The air was still warm as Gina sidled up to the restaurant at which Greg had made the reservations. It looked entirely too posh for her, especially since her idea of eating out was a trip to the chip shop. Gina hoped Greg wasn’t going to be too long as people were beginning to look at her like she was strange. She was tempted to scream out, “I am not a hooker,” but controlled herself.

“Where’s the other two that I was forced to make arrangements for?” Greg demanded as he arrived. Gina, who had been daydreaming, jumped a mile.

“They’re meeting at my place,” she breathed.

“Man, I hope they’re not long, I’m starving. You wouldn’t believe the amount of shit I’ve had to do this afternoon,” Greg scorned.

“Radio, press, TV?” Gina asked.

“Two hours with some bimbette DJ who didn’t actually get any of my jokes and hadn’t actually heard of me,” Greg hissed.

“Get it out now, you can’t be grumpy when Fen arrives,” Gina announced.

“Well, a hug might make me feel better,” Greg said coyly.

Gina looked at him and raised an eyebrow. “That’s blackmail, you know.”

“So I don’t get a hug?” Greg sulked.

“Well, I never said that,” Gina mused and wrapped her arms around Greg’s neck. She felt his arms slide up her back and hold her tight.

“I’ve missed you,” Greg whispered.

“I know,” Gina breathed.

Fenny had brushed her hair about a million times. She wasn’t sure why she was so nervous. She squeaked when there was a knock at the door, and she quickly hid the brush behind a cushion, ran her hands over her top, and then opened the door. Paul was standing there looking equally nervous.

“I’ve just got to grab my bag,” Fenny babbled. “Come in,” she added.

“Look at you, running about like a headless chook,” Paul mused as he stepped into Gina’s apartment. As Fenny shoved things into her bag, Paul scanned the room. He seemed to get stuck on an ancient looking book of poetry.

“That’s my friend’s, I wouldn’t touch it, she’s threatened to kill me for doing so,” Fenny announced.

“Huh? Oh, right,” Paul muttered and put the book back.

“You ok?” Fenny asked, noting Paul’s sudden lack of attention.

“Yeah, sorry,” he smiled, “you ready?”

“Definitely.”

“If they don’t hurry up, I’m ordering,” Greg huffed as he fiddled with the menu.

“They’ll be here soon,” Gina scolded and snatched the menu from Greg. He gave her an annoyed look.

Gina shook her head and then began studying the menu.

“Oh hey, there’s Fen,” Greg suddenly perked.

Gina looked up. “Oh, fuck,” she mumbled as Fenny and Paul got closer. It wasn’t until they were just about at the table that Paul and Gina locked eyes.

“Paul, shit, there’s a coincidence,” Greg gasped.

Paul didn’t acknowledge Greg – he was glaring at Gina.

“Gina,” Paul spat.

“Hey,” Gina half smiled.

“Hold on, you guys know each other?” Fenny gasped.

“Oh yeah,” Paul scorned.

“Fen, I’d like you to meet Paul McDermott, my ex-husband,” Gina sighed.

“Would be ex, if you’d signed the fucking forms,” Paul hissed.

“Fuck, it didn’t even…fuck,” Greg cursed through gritted teeth.

Fenny was shocked and speechless. “Who would have thought,” she managed to babble weakly.

“So you’re fucking Greg now, huh? You like married men,” Paul spat.

“We’re not fucking, thank you,” Gina replied.

“You should know better, man,” Paul declared, turning an accusatory finger at Greg. “Your wife is great! Better than that lower form of life.”

“Gee, thanks, Hon,” Gina huffed.

The entire restaurant was fixated on the argument. People had stopped eating, and even the waiters and waitresses were staring.

Paul glared at Gina a final time and stormed out. Fenny looked at Gina, still shocked.

“I’ve gotta get out of here,” Gina muttered and hurried toward the door.

“Gina,” Greg called.

“Leave it,” Fenny sighed. “Trust me.”

Greg looked miserably at the horrendous flower display on the table.

“Don’t suppose you want dinner?” Fenny asked.

“I’ve lost my appetite,” Greg sighed. “You’re not worried, are you?” he added.

“I’m kinda used to all the men I find having an absolutely fucked up existence,” Fenny mused.

“Brad still loves you though,” Greg breathed.

“Hardly,” Fenny said with a short laugh.

“Yeah, well it’s hard to miss the ‘FENNY’ tattoo he has,” Greg stated.

“Excuse me,” Fenny gasped.

“Night, Fen,” Greg smiled weakly, and then left.

Fenny felt the eyes of the all the restaurant patrons on her. Brad wouldn’t have gotten another tattoo. He hadn’t wanted the first one. Then something occurred to her: that horrendous flower display – it was identical to the one in her hotel room in L.A. She wasn’t sure if she believed in omens, but now might be a good time to start.