Rubber Gloves or Jimmy Choos?

by Faith Bleasdale

  God, my birthday. In four days I was having a birthday. It was the saddest birthday ever. Not just because it was the first without Ben, although I’d vowed not to drag that one out again, but because it was the birthday after my twenty-first year and I never wanted to stop being twenty-one. It was the age at which you get to be an adult and a youth at the same time. It was the best age ever. And now I was about to say goodbye to it.

  ***

  On Thursday I woke up excited. Even now I still have those feelings when it comes to birthdays or Christmas: excitement, anticipation, celebration. It is, after all, a celebration of my birth, and although sometimes that does not seem much to celebrate, I was still going to. I woke up feeling twenty-two. Actually I didn’t. I wouldn’t know how to feel any age, it doesn’t work like that, I woke up feeling like it was my birthday, which made me the centre of attention and I loved that. I also woke up without thinking about Ben. I was going to work, which I didn’t mind: work was fun. And tonight Jess said that she and Sophie would be cooking me dinner, and Katie and Thomas were coming. I was really looking forward to it.

  I opened my parents’ presents. I needed to open presents, it made me feel like it really was my birthday. They gave me books, a vanity case and a cheque, much better than Christmas. When I was ready I left the house and headed for the tube station, smiling.

  When I got to work, Katie was waiting with a croissant with a candle in it and a large cappuccino. She gave me a book called A Guide for the Advanced Soul – you thought about a problem, opened the book and it would give you a wise saying to help. I could see it getting a lot of use. My boss Tom popped in and gave me some chocolates and perfume, which surprised me because Katie hadn’t been shopping. Then I remembered he had asked me to buy them the previous week. I thanked him very much. Tom left earlier than usual, so for the rest of the day we ate chocolates, played solitaire and asked the book questions. It was very wise. At lunch we both went out, and when Jenny tried to protest, I just said very sweetly, ‘It’s my birthday and Tom said we must go out for a long lunch, so if you have a problem ask him.’ Jenny scowled after us. We had a bottle of wine then went back to work, Katie knew that if she let me drink any more I’d be ill or asleep all afternoon. My parents called, my friends called. It was nice, I felt special.

  When I got home, the smells from the kitchen were of roast beef. Jess had got Sophie to do all the cooking. I changed and went to help her.

  ‘Happy birthday, Ru,’ Sophie said, handing me a glass of wine. I took a sip. The wine was cold and lovely, and memories of the bottle at lunch flooded back. I drank it quickly. Shortly afterwards Sarah and Jess came in. They all stood and sang to me, while I turned a lovely shade of red. When Katie and Thomas arrived, the guest list was complete. We had champagne and the best roast beef in the world. They had bought me a new dress, which was figure hugging, sexy and shocking pink and Jess had baked me a cake, after all. I blew out my candles and wished that my friends stayed my friends for ever. I wished us all happiness and then, if I was allowed another wish, I wished for love, but my friends came first. I felt a warm, happy glow as I fell asleep that night.

  ***

  The next day I felt hung-over but clear. I had had a fun night with people I cared about, no idiot men, no desperate embraces. I decided there and then to give up one-night stands. My birthday resolution was perhaps the most sensible resolution I had ever made. I told Katie.

  ‘What are you going to do now?’ she asked.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, all you do at the moment is have one-night stands, you’ll need to find a new hobby.’

  I poked my tongue out at her. ‘Katie, what I will do is this. I will no longer have to look for my knickers every morning. I won’t have to run away. I won’t worry that they don’t ask me for my phone number. And I won’t pass out and leave myself in the clutches of weirdoes.’

  ‘OK. So what are you going to do?’

  ‘I don’t fucking know. But I won’t feel like a slut.’

  ‘You are a slut, or an ex-slut, now. I understand what you’re saying and I’m really proud of you. You’ve made the right decision.’

  Katie wasn’t a slut and I couldn’t quite work out why. I mean, she slept with more men than I did and she seemed to have been sleeping with men forever, but she wasn’t a slut. She took sex for what it was and had no illusions about becoming some guy’s girlfriend. When I had sex I liked to delude myself that each man I slept with was The One. Of course they never were. I was going to give it up. But Katie was right; I felt panic grip as I realised I didn’t have a clue what I was going to do now.

  ***

  I came to terms with my new lifestyle remarkably easily. I still went out with Katie and I still met people, but I chatted and I relaxed a bit, and although sometimes I had to hold myself back from the men, Katie was a great help. She had decided that in the name of moral support we would go home together, without men for either of us. Sometimes I thought she must be an angel.

  To take my mind off men, Jess had found one she actually liked. Jess met Jerry the Journalist at a launch party for something. He was there because the product was boring: no one else on his paper would go and he was the most junior. Jess was there because she was part of the team that organised it. They hit it off straight away.

  ‘When I saw him, I just knew I’d like him. He’s gorgeous, tall, dark, intellectual glasses, nice bum, you know. Anyway I just went straight up to him, asked him which paper he was from and he told me he was from the London News and I asked him what he thought of our launch, plied him with drink and made him promise to give us some editorial. He’s great, funny, intelligent, ambitious, gorgeous – did I already say that? Anyway, I really like him.’ We all sat open-mouthed while Jess told us this. ‘And, anyway, we were quite drunk. We talked about our jobs a lot, of course – really I was just doing my job, chatting up a journalist, so we spent all night talking. Then he suggested we go on to another bar, which we did, then we kissed and it was a wonderful kiss. Then I gave him my business card and he gave me his and I came home. I know he’ll call. Oh, and he lives – guess where he lives? He lives in South Kensington, how great is that?’ None of us could move.

  ‘Jess, you like this bloke?’ I said.

  Jess looked thoughtful. ‘Well, he’s OK. I mean, I’d quite like to see him again, no big deal.’ She wandered off whistling.

  ‘God, I am so glad I’m celibate,’ Sarah said.

  ‘I think it’s so sweet,’ Sophie said, although I’m not sure that ‘sweet’ could be attributed to Jess.

  ‘It just goes to show that no matter how independent and career orientated you are, when a man comes along we all become gibbering wrecks,’ I pointed out.

  ‘But Jess?’ Sarah said.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Yeah, it’s weird,’ Sophie finished, and once again we sat still and silent, not quite knowing what to make of it.

  ***

  Of course, Jerry called Jess at work. Of course, they arranged to go out at the weekend. Of course, she didn’t have to go through the agony of waiting for the phone to ring. Of course, she did have to go through the what to wear agony. There is some justice.

  She came home from work with the biggest smile in the world. ‘He called,’ she gushed. We nodded, we were seriously worried. Jess couldn’t do this, she wasn’t a girly girl, she was Jess, tough Jess, Jess who had men for breakfast, not pink, fluffy Jess, we didn’t know this girl. ‘We’re going for dinner, in Kensington.’ Pink, pink, pink.

  ‘What are you going to wear?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh, my God, oh, my God. I’ve got nothing. Shit. And I’m so fat. I can’t go out, ever, I’ll have to stop eating for the rest of the week. What the hell am I going to do?’ Jess looked really distressed as she flopped onto the sofa. It was a familiar scene, but it never happened to Jess.

  ‘Calm down. You do not need to give up food and you have plenty of clothes. Let’s go,’ Sarah frog-marched Jes
s to her bedroom. We heard screams and shouts and banging and crying. Eventually Jess came out, marched past us and into my room. She came out with an outfit. Actually it was my outfit. I didn’t mind, she was pink again. She flopped down on the sofa. ‘I think I’m in love,’ she said.

  ‘I think I need a strong drink,’ I said. We all did. Apart from Jess, who had a smile stuck to her face. ‘Jess, you told us you weren’t going to fall in love until you were twenty-six,’ I reminded her.

  ‘You must be mixing me up with someone else,’ she replied, still smiling.

  Perhaps I was, or perhaps someone had kidnapped the real Jess and put this girl in her place.

  ***

  The date on Friday was a success. She stayed the night. She was very happy when she came home, on cloud nine. They weren’t seeing each other for another week, ‘We’re incredibly busy people.’ Thank God, the old Jess was back. At least she wasn’t completely changing into me. Jess resumed her usual persona, but with a glow that hadn’t been there before.

  I think Sarah was more upset than most of us: she liked the camaraderie that she and Jess shared, the work before men rule. But Jess changed. Although she still worked as hard and her job was still her number-one priority, she went to a lot of trouble for Jerry and obviously cared about him. We were all happy for her, but I guess Sarah may have been the tiniest bit jealous.

  ***

  Jess invited Jerry to dinner on Friday. She looked so happy I wanted to cry. We were told to be on our best behaviour and she refused to let Sophie invite the Thespian in case he acted like an idiot, which he usually did. I wasn’t allowed to talk about wanting to be a housewife, Sarah wasn’t to talk about celibacy and Thomas could talk about whatever he wanted. As usual I was excited: I was going to meet a man who could turn Jess into a giggling wreck. He had to be very special indeed.

  He arrived, he smiled nicely at all of us, he kissed Jess and they looked good together. They sort of fitted. He was nice-looking and just as Jess had described. Part of me felt happy for her, part of me felt suicidal. We sat down to dinner. I had cooked, of course, but Jess had passed it off as her own. It would serve her right if he married her and then she had to learn to cook.

  ‘So you work for the London News? I asked.

  ‘Yes, well; I’m a trainee journalist, they don’t let me out on my own much.’

  ‘I think it’s really interesting. Are you going to be a news journalist or are you going to specialise in some area?’ Sophie asked.

  ‘News ideally. I was lucky to get this job, but I want to work for the nationals eventually.’

  ‘It shouldn’t take you long, not with your talent,’ Jess said. Jerry touched her cheek. In that gesture, my belief in love was reaffirmed.

  ‘Don’t you have to work odd hours?’ Sarah asked.

  ‘Yes, but it’s worth it. I’ve been indoctrinated by my bosses. Their favourite sayings are. “The most important thing is being able to get to a story when it breaks”; “It can make your career to get an exclusive”; “News doesn’t stop”.’ We all laughed. Jerry was cool. Jerry was confident. Jerry was perfect for Jess.

  Jerry was relaxed with us and with Jess. He kept us entertained with stories of his birth in journalism, covering school fetes and pet shows for his local paper. Then the university magazine, which was burnt by anarchists because it was apolitical. And now the London News. You could tell he loved his work because he loved talking about it and he was interesting. It was a long time since we’d had an interesting man in this house, apart from Thomas, of course.

  The evening was fun, we all thought so. We couldn’t fault him. I had no nasty nickname for him, Sophie liked him and Sarah – even Sarah – could find nothing wrong. We all told Jess how much we liked him and she was so pleased. ‘I really like him, girls, and it’s important to me that you do. Thank you,’ she said, and once again we were silenced. Jess never talked like that. It was love. It puzzled me. I didn’t think you could have it all, yet here was Jess, proving that you could. But then I remembered I didn’t want it all, or not that all anyway. No, of course I envied the love part of Jess’s life, but I certainly had no interest in the career side. To me, having it all in today’s sense was as appealing as … Well, it just didn’t appeal to me.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The Greatest Love: Part One

  Troy looked at Stephanie, marvelling at her beauty. He thought back to the moment they had fallen in love, able to recall every single detail. They had been at a cocktail party, held in a huge house belonging to Troy’s business partner, Joseph Watkins. Troy had been reluctant to attend, having been working hard and travelling extensively due to business but, of course, he could not let down his partner and friend. Dressed in his tuxedo, Troy was the most handsome of men. He had been included in America’s most-eligible list every year for the past five, but he was not interested. Although girls threw themselves at him, he declined every offer. Troy was married to his work and no girl would change that.

  Until Stephanie. Troy circulated at the party making small-talk and feeling isolated. Then he saw her. Wearing an electric-blue dress, she was not to be missed. Troy was mesmerised as he spotted her across the room, her dress swirling as she walked, her long legs slightly exposed, her long blonde hair cascading around her face. As she got close to him, Stephanie stopped to speak with someone Troy knew. He was able to look at her face. Deep blue eyes the colour of the most precious sapphires, lips full and inviting, skin shining like the stars, she was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. She was speaking with Dirk, but Troy knew he had to have her. For the first time in his life he knew he couldn’t let her get away.

  He approached her. ‘Hi, I’m Troy.’ He kissed her hand.

  Stephanie looked into his eyes: the electricity was instant. ‘I’m Stephanie,’ she replied.

  They stared at each other, not wanting to break this most wonderful spell. The spell of love. After what seemed liked eternity Troy took her hand and led her out of the house. “The rest of our lives starts now” he whispered, as he took her home.

  Troy smiled at the recollection. They had been together ever since and were now planning a lavish wedding. When loves hits, it really hits, thought Troy, as once again he took the hand of his beautiful love.

  ***

  I had pretty much learned to control my jumping on men urges and hadn’t slept with or tried to sleep with anyone since my birthday resolution. It was only a couple of weeks, but that wasn’t bad going for me. I had even learned to enjoy going out without the sole purpose being men. It’s strange, but chatting to people you aren’t going to sleep with can be fun too. I felt as if I had discovered a whole new world. And I’d like to add that I had been chatted up by a couple of men. Men whom the old me would have taken to bed very quickly, but not the new me. They had nothing lasting about them, nothing I felt had a chance of doing anything but adding to my bedpost notches. So I was polite and interested, but when they tried to take it further, I declined. Imagine it, I knew how to say no.

  I looked forward to parties with a new kind of anticipation, one of just enjoying myself. And in that vein we were going to a party in a club in Fulham, one of Katie’s rich friends – Tanya, I think, but I didn’t know her. I told Jess, because I thought she’d be impressed it was in Fulham, but Jess had now decided that Fulham was the poor person’s South Kensington so she wasn’t that interested. Anyway, we were going and I was in control.

  When we arrived, the first thing I noticed was that the party was jam-packed with men. Wall-to-wall men. Oh, if temptation was this party, it would be hard to defy. We had a drink, spoke to a few people, including Tanya our host. I couldn’t concentrate on anything, amazed at the number of men here. Far more men than girls. Just the way it should be. Katie had been found by a nice-looking guy and I just stood like a spare part, surveying the surroundings. The guy Katie was talking to went off to get us both drinks. Maybe Jess had been right: nice polite blokes in Fulham.

  ‘He
seems nice,’ I told Katie.

  ‘Um, he’s called Duncan.’

  ‘Never mind,’ I said, as Duncan came back with the drinks. I tried to nod politely at what Duncan was saying, but my mind was elsewhere. I was thinking how hard it was going to be for me to stay away from these men. Then I saw him. He was tall, with black curly hair. That was all I could see. But I saw enough to know. I was in love.

  My mouth dropped open. Luckily Duncan had gone somewhere, so I nudged Katie.

  ‘Not bad,’ she said.

  ‘I’m in love. Do you know him?’

  ‘No,’ she laughed. ‘Just go and talk to him.’

  ‘But – but I can’t.’

  ‘Fine, don’t, then.’

  Katie was right. I approached him. Now, I may be quite old-fashioned when it comes to most things, but I can be pretty modern when it comes to chatting up men. ‘Hi, I’m Ruth.’ Good line. My man turned around. I nearly fainted. He had the most amazing brown eyes and the most amazing smile and the most amazing teeth.

  ‘I’m Mark,’ he said. He looked amused as he stuck out his hand. You know about hearts doing somersaults and knees turning to jelly? Well, that’s what happened. I had experienced the sensation before, with Ben, but this was, well, it was more. Bigger somersaults, wobblier jelly. I was in pieces. Everything about him was perfect. I shook his hand, noting his short, clean fingernails. OK, take the bull by the horns. ‘Can I get you a drink?’ I think I needed to practise my chat-up lines slightly.

  ‘OK, I’ll have a Beck’s.’ Mark still looked amused.

  I went to the bar. I wasn’t sure what I should do next, but I knew I couldn’t let this god get away. I practically grabbed the barman to make sure he served me quickly. I went back with the drinks. Mark was still waiting, still smiling. I asked him about himself. Always a good one. He was a radio producer, he lived in Notting Hill and he had a sexy, slightly posh accent. I told him about my string of disastrous jobs and that I hadn’t found anything I liked. I found him amazingly easy to talk to. Throughout the evening a number of girls came up to him. ‘Oh, Mark, darling, how are you?’ and that sort of thing, which scared the hell out of me, but he gave no encouragement, which made me feel better. So Mark was all mine. And, boy, how I wanted him to be. He made me laugh, he was well travelled, he was intelligent. And he was twenty-seven, which I considered to be a good age for a man. We spent the whole evening together and when it came to an end, he asked for my phone number. Actually he asked if I wanted to carry the evening on, and although my hormones were screaming yes, my head told me no. For the first time in my life I listened to my head. I gave him my phone number and bursting with pride, I went to find Katie.