The Setting & The Characters

Nicholas Duncann -- protagonist; divorced from Krisse; multibillionaire self-made corporate raider, runs a score of multinationals from his headquarters in Alsace Springs

Krisse Almira -- protagonist; divorced from Nicholas and living in the lap of luxury on a hefty alimony, a no-strings-attached life-time postnuptial contract negotiated skillfully by her attorney

Marissa -- Krisse's best friend (the infamous Krisse & Riss duo of the socialite scene); trust fund kid; loves-'em-n-leaves-'em like a man; shops and jets around the world for a living, but is famous enough to warrant fees for part-time modelling and making film cameos

Ryozo Keisuke -- second-generation naturalised Japanese from one of Japan's oldest and richest families; one-time lover of Marissa; carries a torch for Krisse; regarded warily by Nicholas

Alice -- Krisse's personal assistant, on Nicholas' payroll


Settings
Hometown: Alsace Springs, fictitious beachfront Metropolis very similar in vibes to Manhattan

Other setting: Globewide

Marissa, home

Marissa laughed. In a few clicks, she sent the mail she'd just received off to Krisse.

"Krisse would certainly agree with everything," she muttered.

Fw: 15 PIECES OF ADVICE TO BE PASSED ON TO YOUR MOM, YOUR DAUGHTERS OR
GRANDDAUGHTERS, NIECES, AUNTS, GIRLFRIENDS, ETC.

1. Don't imagine you can change a man -- unless he's in diapers.

2. What do you do if your boyfriend walks out? You shut the door.

3. If they put a man on the moon - they should be able to put them all up here.

4. Never let your man's mind wander -- it's too little to be out alone.

5. Go for the younger man. You might as well, they never mature anyway.

6. Men are all the same -- they just have different faces, so that you
can tell them apart.

7. Definition of a bachelor: a man who has missed the opportunity to make some
Woman miserable.

8. Women don't make fools of men - most of them are the do-it-yourself types.

9. Best way to get a man to do something is to suggest he is too old for it.

10. Love is blind, but marriage is a real eye-opener.

11. If you want a committed man, look in a mental hospital.

12. The children of Israel wandered around the desert for 40 years.
Even in Biblical times, men wouldn't ask for directions.

13. If he asks what sort of books you're interested in, tell him checkbooks.

14. Remember a sense of humor does not mean that you tell him jokes,
it means that you laugh at his.

15. Sadly, all men are created equal.

Nicholas Duncann and Krisse Almira, Krisse's apartment

His eyes followed her as her as she breezed out of the bathroom and to the armchair next to the window. He tried not to let it be too obvious, he shouldn't let her see him staring. But he couldn't keep his eyes off her.

Boy, she'd blossomed.

Brilliant blue-green rays of light winked at him -- probably off a sequin or rhinestone, she always did go for the details -- as she picked something off the heap of presumably-expensive, overpriced more likely, branded clothes. That's where his hard-earned money went into. Wardrobe maintainence.

His jaw almost hit the red cedar floor when she dropped her bathrobe and shimmied out of her shorts. Her back was facing him, so she wouldn't have seen it, but she may have heard the thud if any part of his face hit the floorboards that she had insisted on having put in, out of the blue, five months ago.

"It's aromatic," she'd said, brushing off the $79,000 bill from Aspen Hardwood Flooring that she'd directed his way. Musty, he's shot back when he'd stormed over that very night to see what he was shelling out for. "An early Christmas present," she'd replied. For just her bedroom.

Just a lacy thong. Gawd... Was she still so comfortable with him that she could do that without a second thought?

She'd slipped the dress over her head and was wriggling to let it fall into place. He'd never seen this dress before. Floaty layers of sheer purple -- or whatever fancy name they'd call a shade like that it the fashion world -- with a fringe of iridescent beads swishing from under the bustline to just above the hemline.

Then again, he hardly ever saw her in anything more than once these days. He'd like to think it was because their paths hardly crossed, and not because she was charging a new outfit -- heaven forbid two, or three! -- a day to his account. Still, he made a mental note to check in with his accountant regarding her credit card bills, something he'd neglected to do for almost six months.

"Do you always change in front of guys?"

She laughed. What an absurd question, and none of his beeswax, she thought. "No. Not always."

What's that supposed to mean? He decided to let the matter rest. Don't ruin the evening early on.

Westlife's cover of 'Ain't that a Kick in the Head' was playing over the radio.

Like the fella once said
Ain't that a kick in the head?
Like the sailor said, quote
Ain't that a hole in the boat?
My head keeps spinnin'
I go to sleep and keep grinnin'
If this is just the beginnin'

"My life is gonna be bee-yoo-tee-ful!" she sang along at the top of her voice.

She's tellin' me we'll be wed,
She's picked out a king-size bed...

Her hand stopped midway as she brushed her now jet black, poker-straight hair. Just for a splitsecond. Sometimes, life's little ironies did manage to get to her. She turned away from him so he couldn't see her rolling her eyes.

"Let's go. We're late for our dinner reservation." She slipped into her new pair of Blahniks, ignoring the ankle ties that streamed behind her as she stalked off. She'd tie them in the car later, where she'd also apply her eyeliner and gloss. She had to keep moving. Avoid eye contact. Breathe. Breathe.

Gwen Stefani was now yodeling.

"Oh, ah, oh! Look at your watch now! You're still a super hot female! You got your million-dollar contract! And they're all waiting for your hot track!"

Still hadn't grown up, he thought, not without some affection, which surprised him a little. She would know the stupid lyrics of some nonsense song, but just one line of of 'Kick in the Head'.

What you waiting
What you waiting
What you waiting
What you waiting
What you waiting for

Krisse, Ri Ri Tandoori

Krisse looked at her friend, her friend in love, and smiled. Riss seemed so happy.

They had made it a point not to neglect her, to make her feel awkward at being alone with them tonight. Ken had shown genuine interest in getting to know her, and them holding their sides with his witty asides about encounters with quantum molecules and The Adventures of The Super Molecules.

And then there was Conrad Baker. The dapper British managing director of an Italian textile manufacturer, Azalia. The company that was looking to rebrand itself and had hired ASPRAA to manage its public relations.

Baker was stopping over on his way back from the States, and had been the one who'd requested late yesterday afternoon to see the "work in progress" on the company logotype redesigns. The one who'd caused the flurry of rushed deadline missives from the PR department that had led to her very early morning start today.

She hadn't met him at the presentation at ASPRAA -- haughty Janice had insisted that she and Mavis from PR could handle the presentation alone -- but Baker had asked afterward to be introduced to the creative force behind the rebranding strategy.

She had reluctantly gone over to meet him, and since he had taken an interest in the development team, had brought him round to her cluster to introduce and credit her designers.

Their starters had arrived -- an amazing mix of fingerfood with five different dips and a chutney that reminded her of the green curry Ryo loved. She felt a stab of missing him, remembering how he'd held her earlier that afternoon when she'd been feeling so, so wearied.

And wouldn't you know it. Just then, Baker came by their table to say hi.

She was slightly glad she had the chance to show him her more glamorous side. She'd been embarassed to meet him dressed as unstylishly as she'd been this morning, having thrown on a vintage T-shirt and old jeans in her bleary rush to get to work this morning.

Upon finding out that he had just arrived and was dining alone, she of course had to invite him to join them. And she had no regrets about it. He'd smoothly joined in the conversations, debated global politics and the recent declension of Tiger Wood's performance with Ken, and discussed fashion trends and up-and-coming designers he was keeping his eye on.

He'd even identified her dress as vintage Ungaro and Riss' Chloe top. "This is my line, ladies," he had downplayed his high fashion prowess.

He'd been utterly charming the whole evening. He was also beautifully handsome, wavy dark haired, bronzed skin, Krisse noted as he gave her a flirtatious smile. Riss had been telling him how Krisse could never resist men for their British accents. "It turns her on," she was saying.

"Riss!! I do not..." she protested, embarassed.

The Brit accent ranked quite low down on her list of Irresistible Qualities in Men. Tall, lithe, broad-shouldered and lean muscled, with toned pecs and abs, ranked tops -- but she had a 'perfect proportion' combination that not many men fit into. Long lashes, perfect sharp noses, slightly-gravelly baritone voices all scored points with her. And then there was her soft spot for certain types of Japanese, Korean or Chinese men -- those who, unlike most Asians, were at least six-foot tall, had broad shoulders, lean muscles including pecs and abs, long lashes (very rare) and perfect noses. And who spoke perfect English in low, gravelly tones.

Just like Ryo, she realised suddenly. Hang on, had she met him before she developed this fondness for some Asian types or was basing her entire fondness for some Asian types on him? She pushed the thought out of her head.

"All right then, let's not embarass Krisse," Baker was saying. "This whole British accent thing is over-rated I believe. In fact, to my greatest chagrin, if I'm speaking Italian anywhere else but in Italy, the women flock to me like bees to honey. But once they find out I'm Brit..., it's like roaches scampering off to the shadows!" he shook his head in mock dismay.

"Well, Krisse is still here," Marissa said suggestively once their laughter had subsided, ignoring her sharp glare.

"Well then. I must thank my lucky stars that I've finally found a woman who thinks I'm sweet!" he replied, his eyes never leaving Krisse's face.

She smiled but averted her gaze. She was feeling slightly woozy from all the champagne -- they'd had two bottles, plus about four reds. She didn't trust herself to reply right now.

Sipping her water, she looked around. Couples. Couples. Couples.

And here she was... not alone. She had the company of a very handsome man whose deep voice and accent was driving her silently wild. God, she couldn't believe she just admitted that, even to herself. She wanted to laugh.

"Hey Riss, I think I should be heading home. I've been up since 6.30am and I'm really tired."

"Oh, ok, we should get going too. Is Shunji picking you up?"

"No. I wasn't sure how late I'd be, so I told him he could go."

"Tsk." Marissa frowned. "He's your driver, Krisse. Whatever the time, he should be able to pick you up at..." she looked at Ken's watch. "Ten-forty and send you home safely."

Krisse laughed. She knew she didn't quite get with the rich and famous program. "It's ok. He was also up at the crack of dawn to send me to work."

"Let me send you back then. Where's your place?" Baker.

"Oh no, it's ok. I'll just get a cab."

"She's at The Isere, Alsatia Drive," Riss interjected.

"Oh. Isn't it a Little France here now," Baker said amusedly. "You've got your river, your vineyard region..."

They got that a lot. Visitors who liked to show off how Parisian they were.

"Come on. It's along my way, I think. I'm heading back to the Four Seasons." She was along his way, and delightedly Marissa told him so.

Sighing, she followed him into the cab.

"Don't sigh," he said bemusedly as they headed off. "I'm not that repulsive am I?"

He wasn't. On the contrary, he seemed quite delectable. She just shook her head. She noticed that they reeked of smoked meats and kitchen. Urgh.

But she could also detect his musky cologne. He'd unbuttoned his shirt and was rolling up his sleeves. The roll was tight around his muscular arms.

Arms like those that held her warm at the office pantry today...

She shook her head, as if it would clear away these yearning thoughts of Ryo, feelings she'd never had before. Until the dream.

She rubbed her arms, where goosebumps had started prickling. She had to stop thinking of Ryo. He was her best friend, sometimes it seemed like their friendship was much deeper that that, but things could only go so well because there was no love or love-lost to muck it all up.

"You cold?" Baker interrupted her thoughts.

"No. I'm ok. Still a little woozy, that's all. I'm fine. "

He breathed deeply.

They were nearing her neighbourhood.

"Would you... would you like to get some coffee?" he said after a long while.

She leaned her head against the window pane and looked at him. "Yeah. Why not?"

He leaned forward to tell the cabbie to head straight to the Four Seasons. "The lounge should still be open. I'm not sure where else would be open at this time of the night... I'll send you back afterwards."

Actually, there were several places open twenty-four hours. But it was easier to lean back and keep quiet than to direct the cabbie to one nearby. She couldn't think of any, at this moment, anyway.

When they reached his hotel, he reached out a hand to help her out of the cab. And he held it all the way as he led her to the lounge. It was nice. It'd been quite some time since she'd last dated anyone she'd wanted to hold hands with.

But this was not a date, she corrected herself. It's a chance meeting and coffee afterwards. God, she wanted him.

The lounge didn't serve coffee after 11pm, they were told. She was disappointed. The night would now end then...

"We could go up to my room for instant coffee, or I'm sure the minibar will have something you'd like" he suggested.

Could he feel her pounding heart rate from her palm, she wondered, as he gave a slight tug in the direction of the lifts to the guest rooms. Oh come on, she thought as she followed him, we're all adults here. We all know what's gonna happen after, before or without coffee.

He led her into the lift by a hand behind her waist, and didn't drop it even when the doors closed. She turned to him. "You smell like tandoori," she said. Somehow it came out as a husky whisper.

His arm slid around her waist, and she let herself be pulled closer to him as he sniffed her hair. "So do you, love."

"Well, the tandoori was delicious."

"Indeed it was," he replied, his lips brushing against her ear.

"Let's cut the small talk," she said, turning to him and tilting her head up, her lips meeting his. He was breathing as heavily as she was, his hand sliding up her side.

They could barely make it to his hotel room without stumbling. Her head was clearing up fast from the effects of the alcohol, the cloudiness only to be replaced by dizzy desire as his lips carassed her neck and his hands slid up her dress.

She could hardly breathe. Such was the rush to her head.

Ryozo, ASPRAA

He glaced at the clock.

Dammit. Why did these fucking sales half-wits have to understate turnaround times???

Martin from the Signet team had stomach flu, so the pitch for the Sony print series had gone to his team. Normally, this would be a coup for his team -- it was a six-month long, huge budget campaign, the first time such ads were being localised, that ASPRAA naturally wanted snag.

But because of this last-minute project they'd dumped on at 5pm, he had to beg Cindy to reschedule for drinks instead of dinner. Not only that, it looked like he may not be able to make it at all. No thanks to his untimely writer's block.

He could come up with a whole list of barnyard epithet for Sandra, the cocky sales director, and the cholera-striken Martin. He had a ready list of colourful terms for Sandra and those brash, supercilious underlings in her sales team. Shrews. Retards. Morons. Cretins. Saps. Anserine asses. Witless clods. Fucking bitches.

Turning up the volume on his web-based radio, he switched windows back to the Sony website he was researching, he kicked frustratedly at the trash can under his desk. Picking out key words, he dumped them into his Word file. He'd use his thesaurus to find the most concise word to match the CD's creative brief.

Fuck. This was entirely stupid. He couldn't think straight. The pressure to wrap up this pitch by 9.45 so that he could meet Cindy at Onyx was counterproductive towards his creativity. He should just leave now and come in early tomorrow morning. He could mull over ideas tonight, even.

He made a feeble attempt to search for word alternatives. The designers needed something to work with tonight, the poor sods.

Excite > electrify/thrill/charge-up...

What the fuck? Titillating. Fellating. Going down on. Jacking off. Jerking off...

"Dictionaries these days," he muttered, rolling his eyes. Too bad he never did any projects where he could use the words "going down on".

After expanding on his other key words, he picked a few that were hypey enough and shot a quick email off to the design team. "Hey guys, sent you some taglines. Just use 'Electrified' as your main tag. I'm off!"

They gave their usual mock-moans, but he couldn't be bothered to hang around a minute longer. It'd been a long day. He hadn't had dinner. And frankly, he didn't give a fuck right now if they clinched the campaign or not.

As he headed to the lift, he passed by Krisse's desk. Atop the piles of magazines and design books were tossed drafts for this afternoon's rush job. He rolled his eyes. These sales people were getting out of hand. He'd have to have a word with Traffic tomorrow morning.

He picked up a stack of proofs from her desk. Her team had pulled off a pretty tough job, this. As he replaced the drafts on her messy desk, a small mountain of loosely stacked files shifted and toppled like dominos over her desk.

The collapse unveiled a little oasis of deskspace that hadn't been overtaken by junk, although it had been mired by the overgrowth of files and publications.

There stood a single photoframe. The antique pewter one she had picked up at a Sunday morning flea market in London just a few months back. She'd put in a picture of them on that holiday that she had scanned and converted to a sepia-tone.

Them at the Italian restaurant The Ivy on their last night. Where they both had enjoyed a little too much good wine and had spent the later part of time there sitting whispering things that need not be whispered into each others' ears, raucously cracking up over nothing every few minutes.

They had had such a good time, he smiled. It was romantic, intimate, and fun. A total blast. A heady rush.

He paused.

"Hey fellas! Try this instead -- 'Headrush.'"

It was, after all, for Sony's latest range of hi-fi portable music players.

Krisse, Her Apartment

She poured herself a gin and tonic after she finished her makeup. Thankfully the rain had stopped and she'd not have to worry about streaking faces.

Mr Shunji would be here in four minutes.

She stared out her window morosely. On the one hand, she was looking forward to meeting the man her best friend was "in love" with. On the other, she dreaded being the fifth wheel on one of their early dates. She knew her friend. The two of them would be all over each other and it'd make her very uncomfortable.

She sighed. She wished Ryo could have joined them tonight. Too bad she asked him too late. He already had a date, she repeated, with some irritation.

She pouted. She tried to deny the feelings rising inside her. She was jealous! Jealous that Ryo was out on a date!

Hang on. Was she envious that he had a date while she didn't, or was she tasting bile because he wasn't with her? She couldn't decide. She didn't want to.

This feeling would pass, she tried to convince herself. She was just having a bad day and wanted company.

His company.

The thought popped into her head, and she quickly pushed it aside. Ridiculous.

But it's true, the voice inside her head wouldn't shut up. You want him. You want him to make you laugh. To hold you, to make you feel loved. You know he has a soft spot for you, and you want to feel special right now.

She wanted to weep in exasperation. Why was she feeling this way? Was she lonely? Was it because it'd been some time since she'd met anyone she'd wanted to date, someone that filled her with excitment and desire? Did she even want to date anyone anyway?

She drained her glass. She'd have to have lots of champagne to see her through tonight. Maybe she'd meet someone new... At an Indian restaurant?

For the first time today, she laughed.

Ryozo, ASPRAA

He stood by the window at the pantry and sighed. It was such a gloomy day. Rain rain rain. It'd been an unusually wet week, even though it was technically Autumn.

Kenshin had called him yesterday evening. A courtesy call. To let him know that he and Marissa were really hitting it off, and that they were going for their third date in as many days.

Knowing Riss, they were probably already hitting it off between the sheets.

Ryozo checked himself. He and Riss had dated for almost four years back. It had started out really intense. He'd counted the seconds till he knocked off from work, and couldn't wait to see her, just to take her out for dinner, a movie, clubbing. Whatever.

Marissa had totally blown his mind. She was intelligent, witty to the point of caustic, gorgeous, and classy. She also came from old money, so they could relate on the downside to being part of the high life.

Theirs had been a romance fuelled by lust. And Riss was one hot-blooded chick.

Well. Kenshin had the benefit of discovering everything about her now... Hope against hope, he wouldn't have to find out the painful way how quickly she moved on to the next piece of meat that caught her eye, Ryo thought dryly.

He looked at his car parked down below and sighed again. Pounded by rain. My poor baby, he sighed.

He'd just collected his car from the mechanics. Cost him a bomb an arm and leg to replace the two doors on the passenger side, but thankfully the workshop had done a swift and perfect job. He needed his car to paint the town red.

"Ryo?" Krisse had come in for what was probably her 15th cup of coffee this morning. Her assistant made sure a pot stood ready for refills throughout the day.

He knew she'd had to come in at 7am to rush out some work that a stupid accounts executive had promised to show the client today, giving her only one day's notice to come up with a concept and mocks.

Sometimes, he didn't understand why she wanted to continue working here. She certainly didn't need the money. Not since Nick made it big; not since she got a huge maintanence after their divorce.

"Hey Krisse, how's it going?"

She grimaced. "It's certainly going. I think we'll have a set ready by 3pm. I can't believe that idiot Janice!"

She put down her cup and walked over to the window. They stared out at the vast greyness, rain pouring down like sheets. "Crap day... I wish I were at the Spa. My shoulders are killing me. My whole body's acheing. I am so not a morning person. Urgh!"

He looked down at her. She was visibly drained. She had bundled herself up in a fushia wooly wrap that was as big as a blanket (maybe it was), but still seemed to be shivering in the cold air-conditioned office.

"Come'ere," he said, stretching his arms out to her.

She stepped into them and he held her tight. She sighed. It was nice to have be in his warm, comforting embrace. It always was.

They stood, silently contemplating the dreariness outside. He wished he could get her something, something to boost her energy levels and her spirits, which seemed to have plunged with the temperature.

She turned to face him. "Thanks. I really needed that," she said, looking up at him with a tired smile.

She put a hand on his shoulder and reached up to plant a soft kiss near his ear.

Moving to pour herself more coffee, she suddenly said, "Oh. Before I forget. Are you free for dinner tonight? Marissa has agreed to introduce me to your old friend and her new lover. I don't know what exotic new place they're gonna try tonight, but I said I'll be there at eight. I just hope the rain lets up so I can go home and change. Can you make it?"

He shifted uncomfortably. "Aw sweetie, I can't. Not tonight. I've got a date."

She seemed surprised, he noticed. Just momentarily. Then she smiled and said with a shrug, "Oh, no problem. How rude of me to ask you so last minute anyway."

Normally, she'd ask him about his date. She must be having a really rough day to pass up a chance to tease me, he thought.

"No... I mean, I would have loved to..." What bad timing. He didn't want to let her down when it was already a bad day for her.

"Don't worry about it, Ryozo. See you later." She left.

Dammit. She never called him Ryozo. Unless she was pissed off.

But why should it be his problem? His world didn't revolve around her, he thought somewhat bitterly. As far as he could help it...

Krisse and Marissa, The Shed

They were waiting for their tea and cakes to arrive when Lisa, Marissa's cousin came by their table.

"Hi darlings! Isn't it a gorgeous day?"

It was. Outside the beachfront cafe, the sun was glinting off the waves as they rushed to shore.

"Saw you last night at the Met," Lisa said to Krisse. "Didn't have a chance to say hi because some idiot spilled red wine on me and I decided to leave. Wasn't very exciting anyway..."

"I'm sure your cleaner'll get the stain out," Riss drawled. She'd had a hot date last night and was dying to tell Krisse everything, and was miffed by her airhead cousin's interruption.

"Yeah, so anyway, it's in the Springs Daily today how you treated your assistant and her sister to a day at the Spa? Most generous of you, I have to say," Lisa continued.

"What?" Krisse suddenly snapped to attention. She didn't understand how things like this got out in the press. "How the hell did they..."

"Your assistant must have told them. Probably wanted to get her face in the news. Though I must say, it's a rather unclassy thing to do, you know, to go running to the press that you got a freebie from your..."

"I don't think Alice would do that," Krisse snapped. "Anyway, it's inconsequential. The paparazzi must have had a slow day."

Just then her phone rang. "Hello? Yes, Alice... Yes, I've not seen it but I've been told... I see... No. Don't worry about it. It's ok... No. No. Don't worry. Enjoy your weekend."

She turned to the girls. "Alice said she was accosted by some idiot paparazzo who had been tailing my car," Pointedly speaking only to Riss, she continued, "He actually tailed her from her sister's place to the Day Spa, bombarding her with questions, can you believe it?"

"Mmm," Marissa rolled her eyes. "For crying out loud, the world should stop reading all this trash, and that'd put an end to this tabloid shit. Demand and supply. Dumbasses who read such trash merely encourage the tabloids to dish more crap."

Krisse laughed. She didn't think Lisa got the hint, but thankfully, her companion was waving to her that they should leave.

"Well, nice chatting with you darlings. See you around!"

"Not if I can help it," Riss muttered under her breath. "Taa! Luv-er-ly seeing you!" she called out, imitating Lisa's affected tone.

Back to business. "As I was saying before Miss Tra-lala came along... I think I'm in love!" she squealed.

"Wha-aat? Miss Marissa Edmond's in love?"

"Hey! I do have a heart too, you know. Under this heaving chest is something yearning for a Mr Right," Marissa winked. "Anyway, I think Ken's perfect! He's got a house in Paris and he has his own Bentley, and he's amazing in bed."

"Ah-ha! I knew that was the cincher."

"Yeah, whatever. Ryo was right. Japanese men do make better lovers."

Ken, short for Kenshin, was the twenty-something heir to the Osatado company, a multi-million dollar conglomerate that produced one of the world's most expensive skincare lines, owned a chain of hotels and was now entering the property industry.

Ryo had hooked Marissa up with his old friend from grade school, who had just returned from doing his doctorate in molecular science or something in the States.

Last night had been their second date. Ken had taken picked her up early, and they'd driven to the next state for dinner at a little French restaurant he had discovered. Then, they took a walk along the river, and very quickly ended up checking into a quaint bed and breakfast along the way. He'd dropped her off at the cafe only just.

Marissa yawned. "I didn't get very much sleep that night," she sighed. "It was fantastic. He's so good with his..."

"Ok! Stop! Enough information!" Krisse covered her ears. Sometimes, Riss really took sharing too far. She could only take so much gory details when she was sober.

"I was gonna say he's a good massager. He's good with his hands. God, is he good... Anyway, a full body massage equals foreplay from now on, in my books."

"Ok, so when will I get to meet him?"

"Well, we did make plans for tonight, but our activities are, ahem, let's say they'll be very private. Let's set dinner for Tuesday? I'll check if he's free and let you know tomorrow?"

"Ok, sounds good. Make it dinner for four. Ryo has to come, of course. The matchmaker between Miss Can't-Be-Tied-Down-Except-In-Bed and her new Japanese lover."

"Yeah, yeah... Y'know, you should ask Ryo if he has any other Japanese friends for you. Ask him to screen out those with the tiny pricks though."

Krisse, Alsace Springs

"Ok, Ryo and I want to get our nails done today. Make a 4.30 appointment at Buff could you? Beg them to squeeze us in -- manis and a pedi for me. No, for both of us, since he'll have to wait for me anyway. Coz I really don't want to have to go to 10+10. They ran out of white polish the last time, can you believe it? You don't do that many French manis in a day as to run out unless you have Very. Poor. Planning."

"Will you be able to make your 6.30 dinner with Anna and Ted then?" Alice was already speed-dialling Buff while reading off her planner. "Dinner. 6.30. Anna. Ted. Oscars."

"Oh shit. Ok then make it four? Three-thirty? Ok whatever time they can fit us in. Make sure they fit us in. We'll pay the emergency premium. God, they do make a living off us!"

Alice was already on the phone, mm-hmming and briskly ordering the other party to yes, please reschedule their two other less regular customers out of the 3.30pm timeslot.

How nice to have an assistant, Krisse thought, as she would every other month or so. Alice was on Nick's payroll. Probably installed in her life to keep tabs on her. Ryo and Marissa preferred not to have her around, mostly. "Walls have ears, and moles have moles," Ryo would joke.

Riss would pointedly dismiss her from their company. "Alice, wouldn't you rather be off shopping? We're going to be some time here. I'm sure you don't really want to waste two hours over canapes," she say, giving a saccharine smile.

Actually, Alice was a nice enough girl. Very professional, kindly. Pushy in a passive aggressive way. In fact, they were probably almost the same age.

"Hey, how old are you anyway?"

"Twenty-eight," she sighed.

"God, you're a year older than me!" Krisse gave an exaggerated gasp, hand over her mouth and giggling.

Alice smiled. She was really a sweetie. "Just five months, actually. I'm a Scorpio." She knew Krisse's birthday because Mr Duncann had instructed for her to buy her a gift on his behalf this year. A limited edition bottle of Chanel Mademoiselle.

Krisse quickly did the math. "Oh no! Did we miss your birthday?"

"It was..." she trailed off, embarassed. "It was last week, actually. Forget about it. It's nothing. I never celebrate anyway. "

"What? Why not? Why didn't you tell me? You should have told me, I'd have given you the day off or something!" Krisse was appalled.

"No... really! It's not a big deal. I really don't celebrate my birthday. I wouldn't have remembered if you hadn't asked me..."

"Nonsense! Ok. Ok. Here. Take the week off! To make it up to you. You should always celebrate your birthday." Krisse leaned forward and spoke through the screen to the driver. "Mr Shunji, could you take Alice to the Day Spa after you drop me off? We missed her birthday last week!"

Alice started protesting.

"Alice, stop it. Now, could you please book me a three o'clock appointment at the Day Spa. Tell them I'm booking it for a friend. I want the Head-Over-Tip-Toes treatment," she said.

That consisted of the whole works -- Ayurvedic herbal oil head treatment, full body scrub and massage, waxing and finally ending off in the flower pool. Five hours of pampering.

"Book it for two. Go with a friend." Alice's mouth was agape. For two, that would cost almost a grand.

"Oh, but before you go off for a week, I still need you to arrange my appointments for the rest of the week." Krisse made a worried face. "Would you have enough time?"

"Of course, of course. I don't need a whole week off, really. I think I should come back on Friday."

"Mmm..." Krisse hardly heard her.

"Ok, Riss and I need something for Saturday's exhibition opening at the Met. I was thinking D&G, but she says Chanel or Prada. Could you ask them to hold our sizes? Just hold a few items for a cocktail party.

"We'll come by and decide tomorrow or Thursday. And ask them if they have shoes to match, or you'll also need to ask them to hold our sizes at Sole Sistas. Shit. How will we know what shoes we need? Ok, ask D&G and the rest what items they're picking out for us, and ask Sistas to match something for us. Oh god, this is a mess...

She checked her own diary and read off a few more vague restaurant bookings and other appointments to confirm for the next few days and the weekend as Alice dashed it off in shorthand in her notebook.

"Oh, and could you call Ryo and see if he needs a lift to A.S. Central now? He smashed his car two days ago and I can't remember if he said he'd get it back by today or Thursday... Let Mr Shunji know if he needs to pick him up. He said he'd be at the gym. I do hope he doesn't get carried away and forget the time..."

Krisse leaned back in her seat and sighed. She took a sip of mineral water from her bottle. Maybe it was a mistake to give Alice the week off. Or even the next three days. God, when did she start to be so dependent on an assistant?

"Hai. Hai..." Alice was confirming something with Ryo in Japanese. That girl was amazing. Then she leaned forward and rattled on in Japanese to the driver. Ryo probably needed a lift. "Jugofun sugi niji desu..."

Krisse guessed roughly, from the smattering of Japanese she'd picked up -- she actually studied Japanese for a whole year in high school, but forgot most of it before she became fast friends with Ryo -- that he would be ready and they could pick him up at 2.30pm.

She looked at her watch. It was just before two. It'd be quite a rush for Mr Shunji to drop her off at Central then rush seventeen blocks or so away to pick Ryo up at his club.

"Mr Shunji, let's just head straight to The Black. We'll pick Ryo up, drop Alice off, then head to Central." Shunji nodded into the rearview mirror. He was a sweet, but reserved old man. His white hair and wizened skin belied his aikido mastery.

"Alice, call a friend, and what time is your appointment?"

"Three, actually. And yeah, I'll take my sister. She's thrilled, thanks very much Krisse, really."

"Oh, enjoy yourselves. You deserve it... Come to think of it, when was the last time you took a day off?"

Alice shrugged without replying. She couldn't remember herself. When she wasn't with Krisse or loitering at some cafe somewhere in the vicinity, she would be at the office -- the global Lyon Corp headquarters located in the heart of the Alsace Springs business district.

There, she had a little office where she'd file weekly expenses reports to Mr Duncann's accountant, sort out Krisse's bills -- those she paid and those that were to be settled from the maintenance fund -- and fill in a database calendar of Krisse's appointments.

Alice knew, without Mr Duncann's ever saying it specifically, that her role was not just as a personal assistant, but a nanny to Krisse. She gathered that she wasn't even there to spy on his ex-wife, but to take care of her. "Just keep her life running smoothly, keep her out of trouble," had been his brief instructions.

His assistant -- well, one of several -- later showed her the programs she was to make data-entries into, the lists of people she was to file back various reports to, and the various files for laminated clippings of every article that mentioned or featured photographs Krisse and/or her closer friends.

The assistant was also more precise. "Mr Duncann doesn't like bad publicity. Don't let the media catch Krisse in any trouble."

No matter how detailed or sparsely she filled in the calendar, Alice realised, she was never asked anything about Krisse's activities. She actually doubted that Mr Duncann even checked. Heck, it could very well be for his people to keep tabs on her, that she was actually working.

On that note, she dutifully filled in every 'official' appointment she made on Krisse's behalf -- anything that required her to speak to a public relations person or someone in the service industry, that was her rule of thumb. Social events and dates were filled in at her discretion.

"I think you can come back on Monday. You can work from home on Friday if anything crops up -- I'll call you," Krisse interuppted her thoughts. "Don't tell Nick I gave you the week off or I'll see that he docks your pay.

"We're here. I think I'll run up to get Ryo."

"Could I leave you guys here?" Alice asked. "My sister's place is just two blocks from here and we prob want to get lunch before we head off to the spa."

"Sure! Ask Mr Shunji to drop you off and circle round. Ryo's probably still showering or preening or something. Mr Shunji, could you come back round at 2.30? We'll wait for you right here! Bye Alice, have a great break! And remember, I will check in that you didn't go to the office!"

Krisse waved as the Lexus pulled away, then ran up the stairs of The Black.

Such a gentleman's club, she thought. Of course, it wasn't. But its styling suggested that it probably was, at one time, before women's lib and equal rights and all that.

The doorman swung the door open for her and she half-ran to the poolside gym. The place was deserted. Naturally, she thought. Who wants to work out during lunchtime?

At the unisex lounge just outside the men's and ladies' bathrooms, she spotted Ryo's gym bag chucked on one of the mirrored dressers. With one finger, she gingerly pushed the bag open. Ick. A sweaty T-shirt balled up inside a clear zip-locked bag.

She smiled. Ryo never slipped up. Metrosexual through and through. She knew that if he didn't have other plans, his sweaty clothes would probably be in the gym washer right now. No wonder his workout sessions always took six hours.

She fished out his cologne. She was just sniffing at the spray nozzle when he walked out, still with a towel round his waist. Grabbing the bottle from her, he spritzed some on his bare chest. "Hey babe. You're early!"

"Yeah, I knew you'd run late, what with all the distraction from these big mirrors and all, so I came here to hurry you up." She eyed his chest, then made it obvious how she was staring admiringly at his rippling arm muscles. "Nice!" she winked

She reached out to trail her fingers over the taut ridges on his arm. God, he was hot.

"I think I may have overdone the tricep extensions today," he groaned. "My right arm feels pretty sore..."

"Yeah, yeah, you need a massage, right? Whoever heard of tricep massages?" she interjected.

He started to pulled on his shirt and groaned. "Oww. See? I'm not kidding. I think I musta pulled something."

Krisse stood up and helped him with his shirt, first up the right arm that he couldn't fully move, then his left, then pulled the shirt up over his shoulders. She sighed, "See, this is why I don't work out. Why inflict pain on yourself..."

She buttoned his shirt up for him and arranged his collar. She looked up at him, smirking. "You don't need me to put your pants on for you, do you now?"

"You gotta help me put on me underpants first," he teased.

She picked up his boxers from inside his bag. Holding it by the waistband from the tips of her index finger, she said, "You mean these? Maybe if you can't wear your own undies, you should go commando today."

She giggled. Arching an eyebrow, she continued, "Do you think Lisa would notice anything, erm, at loose, when she's doing your feet?"

Lisa, one of the technicians as they called them at Buff, had the hugest crush on him.

"Fuck. Maybe I should get her to blow me," he said, grabbing his shorts. He pulled them on from under his towel then, making a face at her, added, "Well, at least, I'm sure she'd know how to work my arm..."

"Mmm, she'll gladly distract you with pleh-eh-zzzure elsewhere," Krisse teased, licking her lips slowly and giving him her best slutty look. She knew he had flirted with Lisa a couple of times to get favours, a late slot here, an extra 10 minutes of footbath soak there.

"Oh Ryo-zzohhh," she said breathily, "your calf muscles are so taut! Do you work out? Let me help ease your pain... I can suck your toes..."

She screamed with laughter. She cracked herself up. Then she noticed red creeping over Ryo's ears, and doubled over, burying her face in her arm on the dressing table as tears threatened to stream down her face.

"Shaddup!" He flicked her with his towel, and she grabbed it to dab at her eyes.

"Why? I thought you said you love it when I talk dirrrrty!"

More insane laughter. She must be really hungry. Or tired.

"Shit. Let's get going. I'm starving."

"Ooh yeah. But your arm's not working. You sure you can manage a meal? Should we get Lis-sah to come feed wittle babeee Ryo-ee?" She did a spoonfeeding action towards his face.

He grabbed her hand and made like he was going to bite her.

"Ahhhhhhh!!" Was she screaming or laughing? She tried to wrench her hand out of his grip but wasn't doing a good job of it because she was too busy laughing. "Open... mouth-feee..." she gasped.

He slung his bag over his shoulder, then, still holding on to her hand, grabbed her around the waist with his free arm and swung her onto his shoulders in a fireman's lift.

"Make way! Insane person coming through!"

Krisse and Ryozo, London

She snuggled under the covers, her arm curling under the big, fluffy pillow and propping it up as she buried her head into it.

"So comfy-cozy..." she sighed contentedly. In her lilting, sing-song, baby talk way. Or, in this case, her pillow talk tone.

It was a cold morning outside, and they were now in bed, having tumbled in just minutes earlier.

It'd been a hard night of partying. Then four or so considerably languid hours at the 24-hour cafe near Club Street, sipping hot tea with lemon and making little satisfied noises and giving little smiles.

And here they were. In bed. As intimate as they had been as friends, he'd never hoped to be in this situation. In bed. Waiting for the cool sheets to warm with their body heat, under the same heavy, white duvet. God, they were even sharing the pillow!

"You know, you can use your own pillow, sweetie. The one right behind you."

"Yeah... cold... I like... close is nice." It came out as a sleepy whisper.

His heart skipped a beat. He gave her his best tender smile. Tender. He wished the writer in him didn't keep up the habit of narrating his life, his actions. Tender. He imagined that smile he just forced onto his lips. It'd probably have been closer to weak and strained, than tender.

It didn't matter anyway. Her eyes were already closed, her breathing slow and steady.

He looked at her sleeping face. Ten inches away from his. He wanted to draw her into his arms. And yet, he couldn't move. Not even to brush a hair off her face. As if, if he even adjusted his hand under his head, the spell would be broken. If he even fell asleep, the magic would be gone. Coz he wouldn't be on the alert, if she woke up and suddenly decided it was a mistake for Just Friends to be so close to him, to appease her and assure her that nothing was misconstrued.

Oh please. Who was the one who was misconstrueing here? Who was hoping for more than a very deep friendship? For whom this 'good friends' business had always been a whole sham, because he never wanted to be friends. But at no point had he ever wanted to just get into her pants either. It was different. She was different. And it was unfamiliar territory for him.

How had their fake friendship been so protracted? What fake? Everything was genuine about it. They were so close. Best friends. Yet. The whole premise was a farce. He never wanted to be her best friend. If things had been different, if he had just met her first, he wouldn't be. He'd be her lover. Her husband even.

Suddenly, he had the strongest urge to punch something. But here he was, trapped under a fucking blanket.

He measured his words, then sighed exaggeratedly and put on his best complaining tone. "You know, we can be close without you having to share my pillow," he growled.

She smiled lazily without opening her eyes.

"I mean, you can lie on your side of the bed and I can move in, and we'd still be ..." What was that word she used? "Comfy-cozy. I mean, I only have like, one foot of space before I fall off the bed. I'm practically trapped!"

"Mmm... I like having you trapped." She opened her eyes a little. Bedroom eyes.

Is she flirting with me? Why does she do that? Is she screwing with my head? A flash of irritation washed over him. Only because he didn't have the answers.

He had to get outta here. He needed to go let off steam. Go fuck some girl silly and leave when the sun came up.

He could call on Ajana. She always let him in whatever the time whenever he was in town, he just had to knock on her door. She'd even got it on with him in her guest room once, when he'd stumbled out of a pub at 4am and actually just wanted a place nearby to crash.

But she'd greeted him at the door in some wispy La Perla or something, courtesy of the guy still sleeping in her bed. Nipples all poking through the lace, her slip barely covering half her naked butt. He knew he had to take her as he followed her to the room on the opposite end of the hall. And she let him. She didn't even bother to keep her moaning down in case she woke the bloke in the other room.

Instead, he growled, "If you're not moving over, I am." He raised himself up and started a clumsy attempt to crawl and roll over her.

"Arghhhhhhhhhh!! Ryooo!! Nooooooo! It's cooooo---old! Don't!" she squealed angrily, suddenly wide awake as cold air gushed in as she tried to pull down all the edges of the blanket.

Too late. He was half on top of her. Fuck. He should make her his. Now.

He could smell the lavender scent from the hotel shampoo in her hair. He buried his face in her hair and kissed her on the head as he rolled off her onto the bed.

Lying flat on his back, he stared at the ceiling. How was he going to survive this night/morning? The thought barely formed completely in his head when she turned suddenly to face him. Suddenly wide awake. Like a crazy cartoon character.

"So, what time are we going to get breakfast? Should we order now, while we're awake, then we can sleep till dinnertime? But then I did really want to go check out the new Androssimono collection, they just called to say they're holding my sizes till today only. Maybe we can get up at six and shop for an hour -- oh gosh. I hope they haven't kept too many items for me -- before dinner at seven?"

Why did she have to talk so fast? He could feel her breath on his bare shoulder as she chattered.

Turning on his side to face her, he said, "We just had 20,000 cookies for supper, remember? I'm stuffed. But if you're hungry, I'll call room service."

Strawberries and champagne. And we can make sweet love afterwards. And chocolate sauce to dribble it on you and I'll lick it all off, sloww-ly.

"Waffles? Omelette?"

"Oh no, no. I was afraid you'd be hungry. I'm ok... I just wanna sleep. Don't pull the blanket up and let the air in." She stretched, then casually laid her arm across his chest, pressing her legs close to his. "Warmy-cosy. Steal your heat!"

"Hey!"

He moved an inch away from her, then more. Boy, was he glad he had his whole side of the bed again. "Krisse, you can't just snuggle up to any guy like that. I mean, what if I'm horny and forget it's you during the night?"

She pouted. "No you won't."

"Yes I would! I mean, may. I mean, how many times do you think I've been in bed with a woman and not... you know... I don't even know what I do in my sleep!"

She started laughing. "Should we get separate rooms?"

"What? No. Maybe. I mean. Fuck. You've made me nervous. You crossed the line. You crossed the line... Now, I mean..."

She was still laughing. Peals of laughter. Screams of laughter. At 5am. God...

"Stop it! It's not funny. You're my best fucking friend, you shouldn't be... No, I didn't mean 'fucking friend'. Arghhh..." he trailed off. He flipped to face away from her. "Good. Night. Fucking goodnight."

She finally stopped laughing. Sometimes she felt like kissing him. "You talk as if I'm some virgin and you're a priest." She giggled. "Or a ho, trying to seduce a priest."

"Mmfffhhhh."

"Take your face out of the pillow and talk to me!"

"What?" He was shouting in his exasperation. He flipped on his back and kept his eyes shut tightly. He felt her cold fingers creep onto his stomach. "Stop it! Are you trying to seduce me? It won't take much, as you already know."

"I'm just trying to warm up. Who asked you to lift the blankie up and make it all cold again!" She paused and stared into his face. That beautiful chisled face. High cheekbones, those hard, blazing eyes framed by long lashes. Long for a Japanese. Heck, long by any standard. Those defined brows -- he actually got them waxed. There was irritation there. And also a hint of apprehension. Fear.

She put her head on his chest.

"WHAT are you doing?!"

"Your heart... is it ok? Or is it your head we should be examining?" She had been teasing. But his heartbeat was loud and fast. Was he... Was he serious?

It was just an affectionate going-to-sleep snuggle, she thought. She thought they were comfortable enough with each other for that, after years of friendship. She'd always snuggle up to him on their cab rides home after she had too much to drink. He'd never stopped her before then. But every once in a while, they'd find out there were still boundaries. And it'd be an awkward week or two before they got over things and their pally best buddy relationship was restored.

Shit. This was bad timing. They were in London for a week! There were still three more days to go. Things can't go awkward on holiday, that'd suck.

He glanced down and saw her frowning. Suddenly, he could act big-brotherly again. He put a hand behind her head and gave it a shake. "Ok, ok. I'm just protecting you. I mean, you know I'm a horny bastard. You're here, in your little singlet, no bra, tiny shorts. I mean, no guy could resist you right now. Or, I mean, or anytime. You're always... you know. But I mean. Any guy in my position right now would be..."

She gave an embarassed laugh. Her head raced with memories of the countless times he'd been dragged into the changing room with her and Riss to give a man's opinion, when they'd force him to face a corner as they tried on some 20 outfits.

His hand behind her head slid down to her shoulders. Warm, strong, comforting. It had always been his arms in which she'd found the most solace, whenever things were going badly for her with Nick. He'd been her best friend and comforter all these years.

It felt so natural when he pulled her closer, their bodies automatically rearranging into an embrace. Suddenly, their faces were less than an inch from each other's, their bodies pressed close, legs intertwining.

She closed her eyes. She felt so safe and peaceful now she could just fall asleep. It felt right, this position. Being in bed with Ryo, the man who always gave her peace.

"Your lips smell like vanilla," he mumbled. He knew she used her favourite lip balm before bed every night.

His nose brushed against her lips and he held his position. If it'd been any other girl, his lips would be on hers now, working them open for his tongue to slide in, or he'd be kissing her neck, his hand up her top.

Instead, he pressed his lips against her head as she eased her face into his neck. Resting his chin on her head, he wrapped his arm more tightly around her, his hand resting on the small of her back.

As he drifted off to sleep, a half-formed thought crossed his mind, a hope that they'd wake up spooning.

Krisse, ASPRAA

She stared at the letter in shock. The vinegrette-soaked salad -- rabbit food -- she'd been nibbling on was, decidely, not interesting enough to warrant another bite. She'll go out and have steak now.

"Mi-----ike!!!! I'm taking the afternoon off! Something's come up!" she yelled, grabbing her coat and wallet. She didn't even wait for her boss' reply.

She ran to the emergency staircase and ran a floor up. Ryo had better be there!

Just as she ran out, she saw him stepping into the lift. "RYOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!" she screamed.

He turned in alarm towards her. "What the fuck?" he asked, still unrecovered from the shock, holding the door with one hand.

She ran into the lift with him. "You free for lunch? You have to have lunch with me. I have something to show you!" she could hardly catch her breath.

She started dialling Marissa. "Come on, come on!!!" she cursed. "RISS!! Lunch. Now. Resta Ribs! NOW... It's imperative."

In 20 minutes, the three of them were seated at the grill restaurant. Krisse sat across her two best friends, her hands resting on the letter placed folded in front of her on the table.

They looked at her passively. Krisse sometimes went crazy and did this sorta thing. They'd indulge her impulsive whims because she did it at most twice a year, and usually, something major had set it off.

Marissa reached out to pick up the letter. Her hand was soundly smacked by Krisse. "Hey! Owww..." Riss pouted. "What's the big mystery. Spill it! You made me miss my yoga session for this."

Krisse said, "Let's order first. It's my treat. Anything you'd like."

"You got a bonus then?" Ryo ventured, raising an eyebrow and looking at her sideways.

"Something like that," she replied mysteriously. "Just order."

When the waiter left with their orders, she unfolded the letter and re-read it. Then, she turned it round thrust it under their noses.

As their eyes scanned its contents, she started bouncing in her seat. Ryo looked up in astonishment first, then Riss. Both of them had their jaws agape.

She squealed and clapped her hands. Riss joined in the mad laughter and Ryo slapped the tabletop in excitment.

"Isn't it fucking amazing???" Krisse asked, pausing to dab her eyes with the napkin. Riss was starting to tear as well.

Her friends couldn't answer. Ryo stood up and came round to give her a hug. "I'm fucking happy for you," he said. Riss quickly jumped up and they embraced in a group hug.

The lunchtime crowd around them, eyeing Krisse's and Ryo's casual, funky get-up, and Marissa's Juicy Couture tracksuit, must have assumed that they were all tripping trust-fund kids who just came into more money or something.

All three of them squeezed into one side of the booth seats, Krisse in the centre. They re-read the letter aloud. It was from her lawyer's office.

"Dear Ms Almira,

"We are writing to inform you that your estranged husband's lawyer has contacted us with some good news. Acting on Mr Nicholas Duncann's instructions, Smyth-Rother and Sons, the the law firm representing him, has informed us of Mr Duncann's proposed terms for the divorce.

"Mr Duncann has suggested a monthly maintenance fee of ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND UNITED STATES DOLLARS (USD100,000) to be given to you or your estate, as long as he is alive.

"In addition, you will be given up to THREE MILLION UNITED STATES DOLLARS (USD3,000,000) to purchase a residential property of your choice, in any location of your choice. You will also be given FIVE HUNDRED THOUSAND UNITED STATES DOLLARS (USD500,000) to furnish this property to a comfortable condition by your standards.

"Should you have children, by any engendering, Mr Duncann will provide an additional monthly maintenance of THIRTY THOUSAND DOLLARS (USD30,000) as long as the child shall live, provision being by a trust fund set up in the child's name and managed by yourself or a legal guardian you so appoint.

"Smyth-Rother and Sons has informed us of the one condition that Mr Duncann has set for the above terms of provision. His condition is: You shall not work for any other company or person(s) and you shall not set up or invest in your own business, company, firm or corporation of any sort. Apart from this, you have no obligation to Mr Duncann whatsoever.

"So long as you keep to this condition, you will be given the sums of moneys as mentioned in 1.2.i. and 1.2.ii. and 1.3., to be paid on the first of each month, effective immediately.

"We have discovered that the reason why Mr Duncann is able to offer such terms, is because of a percentage cut he was contracted to receive in a business transaction undertaken by a friend of his, Mr Russell Ethnadenin, should it ever go through.

"We have verified that this deal, signed by the relevant governments and corporations last week on Sept 27, 2003, was worth a start-up value of USD3.47 TRILLION DOLLARS. Of this, Mr Duncann received 5% equivalent to USD173.5 BILLION DOLLARS.

"Because this transaction involves an exchange of currency that will take place every three months, Mr Duncann will receive a similar cut of the value of the transaction on each occasion.

"To speak plainly, Mr Duncann is a very rich man, a billionaire many times over, and possibly set to be a trillionaire within a year.

"Ms Almira. As your lawyer, I would advise you to agree to these terms, which I deem favourable in your interest. I have attached the contracts as prepared by Smyth-Rother and Sons on behalf of Mr Duncann for your perusal, as well as the divorce papers. If you agree to the terms, please sign on the lines marked 'X' on two copies of both contracts and let me know so I can have a courier pick it up.

"Yours sincerely, Graham Shobb."


"Great timing, Nick," Marissa said cynically.

It'd been less than four months since Krisse had left him, and her quality of life had improved immeasurably since. It showed in her face, in her spirits, in her work. The old Krisse was back.

"At least he's decent enough to offer to support you," Ryo said, putting his arm around Krisse's shoulders and giving her a squeeze. "I can't think why he doesn't want you to work or run your own business, though."

Krisse frowned. She had always loved her work. Designing. It was something she was good at. And, while she was trained in fine arts, she had always said she wanted to start her own fashion line when she had the time and the capital. She just never got started because she'd been physically and emotionally drained these past few years.

Now was her chance, but once again, Nick was thwarting her plans. "Yeah! Why the hell can't I work or start my own biz?" she exclaimed.

"Prob his way of making you dependent on him," Marissa said thoughtfully. "Though I think, if you play by his rules for a year or so, gather up a million bucks, then put it in stocks or in the bank even, you could just live off the interest for the rest of your life! You can tell him to shove it up his after a year!"

"Riss, you're a devious genius! Maybe I should get my lawyer to make him drop that stupid clause. It's ridiculous!" Krisse said.

Turning left and right to look at her friends, she smiled. "Now, darlings. Don't you think this news totally warranted me calling you out at the last minute to give you a treat?"

Nick, apartment

He dropped his hockey gear and stared at the vacant mess around him in shock. The small flat, that had once been "cosy" and quickly became "unbearably claustrophobic and cluttered" for Krisse, now looked huge. Spacious.

There were things littered all over the floor, items he'd thought he'd lost, like the Mickey Mouse beanie now lay on the sofa, freshly uncovered dust balls as well.

The huge TV in front of the couch, that had been the central fixture in the flat, was now gone, a dust-ringed rectangle on the floor where it once stood. Her computer and printer were gone; he finally had the desk back for himself, he thought sardonically. She'd also taken the chic metal magazine holders, the metal in-tray system, of course the folder she kept all their bills in, the CD cases and the table lamp.

The kitchen and its balcony were bare sans washing machine and fridge. At least she'd left him the built-in stove and the pots.

He walked in a daze to the bedroom. Save for the sets of drawers that they had bought with vouchers his sister had given them for their housewarming, the room was bare. No bed. No wardrobes. His stuff from the nightstand was now piled on an abandoned stool.

He looked out the window down to the street. There were several large trashbags next to the common bin. Stuff she'd junked, he guessed.

Last night must have been the final straw for Krisse, he thought somewhat morosely. He'd played along with her plans to waste good money on a meal. His mom was in town after all, and it was appropriate. Besides, when he made it, he'd pay her back ten times whatever he'd taken from her. Last night's meal included.

It struck him that he didn't even know how much the bill came up to. Round it up to $700, he decided.

The cake had tipped the scale, though. If a slice cost $15, a whole cake was probably $180, assuming 12 slices... Fucking waste of money, he'd fumed. And he didn't even like cake. He'd wanted that passionfruit custard.

He didn't think she'd take it that badly though. Had he really been nasty, he couldn't remember. All he recalled was saying that she shouldn't have wasted more money, as the meal was already expensive enough. She could be so over-sensitive.

He sighed. Well, now he'd have the flat all to himself. It really was built for one; two people were always tripping over each other in the cramped space. Of course, him not wanting to throw out much of his old stuff such as yellowing books and ridiculously ugly ornaments given by his various (ex-girl)friends. She'd often accused him of being unsentimental, but there! The old shoebox of love letters from Vanessa, his girlfriend from high school, proved how sentimental he was didn't it?

He sighed again. Ok, so he wasn't the most sensitive chap towards Krisse sometimes. But he was always looking out for her, guiding her, making the executive decisions.

He sighed again, even more loudly. It seemed to echo in his ears off the now-bare walls. Now, who's pay next month's rent?

Krisse, Marissa's apartment

Sipping her hot coffee, she stared out the window of Marissa's kitchen, stewing silently.

If only she hadn't married that asshole. This would still be their apartment. That gorgeous view of the cityscape would still be their view from their kitchen window.

"Forget the bastard. Move back in," Riss said, extending exactly the invitation she was hoping for.

She knew she could just say she wanted to, without Riss asking, but she felt she needed some validation. That she was not the only one thinking she should leave Nick.

She took a drag. It'd been ages since she'd smoked. Well, about a year, since she married that asshole and started her life of poverty. So poor that she actually stopped because it was a money-draining habit, and every pack was equivalent to a meal for her.

It was ok that he'd wiped out her entire savings, with his penchant for the high life even when his businesses went bust and his partners ran off leaving him saddled with debt -- every cent her parents had given her for her birthdays; the money she'd somehow squirrelled away since she started working; the bonuses she'd received, everything went into paying off his debts and supporting his other pipe dreams. When he wanted to start a chocolate shop, she'd helped put down the deposit for the small corner shop. Of course, he was a jinx. The shop didn't even survive its three month lease contract, and she lost her deposit.

But it was ok, she felt. If she left now, she'd start with a clean slate. No problems. She didn't need him, really. He was more trouble than any relationship was worth.

She had her job. She could move back in with Riss. She had her friends. True friends, who wouldn't bark like a mad dog at her for doing something nice for his birthday.

Riss was saying something about getting her Dad's lawyer to draw up the divorce papers if she wanted. "You don't have to put up with this shit, Krisse. I mean, look at you. You're so fucking talented. You're beautiful. Loving. Fun. Smart. He's reduced you to this mess. Fucking using you for your money, he's a parasite!"

She was on a roll. She'd started to resent Nick after he'd stopped Krisse from her late night partying after they got married. Krisse had agreed, because she wanted to save money more than anything. She hardly got to go out with her and have fun anymore.

In fact, Krisse seldom got to go out with any of her friends anymore. And her friendship with Ryo was strictly within the confines of their workplace, because Nick regarded Ryo coldly and with suspicion, as if Ryo wanted to steal Krisse from him. While she knew Krisse never let it affect her friendship with Ryo, Ryo felt compelled to take their closeness down a notch.

Krisse had told her how lonely she felt sometimes. Nick wasn't exactly the best company. He could still be sweet, but he was always channeling his energies on some crazy business idea, borrowing more money and never quite finding success. He was short tempered with Krisse, brushed off her attempts to find out what he was up to, and would come back late and watch TV silently all day, not wanting to talk.

And when he needed money, he acted as if it was his right, as a husband, to get full support from his wife (read: drain her OD). Not only did he take her money, he also expected her to support him morally all the way, no matter how far flung some of his ideas were. He said that as the man of the house, her will was subjugated to his. That she was not to question him. That he demanded respect from her.

Krisse was bored and lonely at home. She missed her friends, going out with them, having fun. Having a life. A carefree life. Now, she was like a ship anchored in shallow, muddy waters. There wasn't anything in for her where she was stuck, forced to stay put, put her life on hold. And not allowed to venture out on her own, to make happiness happen for herself.

Marissa looked at her friend's expressionless face. She'd always wondered how Krisse put up with the jerk.

He was insecure, egoistical, uncultured and, worse of all, mean to Krisse.

Once, she remembered how upset he'd made Krisse, he'd insisted that she quit her job at ASPRAA the very next day. All because she'd worked till 3am in the morning and then gone out for supper with her team.

Thankfully, Krisse's boss, Mike, had outrightly rejected her tearful resignation. After two hours of consoling and counselling her, Mike'd told her to tell Nick that she'd no longer work late, he'd make sure of it personally.

Nick had accepted the terms.

"What right did he have to impose them in the first place," Marissa had demanded to know when Krisse related the incident to her. "He's fucking not working. He's taken 90% of your salary for the past five months. And he's acting as if you were out partying or something. HELLOO--OO, you were working!!!"

Krisse had shrugged in resignation then. She knew Riss was right, but was not one to be disloyal. She'd married this man (for what reasons, she couldn't fathom now) and she would do her best, as a wife, to stick by him. For better, for poorer. Through thick and thin.

"When I make it, I'll make sure you're taken care of for life," he always told her.

Riss would roll her eyes whenever she heard that phrase. "If, not when," she retort, whether he was around or not. She hated his guts. He was her best friend's tormentor.

Krisse sighed. She had taken urgent leave today. She didn't need to tell Mike why. She was feeling particularly fragile. As if, if she moved, she'd fall apart forever. How the hell had she gotten into this mess?

Her heart felt like a dead weight. She really didn't love him anymore. She'd planned his birthday party last night just to be nice. Because she'd been so busy at work and hadn't seen him much.

Well. Then again, while he'd complained that she was never around for him, he'd never actually been good company. She'd usually just potter around the house, staying out of his way, not saying anything very much. In the two and a half years since they'd married, her resentment towards him had grown quickly past the stage where she felt it. She'd now become just numb to the fact that he was like a paralysed lower body that she'd have to live with for the rest of her life.

Only, she didn't have to live with him forever. She didn't have to tolerate his nonsense. His selfish bullshit. His self-righteousness.

It was over. She'd had enough. And it was over. She could have walked away from him much earier. When the first signs of trouble surfaced. But she had stuck by him. She had put in every effort. And now, this was it. Just by making this decision that others all around were making much more lightly than she was (I mean, come on, over a fucking mango birthday cake???), her life could be radically different. She'd be free. So free!

"Let's go over later to get your things," Riss was saying. "I'll get Ben and Robert and Brown and Eugene and West and Naka and Croob. And I'll get them to bring their friends. I'll make sure there are at least a dozen guys there to carry the stuff and protect you. The fucker won't be able to stop you from getting your things. You don't think he'd have thrown them out right?" she gasped melodramatically.

She rattled on. "I think I'd better get Shereen and Lisbeth to come help you pack. Unless you wanna like, throw everything into trash bags to expediate...? And I'll get Marcus to get two of his dad's company's trucks to move your things."

Krisse suddenly felt very drained. The very thought of seeing that ungrateful bastard made her shudder. She wasn't even sad. It was a mix of fury, bewilderment and ... yes, some sadness, that it was finally over. Finally.

Divorce is so final.

She'd never trust another man with her heart again. Not that her heart was broken right now. Although her spirit was. She'd tried and failed. It didn't break her heart -- her heart had hardened towards Nick a long time ago -- but it was a depressing thought. Divorce. She'd be a divorcee. At just 26.

Everyone would think that it was infidelity. Or her fault. Whatever. Why should she care. She'd done everything. Nick had brought nothing to the table except misery.

She thought about the task at hand. When would be the best time to go in for the kill? No time, she conceded ruefully. In all likelihood, Nick and his mother, would be at home, doing boring things like watching TV in silence.

Or Nancy would be tut-tutting around the house, complaining how dirty Krisse'd let it become. Like she had a lot of energy to clean the house after working 14hour days! She already did all the housework, the dishes, the laundry, the sweeping and mopping. She just didn't have the time or energy to dust as well.

So. The strategy would be to move in in force, make a clean sweep, take everything she wanted and leave.

That 54-inch TV. She'd paid for every last wire and screw in it. Her computer and laser printer were a must. The king-sized orthopedic mattress she had also paid for entirely by herself. As too the bedroom furniture, the iron, the washing machine, fridge, right down to the plates and pots and pans, the forks and spoons and knives, the curtains on the windows and the shoe racks by the door.

She suddenly felt a resurgence of anger. Everything in that house that was of value had been slavishly paid off by her. Everything that the bastard had taken for granted. The things he used to pass his time -- TV, surfing the net, reading expensive magazines... The very water he drank was paid for by her.

"Riss, I think we need more than 15 able men." She ran off a list of things that they'd be taking from her flat and Marissa agreed that even though they didn't need another washing machine or fridge or TV, they'd have to bring it over anyway.

"Just to teach the fucker a lesson. Show him where he really is without you. A nothing man."

There really wouldn't be space in their apartment for all her stuff. Riss suggested they give some things to the guys. Six of them -- Robert, Brown, Eugene, West, Tucker and Croob -- were housemates. They had something of a frat house going in a huge bungalow down the street, complete with pool table, gym, swimming pool and hot tub. Naka was Ben's brother.

The 54-inch TV and fridge would easily find a home in any of their games rooms -- Krisse still wasn't sure how many they had. The washing machine, she suggested to Riss, could be used for clothes since it was newer, while the one they'd bought together when they first moved in three years ago, could be used for the "dirty stuff" like rugs and dusting cloths.

She definitely didn't need a king-sized bed, although she wanted the wardrobes and bedside tables from the bedroom set. "Just move it here and we'll figure out what to do with it later. We can call in the Salvation Army later if you don't want to keep anything," Riss said decisively.

She made the call to Ken, explained the situation. Ken said he'd take the afternoon off and promised to call Tucker to round up his mates from the varsity rugby team. Maximum protection, Riss insisted.

Tucker called three minutes later. He said he'd be there at 1pm, not only with the ruggers, but with the guys from his gymn too. They were the best dudes to carry heavy stuff. Tucker had a thing for Krisse, although she treated him like a younger brother. Still, their relationship had its moments of flirty banter -- and he often openly teased her that she was his hot older woman.

"Go get moving crates or boxes or something to pack your stuff," he told Krisse on the phone. "And don't worry. I'll personally keep that asshole out of the building while you pack. If you want me to rough him up a little, just to teach him a thing or two..."

Krisse felt much better after their conversation. At least she had good friends who'd stand by her. Even if she'd lost almost three years of her life in this hellhole of a marriage, she had everyone else rallying around her now, helping her to pick up the pieces and move on.

And anyway, there aren't many pieces. With Nick out of her life, things would be a lot easier. There'd be fewer worries, no more debts, no more late night arguments over why he couldn't shower before he went to bed after a night out at the pubs.

She looked out of the window again. Various glass-facade buildings gleamed in the noon-day sun. There were so many things she could do now. All the things he'd forbidden her to do and she'd stupidly followed along.

Krisse poured herself another cup of coffee and smiled widely at Marissa. "Riss, isn't this great? I have my life back again!"

Krisse, Nicholas, his mother, at The Shed

Wow, Krisse thought. This place is really gorgeous.

It was her first time at this upmarket beachfront restaurant bar. She'd never dared to venture in before. The very thought of paying $9.99 for a cup of gourmet coffee and $14.99 for some cake that must be really special intimidated her.

But, it was a special occassion. Nick's birthday. And she wanted to give him, and his mom who'd flown into town for the occasion, a nice treat. She'd saved up for this for three months, and was prepared to blow $500 tonight.

It'd better be a night to remember, she thought, slightly pained. Five hundred bucks to burn at a go, when you only take home $2.8k and to pay the bills, support your loafer husband, and even pay his company's creditors.

Although Nick had protested, she'd convinced him that she could well afford to treat him and his mom at The Shed tonight. Now, looking at the menu, she hoped she could.

Wine started at $120 per bottle. Entres at $22. Main courses $59 soaring up to $299. Dessert, $9.99 for a single scoop of gelato. It'd better be like, yak cheese (is that a delicacy, she wondered) from some Swiss alp or something, Krisse gulped.

And, she ordered a cake. She'd arrived a little earlier to get a table and instruct the waiter to serve the cake for their dessert, after they cleared the dishes, and to be sure to light the candles. For thirty-five.

Thankfully, Nick and his mom modestly (or considerately) ordered the cheaper items. She didn't dare add up the figures. And after addding on tax and the tip...

She'd just enjoy her meal and not think about it, Krisse determined, suppressing a strong need to sigh.

Dinner was fantastic. Perfect. Down to every crumb of her olive and cinammon roll, every fibre of her pan-seared beef fillet, every morsel of the creamed potato with herb butter and rose petals. She almost wanted to weep.

Not even during those fancy dinner parties that she attended with Riss, did the food taste this good. Perhaps, she savoured it all the more because she was paying this time, she mused, as she slid her last portion of beef around in the rose and port sauce and popped it into her mouth and chewed slowly.

The waiters had cleared their plates, and another waiter -- not the one she had briefed earlier -- brought back the dessert menus. Krisse gulped as the others started considering their options.

The cake was supposed to arrive now. She looked around desperately for the waiter she'd talked to. She made a discrete wave to catch his attention. Bring the cake, she mouthed desperately. The waiter nodded and scurried to the kitchen.

"The vanilla bean panna cotta sounds heavenly," Nicks mom was saying. "But it's $29. Really expensive..."

"Order whatever'll make you happy Mom," Nick was saying. "If it was as good as our main meal, it'd be worth every cent."

Damn this Nick. Didn't he realise she'd have a cake planned???

He had waved a waiter over and was already giving his order! How would she stop him?? "What are you having, Krisse?" Nick's mom asked her.

Ok, ok. Krisse breathed deeply. They'd just have cake and their individual delicious little tastes of heaven then.

She ordered the cheapest thing on the menu. Gelato.

As the waiter walked off, the Original Waiter came over with the cake. Utter surprise registered on Nick's face when he realised it was for him.

"You, you ordered a cake? Why? Then what about our desserts?"

"We'll just have both. It's mango cake. You like mango, right," Krisse said with a brave smile. "Come on, let's sing Happy Birthday," she urged his mom.

She launched into a muted song. His mom barely joined in. She felt so fucking embarassed.

Nick's eyes were flashing. And, she realised, not because he was touched. Far from it. He looked angry.

She tailed off with the stupid song. "What's wrong?" she asked, suddenly scared.

"I didn't want a cake!" he snapped. "I don't even like mango cake. I only like fresh mangoes."

Nicks mom looked uncomfortable. She piped in, "Come, come. It's a lovely cake. Blow out the candles..."

Krisse could feel her eyes fill with tears but she blinked them back. Forcing a smile, she said, "Ok. If you don't like it, we'll just have them doggie bag it. Nancy, would you like a slice now, or shall I give you half to take back?"

"We don't want any," Nick said flatly. "You can take the whole thing back and give it to your colleagues tomorrow."

Fuck. What the fuck. "Ok. I'll do that," she said hotly. Keep cool. Keep cool. Let's not ruin his birthday for everyone. She'd obviously already ruined it for him. And everything had been going so well...

She breathed deeply and clenched her fists tightly, digging her nails into her palms. At least this physical pain, she could understand.

She hated him so much right now. So, so much.

Their desserts arrived. "Could you pack this cake and leave it at the door right now, please?" she told the waiter.

His mom gave her a pitying look. Krisse didn't even taste the ice cream she put in her mouth. Every swallow was difficult.

She should just pay the bill and leave now. She could go to Marissa's. No, she thought angrily. She should just leave and let them settle the bill. Let the penniless, debt-laden fucker, who'd sponged off her the past year, go wash dishes for all she cared.

She stared at her empty glass, suddenly wondering where the ice cream went. She sneaked a glance at them. Nick and his mother were talking in low tones about something. They weren't even looking at her.

Under the table, she groped for her bag behind her on the seat. Surreptitously checking that everything was in there and scanning the table that she hadn't left anything behind, she stood up suddenly and, without looking back, walked to the counter. She knew Nick wouldn't come running after her. As long as she paid the bill, she added as a bitter after-thought.

The waiter was surprised. No one came up to pay here. She held out her card. Fuck. This would probably leave her in debt for ages. All for a fucking ingrate.

The cake was there in a box. She picked it up as she waited for her card.

Thankfully, an empty cab came by just as she stepped out of the restaurant. She got in and instructed him to take her to Marissa's apartment.

She was not going to go home to that fucker.

Ryozo Keisuke, Home

5. The worst way to miss someone is to be sitting right beside them, knowing you can't have them.

Fuck.

It was just one of those insipid mass mails. But reading that fifth line right there, among the 11 other little clever lines, left a pit in his gut. Ok. His heart.

The greatest irony? The thing that made him want to spit out that mouthful of cheeseburger he had been devouring just two seconds ago?

The sender was Krisse.

Krisse and Ryozo, River Candlenut

"I can't understand why you're still with him!! I mean, any guy who treats you like that ought to be skinned. Impaled. Castrated." Ryozo had been visibly pissed after she told him how Nick completely forgot her birthday.

"I don't know myself, honestly."

"Yeah. What does he give you that... that none of us guys can? NOTHING, I tell you, NOTHING! Not one freaking damn thing he can offer you, and he's living off you. And he dares to tell you not to go out with us..."

It was all coming out now. All the things he'd wanted to say to her about her cur of a husband, but always bit back. So, he was right. Not only did that motherfucker treat her like some rag doll, like a doormat, he also took money from her.

He'd suspected it all along, coz Krisse seemed to be more careful with her expenditure these days, but tonight was the first time she'd admitted the extent to which Nick went -- making her use her overdraft to pay his company creditors; she always paid for groceries, meals, movies, drinks etc.

Best of all, he refused to get a job!! Hearing how Krisse had tried to broach the subject with Nick after he'd moped around the flat for six months after he'd closed down his company, how Nick had reacted with more than his usual flare-up of fragile ego cum machismo, declaring that he would only do his own business, he would never work for anybody. Ever. Period.

Ryozo wanted to beat him to a pulp. Taking Krisse for granted was one thing. Exploiting her goodness -- her gullibility, he would say, for believing that Nick would succeed one day if he kept trying -- was another.

"I'm tired of you making excuses for him," he told her. "You should have told me, or Riss, all this earlier! We could have helped you."

Tell both these rich kids who never had a care in the world, money-wise?

"I was afraid you'd judge me. You'd judge him," she replied weakly.

"We're your best friends, sweetie. We don't judge you. You're our Krissey. You're my Krissey. It kills me that you're suffering like this!!"

"I..." she didn't know what to say. No matter what, she was embarassed, ashamed that she had such a husband. Ashamed that she didn't believe in him more to stand stolidly behind him, always backing him up. Ashamed that her friends would now see him in a different light, as less than a man.

"I don't know what to do," she finally said. "I want to be supportive. I'm his wife. The vows... For better or poorer. Now, we're poorer. But he keeps trying. Some day he's bound to succeed..."

"Krisse. What is he trying?? How hard can he possibly be trying on his butt in front of the TV all day? He is trying at your expense! You're not his angel investor. Why should you have to suffer just to let him stare up at the stars all day and night??"

"I know... I ask myself the same thing. You know how I've always said I wanted to start my own fashion line. And lifestyle line... All these are pipe dreams, especially in my situation. Nick. He says that if his deals go through, he'll make so much that all my business endeavours -- that he says will inevitably fail by the way -- would seem paltry and foolish when I look back on them."

"He's just fucking selfish man! Imagine, Krisse, if you hadn't married this deadbeat. Where would you be now? Idealistically speaking. What would your life be like?"

Krisse furrowed her brow. "I'd have my own atelier, skilled draughtsmen and a sweatshop producing my fahsion designs. My store would also sell lifestlye products like home furnishings. And I'd have a tres chic cafe in my store."

She smiled. She'd fantasised about this often. But it was empty talk. Empty hopes. She lacked the money and the drive right now to pursue this.

"See? You have dreams too. Don't you think you'd be a lot closer to achieving those dreams, at least working towards them, if not for that asshole?"

She couldn't disagree. She couldn't deny the resentment she felt. It showed on her face. She knew Ryo could see it.

"What am I supposed to do?" she wailed.

"You have to put your foot down! Tell him to get a job. Tell him you won't pay anymore of his debts. Better yet, leave him."

"You don't know the things he says when I try to say no..." Hurtful, emotionally blackmailing things. "He'd say I don't know how to be a wife. That I'm trying to be the man of the house. That I don't believe in him. That I'm selfish.

"And he'd say things like, 'I'll remember this when I make it'. Threatening me with an uncertain future, can you believe it??"

Ryozo shook his head. He couldn't believe this guy. On the hand, he couldn't believe that Krisse, an intelligent, beautiful, talented girl, could stick with him. She really was something, he thought.

He reached out to squeeze her hand. She brought up her legs and crossed them, leaned back in her seat and shut her eyes. "I have so many regrets. I wish I could go back in time and make different, very different choices."

She looked at him. "If things were different, do you think we could have ever..."

He blushed. He was glad they were outside and the lighting was dim. She always caught him off guard.

"Sweetie... If I'd met you earlier... I'd... I dunno. It's a 'what might have been'." He sighed. Of course they could have. He loved her. She was everything he wanted, except for the 'married' status of course.

Very seriously, she said softly, never taking her eyes off him, "Knowing what I know now, if I could go back in time, I'd have chosen you. I'd have made sure you fell in love with me from the moment I saw you at the carpark."

She didn't know why she was telling him all this. Was it a rebound reflex? That she needed to line a replacement up asap?

She tilted her head and looked at him. She loved him on all counts, except that she'd never really considered him romantically. He was always been there for her, wise, patient, loving... She'd like to think she was there for him too, like when his girlfriend of six years dumped him for another guy.

They got along so well. And being with him made her want to be a better person, always. He was cultured and refined (save for his love for using the F-word), well-travelled, remarkably gifted with words. He was kind, loved animals and children (something which always went down well with women). She had upward aspirations with him. He brought out the best in her.

Not like Nick. After they'd moved in together into the tiny rented flat, he'd quickly irritated her with his boorishness. She came from an upper-middle class background, and all her life, housework was to be done daily.

Dishes washed after meals, not left in the sink for a week. Clothes were washed and ironed on a daily basis. Not left in a heap on the floor next to one's bed. Rubbish bins were always lined with trashbags, and if there wasn't one, it meant it was a waste paper bin, and not one you'd throw orange peel into and not clear for months, leaving someone else to discover the moldy growth.

They fought constantly not only over money, but over his total disregard for hygiene and cleanliness. He was at home while she was out working 14-hour days. Surely, even if he didn't lift a finger to actively do housework, he could put in some effort to keep the house neat and clean by not creating a mess everywhere.

She sighed at the disaster zone images she had of the current state of her flat. She remembered the image of that snoring pig in bed and shuddered.

"What possessed me to marry him??" she wailed again.

"I believe you said he was nice to you and good in bed."

She rolled her eyes and reached out to smack him. She hadn't told Ryo, but she'd quickly tired of Nick's sexual appetite. Rather, of his ideas of foreplay and lovemaking. It'd gotten to the point where she felt molested by him whenever he touched her. Because he did it in a way that wasn't lustful. It was more... pesky. It was like he was trying to be as pesky as possible, always groping her regardless of whether she was in the mood for it, or if they were in public.

She hated it. She hated his touch. She actually hated sleeping in the same bed as him. Being in the same room as him even.

And yet, she'd actually wanted his company today. She'd wanted to spend her birthday with him. "Isn't it strange? There's so much I hate about him, yet I wanted to have a nice dinner with him, spend time with him today," she asked Ryo.

He sneered. "I think it's just that he's kept you shackled for so long, you've abandoned your friends and come to think of him as your only source of companionship."

Krisse wanted to protest. But she knew it was true. She'd neglected her friends. Ryo especially, since Nick didn't like her hanging out with him. They seldom even had lunch together anymore, because it was difficult for her to explain if Nick called and grilled her about who she'd have lunch with.

"Well, I've learned my lesson," she said. "I'm not only gonna stop pretending I enjoy his company, I'm going to make it up to all my wonderful friends, who've stuck by me all this time. Starting with you."

He smiled at her. He had his doubts, but didn't express them, that she'd not go back to the same old way with Nick, her always giving in to his absurd demands.

"Speaking of which. I didn't see you earlier today..." he stood up and fished a small velvet box out of his jeans pocket. "Hope you like it."

She couldn't stop smiling. No matter how shitty the last few hours of her day had been, Ryo had pulled her spirits back up. And now, this.

She opened the box and her hand went straight to her mouth. Inside was a gorgeous sterlign silver nameplate necklace, a la Carrie's from Sex and the City.

She'd wanted one forever, but had never found out where to get one made in silver. She'd found a website that did it in gold, but she only wore silver or white gold, finding that gold clashed with her skin colouring.

She lifted the necklace out of the box. "Could you? I wanna wear it now..." she said to Ryozo.

He shifted his chair closer to hers and took the chain from her. "I wanna show you this first," he said, flipping the nameplate and showing her the thin edge under the letter 'R'.

Not looking up at her, he continued, "So you'd remember me, I engraved my name here. So that when you wear this, I'd be close to your heart..."

She looked at him and suddenly couldn't breathe. "I think I'm going to cry..." she said hoarsely. She couldn't help it. Her shoulders started heaving as the tears spilled out of her eyes.

"Hey! Don't!" he was flustered. "Come one, it's not that bad a gift," he joked, putting his arm around her as she buried her face in his shoulder.

She quickly calmed down and pulled away. Wet shoulder. That officially qualified him as a SNAG.

She turned her back to him and lifted up her hair. He hooked the chain round her neck and she suddenly turned back to face him, faster than he could lean back into his chair.

Now it was his turn to find himself unable to breath. Her (still wet) face was just an inch from his, directly in front. If this were any other girl, he'd be planting his lips on hers right about... now.

And in his dreams, of course, Krisse'd be planting her lips on his right about... now.

And she was. He almost gasped. For just two seconds. Her lips softly on his.

Then, pulling back just a few inches, she said softly, still looking searchingly into his face: "Ryo, you'll always be close to my heart, in my heart."

He must be dreaming...

Krisse, her apartment

She typed an email to her cousin Rachel in Canada, thanking her for her birthday wishes and replying to her question about how she celebrated, explaining that she'd been too busy at work to go out with Nick.

She blinked back tears.

It wasn't true, of course. She had practically been given the day off. Her colleagues had surprised her with a cake when she came in to work. She had so many presents and cards to open that she was kept busy till lunchtime, when again, they decided to celebrate over a nice four-hour lunch (with lots of beer) at Roost.

It was only when she returned to the office and everyone finally decided to settle down to get some work done, did it hit her that Nick hadn't called.

Maybe he'd "surprise" her when she got back, she said.

She knocked off on the dot at 6pm for once. Everyone waved her off, teasing that hubby must have something special planned.

But when she got back, he wasn't even there.

At first, she thought maybe he was hiding, a childish trick to give her a scare. She crept around the flat, checking behind every door and inside every wardrobe. Nope, not there.

Maybe he didn't expect her home so early, and had gone out to get her a gift or some cake?

She decided to take a nice long shower while waiting for him to get back. She'd fallen asleep watching TV, waking only when he got back at 11pm.

"Hi babes, you're back early." Obviously, he didn't remember. Just like he'd not remembered Valentine's Day exactly a week ago.

Sometimes, she wondered if he even knew which year they were in now. Maybe it's all the staying home, doing nothing. Worn off his awareness of the things around him.

But no. He'd gone to watch football at the pub with his mates tonight. It meant he did have some level of awareness of time and place.

He had blithely gone about the house, showering, making himself a sandwich before hitting the sack.

She'd been so disappointed and, frankly, shocked that she couldn't even bring it to his attention that today was her birthday. Well, there were only a few minutes of it left, and really, she didn't know how to tell him.

At least others cared.

Ryo had wanted to take her out for dinner. He'd asked her two weeks back in fact. But she'd wanted to keep the night free for plans with Nick.

Krisse laughed bitterly as she clicked Send.

She glanced at her phone. The light was on. Message.

"How's your night out? We're at Gold Mango. Join us. Bring Nick too (if you really must)"

Ryo.

It hit her that Gold Mango had been the place where she and Nick had gone to the night they first hooked up. Ironical isn't it.

She stared at the snoring man in her bed and her lip curled with disgust.

She replied Ryo's SMS: "Ok. But just me. Let's go somewhere quiet. Not in good mood"

His reply was almost immediate. "Pick you up. Home?"

"Yes"

"Ten minutes"

He'd have to practically fly here, she thought as she grabbed one of her now-seldom worn sexy clubwear tops. A flowy matt-satin toga top. She pulled on the white pants she'd worn earlier to work and slicked on some lipstick and mascara.

Nick was still snoring away, oblivious to the world around him, she thought. Oblivious to how he makes me hate him so.

Slipping her credit card and keys (I should just toss them and never come home, she thought bitterly) into her party slingbag and grabbed her heels. She shut the door silently behind her and slipped on her shoes.

Ryo pulled up just as her feet hit the road. He smiled warmly at her.

She was beautiful, he thought. And it'd been a long time since he'd seen her all dressed up. Like the good old days.

"There's a new place, River Candlenut. By the, what else, Alsace River. Heard it's nice and quiet."

"Ok. Thanks for coming, Ryo."

"Not a problem at all. Anything for Krissey." He reached out and patted her head like he would a dog, then winked at her. "Now, tell Ryo what upset you. Lemme guess, it must be that bastard husband you won't dump again."

You Were Meant For Me

You Were Meant For Me
Jewel

I hear the clock, it's 6am
I feel so far away from where I've been
Got my eggs, and my pancakes too
Got my maple syrup, everything but you
I break the yolks and make a smiley face
I kinda like it in my brand new place
I wipe the spots off of the mirror
Don't leave the keys in the door
Never put wet towels on the floor anymore 'cause

Dreams last so long
Even after you're gone
I know, that you love me
And soon you will see
You were meant for me
And I was meant for you

Called my momma, she was out for a walk
Consoled a cup of coffee but it didn't wanna talk
Picked up a paper, it was more bad news
More hearts being broken or people being used
Put on my coat in the pouring rain
Saw a movie it just wasn't the same
'Cause it was happy and I was sad
It made me miss you oh so bad

Dreams last so long
Even after you're gone
I know, that you love me
And soon you will see
You were meant for me
And I was meant for you

Go about my business, I'm doing fine
Besides, what would I say if I had you on the line
Same old story, not much to say
Hearts are broken every day

Brush my teeth and put the cap back on
I know you hate it when I leave the light on
I pick up a book, turn the sheets down
Take a deep breath and a good look around

Put on my PJ's and hop into bed
I'm half alive but I feel mostly dead
I try and tell myself it'll be all right
I just shouldn't think anymore tonight

Dreams last so long
Even after you're gone
I know, that you love me
And soon you will see
You were meant for me
And I was meant for you

---------------------------

She'd not been able to sleep. She'd gone to bed at 2am. He still wasn't home.

Her ears picked up the sounds of any car or cab pulling up at their block in the street below. So many people seemed to be getting home around this time.

She stared at the darkness till her eyes hurt and she felt like she was hallucinating. It was still too bright.

She got up and unplugged the digital clock. There. No more ridiculous green glow that seemed to light up a quarter of the room. Maybe now she'd be able to sleep. But she knew she wouldn't. Not till he got back.

She got up again to fetch a glass of water. Shit. If he saw the condensation on its sides, he'd know she had been awake till recently. If he put it together. He wasn't the most observant sort. Or maybe, he just simply couldn't be bothered to notice things around her. Things around the flat they -- well, she, till recently -- called 'home'. He didn't even know what was going on in her life.

But, she never asked him how his day went anymore, either.

On some level, she still cared for him. On some level, she wanted things to work out.

But on the level closer to her cynical consciousness, she knew things were as over as they could get. She was just waiting for the other shoe to drop. Something that'd give either of them the excuse to end it for good.

And thus, on the level closer to her pride, she forced herself to be detached.

She heard the door opening and turned on her side, her facing the door and his side of the bed. It had been 2.22am when she unplugged the damned clock. It was probably almost three now.

He didn't come into the room. Instead, from the sounds, she made out that he had sat down at her computer. He was tearing something. Softly. Tear. Tear. Tear. Tear. Then tear and tear again. Strange.

She could hear him start up the washing machine. At this time of the night?? What was he up to?

She forced herself to try to sleep, but the loud pumping of blood in her ears kept her awake. She laid still and listened. No sound coming from outside the room. Maybe he was in the kitchen.

She got up stealthily, intending to check out what he'd been up to. The moment she reached the door, she saw him at the computer, playing games. Probably surfing porn, she thought.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Huh? Waiting for the clothes, to hang them. No underwear, no socks for tomorrow," he said, almost accusingly.

She turned on her heel and went back to bed.

She wasn't sure how much time had passed, but the light from the living room was keeping her awake. She sighed and hid her head under her blanket.

Maybe he heard her. He soon turned out the lights in the hall and came in. Without a word, he turned on his side, back facing her. He was soon snoring.

Her thoughts were swirling. She tried to empty her mind. Think of boring, ok ... peaceful, calming sleep-inducing thoughts. Somehow the chorus of Jewel's "You Were Meant For Me" kept playing in her head. She even sang it aloud softly to try to calm her nerves.

Dreams last so long
Even after you're gone
I know, that you love me
And soon you will see
You were meant for me
And I was meant for you

What the fuck. If they were gonna split, what 'love'? What 'meant for me, meant for you'? If you're splitting, you're not fated to be together.

She was surprised to feel a tear trickle down her face. She let it fall to her pillow. She wasn't gonna move and risk waking him.

She, she was wide awake. And getting more alert by the minute. She couldn't sleep. Things were fishy. If he'd been out pubbing, he should be reeking of smoke and alcohol now. Even after his shower. But there wasn't even a hint of pub fumes. Very suspicious.

And why was he so moody? He didn't even have a cordial 'hello' for her when she got up. Was it anger at something that happened? At her?

Or was it guilt?

Having tossed and turned for too long, she decided to get up. Check things out thoroughly. Or at least get some reading done. She had too many magazines to catch up on.

It was ten to five. This was the second night in a row that she'd gotten no sleep. Perhaps due to daytime caffeine overload. Perhaps due to the ambivalence she was struggling with. His detachment was unfamiliar to her. He'd always been the one initiating a cuddle, sex.

He'd warned her, the day he stopped trying to have sex with her, she should worry. She'd poohed it off. She'd be glad when he stopped molesting her, she had said.

Now, she really was worried.

Possibly, he'd been jerking off to internet porn. She'd seen a bloody tonne of it in the cache, and it certainly wasn't from her surfing.

Or, maybe he was having an affair. She'd always thought he was a principled man. Religious. Principled. Driven by pride. Her discovery of his porn surfing habits had dashed her belief in him. She'd felt betrayed. Hurt. Humiliated even, somehow.

The first time round, she'd confronted him. He'd promised not to do it again. When she didn't believe him, questioning and checking on him every few days, he got mad.

"I'm a man of my word. If I told you I won't do it, I won't."

Well, she'd been right all the while. Over the years they'd been together, and married, she'd observed how his word meant nothing. Empty words. Overpromised, underdelivered.

She was right. He proved her right, he was still surfing porn, as she'd discovered earlier this evening. But being right didn't make her feel any better.

She snooped around. His wallet had no receipts. No hotel bills. No namecards from potential secret lovers. She didn't dare turn on his phone, in case the sounds woke him. Or else she could check his calls, his messages.

Where was that paper he'd been meticulously shredding? There was nothing in the bin. No papers on the table. Weird. Very weird.

Put on my PJ's and hop into bed
I'm half alive but I feel mostly dead
I try and tell myself it'll be all right
I just shouldn't think anymore tonight

But she didn't wear PJ's. And she didn't feel like being in the same bed with a stranger. She didn't know him anymore.

Kriss and Nicholas, in their apartment

They rushed into their apartment and slammmed the door shut.

Fuck. They were soaked. Outside, the rain was coming down in such torrents that it had gone at least five feet into their flat in the eight seconds they'd taken to get in.

Nick had taken off his shoes and socks and was already peeling off all his clothes. Krisse stomped her feet to get the water off. She hated wet feet, or in this case, wet shoes.

Suddenly, she felt her foot get much lighter as she raised it. Something fell to the ground.

She stared in dismay at the golden sequins scattered around her feet. The strap to her sandal had broken, and it must have also snapped the sequin applique on top of the straps.

"Shit. Fuck." She loved those sandals. They were well worn, the shiny gold leather on the insole now reduced to a dull bronze where it had been rubbed by wear. The straps still retained some of the original, beautiful gold lustre.

At $79, they'd been her most expensive pair of shoes she'd ever bought. She had, after much deliberation, bought them because she needed something to go with her gold silk wedding gown she had rented for their wedding last New Year.

"Dammit. You've made a mess."

"Sorry... Damn this rain! Now it's ruined my shoes!!"

"Don't be silly. You broke it all by yourself."

She looked at him, upset. She knew he didn't remember the significance of these sandals. He had no sentimentality whatsoever. She had to learn to be like him.

She had been quite upset when other items that she associated with their wedding got lost or broken. Like the trinity candle they had lit during their wedding. It got thrown out with the trash one morning. So too the champagne bottle cork from their wedding lunch, that she had kept in her underwear drawer. Both times, Nick had come across them and "thought they were junk".

These sandals had lasted her this long. Almost two whole years. Now, aside from their wedding bands -- and he didn't even wear his anymore, saying he didn't like how scratched it got -- and the few photo albums they had, stored safely at his mother's house, there was nothing left.

Biting her lip, she knelt down and swept the sequins and beads as best as she could, into a small pile with her hands. She'd leave it till morning, when the floor'd dried out.

Arranging her good shoe next to the broken one on either side of the pile made her feel better. It was like performing some kind of burial rites for her wedding shoes.

Krisse Almira, ASPRAA

She called him at home excitedly.

"Hello? Baby? Whatcha doing?"

"Surfing."

"The net or at the beach?"

"Yes, I'm at the beach. I'm taking your call from the phone hooked up to my surfboard."

"You don't have to be all sarky on me..." She frowned. He always managed to rub some joy off her. "Anyway. Guess what? The company's promoting me to creative director, and they're sending us off to do the Rasta presentation in New York next Tuesday!"

Pause.

"Did you hear me?"

"Yeah. I heard you. How long are you gonna be gone for? And who's 'us'?"

"Just two days. But I was thinking of extending the trip for a few days. You know, go shopping and stuff... And it'd be cool coz Marissa and Ryo's said they'd also come along and Riss was saying there're some really cool new clubs we have to check out -- it'd be good to glean ideas for my interiors work, she said. Ryo has to go anyway, he's co-presenting with me. And there'll be Maya, the account executive. She's ok but she'll just stay for the presentation days."

"Can't they send anyone else? I don't like the idea of you going to New York on your own."

She sighed. "I was practically the creative director for the campaign. No, in fact, I am the creative director -- I was promoted, remember? I conceptualised the entire creative and did most of the FA. Are you saying I should let someone else go rub shoulders with the clients, who already said they love my work, and let someone else take the credit?"

She'd been unable to keep her exasperation in check and her voice had risen till she was almost shouting.

"Don't yell at me. I'm simply asking this for your own good. If you take this promotion and agree to travel now, they'll keep making you go here and there and everywhere. You don't even have any experience in making presentations..."

"And so??" She had jumped to her feet and was forcing herself to volume down, so it came out like a spat whisper. "You're never happy for me. I get promoted and you don't even congratulate me. They're sending me to do a hu--uuuge presentation. They trust me. They believe in me. You obviously don't..."

"I'm not saying I don't believe in you. Come on. Why do you think I married you?" He was trying to appease her now. Pulling the usual 'I saw the potential in you' card. "I knew you were a diamond in the rough and one day..."

She slammed down the phone, grabbed her mobile and keys, and stalked out of the office. She was glad when the elevator she entered was empty, coz she reaaally had to scream long and loud in frustration.

She walked briskly to her bike, jammed in the keys and kickstarted it. Fuck. She'd been having a good hair day, and now she had to bundle it all under her helmet. She grabbed the sides of the helmet and was about to swing her hair into it when she noticed someone standing next to her.

Ryozo.

"Coffee and cigarettes?"

She smiled. Her wonderful Japanese Zen.

"I'm sorry I absconded. I just need to take a ride... clear my head. Scree-eam my lungs out, more like it. You heard, right? Right? He's such a killjoy!" Angry tears were filling her eyes. "I really don't know why I put up with him!"

"Hey, hey..." He cupped her chin in his palm and wiped away a tear trickling down her cheek with his thumb. "Ok. At least lemme take you. I have the BMW three-three-o-i today."

His special name for his favourite convertible. The silver one his dad let him use sparingly. He said it like it was C3PO, or R2D2.

Ryo jangled the keys and winked. She laughed. He was always such a blast. He could find her funnybone even when she was in the mood to break some bones.

"Race you to the car!" he shouted. "Loser buys a jug!"

"Wait! I don't even know where you parked!" She yanked the key out of her bike's ignition and threw her helmet over the handle. He was already halfway to the car, which was gleaming in the firey pre-sunset afternoon blaze, its windshield reflecting the green mirrored glass front of the 70-storey ASPRAA building they were now running from. A blend of Crayola's pink flamingo and sunset orange, she thought.

He opened the door for her just as she ran up panting, doing a ridiculously formal bow. "Madam..."

"Why, thank you sir. I believe I shall now proceed to soak your $80,000 cream calf leather seats with my perspiration. That was a most untimely workout." She gave him her favourite diva-esque brisk nod and hopped in.

"$18,000," he corrected her as he settled into his own seat. "That's for the two front seats. Now. Where are we going for that ice cold beer you owe me, and how fast do you wanna get there?"

Krisse Almira, ASPRAA Christmas party at The Quayside

Everything was perfect. The decorators had done up the place beautifully, better than she had hoped for. Glass-blown mistletoe were strung along all the french doors, and from the ceiling, delicate glass snowflakes hung on silver thread, spinning merrily in the breeze, light reflecting off them like irridescent crystals.

The room glowed from hundreds of lit candles placed in clusters around the room. They came in dozens of rich colours, of various thickness and heights, all burning merrily in hurricane lamps of matching sizes.

Krisse was amazed. Someone actually thought to make these lamps, identical in design except that they came in 20 different sizes? And they'd even take the trouble to find or make candles in every shape and size, and that burned at different rates, some with wax dripping down the sides such that they looked like old candles in a church. There was a whole untapped industry out there, she mused.

Potted orange trees stood on glass pedestals along the aisles between clusters of tables, their pots bowed up in ribbons in gauze and silk. The centerpieces on each table was made of oranges and daisies, surrounding incense burners. These, they had lit at every table, with either pine or rose oils burning. The scents were wafting through the room, both refreshing and sensuous.

A huge pine tree stood in one corner, with thousands of beautifully wrapped gifts stacked underneath. Those would be given out to each and every guest during dessert -- the waiters would serve the creme brulee, then pick up a tray of gifts from under the tree and put them next to the guest's glass with silver tongs.

Guests were just arriving and Krisse could hear the exclamations of, "Oh, how magical!" and "It's like an enchanted forest!"

Krisse smiled to herself. She'd been in charge of the organisation team for the party -- an appointment that had surprised her since she was pretty new to the company -- and had worked with the public relations department and a few of her other colleagues from creative that she had pulled in. It'd been a hectic three months, juggling both planning and her regular work, which had doubled due to the festive season.

Her colleagues were handing out exquisite wands, with a sprig of fresh mistletoe dangling from silver thread from the tips. "For you to make your own magic as you please tonight," they were telling guests cheekily, eliciting gay laughs.

The team had really spared no expense in making sure that tonight would be a party everyone would remember. And one that would make it into every Sunday paper; the paparazzi were already staked out at the main entrance and every one of them had been surprised to learn that there was a Press table inside for them, provided they didn't make their presence overly intrusive. This had been Krisse's idea, since the public relations director really wanted ASPRAA's big party to be on all the lifestyle sections' front pages tomorrow, and not just because of the stellar guest list.

"We've never had anything so extravagent before. The board must really like your ideas, or else they've got some VVIPs on the invite list," her colleague EJ had whispered to her, after the vice-president had told them in October that their concepts had all been given the green light. Even despite their projected three-quarter million dollar budget.

Krisse looked around. Everything seemed to be going smoothly. She should over to the hotel room now to get dressed for the party. Her colleagues had booked a room at the Hilton next door, and they were probably already ready by now. Or, maybe not, she laughed to herself. That lot were a bunch that could never stop preening, or keep the time.

She informed Margie, the PR in charge for the night, that she was heading off, then headed for the hotel. "Hey, can one of you guys come get me? I don't have the security card for the lift," she told EJ on the phone. "Yeah, I'll be there in less than a minute."

She called Marissa. "Honey, what time are you gonna be reaching? I can't make a grand entrance without my lovely date... Ok, see ya at 7.30. What? Then we'll have to go round the whole block to get back to The Quayside... Fine. Ok. See you at the Hilton entrance."

She smiled and shook her head. Typical of Marissa. She needed to make an appropriate entrance, i.e. pull up in her limo to the red carpet. It wouldn't do for her to stop at the Hilton and they walk over.

"Oh my god, EJ! You look so fi-ine, girl!" Kriss exclaimed as the lift doors opened. EJ was wearing a figure-hugging red tube dress with a slit almost all the way up her thigh.

"Thanks! It's not over the top is it? I just realised I may blend in with the decor!" EJ wailed as they headed up to their room.

"Don't be silly. It's totally hot. Has Kyle seen it yet?" Krisse asked, referring to EJ's long-time boyfriend.

"Nah, he said he's not coming, the bastard. 'I can't stand all the big cheese, nyeh nyeh nyeh..." EJ rolled her eyes. "Well it's his loss! He's been complained that the planning took up all my time all these months, and now, when he's got the chance to see the fruit of my labour, he can't even bother!"

"Aw, that's crap! Tell him it's Christmas Eve! He should do it as a gift to you, at least."

"Nah. He's made up his mind. Anyway, he'll be sorry. With all the mistletoe around, and the number of rich boys to pick up tonight, he'd be sorry he wasn't here!"

They pushed open the door.

"Krisse! C'mon girl, get a move on it! Your party's starting in 20 minutes and you're still in your jeans?" Shelly shrieked. She looked gorgeous. All the other girls in the room did -- they'd gotten their hair and makeup done in the afternoon at the salon downtown, and were all wearing gorgeous dresses or gowns.

Krisse yanked her dress out of the closet and headed for the bathroom. "You guys go ahead if you want. I'm gonna be meeting Marissa anyway."

"Oh ok! Shall we all wait for her then?" EJ asked.

"It's up to you!" Krisse laughed as she stepped into the shower. "She's got her limo and wants to make a grand entrance. Yeah, you guys should join us. It'll be a blast. The paparazzi will be wondering, who're all these babes... well, aside for our famous Miss Edmond, of course."

The girls started shrieking. "Arghh! No! I don't wanna be a wannabe!" "It'd be so embarassing if they find out we're nobodies!"

"C'mon, it'll be fun! We'll pretend and just breeze up the red carpet without telling them who we are. Tomorrow the papers'll read, 'Miss Edmond and friends' and no one will suspect we're, gasp, ASPRAA employees." That was EJ, always up for a gag.

As the girls continued their debate, Krisse quickly lathered up with her Special Occassions Only pure vanilla and rose oil shower foam. A bottle had cost her a fricking eighty bucks from this shop in Vancouver that custom blended soap or shower gels to your liking. This was only the second time she was using it, but it was worth the... eight bucks that was now going down the drain. It would make her skin all soft and smooth, and the scent would linger on till the next morning, she knew.

She dried off and got dressed. She hadn't had time to go shopping, and Marissa had lent her this new Valentino dress. It was a rich cream, in heavy silk, and it fell beautifully into soft folds over her breasts, clinched at the waist, and swishing around her knees. The back had a deep slit from the halter neck to her lower back. She and Riss had laughed over this. Riss being slightly shorter, glimpses of her butt crack could be seen when she sat down when wearing the dress.

She ran her fingers through her hair. She'd gotten ringlets done last week and they were still perfect. The whole effect now, with her long curls arranged over her right shoulder, was pretty doll-like.

I'm Barbie with half the chest, she thought, as she rubbed cream blusher into her cheeks. She dabbed on this new eye shadow she'd bought on the internet, which had actual tiny pieces of pink glitter. A touch of gloss, mascara and she was set. Record time. She got ready for a party in 15 minutes.

Pulling her heels out of the closet, she asked, "So what's it gonna be girls?"

"EJ will go with you but the rest of us more modest peeps will walk over!" Shelly laughed as EJ took time out from hairspraying her hair to pretend to sock her.

"Hey! It's already 7.30pm! We'd better get going. Don't think the bosses will appreciate employees being fashionably late," Rita said. "EJ are you done with your hair? That's too much hairspray, you'll have a helmet!"

"Ok, I'm done, I'm done!" EJ turned round. She eyed Krisse. "Gosh, you're lovely. So... virginal!"

"Wait till you see her back! Turn around Krisse!" Rita yelled. "Whoooo-weee! I can think of a few guys you'd better not let come up from behind you..."

"Yeah. 'Here Krisse, lemme give ya a hand with that' Grope, grope, grope all the way up your back!" Shelly piped in. "You can touch my hair, undress me anywhere..."

They all laughed and joined in the silly Aqua song.

The guys in their office were notorious playboys, and a handful had been hitting on Krisse non-stop since she joined. Thankfully, she had quickly bonded with the other designers in her team over cigarettes, coffee, midday beers and late night raves, and their common inability to get to work on time. Rita, especially, had pointedly told one or two to fuck off and not hit on the new girl who already had a boyfriend.

Krisse made a face. It crossed her mind that her was wearing something so feminine now, when she was always in her uniform of jeans and a jacket thrown over tank-tops or T-shirts at work, would certainly open a few other leery eyes.

Too late, she didn't have anything else to wear. Anyway, it's only once a year, she rationalised, and I like feeling pretty. Since she bought her bike after graduation, she'd always worn jeans around. It was nice to show everyone that a side of her they'd never, or hardly seen.

Besides, she thought, no one would come on to her with Nick by her side.

Krisse, her apartment

She towel dried her hair as best as she could, with what little energy she had left, then flopped into bed.

Thank God Riss was out partying without her tonight, she thought. I could really use some peace and quiet to get some sleep.

She'd only knocked off from work just half an hour ago. Redoing some designs based on a new design concept etc etc etc to re-present to the account manager, who had to make his presentation to his client by the week end.

Such was the life of a lowly junior designer, she sighed.

She was glad that her colleagues recognised her talent. Already, she was trusted to do more than an entry level designer would.

"Tsk. It'd only matter if they'd pay me accordingly," she muttered.

Lying in bed, she suddenly remembered why she was so tired today.

Last night. Funny how the fact that she slept with someone last night had totally slipped her mind the whole day as she got so caught up in her work.

Nicholas...

It had been a strange encounter. Their date had gone on normally enough. Dinner. A movie. Drinks.

They'd gone to a pub she'd never been to before, and she felt a little weird out of place. She liked her clubs or pubs chi-chi, and with good music to groove to; it was part of the whole diva/poseur culture in design and advertising.

This place was more, well, cosy. Homey. Like a mom-and-pop tavern. There was no live band, thankfully.

But the place -- she couldn't even remember, nor would she want to, the name of the place --served excellent beer. After working her way through a whole bucket of salty popcorn during the movie, she was very thirsty and actually gulped down a whole glass at a go.

The beer had been so good, they'd had a few more. Conversation was good. Nicholas seemed to understand her work. He owned some boutique design firm that was doing really well, and they had branched out into owning an art gallery or something.

After a while, she tired of the place and suggested they hit somewhere downtown. They'd bundled into a cab, and they hit Gold Mango, a new club whose uber hipness made up for its silly name. They'd bumped into a few of Krisse's friends there, but had cuddled up alone on a sofa in a corner.

She knew she'd knocked back a few tequila shots and martinis... probably a very bad mistake, mixing her alcohols... what more with all that beer.

Anyway, as usual, the mix got her horny.

No. She actually found him quite attractive. Charming, sweet, attentive. But yes. She probably wouldn't have wanted to go home with him if she hadn't had that much to drink. Or if she'd had her bike.

Ha Ha. Krisse thought to herself dryly, rolling her eyes.

Was it a mistake? Last night? She sighed and flipped on her side to try to go to sleep.

It didn't matter. She'd probably never hear from him again, and really, no love lost. He hadn't really impressed her in bed.

Of course, they'd both had too much to drink and by the time they'd reached his place, they were both equally plastered, she feeling very sleepy. They'd had a brief, rough and tumble session of foreplay, kissing while stripping. But the sex ... Let's just say it was forgettable.

Coz really, she didn't remember much of it...

Krisse sighed again. She didn't normally sleep around or have one-night-stands. Yes, during her school days, she'd had her share of youthful experimentation. But she'd always been selective. And the guy must have proven himself worthy before he could even hold her hand. That independent (and feministic, some had labelled her) she had been.

And still was.

So. What happened last night then?

Judgement dulled by alcohol, probably, she brushed it off. Really, no love lost. It's not like she'd fallen in love with him or anything...

He didn't even fall into any category of her type. Unlike...

She searched her memory. She'd seen someone today who'd caught her eye. Where... where... Her thoughts and recollections were a blur. She was so tired.

As she drifted off to sleep, she suddenly remembered. At the car park. That Jap dude. Obviously tall. Lanky. Wearing some cool, retro T-shirt. Dark hair flopping into his eyes... He'd been the one who'd given her the Christmas party tagline...

Funny she didn't see him around more often, she thought sleepily. She would have to look him up to thank him, she reminded herself... She was sure she'd remember to do it when she woke up tomorrow. Such an easy thing to remember...

Krisse, ASPRAA

It suddenly struck Krisse as she was heading up to her 34th floor office.

That Jap guy down at the carpark had been the guy who had thrown up the words 'Magic Under the Mistletoe', which had become the theme for the company Christmas party she was helping to organise.

She smiled. She would have to introduce herself properly to him and thank him for his genius.

Krisse and Marissa, Their Apartment

"I'm telling you Riss, it was nothing. Probably just a one-night stand." Krisse started brushing her teeth as she ran the shower to get the hot water going.

Shit. She was late for work. Again. Last night had been a mistake. She'd overslept and her team had a presentation at 11am today and they still needed to print and mount the storyboards. Shit shit shit.

"Well, he was cute. And you did have a good time, didn't you. Why limit it to a one-night stand... unless he was terrible in bed????"

Krisse rushed through her shower. Gawd. She didn't need the third degree on her sex life at this moment. "I don't know Riss. I don't know ok? I was probably high. I really had too much to drink last night."

She definitely had. Her head was throbbing now. From the stress of the impending presentation or a hangover, she wasn't sure. Probably both.

She yanked on her pants, rifled through her closet. "Lend me something! I've got a presentation and I haven't got anything ironed!" she screamed in panic as she ran through the shared en suite bathroom into Marissa's room.

Marissa skipped out of the bathroom and stood, hands on hips, in front of her bulging wardrobe. She pulled out a DKNY white cotton, wrap-front shirt. "Here. Formal, sexy, chic."

She helped Krisse tie the shirt around her waist. "You're not gonna ride your bike to work, are you?" she wrinkled her nose. "You'll get it grimy!"

"Crap, Riss. You know I don't get grimy. Besides, I'm late. I can't think about all this shit now. Help me do my hair!!" she wailed.

As Marissa deftly tied her long hair into a loose plait, to prevent it from becoming a huge knotted mess by the time she reached work, Krisse rushed through her makeup. She never left home without curling her lashes.

Eyeliner. Blusher. Dark brown lipstick. Set. She pushed her large silver hoop earrings into her bag pocket as she grabbed her helmet and ran to her bike. Marissa called out after her, "You know, you're supposed to have a peaceful afterglow! Not this crabby, harried cow!"

God, she really needed coffee at this moment, Krisse grumbled to herself, but you're not allowed to drink and ride.

Slinging her bag across her chest, she roared off towards town. Cursing when she had to stop at one of those long red lights, she pulled out a cigarette and lit it.

Raising her full-faced helmet to take a long drag, she thought about her day ahead and groaned. Immediately after her 11am presentation, she had another meeting for a new project that would probably drag on till three or four, meaning she wouldn't have time for lunch.

Green light.

She knocked her helmet back down over her face and flicked the cigarette at the wheels of a nearby car. She roared off, beating every red light and easing on the accelerator only when she rounded corners.

Finally, she pulled into the large ASPRAA open carpark. If she'd been coming to work on time (which was hardly ever nowadays), she'd normally perch on her bike and have a smoke while enjoying the view of the sea in the distance. It was an amazing view. The ASPRAA building and five others, belonging to big corporations, built on the top of a tall hill overlooking the beach, the beachfront properties spread out below. Prime spot, needless to say.

She had to park her bike at the bike lots at the far end today. Yanking off her helmet and slinging it over her arm -- no time to strap it on her bike -- she quickly lit a cigarette, taking as many drags as she could. She hurried towards the building, shaking her hair from the plait into loose curls that would straighten by themselves within minutes.

Ten-forty-five. She'd just made it. She hoped her team wouldn't kill her for not pitching in.

As she neared the building, she noticed someone sitting on the trunk of his car, looking out at the beach. It was that new Japanese guy. The copywriter. He was tapping his cigarette ash into a Starbucks cup, and didn't even glance her way as she passed him, seeming to be in deep thought.

At least some people have the luxury of a morning smoke break, she thought wryly as she hit the elevator buttons.

Nicholas Duncann, His Apartment

He'd seen her before a few times at different clubs, but she always seemed to be having such a good time with just her friends, that any intrusion from strangers -- strange men -- may have been unwelcomed.

He recognised the four other girls she was with, they always seemed to be out together; it's just the guys -- the hangers-on -- attempting to impress them that seemed to be on a rotational basis.

Tonight had been different. Her girl friends had hooked up and hit the dance floor with some guys, leaving her with three other guys. They were laughing and playing silly drinking games, and he recognised two of them as former colleagues, so he went over to say hi.

Introductions made, he was invited to join them. They'd had a few drinks, and he was bowled over by her joie de vivre. She was really friendly, and seemed intent on having a good time. She held her drinks well, despite losing badly at some complicated action game.

When he'd excused himself to return to his group of friends, she called him back and asked for a namecard. "Maybe I'll call you," she said with a friendly smile. The sort of smile that one couldn't define as even mildly flirtatious. Just warm, sincere, friendly.

He'd stopped to write his cellphone number on his card when she said that. Let's make this more personal, he thought to himself. He handed it over, saying, "I hope you do. It was great meeting you."

He couldn't help himself after that. Even when he'd returned to the guys -- a couple of blokes ragged him for introductions to the babe he'd just given his card to -- he caught his eyes wandering over to where she sat, gaily chatting and laughing with her friends.

Once or twice, their eyes met, and she gave that him a cheeky smile and half wave, and seemed to burst into laughter over their across-the-room signalling.

He wished he'd asked for her number. Would she think him rude for not asking for her card, at least? "Hey guys, shit. Do you think I should have asked her for her number?" he'd furtively asked.

What had he been thinking? All of them macho men replied with "hell, yeah", incredulous "you mean you didn't?" and "you blew it man!"

Shit. He couldn't have gone back into that pack of guys as the lone ranger and ask for her number now. It was against the rules. At least one of the guys in that group had to have a thing for her, if not they wouldn't be there.

He sneaked a peek at their corner of the room. They were gone. He panicked. His eyes searched the dance floor. Maybe they'd decided on some action. He'd picked out one of the guys who'd been in the group. Jason, or something, the one he didn't know. But he was dancing with the other girl with the blue hair. She was not with them...

He glanced at his watch. Two-thirty. Maybe she'd decided to go home. He mumbled something to the guys, then headed out the door, down the dark stairs, into the street. A couple of people were in the queue to get into the cabs lined along the road. But she wasn't there. He looked up and down the street. No sign of her.

He sighed. Maybe it just wasn't fated. He headed back up the stairs.

"Hey! Watch it!" He'd bumped into someone bounding down as he rounded the next flight.

"Shit! Dammit!" It was her. Bent over, searching for something on the floor. "Damn! I dropped my keys!"

He started to search the floor as well, but it was too dark. He took out his handphone and used the backlight to scan over the area around her. Finally, they spotted it on the top step of the other flight of stairs.

"Great! Thanks... Nicholas, was it?"

"Yeah. I'm sorry. My fault for not looking."

"Haha, who can blame you? You'd think Jade isn't making any money, the way they skimp on the lighting here, and in their toilets..." she laughed. She started to make her way down. "Ok, see ya around!"

"You leaving already?" Mentally slapped his forehead. Stupid. Obvious.

"Yeah. Early day tomorrow."

He offered to see her off into the cab.

"Nah I'm ok. I've got my own bike."

Bicycle? Motorbike? Which would be more stupid to clarify with? "Ok then let me walk you to your bike."

"You don't have to. It's just round the corner."

He insisted. She shrugged, so he followed her. She hardly stopped to wait for him to catch up, so he was a pace or so behind her all the way.

"This is me," she said, as she stopped by a scrambler. She got on and unstrapped her helmet and looked at him. "So ok. Thanks. For walking me here." She smirked.

"Erm..."

She kickstarted her engine with a sputtering roar and pulled on her helmet. She checked her mirrors and kicked up the stand. "Ta! See ya around..."

"Wait!" She looked at him.

"Can I, erm, can I get your number?"

She smirked again and went into neutral. She sighed. "Ok..." She took out her cellphone and started punching some keys, saying, "I'll beam it to you... You have infrared right..."

He whipped out his phone and activated the infrared. They aligned their phones and he received her vcard. Yes! He quickly saved the card.

He hadn't even looked up from his phone when she pulled away, calling out "Bye!" and giving a quick wave without looking back.

"Alright!" he gave a small punch in the air.

That night, he lay in bed, staring at the lights and shadows playing on his ceiling, not consciously wondering, but wondering all the same, how he got lucky tonight.

He'll call her tomorrow. Ask her out for a movie. She wouldn't say no. He usually had his way with girls.

Krisse Almira and Marissa Edmond, The Quayside

She tossed a bright orange envelope across the table to Marissa.

"What's this?" She opened pulled out a colourful piece of perspex.

"Oh my, did you design this?" Marissa held it up to the light so she could see the image of a couple kissing under mistletoe, incongruous with an intricate, traditional looking stained-glass effect.

"Yeah. Cost the company more than all the Christmas cards put together for the past five years, but the boss loved it and okayed it through some siphoning of funds or something."

"It's fucking fantastic! So, does this mean I'm invited to your office party then? Will there be those famous advertising-scene orgies?"

"I can't promise orgies, but there'll be plenty of champagne, food and mistletoe to kiss strange men you pick up under! And there are lotsa single guys in my company ya know..."

"Ooh baby, I'm there! So it'll be ... hey! It'll be right here at The Quayside! Is that why you insisted on having lunch here, so you could check out the place?"

Krisse gave an innocent look. "Check what out? But isn't this place just perfect?" She gestured round the huge, elegantly designed restaurant. The salty sea breeze streamed in from the fully-opened french doors that lined three whole walls out of the rectangular dining hall's four, opening out onto a wide wooden deck and the pier that led some 800 feet out into the sea.

"Yes... really gorgeous. I can't believe your company's actually booking the whole place! It must cost half a million bucks per night at least!" Riss should know, her mother organised the debutante ball every year and was always on the lookout for newer, larger, more expensive venues.

"Yeah. Remember I designed the website for this place last month? I knew this would be the perfect place for ASPRAA's year-end dinner. It's romantic and classy. And it's already gotten rave reviews and the wait list is already till next April! It was a real coup for our management to get this place, so they can impress our clients."

"Ohh, it'll be tres fabulous!" Marissa read the card again. "'Magic Under the Mistletoe'. Gosh, that's quite clever. No cheesy 'Christmas magic' or 'White Christmas' lines."

"Yeah! I was still sketching it out and this new guy walking by just tossed up 'Magic... Under the Mistletoe'. I was floored. Our other copywriters sometimes try to be too clever. But this guy just nailed it."

"Who's he? Is he cute?"

"Er... We haven't been introduced. But yeah, he's pretty cute! Some Japanese kid, I think. If he's the new copywriter they said we were gonna be getting, he was a reporter covering the entertainment beat at The Times before this."

"Well, if he's cute, he can cover my beat anytime, baby..."

Krisse Almira, ASPRAA

"So? How has your first day been so far?" Marissa asked, taking a drag on her cigarette.

Krisse squirmed. She wished they were somewhere else. Further from the office. She worried that she wouldn't recognise if her new colleagues were having lunch at the next table and she may say something incriminating.

"It's only been a coupla hours, Riss," she replied cautiously, ducking behind the menu to make a Shhh sign to her friend. Continuing in a low voice, she elaborated, "I've been really nervous! I've been introduced to so many people and you know how bad I am with names... I don't even remember the name of the HR woman showing me around the whole morning!"

"Any cute guys?" Marissa passed her lit cigarette to her. "Here, you probably need one."

"Thanks. I was so nervous about taking my lunch break that I actually forgot my fags, can you believe it?" Krisse mumbled as she took a drag. "There were lotsa people, Riss, I don't recall anyone particularly ugly or cute."

"Hmmm. No one asked you for lunch?"

"Well, yeah, those sitting around me did. Maybe out of courtesy. I did think I should have gone with them, be friendly, but I also didn't want to break our lunch date."

They ordered their lunches. Marissa a lobster salad, Krisse a more modest (and affordable) Caesar salad. "Two glasses of champagne please," Marissa added.

"What? No! Riss, I gotta get back to work after this!"

"C'mon! It's just one glass. It'll loosen you up... once you relax, you're so much friendlier, and funnier! They'll all love you."

Krisse shrugged. She didn't want to screw up on her first day. What if her new boss came round and saw her drinking -- in the afternoon? First impressions were crucial, and this was one job she could not afford to lose.

Not that she'd lost any jobs before, of course. She'd finally got this job after slaving for four months, doing freelance design work on her home computer. So casual had her work style been that she'd communicated with her clients by MSN.

Well, it worked. She had put up her portfolio on her website, and then solicited work from big companies abroad, London, New York, Europe... After the requisite phonecalls and formal emails, she'd established solid rapport with a few creative heads at various agencies. And the jobs came in at a suprising rate that made her head spin.

Since she was working with the world, she had hardly kept regular hours then. She'd be up all night working, stopping to brief her Europe employers at 3am on the progress of their projects. Then she'd work till 9am, when she'd chat with the American agencies' contacts.

It'd been gruelling -- she slept at most 5 hours a day, which was very little for someone who normally needed at least 10 hours a day -- but absolutely fulfilling. Some of her work was just out in a few international publications, and she knew one project she had worked on was already up on a huge billboard outside Heathrow airport.

It was only after she missed both Riss' 23rd birthday and forgotten to book her ticket to Vancouver for her parent's 25th anniversary, that she realised how her work had totally overtaken her life. Well, that and a sharp talking-to from her dad.

After that, she'd wrapped up her existing contracts, then packed her bags for a long trip to her parents' with Riss, who'd forgiven her after she it made up to her with the airticket to Canada and a promise of a long road trip through the vineyard valley region.

When they finally got back to Alsace Springs, rent on her apartment was overdue and she had a huge credit card bill to pay off. Still, she and Riss bummed around for another two months, indulging their favourite pasttimes -- shopping. She still owed Riss a lot of money, the girl simply charged everything to Daddy Dearest. Plus, since Riss moved in with her, she'd taken care of the rent for the time being, until she got a job.

Krisse frowned. Getting the job as a junior designer at ASPRAA had been almost too easy. She'd called them up last week enquiring after a job, and the next day, she was asked down for an informal chat. A fat lady, whom she discovered today was the art director, had chatted with her about school, her freelance work and her interest in fashion and architectural design. For... at most, fifteen minutes.

Then she was sat down at a computer and asked to create some final artwork, as a practical test. It was, she was told, an actual advertising design they were working on, but there was no pressure to create it to standard, but if she could...

She hardly believed it. The brief was so simple: Create shopping bag buildings for a tourism ad promoting Alsace Springs as a shopping destination. The concept was good, but surely this could have been whipped up at the conceptualisation stage to present to the client... Ah well, to each agency his own, she had shrugged.

Within an hour, switching between at Photoshop and Illustrator, she'd completed the artwork. Well, she didn't exactly put in her best effort blending some of the elements, and she could probably have added a lens flare or two near the top corners, but she was certain that one of their designers would take over and redo the entire thing, no matter how polished the work she submitted.

And if she didn't get the job, she should cut her losses right now and stop wasting her time, their time, and her talent.

The following Monday, she received another phone call asking if she could start at the beginning of the following month. Which, she hadn't realised then, was that very Thursday.

Of course she agreed. She hadn't made any effort to contact any other agency, and ASPRAA -- Alsace Springs Public Relations And Advertising -- was the largest, most respected agency this side of town. Plus, the remuneration package they offered over the phone sounded pretty good. Health benefits, off days, various perks the secretary had listed that quickly slipped out of her mind, plus a fat enough paycheck to cover her rent, shopping and a partying a few nights a week!

Krisse pulled out her copy of the contract she'd just signed this morning. The perks included five free magazine subscriptions a month from ASPRAA's affliate publishing house, a generous flat transport allowance, movie passes, discounts at various malls that were ASPRAA's clients...

"Pretty damn good deal," she said, handing the contract to Riss. "I'll be able to pay you half of my back-dated share of rent at the end of the month!"

"Mmmfffhhh," Riss replied through her mouthful of fresh lobster.

Krisse finished her salad in contemplative silence. Should she get snacks or coffee for her colleagues, to make her presence more welcome, or would that be trying too hard? Would she even like them? Would there be work for her after lunch? She was glad she chose a salad -- not too heavy that may cause mid-afternoon drowsiness.

It'd be a whole month till payday. She would treat herself to... she paused. She always wanted a pair of Manolo Blahniks just to see what the fuss was all about, but she hadn't dared try on anything at the recherche shoe stores that sold the Jimmy Choos, Christian Lacroix and Blahniks, although Riss would drag her there to shop all the time. Should she be that extravagent? She did want to feel like a lady. An adult.

She drained her glass and helped herself to another cigarette from Riss' tres chic croc-skin cigarette case. This girl doesn't have to work to live the good life, she though without bitterness.

The fact that Marissa lived the life of a trust-fund kid didn't stop them from becoming best friends in colleage; each got to experience and enjoy the facets of their different lives. She got to go to all manners of uppity social functions, while Marissa quickly got hooked on all manners of 'street' food such as foot-long hotdogs heaped with onions, dijonaise and whatnot at the baseball park, and learned that taking the subway could get her downtown faster than suffering through peak-hour traffic could.

"So, where are ya headed off after this?"

"Oh, I'm meeting Don," Riss replied coyly. She'd met him at one of her trust-fund kid parties a few weeks back. "We're going sailing on his new yacht. He's training for the next Bluewater Sailing Competition."

She looked at her watch, then touched up her makeup as she waited for the check.

"My treat, sweetie, to celebrate your new job... Now, I've gotta run." She thrust out her chest and sucked in her tummy as she patted down her halter dress. "Do I look fat? Oh, and did I say I love your top?"

Krisse laughed. "Yeah, once when I bought it with you, once when I wore it on the date with your friend Tom, and single time I've worn it."

"Yeah, well, it's made for you. Very, very..." Marissa tossed her head back and struck an exaggerated pose, "hot -- the guys will be falling all you."

"Right. Well, that'll be the icing on the cake. Now all I want is to prove that I'm the best fucking designer they've ever seen."

"I'm sure you will Krisse," Marissa gave her a quick hug. "Everyone will see how talented you are straightaway. That's why they hired you anyway! Go knock 'em dead girl!"