“Hey, Tommy.”
I stand politely as he reaches the table hand outstretched, but he goes in for the cheek kiss.
I laugh it off and mumble, “Nice to meet you, in person.”
He nods and does a full 360 of the bar, catches the barman’s eye, and nods to the remnants of the drink in front of me.
“I am sorry, but you are over forty-five minutes late, so I have had a few drinks.” I hate that I have justified myself.
He scrunches his eyes a bit, like he is thinking, but I know he is trying to find a clever way to make this appear that being late will not be his fault.
“Babes” he draws the word out, holding his arms wide in a 'don't be like that gesture'. “No worries on the drink. I got held up at work. I may have mentioned online the boss relies on me."
He has caught his reflection in a mirror to the right, and runs a hand through his hair, before grinning and dragging his eyes back to me: "Man, you are so fucking hot though. I can’t wait to get to KNOW you better.” His voice is moderately higher than it has sounded over our online chats; I put it down to apprehension - while scolding myself that his cockiness says apprehension lives in a city he has never visited.
My nerves have begun shooting warning shots through my body, and before I can argue with my motor mouth I am blurting out the last thing I want to say.
“This is new to me. I know that chatting online is supposed to create an illusion, but now we are in the 'real world' I am not sure how this goes. I am pretty sure people go to these online chat rooms, to move away from the mundane, and go where all things are a possibility, but now that we are here, maybe we should take this slowly." I gulp the remnants of my drink while the inner me spits the darkest look and covers her ears in horror.
My statement seems to have taken some of the air out of his tyres. He waves to the barman, presumably a sign of hurry up - this one might be a loose cannon.
“I get we all pretend to be someone else." He is attempting sincerity but my bull-shit-ometer has just skyrocketed. "...but you are here and we did have chats at a kinky sex chat site and even if you didn't look like you, I knew you still had something, even if it's only imagination. I believe the imagination can be so hot, not just looks alone make someone attractive. Like right now, sitting across from me, I know you are hot, but I knew you would be.”
I observe. His Adam's apple bobs a bit, his hands are a little restless.
And as his words sink in, I realise I need to question every single decision I have ever made in my life. What the fuck am I doing here?
The bar is relatively dark, and the meeting was on a whim; I only confirmed this morning. But his late arrival has given me enough time to consume three drinks, and unfortunately, the honesty serum lives in alcohol for me.
“But if I wasn’t what you expected, would you have kept on walking? You have only ever seen my face, and only really in shadow.”
“I knew from chatting to you online that you would be super-hot.” He grins like a small child who thinks the answer to 4+4 is 5.
Wow.
Is that it buddy?
Yes, we have been speaking on a sex chat site, but we spoke about politics, we spoke about homelessness, dogs, and art. And from all that, the best opening line you could come up with was that?
And honestly, why do I need to be offended? I came here for the hook-up. But suddenly I am uber offended, and it may be me, or it may be the Tequila, but I have snapped back a response, and now he looks like I have slapped his face, how the fuck do I get the hell out of here?
“Could we try saying hello again?” he asks hopefully, slugging greedily on the drink the barman has put in front of him.
I take a moment to look at him. He is really good-looking, so good-looking that his need to use the sex forums begs the question – what the fuck is wrong with you?
His hair is good, looks like his own, the tan is absolutely from a machine or a bottle. The teeth possibly Turkey, but he is fit enough, well dressed, and so far, shows no signs of being related to Dahmer.
“Look, I’m sorry. I had a few drinks before you arrived and maybe I just built a little illusion for myself. I have never done this before. I might have taken this out of context.” The words leave my mouth, but there is no truth to them. I am now on autopilot to figure out how I leave with haste.
He grins then. A big, ‘Ha – I have you in the bag grin,’ and as he eases back onto his chair to perfect his patter, every inch of my body finds the Ick.
I notice, not for the first time, that the guy at the end of the bar seems to be amused by our coupling. I am not sure which category of loud we are, and if our conversation is reaching his ears, or if our body language tells all that he needs to know, but his silent grin and his obvious amusement is also annoying me.
I make small talk, but it is all about self-preservation right now, and I try to formulate a plan to leave.
“Maybe we could go to a club?” Nick asks, taking his second drink for the very light-footed barman.
We had chatted online as Lola and Tommy, but now he wants to show me he is authentic - "My actual name is Nick, just so you know I am a real genuine bloke." He works for a wholesale bible manufacturing company. He is the head of logistics, and I have to question, who knew there was such a thing.
We are thirty-five of the most awkward minutes into the encounter, (I can not really call it a date, and hook-up now just feels so sordid), when I finally find my voice.
“Look, Nick. I really am sorry, but I just am not feeling this at all.” I think honesty is the best option here, and I use my solemn face to deliver the message.
“Lola, the night is young, we really got something going on with our chats.” He winks, and something inside me crawls away to die.
He is now leaning forward in his seat, devouring the last of his drink and grinning at me like the cat who found the key to the fridge.
“I think this was a mistake on my part. You are a lovely guy, but I think I got myself into something that just isn’t for me. I am going to go, but it was lovely to meet you.” I try to keep my voice low as I gather my belongings, more than acutely aware of the fact that I have passed the line of tipsy.
A moment passes before his hand reaches across the table to grab my wrist.
“The fuck,” he snarls. “I gave up an extra shift to meet you, the least you can do is put out.”
It is not amusing, it is downright 1987, but I can’t help it, and as I snatch my hand away, I burst out laughing.
A look of pure fury fills his face, and he shoots to his feet with some sort of intent as he leans in, forcing me to brace my back against the partition behind me.
I am not panicked, I know I am in a public place, and well-equipped to deal with him, but my heart leaps into my mouth, and I have a moment of pure shock while I scrabble to figure out what to do, and how to de-escalate the situation.
Nick leans into me. His breath is sour, and this close, he is not that good-looking.
“You don’t get to fuck with me, LOLA,” he sneers right up in my face with venom. I would rather not correct him on my name, and I feel intensely glad I kept to the fake name.
“Look, maybe another time,” I try to placate him.
“I don’t like being fucked around with, Lola. Let’s just head to the club. A few drinks will loosen you up. I know what you like - you told me, remember?”
I am about to retaliate when a shadow falls over me.
“Ok, guy. Time to head off. It looks like the lady is not interested.”
The guy from the end of the bar is leaning over my left shoulder, and his left hand has snaked to Nick’s shoulder, where it is clear the pressure from the bigger guy is being felt. Nick has no choice but to move back.
He is not about to relent though.
“Hey, big guy. Mind your own business. She is with me, and we have plans.” He looks so sleazy, and I am utterly deflated.
Big guy seems amused and turns to acknowledge me.
“You have plans with Mr Online Dating here?” he asks.
I am mortified. The question suggests this is not Nick's first rodeo at this bar, and given that the guy towering over me knows this, it is likely this is a regular occurrence.
“No. I have no plans with him. I was just preparing to leave.” I suddenly feel very sober, and mortified, and sick.
In moments, Nick is hauled to his feet and marched in a comic fashion to the door and deposited outside.
I am trying desperately to gather my belongings and my wits, and for the first time, I notice that there are only a handful of people left in the bar, all staring at me, and most of the lights are now below dim.
“I think it is wiser to stay here for a little bit, in case that little scrote is hanging around somewhere watching you. He is a regular hook-up here. Didn’t seem like you were a match made in heaven, so I stepped in. Hope you are not offended. I would rather my bar not end up with a reputation for the wrong kind of outcome, and I always feel he will be that headline.” His accent is hard to figure, a low drawl that could be from anywhere.
My face is flaming, and for the second time in less than an hour, I am questioning my own sanity, and wondering how I ever let myself out in public.
What the hell was I thinking? A few hours of randy conversations after the shite I had to deal with when James left me, and suddenly I want to show the world that this forty-four-year-old is not beyond it?
Tears begin to pour down my cheeks, and to add insult to injury, the blister that had been forming on the back of my heel picks that moment to burst. The pain is intense and immediate, and there is an ooze spreading over the skinny leather strap of my shoe. I have a strange longing to just fling myself on the floor and howl.
The giant hands me a napkin to wipe my tears and makes some silent request to the barman.
The silent barman brings a tall drink that looks like pink lemonade. He slides it over the table and nods to himself.
“It’s a good drink, lots of sugar, no alcohol, It will make sure you are feeling better. I am Mareck.” The giant smiles, and wow.