Page 2 of From Scotland with Love

Michael was typing on his phone, when the waiter escorted Lori to the table, and stood up to welcome her. Lori acknowledged Michael's traditional manners, holding doors open for women, and making sure he walked on the side of busy traffic when they strolled across the city together. These little things he did, showed her how much he cared - and wasn’t it the little things that mattered? Lori leaned in and they kissed briefly, conscious of the few onlookers quietly eating their dinner.

“I’m sorry darling. It was so busy, traffic was hell!” Lori took a long drink of her wine that was waiting for her; the day’s events had taken their toll, and all she wanted was to forget. “What a day!”

“Yeah?” Michael put his phone away and opened up the menu. “Why don’t we order now then we can talk. I’m starving. I think I’ll order the sea bass.”

Lori pursed her lips, unsure if Michael was angry at her lateness. She looked down at the entirely French menu and was uninspired at what she saw; right now what she really wanted was a burger and a pint of beer. She glanced up, unaware that the waiter was standing close by, already waiting to take her order. Her burger would have to be put on hold for another night, so she ordered the first thing she could pronounce on the menu.

The pianist began playing an Ella Fitzgerald number, an upbeat piece of music making Lori want to dance in between the quiet tables. Michael reached across to take her hand in his, his blue eyes looking deep into her own. He was an attractive man, always smartly dressed and clean-shaven, and Lori rarely ever saw him scruffy, even on his days off work. She remembered the first time they met, she couldn't stop glancing at the handsome stranger leaning on the bar counter, talking to friends. That evening Lori had been with a colleague, listening to her mounting boyfriend troubles, but all the while unable to fully concentrate on her friend. The stranger was intriguing: magnificent, tall, and who exhumed a confidence that enticed her. After much of the night looking in his direction, he had eventually reciprocated with a single smile and they locked into a new kind of understanding. Lori knew not long after that night, that this would be her man in life. That same smile she looked at now had told her they were a good match right from the start. Since being with Michael, she had been introduced to a different world, a life of parties, glitz and glamour which coincided with her career nicely. There was always some event to go to, some fashion show, or one of the firm’s regular dinner parties. Lori’s calendar was booked solid for the next few months. She moved her fingers around his smooth palm as he spoke about work. He was a fine man indeed, someone to be proud of. Lori often noticed women admiring him, even walking down the street she had on occasion noticed heads turning. Even at the drawn-out dinner parties, as dull as those affairs were, Lori enjoyed seeing Michael in his element. He was the epitome of what she had always wanted in a man. She sipped more wine and felt her muscles relax, the music lulling her into a state of contentment. Whether it was the wine, or her appreciation of Michael's better qualities, she didn't know, but desire pulsed through her body as if she were sinking into a hot soapy bath. She kicked off her peep-toe shoe and touched his leg with her foot. Running her toe up his ankle playfully; she realised how much she wanted sex. Not just nice sex, but hot, unrestrained up against a wall or in the restaurant loos sex. She circled her finger around his palm wondering how best to proposition him. But just as the words were about to come out, Michael suddenly took his hand away and moved his leg as the waiter approached them carrying big plates sporting tiny portions of food. Lori felt a pang of disappointment and put her foot back into her shoe. She knew how the evening would go now: they would finish the meal, get a taxi together, and Michael would make sure the taxi dropped her off at her apartment first before continuing on to his. It was routine on a weeknight that they be in bed early, and in their own separate beds at that; a silent agreement between them for the last three years. She knew where she stood, there were no surprises, and everything was planned and in its place. It was what she wanted, it was the very reason she had moved to the big city, to plan and control her life of success. But just a tiny part of her wanted the thrill of the unknown, some adventure, something different. Not tonight, she inwardly sighed, as she picked at her boeuf bourguignon.

3

The early morning sun had just started to greet the New York streets, covering the city in a hazy pink glow. Lori woke up before her alarm, deciding that an early start would be best. She wiggled into a grey shirt-dress, and gently packed her black Versace jacket in her bag; hoping not to crease it amongst the other items. Michael had once commented that she was like Mary Poppins, lugging a bag around filled to the brim with assorted items. Lori had found the statement funny, and took it as a compliment. She liked to be prepared for any situation, which meant tape measures, a first-aid kit, makeup, scissors, and notepad – the list would go on. The bag itself was also replaced on a regular basis in favour of a bigger one. She looked at her face in the bathroom mirror, and carefully applied mascara on her lashes and pinned up her curls.

“Almost done?” Kim peered around the bathroom door, bleary-eyed.

“Yes, two ticks!” Lori pursed her deep pink lips on a tissue and patted her unruly hair once again.

Kim leaned against the hall wall, arms crossed “It’s too early!” she groaned. “How can you be heading to work already?”

“It’s not that early! I thought I’d get a head start on things!” Lori scrunched up her nose, looking at her reflection. Her curls could never be held in place, no matter how much mousse, hairspray, or oil she used. She had tried every styling product under the sun, all with the same result: her hair gave her the proverbial middle finger every day, and she had to live with it. She threw her hair clips on the floor in irritation. “Damn it!”

“Hey!” Kim croaked, “what’s wrong?” She stood looking tiredly confused in an old Green Peace t-shirt, which Lori presumed was her boyfriend’s rather than Kim’s.

“I’m fine, I just have a lot on at work.” Lori glanced at her watch, Kim was right, it was on the early side, but since not having Michael stay over last night, she had to put her energy somewhere else. “Have a good night?” Lori changed the subject and picked up the evidence of her little tantrum. Most mornings, the two housemates would meet in the hallway for a quick catch-up, that being the only time their schedules crossed. Kim’s long hours as an event planner meant that Lori hardly saw her in the evenings, which may have been a big reason why the two enjoyed living together.

“Oh yeah: dramas and tears from the client, then halfway through they realise everything is going according to plan. It’s always the same. Nobody listens to me, like I haven’t planned a million of these events before!” Kim grumbled as she grabbed the door handle to steady herself.

“Darren here?” Lori was beginning to see Kim’s new boyfriend at the apartment most nights. He was a nice guy, but not nearly as career focused as either of the girls, and was only too happy to meditate and eat cereal most of the day. And, to Lori’s annoyance, would leave a dribble of milk in the fridge with no ostensible intention of buying more.

“Yes, he’s not at the café today, so he might be here for a bit if that’s OK?” Kim’s eyes were now beginning to open properly, and focus in on Lori. Her dark hair was ruffled, and her eyes met Lori’s with a cautious look; with the remains of last night’s makeup still smudged around her eyelids.

Lori liked Darren, and he was a damn sight better than Kim's previous boyfriend, she had to confess. Ryan had been the biggest asshole she had ever met, and had cheated on Kim for months before she found out his true character. He had once even cornered Lori at the apartment and tried to kiss her, when Kim had left the room for mere moments. Lori was mortified about the whole incident, and had stressed over how to tell her friend. Each morning she would contemplate either leaving a note on the fridge, calling her at work, or scheduling an “apartment meeting” to impart the sad news that her boyfriend was a low-life. But luckily Kim had caught him out on the town with another girl, and dumped him on the spot. Darren was a lot better; a gentle soul, and Lori certainly wanted her friend to be happy.

“Of course,” Lori agreed, but wondered if at this rate Darren should be contributing to the bills, or at least buying a carton of milk!

Lori had been living with Kim since she arrived in New York ten years ago. They had a relaxed friendship that didn’t demand too much of Lori’s time, which, with her work schedule, was an incredibly important factor in a housemate. They had met at a fashion show, one of the first Lori had attended, in which everyone knew everyone else, and Lori found herself standing awkwardly by the free bar for most of the night. An outgoing Kim had approached her, eager to avoid her waitressing job and the pair instantly connected. Luckily for Lori, Kim had an apartment that her wealthy parents had bought her years before and had offered her the spare room. The two lived together ever since.

Lori left her small apartment and breathed in the city morning air. That familiar smell of New York she knew so well; freshly baked bagels mixed with salt and diesel that wafted through the streets from the Bay. Lori smiled to herself as she started to speed-walk her daily commute, bag packed and comfy shoes on, she let the world drift past her, and planned the day ahead. Today would be a good day, she told herself; no panic attacks, no anxiety, no stress. She left her suburb as shop-attendants rolled their shutters open, and the occasional early morning bakery lights glowed, spilling onto the sidewalk; the day had already started for so many others as Lori merged into the busy street. She loved living in New York. After her short spell in Australia, the years had passed in the blink of an eye. Brisbane had seemed so huge compared to anything Lori had known before, but after coming to New York, its sheer size had devoured Brisbane completely. When the opportunity to work as a coordinator for the New York branch had appeared, she had jumped at the chance to move countries and start her own adventure. Her goal of working up the ranks in the fashion industry was a reality now. After starting her career as a receptionist, to now be sitting as head buyer, she knew firmly that she would continue to progress until she reached the top. At first many people in the Manhattan office assumed she was Australian, which looking back, Lori had embraced as an easily-accepted identity. After several years had passed, and with staff always changing anyway, people just assumed Lori was another American from somewhere irrelevant outside New York. She was aware her accent had changed somewhat, but that wasn’t really deliberate on her part. It just happened over time. She allowed people to assume what they wanted, and when colleagues asked where she was from, she would say she lived in Grameray Park, a great spot to live, do you know it? Ah, but where are you really from? they might ask. Then she would say Australia, which was true. But as she thought about it now, why had she never told the truth? Was she ashamed of it? No, it wasn’t that. She just didn’t want to be defined by it. She wanted to blend in. Be another New Yorker.

But blending in was not always something she had desired. An almost forgotten memory popped into her head as she waited at the pedestrian crossing, one involving her old school teacher Mrs MacMaster who had often told her to lower her voice when singing with the girl’s choir. The small school was excited to be finalists in a competition and Lori couldn’t wait to sing. But on the morning of the contest, her old school mistress had taken her aside.

“Now Lori I have an important job for you, you think you can do it?”

Lori had looked up at the tall matronly woman, in her waistcoat and long thick skirt that swished as she walked. For as long as she could remember, no matter the weather, Mrs MacMaster was always to be found in a woollen skirt.

“I want you to pretend that you’re singing - we can only have so many voices with the kind of acoustics this church hall provides. So my girl: stand at the back, smile, and mime the words, and you will be doing your part for the choir just as well as anyone else.”

Being so young and excited to be on stage, Lori had nodded, and stood shoulder to shoulder with her classmates and pretended to sing. Now, looking back on that incident, perhaps it had made more of a lasting impact on her than she had ever realised. She could still see the small child standing in the echoing church hall, trying her best to ignore the scratchy ruffle collar of her blouse along with an even itchier tartan skirt.

A young, attractive girl wearing Doc Martens, a leather jacket and tartan pants walked past Lori, and she almost laughed at the coincidence. The tartan was a red Royal Stewart weave, which Lori noticed had become “on trend” of late. But the tartan she knew and loved well, was of course Robertson. It was her surname after all and a part of her identity. Even if the lingering memories of her wearing it were uncomfortable.

The truth was - Lori was Scottish, and from the very rural Highlands of Scotland at that. After moving to Australia when she was barely twenty, then onto New York for years on top of that, she had adopted a gentle American drawl. It worked for her. To be in a different country; being anyone she wanted to be. Creating her own story.

Lori crossed through Madison Square park, walking past the trees and small patches of green. She came this way to work almost every day, but somehow today she thought of home. Not Australia, but her real home: Scotland.

Another day presented more problems, with the usual small fires to be put out. Lori briefed Julian on the day’s tasks, chased manufacturers to speed up a delivery and gradually worked through the emails that were now piling up in their hundreds. Alex had come to Lori’s desk with a cup of coffee and a box of chocolates with a big red ribbon on top. “These are just a small thank you for helping me,” her colleague smiled shyly.

“Oh, you didn’t need to!” Lori took the cup gladly.