An Idiot in Love (a laugh out loud comedy)

by David Jester

  ‘Jennifer?’

  ‘June or Jessica.’

  ‘It was Jennifer.’

  ‘Whatever, it’s beside the point. She was loud right? Annoying really, never shut up. Hyper little bitch as well,’ an affected look crossed his face as he recalled his two week relationship with the hyperactive dancer.

  ‘I remember,’ I said slowly.

  He looked at the Valium in my hand and gently shrugged his shoulders. ‘Well…’

  ‘You drugged her!’ I blurted.

  He took a step back, pretended to look insulted. ‘I didn’t. Honestly,’ he held up his hands. ‘I mean I thought about it…’

  ‘You’re disturbed.’

  He grinned, ‘I agree.’ He checked his watch, ‘Now come on, pop the pills, we gotta get going.’

  ‘You sure they’re legit?’

  ‘I got them from my doctor. I told some lies, said I had some psychological shit going on.’

  ‘And what were the lies?’

  He feigned a mocking laugh. ‘Funny fucker, pop the pills, let’s go.’

  The Speed Dating event was held in the back-room of a large local club, a room which usually catered for bingo nights and birthday parties.

  A number of two-seater tables -- differing in sizes, colours and wood, suggesting more than a few had been borrowed for the event -- decorated the middle of the room. Each table had a small glass vase placed in its centre and two chairs tucked underneath its sides.

  A fully stocked bar ran the full stretch of the left side of the room whilst the right was bare except for one large table, operated by a peppy middle-aged man and woman.

  The middle-aged twosome gave Matthew and me a form, a pen and a smile.

  ‘Have you done anything like this before?’ The woman asked, her eyes flicking between Matthew and me.

  ‘Has anything like this been done before?’ I wondered, scanning the form. It was a list of women’s names with an empty box by each.

  ‘Well, there have been a few events,’ the man butted in, his smile just as wide and genuine as the woman. It was creepy. ‘We met at one of these just last year,’ he said proudly, putting a gentle arm around the woman’s shoulders. ‘We fell for each other straight away, exchanged numbers and were married five months later.’

  She snuggled into the crook of his arm and wrapped her own arms around him, squeezing tightly and then quickly letting go.

  ‘Isn’t that sweet,’ Matthew said, the sarcasm not evident in his voice but clear in the look he gave me.

  She leant across and gave her husband a kiss on the temple. ‘He was number six. He was the perfect man. Tall, dark and so, so, so incredibly handsome...’ she trailed off longingly, staring into his eyes.

  ‘Handsome? What happened?’ Matthew asked, ever the one to kill the moment.

  The man looked at him unsurely for a moment and then slowly found a laugh. ‘Ah you Brits, and your humour,’ he said.

  ‘You had much success with this Speed Dating over here?’ I asked; keen to change the subject in case Matthew tried another, more successful insult.

  ‘We’ve only done two events before this,’ the woman declared, finally moving out of her husband’s loving grasp to pass a form and a smile to another aspiring SpeedDater. ‘The first wasn’t as popular as we had hoped, but we learnt our lesson, spread the word a bit more and managed to pull off a very successful night second time around. A lot of people came; everyone had a lot of fun.’

  ‘And there are even more people here tonight,’ the man added. ‘It should be a floozy.’

  ‘Indeed,’ Matthew said grinning at the choice of language. ‘So when does it start? Do we just jump right in now?’ he wondered, looking across at a large gathering of anxious woman on the far side of the room.

  ‘Oh no, you can’t talk to the single ladies yet,’ she said, checking her watch. ‘The event begins in five minutes, take your seat now. I’ll call you when it’s time.’

  We did as instructed and found two tables next to each other, the chairs less than a metre apart.

  Ten minutes later the American woman stood, rang a bell to attract attention and then declared, ‘Every man please take a seat. One to a table, there is enough tables for everyone.’

  A short bustling followed as eager males filed into the chairs.

  ‘You will get five minutes with each of our gorgeous single ladies,’ she continued, gesturing towards the women and to a small stopwatch around her neck. ‘After the bell rings--’ she held up a silver bell, jangling gently in her bony fingers ‘--I want you to switch seats, moving clockwise around the room. No dallying please, we need to keep things going. I’m sure our lovely men will demand your attention but you need to move on. At the end, all forms will be handed in, and once the votes have been counted on both sides we’ll see how many matches we have and you can exchange those telephone numbers! Are we ready to SpeedDate?’

  The crowd mumbled in reply.

  The women moved like a swarm, smiles of expectation on their faces, glasses of wine in their hands.

  There was a moment of silence, an eerie peace which blanketed the room after the sound of the bell, and then the women began to seat themselves and the room erupted in a cacophony of awkward greetings, rehearsed one-liners and feigned laughter.

  ‘Hello, my name is Cassy.’

  My first date: tall, blonde, tanned, a fresh yellow flower in her golden hair; a hint of an Aussie accent on her bright red lips.

  ‘Hello.’

  I didn’t know whether to go for a handshake or go for a kiss on the cheek. I decided for the handshake. I reached over the table and offered my hand; confident I would head-butt her if I tried to kiss her.

  She clasped it and shook gently. My palm slipped in hers, I could feel the wetness of my own hand. I could sense the sweat as it transferred from me to her.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, withdrawing the appendage and wiping it on my trousers. ‘I didn’t mean to, I mean I didn’t know--’

  ‘It’s okay,’ she said genuinely.

  ‘I washed my hands,’ I assured her. ‘I mean it’s not dirty, it’s not urine or anything. It’s just sweat; I mean that probably sounds just as bad, well, certainly bad, perhaps not as bad.’

  She looked away shyly. I paused, cleared my throat awkwardly and drained the last dregs from my bottle of beer.

  ‘I mean it could have been perspiration from the bottle.’ I told her, glancing at the smeared glass. ‘Is it perspiration or is it condensation? Is there even a difference?’

  I heard a loud cough and turned around to see Matthew glaring at me.

  I stared at the empty bottle and began to finger the sticker, peeling and picking away at the adhesive.

  ‘They say this is a sign of sexual frustration,’ I said absently. ‘I never quite understood that. If you were that sexually frustrated and your hands were that idle, wouldn't it be easier just to have a wan--’

  The bell sounded and the Australian girl sprang like a tightly wound jack-in-the-box. She flashed me a brief smile -- the excitement and wonder in her face having faded somewhat -- and disappeared without saying a word.

  Number two looked like a man. It had short, dark hair, thick bushy eyebrows, a prominent brow and a monstrous set of teeth that poked through an underbite with the jagged uncertainty of broken piano keys.

  ‘Hi, my name is Ashley,’ it said in a voice that could have passed for a slightly feminine man or a slightly butch woman.

  Despite many flaws, Ashley had a powerful set of green eyes that would suit any supermodel. They glistened at me from across the table, catching the light of the halogen bulbs above.

  ‘I’m Kieran,’ I said.

  This time I decided not to offer my hand, even though the sweat had now mostly dried or had been transferred onto my jeans or the hand of the Australian girl.

  ‘You know, you have amazing eyes. I know that’s a corny pickup line but I didn’t mean it like that,’ I said. ‘Not like I wouldn’t want to pick yo
u up,’ I quickly corrected. ‘I mean you’re a beautiful ma--woman,’ the inflection was a little higher than I had anticipated, it shot to the heights of helium abuse and I was forced to cough it away and pretend it hadn’t happened by adding more base to the next few syllables. ‘You are, don’t get me wrong. I just don’t do pickup lines.’

  Ashley stared deeply at me, as if trying to figure something out.

  ‘So...’ I looked down at my fingers as I danced them absently on the table. ‘Do you come here often?’

  The bell sounded again. The sound of chairs being shoved back by eager backsides immediately followed.

  Matthew leaned over before the third woman sat down.

  ‘What the fuck are you playing at?’ He asked in an angry whisper.

  ‘I don’t know, I really don’t. I’m blabbering; I told you this was a bad idea. I’m still nervous; I don’t think the pills are working.’

  ‘Calm down,’ he said in softer tones. ‘Let them do the talking.’

  Number three was a plump middle-aged woman with a bubbly smile emanating from a face flushed with red, either through nerves, alcohol or excitement.

  I did as Matthew said and let her talk. I didn’t even need an opening; she attacked the silence after our introduction like a dog attacking a piece of meat. She ate up the sentences like they were made of cake.

  I pretended to listen to every word she spoke. If my brief experiences with women have told me one thing it’s that they not only like to talk but they like other people to listen. So I played the listener.

  She stopped talking after she had munched through a handful of sentences. She had a look of expectation on her face.

  ‘So?’ she said, prolonging the word so it sounded like soo-oooo.

  I had been thinking about something else, anything else; everything other than what this woman was saying to me.

  ‘Sorry,’ I said, ‘I drifted off there. I didn’t hear--’

  ‘Am I boring you?’ she quickly interrupted. Those sweet bubbly features now turning sour.

  ‘No, not boring as such.’

  ‘As such?’ I had flashbacks to my childhood and to Kelly Newsome -- the same angry tone, the same questioning glare. I was sure that if she was standing she would have her hands on her hips right now.

  ‘It was interesting, honestly,’ I plastered a smile on my face; even I knew it looked disingenuous. ‘I’m just tired. Distant. Maybe a little drunk,’ I held up the empty bottle as if it were concrete proof.

  ‘Don’t patronise me,’ her sour face looked prepared to spit. She seemed to be having an internal battle, perhaps deciding if she should empty her glass of wine on me or not. In the end the bell made her mind up for her, she stood, distasteful muttered: ‘Typical man,’ and departed.

  ‘Three and out?’ Matthew whispered across.

  ‘She’s got issues,’ I said. ‘She has some Jekyll and Hyde thing going on. I dodged a bullet there. Not my type anyway.’

  ‘I told you, tonight your type is female, end of. And even then we can make exceptions.’

  The eyes of number four were on me before she sat down and they never left me when she lowered a trim backside, fitted in tight formal pants, onto the seat. She was attractive, stunning actually, her features set with a film-star glow reminiscent of a decade long dead. A charm nestled in her eyes, a beauty in the small lines at the corner of her mouth, a touch of class in her demeanour.

  Like the previous singleton she was about twenty years older than me, and before I could stop myself I made a point of mentioning it.

  ‘You look a lot like my mother,’ I had said it with a smile and good intentions, but my heart sank when I heard those words leave my lips.

  The woman with the film star looks didn’t react how I would have expected. She didn’t frown, she didn’t look away, she didn’t slap me. There was a touch of indecision there, but nothing malignant.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ I said, covering my mouth, as if I could force the words back in. ‘I meant that as a compliment, honestly. I heard myself saying it... It didn’t sound like a compliment I know, but...I’m so sorry, I’m not very good at this.’

  ‘You have a tendency to speak before you think?’ she said, her voice was soft, reassuring. I thought motherly but quickly forced that thought out of my head in case it did any more damage.

  ‘You don’t know the half of it,’ I said, somewhat relieved she hadn’t hit me yet. ‘I don’t mean anything bad by it, I just can’t help myself. I talked to the first girl too much, the last one talked to me too much -- I didn’t listen to a word -- and the second, well, I’m not even sure that was a girl at all.’

  ‘Well, you haven’t scared me away yet.’ A genuine warm smile curled at the corners of her mouth, it was as reassuring as her voice. ‘I’m Ally.’

  ‘Kieran.’

  ‘So Kieran, what brings you here?’

  I glanced at Matthew. He was leaning across the table and listening intently to a woman who had yet to visit me. ‘A friend,’ I said, looking back at her. ‘He said it would be fun.’

  ‘Has it been?’

  ‘It's been eventful I guess.’

  ‘You class offending three women as eventful?’ Ally asked with a cheeky grin.

  I smiled, suddenly overcome with shyness. ‘Just three? So you’re not including yourself in that?’

  ‘It’s impossible to offend me,’ she said confidently.

  ‘I’m sure I’d manage.’

  She seemed to ponder this. ‘Is that a challenge?’

  I grinned. I sensed things were finally going my way. Then the bell rang.

  Ally stood with an apologetic shrug. I watched grimly as she backed away from the table.

  ‘That looked better,’ Matthew whispered across. ‘She was smiling, always a good sign.’

  ‘I liked her,’ I said, leaving space for a disappointed but.

  ‘How did you blow it?’

  ‘Why do you assume that I blew it?’

  The next round of girls sat down and ended the hushed conversation.

  Number five waited patiently for me to greet her, but I did so with such a lack of enthusiasm that I set the tone for five minutes of awkward coughing, throat clearing and small talk.

  I could feel the onset of the Valium, a wave of warmth that had started in my toes was now tingling its way through my thighs and my groin.

  My inhibitions began to ebb away. I could feel my anxieties and my worries departing.

  Number six was an anxious blonde; she didn’t look much older than nineteen. Under the increasingly enchanting spell of the sedative I felt a desire to connect with her; a oneness with my fellow human beings. But this fresh found social desire translated into five minutes of blank staring and smiling. Hereby increasing her anxieties whilst my own dissolved.

  With number seven I made a good early start on the conversation, but it turned ugly, very quickly.

  ‘So, have you been single long?’

  ‘What is that supposed to mean?’

  ‘I’m...nothing. I was just--’

  ‘Why are you smiling like that?’

  ‘I’m smiling? Am I smiling?’

  ‘You don’t know that you’re smiling?’

  ‘I do now, or at least I think that I know that I am smiling now, otherwise why would you have asked such a thing?’

  ‘What?’

  The five minutes couldn’t have been up sooner for number seven; she nearly tripped over the chair as she scuttled onto the next table.

  The steadily increasing warmth of the Valium continued to suck my inhibitions away by the minute, but during the eighth date that warmth exploded into an unimaginable heat.

  Number eight was a small Asian woman with delicate oriental features and a thin smile. She introduced herself, I gave my name and then I insulted her. Another blip, another blabber. But this time I didn’t react with a sinking heart, it was like watching a DVD of my life, the impact moment had been played, but I was able to pause, hold the scen
e and contemplate.

  I was looking for the rewind button when she retaliated.

  ‘What do you mean, “We’ll all be speaking Chinese in a few years?’’’ she was no longer smiling but I was. I hadn’t meant to say what I had said, it had slipped out as so many careless words do, but I didn’t mind. The Valium took care of that.

  ‘I didn’t mean anything bad by it. I’m not racist or anything,’ I assured her. ‘Or is it xenophobic?’

  She didn’t answer. She glared.

  ‘If I don’t object to the colour of your skin but I hate your country, that’s xenophobia right?’ I shrugged my own nonchalant reply. ‘Anyway, I have no issue with you people.’

  ‘You people?’

  ‘That sounded bad didn’t it?’

  ‘Uh-huh,’ I could practically see the steam blowing out of her ears.

  ‘I used to work with a guy who was Chinese,’ I said, trying to sound serious but unable to brush off the simpleton smile still plastered over my face.

  ‘Really?’ she said in a displeased monotone.

  ‘Well, he was Korean, but it’s the same thing ain’t it?’

  She grunted a noise that didn’t sound human, looked around the table in fleeting aggression and then shot upwards, throwing her chair backwards with the force of her calf muscles. ‘You’re despicable,’ she spat, her voice infused with rising octaves of frustration.

  She stormed straight out of the room, her hair billowing behind her as she strode through the doors and allowed them to slam shut in her wake. A few people looked my way, a mixture of disgrace and wonder on their faces.

  Sober I would have sunk my head ashamedly, or followed my disgraced date out of the room with a flushed colour decorating my cheeks, but under the influence of sedatives I returned each stare with a smile that said isn’t this wonderful?

  And I generally believed that, because at that moment I felt wonderful, after that moment, with the benefit of hindsight, I would have stopped myself. I would have gagged myself or kicked myself out of that room and into the street.

  But I didn’t have the benefit of sober hindsight and Matthew became too engrossed in the event to save me from myself.

  First it was the turn of a pleasant, albeit obese, woman who shifted the table with her stomach when she sat down.