Dream On (15 page)

"Right," said Melodie, looking a little confused
and slightly out of her depth.

"Have you got anything else ready?" Dave asked,
quite gently.  Nice of him, Ariel thought; Melodie gave him one of her best
sexy, pout smiles, the ones she usually reserved for men she fancied - or who
might be able to further her career ambition, such as it was. Ariel gave her
cynicism a mental slap on the wrist; there was nothing wrong with using your
talents, was there? They were all out to succeed.

"I could do 'Beautiful'," Melodie said, looking a
little doubtful. "I think I know all the words to that."

"Then take it away, Beautiful!" said Shane, and
jumped down from the stage.

Melodie's singing lessons had paid off, Ariel
noticed; there was more depth to her voice, now. Still, though, she seemed to
be concentrating more on the sexy flick of the hair, the come hither look at
the imaginary camera, than the actual song. And she forgot the words half way
through.

"Thank God that's over," she said, when it was. "I
hope I don't have to do too much of the singing bit when I'm famous." She
giggled. "Pity I didn't get accepted for Big Brother, instead!"

"Yeah, just think, if you had, you might be married
to some B movie actor by now!" said Ritchie. He laughed and looked round. "One
of them who marry glamour girls to convince everyone they're not gay!"

"You're up next, Ariel, pet," said Boz, patting her
on the shoulder.

"Sure." Ariel took the stage and started to sing
'Grey', the song she'd penned after Frankie broke her heart. She didn't know
why, but while she sang it she had to stop herself crying; so stupid, and so
odd; she'd stopped loving him years ago. It was only after she'd finished the
song, and the others were clapping, that she realised she'd been thinking not
only of Frankie, but also of what Janice Brown was going through, at the
moment; and how Dave might feel if she put an end to their current
relationship, too.

"That was fucking excellent, hinny!" said Boz. "Wasn't
that great, everyone?"

"Yeah, it was," said Melodie. "I hate to say it, babe, but
you're much better than me! It's about Frankie, right? When you're
interviewed, you can tell everyone all about how he broke your heart, and
everyone will feel really sorry for you and buy all your records!"

"Fuck that," said Ariel, and felt a stab of extreme
irritation. She'd told Melodie about Frankie in confidence, ages ago; was she
so stupid that she didn't realise she might not want that sort of thing bandied
about in public? Or had her quest to become the dumbest celebrity in the world
removed any last shred of intelligence, along with her cellulite?

"I didn't know he broke your heart so badly you put
it into a song," Dave said, quietly. He looked at her, searchingly; Ariel
looked away. She didn't even want to think about that sort of emotion, let
alone talk about it. What the fuck was she doing, singing about it?

"I ain't so sure," said Ritchie. "About the song, I mean. If you don't mind me saying, Ariel."

"No, that's fine," said Ariel, relieved to have the
subject changed. "Constructive criticism is always welcome."

"Right. Well, I just thought that, well, you
should do something a bit more, sort of, well, y'know,
jaunty.
Like,
that other one you sung when we were at that women's lib bint's creative
workshop."

"'Hey You Over There'," said Ariel. "Rubbish title. I'll have to change it."

"Yeah, I know what he means," said Shane. "You can get
enough of those powerful emotional songs, can't you. Sometimes it's better
to do something a bit more up tempo so that people can rock out to it!"

"Mm, I think you're right, chaps," Ariel said.  "Okay,
I'll go home and work on that one, then."

Yes, this was a better idea; also, she'd be less
likely to burst into tears in front of the judges if she sang that one. Heartbreak, indeed. Who needed it?

Was that why she wouldn't let herself love Dave
again? The thought struck her, then. Hadn't occurred to her before. Ha! She
hadn't realised her emotions were so textbook!

Dave took her guitar from her as she walked down
the steps at the side of the stage. "Do you want to come home with me after we
finish up here?" he asked.

She smiled at him. The trouble was, she did. "Yeah. Sure."

Oh dear. So much for leaving him alone for the
sake of Janice and Harley, eh?

Janice informed both Max Stark and Carolyn about
the impending evening out with Tom. She'd heard about the horrors of blind
dating, about internet lunatics who ended up stalking their dates, about serial
rapists who placed advertisements in the lonely hearts columns in newspapers -
she knew how important it was that her whereabouts be known.

Harley was staying overnight with Carolyn. She'd
bought a new top, a silky, midnight blue affair with a draping cowl neck, to go
with her black trousers. Her hands sported a smart French manicure with acrylic
nail extensions, to make them look less like those of a hardworking mother
and waitress who never remembered to use hand cream. She'd never indulged in
such a thing before; they felt very peculiar and it was hard to pick things up,
but, oh, they made her look and feel so
glamorous.

She was ready twenty minutes before the taxi
arrived, pacing up and down the living room, drumming her shiny new nails on
the window sill, wishing she still smoked.

When she got there, sick with nerves, she pushed
open the door of Angelo's trattoria, and looked around; only two other tables were
occupied, apart from a long, noisy table at one side of the room; obviously an
office Christmas party. She and Tom identified each other almost immediately,
and he stood up to greet her.

"Janice!" he said. "You look lovely!" He kissed
her on the cheek, then held her away from him; she studied his face. He was
much, much better looking than his photo portrayed. Taller than she'd imagined,
too. Wow! And he was interested in
her?

"It's so nice to meet you!" she said. "I was a bit
nervous, were you? It's a funny situation, isn't it?"

"Funny, but good."  His dark eyes crinkled up when
he smiled; Christ, he was
gorgeous!
Why was a man who looked like that
meeting strange women on the internet? Didn't he have them flocking to him,
wherever he went? He gestured for her to sit down. "I ordered champagne." He
laughed. "No, I'm not trying to be flash! I just thought this was a bit of
a special occasion, and special occasions need champagne, don't they?"

"Yes!" she said. "Yes, they do!" How wonderful! Nobody had ever taken her out to dinner and bought champagne before!

Tom filled both glasses and handed one to her.

"To a very special evening!" he said, his smile lit
up by the warm glow of the candle light.

She clinked her glass against his. "To a very
special evening!" she agreed.

Two hours later she was sitting at Max Stark's
kitchen table, tears rolling into a mug of coffee.

She'd had her first doubts even before she'd finished
her tomato, avocado, mozzarella and fresh basil starter.

It was something about the way he talked about his previous
internet dating disasters, of which there were clearly many.

These women who went on sites like Dating Direct,
he said, all they were looking for was a husband and a new father for their
brats. They said they wanted fun and adventure, but that was only a carefully
worded lie to hook the man in. He couldn't stand women who went on about their
brats all the time, you know? Why would he be interested in some other bloke's
kid? That was why he'd started to look for a new relationship on social
networking sites - he thought the women on them might be less desperate. He
was right; well, he'd found her, hadn't he? He'd smiled at her, then, and she
didn't know whether to feel honoured or angry. Did that mean she wasn't
supposed to mention Harley?

"Haven't you ever met women in the normal way,
then?" Janice had asked. "In the past - I mean, just going out with your mates,
to the pub - or through work. That's how most people meet their partners,
isn't it?"

He'd made a strange sound then; a sort of
world-weary half laugh and half snort. "Work? You're having a laugh. Most of
the silly little floozies in the estate agency world are only interested in you
if you own the company and drive the
right
sort of car. And pubs? You're joking. All those 'ladettes' doing their 'here come the girls'
thing, competing with the men for how much booze they can ship down their necks? No, thank you very much. They go out dressed up in their underwear, then
they complain when a man shows a bit of interest. I mean, why have your
bum on show if you don't want it pinching?"

Janice was quite shocked by the vehemence of his
reaction. She was mollified somewhat, though, by a wink and a laugh after the
last outpouring, and then a swift reversal of mood as he complimented her on
her choice of outfit.

"I like women to look like women, you know? Like you
do; you look beautiful and feminine and demure. Can't stand it when you
take a woman out and she dresses up like some slapper, fluttering her eyelashes
at the waiter, you know?"

Well, no, Janice thought, she certainly wasn't
doing that. They finished the champagne in what seemed, to Janice, like record
speed, though she'd only been poured two small glasses. The waiter brought forth
a bottle of Chablis, offering Tom a little to taste; he nodded with approval,
and then frowned when Janice was asked if she would like to taste it, too.

"I've already told you it's okay," he said, "now, can you
get a move on with our main courses?"

Janice had smiled at the waiter apologetically, and
he'd scuttled off; Tom looked at Janice across the table, with an eyebrow
raised.

"Fancy him, did you?"

"No - no!" The candlelight on his handsome face
made him look, for a moment, almost menacing.  

Then he smiled. "Don't worry, I'm only joking. I can
tell you're not the sort of woman who'd go on a date with one man and flirt with
another. You've got class."

She gestured at the large, noisy party on the other
side of the room. "They're probably rushed off their feet with that lot," she
said, in an attempt to change the subject.

"Yeah. Chose a good night, didn't we? I wanted
this to be perfect, but it's hardly a romantic evening with that load of apes
yelling the place down, is it?"

Why couldn't he relax? "Oh, they're just having a good
time!"

"Hmm. Well, I wish they'd do so more quietly. Office parties ought to be banned. I never go to ours."

Their main courses arrived. Janice had chosen a chicken
dish with pesto, tomatoes and more fresh basil, which she loved, but she found
herself with little appetite.

"What's up, do you not like it?" asked Tom, as he
shovelled down his veal and refilled their glasses; the bottle was already two
thirds empty.

"Oh yes, it's lovely!" she said. "I'm just taking it
slowly - you know, savouring it, because it's so delicious."

"That's good," Tom said, with his mouth full. "Bloody should be, it cost enough." Then he laughed; again, she felt herself
exhale with relief. Again. Every time he laughed to indicate that he was
joking about the last dreadful thing he'd said, she felt herself relax,
physically. This was crazy. She was actually sitting there having dinner with
a man who was making her feel horribly nervous.

"Tell me about what you do," she said, with false
brightness. "Have you worked in estate agency for very long?"

Tom smiled at her, looking ridiculously dashing as he did
so, and launched into a long, amusing monologue about his working life, with
colourful depictions of the idiocy of vendors and purchasers alike, making her
laugh with cruel anecdotes about how he'd got the better of agents from rival
firms.  They lingered over their food while Tom finished the bottle of wine and
snapped his fingers at the waiter for another.

"It must be awful for you having to work in that café," he
said, filling their glasses from the third bottle.

"Well, no, actually, I quite like it. Max, my boss,
he's lovely, such a kind man, and I work with two other girls, too - Kim and
Lisa - we have a good laugh. Most of the time I enjoy it; it gets me out of the
house and I get to talk to adults, not just Harley."

"Really? I don't think I'd like it, having to skivvy." He gulped down the last piece of veal. "I do feel sorry for you single mothers. I suppose he left you high and dry, your kid's father, did he?"

Harley. His name's Harley.

"Well, no, I asked him to leave."

"Uh-oh. Doing the independent woman thing, eh?" He grinned at her.

"Not really. I didn't want us to break up, really, but
it wasn't really working out, we'd been through a bad patch that was lasting a
bit too long, if you know what I mean."

"Bit of an arse, was he?" He reached out and
patted her hand.

She smiled. Perhaps Tom had a sympathetic side,
after all.

"No - he's a nice guy, really, I just - "

"Waiter!" Tom looked around, and beckoned the
young Italian man over again; he hurried across, looking as nervous as Janice
felt.

"Yes, sir?"

"Could you get rid of these plates and bring us the dessert
menu?"

"Of course, sir."

As he walked away, laden with the remnants from
their meal, Tom laughed. "Bloody Latinos, can't stand them, can you? All
reckon they're God's gift to women, eh?"

She laughed. "I suppose they do. I haven't really
thought about it."

"Ever been out with one?"

"No - there's only been Dave, for years. We got
together when I was in my early twenties, and I only had one long term
relationship before him."

"Ah. You take relationships seriously. That's
good. I haven't been part of a couple for quite some time. My last
girlfriend, she was an evil little madam. Caught her in a hot clinch
against a wall outside the pub with my best mate."