The brandy burned the back of my throat so heavily it made me cough. I sat in Vivian’s arm chair while she leaned against the window sill, sipping from her own glass, her gaze lost in the darkness outside.
“Busy day?” She asked, her eyes still fixed on the window.
“I’ve had busier.” The amber liquid warming between my palms reminded me of Sarah’s eyes. When she kissed me her irises seemed on fire.
“Any breakthroughs?”
“Yes, you could say that.” Vivian stepped away from the window and fell down in the chair next to me, a loud sigh accompanying her exasperation. It came across as very unprofessional, but I was sure it was just another technique.
“You don’t have to talk to me, Lee, but it would help.”
“I thought this was a group workshop for writers. I had no idea it included late night private therapy sessions. So please excuse me if I’m not up for this.”
“All right, you obviously don’t want to talk. That’s fine. Please allow me to give you a piece of advice then.” She brought the glass to her thin lips and peered at me over the rim. I had never seen such emerald green eyes. I half expected her to start hissing and scratching like a cat.
“Of course. Be my guest.” Impossible green eyes or not, I was not backing down. My defiance was the only weapon I had against Vivian’s vast arsenal of psychological tricks.
“This is not a criticism of your personality, we all are who we are for a reason.” She sat her glass down on the little table that stood between us, the sharp thud rattling my nerves. “But if you want to have successful relationships, in your private life as well as in business, you need to learn to communicate properly.” I hated being spoken to like that. My fingers twitched with pure aggression. “And you need to get your priorities straight. Whose happiness is most important? Yours or someone else’s?” This was the advice the famous Vivian Carsey gave me? Was that all she had? “Ultimately you are only responsible for yourself. Another person’s path in life should not depend on you.” She spread her arms and lifted her palms to the ceiling, indicating she was done talking.
“That’s it?”
“Yes. I suggest you sleep on it.”
“Thanks Vivian, that really helped.” She bared her teeth when she smiled, it made her look big-hearted and giving.
“Oh and Lee, I know it makes you feel comfortable, but you don’t have to hide from me.”

All this talk of running and hiding and communicating properly was starting to do my head in. Romantically, my life hadn’t exactly been a series of happy affairs, what with the cheating and carrying on behind people’s backs and all that, but I would find my way. Time would tell if my final act with Claire would be for the long or short run. For now, I just wanted to get even.

I settled in bed with the manuscript of Sarah’s novel At the Dying End of the Day. The title spoke to me enormously. I let her gentle prose chaperone me through the loneliness of the night. It didn’t stay gentle for very long. I woke up at three AM with her pages spread over my body, my blood boiling, my skin in heat. In Sarah’s world romance obviously stood for sex. What she wrote was a frenzied fantasy about lost love and longing, the ghost of Eliane tangible on every single page. All these women and their repressed sexualities, I thought, at least Vivian couldn’t fault me in that department. Maybe I couldn’t talk about it the way I was supposed to, but at least I got some.

To be continued…