Alyce Walsh knew that tonight would be special. A part of her, however, wished this night would never have to come.
Walsh had risen to become the first foreign-born executive editor of Metropolis magazine, a role she had served in for five years before receiving a lucrative offer to become the editor-in-chief of Harbour Magazine, the most popular publication in her native Sydney, the publication that made her want to become a journalist in the first place. She loved New York, but as the famous Peter Allen song put it, she still called Australia home—and she was certainly thrilled to be fulfilling a dream once thought unattainable.
Yet she knew that her boyfriend, Martin Heath, could not join her. She had met Heath, then a young executive at RBC News, shortly after becoming executive editor and immediately fell in love with him. She loved his laugh, his warmth, his wit. She was awed by his life story—how he grew up disadvantaged in Brooklyn to become one of the country's most prominent African-American TV news executives—and how kind and graceful he was in a world of arrogant personalities. She wished he could join her—but she knew that he valued his career just as much as she did hers, and that under no circumstances would he abandon the chance to possibly become RBC News president, when that goal was just a few years away from being achieved.
Martin took the news well, telling her that as much as he wished she could stay in New York, he knew that this was an offer too good for her to pass up. He only asked for one favor: that before she left the States, before she broke up with him for good, that they make love just one last time.
Alyce readily agreed. She would miss the look and feel of his muscled dark body, the passion of his kisses, the taste of his cock. It was almost enough to make her want to stay.
Tonight was the night. Alyce was dressed in a tight white dress that accentuated every curve of her petite body. Her long blonde hair was tied back in a ponytail, her blue eyes covered by sunglasses. As she stepped out of the taxi, she looked down at her pink shoes and imagined seeing them tossed casually on the floor of Martin's condo as they feverishly made love for the very last time.
Martin buzzed her in to his glamorous Manhattan apartment. She had been there numerous times before, but this time the energy was different, as if the very building knew that she'd be saying goodbye after this night.
"Hi," said Martin as he opened the door. He wore a black suit, white shirt, dark blue tie and black shoes; his curly black hair looked so gorgeous and smooth. Alyce immediately leaned in to kiss him, and sighed after the kiss concluded.
"You know, you can still back out, baby," he said, taking her hand and leading her into the lobby.
"I know," she whispered.
Martin walked into the kitchen and returned with two glasses of champagne. "Alyce?"
"Yes."
