Sunday Morning Shagging Screams Reminds You’re Not Married To Your Roommate
Tales Of Week 11 Of The Andie Chronicles And Her Breakup
Day 71: Tales Of Free Ideas And Disgruntled Best Friend Gifts
I tied the laces on my new Louis Vuitton runners.
The term “runner’ isn’t accurate. If I were putting together the description, it would read, “lounge shoes with a sporty look.
Ideal for those who want to look like they’re into health and fitness but really want to lord designer clothing over their friends.”
As I swooped and pulled the lace through, I couldn’t help but lament my new ownership. Not only didn’t they fit that well, but they also weren’t what I went to the shops to buy yesterday.
Yet, that’s the problem when you’re gifted with fashion like this. How can you complain? Even though someone I know will eventually designer-shame me, for owning frivolous, pointless footwear.
When the eventual time comes to defend my choices, I won’t know how to credit for the gift. James wouldn’t tell me how he was able to waltz into Louis Vuitton, demand the attention of a specific manager, and walk out with free gifts.
And if he wouldn’t tell me in the shop, or when I was walking out with the shoes, and a collection of bags, scarves and belts, he wasn’t going to tell me now. I kept asking. Pleading with undignified persistence. Once he told me to —
“shut up and fucking stop asking”
— I took his aggression with the warning that it was.
I have never seen James take evasive action with me. If I didn’t know him so well I would feel scared, and intimidated.
Instead, I could see how desperately he was trying to keep something from me, hide some part of his life. Lashing out was his only way of controlling himself. Not that I’m justifying how he spoke to me.
But some people are so transparent, their anger means very little.
This was one of those moments. The stakes must be pretty high, I thought, studying the LV logo. And with that accepting thought, a sense of fear engulfed me. James had already moved into my house because of extreme adversity.
What was next?
You would have thought the woman, Sara, at Louis Vuitton, would fill me in. If I could have got a moment alone with her, I would have asked every question possible.
Yet, the moments we had was quickly short-lived. James would demand Sara follow him, and accompany him as he picked pieces we both “needed”.
It was clear she was there to please him, no matter who I was in his life.
And on the way home, I couldn’t stop James from talking about ideas, and things we could do for the business.
Only a few minutes away from the shops, he pulled the car over and demanded we swap seats. I drove home whilst he transcribed ideas into the notes section of his phone. He was brimming with them, some he said out loud, others he kept to himself.
This feverish behaviour was eerily familiar. But I had to tell myself this was not a repeat of the entrepreneur conference at the Sofitel. James was not in my ex’s pocket.
He was not colluding with him.
As I told myself that, breaking in my new shoes, I was struggling to believe my reality right now. I felt like I was being bought and fobbed off all at the same time.
And you know what you say about instincts, right?
Day 72: Tales Of Matching Outfits And Unplanned Liars
“Oh, you’re out of bed.”
James was standing in the living room, dressed head to toe in brand new sweat and Louis Vuitton runners. He bought the same pair as me in a slight colour variation.
I wasn’t sure we would ever wear them at the same time. But as I looked down at the gym clothes adorning my body, it would seem the improbable was about to happen.
I didn’t think they suited him. The colour and shape were all wrong for him. But I didn’t dare tell James. The man thought of himself as someone above style; he believed he had the mind of Wintour.
And whilst sometimes he got it right, correcting him now would only further deepen the tension between us.
“I sure am. I promised GG I would meet her at spin class today. I’ll see you there?”
Feeling my face contort with revulsion, I begged myself not to react. Don’t take the bait. Don’t give him the sarcasm you’re so desperate to deliver. And that he deserved.
Of course, I would see him there. It was my spin class before it was GG’s. And I had been begging James to come for ages. I was also standing before him in head-to-toe workout gear, about to mix my protein water before waltzing out the door.
Like I did every Tuesday morning.
Of course, I would see him there, I thought.
What else would I be doing?!
“Yes, you will. If you wait a moment, we can walk together.” I moved towards the kitchen but James reached for the front door instead.
“Can’t. I need to talk to GG.”
“We have coffee afterwards. You could talk to her then.” James’ eyes darted around the room.
“Yeah — but — ” he paused.
I felt his eyes on me. I wasn’t going to help him come up with an excuse for why he couldn’t be my friend and wait for me. I wasn’t going to let him be MIA another time in our life.
It was time for answers.
I started mixing my protein water in my travel container and shook it loudly. The metal ball rattling against the plastic container cut through the silence between us.
“I’m ready now. Perhaps when you’re going to have secret conversations, you had better come up with excuses ahead of time. Especially when you’re gatecrashing something I’m always at.”
Walking out the front door and down the street, feeling James keeping his distance behind me, I didn’t feel proud.
Or smug.
Or like calling him out on his secrecy was a good idea.
It felt like the opposite. It seemed to only reinforce the fact it was my friends versus me. And that I was being left out of something.
And, perhaps worst of all, they knew I had worked that out, too.
It would only mean a confrontation was coming. That wasn’t something any of us were looking forward to.
Day 73: Tales Of Dating Re-establishment and Back-Up Boyfriends
Why do I keep finding myself on Tinder?
Lying in bed, listening to another lashing of Melbourne weather belt down against the roof of 1 Lovelock Drive, I’m lonely.
It’s been months since I shared this bed with a man, or slept next to a warm body. And for months now, no one has provided me with unforgettable pleasure.
You know the kind right?
It’s those scream-inducing moments that make you forget all about your collection of sexual aids in your bedside drawers.
I’m sure if things were better with James I could ask him who on this app would be perfect for a quick romp. But there was no way I was trusting him with anything about my love life right now.
He wasn’t exactly acting like the tolerant best friend, enduring the ups and downs in my life as I did his.
I felt almost ready to cut him off.
But now he was my roommate, the situation was getting more complicated than ever.
My Tinder profile is incomplete. I’m not sure what to say about myself.
“Hey world, I need someone to have meaningless yet not scary sex with. Don’t expect much because my last boyfriend dumped me and I have no idea why and that means I’m 99% sure it’s because I’m bad in bed.”
Yeah, probably can’t write that. Three emojis will have to do for now.
I see a man that reminds me of my first boyfriend. I lost my virginity to him. Most of the girls I went to school with, the private school brigade, regretted their first.
They wished they had waited for the one. I don’t live with such regrets. The first person you sleep with is a mere another person who helps you figure out what you want in bed.
Reading into who they are and what they meant to you only prevents you from getting into bed with anyone else.
I swipe past the guy. And a few more. I swipe past a man who I’m pretty sure I went to university with.
The face rings a bell.
Best to not lust over someone who knows the old version of me. The young, dumb and horny version of me. Thirty-five-year-old me has my shit together.
Well, depends on who you ask, I guess.
I see a man I’m convinced was on Big Brother. Or MAFS. Maybe The Bachelor? Either way, the airbrushed photo isn’t helping me think the available people in the world are real, raw or what I’m looking for.
With all the secrets going on under my own roof, I didn’t need someone who required decoding.
Wanting sex seemed like an exercise in futility. Needing sex? There was no point pining over that either.
I turned to my bedside table, pulled open the drawer and sighed. Even a vibrator couldn’t cut it now.
Day 74: Tales Of Ex-BF Memories And Lost Hope
You don’t always expect your roommate to be home when you wake up.
You’re not married to them, which many people in your life love to remind you of.
But when they are your best friend, you would hope they would leave a note when they walk out the door. I mean a message on your private WhatsApp chat, of course.
Now James and I were in this cycle of him leaving the house without rhyme or reason, and me not saying anything, why break with tradition?
And why would today be any different?
For some reason, I thought I would find James returning to Chadstone. To schmooze the woman at Louis Vuitton. Sara.
He didn’t quite seem done the other day like there was more to this relationship had there not been an audience. Had I not been there.
Sorry, another correction.
Before I knew it I found myself standing in front of the store at Chadstone, ogling at the entrance in confused bemusement. I studied everything about it, wondering why this seemingly innocuous store had become my beacon.
What answers was I hoping to gain?
What questions did I have to ask?
I could see Sara standing at the back of the store, her arms crossed, matching her staunch expression.
A step in the wrong direction and she would see me staring, like a possessed idiot. I couldn’t have that. I know I already looked like the idiot with the pulled over my eyes.
Why make it worse by confirming her opinion of me?
As I scanned the customers in the store, I couldn’t find James either. The whole point of coming here was a bust.
I marched away, through the gauntlet of designer clothes, and back to my car. Opening the driver’s side door, it was like I had opened a time capsule. And the stench didn’t help.
I could smell old food packets, washing that needed desperate cleaning, and a funky stale stench I couldn’t identify.
Old wine? Surely not. I hoped not. Why was I only noticing this smell now?
I drove to the shops. How did I get in and get all the way here without discovering the smell?
One of the great mysteries of life. That and finding your ex’s shoes under your passenger seat.
I don’t even remember when he wore this pair. But they didn’t smell nice. For a man who was always so well groomed and never had a hair out of place, he sure did have smelly shoes.
It was better to think this stench belonged to him, and not from my car, I told myself.
I collected the shoes and the old trash and disposed of the collection in the car park bin. As I did, I couldn’t help but ask myself. How long does it take a person to get rid of their ex well and truly?
Someone give me a calendar so I know much longer I have.
Because this is hell.
Day 75: Tales Of Cutting Out Friends And Backhanded Enquiries
I was walking out the front door as James was leaving. He said something to me but I was in a too greater rush to ask him to repeat it.
Running late will do that to you.
Getting in the car I realised I probably should have paused and asked him to repeat himself.
Acting the way he was treating me was exactly dignified.
However, I was cutting him out of my dinner with Sophia and her on-and-off-again boyfriend, Malcolm. I was cutting out GG too.
If he told him he knew about my sneaky plan to corner Sophia on her own, perhaps I would back out. And I didn’t need anyone else convincing me this was a bad idea.
I had my own trepidation doing that.
But I’m desperate right now. More than ever. I can’t tell what is happening, where everyone is and why no one can tell me what is going on behind my back.
My messages to GG go unanswered. She cancelled our spin class this morning.
And James? Well, he remains a transient figure at 1 Lovelock Drive. It feels like a waiting game, where I hope someone will tell me what I’m missing.
Yet, sitting back and waiting for the hammer to drop, in the same way that Douglas broke up with me, would be repeating history.
And repeating mistakes.
I wasn’t into that.
No, thank you.
Part of me thought about what Douglas would do in my situation. He would confront the assholes (his words, not mine). He wouldn’t let people conspire behind his back, no matter who it was to him.
I’m sure he and Taylor would have gotten into scraps over business more often than not. He seemed to survive quite well. Imagining him in his South Yarra penthouse only confirms this idea.
If I couldn’t get rid of my ex out of my life right now, not entirely, I would channel a side of him I admired.
No, tolerated. No, a side I could use to my heartbroken advantage.
Sophia and Malcolm were seated at the table I booked at the Ugly Ducking. It was this adorable cocktail bar on Swan St, just a few minutes walk from the MCG.
This wasn’t the type of place that attracted the pre-footy crowd, something I was thankful for.
“Hey babe,” Sophia said, remaining in her seat when she would normally stand to hug me.
“Where is James?”
I had to check my ears. “He’s not with me. I didn’t invite him.”
Sophia issued me a tense expression.
“Oh. Are we going behind his back?”
I stared at her. “You know we’re not married right? I don’t have to invite him to everything I go to.” If I didn’t know better it was like she knew what I was up to.
She couldn’t possibly know, though.
Or could she? I was about to find out.
Day 76: Tales Of Early Morning Romps And Hidden Plans
Saturday mornings will never be the same. Let me explain.
I didn’t get home that late from Richmond last night. Sophia seized up as soon as I became defensive about James’ whereabouts.
My plan was to talk to her about her investment and get her talking about our business and the future. Then I could make some wild statements about what was happening and she would hopefully correct me with what was actually going on.
It was a juvenile plan, I know.
But this was what all this secrecy and tension and evasive conversations were forcing me to do.
Her silence though was deafening. What did I expect? What could I expect from my friendships as of late?
Disappointment, at the very least.
Sophia, Malcolm and I ended up having a drink and then going our separate ways. I was home before nine. Foolish me thought James would still be at the house when I got in. He wasn’t. And I wasn’t about to start hunting for him now.
Now it was morning, I knew he was home. I could hear it. I could hear him and another man making all sorts of groaning and heaving noises.
There were no prizes for guessing these two were screwing each other’s brains out. Loudly, unapologetically. The noises fluctuated, eventually climaxing with James letting out a piercing yelp.
Not only was this a reminder I wasn’t getting any sex, but it was also a bleak reality of roommate assimilation. By my mid-thirties, I thought this would be a non-issue.
And of course, I thought it would be me filling this house with sex noises like I once did with Douglas.
He liked to take me whenever the moment struck. He wouldn’t care if I was in the middle of ironing a blouse. He would pounce, and I would relent.
Who was my ex doing this with now? What woman had the pleasure of Douglas’ attention?
Pulling on my dressing gown, I tip-toed my way out of my bedroom and into the kitchen.
As I was about to start fixing coffee and breakfast, I heard the pair start up again. I couldn’t listen to it anymore.
If I wasn’t participating, I sure as hell wasn’t going to the concert.
Yet, on my way to turn on the television, I tripped over the Louis Vuitton briefcase James had been carrying around.
The impact hurt; it was like he had bricks inside.
Any normal, non-suspicious person would have left their roommate and best friend’s possessions alone.
Respect their privacy.
Leave temptation alone.
But I’m not that person right now. Hell no.
I picked up the briefcase and looked in it. And I took photos of everything. Every-thing.
With my brief inspection, suddenly the noise of my roommate fucking was a welcomed distraction.
Day 77: Tales Of Big Money Plans And BFF Guilt
Of course, James didn’t leave 1 Lovelock Drive for the entire Saturday.
The one day I don’t want him in my life I couldn’t get rid of him. If I were any more suspicious than I already was, I would assume he knew what I had seen yesterday.
He doesn’t of course.
But based on what I found, he should feel some guilt. A lot of guilt. A mountain of guilt.
Because if I had this collection of papers in my briefcase and James didn’t know about it, the guilt would cripple me. How would I feel about my best friend being kept in the dark about the buildings I’m inspecting, for the business I co-own with him?
No, that’s something I couldn’t hide without immense guilt.
James wasn’t home this morning, though. And as I woke up, I was grateful that Sundays like his never changed.
Before my feet left my bed, I opened up my laptop, propped a pillow against my back and began my investigation.
Connecting my phone, I pulled all my stealthy taken photos onto the screen, the photos filling every space available. Seeing them all together like this felt confronting.
There was more there than I had first realised.
The photo which immediately caught my attention was of the plans for a city office; an entire floor, that is. I knew the building; 120 Collins St.
This spectacular piece of real estate is nestled in the middle of the Paris end of the city. Surrounded by designer stores. I shuddered to think how much this office space would cost per month.
The plans also detailed how an office and corporate showroom for our fashion label would take up the entire space.
Considering the business currently occupied my dining room, and not even the whole space, an entire floor seemed excessive.
I told myself not to become alarmed by brochures and generic floor plans for a business venue. No need to be dramatic. But when I saw my name next to James on full mockups of the office layout, colours, and architectural designs, I couldn’t suppress the panic any longer.
As I keep studying everything, more and more I could see James was making major moves behind my back.
He was planning something bigger than we had ever discussed.
What these plans needed, too, was money. Money we didn’t have.
This was ten years in the future plans, not now.
I felt the lump in my throat seize my entire neck. Opening a browser on my computer, I wanted to start Googling the names of the architects. That’s when I heard the front door open. It was James.
I slammed my laptop closed. He couldn’t know anything yet.
Not until I had figured all this out, first.
You’re reading a recap of The Andie Chronicles, the 2023 romance-fiction series from the 1 Lovelock Drive (1LD) universe.
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