Rubber Gloves or Jimmy Choos?

by Faith Bleasdale

  We walked to a ‘nice little Italian’ he knew. I knew this wasn’t strictly a date, but it was nice being taken out by a gentleman. The restaurant was small, romantic and fairly empty. We were led to a table that sat in an alcove and was quite secluded. William ordered a bottle of red wine while I stuffed the fresh olive bread into my mouth in the hope that it would soak up some of the alcohol.

  As the waiter delivered the wine I caught William staring at me. ‘What?’ I said.

  William flashed me a toothy grin. ‘You really are beautiful,’ he said.

  I turned red. ‘Thank you,’ I mumbled, not knowing what else to say. Now it was a date. I guess I should have sent him a compliment back but I wasn’t sure how – ‘Oh, William, I do like your Savile Row,’ or ‘Oh, William, I do like your obviously expensive watch,’ or ‘Oh, William, you do sound like Hugh Grant,’ which I wasn’t sure was a compliment. Instead I smiled and sipped my wine.

  ‘How do you enjoy working with us?’ William asked.

  I filled him in about Colin, the boss who spent most of his time doing his children’s homework, about the clients he liked, the ones he didn’t and I sort of got my Miss Chatterbox head because I didn’t stop talking. I talked through my mozzarella and tomato salad, my seafood pasta and my ice-cream. William ate, smiled and nodded. By coffee I had moved on to Samantha and told him, in my most amusing way, how she called Dave a hundred times a day, wore padded bras and dreamed of living in Essex. I knew I was being bitchy but I wanted to get across that Samantha was unavailable and common. Compared with me: I was available and verging on classy. William, to my relief, laughed with me.

  When he summoned the bill and signed his credit-card slip he looked at me. ‘How about another coffee at your place?’

  Wow.

  I smiled shyly. ‘OK.’

  We held hands as we left the restaurant. William was still holding my hand as he hailed a cab, still as he asked me where I lived, still as I said Clapham and still as we climbed into the taxi. When seated he put his arm around me and pulled me to him. My heart was fluttering like crazy. As he kissed me I turned to jelly. For someone with so many teeth he was a great kisser. We kissed all the way back to my house and it felt so right. When the cab stopped so did we, and William paid the cab driver as I searched my bag for the keys. I opened the door, led him into the lounge and, as we were alone, I kissed him again.

  ‘What about coffee?’ I teased eventually.

  ‘Where’s your room?’ he asked.

  I led him there feeling excitement build. This was the first time I had had a man here and I was thankful that there were no dirty knickers on the floor. I pulled off my jacket and sat on the bed. William did the same. I groaned inwardly when I noticed he wore cufflinks but was distracted by another kiss. He took off his clothes, neatly folding them, and expertly undid the cufflinks. He stood in front of me wearing only his boxer shorts (cotton) and his socks. He grabbed my hands and pulled me to my feet.

  ‘Get undressed. I need the bathroom,’ he commanded.

  I nodded and pointed him in the right direction hoping that none of my housemates would see him. Then I undressed. Once naked I felt vulnerable and unsure. I sat on the bed to await his return but that felt and looked awkward. Then I lay back but that looked too provocative. Then I stood, sat and decided on lying propped up against the pillows with my knees up towards my chest. I stayed in this position for what seemed like ages, and just as I contemplated going to find him he arrived back. He leaped on the bed and started smothering me with kisses. I lost all inhibitions as he licked my nipples until they were hard and I was aroused. He eased himself out of his underwear. I ran my hands down his body, his stomach, his hips, his penis, stroking him. He explored me with his hands, slowly, surely. His eyes were half closed as he groaned with pleasure. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘now.’

  I searched my bedside table and found a condom. I gave it to William. He entered me and I groaned. We moved together slowly at first, then faster, more urgently. I was so wet and he was so good, although he insisted on staying in the missionary position. I had my first orgasm since Ben and, boy, it was great. When William came he turned so red I thought his head would pop off. He removed the condom, tied it in a knot and gave it to me. I put it on the bedside table, unsure what to do with it. Then he put his boxer shorts back on, climbed under my duvet, kissed my cheek and went to sleep. It was only when I got up to get a T-shirt that I noticed he was still wearing his socks.

  I awoke to find his hands between my legs and I kissed him again. Thank God he still wanted me. I had worried that perhaps he wouldn’t want to marry me because I’d slept with him so easily. I tried to reward his loyalty by bringing my lips to his penis but he pushed me away. We made love again, in the missionary position, and I fell in love.

  Afterwards I offered him breakfast, but he said he had stuff to do, he’d see me on Monday.

  Wow, he wanted to see me again! God I was so lucky. The fact that I had to see him at work escaped me, for the time being, as I basked in being liked by a man I’d had sex with. I felt sure William was the one.

  A weekend had never felt so long as that one did. I was excited and told my friends about William. They were impressed by the fact that he had a good job and money, and he sounded nice. I had been in London for three months, and although he wasn’t Ben I had found the nearly-man of my dreams.

  Or the man of my nightmares. I went into work on Monday to be met by a hysterical Samantha. ‘How could you?’ she screamed.

  It transpired later that William and she had been having a fling behind she wonderful boyfriend’s back. William had told her about us. He had used me to make her jealous or something. Darren and Justin were distant, and I knew that I was now being seen as the easiest new girl on the block. It was awful. I felt as if everyone knew what had happened, I felt cheap and dirty and humiliated. Imagine thinking he’d be my husband. I hardly knew him, for God’s sake, and he didn’t even speak to me now. I had been so stupid. I got through the day somehow, but it took everything I had.

  I went home and poured out my heart to Sophie. She told me not to go back to work. This made me feel slightly better. Then Sarah came home and I was still crying and she said I didn’t have to go back, she’d find me something else. She also said that William should be shot and so should Samantha. Jess came home and I was still crying and she agreed I couldn’t go back. I felt safe again. They did say that perhaps it would be a good idea not to sleep with people connected with work in the future. I said I’d never sleep with any man ever again.

  I cried that night and allowed myself the luxury of a thought about Ben. And I dreamed about him but he kept turning into William. I realised that having a plan to get a husband might not be as easy as I had first felt. I also realised that I’d had three bouts of casual sex and it was about time … not to abandon my plan to find a man but not to sleep with them so easily. That was it. It wasn’t my plan that was wrong, it was my approach to it. That could be changed.

  Chapter Six

  It was one of those pieces of gossip that everyone was talking about. The wicked witch had somehow put a curse on a beautiful girl and now she would have to sleep for a hundred years. Apparently it had something to do with a talking mirror and sex appeal. I decided to hunt down the wicked witch, and over a cup of homemade broth, I asked her if she would consider putting me to sleep for a while. It didn’t have to be a hundred years, just one would do. I was so tired. The witch cackled and said she would have to consult the mirror. I waited patiently for her return, praying that she would do this thing for me.

  On her return she looked at me almost sympathetically. ‘I can’t put you to sleep, I’m sorry, you’re absolutely no threat to me.’ She then showed me out.

  ***

  Just after the William experience I got flu. In that state of sorrow I felt that I was being constantly reminded that just as I thought things couldn’t get any worse they did. I lay on the sofa wrapped in my duvet, surrounded by
tissues, pills and cough medicine (courtesy of Sarah), magazines (courtesy of Jess) and videos (courtesy of Sophie). I ate packets and packets of Tunes until I felt sick, I put a Vick’s inhaler up my nose until I felt dizzy, and drank more than twice the recommended dose of cough medicine. I felt secure, almost as if I had everything I needed. This way, under my duvet, I didn’t have to face the world. The sofa was the world. I was tempted to stay there for ever.

  Sometimes truth reared its ugly head. Truth let me know that I was not going to find a husband easily, or even a boyfriend. Truth said that the reason everything went horribly wrong for me was that I still wanted Ben. Truth said that I was falling into bed with every man I met because I was lonely, and loneliness was no foundation for a lasting relationship. Truth said that I had to stop, think and wait for love to happen. When truth shouts in your ear like this, there are two things you can do: take notice and act, or bury your head back in the sand and ignore it. I told truth to butt out of my life.

  Flu passed and Sarah got me yet another job. This was as a secretary in an accountancy firm. At first I tried to protest. ‘Accountancy? Sarah, is that the best you can do?’

  ‘What’s wrong with that?’ Sarah replied.

  ‘Well, aren’t accountants all terribly dull, polyester-suit-wearing people?’

  ‘And, Ruth, tell me why that would make any difference.’ Sarah looked at me sternly.

  ‘It wouldn’t, doesn’t, but I’m just worried I might get bored.’

  I had dropped myself in it again.

  ‘Bored? But, Ruth, you told me you didn’t care what job you had because there was nothing you’d be interested in, nothing you wanted to do, so why all of a sudden would you be worried about being bored?’ Sarah smiled sweetly.

  ‘Cow. You did this on purpose. You got me this job so I wouldn’t be tempted to sleep with anyone.’

  ‘Well, babe, it did cross my mind. Seriously, so far I have shit relationships with two of my clients, thanks to you, and I can’t afford to lose any more. This job is only for two months and it’s compulsory that you stay for the whole time.’

  ‘Christ, two months with a bunch of accountants. I’ll come out of it wanting to be celibate like you.’

  ‘That wouldn’t be a bad thing.’ We both giggled.

  ‘Or I’ll come out of it having had sex with an accountant.’

  ‘Don’t think about doing that, I mean it.’

  I laughed again, and decided that just for her sake, and nothing to do with the fact that all accountants have to give up their sex appeal when they qualify, I wouldn’t sleep with anyone in my next job.

  ***

  It was just as I had imagined it. Grey, quiet and boring. The boss was OK, he was a puffy-faced man who needed me to file things and make him tea a lot. He was called Nick and he was boring. But he didn’t look like the shouting type, so that was something. He even tried to tell me what accountants did, but I found it too boring to listen to.

  However, I had done something positive. I had started to learn to cook. Yes, I had bought myself The Conran Cookbook (no girl should be without one) and I had read it diligently. I knew how to gut fish and skin a rabbit, although I hoped I wouldn’t need to do that. I gave all my friends different food when they were around, and Thomas started coming round more often. He loved my cooking. Even Jess and Sarah were impressed, and I enjoyed it. I thought back to the career counsellor, but knew that I wouldn’t like to cook on a grand scale, just for my friends and, of course, my future husband. I was making myself more marketable to the male race. The way to a man’s heart and all that.

  I had become useful, as Jess discovered. Jess had been spending a lot of time with her PR counterparts, the other graduates who had started with her. Of course she couldn’t stand them: they were her enemies waiting to stab her in the back at any given time. Jess believed that you should keep your enemies close. They had all had dinner parties in turn. Jess called it ‘team bonding’, but it was just another way for them to outdo each other. Now it was her turn. And, in true Jess style, she wanted to impress.

  ‘Ruthie, darling, I was thinking, this dinner party, we’re a girl short so would you do me the honour of coming?’

  I looked at her, Sarah looked at her, Sophie looked relieved.

  ‘Me?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes, it will do you good to meet new people. It’ll be fun and there’ll be men there.’

  ‘OK.’ What did I have to lose? Apparently nothing, but I had a lot to do.

  ‘I thought perhaps we could choose the menu out of your Conran Cookbook.’

  ‘OK,’ I said.

  I was still in a state of shock. I couldn’t think why she had chosen me. Sarah would have been far more suitable; Sophie would have scored her Brownie points. But instead of wooing her colleagues with her career-minded friend or her beautiful friend, she had decided to woo them with me. I was her … her – I don’t know what friend.

  She went to get the cookbook and we spent hours poring over the recipes.

  ‘Oh, no, too easy,’ she said, or ‘Oh, no, not pretty enough.’

  I wanted to kill her. Sarah was looking amused. Jess tried to pick the most impossible recipes but I persuaded her to compromise. We were to have homemade French onion soup with homemade bread to start, Normandy pheasant with apples and Calvados for main and crème brûlée for dessert. It was quite a tall order but Jess insisted, and although I knew she couldn’t cook, well, I’d help.

  ‘OK,’ I said, ‘fabulous menu – but, Jess, are you sure you can do it? It doesn’t look that easy.’

  She smiled sweetly. ‘Well, Ru, I was sort of hoping you’d help me, sort of a joint effort.’

  ‘OK,’ I agreed.

  Sarah laughed really loudly.

  ‘What?’ Jess snapped.

  ‘You’ll get Ru to do it all.’

  ‘No, I won’t.’

  Sarah shrugged.

  I was a little worried: I might have been a good cook, but I hadn’t had much practice. I knew it had to be perfect and I wasn’t sure I could cope with so much pressure. I looked at Jess, pleadingly.

  ‘Ru, of course I won’t. Like I said, it’ll be a joint effort. Relax.’ I felt slightly better.

  ***

  The dinner party approached. Jess went shopping. She bought the food, the wine and a new outfit. I donned my apron and asked Jess where she wanted me to start. ‘Wherever.’

  ‘But what should I do first and what are you going to do?’

  She flashed her sweetest smile. ‘Actually, I’m going to the hairdresser.’

  Sarah had been right. I was on my own. With expensive food and Jess’s PR people to cook for. I panicked. I had to do it all. I spent the day cooking, baking bread, preparing. Jess returned at three in the afternoon with lots of flowers, which she arranged around the house. She gave me no help. I was so angry, but I didn’t have time to be angry: I had soup to make.

  At four in the afternoon it dawned on me what I was doing. Up to my elbows in pheasant, I realised that if Jess’s colleagues were anything like her, which they apparently were, and there were going to be six of them plus us and me the only non-PR person, I didn’t want to be there. It was going to be a total nightmare. I couldn’t think of anything I’d hate more. Oh, how the gloom descended on me. It would be the dinner party from hell.

  While I was immersed in reality, Jess started panicking about things being perfect. I realised, although I was very cross with her, that this was incredibly important to Jess. If she produced a perfect dinner (or I did) and the house looked lovely (which it did), and she looked perfect (she’d been to the hairdresser and got a new outfit), then they’d be impressed, or worried that she was actually Superwoman. God, this office politics thing was hard work and bloody expensive. I decided that as I had been such a pain to Jess in the last few months, this was my penance. Although I had previously been won over by the idea of four guys, who were all single, corning to dinner, now I realised that there was a reason for them being s
ingle. The idea of dating the male version of Jess was horrific.

  Jess looked perfect: her hair gleamed, her new outfit, an incredibly short, tight red dress, emphasised her lovely curves and huge cleavage, and her lipstick matched perfectly. As I had been chopping, cooking, cleaning, I didn’t.

  Jess looked at me. ‘Oh, my God, we have to do something with you.’ She dragged me off to get ready.

  I saw that as her friend I would also need to impress these people, or my life would be hell. I also knew that although I might be her best friend on the cooking front I would be the worst at impressing.

  While getting me ready, she dropped another bombshell. ‘I told my friends you were a writer.’

  ‘What?’ I’d never written anything in my life, apart from the odd letter.

  ‘Yes. To make you more interesting, I told them you were writing your first novel and had high hopes of being published. I told them you were really talented.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I grumbled. Although I had realised that I wasn’t interesting enough, I resented Jess reinventing me. But the word penance kept popping into my mind and Jess was my friend, although I disliked her sometimes. I reluctantly said I’d carry out the charade, but if I forgot at any time she wasn’t allowed to shout at me. We had a deal. She did my hair, put me in one of her glam, tight black dresses and smeared so much lipstick on me I couldn’t feel my lips. By the time we opened our pre-guest bottle of wine (I had also been told not to get drunk), Jess was happy. She had a perfect house, a perfect dinner, a perfect her and a nearly perfect friend.