“Hang on,” she whispered, once she got her breath back. “We’re been together for almost five years. The notches on our belt were dealt with in the first year. We put that to rest. Why bring it up now?”
“Because I don’t have any bloody notches!” Markie shrieked. “All my friends are out there shooting pellets into their fourth or fifth belt while mine frigging still looks like something belonging to a sixteen year old. Actually I take that back. Most sixteen year olds have slept with more women than I have.”
“Markie, you’re nearly thirty. Since when did you give a crap about quantity over quality?”
“I guess that would have to be ever since I woke up and realized I’m supposed to be a man.”
It seems that some things are really never put to rest. You might think they are while really they are hovering beneath the surface like a furtive malign virus waiting to attack.
This particular attack hit Serena where it hurt the most – her pride and to a lesser degree her heart. She wondered whether if she’d answered Markie’s question differently all those years ago whether they would be sitting here right now breaking up. You know the question…
“So how many men have you been with?”
The discussion of sexual history inevitably came up early in most relationships. Actually it usually coincided with the time a couple started doing it. Serena should know; as soon as the bedclothes were tossed back her partner would be pinning her down, dying to know:
“Where in the world did you learn that stuff?”
Except in Markie’s case it had been different. She had made him wait long for his dessert, this piece de’ resistance, and as such he hadn’t felt the need to know the gory details right away. By the time he did find out it was too late. Markie was hooked.
“You’ve slept with twelve men,” he had repeated back then, eyes wide like saucers.
Serena remembered it just like it was yesterday. It was a Monday morning, about eight o’clock, the day he first feigned a croaky voice and called in sick. Markie could get away with things like that, given he was managing director and a creative genius whereas Serena…well she didn’t exactly have the same power in her hands.
“Phone in sick? I couldn’t,” she had stammered.
You see, one does not take a sick day when they have by pure fluke scored an assistant makeup artist job on a big budget movie set. Serena was supposed to already be there, kissing butts like a slobbering fan.
“You can’t or you won’t?”
“Aren’t they the same thing?” she had skirted around the question, embarrassingly. There she was, Miss Adventure, Miss Take-One-Big-Risk-A-Day, being put on the spot. I must be getting old, she had thought to herself, five years ago. Only twenty-three and already putting work before play… Or was it love?
Too early yet to say.
“At least tell them you’ll be coming in late; that Fluffy ate some venom-filled mouse and needs an emergency trip to the vet. That way I can I drive you in to the set a little later…Will you do that for me?” Markie had asked, his lips making their way straight past her stomach.
“No but I can do it for me.”
That had been Serena’s half-hearted attempt at keeping control, while her legs quivered like twigs in the wind. Then, after they both climaxed, Markie had asked for the aforementioned sexual summary. And twelve obviously sounded like a whole football team to him.
“Why, how many have you been with?” Serena had asked.
To be honest, she had thought her record was quite angelic given the circumstances… laissez faire parents, promiscuous friends (otherwise known as Tabitha, who had surpassed her own figure years ago). Serena had figured that Markie must be acting strange and pissed off because he had about the same number of lovers and not more. Damn that stupid double standard thing, where the guy needed to reach your quota then multiply it by two to feel like a man.
“I don’t want to say,” Markie had replied rather mysteriously.
Which was when Serena figured hang on, maybe she was wrong. What if, God forbid, he had had fewer partners than she? Nine, ten or heavens she was really in trouble if it was only six! She’d never encountered that situation before.
“Listen, I’ve told you before how I’ve been in a couple of serious relationships…” Markie had started and then drifted off.
Serena had nodded. Of course, how could she forget? They had bumped into one of them, Miss Wanda Long Legs on their second date. Miss Wanda and Markie had spent four years together, from the ages sixteen to twenty and had a mutual break-up as they both felt the need to spread their wings.
“Well,” Markie had continued slowly, “What I’m trying to say is that while other guys were sowing their seeds, I was spoken for. Taken, if you get what I mean.”
No, Serena did not get what he meant. What was he trying to say? That he had been engaged? That his ex-future-mother-in-law still had dibs on the bloke?”
“Do I need to spell it out for you?”
“I think you do,” Serena had said, who was by then plotting to get Miss Wanda-Long-Legs out of the picture. Off a cliff perhaps?
“What I’m trying to say is that I haven’t slept with twelve other partners like you have. I haven’t even slept with half as much.”
“That’s okay,” Serena had replied, trying hard not to keep a straight face. The virginal boy show he was putting on was really extremely funny… oops she meant cute.
“So you’ve slept with only a handful. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“Not really a handful,” Markie had said, going bright red in the face, “It’s really something more like this.”
He put up a peace sign and left it there frozen in space until the realization sunk in.
“You see I’ve only slept with two women.”
Serena had smiled, unsure of what to say next. “That’s so sweet,” was the first thing that came to mind, though deep inside it was more like: Oh Lord, what do we have here?
Chapter 3
“She gave you permission to do what?”
“To sleep with ten more women,” Markie repeated, sounding just as shocked as Rick.
The two business partners had gathered into the silo-cum-trendy conference room for an emergency meeting of the personal kind. Not that any of their staff would suspect such a thing.
“But I thought you were going to break up with her? Let the old cannon loose?”
“I was but then she came up with this crazy idea.”
“To which of course you couldn’t say no. Lucky son of a gun,” Rick muttered under his breath. “You do realize most men would kill to be in your shoes right now.”
“Yeah I know man,” Markie agreed. “God must be finally giving something back after all those years living the noble life. That’s what you get for having a tarnish-free record.”
“Damn, then I guess it could only happen to you,” Rick laughed, playing the part of a jealous bastard.
Not that he really was jealous; Rick was single after all and now Markie too was free to go on a hunting spree. He wondered whether he should pinch himself just to make sure it wasn’t all a dream. You see, it wasn’t every day a man got to have his cake and eat it too and to be honest, Markie felt as if he was rolling around in thick luscious chocolate Jerry Springer-style.
The truth was Markie hadn’t really wanted to split from Serena. The girl was like heaven on a stick: gorgeous, funny and ambitious yet with both feet firmly on the ground. But there hadn’t been any other choice. He had needed to get out of the relationship before this issue of his exploded out of control and he found himself doing crap a man shouldn’t do to a dog, like cheating, for example.
On second thought there was little chance of him doing that; Markie wasn’t the cheating sort of guy. If he’d stayed he would have instead become a grumpy old fart with a rod stuck up his ass. And Serena didn’t need that sort of crap. She deserved more and for her sake, Markie had been willing to make the biggest sacrifice and le
t her go. Set the bird free, and if they truly love you they will return… blah, blah, blah. No violins please.
“I still can’t believe you get to keep her,” Rick said, shaking his head.
“I know, three months of freedom and once my masculine urges have been satisfied, it’s back to roost in the nest.”
“What if she doesn’t want to take you back?” Rick asked, always one to throw the rhetoric question.
“Trust me, she will. That isn’t an option.”
It wasn’t like Serena to suggest a plan that wasn’t going to work. The way she presented the idea so earnestly had reeled him in from the word go (plus the fact that it obviously worked in his favor).
“Listen you don’t need to break up with me,” Serena had pleaded. “I know a way for you to get what you want and it will bring us even closer together.”
In the past, despite having had her own fair share of men, Serena had often pestered Markie about his infamous two lovers: Wanda and Minroe. It was the 'two versus twelve' debate. Markie of course thought his two partners paled in comparison to her plethora of one-night stands. To that, Serena said bollocks. So I’ve slept with twelve different men one time apiece. So what? It still only equated to only a dozen sexual experiences. Whereas Markie had done the deed, what was it now - more than a thousand times with other women? It was funny how Math wasn’t Serena’s strongest point but she sure knew how to be a calculator when it mattered.
During a few of their earlier Deep and Meaningfuls Serena had confided that she was actually in fact envious of Markie’s past (and thank gosh for that, it was the only thing that stroked his ego). She had sighed and said she would have eagerly traded in her deal for his in a second.
“If only we could trade,” Markie had replied, trying to imagine what it would be like to have known more women and dirty deeds.
He had tried to come to terms with it for what was the alternative? You couldn’t change a lackluster past no matter how hard you tried. Up until yesterday Markie was on the road heading straight to martyrdom, with no foreseeable exits; do not pass go, directly to jail, until Serena offered the elusive detour.
“How about we just change the future instead?”
“What do you mean?”
At this stage Markie still hadn’t see what was coming. He was as innocent as a kid attending his first day of kindergarten.
“Why don’t we take a break instead of breaking up? Go off and do what we both need to do, three months maybe, and once we’re done, continue where we left off.”
Markie had raised his eyebrows. Hang on a second…
“And just what is it that you need to do?”
Serena had looked away and bowed her head.
“Don’t think I’m exactly impressed with my lot either.”
“But you’ve had bloody twelve lovers!” Markie had raised his voice, “What more do you want?”
“A bit of intimacy within that twelve wouldn’t have gone astray. We women aren’t like you men; we don’t give a crap for numbers. It’s the relationship that counts.”
“But you think it’s only fair that we have the same number, right?” Markie had asked, double-checking that he wasn’t somehow getting screwed (by the same woman yet again.)
“Yes it’s fair,” Serena had sighed. “I don’t have a need to go off and sleep with more people like you do.”
“So what do you have a need for?”
“Like I said if I could go back and have what you had with Wanda and Minroe, then I’d be happy.”
“But you can’t go back. You slept with strangers, most of whom were nameless.”
“Yes but what if I was to track some down and make up for lost time?”
“Some?” Markie asked, because the term was rather loose and undefined.
“You know that I mean - two, no more than two old one-night-stands. If I can do that then you can go and have another ten one-off lovers. I don’t care.”
“Neither do I,” Markie had said, thinking Serena sleeping with two exes was a small price to pay. Sort of - as long as they were really as bad as she said they were. Plus you never know; chances were she’d never find those mysterious ex-lovers.
“That way when we come back, we come back as equals.”
Serena had nodded her head reluctantly.
“Yes, as equals.”
Only then would the scales be weighted evenly, the load on their shoulders loosened and shared between the two of them.
“I suppose the first thing you gotta do is write a list,” Tabitha suggested, “after you’ve unpacked that is.”
“Right, after I’ve unpacked,” Serena muttered, flinging her two massive duffel bags onto the futon. Or should she say her bed for the next six weeks.
It could have been worse. She could’ve been forced to stay at Tabitha’s cramped, eccentric terrace indefinitely. But thankfully she and Markie, as joint property owners on a break and not enduring a break up – big difference- they decided to do the mature thing. They tossed a coin: heads meant Markie spent the first six weeks in the house whereas tails equaled Serena moving back during the latter half. Luckily for Serena tails never failed.
“It’s better that I’m here first,” she explained to Tabitha. ”It might take me ages to track down the boys, so when I do, at least I’ll have the place back and all to myself.”
“Hang on,” Tabitha interrupted, “Are you actually planning to sleep with other men in your potential marital bed?”
“That depends.” The thought hadn’t really crossed Serena’s mind before but now that it had…it did seem a bit cheap and nasty.
“On what exactly?” asked Tabitha, loving every minute of this. On the drive over here, she said it reminded her of a foreign soap opera show.
“Well on whether Markie has done it before me.”
“And you think that you’ll be able to tell?”
“Tabitha, call it women’s intuition or whatever you like. Any intelligent woman would be able to suss out something like that.”
“Hmm,” she replied, sounding very unconvinced. “Anyway until then, I don’t mind if you jiggy-jiggy here. You’re more than welcome to, you know. Condoms are in the first drawer over there.” She motioned to the nearby walnut brown cabinet.
“Thanks, but I’d rather buy my own. ‘Glow in the dark’ packs aren’t really my style…”
Nor was anything else here. Serena cringed looking about the place. If she brought a date back here he would think she was into medieval tribal bondage, what with all the scary masks and bearskin on the wall. Add to that effect the antique furnishings and it’s like she was living inside a cave. Tabitha’s style was what you would call eclectic, in a bad sense of the word and made only half-trendy because of her addiction to retro colors. For instance one could forgive a brown terry-toweling couch when it was draped in fuchsia and a wooden statue when its eyes and head had been plated in gold.
Still it was only for six weeks. Serena looked at this share-accommodation thing as if she were away on camp. No more Markie to tell her she couldn’t watch Sex and the City because soccer was on; no more steak, egg and bacon sandwiches when all she felt like for Sunday breakfast was cereal. It would be like one long slumber party; it would be fun.
“So are you ready to start on that list?” asked Tabitha an hour later, poking her head into the study. Oops correction – the new second bedroom. On her head was a baseball cap, in her hands a red clipboard and a chewed-up pen was tucked behind her ears. It looked like…gosh, it looked like she was going to interview Serena!
“Don’t look so scared,” she said. “This is something you need to do so best to tackle it early on.”
“In the same way you tackle all your projects?”
“Tut, tut.” Tabitha shook her head. “Now is not the time to compare apples with oranges.”
Serena at least hoped in the analogy she was the apple. Citrus fruits and anything else that left stringy bits in her teeth featured prominently on her pet-h
ate list. But that was beside the point…why talk about fruit at all when the real problem was the fruitcake that had gone a tad overboard here? Serena knew she should be grateful that Tabitha was showing interest- normally only naked men and free money got her friend’s attention - but gosh, give a best friend a break. She’d only just arrived. Not even two hours ago Serena had bid farewell to a boyfriend who now held a gold access pass into other woman’s underpants. Surely there must be an acceptable mourning period that went along with that?
“No, definitely no mourning period,” Tabitha said when Serena tried to have a mini hissy-spit. “Do you think Markie’s at home grieving for you or is he out trying to get laid?”
Ah, let me see…
“Fine, fine. Give me the bloody clipboard and we’ll take that trip down memory lane.”
Okay so where did they begin?
“Right at the beginning, with the boy who took away your virginity.”
Serena groaned. Oh so this was why Tabitha was in such an eager rush to get started. So she could have a frigging great laugh at her expense.
“I would feel more comfortable if you wrote out your conquest list too.” Serena smiled sincerely. She never knew when she might need some back-up blackmail material.
“We don’t have enough time for that,” Tabitha replied, rolling her eyes. “This is about you and your dilemma. We don’t want to be here all night.”
“Yes we do!” Serena insisted, “It’s only fair.”
“Okay, okay,” Tabitha grumbled, “After we have finished working on your famous twelve, I promise I’ll run through mine.”
“Pinky promise?” Serena asked, just in case Tabitha had crossed her fingers behind her back.
You don’t want to know how many times she had used that stupid gesture to get out of doing things.
“Yes, pinky promise,” sighed Tabitha, uncrossing her fingers.
The Numbers Game Page 2