Greater Expectations (23 page)

However, she made it all but impossible to not draw on the aristocratic stereotype of love being more clinical, cynical, and contrived than a genuine affair of the heart.

As I was considering that there was no point in exploring this any further, my earlier transgressions in the disabled toilet invaded my mind. A completely irrational fear that Penny could read my thoughts hit me and I nervously ended our call all too abruptly with the lie that my mum was on call waiting. Ironically, it also served to remind me that I really did need to call my parents. “Oh, please tell her I said hello and hope that your father is doing well. Goodbye.” Lying was becoming all too easy for me now and yet there really was no need for it. It was a matter for later consideration.

Now free from all distractions, my focus switched to “A”. Given the day’s events, I really should have known better than to try and formulate a response now, especially after Penny had proven that I was well below par. It needed to be light, funny, clever, and insightful; no pressure then. Predictab
ly, I was none of these things.

Hi A,

Thank you so much for your message. I should highlight that I have no idea of the online dating etiquette so please forgive me if this message is in any way tactless. Respecting that “Discretion is the better part of Valour”, I guess generic questions are the way forward?

What industry do you work in?

Do you enjoy it?

What would you do if money were no object?

Your profile name is rather curious, do you believe in fate?

Please feel free to ask me anything and I shall try and be funny then!

Until “then”, take care,

Z

It was such a sterile email that contained absolutely none of my personality, yet I sent it anyway. Fate could do its worst now, I really didn’t care and if “A” wanted to usurp it, all the better. Cupid could certainly use a kick in the ass as far as I was concerned. Buoyed by my new bullish and carefree attitude, I quickly emailed “Susan”.

Hi Susan,

Thanks for your email. I did, indeed, check out your profile and liked what I saw.

Who wouldn’t?
:)

So, when do you fancy that coffee?

Z

After hitting “send”, I intended to surf the web for a few minutes; then shower and rid myself of the lingering feeling of dirtiness that had been growing since my bathroom antics. Had that really happened? It all seemed so long ago and yet, in reality, it had only been a few hours. It had been undeniably erotic
and the fresh memory of it all–the rush of the moment and the thought of getting caught–was stirring my nether region. I may be forced to give myself a treat in the shower.

Then the all too familiar “ping” from the computer brought me crashing back to reality and informed me of a new email.

Hi Z,

How about a drink tomorrow night? Say 8pm in the George and Dragon in Potters Bar?

S x

In an unusual bout
of bravado, I thought to myself,
fuck it, why not? What’s the worst that could happen?
and responded accordingly. Finally stepping into the shower, the earlier thought of self-abuse had long since deserted me.

I had
been enough of a wanker today.

30

Desperately Seeking Susan

Friday 3rd April

It was certainly peculiar that I should be feeling nervous about meeting up for a date with someone that I had absolutely no interest in. However, it
was
becoming something of a new trait of mine. At least, that’s what I had spent most of today trying to convince myself I was feeling–nervousness. In truth, I knew that it was a cocktail of deceit and guilt coursing through my veins and penetrating my psyche. This inner turmoil was compelling but, try as it might, there was no way I could allow it to breach my consciousness. If that were to happen, I would immediately have cancelled the date and what good would that have done me? This was an experiment after all and sometimes one has to be selfish for the greater benefit of oneself.

“One”? “Oneself”? When did I start talking like Penny?

The problem was compounded by the fact that I had taken more time and effort in an attempt to look my best than would ordinarily have been the case. Under normal circumstances, I would certainly have made an effort but only in the hope that my date would like what she saw before my personality came shining through. All with a second date objective. Yet here I was making the extra effort with a sardonic motivation that this one and only date would be blinded by my polished exterior that would camouflage my complete indifference and so ensuring a pleasant, if entirely fruitless, evening.

“Susan”, you poor unknowing soul.

I do believe in the notion that what goes around comes around and there was no doubt that the Gods were voicing their disapproval of my experiment through the inimitable Elvis Costello. As I stepped into my car to head for the date, the radio released his haunting tones that had, so often, filled my personal void with a heart-warming hope and promise of love eternal. However, now, it seems that he was sternly reprimanding me.

“…She may be the mirror of my dreams…

…She may not be what she may seem,

Inside her shell…

…She…

…May come to me from shadows of the past…

…That I'll remember till the day I die…”

As I drove to the scene of hope for “Susan”, it was my misplaced sense of chivalry that saved her from me turning around and heading straight back home. Knowing nothing of her personal circumstances, she had read my profile that was all
too
personal and had seen something that she found attractive. Something that she could relate to, a kindred spirit perhaps.

That should have been my first clue.

My time for thinking was over as I swung into the pub car park. It was just after 7pm and already the place was busy. Cliques of work colleagues heading home interspersed with those just starting their evening. Trying to look both suave and confident, I drew myself up to my full height and wandered straight to the bar. Waiting to order, I casually glanced around in the hope of catching a glimpse of a familiar face that lived only in a photograph. In so doing, I found myself quietly singing along to the music playing in the background.

“…The smile on your face

Lets me know that you need me,

There’s a truth in your eyes

Saying you’ll never leave me…”

Man, those Gods can be really judgmental.

Just as the barmaid asked what I wanted to drink, someone squeezed my elbow. As I turned around, the voice belonging to the hand said “Hi Z, I’m Susan.” It was at that point that I realized why every one of her seven photographs had been of her smiling but with her mouth firmly closed.

She had teeth like a caveman’s necklace.

Stuck as I was in an awkward half turn, I could only blurt out a “hello” before quickly trying to compose myself. “Drink?”

“Gin and tonic please, I’ll find us a table.” She was undoubtedly confident and impeccably dressed. In actual fact, she could be seen as really rather attractive.

Apart from those teeth.

Oral from her would surely be more pain than pleasure for it would be akin to having your cock pulled through a cheese grater. Thankfully, it would never be
my
cheese she would be grating.

It was apparent from the rest of the date that this was not her first. Far from it. It was more akin to an interview, what with her formulaic questions blended with what I was certain were scheduled bathroom breaks. The worst of it was, as I later reflected on my drive home, finding that I had actually been quite competitive in trying to ensure that I answered correctly in order to win a second date that I never wan
ted in the first fucking place.

Well, not quite the worst of it. The worst of it was being proffered a handshake as we left for our respective cars and being told, “Thank you for a pleasant evening and it was nice meeting you. However, I really do not think that you possess the spark that I’m looking for and I have quite enough friends. T
ake care though and goodnight.”

I really wanted to
say,
“It’s obvious that none of them are a fucking dentist!”
but managed to restrain myself.

It was just after 10pm as I entered the sanctuary of my home, still in a complete state of shock and bewilderment. What the fuck had just happened? It was Penny who encouraged this mess and so it was the perfect excuse to talk to her. Through some misplaced sense of duty to our friendship, or maybe it was simply guilt, I had texted her during the day to let her know that I had taken her advice and arranged to meet “Susan”. Penny had not responded to my text although now she answered on the first ring, with a single word question and mischief in her voice.

“Well?”

“Well? Bloody well? Bloody hell more like. That was a fucking
nightmare
.” She giggled and chuckled like a naughty schoolgirl as I recounted the whole sorry mess. Not that I didn’t have some fun with it too. My mock horror and disgust adding an exaggerated outrage at the expense of the desperately seeking Susan. Conveying a sentiment uncomfortably close to the truth, I concluded with “She reminded me of the old Scots adage, “You cannot polish a shit but you can roll it in glitter”. I let Penny’s laugh fill the void of what was, for me, an introspective moment.

Tonight, I was absolutely covered in glitter.

“Have you heard anything more from “A”? It has only been a day I suppose so she may well be leaving it over the weekend so as not to appear too eager.” Penny’s change of subject had me unconsciously reach for my laptop to check. Odd that I hadn’t even given it a thought until that moment.

“You could be telling me rather than asking; you do have my log in details.”

“One would never consider doing such a thing. They are to be used by invite only, otherwise it would constitute a terrible invasion of privacy. However, now you have said it, I shall take it that I have permission for this evening.” Again, the mischief was in her voice. If I didn’t know better, I would have sworn she had been drinking.

“Yes indeed, you may take it that permission has been granted and, furthermore, you may take it that you have carte blanche to peruse at your leisure. As you well know, and in accordance with our agreement, I have nothing to hide from you.” As I said this, I noticed that there was a time stamp with the site that shows when you were last logged
on. Mine read
“3 April, 16:12”
.

This was not me.

I quickly dismissed her little white lie as there was no point in analysing it, especially as I had just given my consent to this very intrusion whenever she wanted. However, it was not lost on me that she had been checking in on me. My mind raced to once again consider what could have been with “us”, it was a torturous path where only heartache and pain were awaiting. Still, it was a crusade that I was desperate to be part of. As usual, as my imagination ran riot, it was Penny’s voice that hauled me back to reality.

“As I suspected, nothing from “A”. However, you do have three other new messages.” There was a distinct trace of disappointment and indignation in her voice. Yet from the times they were received, she must have known of these already. It really was frustrating, bordering on cruel. Cruelty of the worst kind, for hers was a casual and indifferent cruelty. I should end this charade here and now but yet I simply cannot.

Not now. Soon, but not now.

My new messages were all essentially the same and obviously a sham. Although their English was infuriatingly bad, they each had managed to openly state that they were seeking a “husband”. That, in itself, merely aroused my suspicions but it was only after checking every one the respective photographs that I was left in abso
lutely no doubt they were fake.

They were all different pictures of Miley Cyrus
scanned from various magazines.

“I would venture that none of these girls are what your mum had in mind when she suggested this site.” Even
I
knew who Miley Cyrus was but it would seem that Penny does not. For some reason, that pleases me no end. Yet her assessment of these messages would have been entirely accurate if this had actually been my mother’s suggestion.

“Some of your ‘Daily Matches’ look promising.” For someone who I had come to regard as rather wise and astute, she really was not grasping my discomfort with this whole farce. This was biting me on the ass,
big time
, yet I had no idea why I was still playing along. “Oh, that is rather unusual. “Victoria” is a really pretty girl although she suffers from heterochromia. Not that it is much of a suffering; actually it is quite appealing. Especially in “Victoria”, it really gives her character.” She was seemingly talking more to herself than to me now.

I quickly clicked onto “Victoria’s” profile. “What the hell is heterochromia?” My ignorance blended with my frustration as my tolerance to this nonsense was all but exhausted. Penny paid no heed. “It is a medical condition that has the resultant effect of giving a person two different coloured eyes. It is as rare as it is appealing.” Hearing this only made me wish that I was a heterochromia sufferer.

It made me feel utterly pathetic.

Clicking through her pictures–
every one at some festival or another–it seemed that she was more of a girl seeking the next party than a real relationship. Spitefully, I mumbled to myself, “She’s on the wrong site. It’s obviously biting the fucking leg off her.” It was out before I could catch it and I knew she wouldn’t let it go. There was going to be some very uncomfortable explaining to do in my immediate future.

“I’m sorry, I’m quite sure I don’t know what you mean?” It was obvious from her attempt at shock that
she knew
exactly
what I meant.

“Well, Penny, if you really need me to explain then you are more naïve than I thought. Anyway,
moving swiftly on
, don’t you think that they all look normal until you read the profiles. Seriously, do these people actually
read
their own profiles?”

This was rich coming from me. I co
ntinued, ignoring my own irony.

“Some of them have all the appeal of a warm, fish flavoured milk shake with the attitudes of a supermodel. Seriously, they really need to take a bite from a reality sandwich whilst standing in front of a mirror to have a
serious word with themselves.”

Vindictively, I spat out each of the multiple metaphors but knew that they lost all significance and value as I did so. Yet I had meant every single word for they all rang true. At that moment, all of my emotions became putrefied, festering and boiling together and ensuring my total loss of all composure and control. Blinking away the tears that were now burning my dry eyes and blinding me, I sat back and desperately gasped for air.

Penny obviously heard my distress.
“Z? Z? Are you there? Are you okay?”
The mischief had been replaced with her usual soft and soothing voice that emitted nothing but genuine concern.

It was me speaking but I did not recognise myself. “I am so tired. Tired of having no idea what is happening in the world
, nor my place within it. I am a man who fully subscribes to the notion of fate, yet find that I am so far out of my comfort zone and so confused by developments that affect me but it seems I have no control over.”

I closed my eyes and rested my head against the back of the sofa. The tears flowing freely now, the cuff of my sleeve doubled for a ti
ssue as I softly wiped my face.

Penny remained silent and let me continue.

“What am I doing here Penny? Trawling through dating sites that I have absolutely no faith in, all with the vain hope that this is how Cupid now operates. Trying to believe that, if he can’t find me, then I will find him. As a man, it seems that it is socially unacceptable that I should have the same unbridled desire and need for love. In the cruelest of ironies, given my size, it is seen as a weakness. My role is to be playing the field, suffering from ‘commitment phobia’, all in the desperate attempt of eluding love whilst leaving a trail of broken hearts in my wake.”

My voice was nothing more than a whisper as I conceded defeat,
“…it’s just not me…”