I stood there in the middle of the sidewalk, poring over a most unintelligible map of London, intended for tourists but written by seasoned locals.  It was nearly time for high tea, so the streets weren't as congested as they might have been, and I served as an obstacle only to a handful.

  I squinted at the small print, struggling to identify the numbers scattered all across the scale drawing of the Royal Borough of Kensington.  True, I had made great strides in familiarizing myself with the city, but London was far too huge and far too confusing (for an American, anyway) to know by heart in under two weeks. 

Folding the map up, I opened up my journal to stick it back between the pages for the moment, and briefly scanned the list I had brainstormed of things I knew Freddie liked, with a few parenthetical comments to myself scrawled in the margins: 

Music (duh)
Sex (double duh)
Attention (quadruple duh)
jewelry/jewels (shiny shiny)
Asian art, jade stuff, sculptures (Chinese/Japanese)
Anything that doesn't require batteries or a plug (he'd never last in the 21st century, that's all we got)
General art, paintings, etc.
Antiques
Shopping
Ballet (Nijinsky, Baryshnikov)
Opera (Monster- I mean, Montserrat Caballe especially, but there's no box what could hold her, hee hee hee, I'm such a rotten immature little beast)
Cats
Godiva chocolate
Bubble baths
Massages (head/neck/back/foot preference?)
Flowers, gardens

Hm.  I'm seeing a pattern here.  

And toward the bottom, I had written a few more names to round out the list's contents:

Darth Vader
Richard Dreyfuss (just kidding)
Mary
David (Minsy)
Joe (Liza)
Love (till it runs out)

I looked at the last four items in the list, and sighed.  Dr. C had indeed done his job; doubt had enveloped me once more.  For Freddie could scarcely cross my mind now, without thoughts of the prophesied brevity of our love affair in hot pursuit.  I would not be a link in a chain.  I would not be another of Freddie's nameless, disposable lovers.  I loved him madly, but not madly enough to accept such a status.  I would jump out of a thirty-story window first.

Freddie had extremely expensive tastes, I knew; Cartier pleased him to no end.  I personally didn't get the appeal; diamonds sparkled, sure, and they cost an ungodly amount of money, but how Freddie could simply immerse himself in a shopping spree, much less a jewelry store shopping spree, escaped my imagination.  I had actually just left Cartier a little while ago, and found out for myself that Freddie's favorite bijou boutique rose almost embarrassingly out of my price range.  I couldn't afford anything there, not even when I combined my Vegas winnings with my generous daily allowance.  Besides, if I was completely clueless about picking jewelry for myself, then I had no business even shopping around for someone as bling-savvy as he.

The antiques idea, though, had potential.  Portobello Road was famous for its antiques, but only on weekends.  Scratch that idea.  According to the map, there were numerous shops on Kensington Church Street, which was just a block over.  Let's check it out. 

I remembered walking through that area a bit earlier anyway, so I knew where to go.  Making good time, I soon strolled down the street surveying my options.  I kept my eyes peeled for an Asian-themed shop, with an emphasis on Japanese or Chinese art pieces. 

A few stores down, a place caught my eye -I forget what the dealer's shop was called, I don't think it's there anymore anyway.  But in its window sat a two foot bronze Buddha sculpture surrounded by what looked like an old Japanese tea set.  It didn't get any more Oriental than that.  With a smile, I stepped inside.

"Good afternoon!" the dealer called to me as the door swung closed behind me.  "Looking for anything in particular?"

"Oh, I don't know," I replied.  "I guess I'm just browsing."

"Let me know if you need any assistance," he offered, turning down the classical music playing over the radio.

As is typical of most antique shops, I saw lots of vases and dishes with Far East origins, bronze vessels in glass cases.  But it was still quite a hoard in such a small space.  I noticed there were no price tags anywhere for anything- not even for the delicate, centuries-old pieces in toward the back.  With a gulp, I wondered if this guy expected me to haggle with him over the cost.  I didn't care what the price was as long as I could afford it, even it meant emptying my wallet entirely.

Since I still had jewelry and little trinket-y things on the brain, my eyes naturally drifted to the case containing the gemstones.  I saw a ruby ring I thought was exquisite, and seemed to gleam with an inner light all its own.

But I shook my head.  Rings weren't exactly appropriate.  Again I realized uncomfortably that Freddie and I were stationed in relationship limbo.  I still didn't know the extent of my role in his life- and honestly, I wasn't so sure about his in mine.  I wanted to be generous, yet I didn't want to overdo it.  There was love between us, the kind shared and the kind made, but I was uncertain.  So uncertain, in fact, that I needed advice.

I called to the dealer.  "Sir, I think I need a little help, please."

He rushed over.

"I'm trying to find a gift," I said softly.  "I'm not shopping for me."

"Then who?" 

"A guy."

The dealer shot a look at my ringed left hand.  "Your husband?"

"I wish."  WHOA!  Freudian slip on steroids!  "Uh, I mean, he's a, um- friend of mine, but, uh, I'm very much in love with him- but we're not married.  No.  Definitely not married."  I paused, and sighed.  "I guess you could say we're lovers.  And this is not a wedding ring, by the way."  I stopped trying to explain; the more I said, the more I looked like an unfaithful harlot. 

With a benevolent smile, he asked, "What is this, ahem, man of yours- what tickles his fancy?"

"As far antiques go?  Pretty much anything," I replied.  "But he loves things with an Oriental background especially."

'You're in the right place, then," he assured me. 

"The vases and flatware are lovely," I went on, "but I think he prefers to pick things like that out on his own.  But he loves art, whether that's sculptures, paintings-"

"Have you seen the jade carvings over here?" The dealer led me toward another glass case.  In this one were numerous, painstakingly carved figures.  I oohed and ahhed as he walked behind the case and opened it up to give me a closer look.

The man drew out a jade figurine of what looked like a swan with its head drawn back and mouth open, as though about to break out into song.  Very beautiful, but a bit too simple, and rather small; it was about as long as my index finger.  Then the dealer showed me a dragon made from rose quartz, much larger than the swan- intricately carved, and an exquisite shade of pink.  I almost asked him how much he wanted for it, but I remembered the color scheme in Freddie's flat.  A big pink dragon would not have fit in anywhere and looked good.

I shook my head politely at the dragon, then I saw something toward the back of the case.  It was of a modest size between the swan's and the dragon's.

"What about that one there?" I asked.

"Ah," he nodded.  "It's a sharp eye you have.  Only acquired this last Sunday."  And he brought the carving up to show me in the light.

"How old is it, do you think?"

"I'd put it at around the turn of the century, late nineteenth or so," he replied.  "Have a look."

It was a white and black jade carving, in an old, definite Chinese style, of two cats lying side by side.  The figurine had been sculpted in such a way that one of the cats was entirely black, and the other a pure white, with what looked like a butterfly resting on the shoulder of the latter.  On each of the cats' backs was a different Mandarin symbol.

"What do those mean?"  I asked, pointing at the carved Chinese words.

"I've seen that all over, just never on figures like these," he said.  "I believe that this is the symbol for 'yin' on the dark one there.  And on the white cat," he added, pointing, "that's the symbol for 'yang.'"

"Yin yang cats," I remarked.  "That's rather fitting, actually."

I immediately fell in love.  I had no doubt now what I was taking home with me.

"How much?" I asked.

The dealer looked me over.  "One hundred twenty-five without the wood stand, one fifty with."

"Pounds?"

"Pounds."

"Sold!  With the stand, if you please."

After I forked over most of my money (I still had maybe fifteen pounds left, plus the seven pounds I had set aside for the cab ride home should I need one, so a grand total of twenty-two pounds remained), the dealer started packing it away in a small box, saying, "Your man will be quite chuffed, I think."

"I hope so," I said.  "He has everything, makes it kinda hard to shop for him.  This is wonderful."

The man looked up.  "Just out of curiosity, what's his name?"

"Why?"

"There's a customer of mine, one of my finest patrons, actually. He called me up about fifteen minutes ago, said he was coming by to find a little something for his girlfriend's birthday."

I just stood there.  "Oh." 

"Is it your birthday today?"

"My fella thinks it is."  I tried to swallow, my cheeks flushing involuntarily. 

The dealer's eyes widened.  "Did I just let the cat out of the bag?"  He looked down slyly.  "Or more accurately, the box?"

"Depends on what your patron's name is."  He did not call me his girlfriend.  He did not call me his girlfriend.

"His name is Freddie."

I bit my lip.  "Dark hair?  Dark eyes?"

The dealer smiled.  "Yes."

"Does he have, uh, you know..."  I waved a hand over my mouth.

And the dealer, perfectly understanding me, nodded.

"I... guess you did, then," I managed.  Oh.  Wow.  He called me his girlfriend.

"Oh, dear, I am so sorry!"  He exclaimed.  "I've spoiled the surprise, I suppose."

"No, actually," I said.  "That was much more surprise than I know how to handle."  I took the jade cats and nodded to him.  "Thank you, I needed that.  I'd better be off before he comes in.  Mum's the word, though, don't mention me!"

"I don't even know your name!"

"That's okay, just don't say I was here," I whispered, laying a finger to my lips. 

"Right, then.  Cheerio!"

"Ta-ta!"  And I swept out the door.

I wanted to run like a crazy woman up and down the street, my thoughts whirling  in joyous chaos.  I'm his girlfriend?  Is that how he sees me?  His GIRLFRIEND!  Impossible!  Mary was his girlfriend, and that's it, and yet, and yet here I am!  But what of the others?  What about them?  How did this happen?  He called me his girlfriend! Take that, Dr. C!  What do YOU know?

Buoyed once again by hope, I seemed to fly instead of run.  My feet did not make contact with the sidewalk.  Oh, Freddie, you naughty thing, you, I thought to myself.  You said you would spend all day at the studio, and this is how you make use of your tea time?  You're too much.  I love you and you're too much.

But now, I had to take it a step further.  One more little something for Freddie. I giggled, aware of what was transpiring yet again: one trying to outdo the other, even about something as small as this.  It just didn't stop.  Rudy was right, we were almost frightfully alike in so many ways.

So I ducked into a tea room a little ways down Kensington Church Street and had myself a "cuppa" and a scone.  Just a bit of caffeine and sugar to perk me up, tide me over, while I worked out what other little token gift I would give to Freddie.  Very quietly I sneaked a glance at the Android under the table. Almost four o'clock.  Perfect time for tea.

Afternoon tea at the Ritz must be some kind of British ritual, because the place was packed when I rode past it coming back from Cartier. As soon as I saw the hotel out of the taxi window, I thought of that line from "Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy." Not everybody was able to get in, however.  There were two gentlemen a table away who had apparently failed to reserve a spot at the London Ritz-Carlton, and now had to resort to this charming little tea room. I tried not to eavesdrop too much, but their voices tended to carry- and the conversation itself I found irresistibly juicy. So I alternated between figuring out what other little thing I was going to give Freddie and deciphering what the two jokers little more than a seat over were complaining about.

"...Never been this secretive with me," the fellow at the table nearby exclaimed once.  I looked up, unable to see his face because he was sitting with his back to me, but he was a little on the pudgy side, and he shook his tousled, dirty blond hair around as he talked.  "It's just not the way it once was.  So I was determined to find..."

Poor sucker, I thought to myself, before returning attention to my list and crossing out the things I couldn't conveniently package and wrap.  So every abstract action or person, as well as ballet and opera, were stricken from the sheet.  And Freddie already had three cats who loved him, so that too was disqualified.

"...Definitely has some other little piece on the side," the pudgy man went on, voice rising and falling unevenly. "Maybe... besides just that Yank he brought from New..."

Godiva chocolates would be an easy enough addition to the kitties, but I hardly knew where to find them.  The map didn't say where such a chocolate shop was located.  Perhaps the guy over there knew.  He seemed to be familiar with the more refined things in life, assuming gourmet chocolates qualified as such.  So I stood, put on my meekest, most lost-tourist expression, and tiptoed toward the table.

"...And he looks at me, with those big woebegone eyes, and you know what he says to me?" the man was now scoffing petulantly.  "He says, 'But, Phyllis, don't you understand? I have love enough for all of you.'  As if that's supposed to make it better!"

"Um, excuse me, sir," I cleared my throat.  He looked my way.  "Do you know where I might find-"

I stopped mid-sentence, stared momentarily at the exasperated man's face.  The features upon it were soft- undeveloped, like a child's almost, something of which he was clearly aware, judging by the sparse mustache he was trying to grow.  "Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy"  played louder in my head.  I didn't know why.

"Do you happen to know where, uh," I resumed, "I might find Godiva chocolates, boxes of them?"

The baby-faced man blinked.  "At the Godiva shop, I should think."

"Where's that?" I fumbled with the map. 

"Oh, I can just tell you, God knows I've been there enough," he muttered, smoothing out the map before him and pointing at a random spot.  "It's right between these two here.  I can give you the directions if you like-"

"Oh, no, I've got that much, it's not too far; that's what taxis are for anyhow," I said.  "Thank you, sir."

"Not at all," he nodded.  "Sweeties for a friend?"

"You could say that.  My, uh, my boyfriend loves chocolate, especially those."  Boyfriend?  Did I just seriously call Freddie my boyfriend?  "Are there any really good ones you can suggest?"

"Try the pralines, those are my favorites," the man said.  "That dreadful tart of mine takes a liking to the cherry chocolate ones, though." 

The fellow sitting with him chimed in, "Yes, but the dark chocolate mousse things- those are killer."

"Okay, great, I'll try those, Mr.-?"

"I'm Nigel," he said.  "Nigel Drury."

"Nice to meet you."  I looked at Phyllis's cherub face, silently asking for his real name-

Wait a second.  Cherub face?  "Phyllis"?  And he has someone he calls a tart?  And then it hit me, a second before he answered my unspoken question.

"I'm David Minns.  Hello."

In spite of myself, I gulped.  Hello, Minsy.

"Thanks, Mr. Cher- I mean, Mr. David," I stuttered as I stepped back to my table, almost calling him by one of Freddie's pet names for him.  "And Mr. Drury, thanks so much.  You've been very helpful."

Suddenly I didn't feel much like drinking the rest of my tea.  Not with an oblivious Minsy the Cherub sitting so close, and certainly not with those words ringing in my head, taking on a new meaning:

"I have love enough for all of you."

All of us?  How many people is he currently juggling?

Within seconds, the hope that had lifted me among the clouds plunged me back toward the hard earth, as it revealed itself to be false hope.  "All of you."  Good God! Then again, this was Minsy talking- Minsy, with whom Freddie's affections were waning even before I came along.  And who knew how long ago Freddie may or may not have said that? 

Still, "ALL of you."  That could mean any number.  Any number but one.

How did it feel to be secure in my emotions?  There was a time when I knew, but I'd forgotten; I had riding this emotional roller coaster for so, so long.  It just wouldn't stop.  Up and down, up and down.  Freddie loved me, Freddie loved me not.  He says I'm the only one.  No, wait, I'm just the only girl.  No, wait...

This is going to drive me mad, I told myself.  If I stay with Freddie, I'll be counting every day, every hour, every minute that passes, waiting for the bomb to drop- or even, for lack of a better phrase, waiting for the hammer to fall.  And then I will be no better than Minsy, or Liza, or anyone.  I can't live like that, I can't wake up every morning and ask myself, "Is he bored with me yet?"  I'll end up in a straitjacket. 

Quickly I paid out, and went back out to the street.  We had to talk about this.  I couldn't ignore this elephant in the room any longer.  Freddie wouldn't like being confronted this way, but I didn't care.  This had to be done.  As soon as Freddie came home tonight, and before I gave him my small tokens of affection, we would get to the bottom of this, clear the air once and for all what I meant to him, and what that meant for everyone else in his life who was under the same impression that I was under- specifically, that Freddie loved them.  Yes, this might kill whatever romantic mood Freddie could very well try to set, but it was important.  My choice by noon tomorrow depended on it.

Flagging down a taxi, I almost told the driver to take me to the Godiva boutique that David told me about, but I paused.  I needed to vent a little to a higher authority first.  Hopefully that same vicar would be hearing confessions at the cathedral I visited last Sunday evening.  I wanted whatever help I could get.

"Westminster Cathedral, please?" I asked.  Sins first, sweets after, I quipped inwardly. 

As I rode, I reached into my bag and pulled out the sweet little "yin yang" cats.  The white one reminded me of Freddie; something about the expression, and the way that butterfly looked so comfortable on its shoulder. 

But then, something new caught my eyes.  For the first time I noticed the way the cats' faces were positioned. They lay almost cheek to cheek, their noses nestled softly against one another's. My lips curled into a soft, dreamy smile.

The cats were Eskimo-kissing.

I looked up and whispered to the ceiling, "God, You're a very ironic Three Persons, aren't You?"

But deep down, I worried.  This was either my last night with Freddie, or just the start of a brand new wonderful life alongside him.  In twenty hours, I would have to choose.  I prayed to high heaven that I would choose wisely. 

One thing's for sure, though, I quipped to myself.  That box of chocolates will have no pralines.  Sorry, Phyllis.