Page 7 of Mr Billionaire Boss Grump

“I’ve invited us up to the neighbors,” I say to my cat, picking her up and draping her limber body across my shoulder like a living fur stole. She purrs and tells me it’s fine. She didn’t have any pressing engagements.

The door to the upstairs apartment flings open before I press the buzzer.

“Entrez vous, chicken,” says Sandy, his welcoming arms extended inwards. He closes the door and I drop Contessa gently to the polished parquet floor. She ambles to Desmond who is reclining on the corner couch where he feeds her tiny slivers of smoked salmon. No wonder she likes coming up here. I plonk myself on the sofa opposite.

“Wine!” Desmond bellows. “Get the girl a wine, Sandy. I can’t move. I’m attending to Contessa.”

Sandy comes in from the kitchen with three glasses of glorious white wine on a silver tray. It’s all about presentation in this home.

“Thanks guys.” I take a glass as the tray swoops in front of me.

“Now, spill, sweetie… But not your drink.” Desmond thinks this is hilarious. Sandy rolls his eyes at his partner.

“Well,” I say, then pause to sip my wine. “My life sucks.”

Sandy and Desmond look at each other without expression, then back to me. “This is not news, Olivia,” says Sandy and they both crease over with laughter.

“I don’t know why I thought you two were my friends. You are a pair of vindictive queens and I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” Sandy says caressing Contessa who has settled between the couple and is getting a double dose of strokes.

“Alright. You are the best friends a girl could ever have, and I am eternally grateful that you live handily upstairs from me, so I don’t even have to go to street level for wine and hugs.”

“Alright. So. Your life sucks.” Sandy leans forward and waves his almost empty glass at me. “How so today?”

“I hate my new boss.”

“Okay. You are not alone in this emotion, hun. A lot of people can’t stand the person or people they work for. No biggy.”

“Only he is the love of my life.”

“Whaaaat?” Desmond exclaims. “Not him? The boy on the bridge. The painting guy. The one who made a date then never showed up guy. Him? No. That’s impossible. What proof do you have?”

“His name is Gianni.”

“Haha. That’s it? Do you know how many Giannis there are in Italy, nay, the world? Like a gazillion.”

“Gianni is Italian for John, right? So that’s like saying, ‘Oh, his name is John from New York. It must be the same one.’”

“I know it sounds nuts.”

“Yes,” Desmond and Sandy say at the same time. “And what else makes you think it’s the same person? Olivia. It was ten years ago. You were young and most probably high or drunk or both. What do you remember? Really?”

I lean back into the sofa cushions and gaze out of the window. My apartment is one floor below but the outlook from my neighbors’ place is totally different. Pigeons flap across the rectangle of grey sky between buildings.

“It was magic… What I felt with Gianni was the most beautiful complete heaven. As if we were the only people in that crowded street. He saw me. He really. Saw. Me. He knew everything about me.” My words trail off as the memory crystallizes. “And the kiss. I can’t explain the moment when he kissed me was… incredible. I have never felt so happy. And you know, the hardest part of having this memory is the lonely sadness of it never ever happening again. I am doomed to walk the earth having experienced a teeny tiny slice of what love can be. I’m like a zombie, the living dead.”

“Have you quite finished?” Sandy says, before emptying his glass. “You’re making me feel queasy with all this over-the-top self-pity. Really. Get a grip, yo.” Sandy stands up. “It’s driving me to drink. Anyone want a top-up?”

“Ah, stop being harsh, babe. Olivia is here because she needs some support. We’re her friends so. We listen. We say things like, ‘There, there. It’ll be okay.’ Then we take the mick, relentlessly.” Both of my so-called friends are in hysterics at this until Desmond says, “And yes, please. Top me up, babe.” Desmond hands his glass to Sandy, then turns to me. “So, what is your plan, Olivia? How are you going to move forward out of your self-inflicted doldrums? Because we can only help you so far. And believe me, the entertainment factor of your heartbreak has already hit its limit, soyouneed to move along to another state. Or we get another tragic friend to hang out with. Your choice, hun.”

“Gosh. Thank you so much for your kind words. You guys are all heart. I had no idea you were quite so callous and unfeeling.”

“Yeah, you did,” says Sandy returning with the bottle from the kitchen. He sits, crossing his legs dramatically throwing one foot up with pointed toes before wrapping it around the calf of the other leg. “That’s why you love us. Muah.”

“Here’s my plan. I’m going to phone up sick and not go in tomorrow. Then look for another job.”

“Genius.”

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