Chapter Five
I was in the kitchen, feeling sorry for myself, a rapidly cooling cup of coffee cradled in my hands, when Georgia finally crawled out of bed and found me. In her defense, her bartending job meant she hadn’t gotten home till gone two in the morning.
She poured herself a cup of coffee before sliding into the seat opposite with a loud yawn. “Who died?”
“What?”
“Your face. That is not the face of a happy man. So, who died?”
“My self-control. My pride. My restraint. Pick one. Any will do.”
Georgia sat back, a look of pure shock on her face. “Whoa there, Mr. Dramatic. What the hell! What’s going on with you?”
I gave her time to join the dots herself, her mind rapidly cycling through various possibilities before it dawned on her. “Oh my God! It was Tuesday yesterday. You had your…erm…your—”
I raised an eyebrow, steadfastly refusing to help her find an appropriately non-offensive word.
“—assignation.”
That hadn’t been the word I’d been expecting. She bristled immediately at the look on my face. “You know what I mean. Client, is that a better word? What happened? Was it awful?”
I sighed, fixing my gaze on the surface of my coffee, hoping it might just contain some of the answers to the riotous thoughts and questions which kept plaguing me at regular intervals.
“No. That’s the problem. It was a long way from awful.
If anything, it was even better than last time.
” I lifted my head, looking her straight in the eye.
“What does that say about me? Am I really kinky?”
Georgia immediately covered her mouth with her hand, a clear attempt to stifle a laugh.
“Oh, thanks, Georgia, thanks a lot for your support.” I was genuinely offended. Normally, I could rely on Georgia to offer a sympathetic ear. We’d gone to school together. Had been each other’s confidantes for years. We were meant to be each other’s shoulder to lean on.
She reached across the table, placing her hand over mine. “Dean, I’m not laughing at you, honest. I just found it funny that you think having sex in the dark constitutes being kinky. If anything, it’s the opposite of kinky. You’re probably the most vanilla person I know.”
“Then why am I enjoying it?”
Georgia tilted her head to one side, giving the question great thought.
“You’re probably just really, really horny.
I mean when was the last time, in real life, that you did anything that didn’t just involve your own hand?
I can’t even remember you going on any dates recently.
I mean, you’re gorgeous. You should have a line of guys queueing up to date you.
Then maybe you wouldn’t be so sexually frustrated that you’re desperate enough for any scrap of attention from some weirdo that can’t be seen in the light. ”
I pondered her words for a moment. “I’ve decided he’s probably blind.”
“What?”
“The guy. I don’t think he’s a weirdo. I think he might be blind. It would make sense, right? The whole, being in the dark thing wouldn’t bother him.”
Georgia took a sip of the coffee grimacing at the taste.
She always complained I made it way too strong.
“Maybe. Although, it doesn’t explain why he doesn’t want to be touched.
Anyway, I think you’re thinking about this way too much.
I don’t think you should go back there. I’ll get another job. We can—”
I cut her off. “I am going to go back there. I want to find out more about him. Try and crack the mystery.”
There was no mistaking the pitying glance Georgia threw my way.
I chose to ignore it and got up instead to put some bread in the toaster.
I felt her gaze on me, tracking my movements around the kitchen.
The toast had popped, and I was liberally covering it in butter before she spoke again.
“I’ve got a date on Friday night with Benedict. ”
I gave the toast to Georgia, putting more bread in the toaster for myself. “Great. Have a nice time.”
“His best friend…they do everything together, is apparently gay.” She paused to take a large bite of her toast. “I’ve met him a couple of times.
He’s pretty hot. Ben’s suggested hooking you two up a few times.
I’ve always said no. I said you wouldn’t go for it, but now I think about it, it would be a really great idea.
We can double-date which means you won’t be on your own, so less pressure.
And you can meet someone…normal…in the light…
someone who’s not paying you. What do you say? ”
I sat back down with my own toast. “I can’t do Friday.”
“Why not?”
“I’ve said I’ll look after Bobby.”
Georgia’s glare could reduce most grown men to tears. Luckily, after years of being subjected to it, I was virtually immune. She drummed her fingertips on the table. “Can’t your brother get a babysitter for once?”
“He’s my nephew. I offered.”
“Yeah, and I bet your brother dropped enough hints around you, until you offered. He knows you’re a soft touch. Ring him and tell him you’ve got a date, so you can’t do it.”
I took a large bite of toast and chewed it slowly, playing for time. “And what about when this friend of your boyfriend asks what I do?”
I winced as Georgia reached across and whacked me on the arm. “Don’t be a dick, Dean! You tell him you’re an actor, and you wait tables, and you leave out the job that you hardly ever do anyway.”
I rubbed at the sore spot on my arm. “Maybe. I’m not promising anything though. It’s probably too late for my brother to find a babysitter.”
I pulled my attention back to Simon with difficulty.
My date was currently talking me through the entire decision process of buying his new car.
If he’d noticed my attention wandering, he was either too polite to mention it, or liked the sound of his own voice so much he didn’t really care.
I dropped a quick question out there, something to do with the size of the engine.
It must have passed muster: he answered it with enthusiasm, rather than recoiling with a look of confusion or horror at my lack of motor knowledge.
Georgia had constantly told me over the last few days how good-looking Simon was.
He was, but in a sort of trendy and over-styled way which wasn’t really doing anything for me at all.
I imagined from everything he was saying, that the new car was of a similar vein.
I immediately chided myself for the thought.
It wasn’t like me to be so judgmental. There again, it wasn’t like me to let myself get talked into a date with a stranger either.
I was saved from a detailed description of the new hubcaps Simon had bid for on eBay, when Benedict banged his friend on the back and inclined his head toward the bar; a clear instruction to accompany him.
Simon offered a sincere apology, assuring me he’d be back soon.
I bit back the urge to tell him to take his time.
They’d barely gotten more than a few steps away before Georgia broke all known speed records to get from her side of the table to mine. She squirmed in next to me, elbowed me in the ribs, and ignored my yelp of protest while she gleefully grinned. “Well?”
I stared at her in confusion. “Well, what?”
Her look made me feel about two feet tall. She shook her head. “Dean, you are so irritating sometimes. He’s hot, right?”
I shrugged. “He’s okay.”
“Ben says he likes you. And you two have been chatting away happily for the last half an hour.” She stopped to drain her vodka and cranberry, glancing in the direction of the bar.
I couldn’t work out whether she was calculating how long she’d have to wait for her next drink or trying to work out how long she had left to interrogate me before they were back.
Probably a mixture of the two. “It’s going to be great. We can go on lots of double dates…and—”
I placed my hand over her mouth. Years of experience had taught me it was the only way to successfully stop her when she was in mid-flow. Her eyebrows knit together in a frown.
I took my hand away before she could consider biting.
“I think you’re getting way ahead of yourself.
I’ve just met the guy. At least give me a chance to make my own mind up about him, rather than you making it up for me.
” She looked suitably chastened. Whatever she’d been going to say next was thankfully stalled by the timely arrival of the two men with another round of drinks.
Another thing to be thankful for was that the short break seemed to have distracted Simon from the subject of his car.
The conversation instead turned to films the four of us had seen recently.
We were in the middle of a heated debate about which Marvel film was the best—Georgia’s crush on Robert Downey Junior meant her arguments were far from rational—when my phone rang.
Even though it wasn’t a number I recognized, I answered it anyway.
Georgia immediately directed a glare my way, like she felt personally insulted by my refusal to ignore the call.
I shook my head as she mouthed, “You’re on a date,” and focused on the voice on the other end of the line.
“Is that Dean? Dean Griffiths?”
The voice didn’t sound familiar. “Speaking.”
“Hi, Dean. You came in to audition for us for a part in our new drama.”
“That’s right.” It had been a long audition: a lot of waiting around with what seemed like hundreds of other actors, all vying for the same role, only for the actual audition to be over and done with in less than ten minutes.
I’d left there with a heavy heart, feeling like it had been a completely wasted day, and asking myself for the umpteenth time why I bothered.
They’d filmed the audition, saying that they needed to review the tapes and they’d be in touch.
But, I hadn’t held out much hope on hearing from them.
Maybe they were going to ask me back for a second audition?
“We were very impressed with your audition.”