Marriage Make-Over

‘I have become what you always knew I would be, Kelly. I am wealthy. I am successful. Just as you always predicted.’

And then she realised he was only centimetres away. Not the miles and miles he had been for so very long. Centimetres could so easily become millimetres and then she would be enfolded in his strong arms. But she knew, from his fervid objection to what she had become, if he even sensed what she was feeling he would be appalled by the very thought.

It is all just an echo, she reminded herself, an echo of bygone desire. A mirage, a shimmering memory that belongs where it came from. In the past. He is here to ease his own guilt, no other reason.

Kelly’s strength returned and she pulled away, rubbing away the tingle in her arms where he had held her. Her head swam. She had to get away. Away from the stifling apartment. Away from him.

‘No, Simon, you are wrong. What I wanted was for you to do whatever you felt you had to do, but with me at your side. But that is all water under the bridge now. Now I want a divorce. I’ll send you the papers.’

She turned and walked to the front door, her legs all but turning to jelly beneath her. As she closed the door she looked his way one more time and her heart lurched in her chest as she watched him slump into the dining-room chair and lower his head into his hands.

Kelly felt more herself when her home, St Kilda Storeys, an old, no-frills apartment building located a block from the beach, came into view. Her parents thought it a rundown hovel but Kelly preferred to think it had loads of character. Add to that the fantastic location, and the dozen fabulous young neighbours, on her meagre budget she could not have hoped for better.

When Kelly opened her top-floor apartment door her tiny dog, Minky, bounded into her waiting arms.

‘Hey, baby doll,’ Kelly cooed. ‘Gracie not home?’ she asked the diddering dog.

Kelly called out, but her flatmate must have left already. She worked shifts at the Crown Casino as a croupier in the high rollers room so they crossed paths between shifts and on weekends, which worked well for both and gave Minky plenty of company.

But right then Kelly wished her little-seen flatmate were home. She needed a friendly ear. She kept Minky with her and walked back down the stairs until she reached the ground-floor apartment.

She knocked on the door. Her other Saturday Night Cocktails buddy, the young owner of the St Kilda Storeys apartment block, and sometime stylist for Fresh, classy Cara, opened up chewing on a slice of honey-covered toast. Kelly eyed the food and salivated. Minky did the same.

Cara happily fed them both. And when she heard the good news, she threw her arms around Kelly, careful to keep her sticky, crumby fingers away from her friend. ‘A contracted columnist at Fresh. Didn’t I tell you the two of you were made for each other?’

‘So I can get you the rent in a week if you can wait.’

Cara fluffed a hand across her face. ‘Next week’s fine. Don’t worry about it. So Single and Loving It! is here to stay. But can you do it? Is there enough vitriol in that tiny frame of yours to castigate men infinitum?’

Kelly thought back to Simon’s self-righteous certainty and nodded. ‘You bet. With more and more ammunition coming my way on a daily basis.’

‘Ooh, that sounds juicy. What happened?’

‘Ran into an ex today.’ Close enough. ‘Wasn’t fun. But did make me feel that much more right about sending my ideas and resolutions out into the world for other women to emulate.’

‘How not fun? Details, darlin’.’

How was it not fun? They had been fairly polite. They had even broken bread together. It had all been terribly civilised. And that was where the fun was lost. In the past they had been beyond passionate. Whether clawing at each other’s throats or at each other’s clothes, the one thing they had never been was civilised.

‘Saving it for the column.’

‘Thank God names must be changed to protect the innocent or I have a feeling this guy would be pulp by the time you were finished with him.’

And Kelly smiled. Simon had blown that one. By writing to her and begging a response, there would be no need for protecting the innocent. Or the guilty as the case might be.

‘Cocktails Saturday night?’ Cara asked.

‘Always,’ Kelly promised, planting a kiss on her friend’s cheek. ‘Thanks for the ear, Cara. I’d better go.’

Kelly had a column to map out and the ideas were flowing thick and fast.

CHAPTER THREE

KELLYISM:

YEARNING FOR A MAN WITH WHOM TO SPEND YOUR TIME?

GET A HOBBY INSTEAD!

BY SIX the next morning Kelly was up at the front of her kickboxing class. She had almost become used to picturing her mother’s disappointed face on the punching bag and to have Simon’s face there in its place felt like a huge step backwards.

But it was enough to put extra vigour into her kick. She spun on her left heel and her right foot caught the huge bag precisely in the centre, sending a satisfying zing up her leg.

The capability to kick the sense out of a perfectly docile leather bag had been her saviour and a much more affordable option than the therapy her mother had offered to pay for. Twice a week for five years had kept her fit and kept her mind clear. You couldn’t mope and achieve the addictive endorphin rush at the same time, so she’d had to give up one for the other.

Kelly jogged on the spot, working up a sweat and a new appetite to take on Simon’s assertions head-on. The more ammunition she had, the better her column would be. She had found at least one wonderful woman to feature this week, and she knew that Simon’s insensitivity to the delicate nature of a woman’s heart would be obvious in comparison.

Kelly slowed to a light bounce. Class was over. But a few last-minute punches to a point on the bag about six feet off the ground did not go astray.

Kelly hopped off the tram and walked the block to the melon-coloured two-storey stuccoed building that held the offices of Fresh magazine. It was her first full day as a real staff writer at Fresh.

The world was a good place. One or two minor irritations could be brushed over as long as she had the job of her dreams, a forum from which she could spread the word. Be fearless. Be resolute. Be heard. And whatever else, be who you have to be.

She pushed open the glass doors that led to the front reception and all but gasped as she saw Simon leaning on the reception desk.

It was bad enough having to face him in his apartment when she’d had time to prepare herself, but him showing up in her place of work shocked the hell out of her. Besides, he was dressed down in a form-fitting white T-shirt, jeans and cowboy boots, and he looked unbelievable. It was too much to cope with all at once.

Upon Kelly’s arrival, Judy, the receptionist, stopped batting her eyelashes at Simon at once, leapt from her swivel chair and disappeared into the office behind her.

‘What are you doing here?’ Kelly snapped, her eyes darting about the open space to see if anyone was within hearing distance. ‘Apart from flirting with my coworkers, that is?’

Simon’s eyes narrowed and Kelly wished she had learnt the ability to keep her trap shut. She was learning that telling it as it was in print was one thing, but thinking before speaking could not be overrated.

‘We had not finished our conversation when you ran off yesterday,’ Simon said.

‘I did not run off. I left. Something you should recognise since you are such an expert at it.’

He didn’t even blanch. Pity. Standing there before her all manly and gorgeous, with all that healthy glowing tan, was entirely too disconcerting.

‘Besides, I had said all I wished to say to you.’ Kelly tilted her nose in the air and walked past Simon on stiff legs. ‘Now please leave. Anything else you have to say can be said through a lawyer.’

Simon shot out a hand and took Kelly by the arm. His hand was warm beneath the steely strength, and it felt so deliciously familiar. Familiar. She looked down at his hand. It was large and square, with clean clipped fingernails. But it was not soft like that of a man who worked in an office all day. It was lightly roughened from outdoor work as it always had been. So, beneath the city-worker exterior there were hints of the Simon who had lived his life in the sunshine, who did not stop working on his beloved boats until the weak moonlight made it impossible.

‘You really have changed,’ he said, all but mirroring Kelly’s thoughts.

She shot him her steeliest glare. ‘You said that already.’

‘It’s just that it hits me anew each time I see you.’