A Moral Dilemma: A Romantic Comedy Chick Lit Story (7 page)

Julia shifted in her seat, visibly forcing herself not to look upon him any further. “He is lovely though, isn’t he?” she whispered.

“Juju, why are you whispering? He can’t hear you all the way over here.”

“Oh. Are you going to talk to him Abby?” Whenever there was a gorgeous guy in the vicinity we had always presumed that Abby, being the only one of us who was perpetually single and being the only one of us ballsy enough to flirt with a complete stranger, would do so. And usually she did exactly that. And
so
much more.

“Hmmm,” Abby considered this for a moment. “I will talk to him, but not today.”

“Why,” I teased, “because he’s seen you leering over him?”

“Darling, I do not leach. And there’s nothing wrong with a man catching me looking at him,” she said turning her attention back to Mr Adonis, giving him not very
subtle come hither looks. “It just lets him know that I want him. And I shall have him.” Then just as she finally locked eyes with him she turned away suddenly and stated simply: “But not today. I’m seeing someone tonight.”

“Surprise surprise,” I deadpanned. “And who’s the victim this week?”

“Oh just some guy I met at Mojo’s last night. He told me I had nice tits,” she stated matter-of-factly.

Julia pulled a face. “And you’re going to date this guy?”

Abby looked her like she was stupid. “Who said anything about date? I just want to have him fuck me and worship my tits,” she said pushing them together.

Julia covered her face with her hands. “Oh Abigail! You really can’t just go around having sex with strange men like it doesn’t matter.”

“But it doesn’t.”

“Aarrrgggh. It does! You really ought to be thinking about settling down Abby. You’re not twenty-one anymore…and there’s no ‘happy-go-lucky’ about being thirty!” Abby gave her a look warning her to drop the age thing no doubt. “Look, Seb’s got a new guy from work coming to dinner tomorrow. He’s a really nice guy. You should let me introduce you.”

“Er, no thank you darling. If memory serves me correctly it was you that introduced Becky to the cheating Jerrers, was it not?”

At the mention of his name the image of Miss Thingy snuggling up to him dominated my mind and I felt a stab of overwhelming rage. I hated her. And I hated all immoral women who wrecked other people’s relationships. I looked at Abby with a sudden fear that my best friend may well be one of these sexually depraved women. “Abby, this guy you’re meeting tonight…he’s not married is he? Or in a relationship?”

“Well how the devil should I…” she trailed off having seen the serious look about my face. “Don’t worry sweetie. I’m not that girl,” she smiled. “I never go fishing with another woman’s rod.”

Well, Abigail must’ve had a real good time last night/this morning as she turned up at Julia’s mid-afternoon, looking like she hadn’t slept, sporting her darkest Roberto Cavalli sunglasses, which stayed on all day whether she was indoors or out. And even though she wasn’t on full-form, she still looked pretty damn good in her white linen Nicole Farhi understated chic outfit, with unruly blonde hair restrained in a simple chignon. After my usual
proper
gym workout on a Sunday morning, I usually just threw on whatever I could find to come over here. Today it was ripped denim jeans, blue vest – the one advantage of being totally flat chested is that string vests actually look OK on me – and my market-bought flip-flops.

Sunday lunch at Julia and Seb’s had become a weekly custom of ours ever since they’d bought an apartment together (
heavily subsidised by Julia’s dad
) in Notting Hill just over two years ago. They had timed the purchase to coincide with their wedding and Julia had insisted they were not going to move in until after the honeymoon when the supposed newly wed and proud Sebastian would gallantly carry his bride over their newly acquired threshold. But since that wedding (wedding number two) had been cancelled within days of the actual nuptials, once they had got back together – on their ‘honeymoon’ which had become a make-up holiday, and with no mention of a future wedding date, they’d decided they had might as well move on in. It was a fairly small but definitely stunning, interior-designed two bed apartment, with an unusually large garden, as wide and long as the whole apartment. The garden was accessed through the hub of the house, the kitchen, where on a Sunday Julia loved nothing more than to prepare a good ole English roast with all the trimmings. She was good at it too. Hence the reason for the ‘Sunday crew’ which turned up every Sunday from noon onwards, to break bread with Juju and Seb. Some people I hardly knew, Seb’s workmates mainly, and some friends who I only saw once a week on such occasions, would each grab a plate of food and head out into the garden where there was cosy seating with decked tables and chairs and of course the obligatory patio heaters. This was
London
after all. Jazz FM would usually be on in the background and after lunch, serious end of weekend chillin’ would kick-in, with cocktails being mixed and spliffs being passed around for those wanting to partake. I, of course, never did. Not going to Juju and Seb’s on a Sunday was like not going to work on a Monday. Where would one eat? Occasionally if the weather was nice we would have a barbecue, which was unmistakably Sebastian’s domain. He was barbecue king and would throw everything on it including corn kernels and sweet peppers, though he, like most the other males in regular attendance, had a preference for steak and any other kind of red meat, so those of us who didn’t eat it – namely me – were left with a few odd chicken wings. Today was a barbecue day and its tasty charcoaled aroma wafted all around the garden and down Ladbroke Grove.

Abigail was not feeling the tasty aroma. “Oh god,” she bellyached, “I just cannot stomach the smell of barbecue today.”
She sat down beside me at a table and instantly started massaging her temples. Deborah and Gabriel, two rather plump
acquaintances
of ours, actual friends of Juju’s, were also sat at this table, gnawing away at a selection of barbecued meat and potato salad, hardly coming up for air as if the food was going to run out. They momentarily raised their chubby faces out of their troughs to watch Abigail as she sighed dramatically. “Oh my poor head is positively pounding. I sooo need a drink.” Deborah and Gabriel exchanged looks which said:
Told you she was an alcoholic.

“Rough night?” I asked, nibbling on my corn.

“Darling
rough
hardly describes what I’ve just been through. I swear, that guy was hung like a horse. I’ll be sore for days,” she stated in her matter-of-fact voice. Deborah promptly began choking on her rib-eye, causing Gabriel to start thudding her back frantically whilst shooting Abby the most disgusted looks ever, but the choking continued and with it fragments of rib-eye were strewn across the table. It was Abigail’s turn to pull a disgusted face. “Oh, will someone
please
put it out of its misery for chrissakes!” The shock of her comment seemed to do the trick on Deborah’s choking and her sizable girth was ushered up and over to another table by the even larger Gabriel, furious at having her eating disturbed, whilst muttering
tramp
and
whore
under her breath. I shook my head at Abigail’s vulgarity. I really ought to be used to it by now but her crass attitude never ceased to amaze me. One would never believe that this seemingly brazen hussy was in fact marketing executive extraordinaire for one of the UK’s most prolific and somewhat conservative department stores: Brook Simmons, no less. I watched Abby as she massaged her neck and rolled her head, wondering for the millionth time if this girl would ever really settle down, already knowing the answer, that she most certainly would not. Then again, being footloose and fancy-free had its advantages; at least if one never fell in love then one’s heart would never be in danger of being ripped out and shredded by lying cheating toe-rags.

“C’mon,” I said. “Let’s go get a drink.”

“Ah, music to my ears.”

We passed the huddle of City men in their weekend scruffs at the barbecue station, each one bragging about his own culinary skills, as Sebastian prodded meat that didn’t need prodding and poured marinade where it was not needed, clearly enjoying his macho position as provider. He was bare footed in khaki shorts and laughing as he moved around the barbecue in time to the music, stopping every now and then to play-wrestle one of his friends. He spotted us as we passed by and called out to Abby teasingly:

“Come and give us a hand won’t you Abby?” Knowing full well that the whiff of barbecue was the last thing her hangover needed.

Abigail stopped and looked at him. “Sebastian, I do hope you won’t be cremating dead flesh for too much longer. I just cannot stand it today.”

“Don’t worry my precious,” he soothed mockingly, “I’ve got a nice big thick one for you right here.” At which the huddle of city boys instantly fell about guffawing and slapping him on his back. I rolled my eyes, reminding myself never to trust an investment banker
IF
I should ever come into money.

“Er no thanks,” she said, the corners of her lips curling into a smile as she – being the only one of us – including Juju – who ever really got Seb’s jokes – tried to restrain herself from laughing with them. “Why don’t you give it to Julia? I’ve already had one today,” she quipped.

“Oooh, touché Abigail,” Seb said grinning from ear to ear as the huddle roared. “Touché!” Sebastian was actually quite harmless and completely devoted to Julia. His taking her back after being dumped at the altar twice was testament to that. Flirting with Abigail was totally innocent as having known each other since kindergarten they were firm friends. And the fact that they had loved and subsequently lost their virginity to each other, had long since been chalked up as history.

Julia parked herself next to us on the wicker sofa looking far too excited for a lazy Sunday afternoon. “Well? What do you think?” she happily gushed, directing her question at Abigail. Abigail and I looked at each other both equally confused.

“Erm, what do I think about
what
Juju?” she said as though she were talking to a three-year-old.

“About Bradley?!” I squinted my eyes and wondered if I had somehow missed a whole conversation since yesterday’s training and today’s soirée. Nope I didn’t think so.

“Who’s Bradley?” I asked them both. Abigail shrugged her shoulders carelessly and Julia looked at me with open mouth as though I’d just let her down.

“Bradley’s the guy I was telling you about! Duh!” I was still lost and apparently so was Abby.

“Look Juju,” Abby leaned toward her, “I really can’t be arsed with your cryptic fucking clues today OK. Now do you want to just tell me what the fuck it is you’re babbling on about or not?” and took a swig of her vodka tonic.

Julia exaggerated a frustrated sigh. “Bradley started working at Ivan Haus Investments a few months ago,” she explained. “He’s a
commodities controller
,” she whispered as if either of us had a scooby as to what this meant. “Well Seb gets on really well with him and he’s been over a few times.” I had to restrain myself from asking the inevitable:
Sooo?

Abigail, however, had no such control. “
Sooo?!
”

“
So
, he’s a really cool guy…and he’s single.” Oh OK. I get it. Talk about going around the bloody houses! “I think you two would be great together Abby. You simply have to let me introduce you.”

Abigail lowered her sunglasses a fraction and peeped heavy hooded eyes over the rim at Julia. “Not. Interested. Besides,” she yawned, “Sebastian whored me out in front of them all earlier.”

“But Bradley just got here. He wouldn’t have heard,” Julia said glaring over at Sebastian who shrugged his shoulders, hands splayed out to the sides, whilst he mouthed to her, “
What have I done now?
”

“Still not interested.”

“But you haven’t even looked at him,” Julia sulked.

“OK, where is he?”

Julia’s face lit up and I had to admit I was a tad intrigued. Julia had been known to play cupid to many unsuspecting singles, myself included, and she was usually bang on the money, resulting in the Sunday crew being dominated by the instigated happy couples, but she had never ever before tried to fix Abby up with anyone. I had always assumed that Julia had resigned herself to the fact, just as I had, that some people – especially those with ostensibly insatiable sexual appetites – were better off alone.

“He’s right over there by the bonsai garden,” she said hardly managing to contain herself. There were at least four or five City type guys over there animatedly arguing over which was the faster car; the Porsche or the Mercedes.

Abby glanced over. “Well, which one is he for chrissakes?”

“He’s the one wearing the baseball hat,” she giggled. I looked, but there was only one guy over there with a baseball hat on…and he didn’t seem to be Abby’s
usual
type. I sipped my red wine.

Abigail turned slowly toward Julia, her mouth slightly open in what could only be described as…
shock
? She looked at Julia for a while and seemed to be trying to figure out if she was joking or not. Not. “The black guy?” she asked calmly.