No Ordinary Bloke

by Mary Whitney

  Within seconds, Trey was slapping me on the back. “How the hell did you get in?”

  “Angus and I are friends.” I caught a glimpse of Melanie’s blank smile.

  “Angus is a great guy. Do you know each other from back home?”

  “Uh. No.” Glasgow and London aren’t exactly nearby, you twat.

  Trey snickered before he turned to Allison. “Allison, it’s your lucky day.”

  “It is,” she said, trying to smile.

  Poor thing. I realized all three of them were miserable for one reason or another, but I was happy. I decided to end everyone’s misery and start my date with Allison. I looked up at Trey. “Thanks for the idea, Trey. I appreciate it. And thanks for a good meeting today.”

  Trey snapped his finger and then pointed to me like he was a fucking used car salesman. “That was a good meeting. Thank you.”

  He squeezed Allison’s shoulder. “See you later, Al.”

  “Bye Trey,” Allison said, as we both watched him guide Melanie to their table far out of sight.

  A waiter then popped in to take our drink orders which helped distract Allison. When the waiter left, I leaned back in my seat and announced, “So I’ve decided to forgive you for abandoning me that night.”

  Allison guffawed in laughter. “Oh you have, have you?”

  “I have.”

  “And what made you come to this decision?”

  So far I’d been teasing her, but what I had to say next needed to be said in all earnest. “I fancy you too much to be angry with you.”

  “Oh, David…” She placed a hand on her heart. “I like you, too. A lot. But—”

  “No need to say anything more.” I smiled and returned to a more teasing tone. “That’s why everything is all right. One day you’ll see the error of your ways on your own. There’s no need for me to hold a grudge about it. We can be friends.”

  “Friends? Do you have any female friends?”

  “Of course. You met Natalie.”

  “You used to date Natalie. Or something with her.” She rolled her eyes. “That’s why you’re friends.”

  I leaned across the table a bit and whispered excitedly, “Are you saying that to be friends you have to shag the person? Because if that’s your prerequisite, I’m happy to oblige whenever you need—”

  “No.” She laughed. “I meant that about you, not me.”

  “Ridiculous. Angus and I are friends, and we’ve never had sex.” I sat a little straighter. “Not that there would be anything wrong with it. We’ve just never hit it off.”

  “I meant women.”

  “Bollocks. I have female friends who I haven’t shagged.”

  She nodded warily and rightly so. I did have female mates who I never had sex with, but I didn’t have a female friend who I wanted to shag, but hadn’t. Allison would be a first. Sitting in that restaurant, I felt how desperately I wanted to be with her. She was smart, but vulnerable, pretty, but sexy, and funny, but elusive. I wanted to shag her non-stop and then follow her around like a puppy dog for as long as she’d let me. If I had to pretend to be friends with her, I’d do just that.

  When she didn’t say anything, I had to lighten the mood. “So is the problem that you’ve never had a female friend you haven’t shagged? You must expect I’ll be like you and unable to control myself around.”

  She burst out in laughter. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I was thinking.”

  “I thought so.”

  She grinned and looked down at the tablecloth. After tracing the edge of the table with her finger, she raised her head. “It would be a shame if we weren’t friends. You’re a really great guy.”

  “I agree.”

  “That it would be a shame or you’re a great guy?”

  “Both.” Exhaling in relief, I picked up the menu to center myself. It felt like a victory.

  A little over an hour later, I dropped Allison back off at her office building. She promised to ring me when she was in London in a few weeks. That was going to have to do for me now. After I left the Greystone building, I waited another hour to let the lunch crowd leave before I rang Angus to get the rest of his dirt on Trey.

  Angus was gleeful when he took my call. “Smooth. Yes, smooth you are, mate. That Allison is a looker and sweetheart. Steal her away from that arsehole Chabot. Please. It will be a win for the common man.”

  “It’s going to take some work.” I leaned against the wall of the JFK British Airways lounge. “Tell me more about him. Why do you think he’s screwing around on her?”

  “He brings in women he describes as clients, but there’s way too much wine drunk for it to be just about business. The hours are sometimes quite late as well.” He waited a second and added cautiously, “You’re not going to tell her are you?”

  “Fuck no.” My voice was even more alarmed than his. “That’s a sure-fire way to cock everything up. She needs to figure it out on her own.”

  A low snicker came over the line. “And then David will be there with a shoulder for her to cry on.”

  “Indeed.”

  “And a stiffy for her to—”

  “We can only hope.” I laughed. “One more question. What about the girl he was with today?”

  “His assistant Melanie? I know her. I see her all the fucking time.”

  “You do? How can you see her more than Allison?”

  “Oh, I never see her in the dining room of the restaurant. Today was a first.”

  “Where do you see her then?”

  “She picks up dinner for him and takes it to his house.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “All the time.”

  “Oh, that’s clever of him. It’s a perfect excuse for her to be at his house.”

  “So you think they’re bonking?”

  “I do now. Damn. He’s a wily one.” I stared out the window as a giant Airbus lumbered slowly across the tarmac. Trey had set up quite the life for himself. He had an impeccable public girlfriend in Allison, who no doubt was also a dear, privately, but he also had plenty of women on the side, including his own assistant. And what if Allison the HR exec ever found out a vice president in her company was boffing his assistant? She’d have to begin an investigation. In this case, an investigation of her own boyfriend. Trey was setting up a hugely cruel fall for her, if she ever found out.

  Angus hadn’t even heard my analysis, but he had his own opinion. “Poor Allison. You can’t tell her though. You simply can’t. It does nobody any good for it to come from you.”

  “Unfortunately, that’s exactly right.”

  A week or so after I left New York, it finally dawned on me: I hadn’t gotten laid in well over a month. Granted, my randy lad days were long since past. I was too old and too professional to be banging every skirt I could catch, but I also wasn’t a monk. I usually got a little something here or there at least every couple of weeks

  I only realized my lack of sex one day on the tube. I was on the train to work minding my own business and reading the Financial Times when I glanced up as I turned the page. My eyes landed on a beautiful little blonde staring me down. She looked like a model or a dancer, heading into an audition. I smiled and was about to turn back to my paper when I saw her mouth slowly, I want to fuck you.

  When I was a lad, if that same situation occurred, I’d have taken the girl in the first semi-private spot we could find, be it train, station, or doorway. Today was different. Now the girl got only a smile out of me. I still had more than enough sex; I just didn’t have it all the fucking time like I used to. The girl on the tube did make me wonder though. When was the last time?

  After computing some dates and realizing how long it had been, I had a rare moment of self-reflection. Deep down I wondered if my lack of sex was a result of being so preoccupied with Allison, but that had to be rubbish. The fact I wanted to fuck her shouldn’t shut down my entire sex drive. That made no sense at all.

  I quickly decided there was one answer to my problem, and her
name was Candy. Candy and I had known each other for a decade. She owned a coffee shop in the City. Even in the beginning, we never really dated, and over the years, we’d whittled down our shags to a few a year—enough to keep us interested in each other. We both learned early on that while we enjoyed each other’s company in bed, we weren’t too keen on spending time together elsewhere. She was flighty, irresponsibly left-wing, and interested in New Age spirituality which I thought was utter crap. She thought I was a traitor to my working class heritage and “part of the military industrial complex,” whatever the fuck that meant. It was much better when she didn’t talk, and I was free to admire her perfect tits.

  When I got off the tube, I sent her a quick text which got me an invitation to her apartment for lunch. Apparently, she’d missed me as well, or at a minimum, missed a part of me. When I arrived at her flat above the coffee shop, she opened the door and beamed. “David, come in my beautiful blond boy.”

  “How are you, princess?” I kissed her silky black hair and walked in. Her apartment was small, but nicely done up thanks to the ridiculous prices people will pay for a cup of coffee. I heard the door close behind me, and I turned to see her already starkers. My eyes widened in appreciation. “Well, hello, there.”

  “I couldn’t wait.” She shook her head and walked toward me. “It’s been too long.”

  “It has,” I said, eagerly taking off my coat. After I threw it across the back of the sofa, I took her into my arms. “What do you say we get cracking and talk later?”

  “That was just what I was going to say.”

  I kissed her which was perfectly fine at first, but then my mind wandered a bit. That normally never happened when I was with a woman. I focused on her and her alone because everyone had a better time that way. When I realized I began thinking about the smell of coffee coming from downstairs, I quickly moved my hands to her breast to get my mind back on track. “Such perfect tits you have, princess.”

  “Uh, David,” she said in an annoyed voice. “What’s going on?”

  I pulled my hand away from her breast. “What’s wrong? Don’t you like it?”

  “I love you touching my breasts. I don’t understand why your hands are on my breasts and my hand is on your dick, and yet you’re still not hard.”

  “I don’t feel you…” My head snapped down to see her hand was indeed on my pecker. I watched her rub it over my trousers, but the sensations were meaningless. I was as limp as a noodle.

  “Are you ill?” she asked as she continued to stroke me. “It’s never taken this long before. I mean it’s never taken any time at all.”

  “I’m sorry…This must be because…” Because of what? What was the appropriate lie to tell in this situation? I took a step back, and she dropped her hand. “I do apologize,” I said, tugging at my tie. “I’m simply so stressed at work right now. I have a huge meeting this after lunch.”

  “But this has never happened be—”

  “I should just go. I’m no good for you until I get this presentation done.” I grabbed my coat, and before I fled, I kissed her on the top of the head once again. “Bye, princess. So sorry. I’ll get back to you.”

  Two minutes later I was sprinting down the streets of London in a humiliated panic. How could I not get it up? Especially for Candy! I’d managed to fuck her before when I was barely coherent enough to say her name, let alone shag her. Was something wrong with me?

  I stopped in the middle of the street when I remembered something incredibly important—I’d jacked off just that morning and nothing special was required. All it took was my morning stiffy and my go-to montage fantasy of tits and sex. My dick was working properly. It just didn’t work properly for Candy. I began walking back to my office because the world was making sense again. All I needed to do was find a new shag.

  The following week, I tried in vain to ignore that Allison might be in London. Work was piling up as the end of the year approached, so I was grumpy already when I repeatedly checked my mobile to see if she called. When the days passed and I didn’t hear from her, I only became more of a pisser.

  Then on Thursday morning, Elinor buzzed me, “An Allison Wright from Greystone is on the line for you. I know you’re busy. Shall I send her to your voicemail?”

  “No! Not there!” I may never hear from her again if I didn’t take her call. And why was she calling my bloody desk? Why not my mobile?

  “I’m sorry. Do you want to talk to her or not?”

  “Yes, yes. Please send her through.”

  “Here you go then,” Elinor said, probably a little annoyed with my outburst. I never barked at her.

  I didn’t have time to dwell on Elinor because my line rang. I took a breath and picked up the line. “Allison Wright, I presume.”

  “It is.” She laughed softly. “How are you, David?”

  “My day is much brighter now that you’ve called.”

  “You’re sweet. It’s good to hear your voice. I’m sorry I didn’t call sooner, but it’s been busy. I don’t suppose you’re free for coffee later this afternoon.”

  For her, I’d always be free for coffee or whatever the fuck she might want to drink, but I didn’t like the signals I was getting from her. She didn’t ring my mobile, and then she offers a date of coffee, not even lunch. These were not welcoming signs. I needed to turn the tables again on her. “Actually, I’m a bit slammed myself, and I have an errand to run mid-afternoon.”

  “Oh.” There was a moment of silence which I prayed signaled she was disappointed. “That’s too bad.”

  “I suppose you could help me with my errand.”

  “Sure. I guess. If I can.”

  “Brilliant. Can you meet me at 3?”

  “Yes, at your office?”

  “No. Tiffany’s.”

  “Tiffany’s?”

  “Yes, Tiffany’s. I need to do some shopping.”

  “Are these wedding gifts?”

  “Of course.”

  “David, you crack me up.”

  “I’m very sorry we won’t be shopping for you, but don’t you think it’s a bit premature for me to buy you jewelry with Trey still around and all?”

  “Yes, just a bit.” She laughed. “So where is this Tiffany’s?

  Later that afternoon, I stood outside the Tiffany’s on Old Bond Street, jingling the change in my trousers when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned to see Allison in a bright blue coat that only made her hair more vibrant and her skin more luscious. “Hi,” she said with a smile.

  I leaned down and gave her a kiss on either cheek. “Hello, love. It’s good to see you.”

  When I pulled away, her hand self-consciously went to the last cheek I kissed. “It’s good to see you, too.”

  She still hadn’t removed her hand from her face, so I asked, “Now why can’t I kiss you on the cheeks? It’s very European.”

  “You’re British.” She smirked and withdrew her hand.

  “Yes, but I’m not one of these Brits who think we need to turn our back on Europe.”

  “Is that because you like to make money there or because you like to kiss women on the cheek with impunity?”

  “Both. Of course, I also like to vacation there, and the wine is quite good as well.”

  “Maybe you should move there.”

  “Fuck no. It’s hard enough for me to be able to get out to a Liverpool game as it is.” I nodded to the giant doors of Tiffany’s and smiled. “Shall we?”

  Soon after we entered the store, I was greeted by name by several of the clerks. Normally, they’d just let me go about my business, and I’d be out of there in ten minutes. Today was different for them. There was a woman on my arm—a very strange sight indeed. One of them must’ve signaled their manager, because he was at our side at once.

  A rounded old gent, he extended his hand. “Good day, Mr. Bates. It’s a pleasure to see you again.” He then turned to Allison. “I’m Stanley Merriwether, the store’s manager.”

  “Hello, Stanley
,” I said shaking his hand. “This is Allison Wright.” Stanley caught my eye, and I realized I needed to give her some kind of identifier. The poor bloke didn’t know if she was a girlfriend or a fiancée. I grasped for something innocuous. “Allison is a colleague of mine.”

  “Fantastic,” Stanley said, clearly relieved to have a compartment to put Allison in, though maybe disappointed that he wouldn’t be showing us diamond solitaires that day.

  “Hi,” Allison said, as he extended his hand to her.

  “So you work at Barclays as well, Ms. Wright?” asked Stanley.

  “No, I work for Greystone, another investment firm. I’m based in New York.”

  “New York? Lovely. With the best Tiffany’s store in the world I might add,” said Stanley.

  I patted Stanley on the back and handed him a piece of paper. “Stanley, I just need to order a few items for some friends. May I have the registries for Tamara Schwartz, Annette Crown, and Natalie Jenson? I wrote the names down for you here.”

  “Certainly. I’ll have them printed out for you at once. I’ll be right back.”

  As soon as he half way across the store, Allison said, “Well, that was amusing.”

  “How so?”

  “He had no idea what to make of me.”

  “Yes, I think that’s true.”

  “Have you ever brought another woman here?”

  “No.”

  “Do you think he thought maybe you were buying me a ring?”

  “Dunno. But a bloke as big as him might not get over the heart attack of me buying a girl a ring to actually enjoy the commission.”

  She laughed. “Poor guy. You’re tormenting him.”

  “Don’t mean to.”

  “Tell me about these women we’re buying for. Who’s the first one?”

  “Tamara?” I had a vision of her dark curls and throaty laugh. “Wonderful girl. I’m very happy for her. She’s found the nice Jewish boy she’s always wanted.”

  “Ah, so this is a woman who would’ve never married you even if you wanted to marry her?”

  “Indeed.”

  “Because you wouldn’t convert to Judaism?”

  “Well, there are a lot of reasons why we weren’t destined for marriage….”