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Olivia lit a cigarette, her shades coolly masking her emotions. “There’s a Pret south of here on the King’s Road.”
Economical and somewhat brisk, but a response nonetheless.
Olivia didn’t utter another word. She stuck her nose into her phone, scrolling through texts. Alex turned away, absorbing her surroundings: so many small dogs being carried by so many well-dressed women; no homeless people; leathery-skinned men leaning against foreign cars; very little trash—definitely a wealthy area.
A few blocks down the King’s Road, Olivia erupted in a laugh. Alex snuck a sideways glance. Had the spell been broken? A vague grin trespassed across Olivia’s face while reading something on her phone. Her moods seemed to change with the shifting breeze.
“Everything all right?” Alex bit her tongue and waited.
Olivia slipped her phone into her purse. “Just Harry. Being Harry. Bless.”
Whatever that meant.
“What are you working on play-wise right now? Anything promising?” said Olivia.
Alex exhaled. “I’m fine-tuning the play that was my final college assignment. I think it could work quite well here. It’s based in the UK and delves into the British suffrage movement. It’s an empowering women’s story with an all-female cast. Even the male characters will be portrayed by women.”
“Sounds ambitious. Do you think you can pull it off?” Olivia took a final drag on her cigarette and flicked its glowing embers to the curb.
“I hope so. I keep fiddling with it, editing, adding scenes. That’s my problem. I’m always tinkering, trying to make it perfect. Sometimes I don’t know when enough is enough. What about you?”
“I have a few ideas on the go,” said Olivia as they entered the King’s Road branch of the Pret a Manger sandwich chain. “I tend to juggle several and dip in and out. There are a few new writers’ workshops and development programs coming up, so I need to figure out which play to submit.”
A question about these upcoming programs hesitated on Alex’s lips, but Olivia changed the subject.
“I drank far too many calories last night, so I need something light. What’s got a low calorie count?”
Alex didn’t care about calories or fat grams, but she did care about her picky tastes. On her right, chilled stainless steel racks displayed tidy rows of fresh sandwiches enclosed in triangular-shaped cardboard boxes. Alex had never seen anything like it. Pre-packaged sandwiches weren’t a take-out option in Florida or Georgia.
She stood wide-eyed, blocking one of the shelves, many of the sandwich filling combinations beyond her comfort zone. Avocado and Toasted Pine Nut wrap? Pass! Most of the customers knew exactly what they craved and didn’t hesitate to reach around her, snatching their prizes.
A meaty bicep flew out of nowhere, its owner reaching for a veggie wrap from the highest shelf. Alex ducked backwards. She stumbled, crashing into an employee balancing a pyramid of sandwiches. Chicken Avocado, Classic Super Clubs, and Pret Pickle triangles sailed through the air, landing with a succession of muffled cardboard thwumphs. The grand finale—the jarring clang of the round silver tray on the cement floor. A few patrons sarcastically cheered, “Wahey!”
Alex didn’t know whether to hide or take a bow. Olivia rolled her eyes, distancing herself from the spectacle by zeroing in on her phone. She pretended to have no association with the American klutz.
Sweat broke out on Alex’s brow. Most customers stared, others tutted, looking inconvenienced. Being the centre of attention killed her appetite in one fell swoop. She dropped to her knees, her shaky hands corralling the wayward sandwiches, plucking each triangle one by one out of harm’s way. She looked over at the Pret employee she had accidentally tackled. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
The employee, a twenty-something black woman wearing a Pret server’s cap, slowly knelt down and barely batted an eye at the smorgasbord of sandwiches strewn across the floor. She didn’t even glance at Alex. She just calmly piled the sandwiches on her tray. “No worries. Most of the boxes stayed sealed…”
It couldn’t be…
Alex paused her frantic sandwich recovery. The tattoo on this girl’s toned bicep, an elaborate Cyberman, a robotic villain famous for threatening Doctor Who and his companions, was instantly familiar. She stared at the employee’s face, partially hidden by her curly hair. She had to make sure.
“Wait. I know you…I would recognize that tattoo anywhere.”
The woman lifted her left eyebrow but kept stacking sandwich boxes.
“Lucy? Lucy Hardy? It’s me, Alex…Alex Sinclair from Florida?”
The Pret employee looked up, puzzled. She did a double take. “Oh my God! It’s not. It’s not!”
Their shrieks in unison alerted Olivia, who peered over her sunglasses from the safety of the beverage fridge. Alex and the employee were on their knees, embracing in the middle of the store. Olivia turned her back, letting out a bored sigh.
Shop patrons gingerly stepped around the reunited friends and the triangle-shaped collateral damage scattered in their wake. Breathless, Alex didn’t clue in to the scuttling feet nearby, her perma-grin, aching. “Of all the people to run into, I can’t believe it’s you. This can’t be a coincidence. I just know bumping into you was meant to be!”
She pulled Lucy up off the floor, her five foot six frame dwarfing the blonde by three valuable inches. Alex reminded herself to call her friend by her full name—Lucy hated it when people called her Lu or Luce.
“You still believe in signs and destiny and all that crazy shit.” Lucy laughed, her brown eyes taking in her old friend. “Look at your hair. It’s shorter, but other than that you’re the same. I’m so happy to see you!”
