Bella Summer Takes a Chance

by Michele Gorman

  Mattias was clearly happy to have me around again. He started cooking dinner for us, despite my protests.

  ‘It’s nothing,’ he said, expertly flipping the steaks one night about a week after I arrived. ‘I’m near the shops anyway at work. So, tell me about your day.’

  I sat at the kitchen table enjoying the evening sun streaming through the window to warm my arms. The flat’s south-facing windows were the first things I fell in love with at the viewing.

  There wasn’t much to tell Mattias about my days. My thoughts revolved around finding someone who’d pay me for my services. My mornings did too: Internet job searches until my eyes crossed, and daily phone calls to pester the band bookers into listening to my demo. Most of those CDs had probably been binned by now, or were being used to prop up wonky table legs.

  In reality, I spent most of my time dragging my laptop between the sofa and the kitchen table to keep from developing bedsores. My room was as cramped as I feared, too small for a wardrobe or drawers. I had to use Mattias’ room as my dressing room after he went to work. It was weirdly comfortable, if déjà vu-ey, padding from the shower to the bedroom in my dressing gown, then standing in front of the wardrobe in my knickers deciding what to wear. ‘I applied for another ten jobs today.’

  ‘You should hear something soon.’ He topped up our wine glasses. ‘It’s just a matter of time.’

  ‘I hope so. The problem is, everyone’s cutting back. There are a lot of freelance consultants out there looking for the same job.’ I sighed.

  ‘Don’t worry.’ He took the steak pan off the heat. ‘Come here.’ He held my shoulders and made me look him in the eye. ‘You’ll find another assignment. You’ve got a lot of experience and you’re good at what you do. You can stay here as long as you want. You don’t have to worry about money as long as you’re here. I won’t let you starve.’ He smiled, drawing me to him and hugging me close.

  I exhaled against him. ‘I can see that,’ I said into his shoulder. ‘Actually, I can smell it. And it won’t be for too long.’ The assurance popped out before I could stop it. I owned half the flat, I had to remind myself. I had the right to live there.

  ‘I’m not in any hurry for you to leave. It’s nice having you here.’

  I stepped back from his embrace and the moment was broken. But it was nice. I couldn’t deny that.

  Even so, it didn’t take long to realise that my living arrangement wasn’t ideal. In the months we’d lived apart, I’d grown used to coming and going as I pleased. Fred didn’t monitor where I was or how late I’d be. His interest in my social life had been largely for entertainment purposes. We were, after all, just flatmates. And even though the same was true of Mattias, he always asked. And I wasn’t comfortable sharing too much with him. I wouldn’t say I lied, exactly. I just tended to keep the details to myself. And then felt guilty about going out at all. No, my living arrangement wasn’t ideal.

  The week after steak-and-hugs night, as I’d come to think of it, Faith and Clare took me out. Mattias knew this. He just didn’t know what we were doing. It seemed more humane that way.

  At the bar’s dim entrance, Faith snapped, ‘B., you agreed to come. Now, do you want to do this or not?’

  ‘Do I want to? No! I thought we were clear on that.’

  ‘Too bad, honeysuckle,’ said Clare. ‘It’s for your own good, and you said you would.’ She gestured to the doorway. ‘After you.’

  The bar was in a rather dead part of the City, hemmed in by sleek glass offices. Not somewhere you’d choose to go without a purpose. She shepherded me toward the girl manning the name badge table.

  ‘Here’s your lock!’ Said the girl, handing me the cheap trinket along with my badge. ‘You can look for the man who has the key that fits!’ Her grin implied great potential in this discovery.

  ‘Er, thanks, but I don’t think this is really…’ I grimaced to convey my feelings about being caught up in what sounded like a 1970s swingers scenario.

  My friends steered me into the middle of the room (All the better to see you, My Dear). Everyone else had gathered inconspicuously at the bar’s edges. Faith grabbed my arm as I tried inching back to safety. ‘Just be grateful we’re not eye-gazing. Oh yes, it’s as bad as it sounds. You stare into your date’s eyes for three minutes without speaking. They’re doing it in New York. It’s like speed-dating for the mute.’

  ‘Thank you for not taking me eye-gazing. But a lock and key party is nearly as bad. Why is the hardware necessary? If they’re trying to be ironically post-feminist or something, it’s not working. It’s just too cheesy. Surely even for you.’

  ‘Agreed,’ she said, unfazed by my jibe. ‘It’s pure Camembert. But you know how socially inept men can be. This gives them a reason to talk to us. God knows, if we didn’t give them a head start, we’d never go out with them. You’ve forgotten what it’s like. Look.’ She gestured back towards the bar. ‘They’re looking at you.’

  ‘Well, of course they are,’ I said through my smile. ‘We’re standing alone in the middle of the room.’

  ‘They’re looking at you because you look great, B.’

  I accepted the compliment. The wrap jersey miracle was a recent discovery. It was the fabric equivalent of scaffolding, supportively obscuring the parts that needed renovation. My façade needed some shoring up.

  I noticed that the men in question were trying to make eye contact with my nipples. I should have been flattered, considering that most of the women in the room had a decade more elasticity than I. Clare said I mustn’t worry about that. She would. I already had grey hairs the year she lost her virginity.

  Maybe having lied (by omission) to Mattias gave the evening an extra air of importance. Maybe being ‘in the market’ made me too eager to buy. God, that made me sound like I was shopping for an Audi (Did he come with a sun roof?). Whatever the cause, I didn’t have the same nonchalance that the pert youngsters did. What if I’d become one of those women who radiated desperation like summertime commuters effused body odour? I might have been awash in my own singles pong. ‘You know what?’ I said. ‘I think I’d feel more comfortable over by the bar. Why don’t you two talk to those guys and I’ll see if there’s someone else I like.’

  ‘B., you’re missing the point of our being here,’ Clare said, sensing my intention to flee. ‘I’m not exactly looking for a date now, am I? We’re here for you. So I’m sorry, sweetheart. You’re not getting off that easily. You need the practice. Think of them as stabilizers. Practise enough on them and you can ride a big girl’s bicycle one day.’

  ‘Maybe I don’t want to ride a big girl’s bicycle. Maybe I’m happy walking on my own.’

  Faith shook her head. ‘Walking on your own is never as satisfying as riding the bicycle. Clare’s right, think of it as practice. Clare, you’d best keep his friend occupied. He’s too young for me.’

  ‘And I’m too pregnant for him,’ she said, smiling. ‘Luckily, I just look like I’ve had a few too many takeaways. Another month and I’d be an embarrassment. As it is I’m farting like a buffalo.’

  ‘Try not to trumpet in front of them, will you please?’ I said. Not many women in her condition would come with their friends to meet men. And even fewer would be able to draw them from across the room with a look like she did. Faith mouthed good luck as she headed to the bar.

  Deep breath. ‘Hi, I’m B.,’ I said to the older one as Clare introduced herself to his friend. He stared at my chest before flashing me the oddest smile. One second it was there, the next it was gone, like a rock exposed for just a second before the next wave covered it over.

  ‘Pleasure,’ he said. ‘May I put my key in your lock?’

  He tried. Predictably, it didn’t fit. ‘Shame,’ he said. ‘But let’s not take it as a sign. Other things may be a perfect fit. Heh heh.’ He continued to gurn, making him look like someone who’d one day be the subject of a police investigation.

  I should have stayed home with Mattias. When I left he was
just pouring the extra wine into his beef stew. I imagined its aroma filling the flat while we relaxed on the sofa with the remains of the bottle, later watching Who Do You Think You Are? reruns instead of…

  Banish the thought. Banish, banish, banish. Mattias was at home doing whatever. He wasn’t part of my night. This, em, gentleman was. I wracked my brain trying to think of something to say. ‘So, what do you do?’

  As I redoubled my effort to pay attention to him I noticed that he looked a bit dirty. His fingernails needed a good soak. There was a slim chance that his profession involved manual labour, but I suspected a hygiene issue.

  ‘I’m going to be a film director,’ he pronounced, holding grimy rolled fingers to his eye and cranking his hand beside his head.

  Ah, charades. Maybe if I pointed to my wrist, he’d get the clue and leave. ‘Splendid,’ I managed.

  ‘Look, we all know why we’re here,’ he said. ‘Your friend called us over so you obviously saw something you like. What do you say you let me take you somewhere after this?’

  ‘Are you also a taxi driver?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then no. Actually, I’ve got to, em, go now.’

  Clare heard me, thanked her date for two minutes of scintillating conversation, and we fled to the other side of the bar.

  ‘I’m so sorry about that,’ she said when we were safely out of earshot. ‘Bit forward. And what was wrong with his mouth? Was that a tic?’

  ‘I think he was just trying to mimic the facial expressions that us real humans make.’ I spotted Faith chatting half-heartedly with an aging Don Johnson lookalike, complete with rolled-up jacket sleeves. He wasn’t pulling off the look very well. More vice than Miami. She noticed us looking her way and smiled, no doubt causing Don to tumesce a bit. ‘God, he was creepy. Can we go now please?’

  The men were just a bit too game, predatory even, and not just because I’d seen cuddlier hyenas. It seemed that while I was sharing Friday night takeaways with my boyfriend, the natural order of things had shifted. Dating had turned clinical. Sure, we might go out intending to flirt with men, but wasn’t it important to be coy anymore? An air of nonchalance (denial) was crucial. Otherwise it was just a meat market. Or a lock and key party.

  ‘One more, my little cupcake,’ Clare said. ‘And then yes, we can go.’

  ‘I haven’t got the energy,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, petal, you can’t think like that. This is meant to be a bit of fun, you know. Surely there’s someone in here you’d have a drink with? Or snog? If you had a gun to your head, who’d you pick?’

  ‘Clare, really? I’d snog you with a gun to my head.’

  ‘Aw, thanks!’

  ‘Don’t mention it.’

  ‘Try being more male about it,’ she coached. ‘Every bloke in here is rating our shagability. They’d organise a line-up by breast size if they could. Look around. There’s a room full of men who’d love to take you out.’ She shrugged. ‘You don’t need to take it so seriously. You’re single now, have fun. That’s the whole point of being single. You’re pretty, and smart, fun and normal. You don’t realise what a rare commodity that is. You’ve got your pick of the chocolate box. Take a handful. Stuff your face. You can always spit out the ones you don’t like.’

  ‘Fine, I’ll give it another go. But please let me do it alone. I’m getting stage fright with you right next to me. I don’t care what the men think of me, but I don’t want you to hear me. Does that sound stupid?’

  ‘Not at all, honey bear. I’ll go crash in on Faith’s party. She looks like she wants saving from the old man anyway.’ She kissed me before making her way over to spoil Don Johnson’s evening.

  Clare was right. I was single and my emotional baggage fit comfortably into the overhead compartment. I had nothing to lose by talking to someone interesting, or at least someone who didn’t look insane. Just one, and they’d let me go home. I could be in my pyjamas watching reruns by ten. Desperately I scanned the bar until one man caught my eye. Or rather, he didn’t. He was the kind of man who could commit crimes and never be picked out of an identity parade. He had nice bone structure, a strong jaw and full lips. His hairline didn’t suffer from erosion, and his dress sense didn’t tip into the forty-something uniform of chinos, loafers and collared shirt (double shudder).

  I caught his eye as I sidled up, ready to pretend to ask for ice for my wine at the first sign that he’d ignore me. He leaned over to glance at my chest. Possibly a pervert, possibly reading my name badge. ‘Are you enjoying the evening?’ He asked.

  ‘It’s a little intense, isn’t it?’

  ‘Like dental work, but you get used to it.’

  ‘Not exactly your idea of the perfect evening either, then? Why come if you don’t like it?’

  ‘For the same reason that I go to the dentist, I suppose. Needs must. My milieu is populated with smug couples. I’m in danger of becoming one of those bachelors that hostesses invite just to make up the numbers. That’s too sad to contemplate. So here I am. That accent. It sounds American.’ His tone was one of realization rather than accusation.

  ‘Even after a decade here,’ I said. ‘Clearly my dialect coach is a waste of money. Actually, that’s very offensive to a Canadian, you know, to assume I’m American.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ He clutched his chest. ‘Are you Canadian?’

  ‘I’m both. Very exotic, I know. I was really just warning you to avoid future faux pas. I’m doing my bit for international relations. You don’t want to know what a riled Canadian looks like.’

  ‘Is there such a thing? I suppose they might threaten me with a moose.’

  His face was much more interesting in motion. ‘I think you’re safe unless you insult a hockey mum. I presume you’re English?’

  ‘I was born and bred in Devon but we’re all in the Big Smoke now.’

  ‘I’m a big fan of your cream.’

  ‘Thanks, I’ll let them know back home. They’ll be pleased to have the North American endorsement. What brings you to London?’

  I was in my comfort zone with the question, so I relaxed a bit when I explained, capping off my story with the fact that I was a singer. He didn’t need to know that my musical CV had more holes than an unsold Christmas tree on December 24th. ‘As it happens, I just found out about a regular gig today. I’m pretty excited, actually.’

  That was an understatement. I gave up hope of hearing back from any of the booking managers weeks ago. When he called to tell me that he wanted to try me out for a slot on Tuesdays, I nearly cried on the phone. As soon as I hung up I called Mum and Dad, and fully briefed Kat, Clare, Faith, Frederick and Mattias. I stopped just short of changing my Facebook status to ‘In a relationship’ with the venue. It wasn’t nearly enough money to live on, but I felt like I was finally, after a decade, going to get somewhere.

  ‘Congratulations. That must feel wonderful. What kind of singer are you?’

  ‘Mostly jazz, cabaret, ballads, that kind of thing. But I’m no Lady GaGa.’

  Laughter lit up his face. ‘I’m glad to hear that. Although I didn’t figure you for the GaGa type.’ He waved his finger up and down. ‘You see, no dress made from entrails.’ He paused. ‘I’m an actor.’

  He really enunciated. Ack-tor. ‘Wow. Full-time?’ I felt disingenuous bragging about my one little gig.

  He shook his head. ‘I have built my shrine to Genesius but, no, so far the saint has not blessed me. I’m an accountant by day.’

  His shoes gave him away. ‘Ah-ha. For one of the Big Four?’

  ‘No, though I used to be. I’m with a small footwear company. Oh, not one you’re likely to have heard of,’ he added, seeing delight dawn on my face as visions of a Manolo connection danced through my head. ‘We make riding boots.’

  ‘Oh, do you ride?’ I said this like I had any first-hand equestrian experience beyond my annual Grand National bet.

  ‘I learned a few years ago. I recently started doing some cross-country events. I like going f
ast. Do you?’

  I shook my head, choosing to answer the non-suggestive question, thank you. ‘Can I ask you something? Please don’t take this the wrong way, but you seem normal. What are you doing here?’

  ‘On what are you basing your judgment exactly?’ He asked. ‘My ability to hold a conversation?’

  ‘Well, that puts you ahead of the man I was just talking to, so yes.’ I waited for his answer.

  ‘Ah, you see, the most proactive men are those that have the least chance with women. They make the first approaches, and after suffering through the round of losers, a woman’s defences are down. At that point she’s grateful for two eyes that look in the same direction. You only think I’m normal because your judgment is impaired. I could be Cyclops himself and you wouldn’t know it in these surroundings. There’s only one way to find out for sure.’ I waited for the punch line, smiling. ‘You could give me your contact details and if you’d like, we could meet another time, away from this distorting influence.’ He lowered his voice. ‘It’s really the only way to be sure of your judgment.’

  ‘Well, I’d hate to have doubts for the rest of my life about something as important as my judgment, so I guess I’d better give you my details.’ I handed him my card. ‘It was really nice to meet you. I’d better find my friends. Maybe we’ll talk again.’ I smiled all the way back to Faith and Clare. They gave me their thumbs-up, which I hoped The Actor didn’t see.

  Later, I wedged in next to the girls at the end of the busy ice cream counter. What better way to celebrate my middling success in pulling a nondescript man at a lock and key party? ‘Thanks for making me go tonight. I wouldn’t have, if you hadn’t forced me.’

  ‘That’s what we’re here for,’ Faith said. ‘To bully you into humiliating situations. You’re welcome. Too bad Kat couldn’t come. I’d have loved to hear her running commentary.’

  ‘Kat doesn’t need to meet any more men.’ We were still reeling from her announcement and things hadn’t got any easier. She was even more determined to leave James. Unfortunately, her Majesty’s government didn’t make it easy to divorce just because you were in love with someone else. ‘James has to know something’s up by now. She hasn’t exactly been subtle.’