Chapter Three #2
I could still only think of, ‘Do you come here often?’ Then, it occurred to me that it could be a great question if used with irony. The ideal, ‘Are you on the same wavelength as me?’ test.
It would have to do.
* * *
An hour later we arrived outside Café Lulu. Through the huge plate glass windows, the décor and furniture shouted ‘massively trendy’. My stomach was doing an impression of a washing machine on maximum spin.
At the door we were given a covert up-and-down by an Amazonian blonde drenched in an overpowering perfume, who obviously had strict instructions to weed out any riff-raff.
‘You are?’ she barked in an East European accent.
Even I had to crick my neck to look up at her.
She looked capable of slinging out undesirables by the scruff of their necks.
Perhaps she’d been a female wrestler in a former life.
I’d managed to text my cousin that afternoon to tell him, rather than ask him, to expect one extra.
We must have passed the test because we were waved over to a set of brightly lit stairs leading up to the private members’ lounge. It was packed. Impressive. Maybe Barney had had to squeeze us in after all.
He was standing at the entrance and barely gave me a glance, far too busy snapping out orders to another blonde sporting a chest of magnificent proportions.
With clipboard in hand and wearing one of those headsets with a microphone, she looked as if she knew what she was doing.
She smiled at us. Not a single wrinkle or dimple spoilt her foundation.
It was only when she asked our names that Barney realised it was me.
‘Blimey, Olivia,’ he gasped, his eyes zeroing in on my cleavage. ‘Have you had a boob job?’
Laced in like a Victorian lady, I was rather proud of the results. Good job I hadn’t gone for the inflatable version. I wouldn’t have put it past him to stick a needle in.
‘Murdered any hamsters lately?’ I didn’t say it, although it was on the tip of my tongue. Another childhood incident. Instead, I managed to muster up a snide, ‘This all looks very professional.’ The unspoken, ‘For an amateur,’ was implied by my surly tone.
Emily gave me an irritated look. ‘Children, children,’ she interceded with a flirtatious smile. She would. Barney was just her type.
‘You’re on table seven, Olivia, and you,’ Barney gave Emily an approving smile, ‘are table twelve. Would you like me to show you to your tables.’
‘No, it’s fine. Just point the way to the bar,’ I said, anxious to put as much distance as possible between us. ‘You’re obviously rushed off your feet.’
Botox Barbie’s smile slipped for a second, her face sour as she muttered under her breath, ‘Hardly.’
My glass of wine was window dressing as my stomach was still on its final spin. It might be a long evening. Emily and I positioned ourselves so it looked as if we were talking to one another, when in fact we were scanning the room over each other’s shoulders.
The room was almost circular, the circumference ringed by alcoves containing tables lit by angular desk lamps. The line, ‘Ve hav vays of making you talk’, ran through my head.
‘Seen anyone interesting?’ asked Emily, tossing her long blonde hair back over her shoulder for the fifth time.
‘I’m trying not to make it seem too obvious.’ I gave my wine another tentative sip. ‘If I catch anyone’s eye they might think I’m desperate.’
‘Olivia, people go speed-dating all the time. They’re probably all veterans.’
And that was supposed to make me feel better?
Dotted around the room were the odd twosome, like us, pretending not to be eyeing everyone else up. A few brave solitary souls, clearly mad or desperate, were busy examining the huge, curved pieces of artwork that hugged the walls.
One man stood out. Nothing mad or desperate about him. If anything, he seemed to preen under the curious glances, self-assured and haughty as he gazed airily around the room as if looking for inspiration before reapplying himself to his Times crossword.
It went quiet as Barney strode into the centre of the room to explain the rules of engagement. I thought it was all pretty obvious but Barney had to make a meal of it. At last, just as I was thinking about sidling out of the room, he finished with, ‘Ladies and gentlemen — good luck.’
‘Who does he think he is, head of MI6 sending us off on a mission?’ I whispered, my stomach lurching in panic. Emily tossed her hair again and gave an excited little skip.
I almost expected a bell to ring to start us off, but with an imperious, ‘To your tables,’ Barney clapped his hands and we all jumped like well-trained sheep.
‘Show time,’ sang Emily and sailed off to her table, her hips swinging.
* * *
Searching out table seven, I arrived before my date.
Slipping into the chocolate-brown leather banquette in my allocated alcove, I stuffed my bag at my feet with shaking hands and then hopped back on to my feet.
What was speed-date etiquette? Should I stand and wait, or sit back down?
Before I could decide one way or another, a tall figure loomed over my hunchbacked position. Crossword Man. He held out a slim tanned hand before coiling himself onto his chair.
Up close he was gorgeous. Even my one-man libido sat up and took notice. Smooth coffee skin, sleek black hair, perfect teeth and dark brown eyes with amber flecks, but there was something distant and aloof about him.
‘Anthony,’ he announced in a deep voice adding, ‘and you are?’ His mouth curved with a slight hint of disdain, as if there was a nasty smell under his nose.
* * *
‘Hi, Anthony.’ My heart thudded uncomfortably. Why had I let myself in for this? ‘I’m Olivia.’
Settling himself onto his seat, he seemed at ease, almost as if he was conducting an interview. I wished I felt that confident or could even pretend to be.
He leaned back and paused for a moment, as if putting a great deal of thought into his next words. With great ceremony his fingers came together in a delicate point under his chin. ‘Tell me. What was the last film you saw?’
The grave expression on his face should have told me this was a potential deal breaker, but my mouth had disconnected itself from my brain and the words, ‘Pretty Woman,’ popped out.
Whoops. Should have gone for something more worthy. What the hell was the name of that film all the critics had liked? The one I fidgeted all the way through.
‘What was the last film you saw?’ I asked in desperation.
‘Idle Airs in Blue. Don’t suppose you’ve seen it?’ His tone suggested that I’d probably never heard of it either.
‘That was it,’ I said with relief. See, not a total philistine. ‘Just couldn’t remember the name.’
Scepticism was written in capitals all over his face.
Arrogant sod. Time to pull out the big guns. Show him that I did have a brain. ‘Great film. The cinematography was incredible, those sunrise shots with the main protagonist were breathtaking, and the acting was superb but there were a few flaws in the plot, didn’t you think?’
He blinked, his eyelids dipping so slowly he reminded me of a languorous lizard.
I didn’t give him a chance to speak. ‘The lead character was totally unbelievable and unsympathetic. As if she’d go back to teaching.
A very anti-climactic ending. Do you know?
I think the writer and director ran out of steam.
Just thought, “We’ve done our bit, let’s wrap this up sharpish. ” ’
‘My brother wrote the screenplay.’
If there’s a God, he hates me.
‘Wow.’ I ignored his icy stare. ‘Bet your mum’s really proud.’ Please don’t let her be dead, blind or have abandoned him at birth.
‘Yes, she is. We all went to the premiere together.’
There was an expectant pause.
‘Did you meet many of the cast?’
Back on safe ground, I listened hoping my look of rapt attention was convincing. I didn’t need to say much, just interject with the odd, ‘Really? How lovely,’ and ‘Gosh, how fantastic.’
Who knew that three minutes could last such a long time?
The penguin, one of a variety of kitsch novelty timers that Barney had thoughtfully supplied to each table, finally buzzed into life so violently that it was in danger of vibrating its way off the table. Around the room half a dozen lemons, chickens and assorted peppers began to jump about.
Clutching the quivering penguin with gratitude, I almost fell over the table leg in my haste to get away. I’d known I’d be rubbish at this. Stopping to rub the lump already appearing, I was caught by Barney who hissed in my ear. ‘Girls stay put.’
As Anthony disappeared, I heavily circled around the ‘no’ box on my little scorecard. Not that I needed to, judging from the curl of distaste on his full lips, he wouldn’t be ticking my box. One down, another nine to go.
* * *
Date number two loomed over me. Hoping he hadn’t seen my vehement reaction to his predecessor’s tick box, I bobbed up to say hello, shoving the scorecard under my bum.
‘Hi,’ I muttered from my Quasimodo position, half-standing and half-sitting. He immediately grasped the table and pulled it, giving me room to straighten up.
‘Thank you.’ My thighs relaxed in relief. ‘I’m Olivia.’
‘Ned. Do you want to sit down now?’ He waved his hand at the banquette and I promptly sat, like a plummeting pigeon. Off to another great start then.
There was a pause, which lengthened and was just fighting shy of awkward when I opened my mouth at the same time as him.
‘Do—’
‘Do—’
I let him carry on. ‘Do you come here often?’ He looked round at the décor with a barely concealed shudder.
My lips twitched but I felt on safer ground with this guy. With watchful brown eyes and a grave but gentle smile lurking around his mouth, he gave off an unassuming air.
‘I assume you’re being ironic.’ I grinned at him.