Dominic #2
‘Fuck me,’ I say. ‘And after all that he still went home alone. Though actually, I’ve always found that going to dinner is a great way to not get sex. No one wants to start rubbing their bodies together when they’re full of chocolate mousse.’
‘I did!’ she objects, gesticulating with her wine glass. ‘I literally offered him sex! The place we had dinner was five minutes from his flat, if that.’
‘Maybe he didn’t realise you were up for it?’ I offer.
‘I said that I didn’t have to go home and I’d love to see his place.’
‘Oh,’ I say. Then I do something I wouldn’t do with my male friends, but that I feel compelled to do for Stella: I tell her a nice lie. ‘Sometimes if you really like someone, you don’t want to push it on the first date; it can kind of change the dynamic.’
She smiles, and it looks like a weight’s been lifted. ‘Really?’
I decide to double down, because making her happy is making me happy. ‘Sure,’ I add. ‘And anyway, he’s got to be part of your man entourage, right?’
‘Mantourage.’
‘I’m not going to say that word, but yes. That. And you need a kind of old-fashioned romantic sort for that, I’d imagine.’
‘Yes!’ she says, scrabbling for a piece of paper where she’s sketched the whole thing out. ‘So, he can be the Romantic Traditionalist. God, this is such a relief. I thought I’d completely fucked it up.’
‘Not at all,’ I lie. ‘Leave it a couple of days, play it cool, don’t message him first and he’ll be in touch.’
At least the first half of that is good advice.
I know from experience of talking to Stella that she’s completely without guile.
There are these pigs who live on the beach in the Caribbean and they love humans because they’ve never experienced predators before, and Stella’s dating style has always reminded me of one of those pigs.
No idea how bad it can be, and blissfully ignorant that one wrong move could end up with her as pulled pork.
Metaphorically. I’ve lost control of this comparison.
Anyway, if she gives him total radio silence then she’s got the best possible chance of offsetting whatever the real reason is that he doesn’t want to shag her, and if not, that’s a problem for the future.
It might be nice for her to be single. Maybe. Though I’m not sure why I think that.
I look at her for a moment. ‘You’ve got an eyelash on your cheek.’ I lean forward and press my finger to her cheekbone, then hold it up to her. ‘Make a wish,’ I instruct.
She laughs. ‘I don’t know where to start on wishes.’ But she inhales and blows, poutily, her lips full and pink.
‘What’s new with you? Other than the new coffee machine at work, which was scintillating, by the way.’
‘Almost as interesting as the before and after you sent me of your big sock-and-tight purge?’
She smiles. ‘I thought you liked it when women send socksy pictures?’
I groan. ‘You’re better than that, Stella.’
‘I’m really not,’ she says. ‘But okay. Let’s do proper gossip, not socks and coffee machines. What’s going on with you? Are you seeing anyone?’
‘I am,’ I confirm. Does she react to this? I study her face. Maybe. A twinge, between her eyebrows? I suspect she’s got Botox there, which makes her harder to read. ‘Florrie.’
‘That’s a pretty name,’ she says, pleasant and neutral. So she is bothered. Good. Wait, why is that good?
‘It’s short for Florence,’ I say stupidly.
‘I’d have been surprised if it were short for Graham.’
I laugh. ‘She’s in her twenties and I didn’t think six years would be much of a gap, but it’s like she’s from a different planet. She lives with five other girls. She still wants to go to festivals.’
Stella makes a face and then tries to act like she didn’t make a face. ‘And,’ I go on, ‘she’s convinced that we need to be in an open relationship.’
‘Wow,’ Stella says. ‘How do you feel about that?’
I shrug. ‘It’s not my thing, but like I said the other night, I keep accidentally fucking people up by providing the exact level of commitment I always said I was going to provide. So maybe this is a good thing for me.’ I finish my glass. ‘I’m going to head off.’
‘You don’t want another?’
‘No,’ I say. ‘I’m not risking another Friday morning snuggle with Gavin.’
‘Fair,’ she says, getting up. ‘I’m going to take all my make-up off and then draft loads of “sorry for being a sex pest” messages to Richard.’
‘Do not message him,’ I tell her seriously. ‘I will be furious if you do.’
She laughs. ‘Okay. I won’t.’
‘Also,’ I say, as I go to the front door. ‘Whoever put up the shelves in your utility room did it with, like, a spoon and some Vaseline. I need to fix them otherwise I’ll never get a good night’s sleep again.’
‘Okay,’ she says. ‘I’m not turning down free handyman work.’
‘Who said it was free?’
‘I’m a struggling single mother.’ She pouts.
‘Fine. Can I come over on Saturday?’
‘Rose will be here,’ she says.
I don’t really know what that’s supposed to imply.
She thinks about it for a moment. ‘But I guess that’s fine.’
‘Cool,’ I say. I kiss her on the cheek. ‘I’ll let you know when I’m heading over.’
I step out into the night and realise that, after all that, I’ve left the sodding toolbox behind. But then I guess I’m coming back on Saturday, so it doesn’t really matter. As I walk home, my phone buzzes. Stella, presumably, thanking me for being her knight in shining armour.
Not Stella. Florrie. How was your evening/friend?
I’ll reply when I get home.