chiselled criminal bought a top-of-the-range eco-friendly Jacuzzi with the night’s proceeds. Justice may not have served that particular scoundrel but his shaggy friend found himself immersed in a different kind of hot water, and went on to have the book literally thrown at him during one particular police interview. On that occasion Sergeant González was again at hand to scold the offending officer and proffer the defendant a vibrant adhesive bandage, but his unexceptional brilliance didn’t end with the distribution of plasters, rescuing kittens and mildly impressive memory skills – he was also the officer responsible for restarting the building’s power so the lift could transport boxes of evidence to vans on the ground. It wasn’t the first time Che González risked sending heavy goods down a faulty elevator to save time, but as well as modestly virtuous he was also moderately ballsy, unafraid to lightly wobble the boat and responsibly shake things up; much to the pleasure of Konrad and Corsica who found themselves face to face with him after the building’s power reboot successfully jerked the elevator to life.

  ‘Oh… hello!’ said Konrad sleepily as he raised his head and saw three confused police officers looki
ng at him from the lift doors. ‘It’s fixed? Great! Is it morning already?’ he asked the baffled trio standing beside a stack of bags and boxes.

  ‘Morning? No, it is night, señor.’ answered one officer. ‘What are you…? how are you…?’ he stuttered as Corsica woke to their voices. Señor González nearly fainted at the sight of her.

  ‘Dios mío, es ella!’ he screamed at his colleague.

  ‘En serio?’

  ‘Si! Es ella!’ he shouted and dramatically grabbed the officer by his collar. He respectfully eased himself away, straightened his shirt and turned to Corsica.

  ‘Señora Coleman? It is you?’

  ‘Yes, I’m Corsica Coleman.’

  The man’s face turned pale, ‘Is most important you come with us. Many important people worry. Everyone look for you. Come, come!’ he said as several pairs of hands suddenly reached into the lift and plucked her out of Konrad’s spoon-embrace and onto solid ground. They huddled around her like a rugby scrum and proceeded to bundle her to the staircase and into a waiting car as quickly as possible.

  ‘My jacket.’ she called to Konrad as they edged down the hall. The bodies slowly backed up to the lift entrance and Corsica’s outstretched hand appeared from inside the cluster.

  ‘Here.’ Konrad said as he threw the garment to her; with her vision blocked she grasped it by instinct and pulled it inside her human cage.

  ‘Thanks!’ she shouted as the group began shuffling down the hall.

  ‘Wait!’ Konrad hollered as they disappeared; again they reversed in unison.

  ‘What?’

  ‘For what it’s worth I think you look fantastic – and as for your popularity factor, well with me it couldn’t be higher.’ he said to the dark interior; she fell silent. ‘You surprised me Corsica Coleman; no, you wowed me. It was really lovely meeting you.’ The three policemen looked down at Konrad mawkishly opening up on the elevator floor and, despite understanding little of what was said, responded with pitiful expressions. Corsica failed to respond. ‘If I’m ever stuck in a lift again I really hope it’s with you!’ he said and bowed his head so he didn’t have to watch her leave. The cluster lingered on the spot under a shroud of indecision then, like Moses and the Red Sea, it suddenly parted – allowing Corsica to emerge from the protective shell like a hatched princess. She crouched beside Konrad and kissed his cheek.

  ‘I don’t know why but something tells me this experience has a significant meaning. Thank you for that.’ she said and pushed the small package of cocaine in his hand. ‘Get rid of this for me, I won’t be needing it.’ and she rose to her feet and elegantly approached the limb labyrinth. ‘You’re a special man, Konrad Gruber.’

  Señor González’s unremarkable influence on others’ lives that evening was far from over, but the giddy high of a small-scale drug raid and chancing upon a high-profile missing person was written all over his face as Corsica left in the back of a police car. He’d join his colleagues at the station soon enough, he just wanted to savour the moment and turned to face the gloomy building and scene of his success. He lit a cigarette and stared hard, taking in every detail before walking into the night, beaming like a hyena with a bout of giggles.

  In contrast to Corsica’s elaborate V.I.P. exit, Konrad staggered onto the pavement unaided looking like a confused convict leaving solitary confinement. After being ignored by busying officers as to whether he was needed for anything he freely made his way past the guards at the entrance as if invisible. After a moment’s deliberation he went to find a taxi, grinning as he threw the bags of cocaine into a nearby bin. He felt energised; he was so lightheaded he tried to kick his heels but performed a small lopsided hop and tweaked his ankle on landing, nearly falling on his busted arm. He checked he was good to continue then headed towards the stadium free of further footloose footwork.

  Chapter 11

  Hippie & Shake

  Konrad jolted awake to the surreal experience of having sand kicked in his face.

  ‘Coming with us to see my dad, loser?’ Nick shouted standing over him, ‘Why are you dossing down there?’

  Lucy frowned at him, ‘Did you sleep all night on the beach?’

  ‘Yes, I bloody did!’ Konrad said, gingerly getting to his feet and spitting sand out. ‘I came back to the room and found my bed taken!’ he said testily and pushed Nick back with his free hand, ‘And that was not a nice way to be woken up!’

  He stumbled back, laughing at the irony of his one-armed friend forced to sleep on the sand with his paid-room metres above his head, ‘Yeh, sorry Kon.’ he said trying to sound sincere, ‘Last night was… unexpected. We didn’t think you’d come back.’ Lucy went to Nick and put her arm around him, ‘An amazing night! Right, Luce?’

  Lucy beamed at Konrad, proudly showing her affection for his best friend; she squeezed Nick’s waist, ‘Amazing!’ she affirmed, looking into his eyes.

  ‘How was your night?’ Nick asked.

  ‘Actually, rather amazing as well!’

  ‘Really? With that nasty Penny woman?’ she teased.

  ‘No! I lost her during the festival – I ended up trapped in a lift with a beautiful celebrity!’ he said proudly.

  ‘What?’ Nick coughed.

  ‘Konrad, were you just dreaming this …’

  ‘No, it wasn’t a dream!’ he said firmly, hoping to stem further doubtful remarks.

  ‘Who was this celebrity then?’ Nick asked, intrigued by his noted seriousness.

  ‘Corsica Coleman.’ he announced brightly; Nick and Lucy groaned in unison.

  ‘Don’t be daft!’ he shouted impatiently.

  ‘She was performing at the festival!’ Lucy said. ‘Konrad, you obviously just dreamt this…’

  ‘She didn’t perform. She was trapped in a lift with me!’

  ‘For god’s sake, wake up mate!’ Nick said as Lucy’s phone started to ring, bringing a temporary pause to their exchange.

  ‘Hello, Lucy Caul…’ she uttered, accustomed to completing her full name and generic introduction out of an understood politeness, but a loud dominant voice interrupted and rolled off a reprimand usually seen on edgy cop shows. The shouting stopped and was followed by brilliant silence – then life resumed; the waves returned to crashing and everyone started breathing again. Lucy kind of wished she wasn’t though, her face pale with shock. ‘Corsica Coleman didn’t show.’ she said blankly, focussing on no one in particular, ‘My boss is livid, he wants to know why I wasn’t there to arrange a fill-in with one of our acts. They made-do with a band from earlier on the bill who managed to keep the crowd and are now getting great exposure.’ She looked to the ocean, ‘I’m screwed! I gotta get to the hotel and sort this out – I image everyone’s furious.’

  As Lucy trudged off the beach Nick’s concern switched to impish excitement; he turned to Konrad and nudged his arm cast, ‘That true about Corsica Coleman?’ he asked bouncing in front of him with baited breath. Konrad was about to answer but was interrupted by Lucy returning to give Nick a passionate kiss.

  ‘Sorry! Have a great day, I’ll call you later.’ she said feeling slightly lifted and hurried to smooth things over with the countless people currently miffed at her.

  ‘So?’ Nick pressed, returning his attentions to his bedraggled friend.

  Konrad smiled, displaying teeth full of grit; he spat some out and slapped Nick’s back, ‘Let’s go find your dad. I’ll tell you all about it on the way.’

  As the pair walked off the beach onto the promenade a small group of neo-hippies playing music and selling artisan charms and trinkets greeted Konrad like a friend.

  ‘Hey! Muchacho!’ said a heavily-tattooed woman wearing a tunic and flicking her blonde dreadlocks at him.

  ‘Como va, tio?’ enthused a juggling street performer in baggy harem trousers, boasting an imaginative array of body-piercing.

  Konrad was taken aback by the attention, ‘Very well, thank you. Muy bien!’ he said like a rock star passing through a gang of groupies. With yesterday’s
tired clothes and hair spiked like an overslept infant’s, caked in sand from head to toe, Konrad bustled through the over-friendly gang as Nick looked on baffled.

  ‘I think they think you’re the messiah, Kon!’ he joked as one pretty hippie girl stroked the length of his back and lingered on his buttocks an inappropriate amount of time. Eventually breaking loose and bidding farewell to their new pals, they made their way along the beachfront boulevard to the end of El Médano. They passed the last line of bars and small hotel, the town’s unofficial boundary, and crossed over a hill into the protected reserve – an area of beaches, volcanic cones and home to a network of natural caves and small bohemian community – in search of Ilove Green, Nick’s estranged biological father. They followed an unmade path through an area of elongated dunes and pumice gullies until they saw signs of life; patio furniture assembled outside cave entrances with tarpaulin coverings. A young topless couple appeared from one grotto and regarded Nick and Konrad from a distance as they ventured along the track, arriving at the small hippie hamlet. Nick casually waved to them and they returned the greeting, sitting down to boil water from a gas heater for their morning coffee. As they approached Nick called up to the raised entrance and semi-naked couple preparing half a dozen tin cups.

  ‘Hello. I look for Ilove. You know Ilove? Astral?’ he said slowly for ease of passage through any troublesome language barriers.

  ‘Yes, mate.’ the man shouted down in an Australian accent, ‘Bit further along.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Nick called back.

  ‘Actually, can you take ‘em these?’ he asked, and ambled down the rocks with two mugs. Nick took the steaming beverages, gave a respectful nod and carried on the path; they passed more rudimentarily edifices and groups of scruffy inhabitants before the sound of a guitar and shrieked-singing grabbed Nick’s attention.

  ‘I know that version of Lennon anywhere.’ he said as they got closer and a semi-recognisable interpretation of Imagine reverberated around the gully. They arrived outside the cave and stopped, uncertain what to do next.