“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” Fenny was chanting to herself, her newfound mantra in time with her racing heart. She welcomed the crawl of the traffic. She didn’t have to think about driving; she couldn’t have if she’d wanted to. “No reason for him to not have found another girl, none whatsoever. But dammit, did he really have to? I mean really? In that outfit, of all things? That was MY outfit. How long could this have been going on? She’s a hell of a lot prettier than I am, not that I should be surprised. But he did call after me…. Sounds like a soap opera, the whole thing. I should email someone, whatever that god-awful show was the other day. This is much more sordid. Stupid, stupid, stupid, stu—will you shut the hell up?!” She knew the car next to her couldn’t hear her screech over whatever boy band it was that was playing through what sounded like 30 inch subwoofers and doing nothing to improve her mood. She decided first to stop babbling to herself, then get off at the next exit, whatever it happened to be, and maybe find a place for an early lunch.

Amid much horn screeching and unfriendly gestures, some of which were directed at her, she made it off the freeway and found some trendy little diner in one of the more pleasant parts of town. Fenny was quickly seated and ordered a soda and a salad, which she picked at when it was brought to her. She was simply too engulfed in her own self-pity and self-hatred and the self-torturing thoughts of how happy Brad and the “Other Woman” had looked together to enjoy her meal.

Suddenly she heard a familiar cackling laugh and had to struggle to keep from spitting her Pepsi across the table. A totally indiscreet look over her shoulder showed Greg and another woman, small, blonde and obviously very comfortable in Greg’s presence, sitting together at a small table towards the back of the restaurant.

Fenny was horrified­—couldn’t her former lovers wait five minutes before getting with someone else. Was she that easy to forget? Greg should know better too, she would have thought he’d at least try and sort through his marriage problems. Fenny couldn’t believe he could just sit there, laughing and flaunting his new relationship. The man was truly a bastard. Fenny’s grip tightened around her Pepsi.

“Well I think we’ve successfully ordered enough grease to lubricate the entire population of Mongolia,” Gina mused, watching the fat pool around her fries.

“I think you’ll find there’s more goats than people in Mongolia,” Greg pointed out.

“Fine let’s lubricate the goats then,” Gina perked and did an impression of a greased up goat continually sliding out of her hands.

Greg cracked up laughing. “We should get you up for Sound Effects…you’re not bad.”

“Hey, anything would be better than the ones you do get up,” Gina agreed. “Is that a friend of yours?” she added pointing to the approaching form of Fenny.

“Shit,” Greg breathed.

“Not a friend? Stalker maybe?” Gina continued as Fenny sidled over to the table, Pepsi still clutched in her hand.

“Hey Fen, what brings you here?” Greg smiled.

“Oh, now don’t try and be all charming and witty,” Fenny scorned.

“O…ok…” Greg mumbled. “So are you well?”

“I can’t believe you, you’ll screw anything won’t you,” Fenny spat.

“Gee thanks,” Gina mused.

“Excuse me?” Greg gasped.

“One would’ve thought maybe you’d have grown up a little after all that’s happened, you’d try to work things out with your wife instead of continuing to use whatever unsuspecting woman you manage to charm with your ‘my wife cheats too’ shit and your promises that nobody’ll ever find out. But you’re still up to your little games, huh, having sex with her and then a year later coming back like you rule the world to screw up the best relationship she ever had!?” Fenny glared at Greg, silently daring him to counter her, and once satisfied that he wouldn’t, she dumped the remaining Pepsi over his head, let out a sob, and dashed from the diner.

“FENNY!” Greg screamed. “You stupid bitch,” he added under his breath.

Gina raised an eyebrow and held back a giggle. “Not your biggest fan I see.”

Greg grabbed a handful of napkins and tried vainly to mop up some of the Pepsi from his shirt.

“I wouldn’t bother…that shirt was horrendous before, the Pepsi has made a slight improvement,” Gina sniggered.

“This isn’t funny. She, Fenny, was the one I told you about,” Greg grumbled.

“Oh the one you committed adultery with, that was her?” Gina gasped.

“Unfortunately, yes—and can you keep your voice down?” Greg scorned.

“Why, in case another journo hears you?” Gina jeered.

“You’re really starting to piss me off,” Greg spat.

“Hello, you were the one that turned up on my doorstep,” Gina scorned.

“I told you I was bored,” Greg huffed.

“Oh please, pass me a violin. You’re only grumpy because I’m not leaping to your defense. She had every right to pour a watered down, brand name soda over your head,” Gina retorted.

“Hey, she didn’t have to sleep with me, she could have turned me away. But let me tell you, she was more than welcoming,” Greg hissed.

“God, I don’t want the details of your romps, Proops. I’m just saying that you’ve obviously hurt her and you should be a man and go talk to her,” Gina snapped.

“And that’s why I fucking hate journalists, they think they know everything,” Greg snapped back.

He got to his feet, chucked the napkins down and marched out of the diner.

“Prick,” Gina sighed, rolling her eyes.

When Fenny arrived back at the hotel, she went straight to her room, slammed the door and sunk to the floor behind it. She descended into floods of tears. Could her day get any worse? Brad had a new, gorgeous woman and Greg had found someone to replace her, too. Didn’t anyone care? Didn’t anyone miss her? Was she really that easy to get over?

Fenny’s thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. She reluctantly got to her feet, as there was another knock. Ready to scream at the maid that this was not the best of times, she grabbed several tissues and wiped the tears from her eyes before she opened the door. It was Brad looking worried, tired, and above all, damn sexy.