He’d heard the Looner Module’s door bang shut sometime during the night, the reverberations of Andrea’s departure resonating through his waking grog. Reaching behind himself, he patted the warm depression in the memory foam where she’d been spooned close to him.
Three ghosts in one night. Not bad for a non-believer, he couldn’t quite bring himself to mumble out loud. Then he went back to sleep, perchance not to dream.
Their lovemaking had seemed… quirky, he decided the morning after—a word you weren’t allowed to treat too harshly in the modern lingo of tolerance and understanding. Not that he hadn’t achieved a climax of sorts, more like a bunt than a home run, though, he recalled. But at my age? I suppose I should be grateful.
I want a man with a slow hand I want a lover with an easy touch…
Her lyrics mocked. What the hell does she want from me? What does she see in me?
Dangling his legs over the foot of the mattress into the Looner Module’s companionway, Buddy caught sight of his reflection in the wardrobe mirror. “Jesus!” He groaned. If it hadn’t been for the grunting antics of the night before, he could have judged his physique as a reasonably ‘well preserved‘, middle-aged man’s, but recalling his extramarital exertions, he felt conspicuously like a stewed prune.
‘Ding!’
He shuffled over to the dining nook, where he’d left his cellphone. Maybe she’s going to say ‘Goodbye, my love’ after all, he thought, snatching up the phone and glancing at the notification. ‘Messages: Leanne Hope,’ the screen announced. ‘Gotcha! Love is blind, but…’
This can wait, he thought, making his way back into the bathroom, taking a leak, splashing some water on his face, brushing his teeth.
Gotcha! Whatever her message implied, it couldn’t be good. There’s no ‘good’ left in Leanne when it comes to me. He boiled some water, brewed some coffee in the French press then, feeling ready, opened the text.
“Love is blind, but a night vision camera with a 300 mm lens is a faithful recorder of the truth,” it said. Above, she’d posted a photo sequence of a green-hued Andrea descending from the Looner Module, slipping through the tunnel between it and the Sanderson’s hedge, out onto Esplanade Street. A second message dinged, “Didn’t think the murals of Chemainus were the main attraction for ya.”
“Fuck!” he groaned. Then again, angrily, “Fuck!”
“As I recollect, it was you who put all my stuff into garbage bags and sent Robbie up here to dump me, love,” he thumbed into his mobile. “Make bloody sure to include that in your affidavit.” He glared at the message for a second or two, then pressed the arrow, sending it her way with a departing whoosh.
“And it was you who rekeyed the locks and told me we should ‘follow through’, when all I wanted was some time to sort myself out. Be sure to put that in the evidence bag, too.” Whoosh!
“I love Gloria, and Robbie, and (yes) you, too. Hire a private eye who can get a digital shot of that, and you’ll have a more accurate picture of the truth.” Whoosh!
“I spent the night with a new friend, and—yes—we did fuck. If you consider that infidelity, all I can say is: It was my first act as an infidel, and at this point, that’s not really any of your GD business, is it?” Whoosh!
“So stop invading my privacy!” Whoosh!
He tossed the phone down onto the table. It skittered across, landing with a soft thud on the opposite seat. “Feel better?” he grumbled.
“Yeah, sure. Like a better piece of shit!”
Next: Got My New Shoes On