Uber Lucky

I sat back and watched the fall-out of my words. I meant every one of them tenfold. I could have said more. I could have called her on her lie of omission—if Dick Stroker was to be believed, and he had no reason to lie, she'd been sowing her wild oats a whole lot longer than a few months—but I didn't bother. It didn't matter to me. One or hundred-and-one was irrelevant. Betrayal was betrayal. A lie was a lie. She'd killed us the first time she deceived me to be with another man.

Watching Lexie's face was like watching a B-grade horror flick; one of the ones where someone gets transformed into a zombie or a werewolf or some grotesque monster. Each emotion was momentary but easily recognized. Shock morphed into fear; pain to guilt, shame to remorse and desperation to despair. When she peaked at devastation, it was as if her face collapsed in on itself. She hovered there for a moment before her psyche drew her back from the edge and I watched the reversal of emotions. It was too much for her to accept. I'd known that going in, but I'd always have the memory of her momentary realization of the full repercussions of her actions.

"No," she whispered, her face settling in sad denial. "No."

I remained silent, enjoying seeing her stew. My anger ran deep because the pain she'd caused me was equally deep. You don't get a deep rage without a deep hurt first. Sadly, for Lexie, my anger had totally eclipsed the love I once had for her.

"No," she whispered again. "You have to forgive me. You have to give me another chance."

"No, I don't."

"Please, Jamie. Please don't give up on me, on us. Please. I won't ever do it again."

I didn't bother with the usual logic about never being able to trust her again, about it being her who'd given up on us, not me, or quote how once a cheater always a cheater. They would have been wasted words, and now that I'd had my beautiful moment of watching her soul collapse I wanted to leave. Sure, her conscious mind rectified itself in a matter of moments, and sure, she may never fully comprehend the level of betrayal she'd perpetrated on me, but the seed had been sewn. I'd watched it take root. Now all I could do was hope her subconscious mind would haunt her with the truth for the rest of her life.

"I don't know, Lexie. You hurt me bad. Let me think about it. Call me in a week or two. If nothing else, maybe, in time, we could be friends."

SHE GAVE ME four days. I gritted my teeth and agreed to another coffee date. Why, I'm not entirely sure. I think part of it was my pride, or maybe, my ego, which had taken a huge hit with her infidelity. Seeing her miserable and groveling was a salve.

This time she beat me there and had even bought me a coffee. As expected she came dressed to impress. Her only problem was, I wasn't impressed.

I plastered a half smile on my face and silently urged her on as she waffled on nervously about her week while flashing her rack at every opportunity. The times she enquired after me, I gave brief replies.

I kept one hand on my cup, the other in my lap. The one time I placed my free hand on the table she reached for it. Keeping my features neutral, I suffered her touch briefly so as not to cause a scene before withdrawing and replacing it in my lap.

Despite needing the boost to my self-esteem that her chasing after me to reconcile provided, it was harder than I expected to be in her presence. When I looked at her I didn't see beauty any more, only ugliness. It took real resolve to remain seated. I lasted thirty minutes; my last sip of coffee almost cold enough to be classified as an iced coffee.

Looking at my watch, I stood. "I have to go now. See you later, Lexie."

"Wait," she said, also standing. "There's a Humphrey Bogart retrospective on at the Palace Verona cinema next week. I know you like that sort of thing, so I wondered if you'd like to go?"

"I'll think about it. Call me in a few days and I'll let you know."

She was right; I did like the old black-and-white films as well as some of the classics of cinema. My dad got me into them. He had a huge collection: Bogey, Cary Grant, and Gregory Peck to name but a few. It was embarrassing the number of times we'd sat together and watched movies like The Maltese Falcon or North by Northwest.

"Okay. Love you," she called to my departing back.

I didn't turn or respond.

I SURPRISED MYSELF when I said yes when she called a few days later. All I could do was liken myself to a moth and Lexie's pursuit of me to a flame. I loathed her but needed her desire to get back together to heal my wounds. At least in a movie theater I wouldn't have to look at her or listen to her thinly disguised sales pitch.

Her choice of night—Wednesday—coupled with her vagueness as to which Humphrey Bogart film we'd be seeing got me curious, so I checked out the Verona's website. I had to chuckle—she had us going to see Sabrina.

They were showing a different Bogey film each night. We could have seen Casablanca, The Maltese Falcon, The Treasure of the Sierra Madre, The Caine Mutiny, High Sierra, or The Big Sleep had we gone on any other night of the retrospective. All of which were guy films, or at least not a romantic comedy.

I rolled my eyes as I logged off my laptop. What did she think? That I'd see Bogey fall in love with Audrey Hepburn's character and go to mush and fall on bended knee and ask her to marry me again?

She tried to convince me to pick her up, but I fobbed her off, saying I'd meet her out front of the cinema at six-forty-five. She wasn't happy.

Knowing what a crap-shoot it was to find a park on, or even in the vicinity, of Oxford Street, I opted to bus it in. It meant leaving straight from campus and getting in a little early, but there was always plenty to see and do on the famous street, so I didn't mind.

At six-forty-five on the dot, I sauntered down to the cinema. As expected, Lexie was already there. I had to smile—she wasn't usually so punctual.

"Where'd you park?" she asked me after giving me a hug which I didn't return. She tried to plant a kiss on my lips as well, but I turned my head, my ear copping the brunt of her greeting.

"I didn't. I caught a bus straight from uni."

"Oh," she said, disappointed. "I was kind of counting on you to give me a ride home after the movie as I caught a train straight from work."

"Well, you know what they say, Lexie." She raised a confused eyebrow at me. "Never ASSUME as you only make an ASS out of U and ME."

She attempted a smile. It wasn't very successful.

"Shall we go in?"

Lexie nodded, reaching for my hand. I dodged the attempt by shoving them in my jeans pockets.

She was further displeased when I stood aside at the ticket counter so she could pay for her own ticket. I didn't feel bad or ungentlemanly about it. Technically, she'd asked me out, and if I wanted to get picky, she was employed in a full-time job whereas I was a student working part-time.

Within ten minutes of the movie being under way I knew I'd made a mistake in agreeing to see it with her. The entire film was spent evading her. I was so busy watching her out of the corner of my eye in order to avoid her as she tried to hold my hand, dip her fingers into my popcorn, rest her hand on my knee, and reach over and kiss my cheek that I missed most of the movie.

If Lexie was displeased at the beginning of the night, she was outright impatient by the end and doing little to conceal her frustration. Observing her irritation was like that first slick of aloe on a burn; soothing and healing.

"Okay. Thanks, and see you around."

"What? Aren't you even going to walk me to my bus stop?"

"No. My next bus home is due shortly and leaves from a different stop to yours. If I miss it, I'll have a forty-minute wait for the next one. Besides, you're a big girl."

"We could go grab a bite to eat and catch later buses home," she suggested, looking at me hopefully.

"No can do. I have some study to do. Bye."

I smiled, not at her but at the look of disappointment on her face. Another slick of balm over my wounds. I turned and walked away.

I'D NO SOONER shoved my laptop in my backpack when the opening lyrics of Bon Jovi's You Give Love A Bad Name sounded from my jeans pocket. I groaned. The song was an oldie but a goodie and it seemed almost criminal that it was my new ringtone for Lexie, replacing the sappy love song she'd picked for herself way back in the early days of our dating.

An angel's smile is what you sell

You promised me heaven, then put me through Hell

The words rang out as I pondered whether to answer or let it go to my message bank. Message bank won. I wasn't in the mood to subject myself to more of her whining pleas to see her. I had things to do; exams to study for, essays to finish, and I wasn't about to blow four years of hard study by being heartbroken and distracted by a slut who couldn't keep her legs shut.

That was one of the best character building things about studying to be an engineer—it perfected the ability to compartmentalize and deal with one problem or issue at a time. I'd deal with Lexie's latest effort at reconciliation later.

MY SHOULDERS AND neck relaxed for the first time in two weeks. Finally, it was over. My last exam was behind me. No more essays to write. No more revising notes in prep for a test. It would be a couple of weeks before I knew my results, but I wasn't worried—I was confident I'd done well. I knew my stuff and, God knows, I'd certainly put in the work.

I shouldered my backpack and turned in the direction of the pub where I'd agreed to meet up with some of my fellow students to celebrate the end of our studies. The afternoon breeze was welcome on my slightly sweaty face—the hall had been stuffy; two-hundred-and-fifty young, nervous, and probably mostly sleepless bodies, too much for the ancient air-conditioning system.

I heard the sounds of celebration long before I reached the pub; the lyrics of Pink Floyd's Another Brick In The Wall floating on the wind.

We don't need no education

We don't need no thought control

I chuckled—they may sing they don't need it, but each student singing had paid a pretty penny for it. As my father oft said; no such thing as a free education in Australia.

Regardless, I was joining in before I'd even taken two steps inside.

As I bellied up to the bar to order my first beer, a swish of movement in my peripheral vision caught my eye. I turned my head in case it was someone I knew. I didn't know her, but she was a looker and so I let my gaze linger.

She turned and smiled. "Better watch it; if you look any longer you may have to buy me a drink."

"How about I buy you three then, 'cause I could be a while."

"Quick," she said, laughing. "I like a guy who can think on his feet. I'm Stella."

"Jamie. What are you drinking?"

"Pear cider."

I placed our orders and we chatted. Stella was vaguely familiar and after comparing notes we concluded we'd shared one or two lectures where our majors had crossed—she was studying to be an architect; me, a civil engineer. She had one year to go, poor thing.

She invited me to join her and her friends and so with drinks in hand we eased our way through the crowd.

Stella looked like what I pictured a Stella to be. I admit, my addiction to watching The Fall with the ever-sexy and enigmatic Gillian Anderson playing DSI Stella Gibson colored my idea of what a Stella should look like. Both were only average height but that was the only thing average about either of them. Stella wasn't intense like the TV character; no, she laughed freely and often. She was smart, just like her namesake, a fact which just added to her overall attractiveness.

As I was laughing at yet another amusing story about one of Stella's more quirky lecturers, I felt a hand on my bicep. I turned, expecting to see one of my mates.

Instead, I came face-to-face with Lexie.

Surprised, I moaned in disappointment.

She looked furious, but at my moan I saw what I thought was a flash of hurt fleetingly cross her features. Like the turning of a page, it didn't last long.

"What the hell are you doing, Jamie? You blow off my suggestion of dinner and clubbing to celebrate your last exam so you can be here flirting with..." Lexie hesitated for a moment, eyeing Stella balefully. "With what's-her-face?"

"Yes. Easy decision if I do say so myself."

"How can you be so cruel? If you hadn't broken it off, we'd be getting married in a week. Instead... instead of trying to work things out you're chatting up other girls?"

"Hey, at least I waited until I was single, unlike someone else taking part in this conversation."

Stella and her friends had fallen silent. I could only imagine how uncomfortable they felt at witnessing the scene.

"Go home, Lexie. I don't want to celebrate today with you. I want to celebrate it with my friends. With people who are upfront and honest with me and not out to stab me in the back."

I watched the red spread from Lexie's chest and neck up to her face. It was surprisingly fast, like watching a flash flood rush down a previously dry riverbed.

"How could... I-I-" With a final gasp she spun around and practically ran through the crowd, pushing people aside in her haste to find the exit.

Taking a deep breath, I turned back to Stella and her friends. "Sorry about that, ladies."

If I thought an apology would suffice I was badly mistaken. Inside of ten minutes they had the entire story. Sympathy flowed, with many a beer being shoved in my hand, and by the end of the night Stella poured me into a taxi, but not before she tucked her phone number into my shirt pocket.

WITH LEXIE'S BETRAYAL having thrown all my plans out the window, I was somewhat directionless in the lead-up to Christmas. What was meant to be a time jam-packed full of last minute preparations, a wedding day, and a two-week honeymoon was now filled with Uber driving.

I couldn't believe the number of people I ferried around who had come to Sydney just to do their Christmas shopping. Were they nuts? In this day and age why would they choose to get bogged down in traffic and deal with crowds wherever they went? Had they never tried shopping online?

Lexie called. Stella called. I was honest with both. Stella appreciated it. Lexie not so much.

Lexie begged me to visit her on what would have been our wedding day. My mum overheard the conversation.

"Forgiving her, you know, doesn't have to mean you have to like or condone what she did. It doesn't even mean you have to be friends moving forward. It means you letting go of the anger and hurt and all the other negative emotions this has festering inside of you. It means freedom to move forward for you."

"I'll think about it, Mum, but I think, at this point, my telling Lexie I forgive her would only make her double her efforts to win me back and she's relentless enough as it is."

My mother nodded. "Even if you did forgive her, Jamie, you don't have to tell her. The forgiveness is for your benefit, not hers."

CHRISTMAS CAME AND went. So did New Years. I had a couple more coffee dates with Lexie, and even bought her a Christmas card. The message in it was generic, but she lit up like a Christmas tree when I gave it to her. Me, I wanted to do a runner when she placed a gift-wrapped box on the table before me. She'd bought me a watch. It was a great timepiece, looked quite expensive, had all the bells and whistles, but I knew I'd never wear it. I could see the disappointment on her face when I thanked her but closed the lid rather than don it. She asked, but I declined her invite to bring the new year in together.

I sent off a few job applications, but being January, they were few and far between. A lot of engineering firms in the city closed until mid-January. In the interim, I drove. At least my bank account was looking healthy.

Throughout February and March Lexie continued to call. She was persistent, I had to give her that. And if I'd had any doubts as to why she was a top salesperson her relentless pursuit answered them. Whenever I felt particularly low, which worked out to be about every third or fourth invite, I'd say yes. Nothing that could be construed as flash or romantic in any way; usually a coffee date, or once, another movie.

Stella also continued to call. Now that was more fun. The girl had one hell of a sense of humor. Our latest date a point in case. Picture it: It's the seventeenth of March... Saint Patrick's Day. The Irish population are going berserk and us Aussies, as per usual, are joining in. Everyone's getting into the spirit of the day; dressing in green and putting on Irish accents. Four leaf clovers and leprechauns abound. The pubs have even dyed the beer green. There was even green mashed potato with my meat pie floater.

What does Stella get me to do?

Dress as Where's Wally?

Yes, that's right. In a sea of green, I'm running around dressed like a kid's cartoon character in blue jeans, a red and white striped jumper, red and white beanie, a walking stick, and round geeky glasses. And I think she paid someone at every pub we stopped at on our pub crawl to notice.

Someone would inevitably shout, "Where's Wally?"

And some joker would grab me by the arm and yell, "Here's Wally."

Still, it did earn us quite a few free beers. And that walking stick sure did come in handy.

WORD FILTERED BACK to me after St Pat's day that Lexie was badmouthing me, telling anyone who'd listen I was leading her on and cheating on her, trying to make her jealous. Me, leading her on? Me, cheating on her? That got me mad. It was the veritable straw that broke the camel's back.

Suddenly, thoughts of revenge resurfaced.

"LEXIE, I NEED to speak with you. It's really important."

"Sweetie, you know I'm always here for you."

I cringed at the endearment and the false over-the-top gush, knowing all the disgusting untruths she was spreading about me, but I persevered.

"How about on tomorrow? Sunday? The first? Maybe around eleven?"

"That sounds wonderful. I can't wait. I'll have a coffee ready for you along with your favorite muffins."

"Great. See you then," I said, hanging up.

PARKED IN FRONT of Lexie's apartment block, I stopped for a moment to gather myself. One last deep breath and I was on my way, loping across the street with a spring in my step. Life was good.

Lexie threw open the door after my first knock. She was lucky I had good reflexes, or my second rap may have ended up with my knuckles in her face.

"Come in. It's so good to see you."

The smell of freshly brewed coffee, and if I wasn't mistaken, apple and cinnamon muffins, filled my nose. Life was definitely good.

I waited until we were seated at her dining table, coffees and muffins in hand.

"You won't believe it, Lexie. When it all went down you were the first person I thought of."

"Oh my God, what?"

"Ages ago, I gave this guy a lift. Stephen Cummings was his name. He was really bummed because his firm had just lost out on a big contract and I sort of gave him a bit of a pep talk and some advice."

I checked Lexie's face—yes, I had her interest.

"Well, it turns out he took my advice and his company won back the big contract."

"That's wonderful, Jamie." She sounded nonplussed, probably wondering why it was so momentous.

"It gets even better. The company he works for has offices in Sydney, Melbourne, and get this, New York and London."

"Have they offered you a job?"

"You bet they have."

The tone of happiness and pride in my voice was genuine.

"Here in Sydney?"

"Nope."

I made her ask.

"Where? Melbourne?"

"Wrong again. Try London!"

"Oh my God, wow!"

"Wow, all right. It turns out Stephen's the head engineer and he wants me to be his right hand for this bridge they're building just outside of London. The project is going to take a year. They pay for my flights and accommodation over there. They're even paying for Stephen's family to join him over there."