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.

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.