Gabby’s pursed vibrated. She reached behind her and started rummaging through the bottomless purse filled with crap. She made a note to never-again purchase another hobo bag without compartments and separators no matter how nice. She pulled out her blackberry and glanced at the screen Beautiful Gabriella. I was sideswiped when I saw you standing in that clothing store in Milan, trying on those jeans, checking out your ass in the mirror with that prepubescent little salesman who could hardly keep his mouth shut. My feet, cemented to the ground beneath me, wouldn’t move me as I contemplated turning around and walking out and pretending I never saw your face, but I didn’t. I couldn’t walk away again. I got your message earlier today. Thank you. I share your sentiment, Italy was beautiful and you will always be in the forefront of my mind. Like I said to you on our last night in Rome, sitting in that café at 4 a.m., I intend to be proactive in respect of my situation and I assure you that it will be sooner rather than later. I trust you realize that those words I spoke to you were not uttered in the hopes of getting into your pants (although, admittedly, they were lovely on you and it was amazing ripping them off). As for me visiting, I have no update for you, or at least not one you have interest in hearing. It’s not in my immediate agenda but not because I don’t like you, more because I do. And I actually have no idea where you are at any given time of the day and because I would have to manufacture an excuse to come visit. Saying I was traveling to Toronto for work again would likely be flagged. It’s a beautiful day. Oliver
Gabby looked up from the Settlement Agreement she’d been drafting for upwards of an hour. She glanced towards the television which decorated her office and provided the soundtrack for the majority of this last week. Channel 57, another rapper spewing rhyming words about some dirty bitch and fancy champagne. She wondered how long this genre of music had been playing in the background and why she had failed to notice. A sinking feeling overtook her as she contemplated Oliver’s message.
The phone rang. It was Georgie who, by now, was probably downstairs sitting in her car, waiting impatiently. “Hello” Gabby said. “Where are you? I told you that I would be downstairs in 20 minutes and I’ve been waiting down here for another 5.” replied Georgie. “I’m on way, give me two minutes.” said Gabby and hung up the phone. She glanced into the ebony framed mirror, ruffled her hair, checked her makeup and reached for her purse which rested on the credenza behind her. They were catching up over Mongolian food.