An Idiot in Love (a laugh out loud comedy) (24 page)

              After the bell she retired barely having spoken two words. She was replaced by a woman with dark hair, everywhere. The strong features of Number ten were on the attractive side of plain, but were warped by a unibrow, a partially bleached moustache and thin wisps of black on her cheeks.

              We introduced ourselves and I watched with eager eyes -- my face resting on upturned hands, my elbows on the table -- as she told me about her hobbies and her job. I interrupted her after a minute or two, having not heard a word she said.

              ‘You’re very hairy aren’t you?’

              Huffing like she was trying to blow my house down she stood up, glared at me momentarily, and then spent the next four minutes of the date standing by the table, staring the other way. Her arms were crossed over her chest, her foot tapping monotonous rhythms on her floor.

              I tried to engage her again, telling her I thought hair was sexy and even offering to help her wax, but I received nothing more than an annoyed grunt in reply.

              The rest of the night went much the same way. I didn’t get much out of number eleven but sensed that I had annoyed her somehow, whilst number twelve made her annoyance clear by walking away after a passing comment I had made about only coming to this event to look for sex with easy women.

              The Valium was in full flow when the event was over, and I was disappointed when the final bell tolled and the call was made for everyone to hand in their forms. I filled my form out with gusto (generous with those I disliked, knowing that it didn’t matter as they hated me) and handed it in.

              I had enjoyed my time with Ally, the smart-looking woman in her forties, who I had likened to my mother. I gave her the maximum score, not expecting anything in return. After the results were tallied I was delighted to learn that Ally had also rated me highly.

              ‘So what happens now?’ I asked the event organisers.              

              ‘We’ll return the cards with your matches in half an hour or so. In the meantime, go and mingle!’             

              The men and women were mingling at the bar area and some had drifted into the other rooms in the pub, but I saw too many angry faces when I looked into the clutches of singles. I had no intention of joining in, regardless of my intoxication.

              ‘Can I just leave my number with you?’ I asked her. ‘If there is a match with anyone,
anyone,
’ I clarified with a sweep of my sedated hand. ‘Tell them to ring me; I’d be happy to take them out. But I have to go now.’

              ‘Are you sure?’

              ‘Positive.’

              ‘And what about you?’ she wondered, turning to Matthew.

              ‘He’s coming with me,’ I said, butting in.

              Apologetic about the Valium, eager to learn the nature of my dates and happy to divulge the nature of his, Matthew took me for a coffee and tried to force some sobriety and energy into my sedated bones.

              The warmth of the drug faded after an hour and grew lethargic. I had expected a pleasant fatigue, but it felt more like I had been hit over the head with a sledgehammer. I didn’t trust my ability to stay awake, feeling the presence of sleep looming threatening over me, so I called a taxi.

              I arrived back home just an hour and a half after the event. I scrambled to bed, drudged out of my clothes and fell flat onto the mattress. I was asleep before my face sunk into the sheets.

              I woke up around noon the next day, having slept for fourteen hours.

              I remembered waking sometime in the night and stumbling to the toilet with a desperately full bladder, but I couldn’t recall anything else. The phone had sounded a few times, but other than its impact on a surreal dream, the noise did little to disturb me.

              Hoping to wash an arid dryness from my mouth and brush a foul smell from my tongue, I stumbled into the bathroom again and bore witness to my night-time struggles.

              ‘Oh my dear god,’ the words seemed to grate out of my throat, crackling like a cooked pig.

              I had lived in the house long enough for my instincts to guide me to the toilet in the dark, and I have urinated enough times in my life for my body to do the rest, but it seemed that no amount of instinct or experience could tell me whether the toilet seat was up or down.

              The jets of urine had crashed against the closed lid and sprayed around the bathroom like water from a sprinkler.

              The disgusting droplets ran down the front of an amusing gorilla poster, decorating the poor primate with yellow tears. A bar of sweet smelling soap on the sink was now soured with the stench of ammonia and, worryingly, Sugar Puffs. An aftershave bottle glistened like freshly sprayed apples in a grocer’s window. A hand-towel was stained and damp; a bath-towel was soaked. An unlucky bluebottle had been caught in the B-Movie horror show, spending the night avoiding the streams of piss it had eventually given up and taken an eternal swim in a stagnating pool on the windowsill.

              The bristles of an electric toothbrush seemed to have avoided the spray, but, if not tainted by proximity, would stand forever with the question of
what if
hanging over its use.

              I picked my way through the bathroom with a pinched nose, regretting not putting on any slippers after taking my third step.

              Despite my sleep, I was still feeling fatigued and was in no mood to clean up the mess. After managing to urinate without redecorating the bathroom, I quickly retired to the kitchen sink to wash my hands and feet with untainted soap and towels.

             
A digital display on the answer machine awaited me when I moved into the living room to wake myself up with a cup of coffee and some tedious daytime television.

              It told me I had six messages. There had been none when I left the house last night.

              The first was from the organiser of the Speed Dating event. Hearing her voice immediately sent me back to last night, flashing the memories through my mind like a slideshow tutorial on how to insult and upset people.

              ‘Good Evening Mr McCall, I hope I’m not phoning you too late but I wanted to give you the good news as soon as possible! I have given your number to two of our beautiful girls. They both liked you and rated you higher than anyone else at the event, isn’t that something?’ she said this like she was asking something else, something like
“how the hell did that happen?”
‘Anyway, just thought I’d let you know!’

              My spirits rose somewhat. The tiredness hanging over my head and the disaster-area waiting for me in the bathroom were now a distant part of my day. Two people liked me, I had no idea how I had managed to impress as many as that, but it felt good.

              The second message, sent late last night, helped to further lift my morning:

              ‘Hello, Kieran right? I hope so, I hate using these things and if this is the wrong number…’ The voice was soft, pleasant and familiar. ‘This is Ally, I met you at the Speed Dating, I’m sure you’ll remember, I’m the one who looks like your mother. The little American woman gave me your number so I thought I’d give you a call, and considering you’re not in, I’ll leave you my number and pretend to play it cool whilst I wait for you to call.’ She reeled off her number and hung up, she didn’t seem as cool or confident as she had done last night, but I was still drawn to her.

             
23:30

             
Still last night, the messages coming through whilst I drifted into a drug induced temporary coma.

              ‘Hello Kieran sweetie,’ The voice was also female and no doubt from the second woman that the organiser had said was interested, but it wasn’t familiar. ‘Just thought I’d drop you a line, see how you where, what you were doing, ya know...so...ring me back!’

             
23:45

              ‘Me again!’ so peppy, so happy, but not filled with the pleasant tones that Ally’s voice was. Something else lurked behind those high-pitched, exclamation riddled syllables. ‘So, you haven’t called yet, that’s okay. I wasn’t sure you’d got my last message or not, just wanted to make sure you got this one! Have a goodnight!’

             
00:03

              ‘Just to let you know I’m going to bed now.’ A touch of sadness had crept into the voice. ‘I’ll phone you tomorrow, or you phone me, either way… just don’t phone tonight. Unless you really want to! Goodnight.’

             
01:03

              I cringed, expecting another call from the strange woman. It was Matthew, drunk and trying to order a pizza from the automated voice on my answer machine.

             
08:05

              ‘Good morning,’ it was her again. ‘Silly me, I just realised that I didn’t give you my number last night--’

              She began to give her number; I ended the message, having no desire to hear anymore. I had to prepare for Ally. I had to clean, dress, eat. I had to clear my head and phone her, have a conversation that didn’t begin with me comparing her to my mother. I needed to ask her out, book a rest--.

              The phone rang again. I assumed it was Ally, probably because she had been on my mind when it rang. I wasn’t awake enough to remember I wasn’t psychic.

              I picked it up on the second ring.

              It wasn’t Ally.

              ‘Good morning Kieran!’ the voice came through like the greeting of a Prozac pumped morning radio DJ. I suddenly felt an urge to request
It’s Raining Men
and jump in the shower.

              ‘Good--’ I cleared my throat of a particularly restrictive clump of phlegm. ‘
Good
morning.’

              ‘You sound ill,’ the excited tones mellowed into sympathy.

              ‘Just a little worse for wear,’ I said, allowing my voice to dip into the threshold of influenza.

              ‘Oh, poor you.’

              ‘Poor me.’ I feigned a small cough, the action grated my throat.

              ‘Why don’t I come around and make you some Chicken soup?’

              ‘You know where I live?’

              ‘Of course not.’

             
Good,
I thought, allowing my heart-rate to settle a little.

              ‘Oh, okay. I thought I’d told you. Never mind,’ I backtracked, keen not to offend. ‘So, what you up to today?’

              ‘Housework, daytime television, you know, the usual. I have the week off and this is how I spend it! Pathetic huh?’

              I laughed a little unsurely. ‘Where do you work? I can’t remember if you told me,’ I said, still unsure about anything she had said or even who she was.

              ‘I
didn’t
tell you. I’m a model. Just magazines, stuff for the internet, some company stuff. Nothing too fancy.’

              I racked my brain for anyone at the Speed Dating event who could have passed for a model. Ally was certainly one of them, with her film star looks and her radiant charm, she was a little too old for glamour work and too full figured for catwalks, but could easily replicate the smiling faces you saw in stock photographs.

              The Australian girl had been pretty, but there was no hint of an Aussie accent here. The Chinese woman had been very cute and had an English accent, but she had hated me. If she was masochistic enough to want to date me, she would have surely mentioned the xenophobic remarks from last night.

              I vaguely recalled two younger women who had both been attractive and devoid of personality -- two traits common in the modelling field -- but neither had shown even a remote interest.

              ‘Are you okay?’

              She was still talking. I had drifted off.

              ‘I’m fine,’ I said abruptly.

              ‘You went quiet on me.’

              ‘I’m sorry, I’m a little tired.’

              Was it possible I had been so wasted that I had forgotten one of the dates? Had I managed to charm this woman whilst in a fugue state, only to completely forget about her?

              ‘Why don’t you go get some rest sweetie,’ she said.

              Is she so forward because I started something with her last night? Did I already go on a date with her?

             
Can’t be.
I thought.
Surely not.

             
Maybe I’m losing my mind.

              ‘I will do,’ I said.

              ‘Give me a ring when you feel better, we can arrange something then.’

              ‘Arrange something?’

              She giggled, ‘A date, silly! Our
first
date. Our first
proper
date that is. So we can get to know each other properly. You know, technically I’ve only known you for five minutes, but I feel like I’ve known you for a lifetime.’

              ‘Okay,’ I didn’t know what else to say. ‘See you later then.’

              I hung up and sunk into the couch.

              I had destroyed my bathroom in a trance but I hadn’t gone on an extended date in one. She was just forward,
very
forward. She was also a model and she liked me, as much as I liked Ally and preferred the idea of spending time with her, I still wanted to see where things went with the unnamed girl. I had to keep my options open.

             
I’m dating two women,
I thought with a grin.
Matthew would be so proud of me.

14

The Film Star and the Model

              I tried phoning Ally but her phone rang out. I showered, dressed, poured a large cup of coffee down my throat, and tried again; it was still ringing out.