text: Cheryl dropped her mobile on the sofa then plopped down after it, exhausted from another hectic day in what seemed an exceedingly long week. “T.G.I.F,” she sighed, glancing at the fluffy doughnut bed next to her crammed bookcase as if Nabisco would be curled up there signifying his total agreement with one look from under those floppy ears. Her throat caught at how much she missed the little mongrel. His presence in her life had outlasted all her relationships. In fact, if she had paid heed to the times that Nabisco didn’t warm to a few of them, she would have saved herself both time and trouble. The emptiness of her cosy but stylish apartment pressed in on her. That she hadn’t lived here very long didn’t help. Smothering under the weight, she considered going out for a walk, get some fresh air, but this seemed pointless without Nabisco to investigate the still fairly new neighbourhood of Old Town alongside her. That tub of Rocky Road ice cream which had leaped into her shopping cart the other day was calling her, despite how well she had hidden it in the bottom freezer drawer where she wouldn’t accidentally come across and be tempted. Really, she should save it for a special occasion when she invited a friend over. But she hadn’t felt ready to invite anyone into her space yet. Cheryl patted her slender abdomen, knowing temptation could easily become a slippery slope. Although she and her sister weren’t twins, they must share some of the same genes. Always easier for both of them to put on pounds rather than shed them. She needed to be like Odysseus ignoring the seductive calls of the gorgeous winged Sirens on their rocky island. Then she recalled his followers had tied him to the mast so he wasn’t really that strong-willed, especially as they all stuffed wax in their ears so they wouldn’t hear his orders to change course for the jagged rocks festooned with human bones from previous victims of the alluring harpies. What a grisly imagination she had, but then it was a Friday when everything that had been restrained and contained and ignored all week came raging into expression. Let It All Hang Out. That was what Luigi, her most recent significant other, used to tempt her to enjoy every Friday night. Their wild times thrilled her for a while but paying for their excesses on Saturday morning with the worst hangovers and watching her carefully managed budget implode as well began the slow unravelling of their liaison. Luigi didn’t appreciate her suggestion that they limit their Friday splurge to once a month, so eventually they parted ways. She missed how funny he was and the intensity of making love, but actually, not much else. Still staring at the fluffy doughnut bed, she reflected that she missed Nabisco more than Luigi. A dog accepted you exactly as you were, perfectly happy with whatever you decided to do as long as that included loads of cuddles, as many walks as possible, and the essential combination of treats, toys and their preferred brand of dog food. She learned quite early on that variety was not something Nabisco welcomed in his bowl, so that necessitated a trip to go and buy the proper stuff. The other tins of the brand she bought because it was on sale ended up being donated to the shelter where she found him. Prior to that, she assumed a dog would eat anything if hungry while fussiness was the prerogative of cats. Her mobile emitted an unfamiliar sound like a subdued doorbell. She had assigned a specific ring tone to each of her friends and a shared one for family so that she always knew who was calling. Cheryl picked up the phone, admired the sweet photo of Nabisco, then navigated to the message screen where Unknown Number was listed at the top. She right clicked. Her fingertip hovered over Delete. This was probably someone telling Mom that he had lost his mobile and could she please send $100 right away to a bogus account or some other scam. But it was Friday. She had no plans and no commitments. She could indulge her curiosity. Meet me at The Usual Place in half an hour. She blinked. Only a week ago, she ventured to have a drink at that bar for the very first time. This was only to satisfy a work colleague who kept warning her that she must get herself out there if she didn’t want to end up as a frustrated spinster. Enjoyable enough despite being on her own, but she soon walked back home and lost herself in Netflix. She shoved the message to one side and pushed the menu down to find Delete again. The mobile repeated the subdued doorbell sound. Clock is ticking, Cheryl. I need to see you. She felt the back of her neck prickle at the use of her name. This sounded like the beginning of one of those edge-of-your-seat novels that her sister enjoyed. Cheryl preferred Chic Lit, especially with a generous helping of laughs and the requisite happy ending. Another muted ding dong from the mobile. Trust me. Staring at the two words, Cheryl shook her head and began to jab the smudged screen to reply: WTF. LOL. No way Jose or whoever you are. She set the mobile down again, imagining how delicious the Rocky Road ice cream would be, melting on her tongue. It wasn’t like drinking alone or snorting Smurf or whatever the addictive white powder was called this year. Ding dong. Cheryl grabbed the mobile with a frown. After this, she would restrict the device to only receiving calls from those few people she always wanted to be available for, mostly family except for one dear friend who sometimes teetered on the brink of despair. Ginger ale has less calories than Rocky Road. A full body shiver went through her. Whoever this was, they knew her preference for ginger ale when she went out which was fair enough, but it creeped her out that they knew her favourite ice cream was Rocky Road and maybe that she had some stashed in her freezer right now. She looked around as if a hidden camera might be filming her reaction. She felt impelled to throw the mobile across the living room but didn’t want to shatter the phone as she was still recovering her financial equilibrium after Luigi. Another subdued ding dong made her wince. She dropped the mobile onto the sofa. Somebody must be pranking her, but who? It didn’t matter who. She was not going to participate. Her mind fastened on the possibility that it could well be her most recent Ex. Maybe Luigi was already drunk and had borrowed a friend’s phone to text her. Perhaps he was trying to lure her to The Usual Place in the hope they could resume where they left off. No way Luigi. Determined to switch the settings to avoid any more texts from Unknown Number, she picked up the mobile. Because it was Friday and she was upset and tired, she automatically clicked into the new message received. Public place. Plenty witnesses. What could go wrong? L O L She tried to convince herself that the stranger was indicating laughter, but each character of the Lol, all in capitals, had a space between. Only one person she knew used L O L that way, not indicating amusement but abbreviating Lots of Love. Someone who teased her out of the habit of signing off a message with any number of Xs. Nowadays, everyone did that, work colleagues, dental receptionists, anyone. She replied quickly. Stevie? The overly active mobile became stubbornly mute. She scrolled back to read through all of the messages, unable to stop herself from imagining them being spoken in Stevie’s voice. Meet me at The Usual Place in half an hour. Clock is ticking, Cheryl. I need to see you. Trust me. Then came her first reply: WTF. LOL. No way Jose or whoever you are. Ginger ale has less calories than Rocky Road. Public place. Plenty witnesses. What could go wrong? L O L Her second reply: Stevie? Cheryl stared at the mobile with tears pricking her eyes. She shook the gadget in her hand as if that would force the next text to arrive. Silence. She checked the connectivity symbol which was at 100%. Text something else, but what? Her finger caressed the L O L before she checked the number to see if it rang any bells. But who remembered anybody’s number these days? She felt lucky she could remember her own when asked. Again, she read over the messages, reminding herself that this could literally be anyone texting her. Highly unlikely that this would turn out to be Stevie. Probably a friend pranking her for some obscure reason or maybe a drunken Luigi playing games. Then, the words came to her. Could we start the half hour clock from now? She put the mobile down carefully as if that mattered and fixed her gaze on the large, framed, sepia photograph of Point Loma Light House that Stevie bought for her because she had liked the iconic image so much at Tierra del Fuego gallery. Not immediately like most people would do, but gone back later for it to surprise her. Ding dong. Okay, just this once, seeing as how it’s you. Cheryl erupted from the sofa, knowing that Nabisco would be barking and jumping and overjoyed to see her so excited if he was still with her. Thirty minutes was not long enough to do everything she would like to do if this was Stevie and not a prank, but she simply must change out of her work clothes. She hated dressing corporate outside of work hours. But what to wear? Opening her built-in closet, she realised how much of a first world problem this was. Probably in some parts of the world, a person wore only one garment until it literally fell to pieces. She stripped off the heels, the nylons, the work-appropriate black dress and the tight underwear. No time for a shower. Again, something many people on the planet didn’t have any need to worry about. She thought of the adverts she sometimes saw on YouTube for Charity: Water. She needed to click through next time and set up a monthly donation, stop procrastinating. And stop scrolling so much, too, that was getting to be a habit when she got home after work. Just a few minutes could easily turn into an hour or more. Rebuilding from the foundations, she chose a matching set of more comfortable underwear, then grabbed an old Save The Whales t-shirt and her favourite blue jeans. Obviously, the t-shirt had seen plenty of wear, but it was a classic that she had worn for many adventures. The jeans had daisies on rainbow vines spiralling up each leg that she embroidered in high school, inspired by her teenage fascination with vintage Flower Power. She felt proud that they still fit. Cheryl blotted her “I Mean Business” red lipstick then applied a rosy shade. Studying her reflection in the mirror made her feel she was preparing to enter a time machine and rocket back into her past. A real smile appeared on her lips as she realised that she must tell Stevie as he would appreciate that idea. How she had enjoyed those stories they sometimes invented together, though they never got written down for reasons that escaped her now. She put on her most comfortable shoes in case they went for a walk around Old Town. She grabbed her capacious denim jacket from a peg by the door and hurried out. Only when she saw the glow of another walker’s mobile did she pat her pockets and realise that her mobile lay abandoned on the sofa. Going back would waste precious time. The clock was ticking. Stevie--possibly--was waiting. Their meeting was arranged, so what did she need her mobile for? As she walked briskly through her neighbourhood, a rider passing on a palomino horse tipped his hat. What a beautiful horse. Could this be a sign? She and Stevie could go riding at the stables near La Jolla this weekend, bring a picnic to enjoy at what they always called the Halfway Point. Hearing the sound of galloping, Cheryl looked over her shoulder to see them coming in her direction at speed. She smiled, thinking maybe the rider had left his mobile phone somewhere like she had. But he didn’t look like he would even know what to do with one. He probably was part of the many historical reenactments that took place in Old Town, perhaps enjoyed keeping in character even when he wasn’t being paid to do so. She kept meaning to find out when they were and go along. She had definitely seen the rider in her neighbourhood before. Nobody could mistake that palomino. She wondered if the horse was stabled nearby. Did he need some kind of permission to keep a horse in his backyard or a license to ride a horse on normal streets? She must google this during her next coffee break at work if she remembered, but Monday seemed very far away. But why google when she could get the information from the horse’s mouth, so to speak? The idea amused her that the horse might talk rather than the rider. She vaguely recalled someone telling her about an old television show, black and white maybe, which had a talking horse. Mister Ed maybe? She had not spoken to the rider yet because he always seemed to be going somewhere. But on a horse, not a bicycle, easier to pause the journey unless galloping. She could admire his horse to start with like she tended to do when she encountered a dog walker since the loss of Nabisco. Cheryl considered breaking into a run but didn’t want to be sweaty or out of breath when she arrived. Soon enough, she was entering the Mercado, the gathering of shops and restaurants which was partly what attracted her to Old Town. She didn’t mind the thronging tourists as they generally weren’t noisy nuisances. Her heart pulsed in her throat as she entered The Usual Place, the hubbub of conversation mostly drowning out jazz music coming from the speakers. As if a spotlight shone on Stevie, she saw him immediately and waved. He nodded in return as she approached, the smile raising the corners of his lips only enough to qualify as a smile, but the welcome obvious in his eyes. Seeing the table was empty, she asked, “Ginger ale?” “Best drink in the house,” he agreed, as always. Cheryl quickly fetched two ginger ales, being pushier at the bar than she normally would be. “You look amazing,” Stevie told her as she sat down opposite. “Really?” she asked because such words from him were never just flattery. “Really.” He gave her an appraising gaze. “You haven’t changed a bit.” “Neither have you,” she replied with a smile because that was so true. They talked, as usual, about everything and nothing. Somehow, resuming from where they left off easily bridged the gap of seven years. The rider on the palomino horse got a mention. Stevie agreed the show had been Mister Ed but didn’t whip out his mobile phone to see if he was correct. She liked knowing that he felt such devices were distractions rather than essential assets and was pleased she had left hers at home. Their conversation deepened as they discussed the life and times and sad demise of Nabisco, the mongrel she adopted before they first met. When her glass was empty, Stevie offered, “Be my guest.” He gestured at his own which seemed barely touched. “Thanks,” she said, moving the full glass to her side of the table, glad to not have to leave him for even a minute. Because the desire kept rising to mind, she finally told him, “No pressure, but you can come see my new place if you like.” Stevie nodded but made no comment. “Anytime,” she added awkwardly, “doesn’t have to be tonight.” “That would be good,” he replied. “Cheryl,” boomed a too familiar voice from behind her, “cara mia, what brings a nice girl like you to a dump like this?” Two hands caressed her shoulders. Luigi had always been a touchy-feely kind of guy. She gave Stevie an apologetic grimace before glancing at her Ex and saying, “I’m busy, Lu, we’ll catch up another time.” His laughter grated before he invaded her space to give her a peck on the cheek. No alcohol on his breath yet, at least. Luigi walked around the little table to claim the now empty seat opposite her as if it was his by right. “Is it true, bella? Do you live in Old Town now? There’s certainly no accounting for tastes.” Occupying the space where Stevie belonged made Luigi so lack-lustre that she struggled to think of why she had committed herself to the bigger, brasher man beyond their first date. Cheryl’s eyes flicked around The Usual Place. How had Stevie disappeared so quickly? He must have needed the restroom. She sipped the second glass of ginger ale, wishing it was something stronger as she tried to think how to get rid of her Ex before Stevie returned. Registering Luigi’s question belatedly, she resolved that she was not going to tell him where in Old Town as she answered, “I do.”