I mused on Joe’s words the rest of the day and when he finally came calling at gone eight o’clock–so much for an early night–I had decided I would speak to him about it.
“Hey, you look lovely,” he said, kissing my cheek as I met him at the block’s front door.
“So do you, very dapper indeed.” We linked arms and walked towards a waiting taxi.
Joe gave an address, and we settled back into the leather seats.
“Who is this friend, and I thought you wanted an early night?” I asked.
“He’s actually a client that I’m hoping might be interested in something a little more. And this is an early night for me. Seriously, we’ll grab a couple of drinks, and then I need to be home by eleven. I have a call coming in from my Saudi prince about some property he wants me to look at for him.”
“Oh, a prince, huh?” I hadn’t come across a Saudi prince in any paperwork Joe had asked me to sort out for him.
“Yes, he’s been a client on and off for years. Owns a lot of property in London. I don’t think he has ever visited one of them. Shame.” He sat back and sighed. “I really don’t get why people own all these beautiful buildings and don’t live in them.”
“Can I ask you something? Earlier you made a joke about me looking for my next victim, what did you mean by that?” I decided to ask and muse no more.
His eyes widened with genuine surprise. “Did I? I doubt I meant anything by it, just one of those cougar type jokes I guess.”
“Cougar? Do you think I’m desperate for a man?”
“Aren’t you? I don’t mean this horribly, but now your divorce is nearly finalised you seem to be anxious to get back out there and date.”
“Is there something wrong with that?” I asked, twisting in my seat to face him and realising the level of defensiveness was obvious in my voice.
“No, of course not. I didn’t mean anything by it. Honestly, I can’t even remember what I said. Have I upset you?” he asked, and the question came with all sincerity.
“Yes. No, not really. I just didn’t really like the comment. Joe, I’ve never been on my own, and I don’t like it. I don’t think there’s anything wrong in that. I just want company. I want to be able to go out for a meal with someone, or the pictures, or whatever. I’ve lost most of my friends because they don’t want a single woman around and they’ve got all the gossip they’re going to get from me. I’m lonely.”
The taxi driver interjected, “We're a bit late for Sunday Love Songs on the radio, love. And Simon Bates’, Our Tune, finished in the eighties.”
Joe laughed, but I muttered expletives under my breath.
It didn’t deter the driver’s unwelcome input. “Seriously, love, you want a man, you go get one. You’re a pretty bird, you shouldn’t be on your own, and if your friend here thinks otherwise, you wanna be looking to trade him in as well,” he added, looking at me in his rear view mirror.
I raised my eyebrows and smirked at Joe. “See, someone agrees with me,” I said, although I thought the old man driving the car—who was now running his tongue over his lips in a really not very sexy way—was looking for a little lovin’ from someone he deemed as desperate.
“No chance,” I said, smiling back at him as he waggled his tongue at me. What the fuck he thought he was doing was beyond me.
He pulled the car over a little way from our destination, embarrassed, I hoped. We climbed out, and I left Joe to pay as I buttoned up my jacket. I shuddered.
“Eeww. Just…eeww,” Joe said as he joined me.
We walked the short distance to the wine bar and were waved through the door. It wasn’t usual to have a doorman on such an establishment, but I guessed, what with it being opening night, the trays of free champagne being waltzed around could attract the wrong crowd.
Joe pulled two glasses from the tray of a passing waitress and handed me one. We chinked before sipping the cold, fizzing liquid.
Joe turned to face me, and with a stern expression, he said, “Remember, don’t take any drinks from any strangers. And don’t take anything from the barman unless it’s been opened or poured in front of you. Don’t leave your drink on the bar, either.”
Like an errant teenager being lectured, I rolled my eyes. “I know, you’ve said this a thousand times already. I have been out on my own, during and after my marriage. And I haven’t been drugged as of yet,” I said.
“Just a reminder,” he said, with a smile.
“Did you check these?” I said, raising my half-empty glass of champagne.
“I doubt the whole tray would be drugged, and I doubt the waitress would be interested in doing either of us,” he replied with a laugh.
I shook my head and looked around the room. The bar had been decorated nicely; fresh colours adorned the walls that held abstract art. I tried to remember what the venue had been before.
“Ah, Joe, my friend,” I heard.
I turned to see a couple walk towards us. A woman hung from the man’s arm, and by the way she clung on, I would have thought she had been surgically attached to him. The man didn't introduce her at all and struggled to straighten his arm to shake both mine and Joe’s hands.
“Welcome,” he said. “I see you have a drink. Please let the barman know if there’s anything else you need.”
“We will, thanks, Rich,” Joe said. I finally got to know the ‘friend’s’ name.
“I like the décor,” I added.
Rich turned to me and smiled. “Thank you, Joe had a hand in what not to do, of course,” he said.
I thought he had a lovely voice and wondered how Joe knew him. I believed I knew most of Joe’s closest friends but neither Rich, nor his name, had ever come up. He walked away still without introducing the woman on his arm.
I heard a gentle sound to my side. “What was that sigh for, Joe?”
“Nothing, shall we grab that table?” he said, a clear diversion but a necessary one as my feet had already started to hurt, and I’d only been standing a few minutes.
I sat on what resembled a perching stool at a high bistro-style table and kicked off my heels. “I swear I’m getting bunions,” I said, subtly rubbing the side of my foot.
“Old lady feet,” Joe replied, with a laugh.
I whacked him playfully. “No, feet that have been wedged into high heels for too many years.” I pulled some flip-flops from my handbag and slipped those on instead. “So, that sigh…” I asked.
“Rich can’t decide if monogamy is for him. We dated a little, then he just disappeared for a while, came back, we fucked a few times, but I have no idea where I am with him.”
I cocked my head to one side and frowned. “That doesn't sound like a nice thing for him to do. Regardless if he’s still trying to figure out his preferences, he shouldn’t string you along, Joe.”
“I know. I guess we’re all getting on a bit now and, like you, I want to settle down with someone.”
“We should make a pact. If we’re still single and sixty we marry each other,” I said with a laugh while raising my champagne glass to my lips.
Joe had never given any indication that he wanted to settle down. He was the same age as me but I didn’t see myself as fifty at all, and I certainly didn’t see Joe as fifty either. Fair enough, he had a little grey in his designer stubble, a little grey winging over the tips of his ears but that was it. He was fit, fun, and no different to the teenager I’d met all those years ago.
“When did we get old?” Joe asked, quietly.
“Fifty isn’t old. We’re still in our prime. Look, we’re at the opening of a bar, drinking champagne. We need more, of course, but most fifty-year-olds would be sitting at home with Corrie or some soap on the TV, and wearing slippers while having a cup of tea.”
Joe’s statement had thrown me. He was the life and soul normally; the one to grow old disgracefully.
He performed the perfect dramatic stage shudder, complete with a ‘brrrr’ from the lips. “I have no idea where that came from,”
he said, grabbing another two glasses of bubbly from a passing waiter.
I smiled as he handed me a glass, not for one minute, fooled.
I heard someone say, “Hi, I’m Ronan, silent partner I guess, in this place.” I turned to see a man standing beside me.
I slid from my stool and regretted removing my shoes. Ronan must have been nearly a foot taller than I was.
I held out my hand. “Lizzie and this is my friend, Joe,” I said.
I watched Ronan smile at Joe and the smile was different to the one I’d been given. Was he gay? Did he like what he saw with Joe?
“We’ve met, although I’m not sure you’ll remember. You visited with Rich one time. I’m his older brother,” he said.
Joe shook his hand vigorously. “Of course, it’s nice to meet you again.”
“Rich speaks very highly of your eye for design, and I wondered if you’d have a little time this week to talk about a project I have coming up,” Ronan said.
I shuffled slightly to one side, aware I wasn’t part of the conversation. I sipped on my drink and, in one way, was quite glad not to be included in the chat. Ronan was a very attractive man. His dark hair had streaks of grey, his dark brown eyes had a sparkle and his designer stubble, as Joe would call it, matched his hair in colour, but it was more than that. Ronan had presence. He was quietly confident.
“Lizzie, I saw you from across the room. I wondered if I could buy you a drink? You, too, Joe,” he said.
I blinked a few times with surprise. I had been quite busy coming up with as many adjectives to use for his looks and demeanour that I hadn’t realised he had spoken to me. “Oh, I’m happy with this,” I said holding my glass aloft.
“An empty glass? I’m sure that can be arranged, but how about a top up?” He smiled, the laughter lines around his eyes just added to the attractiveness.
“Ah, okay, yes…you won’t put drugs in it, will you? Joe informs me that a man buying a woman a drink in a bar is after one thing only, and will drug the woman to get it,” I rambled until I felt the subtle punch to my side.
He smirked and raised one eyebrow in question and rather sexily, I’d thought. “Joe is a wise man, but no, I won’t drug your drink. In fact, I’ll ask a waiter to bring a bottle and open it in front of us, deal?”
I watched Ronan as he pulled up another perching stool, although he managed to keep one foot on the floor while the other rested on the bar as he caught the eye of a waiter. He spoke quietly, placing his order and then smiled at us.
“So?” I said.
“So, here we are,” he replied.
“So, this is awkward, and I really do need to pee. Lizzie, don’t make a fool of yourself,” Joe said, with a wink and slid from his stool. “I’ll be right back.”
“I feel I ought to apologise for him. He does say the most bizarre things every now and again,” I said, my cheeks aflame with embarrassment.
A waiter appeared beside us.
“Lizzie, watch carefully. In fact…” Ronan slid off his jacket. He undid the cuffs of his crisp white shirt, and I saw tattoos, lots of them, snake from his wrists upwards as he rolled up each sleeve. He showed me first, his palms, and then the back of his hands, like a magician would while the waiter poured. I tried to suppress the smirk.
“No drugs, see?” he said, as a glass was slid in front of me.
“Listen, Ronan, I haven’t been single in over thirty years. I have no idea of all the rules Joe keeps forcing me to listen to, but I do believe that he must keep the most god awful company, or frequent the most god awful places if all he worries about is being drugged and assaulted.” I raised my glass and just before I took a sip, I glanced in, just to make sure there wasn't a little white pill lurking in there.
“He’s looking out for you, and so he should.”
“I’m quite capable of looking out for my—” I hadn’t finished my sentence before I half slid from my perching stool and sloshed champagne down my front. “Oh fuck it,” I said, and Ronan laughed. “These are stupid chairs unless you’re eight feet tall or can ‘perch’ in high heels for a whole evening,” I continued with a grumble.
“Yes, they are stupid stools,” he agreed.
Joe returned, and I caught the subtle wink to me. “You have a project you want to discuss, Ronan?” Joe asked.
“I do, perhaps we can arrange to meet. I have something I’d like design input with.”
“I’m not an interior designer. I sell property,” Joe said quite matter-of-factly.
“But you love architecture. The very fabric of the building is as important as the interior, in my opinion. I’ve struggled to find a designer that will appreciate the bricks, the wood, the flaws and cracks as well as what colour carpet should go down.”
Joe held up his hand. “I can’t do carpet,” he said, dramatically.
“Perfect. Perhaps we should exchange numbers, and you can call me when you’ve had a chance to check your diary,” Ronan said.
They did, and as I was about to take another sip of my champagne, Ronan interrupted me. “Lizzie, maybe I could call you for lunch or dinner one day next week?” he asked.
“Oh, yes, that would be nice. Except I have no idea of my mobile number,” I said, suddenly nervous about the prospect. I fussed with the clutch in my hands in an effort to divert the attention away from me.
Joe recited my number, and I both thanked and cursed him.
Ronan tapped my number into his handset. “I’ll send a text, that way you can decide whether to reply or not,” he said.
He slid from his stool and rolled down his sleeves, covering deliciously muscular forearms. Forearms did a thing to me, a tingling type of thing. That thing was happening, and I found myself licking my lips as if I’d spotted a piece of KFC.
With a broad smile that lit up his face and caused my stomach to flip, he left.
Joe nudged me. “Well, fuck me. If you don’t, I am.”
“You’re what? Oh, don’t answer. He’s not gay…is he?”
“No, that I doubt, which is a shame,” he said.
“Can’t you tell? I’ve always wanted to know that. Do you have like, gaydar, or something?”
“Gaydar? No. How do you know someone fancies you?” he asked.
“I don’t, which is why, two years on, I’m still single. Someone could smack me in the face with a frying pan embossed with I fancy you and I wouldn't know.” I bent down to pick up my shoes.
“Well I don’t have a gaydar; sometimes I know, and sometimes, like just then, I don’t. But I do know a man who does,” Joe said, cryptically.
I followed his gaze towards Rich, who still had the limpet stuck to his side. I wondered if someone would need to pour salt over her to release him. I chuckled at my inner sarcasm—I did amuse myself sometimes.
While I tried to wedge my high-heeled shoes into my small clutch bag, Joe said goodbye to Rich. I gave a smile and a wave as Joe returned, and we walked to the door. Joe really did mean an early night; I think we’d been in the place no more than an hour and a half.
As we left the building, Joe informed me, “Single, has been for a few years. Likes to renovate property, spends a lot of time outdoors, hence the tan I guess. Wealthy, successful, and his brother is insanely jealous of him.” He steered me to a taxi rank.
I gasped. “How the fuck do you know all that?”
“Because Rich told me some and then proceeded to tell me everything that was wrong with his brother. Jealous,” he said in a singsong voice, tapping the side of his nose.
There was no question, Ronan was the better-looking one of the two, for sure. But I didn’t know either, and as much as it had been a little fun, I doubted I’d hear from him again. He was too good looking for me. I’d be competing for mirror time, I thought, giving myself those reasons to confirm my thoughts…
Hey, Ronan here. I said I’d text instead of calling so here I am. I wondered if you’d like to meet for lunch this week.
I stared at the text for about hal
f an hour. It had been a week since Joe and I had been to the opening of Rich’s bar and I hadn’t really thought any more about Ronan. Joe hadn’t heard from him about the ‘project’, otherwise, I was sure he would have said.
What to reply? I thought. I didn’t want to immediately say yes, although I wanted to immediately say yes.
I typed a reply three times before I was satisfied.
Hi, Ronan. That would be lovely, thank you. I’m afraid, though, I’m only free on Wednesday through to the end of the week. Look forward to hearing back.
My heart beat a tattoo in my chest as I pressed send. I was free every hour of every day of that week for that man, but I didn’t want to seem too eager. I’d play it cool, that was what we women did wasn’t it?
I watched the phone for an hour before getting cross and turning it to mute and placing it face down. That lasted all of about five minutes, and I sighed as I said, “Someone might need me, urgently,” aloud to an empty kitchen.
My parents lived in Spain; I swear they moved there when their swinging lifestyle became public, and Dad’s job in the local council offices was ended. He was beyond retirement age then, if I remembered. I loved my parents; in their eighties but still partying and having the kind of social life I’d never managed.
I spoke to them every week, and they constantly asked me to visit. I always put that visit off. It wasn’t that I didn’t like Spain; I didn’t like Spanish swingers who thought everyone was game including their friend’s daughter. Mum and Dad thought it hilarious, of course, and that I ought to lighten up a little.
Never.
I decided I needed to do a food shop. I pulled my hair into a messy ponytail, not because it was a sexy thing to do but simply because it needed a wash, and I couldn’t be bothered to even brush it that morning. I dragged my fingertips under my eyes to rid my skin of the black smudges from mascara and pinched my cheeks to add a little colour.
Limp Dicks & Saggy Tits Page 3
