Carter leant back in his chair, swung around to the window that allowed him a view of the cityscape. He'd managed to get through the morning, had performed quite well at the meeting earlier, had even managed to finish a story early and had sent it out to the editor. Unfortunately, now his mind was free of work he had time to think of the other thing that occupied the rest of his time; Kirsten. He wondered what she was doing now. He'd read about her father's death, had sent a card to her along with a bunch of flowers. He hadn't put a return address on it, hadn't wanted any discreetly expensive, universal thank-you-for-your-condolences card back. He'd managed to keep in touch with the secretary that had worked at the Newport Group. She'd informed him of Kirsten's subsequent break down and retreat to rehab. He'd secretly felt guilty about that, had known that it was him, as well as Sandy's actions with the other woman, more than her father's funeral, that had driven her to drink. He felt terrible about not being able to be there, comfort her. He'd heard she'd moved to a friend's place in the woods before moving back to her house, had felt a perverse pleasure knowing this, sensing things between her and Sandy were still rocky. Any day now, he was going to call and actually say something, allow her to invite him back into his life. He was always too scared in case she rejected him, didn't know how bad the fall out would be if he was already a wreck after leaving her life on his own terms.
"Carter?" Lisa stood at the door, the copywriter for the magazine. She was blonde, but not blonde enough. She was thin, but not the same kind of thinness that Kirsten had been, that upper class slenderness he had longed to feel wrapped around him. He'd been fucking her for a week; she was the closest he could find to Kirsten, and she didn't object when he called out Kirsten's name instead of her own.
"Hi." He said, swinging around to face her. She was a little taller than Kirsten, her eyes were a little less blue. He wished she would wear her hair out more.
"So, what are you doing tonight?" She asked. She shuffled uncomfortably in the doorway, and he wondered whether he'd had enough of her, but she met her eyes and he saw, or imagined, that same directness that Kirsten had used with him.
"Want to come over? I'll cook something." Carter gave her a smile, and she smiled back, left. He'd been teaching himself how to cook better. He knew it was because Kirsten couldn't, and he'd wanted to balance out the couple that he knew he was hoping, one day, they would be. He had been trying to kid himself, tell himself there was someone else out there for him, someone other than Kirsten, but he was beginning to reject his own lives. He knew Kirsten was the only one for him, knew she had started to realise that she was made for him as well. He looked at his watch, reached for his phone. She might be out having lunch with a Newpsie, might be repotting geraniums… Might be spending time with Sandy. At this, Carter's face darkened and he dialled her number with ferocity. She answered on the third ring, and he leant back in her chair as he listened to her voice.
"Hello?" There was a pause while she waited for someone to say something, waited for something other than Carter's breathing. He imagined that he could almost feel her breath across the miles that separated him, smell her hair. She waited another moment, repeated her first word before hanging up. He hung up as well, satisfied for the moment. He hadn't heard Sandy in the background. He checked his watch again, and his schedule of events for the week. He had an interview tomorrow, another story to write the day after and then he was free for the weekend. He'd started using his weekends to head out of town, to a small cabin he'd inherited off a long-dead Uncle. He'd always been tempted to sell it, but something had held him back. He'd been fixing it up, had remodelled the kitchen and bathroom, and added an extra bedroom. It was where he could go to be even more alone than he was usually. He liked the solitude the mountains brought, the way he knew he would be undisturbed. He could drink as much as he like, play his music as loud as he liked and not worry about having to stumble around finding the door while an irate neighbour did their best to bring it down with their knocking. He gathered up his briefcase, put his mobile in his pocket and walked out the door. He was meant to be here until at least five, but didn't think anyone was going to complain if he was going to walk out sooner. He'd finished everything he had to do, and he knew he was loved around here. The editor practically kissed his ass every time she saw him. He couldn't look past the darkness of her hair and the greenness of her eyes to forge the kind of relationship he knew she was gagging for. He tolerated it only because he needed the money, he truly did like his job and he liked having the freedom to leave early if he desired. He waved at the secretaries as they left, pressed the button on the lift and waited. He looked in the shiny stainless steel doors, thought about how different this office was from the Newport Group. Here, everything was much more sterile and minimalist. He preferred it this way, preferred not being reminded of where he and Kirsten had spent so much time every day. The lift came, he stepped in, heading for his apartment where, later, he would make dinner for, and hopefully fuck, his faux-Kirsten.