by Zoe May
‘Yes, great, thanks,’ I gabble. The roo-what? I wonder as Daniel orders our drinks.
‘Of course. I’ll bring them over,’ the barmaid drawls, eye-fucking Daniel.
‘Great, thanks,’ he replies, smiling tightly.
He turns to me. ‘Let’s sit down. After you.’
As we walk to one of the booths, I can feel people watching us. Sandra was right, people do act differently in Daniel’s presence. There’s a hush as everyone’s eyes follow him. I wonder if Daniel notices or if he’s just so used to it that it’s normal for him. I slide into the booth. Daniel sits opposite me and takes off his dinner jacket. It’s almost a relief to see him take the jacket off; it’s a midnight blue shade and brings out his eyes to a distracting degree, but even without it, in his crisp white shirt, he’s still breathtakingly gorgeous. He smiles, the same wry half-smile from the photo on his profile. He’s wearing the gold stud in his ear. It glitters under the spotlights over our heads. Suddenly, I realise I need to speak. I can’t just gawp at him all night.
‘So, err, is it weird looking like Robert Pattinson?’ I ask.
Daniel laughs. ‘Yes, it is a little, especially when I get asked to pose for selfies.’ His voice is so deep and silky and smooth that for a second, I just sit there reflecting on how nice it is. Daniel looks at me, slightly expectantly. Oh shit, what was he talking about? Selfies. Posing.
‘Haha! Seriously?! What do you do?’
‘Well, I used to explain that I’m not him, but people would get so disappointed so now I just let them take a picture. What I find peculiar though is that no one seems to question how Robert Pattinson can be filming in LA and simultaneously signing autographs for fans in London.’
‘Maybe he’s got a time machine,’ I suggest.
Daniel smiles. ‘Maybe.’
He looks like he’s about to say something when the waitress comes over.
‘Here you are,’ she says as she places a glass of wine down in front of him, next to a piece of paper with the name ‘Scarlett’ scrawled in biro next to her phone number.
‘Enjoy,’ she adds. She plonks my glass down without a word and struts back to the bar. I laugh weakly.
‘Unbelievable,’ Daniel mutters.
He picks up the paper and holds it as if he’s examining the number. My heart sinks. Oh no, he’s not actually going to keep it, is he? It’ll be like the time I went on a date with a guy from Tinder and came back from the loo to find him swiping right on other girls. I look down at my lap. I mean, she is really hot but he’s meant to be on a date with me. Although given that all my profile asked for was basically a sexy rich guy, I probably shouldn’t be surprised if the man who fits the bill turns out to be an arrogant wanker. I look up and see that Daniel’s folding the piece of paper in half, bending one of the edges flat against the table with his thumb nail.
‘What are you doing?’ I ask tentatively.
‘Wait.’ He folds the paper again and again until it starts to resemble a bird. The barmaid watches us from behind the counter, a confused expression on her face. Daniel picks up the origami bird and shoots it across the booth. It soars over the table but wavers slightly, before swooping down and catching on my dress. One of the wings gets caught on a sequin.
‘I didn’t mean for it to land on you!’ Daniel says as I peel it off, laughing.
The waitress glares at us and a smirk creeps onto my lips. Daniel smiles naughtily.
‘I don’t think she liked that,’ I say, smiling back at him.
Daniel shrugs. ‘Pass me a violin.’
I pick up my glass when it suddenly occurs to me that Daniel hasn’t paid, and I haven’t even offered to contribute.
‘Oh, sorry! Should I pay?’ I ask.
‘It’s fine. I’m a member here. They just add it to my bill,’ Daniel says, shrugging off the suggestion. I get the feeling that money isn’t an object and he might find it crude if I push it.
‘Okay, well, thank you.’ I take a sip and the wine spreads over my tongue, a soft bouquet of delicate floral flavours, sweet and yet slightly sharp. My taste buds spring to life, suddenly blossoming.
‘This wine is—’ I’m about to say ‘beautiful’, but then again, I don’t want Daniel to think I’m not accustomed to fine wines (he doesn’t need to know that the classiest wines I drink are down from £7 to a fiver at Sainsbury’s). ‘Nice,’ I finish.
Daniel smiles. ‘I’m glad you like it.’
He picks up his glass and raises it in a toast.
‘Cheers to the best dating profile I’ve ever read.’ He grins.
I blush, covering my face with my hand as I clink my glass against his.
‘Cheers,’ I echo. ‘I know this is a bit… forward, but why are you doing online dating when you’ve got women fawning over you? Like her, for example.’
‘Why are you doing online dating?’ Daniel retorts.
I shrug. ‘It’s hard to meet people. Most of my friends are coupled up so we don’t have as many crazy nights out anymore and I don’t meet anyone through work,’ I tell him matter-of-factly.
‘But surely you have guys approaching you?’ Daniel asks.
‘No one decent.’ I don’t tell him that the last man who chatted me up was an overweight Polish checkout assistant at my local supermarket, who told me he liked my tights and then asked if they felt soft.
‘It’s the same for me,’ Daniel says.
‘But…’
‘The kind of women I attract are loud, arrogant, forward, brash.’ He gestures towards the bar. ‘That’s not the kind of woman I want to be with.’
I smile tentatively. ‘But wasn’t my profile like that?’
Daniel laughs. ‘Yeah, but it seemed tongue-in-cheek and your photo was cute.’
I think back to that hideous make-up free shot Kate chose of me walking in Hyde Park, looking so ordinary. Could it really be that simple? That drop-dead gorgeous guys like Daniel are simply looking for normal women like me?
‘Have you been dating for long then?’ I ask.
‘On and off.’ Daniel shrugs. ‘It’s hard with work, especially since I’m always travelling.’
Suddenly, it hits me that I still don’t know what he does. Here I am, clinking glasses and flirting with a gorgeous man, falling for him just because he looks like Robert Pattinson when for all I know, he could be an extremely well-paid undertaker.
‘So, what is it that you do?’
‘I work in interior design,’ he tells me. ‘I run an interior design company.’
I shuffle in my seat. Hmmm… So, he has a cool job as well. This is all just a bit too perfect.
‘Oh, right, that’s exciting,’ I reply. ‘Were you working on a property in Paris?’
‘No, no. There was a textiles show there. I spend half my time sourcing fabrics and furnishings from Europe, Asia, Africa. My clients all want something that little bit different,’ Daniel tells me. ‘But what about you? I think your profile said you worked in media.’
I laugh. ‘The options were fairly limited on Dream Dates, but to say I work in the media probably makes it sound far more glamourous than it actually is. I work in communications at a medical research centre,’ I tell him, making myself sound so uncool. Maybe I should have just said I worked in the media after all.
‘That sounds like the media to me,’ Daniel replies, to my relief.
‘Well, sort of…’
I don’t need to tell Daniel that the last piece of media coverage I managed to secure was an article about rectal skin tags in The Lancet.
Someone turns the music up and Daniel comes over to sit on my side of the booth. We get to know each other, trading details about our lives. He grew up in Abu Dhabi; I grew up in Worcestershire. His dad’s an oil trader and his mum’s a lady of leisure; both my parents are retired secondary school teachers. He went to NYU for his degree; I went to Aberystwyth. He spends half his life flying all over the world sourcing furniture; I write about catheters in Shadwell all day. He has his own super successfu
l business with swanky offices on Bermondsey Street; I dream of being a writer. It’s like an elephant in the room how different we are but Daniel doesn’t seem to mind and anyway, I did want the wealthy yang to my impoverished yin.
‘Just like your ad,’ Daniel says, grinning. ‘“Must have a multimillion pound business.”’
I take a long sip of wine, eyeing him sceptically over the rim of the glass.
‘Oh, come on then. Out with it,’ I blurt.
‘Out with what?’ Daniel looks taken aback.
‘The catch!’
‘What do you mean?!’
‘I write a completely crazy ad - the crassest, pickiest, most superficial ad in the history of internet dating, and then you come along and you meet pretty much all of the criteria, and then some. You’re hot, successful, you even have a bloody rescue cat. And if that wasn’t enough, you also seem like a cool person. So, what’s the catch?’
‘All the criteria?’ Daniel asks, a mischievous glint in his eye. ‘Are you sure about that, Sophia?’
What’s he on about? Oh no, he’s talking about the penis measurements, isn’t he? A massive cock. 8 inches. Diameter 2.1 inches. Shit. I feel my cheeks flare up.
‘Well, most,’ I reply as casually as possible.
‘I do meet all of them, actually,’ Daniel insists, raising an eyebrow suggestively. ‘Don’t you believe me?’
I giggle nervously. Oh no! I can’t deal with this. He’s so sexy and he’s flirting and… I pick up the origami bird and fidget with the wing.
‘There’s no catch. I’m just me.’ Daniel smiles.
‘Really?’
‘Well, what do you think the catch is then?’
I rack my brains.
‘I don’t know. Maybe you’ve got a terminal illness and you’ve never done internet dating before so it’s on your bucket list before you die.’
‘Internet dating on a bucket list?!’ Daniel scoffs. ‘No round the world trip? Just internet dating? Sophia, I think you need to get out more.’
‘Okay, well maybe you’re an actor in a reality TV show and I’m being pranked. A camera crew’s going to burst in any minute and everyone’s going to laugh at me.’
Daniel grins.
‘Or maybe you’re actually a woman but you’ve had facial reconstruction surgery to look like Robert Pattinson as part of your transition and—’
‘Listen, I’m not an actor,’ Daniel interrupts. ‘There are no secret cameras, I’m not dying and I’m not a woman, I promise.’ His lips twitch.
He moves a little closer and takes my hand, sliding his fingers between mine. I’m suddenly aware of my heart, thudding in my chest.
‘It’s just a strange coincidence, one that we should both be grateful for,’ he says. ‘It’s luck.’
He looks me straight into my eyes and tilts his head towards mine. Oh my God, he’s going to kiss me! He closes his eyes, moves closer and a second later, his lips are on mine! Oh wow, I’m kissing Robert Pattinson. I mean, Daniel. I lean into him, exploring his mouth with my own. He’s such a good kisser. Could he be right? That there isn’t a catch? Could it be that my luck is finally changing? Date etiquette suddenly punctures my fantasy and I gently pull away.
‘I could kiss you all night,’ Daniel murmurs, running his finger over my bottom lip. I gulp.
‘I should head home. Don’t want to miss the last tube,’ I tell him coyly.
‘Of course.’ Daniel steps out of the booth to let me out and slips his hand through mine as we cross the bar.
The doorman retrieves our coats. ‘See you soon, I hope,’ he says, holding the front door open for us as we step out onto the street.
‘Goodnight,’ Daniel replies.
Reality comes hurtling back into focus as the door of The Cavendish Club closes behind us. Cars whizz down the road, rowdy drunks stagger down the pavement and a man vomits into a hedge.
‘Oh God.’ I shudder. ‘I almost forgot about the real world.’
‘We could always stay?’ Daniel suggests, fixing me with those piercing eyes. ‘They have rooms. We don’t have to do anything, we could just talk.’
Talk. Ha! I shake my head and Daniel nods resignedly, as if he already knew what my answer would be.
‘Let’s get you home then,’ he says, hailing down a taxi.
‘Oh, I was just going to get the tube, I—’ I can’t afford a taxi from Mayfair to Lewisham, I’m about to say, but luckily Daniel cuts me off.
‘I’m not letting you take the tube. Not in that dress.’
I tug at the hem. Is it too short? Do I look tarty?
‘I don’t want men harassing you,’ Daniel says as a taxi pulls over.
He clearly has a warped idea of the kind of attention I command from the opposite sex, but never mind. I don’t need to contradict him.
Daniel turns to speak to the taxi driver, lowering his voice so that I can’t quite make out what he’s saying. I catch a flash of £20 notes as he hands some cash through the window.
‘Get her home safe,’ Daniel says in a louder voice, before opening the car door to let me in.
‘I hope you had a good night?’ he asks and for a second, a shadow of doubt passes across his eyes.
‘I had a great night! Amazing night. I had the best night!’ I gush.
Daniel laughs and leans in to kiss me goodbye.
‘Good, then I’ll see you soon,’ he says softly into my ear. ‘Text me when you get home.’
He closes the door.
Great night! Amazing night! The best night! I cringe. So much for playing it cool. I wave through the window as the taxi pulls away.
Chapter Nine
As I wake up, details of last night trickle back into my mind. Daniel’s smile, his smell, the feel of his lips against mine. It’s like waking up from one of those amazing dreams, when for a second you think something incredible has happened, but then real life comes clattering down around you. Except last night wasn’t a dream. It actually happened. My dress is still draped over the back of my desk chair where I left it, my clutch is on the desk. I grab my phone from my bedside table and open up the last text from Daniel.
Glad you got home safe. Sweet dreams, beautiful x
I lie in bed, mentally replaying the night. Not only does Daniel meet all the ludicrously far-fetched and superficial criteria of my Dream Dates profile - being gorgeous, sexy and stinking rich - but what’s almost more surprising is that he actually seems like a nice guy. He was gentlemanly, funny, smart and so easy to talk to. I think of the moment he folded the barmaid’s number into an origami bird and find myself smiling – he was quirky too. Eventually, I drag myself out of bed and find Kate sitting on the sofa in the living room, making notes on a script with a biro. Light streams in through the window.
‘Oh, hey. Thought you were staying at Max’s?’
‘I was, but I started freaking out this morning. I’ve got my audition for The Mousetrap this week. Kept trying to read the script but Max’s flatmate was listening to funk non-stop. Who listens to funk?! Couldn’t bear it so I just left.’
Kate rolls her eyes and reaches for her cup of tea.
‘Fair enough.’
‘You look…’ Kate searches for the right word. ‘Different. Happy.’
I can’t help breaking into a grin. Screw it. I’m going to have to tell her at some point, it may as well be now.
‘Kate, you know that guy from Dream Dates?’
Kate looks momentarily blank. ‘That Robert Pattinson guy?’
‘Yeah. Well, I met him last night and he’s the real deal! He looks just like Robert Pattinson in person, he’s so unbelievably gorgeous and cool and funny and smart and he’s just… Oh my God.’ I collapse onto the sofa.
‘Seriously?’ Kate places her script aside.
‘Yeah, he’s something else. He’s on a completely different level to the guys I’ve been meeting. I can’t believe it, he’s just… incredible!’
Kate frowns a little. ‘So, he actually looks li
ke Robert Pattinson? Like, genuinely?’
‘Yeah! People thought he was Robert Pattinson, it was insane!’
‘That’s mad! Where did you meet him?’
‘The Cavendish Club. He’s a member,’ I tell her, unable to stop a gleeful grin from spreading over my face.
‘The Cavendish Club? Seriously?’
‘Yep!’
‘That’s where my agent takes her A-list clients. Do you know how much it costs to be a member there?’
I shrug.
‘It’s loads.’ Kate reaches for a steaming mug on the coffee table. ‘What does this guy do then? What’s his name?’
I give her the low-down as she sips her tea.
‘Hmmm…’ she murmurs, placing the empty mug back down.
‘Oh Kate, he was so cool. Everything about him.’
‘He sounds really rich.’
‘I know! He paid for everything! We drank the most amazing wine and then he got me a cab home. He’s such a gentleman.’
‘But I don’t get it, if he’s so rich and amazing, what’s he doing—’
‘On Dream Dates?’ I interject.
‘Yeah,’ Kate muses.
‘He said he’s sick of all these fake, forward women,’ I explain, telling her about the barmaid.
Kate laughs at the story, but there’s a hint of tension around her eyes.
‘What’s up?’ I ask.
‘I don’t know, Sophia. I don’t mean to put a downer on this but I reckon he might have an agenda. Why would a guy like that be mixing with…’ She trails off, suddenly blushing. ‘I mean, why would he be on Dream Dates?’
‘Why would a guy like that be mixing with a girl like me, you mean?’ I look at her, aghast.
‘No, just…’
I can practically see her mind racing.
‘It just all seems a little odd. It just seems a bit too good to—’
‘And if it’s too good to be true, it must be, right? Because a gorgeous guy, who happens to be rich, could never legitimately be interested in someone like me.’
‘No, I didn’t mean it like that, I just—’ She stops when I roll my eyes and get up from the sofa.
I head to the bathroom and shut the door hard behind me. I run a bath and try to ignore Kate calling my name from next door. Fortunately, the sound of the gushing water pretty much drowns her out and by the time my bath is full, she’s gone silent. I take off my pyjamas and stretch out in the steaming, bubbling water, but instead of being able to relax, I just lie there, seething. I can’t believe Kate. How dare she imply that I’m not good enough for Daniel? She’s supposed to be my best friend. And anyway, she was the one who encouraged me not to give up online dating. She’s the one who twisted my arm into joining Dream Dates! She should be happy for me. I pick up her bottle of special rosewater shower gel. She’s always going on about how it costs £14.95 a bottle and ‘lathers up well, so if you’re going to use it just use a pea-sized amount.’ Hmmph. I squirt out a grape-sized amount. Ha. Have that, Kate.
