Page 37 of OneTime Lovers
Afteranotherhecticdayspent chained to my desk in my Florida office, it’s hard to imagine it’s already been a month since I returned from the island. Luke’s wedding was the last real break I’ve had from the never-ending pile of new custom orders filling up my inbox.
I shouldn’t be grumbling about the abundance of work, but damn this is not the stress-free life I planned when I left the Australian military. I’ve become a victim of my own success.
Loudly dropping my pen to the desk, I stretch my arms up and rotate my shoulders. Hunched behind this desk all day, every day, is making my neck ache and I’m sure it’s the source of the pounding headache which has been getting steadily worse as the afternoon has dragged on.
I’m going for a surf. I need to forget about the stack of contracts in front of me demanding my attention, the backlog of designs I still need to work on, and the ever-increasing count of unread emails I still need to respond to. I swipe my keys and wallet from my desk and stride out of the office and as I pass the workshop, I shout to Jamie my head surfboard shaper,I’m off for the rest of the day.
Thankfully, only a short while later, I’m sitting on my board in the late afternoon sun, allowing the slight ripple of the ocean underneath me, to drain the earlier tension from my neck and shoulders.
This is what I love, and somewhere along the way things changed. I’ve allowed the business to take over my life and this became crystal clear when I spent those days relaxing with my friends and Jasmine on the island.
I’m thirty-four years old, and I still don’t feel like someone who has got their shit together. I’m sick of the long hours of work, the revolving door of women, the constant travel, and hotel rooms. But how do I slow this treadmill down? How do I get back to living the life I planned?
By the time I left the Australian Air Force, I was cooked. The strain of mercy dashes through the night skies, avoiding enemy fire to safely bring injured soldiers back to base, had taken its toll. The constant reel of war images seared into my memories, impossible to erase.
Some events became more deeply carved into my mind than others, like the body bags being unloaded from my chinook, young, fit healthy men whose lives were cut short, or the night Luke was injured. The gut-wrenching screams coming from him were barely human, the stench of burned flesh seeping through to the cockpit. Every time I had to block out the horror of war, I lost a little bit more of my humanity.
Today, I can’t help feeling that I’ve traded my stressful career as a combat pilot in war-ravaged far-flung places, for a different kind of stress. Sure, it’s not as life-threatening, but it’s not how I envisioned things would be when I established my business in Florida.
And there’s no time like the present to make some changes, I think looking out to sea for the beginnings of the perfect wave to lift me up and carry me to the shore. It’s like flying on water.
After an hour spent catching wave after wave, I’m back standing on the sand looking out at the Atlantic and I’m reminded of my time on the island. More than anything else about my work-life balance, I need to get back to having time to do the things I love with the people I love, my friends and family.
Yesterday when I spoke to Luke, he mentioned that Cassie had organized a dinner party at their Manhattan apartment this Sunday night. It sounds like such a grownup, adult thing to do, so obviously not his idea.
Luke, the least sociable of my friends is having dinner parties. Blake is now living with his girlfriend Bec, and I’m still carrying on like a sad fucking playboy. Maybe some of those changes I’m thinking about, need to extend to my sex life too.
If spending time with Jasmine showed me anything, it was that even occasional sex with the right woman is far better than regular sex with all the wrong women. Jasmine was certainly the right woman.
I may not have been a relationship kind of guy in the past, but the idea of one special woman in my life is becoming more appealing. No more one-night stands that leave me feeling lonelier than I did before, or dates with women who are more interested in my bank balance than getting to know me.
The problem is every time I think about one special woman, Jasmine’s gorgeous face pops into my mind and I end up having to jack off in the shower.
With all these thoughts swirling through my head, I figure it’s time I wrangled myself an invite to my friend’s first dinner party.
Sunday night sees me standing in front of the bathroom mirror in my Manhattan hotel room, dressed and ready to attend my friend’s dinner party. Not that I’ve completely wrapped my head around the idea, but it’s where my friends and Jasmine will also be, so I can put up with some dinner party chat.
I’ve been doing some serious life re-evaluation over the last twenty-four hours and checking into the hotel this afternoon even had me thinking I could set up a base in Manhattan.
I travel here at least once a month and soon it may be even more frequently as orders come in from more clients based along the east coast. New York makes travel to the UK or Europe much easier too. I’m sick of living out of a suitcase moving from one hotel room to the next, even the luxury five-star ones like I’m standing in now.
Lucky for me I know someone who can help me find the perfect place. Smiling to myself, I formulate my new plan to ask Jasmine tonight to help me find a convenient two-bedroom apartment right here in Manhattan. I’m hoping we can start property hunting tomorrow.
It’s time to go, I notice as I put my Gucci dive watch on my wrist. It’s a short three-block walk from the hotel to Luke and Cassie’s place, and I don’t want to be late for my friend’s first-ever dinner party. I grab my phone and the bottle of French champagne I bought for tonight as I head out the door.
It’s a surprisingly warm night for late summer in the city, so it should be an enjoyable walk, except for the fact that I’m feeling nervous about seeing Jasmine again. Well, I think it’s nerves, but it could be excitement. It’s hard to tell as I haven’t felt this way about seeing a girl in a long time, years in fact. Thoughts of Jasmine have plagued me for the last month, which is why I guess I’m all messed up about seeing her again.
As I walk briskly along the still busy sidewalk, this is one thing about Manhattan I’ll probably never really get used to, the number of people out and about at all hours of the day. Businessmen in suits even on a Sunday, push by on their way to meet friends or clients, late shoppers rush to catch the subway, and a constant stream of slow-moving traffic fills the street to the sounds of honking horns and distant sirens. Growing up I thought Sydney was a big city but when I started traveling, I realized it’s like a country town compared to London, Paris, and New York.
A short walk later, I enter the lobby of Luke’s Upper East Side apartment block, the doorman welcomes me before calling up to Luke to let me in. As I travel up the nine floors, I start making a list in my head of the things I’m looking for in an apartment as Jasmine is bound to ask me.
A doorman will provide good security, especially with me being away a lot. I need a pool and gym too, or at least one nearby. I know it’ll be hard to find a place with as nice a setup as my condo down in Florida, but as long as it’s better than a hotel I don’t care.
Exiting the elevator, I spot Luke standing at the open door to his apartment, a cold beer for me in his hand. My mate knows me well.
“Good to see you, Scotty,” he says as he hands me my beer and I give him the champagne.
“You too, mate, though this is a bit different to the usual billiards hall catch up.”
