Eliza Bailey Diaries - Day One
Through my Window
Zane Michaelson
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
About the Author
Also by Zane Michaelson
Copyright © 2018 by Zane Michaelson
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.
Happy Ever After Publishing is an imprint of Junction Publishing
The Eliza Bailey Diaries – Day One: Through my Window
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Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
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TEBDBOTMW / Zane Michaelson -- 1st Ed.
This short story is dedicated to those who live vicariously through the pages of a book.
Chapter One
Wednesday 19th July
Eight pm.
Home
I closed the front door behind me, sighed and dropped my briefcase onto the floor.
My hot flashes were coming at me thick and fast as of late, and today was no exception. I was hot, but not in the damn. I look good enough to fuck kind of way, but more in the I’m sweating like a glass blower’s arse kind of way.
Wrestling myself out of the coat I hadn’t needed after all, I hung it on the cloakroom peg inside the vestibule.
Relieved to be home, I thought of the mountain of paperwork I should prioritise. But who was I kidding? I had no intention of doing anything work related this evening.
My plans involved a relaxing spa bath with plenty of bubbles. I’d light the scented candles and consume copious amounts of Grey Goose–my tipple de jour.
I am in dire need of some me time, especially after the hellish day I’d just endured.
Trying to lift my bad mood wouldn’t be easy.
Too many factors were against me:
My boss was a cunt
My colleagues were even bigger cunts
My waste of space ex-boyfriend was the mother of all cunts
I’ve cursed so many times today, I’m lucky I wasn’t struck down.
I walked into the kitchen, grabbed the vodka from the freezer and a clean glass from the cupboard, then trudged up the stairs.
Walking into my bedroom, I caught a glimpse of my own reflection in the mirror.
Despite looking a little tired and drawn, I smiled. “Yep, still got it,” I said, my mood lifting, albeit fleetingly.
I might be forty-four, but no way was I going into my middle-aged years without putting up one hell of a fight.
Anything that would one day sag and drag was a long way off yet.
Over the years, I’d looked after myself:
Good diet. Check
Gym membership. Check
Mastered the art of Yoga. Check
Zumba classes. Check
Never smoked. Check
Never done hard drugs. Check
Kinky, calorie burning sex. CHECK
I wasn’t an angel by any stretch of the imagination.
My one big vice was alcohol, and while I wasn’t dependant by any means, I could knock it back with the best of them.
Maybe it had something to do with my Irish heritage–we liked to party, and I lived for the weekends.
I’d certainly lived. I’d crammed a lot into my life, but as of late, questions regarding my own mortality had begun to eat their way into my thoughts.
Do I really want to be dating at my age? I didn’t think so. I didn’t want to be tied down and married either. I wasn’t ready to settle down, cosy nights in watching the soaps and sipping Ovaltine. Ugh. Even the thought of it made me shudder.
I had every intention of growing old disgracefully.
Getting married again was a horrible thought. Been there, done that. What a disaster, and if I never set eyes on the slimy puddle of cock snot again, it wouldn’t be too soon for me.
Divorce was something I’d never envisioned, or wanted, but the decision had been taken out of my hands.
I married for life, and as for my vows, I meant every word of them. Such a shame only one of us did because within ten years he’d poked more pussy than I’d had hot dinners.
A small, yet thankfully brief brush with an STD brought the final curtain down on my marriage.
Still, I walked away with a mortgage free house and a pile of cash the fornicating shithead really didn’t want to part with.
He walked away with the clap. Serves him right. Dirty bastard!
The arrangement with Richie, my now ex-boyfriend had suited me at first. It was exciting, and we fucked like rabbits, but after nearly two years even that had lost its sparkle.
He wanted to change the parameters of our relationship, wanting more than I could offer him.
I didn’t want him to move in and invade my private space and marriage was a definite no-no. Arranging to meet for lunch, I could sense the nervous tension in the air as soon as he walked through the door.
He kissed me on the cheek as was customary for him.
Everything was boringly routine.
Why couldn’t he have pulled me out of the chair and into a long, drawn out kiss?
I wanted and desired spontaneity, but it was sadly lacking where he was concerned.
Chapter Two
Richie sat opposite me.
“Is everything okay?” I asked. “You seem edgy.”
He was making me nervous and I wanted whatever was on his mind out in the open.
“We need to talk, Eliza.” He wouldn’t look at me.
I tried to make eye contact, but he averted my gaze.
“Who have you been screwing?” I asked, my mind instantly taking me to that place of mistrust I’d held for everybody since my ex-husband had cheated on me.
He looked incredulous at the accusation and stared at me open mouthed.
“Well, spit it out.”
“Are you fucking serious?” He raised his voice and the other diners in the quaint bistro turned to look as their peace was disturbed.
“Don’t raise your voice at me.” I leaned forward and hissed at him.
“I haven’t cheated, you stupid, paranoid woman,” he retaliated. I knew I’d offended him. I’d let the stupid comment fly, this time, but if he tried it again, he would get more than he bargained for.
“If you haven’t cheated, why won’t you look at me, and why the guilty expression?”
“I’ve done nothing wrong.” He lowered his voice into an angry whisper. “I’m not your ex-husband, but sometimes I wonder if he went with other women because of your constant paranoia.”
It was like a slap to the face. �
��I don’t trust people because of him,” I said, my voice unsteady. I didn’t like the direction this discussion had taken. “But thanks for that.” I stood up, ready to leave.
“Sit down and stop making a scene.”
“Go fuck yourself,” I barked, grabbing my bag. I pushed my chair back, the noise it made as it scraped across the floor bringing all eyes to us once again.
I stormed across the room and out of the doors, wanting to cry.
“For heaven’s sake, Eliza,” Richie yelled, rushing after me. “Wait!”
“Don’t talk to me.” I didn’t want to cry, not in front of him anyway.
He caught up to me.
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Nothing.” Tears streamed down my face.
“I’m not cheating,” he said. “I swear. I’m sorry for upsetting you. Christ, two minutes in and we’re at each other’s throats.”
“Then, what is it?”
“I was going to ask you to marry me.”
Flabbergasted is the only word I could think of right then and there. “You want to marry me?”
“You heard.” He reached into his pocket and my heart sank.
“You really want to marry me?”
“Yes,” he said, retrieving the little black velvet box. “What part of that don’t you understand?”
Shit! I didn’t want to marry him, or anybody. “Why now?”
“Because I love you, and I know you love me.”
I did love him, but not enough to break my own vow of never marrying again. Brutal honesty was called for, but I hoped he would understand. “I’m sorry, but I don’t want to marry you, or anyone, Richie.”
His face was a picture of hurt and rejection. “I’d never cheat on you or treat you the way your ex did.”
“I know you wouldn’t.”
“Then marry me.”
“I can’t.”
“Can’t, or won’t?”
“If you want me to be totally honest, it’s a bit of both.”
“You’re nearly forty-five years old. I thought you’d have appreciated the commitment.”
If he was close to me changing my mind, his stupid archaic views pushed me further away. I didn’t need any man for commitment, regardless of my age. I was forty-four, thank you very much.
“I’m not over the hill yet and resent the fact you think I’ll settle into marriage just because old age is looming.”
“I didn’t say that, Eliza,” he fumed. His face was scarlett. It put me in mind of one of those Glow Worm toys I’d bought my god-daughter years ago. Squeeze and its face glowed. “Don’t put words into my mouth.”
“Forty-five, or sixty-five, I don’t want to get married again and that shouldn’t come as a total surprise to you because you’ve known my feelings from day one.”
“I hoped you’d changed your mind.”
“No, I haven’t and I’m sorry if that hurts your feelings, but nothing on this earth would ever convince me to marry again.” He forced this issue, so I’d give him the truth with both barrels. “I don’t even want to live with anybody, so how would marriage work?”
“So, what am I to you? Just a fuck?”
“You mean a lot to me, and I do love you, in my own way…”
He interrupted. “But not enough to marry me?”
“I’m sorry.” I felt awful, but I wasn’t going to lose my independence again. It took me years to get over my ex-husband’s infidelity.
“So am I, but I don’t know where this leaves us.”
“Maybe we need to take a break from one another and see how the land lies. This relationship isn’t perfect and now’s the time to decide what’s best for both of us.”
He narrowed his eyes. “First I’ve heard.”
“Oh, come off it,” I said, shocked he thought everything in our world was rosy. “It’s all become a bit stale and predictable.”
“Stale?”
“Yes, doing the same thing over and over, even the sex is repetitive.”
“If things are so bad, why am I only hearing about this now?”
“I don’t know, but it’s better out in the open, don’t you think?”
“Sounds like you’d be better off without me,” he smarted.
I didn’t know what to say, but he looked at me for an answer. I couldn’t stand there and tell barefaced lies. I had thought the single life might be more appealing. “I-I.”
“Do you know what, Eliza?” he spat. “Don’t fucking bother. If you have nothing to say...”
“I didn’t say anything.” Well aware I was walking into his line of fire.
“And that says it all,” he said. “We’re done.”
“But…”
“I’m nearly fifty years old.”
“What does that matter? You’re not ready to roll over and die just yet.”
Richie was obsessed with age in general. I might have been in my forties, but I didn’t feel any different than I had in my twenties. I happened to think I looked better now than I did back then.
“I’ve wasted two years of my life on you, and for what?”
“Wasted? You can hardly call it wasted. We’ve had some amazing times.”
“Enjoy the single life you so obviously crave.” He turned and walked away.
“Richie.” I called out, unable to leave things as they were. “Please wait–we can’t end it like this.”
“I’m done.” He rushed away, leaving me standing there, looking like an absolute fool. “Goodbye, Eliza,” he yelled over his shoulder.
And that was that. He rushed away, disappearing around the corner.
We were finally over, but I didn’t feel sad. A little relieved if I was honest. Left to me, I probably would have muddled along, making the best of what we had, but it wouldn’t have been fair on him, or me, and now I had my freedom back.
I grabbed a sandwich and headed back to my office.
And in a nutshell, that was my day. Now I was ready to slip into a hot, relaxing bath.
I poured myself a large drink and set the glass enticingly at the side of the bath.
Slipping slowly into the water, I exhaled.
This is heaven.
Chapter Three
It was five am and I couldn’t sleep. I lay in bed, wide awake, watching through my window as dawn broke through the dark night.
Feeling miserable, I dreaded the day knowing I’d be shattered come lunchtime, but it was all my own doing. I always suffered a disturbed sleep after drinking too much.
But, it wasn’t just the vodka that had kept me awake–Richie was still on my mind.
Maybe he was right about me needing to be more aware of my age. After all, I couldn’t hold back the years forever.
Still, I was desirable, I knew that, and he made me feel old, settled, complacent—all the things I fought hard against.
There was only one thing for it.
I had to get back on the horse, so to speak, and fast.
How was I going to do that?
The answer was simple–younger, fresh blood was needed.
I’ve always had a high sex drive, but not many men in my experience have been able to match my demands in the bedroom.
Standing naked in the mirror, I admired my still perky tits.
They looked good and my nipples, thankfully, were where they should be and not pointing to my toes. If I lay flat on my back, they didn’t disappear into my armpits. Nature had been kind to me, but I’d always rebelled against the common belief women of a certain age let themselves go and didn’t look good. Not always the case, and I was living proof of that.
I might be crashing head first into middle age as people keep fondly reminding me, but I still received my fair share of attention.
My phone beeped annoyingly. It was my morning alarm. Grabbing it from the pillow, I disabled the alarm then threw the phone on the bed.
Today would be a good day. I had a feeling.
Moments later, I jumped into the show
er, washing my hair and body with expensive products from Harvey Nichols.
I was out the door by seven am.
Work was manic at the moment, hence the earlier than normal starts, but a girl has to eat, and my career of choice was male dominated—there was no way I was going to be seen as less effective than any man.
Wall to wall meetings had been scheduled weeks in advance, but hustle and bustle of my day meant the days zoomed by faster. The weekend would be here before I knew it.
My first port of call was the office. I had to pick up some important papers that needed to be signed.
Five minutes later, said papers in my briefcase, I waltzed out of the office, on my way to the first meeting of the day.
The morning flew by and by lunchtime I was peckish, pleased the meeting had been a success.
I found a cute little café, ordered a pot of tea and a large chicken salad sandwich. In between bits of food, I sat reading my kindle.
A short while later, I settled my bill and headed to my next meeting.
Purely by chance, I sauntered past a building site full of hot, sweaty men in dirty jeans and hard hats.
Usually I’d have scurried past, but not this time. A refreshing change you might think, because builders were notorious for their lewd behaviour and usually thought nothing of making their desires known.
I stopped to admire them in their natural habitat. Like monkeys, they scratched at their balls and adjusted themselves accordingly, unaware this voyeur lurked.
I was feeling brave, daring and I craved adventure. I looked damn good and wasn’t averse to a bit of smutty banter in the right company. In fact, newly single, I welcomed it with open arms, and legs.
“Show us your tits, darling,” a voice called out.
I was surprised by the request, but luckily for me, the guy heckling me was delicious, or I’d have given him the middle finger and sashayed away, nose in the air. I hadn’t realised he’d seen me ogling him and his sexy workmates.
You're The Boss: The Eliza Bailey Diaries - Day Three Page 1