Age, Sex, Location

by Melissa Pimentel

  ‘You two know each other?’ I asked.

  Cathryn turned to me. ‘He’s a great friend of my father.’ She turned back to him. ‘How are you? Lovely to see you. You remember Michael?’

  The two men shook hands warmly. You have to hand it to posh people: they are amazing at acting unfazed in even the weirdest social occasions.

  ‘Of course, of course. How are you, my boy? Cathryn, Michael, this is Lucy.’

  Lucy tottered out from behind Tristan, looking shell-shocked. ‘Hello!’ she trilled.

  ‘Lauren’s told me so much about you!’ Cathryn said. ‘Though obviously not everything,’ she added, looking archly at Tristan.

  ‘Yes, let’s all sit down and get acquainted,’ Tristan said, reaching for the champagne bottle, which contained just the dregs.

  ‘I’ll grab another bottle from the fridge,’ I said.

  Lucy sprang to her feet. ‘I’ll help!’

  We huddled in the kitchen, whispering furiously.

  Lucy was puce. ‘Uncle Tricky?’ she hissed. ‘I can’t believe this. It’s so grim! Do you think they’re actually related? I know he’s older than me, but I never thought of him being uncle age!’

  ‘No, I think uncle is just something fancy people call family friends.’

  ‘Urrrgh. Even so. Cathryn must think I’m a tart! I can’t bear it. How am I going to make it through the evening?’

  ‘You’re just going to have to suck it up. Besides, none of them seem bothered by it, so you shouldn’t either. He’s obviously crazy about you and that’s all that counts.’

  Lucy took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. ‘Right. Just make sure I’m never without a drink.’

  ‘Done.’

  At twenty-five past, Sleepy Eyes rolled in, offering monosyllabic greetings to everyone and giving me a very encouraging squeeze on the ass before sauntering out to the balcony for a cigarette.

  I went out to join him.

  ‘Thanks for coming,’ I said. I cupped my hands around the end of my cigarette as I lit it.

  He nodded.

  ‘How’ve you been?’

  He did a sort of shrug-nod which I took to mean ‘I’ve been good, thank you. And yourself?’

  ‘I’ve been really busy. Busy, busy! I went to, like, four gigs last week. And a gallery opening. And two wine tastings. And a food festival in Finchley.’ None of that was true, of course, but after a year in London, I’m well seasoned at talking about cultural events I haven’t actually attended.

  He nodded.

  I took a long drag.

  He tilted his head towards the living room. ‘That the girl from the other night? The one who’s into chicks?’

  Fuck. I’d forgotten all about that. As if the night wasn’t complicated enough already.

  ‘Uh … yep, that’s Cathryn. But no need to mention any of that …’

  ‘She here with her dude?’

  ‘Michael. But they’ve sorted out that whole issue. All in the past! Definitely no need to bring that up.’

  He nodded wisely. ‘Cool.’

  ‘Come on, I’ll get you a drink. Would you mind helping me with something in the kitchen?’ One of The Rules of the Game’s dinner party tips is to encourage your intended target to be your ‘helper’. Apparently it makes you seem in control, though at the moment I felt anything but.

  ‘Sure. I’m just going to finish this.’

  I ducked back into the kitchen and found Lucy meticulously spooning jus over the lamb roasting in the oven.

  I shooed her away. ‘I’ll take care of that. Go play with Tristan and the gang!’

  She looked worriedly at her lamb. ‘Are you sure? Make sure you keep an eye on it. It should be pink in the middle. It’ll be ruined if it’s overcooked.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll watch it like a hawk. Now get out of here before Sleepy Eyes comes in! I’ve got to woo him with chores.’

  Lucy shot me a doubtful look before heading into the living room. Sleepy Eyes slid past her into the kitchen.

  ‘You’re here! Great. Would you mind chopping this up?’ I handed him a bag of fresh mint and a paring knife, which he accepted with a shrug. ‘I’ve just got to do the potatoes.’

  ‘Cool,’ he said as he started chopping.

  ‘Soooooo. How’s the band?’

  ‘Got another gig coming up.’

  ‘Really? That’s great!’ I realized I was being too positive and forced myself to slip in a neg. ‘I mean, at least you’ll get some practice.’

  ‘Yeah, guess so.’ A curl had flopped over his left eye as he chopped and I reached over to push it back, casual contact very much encouraged by the book. He ignored me.

  After much chopping and sautéing and panicking and cursing, dinner was served. Lucy and I had bought a couple of extra folding chairs and we all crowded around the Ikea dining table. Tristan, Cathryn and Michael were doing their best to pretend that this was the height of sophistication. Sleepy Eyes straddled his chair backwards and gazed at the ceiling, glassy-eyed but gorgeous.

  ‘Is he stoned?’ Cathryn whispered to me.

  ‘I think he’s just artistic.’

  Lucy asked Tristan to carve the lamb, a task he took to with impressive enthusiasm and care. Every time he moved to make a cut, he would look to Lucy for approval. She would nod and he would slice. It dragged on and on.

  ‘Uncle Tricky, can you speed it up a bit?’ Cathryn piped up from the end of the table. ‘At this rate, it’ll be cold by the time we eat it.’

  ‘Or we will be,’ Michael muttered.

  Tristan looked at Lucy, who nodded. He began carving like a man possessed.

  After a short ice age, we started to eat. Lucy had outdone herself: the meal was a triumph. Even Sleepy Eyes managed a full sentence of approval.

  ‘So,’ Cathryn said, looking at Sleepy Eyes, ‘Lauren tells me you’re in a band. That must be awfully fun.’

  ‘Yes, what sort of music do you play?’ Tristan asked. ‘Not that I’m very familiar with what you young people are listening to these days. I much prefer classical.’

  Sleepy Eyes nodded slowly and said, ‘I play the drums.’

  Cathryn smiled encouragingly. ‘That’s nice.’

  ‘That must be very tiring on the old arms,’ Tristan said. ‘Do you play many shows?’

  ‘Once a week,’ he drawled.

  Tristan nodded. ‘Well, it’s good that it’s regular. What else do you do to fill your time?’

  Sleepy Eyes looked mildly affronted. ‘Music’s my life.’

  ‘Of course. Apologies.’

  Sleepy Eyes turned to Cathryn. ‘You should come to one of our gigs. We get a pretty mixed crowd at some of the venues. You might meet someone … you know … like-minded.’ He raised a languid eyebrow.

  Cathryn now looked thoroughly baffled. ‘What do you mean, like-minded?’

  I sprang up from the table. ‘More jus, anyone? I don’t know about you, but I can’t get enough of this jus.’

  Lucy nodded furiously. ‘Ooh, yes please!’

  Cathryn was undeterred. ‘Sorry, but I’m curious. What do you mean by like-minded?’

  Sleepy Eyes shrugged. ‘You know. Chicks and stuff.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Just a minute,’ Michael said from the end of the table. ‘What exactly are you saying about my fiancée?’

  Sleepy Eyes raised his hands. ‘Forget it.’

  ‘I just don’t understand what you’re getting at,’ Cathryn said, shaking her head.

  ‘I think we’ve all got our wires a little bit crossed,’ I said as I started to clear away plates. ‘Now, who wants dessert?’ I looked pointedly at Sleepy Eyes. ‘Will you give me a hand in the kitchen?’

  He got up slowly and started carrying the dinner plates through. ‘I didn’t mean to piss anyone off,’ he whispered to me. ‘Why are they so uptight about it? I thought they were all open and shit.’

  ‘What was that?’ Michael called from the living room.

  ‘N
othing!’ I sang back. ‘I told you to keep your mouth shut!’ I hissed at Sleepy Eyes. I suppressed the urge to hit him upside the head.

  The rest of the dinner passed without incident, thank God. Cathryn spent most of dessert criticizing her pavlova (which was, of course, delicious) while I quietly schemed to get Sleepy Eyes in bed. He might not be a man of many words, but conversation wasn’t my first objective at this point. I needed to round out this month with a win.

  The evening finally came to a close when Lucy stood up and said that she and Tristan had to leave. He jumped to attention and immediately phoned for a taxi.

  Cathryn and Michael were the next to go. I washed and dried her cake stand and walked them to the door. ‘Thank you so much for coming, guys. And thanks for that amazing dessert.’

  ‘It was a disaster. Let’s not speak of it.’

  ‘And sorry about all that weird talk at dinner.’

  ‘Yes, what was that all about? Why does he think I like women?’

  ‘Must be the drugs. Probably fried his brain, poor guy. Anyway, get out of here – I’m trying to get laid.’

  ‘Good luck.’

  I slipped into the bathroom to ready myself for the final challenge. I’d come up with a master plan according to the book’s advice: I’d ask him to stay behind to help clear up, during which we’d engage in some light banter and I would subtly neg him. I’d show my value using a sleight-of-hand card trick I’d been working on for weeks and would test out his receptivity to physical contact by punching him playfully on the shoulder and putting him into a playful headlock. Finally, if all that went well, I’d suggest we sit on my bed and watch a carefully selected comedic YouTube clip on my laptop. After that, well … it should all just unfold naturally.

  I went into the kitchen to find Sleepy Eyes smoking a cigarette out of the window. ‘So,’ he said. ‘Wanna fuck?’

  Sleepy Eyes wandered out around ten the next morning, tossing a ‘laters’ over his shoulder as he walked out the door.

  I slunk over to the couch once he’d left and pulled out my notebook and pen.

  The Rules of the Game in Conclusion

  It’s hard to tell if this book was effective, as I suspect that Sleepy Eyes succumbed to my charms not because of my elaborate plotting but because I happened to be directly in front of him at the time. Still, I wouldn’t have met him if I hadn’t been forced to make conversation with so many strangers. That’s the real point of the book: behind all of the Jedi mind-tricks and alpha-male stuff, it’s about getting you out of your comfort zone and into circulation. It’s mainly a numbers game, but playing the numbers can be effective.

  I can also see why this works so well on women, because this sort of approach has worked on me so many times. Confident, slightly dickish men who are the center of attention are annoyingly attractive. Maybe it’s some sort of evolutionary thing, like how the biggest, strongest lion in the pride is the one who does all the impregnating? And I’ve got to say, it was weirdly empowering being the biggest dick in the room for a month. Even though I found all the mantras and enforced socializing mortifying, I could feel its influence eventually sink in. The more I approached men, and the more I told myself that those men were lucky to be talking to me, the more I started to believe it. A clever confidence trick indeed.

  Works best on …

  Men with robust self-esteem and a high tolerance level. Also, guys who might be reluctant to make the first move – this takes all the work out of their hands.

  To be used by …

  Women who’ve always wondered what it would be like to wear the pants in a relationship … and who don’t mind inflicting often-public humiliation on themselves.

  Book Five: The Art of Dating

  28 July Continued

  I was still wrapped up in my robe when Lucy walked in the door at noon.

  ‘Hello, babe! Bit late for you to still be in your dressing gown, isn’t it?’

  ‘Mmpf,’ I replied. ‘It’s still before the Come Dine with Me marathon.’

  ‘How was Mr Talkative after we left? Any progress?’

  The memory of him pushing me against a wall and sliding his hand up my dress washed over me. ‘Mmm-hmm.’

  ‘Great! So did the plan work? Did you make your move over the washing-up?’

  I glanced into the kitchen and saw a pile of dirty dishes stacked perilously on the countertop.

  ‘Not exactly.’

  ‘Did you do one of those magic tricks from the book? The hand reading? The horoscope question?’

  I was impressed with how much knowledge Lucy had absorbed over the month. If she and Tristan ever broke up, she was primed and ready to be an alpha gamer.

  ‘No, it didn’t come to that in the end …’

  She sat down on the edge of the couch and gave me a hard look. ‘Out with it. What happened?’

  ‘Well, after you guys left, he sort of just said, “Wanna fuck?” So we did.’

  ‘That’s it?’

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘So you didn’t need to do any of your fancy closing techniques?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘… which means you needn’t have bothered with the whole dinner party.’

  ‘Probably not.’

  We were silent for a moment while Lucy considered this.

  ‘That is so hot.’

  I sat bolt upright. ‘I know, right? It was sort of shocking how easy it was.’

  ‘Details, please.’

  ‘Well, my theory about drummers being preternaturally gifted in the sack was right.’

  ‘I knew it!’ Lucy cried. ‘It’s the rhythm, right?’

  ‘And the strong forearms. Surprisingly useful.’

  ‘Lucky girl.’

  ‘There was one thing, though …’

  Lucy propped her chin on her hands, her enormous blue eyes looking at me intently. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Well, he sort of … tried to sneak through the back door.’

  ‘Do you mean he left early this morning?’

  ‘No, that’s not what I mean.’ I raised a significant eyebrow. ‘I mean he tried to sneak it through the back door …’

  Lucy gasped. ‘You mean he wanted to … he tried to …’ She looked increasingly distressed. ‘Up the bum? On the first night?’

  I nodded. ‘Without so much as a warning! He just decided to stoop and conquer.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘I redirected him.’

  ‘And what did he do?’

  ‘Gave it another shot. I redirected him again, and he finally got the message. Or at least gave up.’

  ‘Do you think he may have just … got lost?’

  I considered this for a moment. He wasn’t the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree, that’s for sure, but I suspected he was pretty well versed in the female anatomy – he was a hot drummer, after all. ‘I don’t think so. I think he was just pushing his luck.’

  ‘What a bugger!’ Lucy flushed. ‘No pun intended. Did he say anything afterwards?’

  ‘Nope, he just rolled over and went to sleep. I’m not exactly a prude, but to try to stroll through the back passage the first time we’re in bed together feels like a bold move.’

  ‘Agreed. Are you going to see him again?’

  ‘Who knows. Anyway, did you have fun last night? Tristan’s great, by the way. A total silver fox. Was he really weirded out by the whole Cathryn thing?’

  She shook her head. ‘He didn’t seem to be. Didn’t even mention it on the way home.’

  ‘Well, that’s good. I mean, he’s so obviously nuts about you that I can’t imagine any amount of weirdness would put him off. It’s like you have some sort of voodoo power over him.’

  Lucy shifted slightly in her seat. ‘I don’t know if I’d say that.’

  ‘Seriously, Luce – he was hanging off your every word. I’m pretty sure that if you had told him to sit on the balcony in his underwear last night, he would have.’

  She looked slightly chagrined. ‘He’
s a doll. Anyway, enough about Tristan: more details about the drummer, please!’

  ‘Only if you get me more coffee.’

  Eventually, after I’d given Lucy a complete blow-by-blow (in some instances, literally) account of my night with Sleepy Eyes, I poured myself into the shower and cleaned myself up. It was gray and misty out, so I wrapped up in my old college sweatshirt and settled into my next guide a little earlier than scheduled.

  The Art of Dating by Evelyn Millis Duvall was written in 1958 as a guide to teenagers and college students just venturing out into the treacherous world of dating and, as a result, the book is pleasingly innocent. There are definitely sections that don’t apply to me – I haven’t had to ask my parents’ permission to borrow the car since, well, the Christmas before last – but there’s plenty of wisdom there.

  The book describes dating as ‘grown-up, romantic and full of promise’. Thirteen years of personal experience have taught me otherwise, but it’s entirely possible I’ve been doing it wrong the whole time. I read on.

  The basics were simple: be sociable, join lots of clubs (the author suggests church groups and the 4H, so I’ll have to do some judicious substituting) and be nice. After months of being told to behave like a total asshole, it was refreshing to see kindness being encouraged.

  Here are the book’s three pillars of popularity:

  Be careful of your appearance.

  Be courteous to others.

  Be fun to be with.

  These qualities went completely against everything I’d learned about popularity in high school (unless being careful of your appearance involved owning stock in Abercrombie & Fitch and premium sportswear), but I was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt.

  Flicking through the pages, I couldn’t help but hope that the book would bring me back to a simpler time. A time before YouPorn and sexting and Craigslist. Sure, the 1950s were fucked up in their own unique way – McCarthyism wasn’t great, and people were taking a lot of Vicodin – but chances were you didn’t have to worry about running into your bisexual ex-boyfriend’s new boyfriend.

  I was eager to get started.