Fenny lay sprawled on the bed with her sketchbook and an array of drawing supplies as she waited for Andy to return. He’d no doubt declare her careless for leaving graphite smudges on the atrocious comforter and inquire as to why her drawing looked so much like Brad the lunatic. Brad’s was the face that always manifested itself on the pages of her books when she was upset, confused, or lonely, and at that moment, she was all three.

She almost felt bad that it was the image of Brad (who, along with great amounts of joy, had caused so much pain in her life) that comforted her, when it should have been Andy. But in all honesty, no matter how much she tried, she could never capture Andy’s spirit in her art. Maybe because he didn’t have much.

The dress hanging from the bathroom door across the room kept drawing Fenny’s attention. A cocktail party where she would be required to be polite and sweet to people she didn’t know and had no real desire to speak with; this after Andy had all but shit upon her closest friends. Fucking hypocrite. She dreaded the event so much that her stomach was turning itself in knots, eased only with the knowledge Danny would be there.

The sound of the lock turning made Fenny jump and she hastily flipped a few pages back in her sketchbook to a drawing she’d started on the plane over. “Hi sweetheart,” Andy chimed as he wandered over.

“How was work?” she asked, not daring to look up from her book.

“We’re making progress,” he sighed. She looked up at him as he sat on the end of the bed. “I thought about it, and I’m sorry I insulted your friends. I mean, you and I come from different worlds, I can’t expect you to change, not all at once. And it is Australia and all. I’m sorry.”

Fenny frowned at the bed. Probably one of the most backhanded apologies she’d ever received, but Andy was making the effort. “It’s ok honey,” she said, crawling over to snuggle into him. “I think you have to have a certain sense of humor to be able to cope with my friends.”

“C’mon,” Andy grinned, kissing the side of Fenny’s head. “Let’s go to this cocktail party, there’s people I want you to meet.”

Brad slid behind the wheel of the rented car and headed for Ritza’s home. Once he’d again acclimated himself to driving on the wrong side of the road, he found his mind wandering. Who was Fenny to say caring for Ritza was wrong? This was the woman who was dating the king of all assholes, fooling around with her boyfriend’s colleague, and having a steamy romp with her ex. It was Brad who always managed to mess things up, but it was Fenny who was quickly earning herself the title of adulteress. The only cheating Brad had ever done was with Fenny when he was still living with Ritza, for which he suddenly felt very guilty. Of course Ritza had gotten pregnant with another man’s baby when they were living together. That sounded like an oddly familiar situation…

Gina wandered up the stairs to her apartment, wondering idly if Brad would have left for dinner yet or not, or whether he’d ever come back from visiting Fenny, and how long they’d managed to stay clothed. She flipped through the mail as she headed down the hall, and as she approached the front door, she looked up, and stopped dead in her tracks.

“Paul?”

He glanced up at her from his position on the floor, and quickly righted himself, leaning casually on the door. “Hi,” Paul grinned.

“What are you doing here? Freya’s at your place fixing you dinner.”

“I know. I wanted to be with you instead.”

“I don’t blame you, I’ve had her cooking,” Gina said with a light laugh as she unlocked her door. She was angry with herself for not being as angry with him as she wanted to be. But he’d said flat out he’d wanted to be with her instead of that terrible harpy, and that gesture was more than enough to melt her heart.

“I want to apologize for earlier,” Paul sighed, sitting on the couch. Gina sat next to him and he continued. “I guess I do look shallow, but I do love you, Genie. I’m sorry.”

Gina pouted as he turned his eyes away. “Oh, I’m sorry too,” she breathed. “You’re not shallow. Well not normally. I shouldn’t have accused you of just wanting sex.”

“Not that that’s not high up on my list,” he smirked, “but I want all of you, not just the fun bits.”

“I have bits that aren’t fun?” she asked, eyebrow raised.

“No, I mean, I like all your bits,” Paul floundered, “but the ones, there’s the sexy parts and the, well, y’know…”

Gina snickered at him.

“I knew I should have brought a peace offering,” he smiled. “I looked all over town for a Mars Bar, but it’s like there’s a fucking embargo. Then I thought a chocolate cake or something, but figured if you were still pissed you’d shove it in my face, and that would just be a waste of perfectly good chocolate.”

“I don’t care what you’ve done to me, I would never waste a chocolate cake on you like that,” she laughed. “Man, now you’ve got me wanting a chocolate cake. You should’ve risked it.”

“Are we going to go get cake?” Paul asked as Gina stood up and walked past him.

“No, I’m gonna go make one.”

“Can I help?” he perked, jumping up off the couch.

“Sure. If you’re good, I might even let you lick the bowl.”

“That can be taken so many ways,” Paul laughed.

“I know,” she smirked.

Fenny reluctantly let Andy slip the coat from her back and hand it to the coat check girl. She felt completely vulnerable and utterly ridiculous in her relatively simple, deep blue gown. Andy had voiced his displeasure when she’d come out of the bathroom dressed in it, not approving of the fact it was backless and had a slit up one side of the rather confining skirt. Between the floor-length skirt and the black heels, she was wondering how long it would take for her to trip over herself.

“Philip!” Andy cheered, dragging Fenny by one hand to a crowd of men in tuxedos and fancy suits. “Glad to see you’ve made it!”

“Andy, well, you’re late,” Philip teased, glancing at his watch.

“You know how long it takes women to get ready,” Andy sighed. Fenny fought against her facial muscles, trying not to frown; they would have been on time had Andy not sent her back into the bathroom to fix her hair. Twice. “This is Fenella Grey,” he said by way of introduction.

“Oh yes, Danny’s friend,” one of them chirped, and Fenny felt her face go crimson. “Shame there isn’t a pool nearby!” Everyone cackled and Fenny nodded, chuckling politely as her eyes scanned the crowd, looking for Danny.

“Speak of the devil,” someone chimed, and Fenny turned to see Danny sidle up behind them and settle at Andy’s side. She couldn’t help but smile at the blue shirt he was wearing under the fancy jacket, but knew that since he’d picked out her gown, she shouldn’t have been surprised he’d match it.

“Good to see you again, Brannigan,” Andy nodded, and turned back to the conversation, something about his qualifications for doing public service announcements and campaign commercials.

“We were discussing that last night, we could have really used your input,” one of the stuffier old men declared. “Where were you?”

“Oh, Fenny dragged me to dinner with some friends of hers,” Andy said, not bothering to disguise the distaste in his voice. “I’m sorry I missed that dinner, I would have liked to have gone.”

“Oh yes,” Danny chirped, as he noticed Fenny was being ignored again, “that was dinner with your good friend Paul McDermott, wasn’t it?”

“Yes actually, it was,” Fenny smiled back.

“You had dinner with Paul McDermott?” someone gasped.

“The man’s nutty as a fruitcake. Why, you know him?” Andy asked.

Someone gave a scoffing laugh that Fenny new from experience meant “Fucking Yank.” “He’s something of a celebrity around here.”

“Really?” Andy gasped.

“Oh yeah, he’s had a few television shows, did radio for a while, taken to performing on stage and doing a bit of writing these days.”

“When he’s not being carted off to jail,” Danny laughed.

“What? Who?” an older woman demanded as she and her husband joined their circle.

“Mr. Timms here got Paul McDermott arrested,” Danny said, patting Andy on the shoulder.

“You’re kidding me!” she sputtered on her drink.

“How was I to know who he was,” Andy shrugged, looking a bit despondent. “I thought it was bad enough he was friends with my girlfriend, but Jesus, I didn’t know he was famous or anything.”

“You’re friends with Paul McDermott?” the woman smiled, taking Fenny by the hand.

“Well, yes,” she said reluctantly.

“Oh, you must tell us about him!”

Fenny pouted as she was led off to a group of twittering women who probably knew little about “Mr. McDermott” other than he was a famous name, and she wasn’t prepared to divulge much more. Her only consolation was that Andy was still being berated, with much help from Danny, for being an ass to one of the Australian comic elite.

“Thanks again, Brad,” Ritza said demurely as they situated themselves at a booth in the small restaurant. “You didn’t really have to do this.”

“No, I want to. Make up for last time. It was, kind of…awkward,” Brad shrugged.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Mummy, can I have a cheese?” Gus asked, tugging at his mother’s sleeve.

“Sure baby,” Ritza cooed.

“A cheese?” Brad asked.

“A meatless cheeseburger. He’s going through a phase,” Ritza sighed. “Won’t eat anything brown. With the exception of chocolate ice cream. That was the last phase, he wanted chocolate ice cream for dinner every night.”

“So a cheeseburger with no burger?” Brad smiled.

“If it’s not too much trouble.”

The waitress appeared and, with a bit of explaining, went away to fetch them two cheeseburgers and a “cheese” and left them alone to look at each other a bit nervously while Gus scribbled away on his kid’s menu.

“Look Ritza,” Brad began softly, “I know we had some rough times. Forget the chasing us with guns. I shouldn’t have left you the way I did, it was wrong. But Fenny came back into my life, and, well, the girl does strange things to me.”

“Because you love her,” Ritza declared.

“I do,” he sighed. “But that doesn’t mean I stopped loving you. If I had it to do over again—”

One of the crayons from Gus’s kids menu bounced off Brad’s temple.

“Sorry,” Gus giggled as Brad rubbed his head and leaned down to retrieve the crayon from the ground. On the way back up, he hit his head on the underside of the table, probably more for show than anything else, and Gus went into a fit of hysterics.

“Nice crayon you got here,” Brad said, sniffing it carefully, poking himself in the arm, setting it upright on the table. “What’s it do?”

“You color with it,” Gus said, demonstrating with his own.

“Oh? And what do you color?”

“This.” He scribbled a bit more on his place mat as a means of demonstration.

“Can I help?”

“Ok,” Gus shrugged.

“What color do we color the sky?”

“Orange!” Gus perked.

“Orange?” Brad chuckled, looking up at Ritza who was watching them carefully with a small smile. “Is he colorblind, or a surrealist?”

“All four year olds are surrealists, Brad,” she laughed.

“Hey, I’m up for it if you are, buddy,” Brad laughed, and began coloring in the sky with his orange crayon.

A bloodcurdling scream filled the kitchen as the electric beater kicked up a cloud of flour, sugar and cocoa, followed by a splattering of eggs and oil.

“No, Paul, stop!” Gina yelped over the noise of the beater. “Stop, turn it off!”

Fumbling with the switch, which was difficult because he was covered in flour and egg yolk, he managed to get it turned off and look at Gina helplessly.

“Before you turn on the beater, you mix the dry and the liquid parts together so you don’t get a dust cloud. And you never lift the beater out of the bowl turned on, because it will make everything fly across the kitchen.” Gina wiped a splotch of oil from her cheek.

“Sorry,” Paul giggled as he cautiously turned on the beater again.

“First you spill the chocolate, then you drop the egg shells in the batter, consider molesting my sifter and come up with immoral uses for the measuring spoons…You should host a cooking show.”

“Oh yeah, I could nip the cooking sherry, make things more interesting.”

“Brad could guest host and we could have a contest, see how long it takes you to incinerate the kitchen.”

“Brilliant,” Paul laughed.

“To think that even after your two failed attempts in California, I would invite you into my kitchen,” Gina said, shaking her head. “Back in the bowl!” she yelped as the gooey chocolate mess flew from the beaters as Paul’s mind wandered. “This isn’t going the way I’d hoped,” she said, laughing in spite of herself as a glob of cake batter fell off the end of her nose.

Fenny slipped one foot out of her shoe in a way she hoped was inconspicuous and wished like hell she could have found a way to just disappear for a while; her mind was beginning to go numb as the conversation around her had once again fallen into designer handbags. As she was beginning to wonder what the side effects would be of marching out to the parking lot and sitting in the car for the next couple hours, a hand trailed lightly against the bare skin of her back. She jumped and nearly fell out of her other shoe before turning and seeing Danny slip off towards a darkened corridor, which he backed into with a seductive glance in her direction. She waited a moment until he disappeared into the shadows and then politely excused herself with the pretense of going to get a drink.

Spotting Andy across the room with a drink in one hand, surrounded by his fellow advertising executives, she figured she wouldn’t be missed, and headed, heart racing and nervous, down the same corridor.

It was dark but for some dim light from a curtained window halfway down, and Fenny wasn’t sure where she was going. Until, that is, she was grabbed round the waist and found herself in a storage room. Danny turned on the bare bulb overhead that cast a sickly yellow light on them; he’d already taken off his jacket and tie. “I believe we had an appointment for you to take some dictation,” he whispered in her ear.

“I forgot my steno pad, Mr. Brannigan,” Fenny shrugged.

“Oh. We’ll have to make another appointment then, won’t we Miss Grey?” He lowered the zipper of her dress as she made fast work of his shirt buttons.

“Absolutely.”

Danny kissed her deeply and she stepped out of her dress as she returned the kiss, pulling away only to fight against her pantyhose.

“You should be sanctioned for your forgetfulness.”

“How so?” she gasped.

“No more party for you.”

“Oh, that stings,” Fenny teased.

Danny looked at her sternly. “Hey, I could send you back out there right now to deal with the shrew society and Andy if you don’t behave. Or, on the other hand, I could clear off that table and we can test how soundproofed these walls are.”

“I like plan B,” Fenny smiled, pushing off his shirt, “my feet are killing me.”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Danny chuckled, and pushed the boxes hastily off the workbench.

“I think I need a shower,” Gina mused as she slid the pan, half filled with cake batter, into the oven.

“I’d offer to join you, but then you’d think I only want you for the sex,” Paul smirked.

Gina shrugged and headed out of the kitchen, sucking the cake batter from her fingers in a rather lurid manner. “We should probably get those clothes of yours clean before you go home to Freya,” Gina called over her shoulder, and Paul decided to follow her. “Not to mention getting the chocolate out of your hair. Imagine what she’d think,” Gina chuckled.

“So are you offering me a shower?” Paul asked cautiously as they entered the bathroom.

“I think you’d better. While you do that I’ll rinse out your clothes, see if I can get the chocolate out.” Paul’s face fell almost imperceptibly. “What?” Gina asked teasingly.

“You, well I was kinda hoping, y’know, maybe…”

“One of us has to take the cake out of the oven,” Gina chastised.

“Fuck the cake,” Paul laughed.

“You’ve been watching the ‘adult channel’ again, haven’t you?” she laughed. “Now, off with the clothes.”

Paul nodded and his face lit up again. He began to strip slowly, teasingly, complete with pelvic thrusts and ecstatic little whimpers. Gina just stood there, waiting for each article of clothing to be given to her in turn. When he got to his underwear, Gina left the bathroom, leaving Paul to feel aghast and slightly foolish. Was she still serious about the “you only want me for the sex” thing? Shit, maybe he should have gone about that a bit better.

Cursing himself he turned on the shower, stripped off his shorts, and slipped inside, trying to wash off all the bits of cake batter. He hadn’t been in the shower for thirty seconds before Gina slipped in behind him and wrapped her arms around him from behind. “What about the cake?” he asked as he let out a relieved breath.

“Fuck it,” she chuckled.

“I’d rather not, thank you,” Paul said, diligently returning his attention to the soap and ignoring Gina’s hands massaging his chest.

“Is there something else you’d rather—”

“No,” he declared triumphantly. “If you think this relationship is just based on sex, then I’m out to prove otherwise.” Her hands moved further down his body. “I mean, I’m not quite that shallow, and I’m hurt you’d even suggest it.” Gina pressed her body closer against his as her fingers trailed down further. “But if you insist,” he gasped, turned and captured her mouth in a fiery kiss as he pressed her against the tile wall of the shower, hands sliding over wet bodies as the water beat down on them, the chocolate pooling at their feet.