The One Who Got Away (4 page)

I didn't. Emma was also gone, off to Boston to do her MBA.

‘So, you're all alone?' he said, in mock sympathy.

‘Ha-ha! I'm not alone, no …'

What was I talking about!? I was living alone in my newly leased, one-bedroom apartment, which I somehow found myself telling David came with a washer–dryer combo that wasn't in the basement but in the kitchen …

‘Woo hoo,' said David, smiling.

Was I standing there on that busy corner, surrounded by honking cars and dog-walkers, rabbiting on about my washer– dryer combo? Apparently yes. To myself, I said:
Just shut up, Loren, can you just shut up? Because you're coming across as such an idiot. No wonder this guy left you.

But hey … he wasn't leaving now. No. David was still standing where we had stopped, on the street corner, chatting and smiling. The pedestrian lights had changed not once, but twice. We were in people's way and he did not care. Let them push around us. David was busy, gazing at me.

‘Hell,' he said, ‘I've got to go. But hey, what a coincidence. And do you know, when I was flying in from LAX yesterday, I thought to myself, wouldn't it be cool if I ran into Loren Franklin? And here you are. So weird. And you look so great. But hey, listen, I have to get moving. But it was so good to see you.'

‘Right. It was so good to see you, too.'

David smiled. ‘And hey,' he said, leaning in to kiss my cheek, ‘if you're ever over on the West Coast, promise me you'll look me up?'

‘I promise.'

‘Good stuff,' he said, and then he was gone, swallowed up by the sea of people that is Manhattan on a midweek day.

And me? I almost collapsed. Had there been a wall behind me, I would have slumped against it and slid down, down, down, right onto the ground. David Wynne-Estes had returned to the city for one day and he had walked straight into me.

Forget the fridge filled with cold and dead things, over which we'd once met. Was this an omen? Also, what was it that David had said: If you're ever on the West Coast, promise you'll look me up.

Like I was ever on the West Coast. I was never on the West Coast. The West Coast was where I'd grown up. The West Coast was in my past. My future was in New York City. No way was I going back to Bienveneda. I mean, that's just madness.

* * *

Who agreed with my decision to try to chase David down after that chance meeting? Well, I was no longer in touch with Nadine, but I could imagine her response, as she sucked back on a ciggie: ‘Have you lost your mind? This man, he is a player. This man, he is never settling down.'

Maybe so, but I felt like I had to give it a shot.

Why?

Where is the woman who has never recalled a past encounter and wondered deep down in her heart, if he was the one, The One Who Got Away?

I'm not talking now about the first guy you ever dated. That would be crazy. Who looks back on the first guy they ever dated and thinks: Wow, I wish I was still with him? Nobody. Alright, almost nobody. No, the guy I'm talking about is somebody who came along after you'd already had a serious boyfriend or two. He was somebody you hung out with for a while and maybe you weren't even sure if you wanted him, or else you met him on holidays and had a bit of a hot fling with him, or else he was married, in which case we just won't go there.

It doesn't matter. All that matters is that you were with him, and now you're not but he still plays on your mind. Sitting in traffic, you find yourself wondering: Why did we break up?

What would my life be like if we'd stayed together?

Would I be happier?

Would I be more fulfilled? More satisfied, sexually? More content on every level?

David was that guy to me. He was my One Who Got Away.

I'd been absolutely head-over-heels in love with him, I got dumped and I never quite got over it. Don't say I didn't try, because by the time we ran into each other on that street corner in New York I had been without David in my life for far longer than I'd ever been with him. I had dated other guys. I had been in what might even be called other relationships.

I still thought about David up to twenty times a day.

What was he doing? Did he ever think about me? Did he ever regret his decision? Did he ever think of tracking me down?

On the face of it, the answer to those questions was: No. Because he never had tried to track me down. But then again, what had he said when we ran into each other?

Don't forget to look me up if you're ever in town.

I was never in town. Bienveneda wasn't the kind of place I ever felt like visiting. In part, that was because my mom had passed. Dad was still there, as was Molly, but, I don't know, the place no longer felt like home.

On the other hand, David was there. And I guess I just had to know, was there something between us, or not? I wanted – maybe I even needed – to find out and so, a week or so after that chance encounter, I reached out to Molly.

hey
, I texted,
miss u

Molly's reply came straight back.

hey! I miss u 2 sister!

It was exactly what I was hoping she would say.

maybe we should get together how about i come and see u?

Molly texted back:
YES – when?

The most obvious time seemed to be Dad's birthday, which was then about three weeks away. It wasn't a big birthday – he had already turned fifty – but Molly said that if I was going to be in town, she would organise a party, which sounded like fun.

‘Where do you think he'll want to go?' I said.

‘Where do you think?' she replied, ‘BENIHANA.'

I laughed. Is Benihana my favourite restaurant? No, but I had good memories of going there with Dad and even now, I can remember how glamorous I once thought those sweating Japanese chefs were, with their headbands, and their skill at setting fire to onion stacks.

‘Perfect,' I said. ‘It'll be like old times.'

I didn't tell Molly that I was hoping to also see David while I was in town. She wouldn't have been happy, not after how he'd dumped me.

Anyway, I flew into LAX on the Friday, and spent the Saturday with Molly. Her condo is on the Low Side, so there was no real risk of bumping into David, but I still found myself on high alert as we cruised around the shopping centre, searching for something for Dad.

The party was on Saturday night, and Sunday was a bit of a hangover day, but by Monday, I was more than ready to run into David.

To this day, he doesn't know it, but I had engineered the meeting from the start. From what I could tell from looking on Google – is that stalking, or is that due diligence? – David
had opened an office in Bienveneda, between the new Cupcake Heaven and the old Citibank.

There was a Starbucks nearby.

Was luck going to be on my side? That was the question I was asking myself as I headed out on the Monday morning. On the face of it, yes. The day was gorgeous. I'd rented a Mustang to drive from LAX into Bienveneda – it's about three-and-a-half hours, one way – and with the sky so blue and the skinny palms waving in the breeze, it felt right to put the top down as I cruised into Main Street.

My goal was to find a parking space about 300 feet away from David's office, so I'd have to walk past his front door to get to the Starbucks. I had to go around the block twice before I found one, and I remember thinking:
Please don't let him see me doing laps.

Anyway, I found one, parked, and took a few steps in the direction of Starbucks. I had no idea – none at all – as to where David's desk was in relation to the front windows, or whether he was even at work. Would he be able to see me as I walked by, and would he come straight out?

Apparently not, because nothing happened.

Damn it.

I continued on towards Starbucks, where I joined the line for coffee, thinking, this is no good. What if David hadn't come into the office? What if he was at the gym? Or worse, in New York? What if he couldn't see the street from where he sat?

I gave my order. The girl behind the counter spelled my name incorrectly (they always do). The barista took ages, which was fine. Time spent amidst the souvenir cups and the foil bags of coffee beans at Starbucks was time during which David might move towards his window.

‘Caramel frappuccino for Loron?'

I took the cup off the counter, and popped a straw through the domed lid. Alright. Time to try again. I stepped out of Starbucks and began walking towards the rented Mustang, and I swear to God, I was about to click the locks on the car, when David called out.

‘Loren? Loren Franklin?! Hey, stop, Loren, is that you?'

I had to do a double-take. David wasn't wearing a suit and sure, I'd seen him in workout gear, and I'd seen him in boxer shorts, but I'd never seen him dressed for business in California. David was wearing red Bermuda shorts, with a baby-blue polo and a bright-pink belt. He looked like Tommy Hilfiger. Not the designer. The ad.

He looked, to be frank, a bit dorky.

I was wearing white. All white. White jeans. White T-shirt over a push-up T-shirt bra, with cream ballet flats. The effect I was going for was easy, breezy California. My hair was up in one of those carefree, dancing ponytails that take forever to get right.

‘It is you!' said David. ‘Loren Franklin! What the hell are you doing here?'

I'm hoping to run into you!
That was the honest answer, but I didn't say that.

I said: ‘David! Oh my goodness, that's right, you came back here! I'd completely forgotten. You work here? In this street?'

David nodded. ‘I do. This is my office. Capital Shrine. I've been back here, what … ages now. But what about you? Visiting your folks or …?'

‘Yes,' I said, sipping my frappuccino, ‘it's my father's birthday … we had a big party on Saturday night … I'm heading back tomorrow.'

‘No way,' said David. He was using his boat shoe to stand half in and half out of his office. ‘I mean, look, don't run off … what are you doing now? Do you want to get something to eat?'

I hesitated. I even checked my watch, like I had somewhere else to be.

‘Well, alright,' I said. ‘Sure, why not?'

* * *

We went to the Jetty, the bar where the yachties go for cold beers after a good day's sail. It's faux-casual, in that you need a Ralph Lauren polo shirt and George Hamilton tan to really fit in.

‘Hey, David, so great to see you!' said the girl on the door. ‘It feels like it's been ages!'

David said, ‘Great to see you, too, Candy,' and kissed her cheek.

Candy?

‘You want outside?' she asked, sneaking a glance at me. ‘I can seat you guys outside.'

‘Oh, babe, that would be excellent,' said David.

‘Of course!' she said.

David stepped back to allow me to go first. I followed Candy's nut-brown legs out to the tables on the deck. David followed right behind, guiding me into my chair by putting his hand on the back pocket of my white jeans.

Alright
, I thought,
that's a good sign.

Candy seated us as close to the edge of the deck as it was possible to get without the table falling into the bay. I knew the Jetty by reputation but had never actually been there before. It was so pretty. There were boats bobbing on the water directly in front of us.

‘It's our best table,' Candy said.

‘You're too good to me,' said David.

Candy smiled. ‘I'll go get you guys some water. Tap water okay? And I'll bring you some menus.'

I waited for her to be out of earshot before I said: ‘Current or former?'

‘Candy?' said David, all innocent.

‘Yes, Candy. Tell me you haven't.'

‘Haven't what?'

I thought about what to say but only for a split second. Then, all cool, I said: ‘Buried your face in her pussy, David.'

He was shocked. I was pretty shocked myself. That wasn't like me. As a rule, I don't go for dirty talk. David had tried to encourage me a few times in New York and I had been absolutely hopeless at it, but I'd learned quite a bit in the time we'd been apart, including the fact that alpha men like David tend to prefer a woman with more confidence – including sexual confidence – than I'd had in my early days in Manhattan.

‘Maybe that's
your
fantasy,' David said, eyes wide. ‘Want me to call her over here and ask if she's on the menu?'

‘Sure,' I said, smiling. ‘You do that. But if she is on the menu, I get to taste her first.'

‘Fair enough!' said David, impressed. ‘Here she comes now!'

Candy was skipping back across the floor in her bright-white sneakers. She had two water glasses in one hand, and a couple of over-sized menus under her arm.

I was quite sure that David had a raging erection under the table, and that he was using his linen napkin to try to cover it.

‘Alright!' Candy said, smiling her radiant, Californian smile. ‘Here's some water. Now, what else can I get you guys to drink?'

David said: ‘You know what? This is something of a reunion for us. I think champagne is in order. What do you say, Loren?'

‘Champagne sounds good,' I said, ‘but you know, I don't have a lot of time. Maybe we should order?'

‘Oh right,' said David. He was taken aback. ‘Okay. Well, do you want to look at the menu, or should I just order for both of us?'

‘Yes, order,' I said, ‘I don't much mind.'

‘Okay, well …' David cast his eyes over the menu. ‘Well, I guess we'll have the oysters, maybe some octopus … is that blackened on the grill? Okay, we'll take that, maybe with the lime mayonnaise. And I don't know, fries?'

‘Fries are great,' I said.

Candy nodded as she took it down. ‘You guys have a big appetite today!' she said.

‘Loren has an appetite,' David said, looking cheekily over his massive menu. ‘Maybe we should ask her, what else do you fancy, Loren?'