Running in Heels by Anna Maxted

nods toward some empty chairs. “I’ll get the table.”
    I watch him stride toward it. He looks thinner in that dark suit. I pay for a vodka and cranberry juice and dream of escaping to a parallel universe.
    â€œThere you go,” I croak.
    â€œI’m all ears,” says Saul.
    I chew on my hair and tell him. As I speak I realize that Chris isn’t going to call and that I’ve been tricked into risking a perfectly workable relationship. Did I really think that a man who says “A little less conversation, a little more action, please” without weeping in shame at what he’s become, will call when he says he will? I hunch in my chair to ease the ache. I need you,Chris, I need to touch you, why am I never the one, why is it always like this? I remind myself that it serves me right and that Saul is good enough to be getting on with. I brace myself to be shouted at. I dread his rage, but anything is better than this terrifying anticipation. When 7:30 comes, I want to beg the waitress to let us share a table.
    The witch seats us in a remote spot. Saul could decapitate me with the bread knife and no one would be the wiser. In fact, he cuts me off midconfession to order seared tuna and chat with the waiter about whether the French or California Chardonnay will do it justice. It’s a dead fish, I think, and you’re about to eat it. Poseidon leaping from the gents and spearing you through the heart would do it justice. I peer at Saul’s unreadable face and wonder if I have speared him through the heart. It’s his own fault for being so soft. He always rang when he said he would. Where’s the sexual tension in that?
    But no sign of spinelessness now. He’s aglow with foreboding. I am too bunged up with fear to eat. I light another cigarette.
    â€œCarry on,” says Saul. I kill my cigarette in the ashtray. I feel like a pumpkin farmer earnestly explaining my alien abduction to Dana Scully. At one point Saul touches me lightly on the arm, indicating that I should stop yapping for a moment while he asks the waitress to bring more pepper! I feel cheated. Yes, I feel cheated! Why isn’t he jealous? Why isn’t he turning green and howling at the moon? Am I so throwaway he barely cares if I cheat on him? What would Simon do if Babs cheated on him ? Murder them both and go to prison, I’ll bet—that’s how much he loves her! I study my plate.
    â€œIs there something wrong with your grilled sole?” Saul asks, making me itch to throw it at him.
    â€œNo,” I reply, hating the waver in my voice. “But it has a face and I’ve just gone vegetarian.” And he laughs .
    â€œWhat?” I whisper.
    Saul lays down his knife and fork. “Natalie,” he says soothingly, “it’s not a problem.”
    â€œWhat’s not a problem?” I blurt.
    Saul’s smile hovers between regretful and concerned.
    â€œWell,” he replies, regarding me over an invisible pair of half-moon spectacles, “it’s not as if this relationship was anything serious.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?” I say faintly.
    â€œI mean,” says Saul, refilling my wineglass with a generous splash, “that our relationship was always a bit of fun, but the fun has petered out, and our relationship is now patently over.”
    The grotesque four-letter word over resonates between my ears like the twang of a monstrous elastic band. Over. How can it be over? How can Saul be saying it’s over? He adores me! And since when was our relationship “a bit of fun”? It wasn’t fun!
    â€œBut…but—” My voice is out of batteries.
    â€œNatalie,” continues Saul in the same cheery tone, “we both know that things haven’t been right for a while. Be honest. You’ve devoted so much time in the last few months to helping Babs prepare for her wedding that I’ve hardly seen you. And when I do see you,