Get Ready To Rumble

Late into the night and well into the morning Bonnie stared at the ceiling through the dark, wondering when the consequence of her action would be realized. These things never happened quickly. The last time she’d bent a rule just enough to cause alarm, it had been nearly a full week before anyone had even noticed. When they did she’d stood her ground, stubbornly digging in her mint-coloured heels, until eventually they realized that hers had been the right call.

There was a reason the final decision of when to fire an arrow rested entirely on her shoulders.

This felt different though. From where she stood there really wasn’t a valid reason to not seal the deal for them. The only thing still holding her back was that she objected both to him finding someone else, and to him using Tinder to do it.

At some stage, she guessed it was probably the sixties, most of the romance had gone out of dating. No longer did the man turn up on your doorstep bearing flowers and extending his hand to take your own as he walked you to the car. No. Those days were long over. Now you simply saw someone’s photo on your phone and swiped one way to never see them again, the other way to open yourself up to heartfelt messages like ‘DTF?’ from men clearing only in pursuit of one thing.

That was the part Bonnie most objected to. The more relationships she sealed that started with such a base interaction, the more lonely souls that would be lured towards such a start in the hope that it might bring them true love too.

‘Read the file, Bonnie. Please?’ Richard had begged her, and she had.

There was nothing there though. No substance to their interactions, no fleshy filling to solidify any real sense of rapport or chemical attraction. It was purely primal. Hardcore sex, and within twenty-five minutes of meeting.

She continued to stare up at the ceiling and began to wonder, what if, just in this little town of hers, she refused to fire an arrow at anyone who met in a technology-based manner? No internet dating sites, no phone apps, nothing at all that reeked of that sort of dehumanization of falling in love.

In the early hours of the morning a smug smile set on Bonnie’s lips. New game, sports-fans. You want to fall in love on my watch? You’re going to do it the old fashioned way or not at all, she chuckled to herself as she finally drifted off. 

A Picture of What Now?

‘What if I got another job? A different occupation to the mundane task of shooting people all day everyday?’ Bonnie pouted her lips as she pondered the thought. It was a typical day in the office, the usual hive of activity buzzed around her, but Bonnie couldn’t be less interested in the work of ensuring true love.

‘That’s a lovely idea, Bonnie. I’m not sure it would work though. Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t you sign an agreement that committed you to this role till you depart this earth?’ Richard smiled at her sympathetically.

‘Well, yes, technically, but there are always loopholes and ways to exploit the system. The problem is that there is no point doing that without something to fall back on.’ She twisted a pen in her hands and toyed with the career possibilities. ‘I could write another book…’

‘You could. The first one was lovely. Cheryl really enjoyed it. The only thing was that, well, it didn’t really sell that well, did it? So I’m not sure that would work out, is all.’

‘Richard, reality does a good enough job of killing my dreams. You don’t have to jump on board as well.’

‘Sorry, Bonnie,’ he said sheepishly and turned back to his computer screen. ‘Maybe we could talk some more about it later? New orders. Just emailed them to you.’

Bonnie’s eyes scanned the screen. ‘Are you kidding me with this?’ she spat.

‘I know it’s not your usual.’ Richard had lowered his tone.

There he was. The back-up plan, the man who had rejected her because he’d met someone else. Bonnie had been certain that as he hadn’t landed on her desk yet, this affair of his would amount to nothing more than a fling. Instead, she stared at their picture, the stats scrolling the screen beside it, feeling very much like her own heart had been pierced with an arrow. Okay, maybe not her heart, but definitely something in her torso. Or wherever it might be that the ego was contained anyway.

‘Fucking Tinder. As if Ok Cupid wasn’t bad enough. Now we’ve got stupid apps on phones making my job harder.’

‘If it wasn’t a genuine match it wouldn’t come through, Bonnie. They do check these things.’

‘No, they don’t. The get kind of a vibe and then they send it through to me. I had to weed out over 3000 matches they sent through last year that would never have survived the year. The year! Screw it. I’m not shooting him.’ She folded her arms, very much caught in the throes of a tantrum induced by the dire state of her love life.

‘Bonnie…’

‘No, Richard. That jerk has kept me waiting on a commitment for two years now. He wants a girlfriend? He can fake his way through a relationship with her and just pray that his love is pure enough to get them through. Ugh! Three weeks ago he was sending me penis pictures and now he’s apparently in love? No. He can do it without me.’

‘Bonnie,’ sweat appeared on Richard’s top lip. ‘Are you really sure about this one? I mean, I know you are the best-‘

‘The best in the world, Richard. The very best,’ she said, a smug look settling on her face.

‘Yes, but surely part of that is knowing when to make the match and when not to. You never let your personal feelings interfere before. I know it must be upsetting having to shoot all the men you’ve had feelings for, but surely you are mature enough that you wouldn’t avoid making a match just because of a few untoward pictures? Come on, let’s rise above this.’

‘No, Richard. Just no.’ Bonnie’s bottom lip jutted out stubbornly. She was not going to be swayed.

‘But you know what can go wrong,’ he protested.

‘Yes, I do. And you know what? I’m not sure I care anymore.’ She felt a tingle in the exact spot on her ribcage where she’d been branded a cupid. To unknowing eyes it looked like a normal tattoo, but an x-ray of her ribs would reveal it had been etched deep into the bone. The skin burned where the arrow marked her flesh, but Bonnie ignored it.

Richard, mouth agape in horror at Bonnie’s defiance, watched as a sly smile slowly spread across her face.

Fine, she thought to herself. If they weren’t going to let her quit her job, she would be the first cupid in history to get sacked.

And so it was that Bonnie Martin refused to set up a match because of a few penis photos and put herself at risk of becoming the first Cupid in history to be stripped of her arrow.

You Give Love A Bad Name

The girl had yet to reappear with Bonnie's pizza or the offer of more conversation or wine, and Bonnie's will to write had died the second she'd been questioned on the dire and inevitable state of her lovelife.

Darren hadn't exactly been her fault, but what had played out was an occupational hazard. Bonnie only had to look the wrong way at a woman while thinking of Darren and if their paths had crossed before, it was game over Bonnie. Since their phone call she'd found out through her brother that the woman Darren was seeing was none other than someone who had made an office delivery of flowers on Valentine's Day. She'd been thinking about Darren, the woman had been looking at her, by some stupid coincidence the two had met before and then also had bumped into each other that evening. All of a sudden Bonnie's getting orders to fire an arrow and staring down the barrel of a lifetime of loneliness.

The system could grate on her nerves at times.

Sure, inadvertently Bonnie was the cause, but that was just one more reason to hate her job. She hadn't bothered to find out about the back-up plan she'd considered because as yet no orders had come, which meant while they thought they were falling in love theirs was nothing but lust-fuelled excitement. It would die off on it's own soon enough. Not that Bonnie wanted him anymore. She'd already ridden the carousel that was dating him once before and now that he'd chosen someone else, albeit temporarily, it seemed highly unlikely that anyone would agree to fire an arrow at them.

Besides, she'd just fall for him, see a chick he'd screwed, and then have to fire a goddam arrow, she thought to herself.

It was the one major hazard of working in a town this size and why so many Cupids opted for the bigger cities: your one true love might occasionally think about someone else because the Cupid accidentally had, but the chances of their paths crossing and your lover being stripped away from you by someone else were significantly reduced in comparison to country towns. It was the very reason love was so hard to come by in rural areas. What self-respecting Cupid would want to live somewhere that they stood no chance of love themselves? Occasionally a young male would sign on thinking it was guaranteed promiscuity without consequence till the end of time, but eventually it wore them down till there was nothing left but an angry drunk who was of no use to anyone. It was at this point that they were always quietly relieved of their position.

Bonnie's parents had warned her about settling in a town this size. Though they'd lived here for her whole life, they'd met early on in their Cupid careers and had opted to move here together, having had another Cupid shoot them to ensure matrimonial success. The whole industry was a joke in Bonnie's eyes though. Richard's admission on Valentine's Day about working in an office full of people who ignored him had cemented that belief for her.

Then again, she thought to herself, she had wasted enough of her years resenting what it was she did, there was no point dwelling on it any longer. She had been the one to sign on all those years ago, and she had also been the one who stayed even though her parents had warned her against it.

Instead of lamenting she stared at the ocean again, wishing it to rise up and crash against the ground in front of her. It wouldn't. But it didn't stop her wishing all the same.

She met them. She liked them. They met someone else. It was a sick circle of life that only the Cupid lived and Bonnie wanted off the Cupid train. If only there was a way... 

Love Thy Will Be Done

It wasn't a very easy gig to get. In Bonnie's office, for instance, there were no other Cupids. There was her boss and all the usual support staff that the art of matchmaking would require. In Bonnie's industry they were mostly referred to as 'interferers' for the simple reason that their entire role was to run interference and ensure that outcomes were exactly the way as the were handed down from above, or really, exactly the way that Bonnie wanted them to play out. For Bonnie that meant a team of three people of whom she couldn't stand to be in the room with any of them. There was also her boss, and Richard who basically functioned in the role of Bonnie's PA, even though she refused to give orders and refused to have someone dependent on her to do their job. In the ten years they'd worked together Richard had never complained, it was part of the reason she felt something akin to affection towards him. The orders came, Bonnie devised a plan, relayed the information to Richard, and he instructed the interferers on how to make it work.

The idea of 'fate' had long pissed Bonnie off because fate had very little to do with what she did. Every single move was perfectly coordinated. There was no pushing together or couples or ensuring that paths did or didn't meet. There was simply two people who met, at which point Bonnie stepped in, assessed the situation, and then decided whether or not to fire an arrow.

And yes, they were very real arrows. The diaper was entirely the work of some overactive imagination though, and Bonnie had never been seen in anything that didn't look like it had just stepped off a runway in Milan.

This was no Buffy gig though. Bonnie didn't have supernatural levels of strength or any other type of superpower. What she had was a gift, the truth of which had been lost hundreds of generations before, so that now all that existed was myths and housewives tales. It wasn't exactly a religious thing, she couldn't say for sure that there was a deity behind it, but it also was completely removed from any sort of Government 'big brother' type of act. This was just the universe at play. Cupids existed simply because they did.

There was only a specific type of person who could do the role, and over the years, particularly the twentieth century when two world wars had wiped out over half the Cupid population and in many instances also decimated the bloodline, the rules had been relaxed to allow in what were only demi-Cupids just to get the numbers up. They did a satisfactory job, but possessing only fifty percent of the necessary DNA to carry out a job where no amount of training could up-skill you meant the divorce rate had lately been sky rocketing. Bonnie was of a more pure bloodline. Her parents hailed from very different corners of the world, but both being Cupids had decided to marry in order to do their part to reverse the possible extinction of true love.

Even so, given there were a million of them working all over the world at any one time, full-Cupid or not, it hardly made Bonnie feel special to be part of such a gigantic workforce. 

Her catchment, the area in which she was responsible for the entire populations matchmaking, contained 200 000 people. It was a comparatively smaller area than a lot of Cupid's were responsible for and often noses were turned up in disgust at her success rate, dismissing it as the result of someone with much less work to do. 

Sitting there in the cafe, Bonnie's eyes greyed as she stared out at the water and thought back over her journey to that point in time.

It was her 16th birthday when she'd been approached by the man in the trench-coat. The whole thing had reeked of an abduction or a B grade Hollywood film and Bonnie had been quick to assess her options at the bus stop on that rainy day, in case a quick exit was needed.

'Hello, Bonnie.'

She'd looked up with the same level of sass and attitude that sixteen years later she was still known for. 'Hi, creepy weird guy. I don't know you, but if you continue to bother me without a really good reason, I'm going to introduce you to my exceptional ability to call rape."

He guffawed and took a step back. No other cupid had ever addressed him in that manner. 'I assure you I'm not here to hurt you.'

'Then why are you dressed like someone who spends his free time masturbating in cinemas and flashing women on hiking trails?' she had said coolly, without a blink or a hint of concern.  

He had composed himself and then launched into a lengthy explanation of how she was one of the few in the world who possessed the personality set and the DNA structure to carry out the work. Only an hour earlier though the hottie she'd been crushing on for two months had asked out her best friend, and Bonnie was in no mood for listening to creepy old men tell fairy tales. Especially not on her birthday when both her parents would be working late and she would be forced to argue with her brother over whether they were having pizza or toasties for dinner.

Over the next few weeks the creepy weird guy had followed her around town, somehow managing to evade the restraining order she had her parents take out against him and also the police that were apparently ruthlessly hunting him for harassing a minor (although she later found out that her parents had mislead her on both accounts as they were well aware who he was and that his interest in her was genuine and purely employment-related). Eventually Bonnie's curiosity had won out and after their third consensual meeting Bonnie had agreed to start her training, and committed to it like any sixteen year old would an after school job. Which is to say that Bonnie regularly called in sick, prioritised parties over extra weekend shifts, and generally resented having to take orders from an adult when she knew for a fact that adults were stupid. Through all this her parents had beamed at her with pride, knowing their daughter was going to be a star, in that way that all parents thought their children were exceptional until they were jailed or institutionalised.

Bonnie's views really hadn't changed that much over the years. She still refused to engage with men who wore trench coats and she still resented having to work when she had a life to live. The only exceptions were that she'd developed a strong disdain towards parties and didn't tolerate people having sick days unless Death himself was knocking on the door and prepared to write a sick note.

That had actually happened once and Bonnie, much to Richard's distress, had gotten in an argument with him.

Now, after two years of training and fourteen official years in the biz, Bonnie was at a crossroads. She had signed a document saying that she was willing to hand over her life to play the role of Cupid, and agreed to do so forever, which now left her resentful that eighteen-year old Bonnie had been tricked into thinking that this was an occupation that would keep her entertained till the end of her days.

It didn't matter that she was considered the greatest living Cupid, or that she single-handedly dealt out relationships and marriages to over 200 000 people without breaking a sweat, Bonnie had resisted all opportunities to further her career, and had stayed in the same location for that entire period. After sixteen years though, Bonnie was bored and in need of a reason, something, anything, to help her move on. 

In short, Bonnie Martin was sick of playing matchmaker.

Stupid Cupid

The same weather was haunting her pizza place as the previous weekend. The clouds were rolling in, scaring the locals, but annoyingly providing the tourists with a brief respite from the heat and suffocating humidity which seemed to be drawing them out in larger crowds than the week before. The temperature had dropped several degrees as morning had turned to afternoon and the explosive cracks of thunder were making it next to impossible to concentrate. Each time she strung a few thoughts together and positioned her hands above the laptop ready to type, another boom would split the air, making her jump and threatening to spill her drink. The thought of placing the drink down had occurred to her, but unless someone was also going to bring her a straw, it just wasn't happening. The last boom in the sky had managed to somehow take the power with it, and now she sat in the darkened space of the open-plan restaurant, more comfortable without the redundant restaurant lights glaring down on her, and letting the wind off the ocean blow in and whip through her quickly-tangling hair. Every few minutes it picked up just enough to spray a few droplets of rain on her face, but rather than huddling away from it as the tourists did, she stopped and inhaled deeply each time, appreciating the cool spray.

Refusing to let it be a tiresome bother like everything else in her life seemed to be, she continued to breathe in the rain, feeling the magic of it dancing on her face.

A young waiter approached. 'Sorry, miss. The power is out-' Bonnie raised an eyebrow which elicited a chuckle from the girl. 'But I guess you worked that bit out. Anyway, generator isn't working yet so there will be a bit of a wait on food. Sorry 'bout that.'

'How long have you been here?'

'I started at eleven,' she said chirpily. There was no other way to describe it. She was chirpy. That didn't bode well for any interactions she and Bonnie were going to have.

'I meant, how long have you been working here? I haven't seen you before. And I'm always here.' The words sounded dry as they fell from her mouth so she took a long drink in the hope it would grease her words so they at least didn't grate on her own nerves.

'You say that like it's a bad thing?'

The response caught her slightly off-guard. This young woman, she looked to be only nineteen or maybe early twenties at the oldest, was trying to engage her in conversation when most people her own age or older knew to be intimidated. Once she cast her steely gaze their way they backed down. Bonnie eyed her intently. This girl was either stupid, or she didn't scare easily.

'This is my post-Valentine's Day treat. Not to be confused with the treat I had on Valentine's Day or the bottle of wine I drank last night in celebration of my sixth anniversary being a single woman.'

'Oh. That doesn't sound good.'

Bonnie shrugged. 'No, I pretty much did nothing for Valentine's Day this year. I just wasn't feeling it. It is what it is, right? Isn't that what they say.'

'They also say there are plenty more fish in the sea but when did that ever make anyone feel better?' The waitress laughed and Bonnie heard herself laughing in harmony with her. 'He, or she?' she quickly added and Bonnie gave a barely discernible shake of the head to clarify. 'They're out there for you somewhere, that person you're going to love.'

Bonnie cleared her throat. 'Actually they're not.'

'Oh don't be like that. You can't give up so easily.'

'Call it an occupational hazard, but it's next to impossible for me to fall in love. I more have to make do when or if the time comes with whatever the time decides to throw at me.' Her eyes lost focus as she gazed out over the ocean to the storm haunting it above it's depths, aware of how much sadder her reality made her each year that passed. Something that had seemed so trivial in her younger days now cast a shadow over much of her life.

'Oh, do you travel a lot for work.'

Bonnie smiled. This guessing game never ended well. 'No.'

'Do you work long hours?'

'No more than a normal person.'

'Oooh! A mystery job! I bet I can work it out.' The girls eyebrows slid closer together and she stared at Bonnie's face. 'Give me a clue.'

'I'm in the business of setting people up.'

'Oh you work for an internet dating company? That's so cool.' The girl was genuinely impressed, but Bonnie 'tsked' her disgust.

'Please, internet dating is nothing without me.'

'What do you like run the stats in the background or something.'

'Think of me more like the person who fires the arrows. And you can't fire arrows at yourself now can you?'

'You're like a cupid for a dating agency or something! That's so cute.'

A blast of air hit Bonnie in the face as the restaurant lit up again and the fans kicked in. The waitress clapped her hands. 'Yay! Let me see how long on your food,' she practically sang the words before turning and scurrying off, leaving Bonnie with an empty drink and the bitter taste of never really being heard.

It had been several years ago that Bonnie had started to resent her job, both because of how it cut her off from ever really forging relationships, but also because like being in the Secret Service, it wasn't something you were really supposed to lie about. Sitting in that restaurant watching the rain and sipping wine was not a woman who worked for a dating agency, or had an online dating business. This wasn't a woman who regularly ran stats or took guesses on who might work with who. That was child's play and was a job for salesmen and con artists. Bonnie was neither. No, the little secret that Bonnie was hiding it wouldn't even help to share because no one would believe her. She'd barely believed it herself when she had begun living it. But now here she was, more than ten years later, still single and with nothing but a slew of happy marriages behind her, none of which she'd been a part of. In fact, when it came to her line of work Bonnie was the best there was and no one could set up a happy marriage like she could.

There wasn't another Cupid on the planet who was as good as Bonnie Martin or who had a 99% score rate.

Status: Old.

 ‘I need to cancel Sunday.’

Bonnie narrowed her eyes. This was not good. This was not part of her perfectly constructed plan to have an excuse to remain in this small, backward town till the end of her days. If what she thought was about to happen was happening, well that would mean she was back to having no reason to stay, and no reason to stay meant having to consider the possibility that her current state was not making her happy and that had the potential to lead to the need to move somewhere, and that would mean needing to access a motivation that she really didn’t want to have to arouse.

This was not good at all.

‘Why?’ Sure, she could’ve made her voice sound friendlier, but really, she just didn’t want to and Bonnie wasn’t into doing things she didn’t want to. Particularly not with men who were about to hurt her delicate feelings. Or perhaps not her feelings, but her plans at least.

‘Well, I, uh, I met someone.’

‘When?’ Bonnie’s voice was cool. It was happening again and as much as she was used to it, she was far from impressed.

‘Last night.’

‘You met someone on Valentine’s Day? That actually happens?' 

‘Yeah, I went out for a drink after work and she was there. We started talking and, uh, well…’

‘Ew. No need to get graphic.’ It was surprising to Bonnie just how little emotion she was feeling about her current predicament, other than being annoyed at having to now remember to cross Darren off the whiteboard when she got to work on Monday morning.

‘I’m sorry about this, Bonnie. I know you were really looking forward to it.’

She raised an eyebrow. That was the thing about men. They always assumed that if they didn’t want you that there would be hysterics, tears, and a theatrical performance once they delivered the news. ‘Mostly I was looking forward to having an excuse to stick around this town. Now I need to get a new plan. Maybe I should message that guy I dated…’ Bonnie’s voice trailed off as if she had forgotten Darren was on the other end of the phone.

‘Sorry?’

‘What?’ Bonnie snapped back to the conversation with a blink.

‘You said something about some other guy?’

‘Oh. Did I? Just thinking out loud I guess.’

‘Well, I mean, don’t go writing us off just yet, I mean if it doesn’t work out with this chick I might give you a call sometime-’

‘Ugh.’ But Darren didn’t hear her because Bonnie had hung-up on him. He’d already screwed with her plans, she wasn’t about to also let him make her a second choice.  Besides, this wasn’t the first time that Bonnie had been in this situation. It also wasn't the first time she was probably going to get called into work on a weekend because of such a thing.

It was fine though. She had a plan. There was still a front-runner on the whiteboard who could turn out to be her one true love, thus securing her status as a local girl.

Though it was beneath her and she instantly felt dirty for using such a tacky messaging platform, Bonnie delicately let her hands flutter across the laptop, versing a quick message, something straight to the point.

Dinner tomorrow night?

Sipping from the ever-present glass in her hand, she smiled. Ball now firmly in play, she placed her hopes in the last real contender on her list. He wasted no time in replying.

Hey! Sorry, should’ve told you sooner. I’ve started seeing someone. How’s things though?

Jaw wide, eyebrows high, and frozen in terror at the worst possible turn in events coming true, Bonnie Martin could no longer deny it: at thirty-two she had officially reached that point in her life where she was no longer as desirable as she once had been. Bonnie was officially out of options.

Cupcakes & Valentine's Day

The pounding in her head was not making it easier to concentrate. It was becoming a yearly tradition, one that she knew she was too old to continue indulging in, but which she indulged in all the same.

Last night had been the eve of Valentine’s Day and with her greatest prospect being a date with Darren on Sunday, it had seemed like the best way to celebrate the eve of having to endure the pain of falsified declarations of love was with a drink. Or however many drinks were contained in a bottle. When the desire to let a tear escape had started, Bonnie had dragged herself off to bed and passed out in a drunken stupor.

Dressed in a black peplum and fitted skirt, she stared at the whiteboard, analysing it.

‘Are you ever going to tell me what that code is?’ The bald man suffering from middle-aged spread who sat at the desk across her divider rarely spoke to her. For the most part Bonnie scared him. She came in dressed like a high-class lawyer, oozing the attitude and pout of Victoria Beckham, and hating on everything that the job had to offer. At 55 and with two teenage daughters damaging his sleeping patterns, Richard had no idea how to handle a woman like Bonnie who clearly knew exactly how to handle men.

‘No.’ Bonnie continued staring, but a flutter in the back of her brain made her rethink her position. ‘Yes, actually.’ She turned her head towards Richard. ‘It’s my lifeline. Once it’s gone, so am I.’

‘That doesn’t sound good,’ Richard swallowed nervously and began to fidget, now uncomfortable that he’d been engaged in her stare. ‘Should I call someone?’

‘Do you need to call someone?’ she asked dryly. This was bordering on conversation for the sake of conversation and that never ended well. Bonnie heard herself though and felt something that closely resembled guilt. She didn’t have the most pleasant tone, at times she irked herself. It wasn’t that she wanted people to be terrified of interacting with her, more so that she needed them to give her some space and only talk about the things she wanted to talk about, and only talk about them when she wanted to talk about them.

‘Um, no, but I thought maybe you were feeling down. I don’t know. Do you even have that emotion?’ A row of sweat beads had formed on Richard’s top lip, just above where the quiver had started and his eyes widened as his brain comprehended what he’d just said to her. The sight made Bonnie giggle like a schoolgirl.

‘Calm down, Richard. I promise not to eat your heart out while it’s still beating in your chest.’

She actually saw the way he released his breathe, like for a second he had literally been fearing for his life. ‘I’m sorry you’re alone on Valentines Day, Bonnie.’

The smile disappeared and her voice developed a crisp edge. ‘I’m perfectly lonely, okay? I’m alone because I choose to be alone. People can throw all the roses around that they want on one day of the year, pretending that they’re more loved up than I am, but the truth my friend is that they are every bit as alone as I am. The difference is that I choose to be, whilst they have to lie next to the same person each and every night pretending that they can’t feel that emptiness inside that stems only from either choosing the wrong person or from falling out of love. So thank you, Richard, but let me assure you that there is nothing wrong with being alone.’

Turning back to her computer her fingers smashed at the keyboard  with a ferocity that threatened to send a few keys flying.

‘Well, anyway, my wife made some Valentine’s Day cupcakes for me and the kids and she thought you might want one. Just a bit of fun really, what with where we work. She told me to share them with my work friends, but really, you’re the only person who talks to me.’

‘Are you serious?’

‘You don’t have to have it if you don’t want to.’ Richard's face dropped in shame.

‘It’s a cupcake, Richard. Of course I want it. I mean are you serious that no one else talks to you?’

He didn’t need to speak. The crestfallen look spoke for him. Richard had always struck her as the type who would’ve been bullied extensively during his formative years for being a little too shy, a little too soft. His wife, every bit as gentle, had always struck Bonnie as someone who oozed all the nicety of a country comfort magazine. Standing tall, she took two long strides to cover the distance between her desk and his. She reached out and smiled with all the warmth that her cold heart could muster. ‘Thank you for the cupcake, Richard. I hope you and your wife enjoy some time together this evening. And these people?’ she gestured with a dismissive, backward wave of her hand. ‘Fuck them. You’re better than them. There’s a reason you’re the only person in this place that I let talk to me.’

Bonnie didn’t see it because she’d turned to walk away, but with those simple words she drew the first smile from Richard that had crossed his face in the four years since he’d been doing time in that office. And once she was out of his gaze Bonnie smiled too. Richard and his wife had just given her her first Valentines present in six years. Licking icing off her fingers she smiled devilishly and devoured the entire thing in two bites.

Bonnie Martin was nothing if not complex.

Game Changer.

As much as she was loath to do so, it was time for Bonnie to give divorced plus one age two an answer. Even she wasn’t cruel or ignorant enough to not know that the time had come to play it out. Her boss had been missing for hours, everyone had been smart enough to leave her alone, and now with Valentine’s Day less than twelve hours away, it was cruel to keep him hanging on if there was a chance he actually liked her and wasn’t just trying to sleep with her.

Dialling his number she felt a stab of disappointment in herself that she still hadn’t entirely embraced different messaging forms as the basis of communication in her relationships. It would’ve been so easy to just shoot off a text message or a quick few words on Facebook, but not only did that not sit well with her, she also had to weigh-in to the equation that if she did the wrong thing here her brother would never let it die.

‘Darren? It’s Bonnie.’ Squinting in pain at what was coming, Bonnie sat spine fully erect in her chair thinking queen-like, murderous thoughts.

‘Hey, I was wondering when I’d hear from you.’ He had the type of phone voice that always made her mind drift to places it shouldn’t while she was at work.

‘Sorry it took me so long to get back to you.’

‘That’s okay. You been busy?’

‘No.’

There was an awkward silence and while she recognised that the socially accepted protocol would’ve been to lie and say yes, it wasn’t in Bonnie’s nature to avoid telling the truth for someone else’s sake.

‘Ah. Well. These things happen.’

And it was happening. It wasn’t that Bonnie was socially awkward, it was just that she didn’t care. She said exactly what she was thinking, did exactly what she wanted, and struggled with the niceties of human interaction. Clearly he hadn’t been aware of that when he asked her. She’d contemplated letting him down easy, but then she would’ve bumbled through the words and gotten tongue-tied. Instead she was Bonnie.

‘You asked me on a date.’

‘Yeah, I did. I was thinking Sunday afternoon we could go to that pizza place you like. How about I’ll pick you up around 2pm and we stick around for a feed and a few drinks?’

Game changer, she thought to herself. It was her perfect spot. It was her perfect time. Driving had been eliminated from the equation. She stood up, turned to the whiteboard behind her with its list written in some indecipherable code and added her shorthand for ‘Darren’ to it. Congratulations Darren, she mused, for he had gone to the top of Bonnie’s Eligible Bachelor’s list.

‘That sounds perfect,’ she purred into the phone, because really it did. She smiled to herself and accidentally caught the eye of a nearby employee. Murderous thoughts back in her head just like Charlize instructed and the colleague quickly looked away.

So it was settled then. Bonnie Martin had a date for Sunday with the man she now considered the most likely contender for the role of her knight in shining armour.

‘Great,’ she muttered under her breath as she realised the one little detail she’d been forgetting. A date meant excitement and even she wasn’t robotic enough to avoid the small-talk in the office next week if the date went well. For now though she pushed her fears of human interaction out of her mind and went back to staring blankly at the manuscript, all thoughts on what exactly she was going to wear.

Peep Show? Ugh, No.

The screen flashed a message in the bottom right hand corner. It was her own fault. What sort of self-respecting woman left the Facebook chat on, she groaned to herself. Without looking at the name she re-filled her glass, certain it was going to be the very person she was ignoring. She took a sip, followed it up with a deep breath, squared her shoulders and clicked on the bottom right hand corner.

'Oh Christ.' The dogs looked up at the unfamiliar noise. Bonnie was as useless with small-talk with them as she was with people. The sound had them both pricking their ears up.

Hey, sweetie. How's things?

Bonnie shook her head.

Mother, it's weird when you message me on here.

It was going to be a three-glass night, Bonnie could just feel it.

It's weird that I have to message you on here. Don't you answer your phone anymore? It's also weird that you haven't found a man. Are you a lesbian? I only ask because your father is worried about you.

Twirling her long, brunette ponytail in her fingers, Bonnie considered which level of hell you went to for lying to your parents about your sexuality and how many levels down she would be prepared to go if it made them stop asking for grandchildren. With so little say in the outcome it was too risky though and she went with a more pragmatic response.

A woman can be single by choice without being a lesbian, mother. We've talked about this. FFS, Ellen is married. And if I were a lesbian, would this really be the best medium of communication in which to relay that message?

Nodding to herself she was proud of her self-control.

What does FFS mean? I worry about you.

Her face dropped into her hands and more groans and profanities filled the air.

I'll call you tomorrow, mum.

Turning the chat off she drained her glass and considered getting a hobby. As quickly as the idea came it was gone (most likely due to being drowned out by alcohol) so she went back to staring at the Facebook newsfeed and debating whether or not to post something contentious just for the sake of being contentious.

The last week she'd posted a political article that she hadn't even bothered to read but which had stirred a lot of debate amongst the introverts of Tumblr, which had automatically made it good Facebook fodder. Pouting her lips like a centrefold she tried to remember just what it had been but it escaped her. She'd lost seven friends over that status update though. It was hard to care when she had yet work out who a single one of those seven were. At any time Bonnie could tell you exactly how many people were in her friends list. Make no mistake though, it was more her interest in seeing what she could and couldn't get away with than any need to feel wanted that kept her checking the numbers.

Also because she was bored and wanted attention. The laptop made another annoying noise.

'Ugh.' Someone else messaging her.

DTF?

Chivalry was indeed dead. She was sure of it.

No. Go away you disgusting creep.

If he'd been in front of her she definitely would've contemplated stabbing him.

You didn't say that when I was screwing your brains out.

Bonnie's eyebrows hit the ceiling.

It was 1998, you were my first boyfriend, the sex was crap, and you spent eleven months stalking me after we broke-up. You do not now get to message me ON FACEBOOK nearly fifteen years later to ask me to have sex with you like we just saw each other. You were vile then, you're clearly still vile now. Die.

She opened his profile and with a feeling of power, calmly hit block, indicating that he was someone she didn't know. Triumphant, she smiled and poured another glass.

Yes, it was indeed a riveting life that Bonnie Martin was leading and it was nice to know her prediction had been right. It was indeed a three glass night.

Bonnie's Going To Hell

Valentine’s Day loomed ahead of Bonnie like a flashing neon sign reminding her that at this rate there was a very good chance she was going to die old and alone. Rolling her eyes, such things never bothered her. If people felt a need to celebrate their love with flower deliveries in front of watchful eyes, and if they needed a date on the calendar just to go to a nice restaurant together, well, they probably weren’t going to make it anyway.

She smiled knowingly to herself and, as always, sipped from her glass.

Bonnie had once had a boyfriend who insisted on buying her flowers every week. Initially he’d told her it was because he wanted her to know how special she was. Then, as the weeks turned into months, he admitted it probably had a little more to do with him liking the way they made her bedroom smell so pretty, and then, on the eve of her eighteenth birthday, he’d come clean and admitted that it had a lot more to do with his own personal love of flowers. In particular he was a fan of orchids and she’d recently learned that he had a whole section of the garden outside the apartment he shared with his boyfriend, Lawrence, just dedicated to exotic varieties.

Sometimes Bonnie missed him a little and wished they could’ve stayed in touch, but then her life was not Will & Grace, and even yearly Christmas cards were just a little too much commitment for her. There was only one person she was prepared to even attempt any level of commitment with and it looked like another day had passed without her having to make any moves to realising who that man may be, and for that she was thankful.

So thankful she took another sip from her glass.

It was a groundhog day of an evening that left her with two options: stare at the television or stare at Facebook. Years earlier she’d learned that growing up as part of the MTV generation meant she had no idea how to sit still and read a book; a shame given how much she enjoyed writing them.

The divorced plus age two friend of her brother’s was still waiting to hear from her but her mind was no clearer. She prayed that something would save her from having to give him an answer. As wrong as it would be for the mother to secretly snatch the child in the night, it would really suit Bonnie if that happened. Not indefinitely of course, she wasn’t completely heartless, but long enough for them to cement a relationship strong enough that she didn’t run away at the first hurdle. Like when the child started crying the first time. Bonnie trembled at the thought.

Like divine intervention the phone sang to life beside her and shattered her daydream.

Katy Perry ringtone, of course.

‘He’s done it again,’ the voice sounded frantic. Bonnie nodded. She handled these situations regularly, plus, she just kind of liked to nod knowingly at regular intervals. That and stare with a murderous queen-like rage like Charlize Theron suggested. Through experimentation Bonnie had established that equally desirable results could be obtained from each.

‘What did your husband do that could possibly warrant screeching down the phone at me like a banshee?’ Bonnie swung her ponytail side-to-side, bored.

‘He wasn’t listening when I was talking to him. Honestly, I was at work all day, I came home and he wouldn’t even listen to me.’

It was a conversation that Bonnie had had a million times. Julie was the closest thing that Bonnie had to a best friend and this very scene played out with alarming regularity. At first the phone calls had made her anxious, threatening to steal her calm with the desperation in Julie’s voice, but she’d since learned that as much as she loved the woman, the truth was that Julie was a drama queen who seemed intent on running her marriage to Jack into the ground for no good reason other than that she could.

‘What were you talking about?’

‘The kids.’

‘The school kids?’ Bonnie screwed her nose up, trying not to side with Jack but finding herself living with his pain. Julie was an artist who was currently trying her hand at running art classes with school groups.

‘I was telling them about our painting today.’

‘Okay. And what did Jack do today?’

‘How would I know?’ Julie cried frantically into the phone. She was not handling the line of questioning with the level of calm that Bonnie would’ve preferred.

‘Well, I guess if I was Jack and you hadn’t asked me how I was and then you started prattling on about finger painting six year olds, I’d probably stop listening too.’

‘That’s my job!’ Julie protested.

‘Sorry, sweetie. That doesn’t make it anymore interesting to anyone except an over-bearing, finger-painting enthusiast, stay-at-home mother with a child in your class.’

Bonnie supposed she was going to hell when she died.

‘You’re so infuriating sometimes!’

The phone went dead in her hands and Bonnie couldn’t help but nod in agreement. Infuriating she may be, but it was also borderline impressive how she had managed to avoid yet another opportunity to give her potential date an answer by filling her evening with staring at her laptop screen and consuming copious amounts of red wine.

The truth was, Bonnie Martin would’ve been infuriated with herself too, if she could have been bothered.

This Ain't No Bridget.

Bonnie was no Bridget Jones though.

This wasn't a woman who was desperately searching for a man in the hope of tying herself down and giving birth to mini-Bonnies. The opposite of that was much closer to who she actually was. Her lack of motivation for her life stemmed from a failed career as a writer and from her dedicating too much of her precious time to Tumblr. Well, that and her drinking. It still wasn't clear to her how she felt about marriage - other than of course that she liked the idea of being adored forever, but also understood entirely that statistically that was unlikely given that her life was not the Hollywood movie that she had once hoped it would be - and while she loved her niece and nephew, whenever they were left in her care for more than a two hour stretch she went home exhausted and in need of more alcohol than a typical day's end would normally require.

It was a predicament of sorts. When you're in your thirties, or so Bonnie had found, men who weren't sold on the idea of children were significantly harder to get your hands on than men in their twenties, yet your twenties was exactly when you wanted a man willing to commit and take the next step. Even Bonnie herself had wanted that five years ago and had left a long-term partner who had refused to deliver on that desire. He had since also refused to deliver with the next woman and was in danger once again of being left for someone who was more willing to donate some sperm in the pursuit of propagation.

The thought made Bonnie shudder.

It was the very reason the divorced man was still waiting on a reply to the lunch date invitation he'd extended to her three days earlier. Divorced she could handle, divorced plus one age two was slightly more confronting.

That conundrum was the very thing that was occupying her thoughts the next day as she stared blankly at a computer screen and tried to ooze just enough negative attitude that people left her alone, but not so much that they might report her for breaching the company's code of conduct on interactions between employees or whatever it was called. It's not like she'd actually bothered to read the document.

Unfortunately some were not so adept at reading Bonnie's cool veneer.

'Hey, Bonnie. How was your weekend?'

Of all the things that annoyed Bonnie - humidity, children who hung around for more than two hours, dessert that wasn't chocolate-based, and people who didn't know how to pronounce 'pinot noir' - forced familiarity was definitely in the top ten things that made her want to grab random objects and either smash them against a wall or snap them over her knee.

Her eyes narrowed on the poor defenceless creature standing before her and forcing poor Bonnie to view them as a target.

'Fine.' Her words were curt. She let a beat pass after she'd spoken before she forced a candy-floss dripping smile. Shoot people a cutesy-pie look and they knew. They knew they were better off walking away than continuing to stay in her sights.

He took the hint. 'Oh, that's good.' Slowly he backed away and she kept her eyes on him the whole time to ensure he didn't get cocky and try with a follow-up question. 'Have a nice day'.

Not a question. She let it slide.

Look, it wasn't that she didn't like people, she wanted to scream at the room, it was just that small-talk was the most pointless of all talk. Had something happened that she wanted to discuss with this man she barely knew, she would've brought it up. She was staring at a screen, something she was paid to do, and he came along asking her questions that she didn't care about and which she wasn't paid to answer. She didn't need to be reminded that she had spent the entire weekend alone because all of her friends had gone and got married and had children. It was tough enough to have to deal with without having to relive it every time a near-stranger decided they wanted to make small-talk.

It truly was a wonder she made it through her days without resorting to violence more often, she thought to herself.

But back to the divorced plus age two guy. If she was clever she'd be able to deliberate on it long enough that at least three hours passed without her even answering a phone or replying to a single email. She knew because that was how long she'd drawn it out for on Friday when she'd first received the invitation.

Yep, she thought to herself, it is going to take something very rewarding to steal me away from this gig in a hurry. So she let the humidity continue to annoy her, she held off on giving him an answer, and instead she spent the morning staring at her old, failed manuscript and wondering whether she should throw it away like the trash it clearly was, or try to polish a diamond out of it's worthless pages. And in between those thoughts she took pleasure in ignoring all calls from her boss and routinely sending glares out in the direction of anyone who dared veer too close to her cubicle.

That was exactly how Bonnie Martin liked to spend the hours her lifestyle required her to kill at work.

Meet Bonnie.

It was too sticky to even contemplate moving. The heat was the main reason she'd been dreaming about leaving this place for the last eight years. The lack of a plan or any sort of clear desire or even something vaguely described as motivation was the reason she hadn't bothered. Wiping away the sweat beads that formed everywhere - and it really was everywhere. The backs of her legs, in her armpits, her neck, and that line on her upper lip that disgusted her so much - kept her busy enough.

The view couldn't be complained about though. A grey sky was trapping in the heat but even with the storm clouds rolling in over the ocean she was happy enough staring out at the murky coloured water. There were days it was pretty, serene, telling her this was a perfect place to really grow some roots and dig in for another eight years, but no view was ever going to make up for the perpetual drip of sweat and paranoia about her body odour.

Why would anyone live somewhere that jeans weren't an option for at least three months a year, she regularly asked herself, but here she was, hanging on because it really was just easier to think that she'd already met him and should wait around for him to realise it was her that he'd been dreaming about.

It was pathetic. She wasn't in denial about that. Worse though was that she wasn't entirely sure who 'him' was. It could've been her brother's best friend, the recently divorced man she'd been fantasising about since she was sixteen and who always dirty danced with her at weddings, clubs, and the like. Or maybe it was the man she'd briefly dated nearly two years before and who had managed to keep her infatuated for a period much longer than the length of time he stuck around for (six weeks had bought him two years of wondering what could've been, to be exact).

Look, the thing was, it didn't really matter who 'him' was, the main thing was that she had an excuse to stay and didn't need to metaphorically grab that bull by the horns and take a flying leap into uncertainty.

Thirty-two, singled five years ago and living in the past, athletic, not career focused but in a job that allowed her some comforts, it seemed silly to throw it all out the window just because of her eternal and passionate distaste for humidity.

Tourists, though. They were everywhere. Coupled with the humidity that was definitely enough reason to move somewhere that was dominated more by locals. Scowling at a loved-up couple sitting at the table beside hers, she took another sip of her wine. She drank too much. She knew that, yet she didn't care. It was the reason her once athletic frame now had a softer feel to it and she regularly reminded herself that there were some men out there who preferred this look. It made it okay in her mind, acceptable even, which allowed her to continue what she was doing without any guilt.

A tropical pizza sat in front of her and as much as the cliche of eating a tropical pizza in the tropics annoyed her to the point of considering ordering something different, it was the very same dish that she ate in this exact restaurant every single Sunday afternoon. Always alone. It wasn't that she didn't have friends as such, it was just more that making plans also annoyed her. Her inner control freak struggled with the idea of not being able to change her mind just because she felt like it, and so each Sunday she ate alone. Picking off the pineapple, then the topping, and then the base. Always ignoring the curious looks from whichever annoying tourist was sat beside her; she was a creature of habit.

The couple beside her now were no exception. They continued canoodling and it was as perfect a reason as any to continue drinking. The thing was - and she had this on good authority from a recently widowed woman she worked with - that loneliness tends to fuel drinking. The woman had practically okayed her continuing to drink with her lunchtime and evening meals, and without children, a partner or any real responsibility other than putting food in the dogs bowls daily and remembering to be at work by 7am, what reason did she have to not drink?

So it was settled. She would drink as much as she was legally allowed to whilst still being able to drive, and then she would remind herself that moving somewhere with an apartment in the city - thus negating the need to limit her alcohol consumption - was a perfect reason to finally move out of this seaside, tourist town that was so far removed from the real world and all the places she would rather be.

That was exactly how Bonnie Martin spent her Sunday afternoon.