I don't know what it is - Part II

Miss K and I had a lovely brunch. She was only slightly miffed that I was late. Turns out, she was late herself, so she only waited 5 minutes. We ended up going shopping after brunch, and then off to Christopher Kanes studio to look at some creations she had on hold. They didn't work for the event she had in mind, but we ended up taking a bunch of them back to her place anyway. Just to be on the safe side.

The topic of Aiden showing up with the skank came up. I said he was a friend of ours, and that I was feeling a little under the weather. Obviously Miss K couldn't believe I'd associate myself with a two bit Asda model like that, but after I told her that Aiden was doing photos for this post modern exhibition on supermarket trash, she let up. So I didn't tell her. I know, I should have as we are dear friends. Still, she had a whole to do to get to later so I didn't want to ruin her day. I figured I'd just go home, get the locks changed and crack open a bottle of bubbly to toast my new singleness. At least I can whore around now. Anyone interested in a fit, 42 year old ex underwear model?

Maybe I should do porn. I could move to the US and do porn. Afterall I know how to look good naked, so how hard (ahem) could it be. Although, I've got a nice and cushy life here and with my investments I could probably live comfortable for the rest of my life without lifting a finger. Oh, yes I am not as stupid as I look. I've made quite a bit of money like that. Thanks to Cal, my bank person. Wait, I must get a lawyer. Shit! Aiden probably already has one.

So instead of calling a lawyer, I show up at the most prestigious law firm in town. They know me, as I did some work for them after I just got my law degree. There is this woman you see, Jen Davis who is a total shark. I want her.

We have coffee for 10 minutes in her office, and I explain the situation, and she takes on my case on the spot. Of course I'm thrilled and we make arrangements to meet again with all the papers and such. It's going to get messy, I'm sure. Aiden never took anything laying down (ahem, at least not with me). By now I'm in complete damage control mode, and so I get all these things done. Even sending out my CV just for the hell of it.

When I get home, Aidens there looking for a camera. I meet him in the walk in closet where the skank is trying on one of my shirts. I'm like, oh no you didn't just do that! Aiden tells me to let it go, besides I'm wearing his shoes and jacket. Oh, right. It's different though, because it's not Aiden wearing my shirt, it's his skanky fuckbuddy. It's.. Gross. (I later end up ritually burning the shirt in Aidens office because like EW!) I strip down to my underwear and change into nothing but tracksuit bottoms. Just to see if I've still got it. They are both checking me out. It feels good, or actually, ew! skanky pants is checking me out. Just up and die already. Still, I try to come off as civil when I ask him for his name. He blinks, like he doesn't understand the question. Um, er, Scott? he says. Like it's a question. I raise an eyebrow and ask him if he's sure. Aiden glares at me. Well, it sounded like he wasn't sure, I say. Scott looks at me confused, and I smile at him in my most condescending way. Bless him.

I still love Aiden though. Sure, I'm bitter and pissed and confused. Why would he trade me in for that skanky Asda model. He could have almost anyone and he picks some two bit trash. It's so beneath him. Not to mention very insulting for me. Hey, skanky pants could you give us a minute alone please, I hear myself say. Neither Aiden, nor skanky pants seem impressed by this. I suspect it's for different reasons entirely. When he passes me by the door I trip him. Granted, that wasn't a stellar move, but it worked in Showgirls. Aiden doesn't see this, and apparently skanky thinks he just tripped over the threshold. Hah.

First Aiden starts mumbling something, but I interrupt him and tell him that I've got a lawyer. He looks hurt. Why would he look hurt, he put this in motion and where's his wedding ring? I tell him that it's the natural thing to do when someone decides to end a marriage. So he just looks at me, gets up and grabs his camera. Without saying another word. What's that about. I follow him, and I keep talking all the way to the elevator. Maybe that's why he is leaving. I talk too much? That skanky Scott guy doesn't seem to be able to put together a complete sentence.

I do talk a lot, and I tend to talk about myself a lot. Of course, since I either sit at home, or end up going out to glitzy affairs or famous brunches it's only natural. Isn't it. Suddenly I'm very aware of how much I talk. Especially about myself. Then I get to thinking that all my friends are the same way. Although I'm sort of this model has-been, I still get interviewed and end up on VH-1 and those hideous "wealthiest models in the world" shows. You know, the ones with that man voice over thing that always sounds sooooo obnoxious and yet offended that P. Diddy has a 500 ft. yacht or something. I'm not offended by that, I just wish I did. I'm not that rich, sadly.

Then my mind goes to fashion. Maybe I should get into designing. I love fashion, and I have the connections. You'd think that the only thing I need is the talent, but I've actually got some old sketches somewhere and while I may not be perfect at sewing I am fairly good. My mother called me domestic, because I repaired and altered my clothes. At the very least I might be able to squeeze myself onto the creative team behind Miss Ks next lingerie collection. What are friends for, right?

I go to the bar and mix a batch of gin martinis and sit down. Alicia hasn't been here today. There's still glass and other crap on the floor from the other night. Why didn't she come in today? Maybe Aiden sacked her. I wouldn't be surprised if he did. He always thought that since I didn't work, I might as well do a bit of housework. Yeah, right. Like I'm going to clean up your shit mate. That was pretty much my response to that, when he suggested it oh so many years ago. So we interviewed a couple, and it came down to two. Alicia and Randy, but there was simply way too many double entendres and Aiden wasn't comfortable hiring a man. No matter how much, he so wasn't my type. Bless her, Alicia won out and while she's a very poor maid she was the least inoffensive one we could find.

My phone rings, and it's my assistant Cat. I realise I make a lot of obnoxious nicknames, but Cathrine actually prefers Cat. Plus she's a total minx, there is no way anyone could resist calling her Cat. Hey Cat darrrrrling, how are you doing today my love? I say. She giggles and I could almost hear her batting her eyelashes as she responds. Nate, my dear! I'm fabulous, and I was just making sure you guys remember attending the new museum exhibition at the V&A tomorrow. She senses something's wrong from the silence. My brain goes into overdrive as I think. Cat thoughtfully reminds me of the 1950s fashion photography exhibit. Oh..That.. Well, I'm not really up for it, I say. I tell her how Aiden and I have broken up, and that he's probably bringing his trashy boytoy with him. Cat doesn't care. She's paid to make me feel better, and force me to attend even the most tacky of events (approved by my manager, because everyone has a manager right?)

Images of me, standing alone near a WW2 canon at the Imperial War Museum with a plastic cup of white wine out of a cardboard box, waiting for an ancient man in a ragged uniform to finish putting people to sleep with his tiresome and very elaborate speech. It almost made you wish the Nazis had killed him, that or they would come and kill you (or better, him) now. The evening was a complete waste. Nobody of interest showed up, and for years to come I was invited to everything that had the faintest bit to do with history and war. I tell you, I nearly fell over reading my first invitation after that. It started with "Dear fellow history buff". At first I thought it was a friend of mine playing a joke on me, but I called and they meant it. The lady on the other end of the line seemed a little insulted when I couldn't stop my, you are shitting me right?. Bless her though.

Cat asks if I'm still there. Oh, yes I'm still here, I say. So you are attending, she asks. I suppose I should get out there. So, she says she'll make sure to get me on the VIP list. We say our goodbyes, and I go fetch a bottle of Bollinger and settle on the chaise.