Two For Joy

by Patricia Scanlan

  Lorna poured herself a cup of coffee. She was in the apartment on her own. Carina was working and Lisa was away. It was quiet, very quiet, and because she was a tad bored she’d decided to ring her cousin. Lorna tapped her fingers impatiently against the counter top. The phone call to Heather had unsettled her. Forget it, she told herself crossly. Just think she could still be living in that shabby hovel instead of living it up here in Malahide. Life was brilliant here. And now that she knew that Heather didn’t want to talk to her, she’d put her out of her head and get on with it. It was closure, she decided. She didn’t need Heather Williams any more, and she’d certainly proved that by taking a leap into the unknown and moving to Malahide. It was a brave move, she congratulated herself. A move Stick-in-the-Mud-Williams wouldn’t take in a million years. Now that she was feeling superior again, she felt much better.

  Lorna strolled into the lounge, sipping her coffee, and went over to the French doors. The morning sun sparkled on the estuary, birds wheeled overhead in the sapphire sky, the Belfast train clickity-clacked northwards, sleek and elegant in the golden sunlight. Looking out, it was like a hot, sunny summer’s day. Only the faint tracery of frost still on car windows gave a hint that the temperatures were below freezing. If she were still living in Drumcondra, she’d be shivering in whistling draughts and wrapped up in jim-jams and toasties. The central heating in the apartment was a dream.

  She ran her fingers over her new silky black negligée. It was extremely sexy and she was hoping to get an opportunity to wear it tonight. Lorna’s eyes sparkled with anticipation. On her first night out with Carina, the weekend that she’d moved in, she had met a dishy businessman in Gibney’s. The pub in Malahide. His name was Bryan Taylor and he was a manager in a big mobile phone company. He drove a company Saab, and he owned a seafront apartment in the Marina! She’d played it cool in the pub, sensing his interest. When he’d asked her to come back to his ‘pad’ for a nightcap, she’d smiled sweetly and said another time perhaps. Neither would she give him her phone number, guessing correctly that she would see him again in Gibney’s.

  The following Thursday night herself, Carina and Lisa swanned into Gibney’s, dolled up to the nines. A surreptitious glance around and she saw him at the bar. He didn’t see her. So she played it cool, laughing and chatting with the girls until he came over eventually, tipped her on the shoulder and asked her did she like breakfast in bed.

  ‘It depends who’s serving it,’ she replied coolly, half impressed by his very direct approach.

  ‘I make a mean Buck’s Fizz,’ he boasted.

  ‘Is that right? How nice for you,’ Lorna replied non-committally, sipping her white wine spritzer.

  ‘Maybe you’re not a champagne girl.’ He seemed a bit put out at her lack of enthusiasm.

  ‘Oh, Barry, indeed I am,’ she smiled sweetly, congratulating herself on a smart move, pretending not to remember his name.

  ‘Bryan,’ he corrected suavely.

  ‘Of course you are,’ she purred, slanting her eyes up at him, like Samantha, her heroine in Sex and the City.

  ‘So you like champagne, then,’ he persisted.

  ‘Oh yes! I adore champagne’… she paused, à la Samantha … ‘with the right man.’

  ‘And is there currently a “right” man?’ Bryan queried.

  Lorna gave a Gallic shrug. ‘Mister Right turned out to be Mister Very Wrong. But I live in hope,’ she drawled. She knew he was waiting for her to ask about his status. He’d be waiting, she thought in amusement. She was extremely impressed with herself the way she was playing him. A far cry from that disastrous night in Dalkey when she’d trudged up hill and down dale in her high-heeled sandals after that lying little toad who’d called himself an architect.

  ‘I think you haven’t been drinking champagne with the right men, Lorna,’ Bryan smiled, showing strong white teeth. He was quite handsome in a weather-beaten rugged way. And he had the most amazing black-lashed, green eyes. He had told her the first time they met that he went sailing. It sounded divine.

  ‘Well, possibly not, Bryan. But what’s a girl to do? How does a girl find Mister Right?’ she teased playfully.

  ‘Trial and error, beautiful Lorna. Trial and error.’

  They’d played cat and mouse with each other for about two weeks before she finally relented and gave him her number. The following day he phoned her and asked her out to dinner. She told him she was busy for the next five nights but she was free on the Saturday. ‘Fine,’ Bryan said firmly. ‘I’ll book us a table at Tiger Becs, it’s the new Thai restaurant part of La Stampa. You’ve been to La Stampa I’m sure,’ he said casually.

  ‘Oh indeed,’ fibbed Lorna. Tiger Becs! She was impressed. It was so happening.

  ‘Pick you up around seven thirty. Just tell me the number.’

  Lorna stopped playing hard to get and gave him the information required. He was clearly interested in impressing her and she was all ready to be impressed.

  Lorna went back out to the kitchen and refilled her coffee cup. She was feeling a tad nervous. She’d spent the entire evening the night before trying on this outfit and that. Discarding, selecting, changing her mind and starting the whole process again. She had half decided to wear her new black trousers and lilac Dolce & Gabbana halter-neck top that showed her cleavage to perfection. She’d been to the beauty salon and had fake tan applied. Her body was extremely toned, the nice shapely ‘cut’ on her arm muscles not too defined that she looked like a body builder but just delicately suggested to give her arms that high maintenance look. She’d splashed out and treated herself to a French polish. Classy but refined. That was the image she wanted to portray. The classy sophisticate. She’d never have been able to bring Bryan back to the flat in Drumcondra. It would have been too mortifying for words. Imagine him comparing his ‘pad’ to that crummy joint.

  Here was fine, she looked around approvingly. Perfect for the Busy-Girl-About-Town. Her bedroom might be small but it was tastefully decorated and she could send him home after they did the woo, if they did the woo. Hopefully Bryan would be the one who would awaken the woman within. Maybe with him she’d finally have that elusive orgasm. None of her sexual experiences since her disastrous deflowering at the hands of Derek Kennedy had been anything to remember. Lorna was still mystified at the idea that sex was enjoyable.

  Carina raved about it. She loved being shagged senseless, as she described it herself. And indeed she didn’t hide her enjoyment on the nights she took a man home. The bedsprings creaked and rattled, the apartment echoed to her moans and groans and Lorna, her head buried under her pillow, was reminded of that day a long time ago when her mother and that man had had sex and frightened the living daylights out of her.

  Imagine, her mother had had mad passionate sex and seemingly enjoyed it all those years ago when it was something that was frowned upon outside marriage. Her mother had been adventurous to have an affair. It still confused Lorna to think about it and on the rare occasion that she went home, she studied her mother covertly and saw how deeply dissatisfied and unhappy she was with her life. Still, at least she’d known passion and pleasure once.

  Lorna, in this modern day and age when no one lifted an eyebrow at sex outside marriage and everyone knew about the G spot, still hadn’t a clue what all the fuss was about. She’d stopped reading articles in magazines about sex. It was just too dispiriting. At least Heather was still a virgin. She hadn’t had an orgasm with a man yet either, as far as she knew, Lorna comforted herself. They were probably the only two women in the country who could make that claim, she thought wryly. And that was nothing to boast about.

  By seven fifteen she was as ready as she’d ever be. She was extremely pleased with the finished result. Her blonde hair shone, the highlights glinting in the lamplight. Her blue eyes sparkled, her eyelids dusted with hints of mauve and pink eyeshadow, complemented by the colour of her silky top. Her lips glistened with frosted plum-coloured lipstick, and a hint of blusher highlighted her
cheekbones. She knew she was looking her best and it gave her confidence. She could carry herself anywhere. Pity she didn’t have any decent gold, she thought regretfully. She had a fine gold chain that Derek had given her and a pair of gold earrings, a Christmas present from her parents. They’d have to do. She slipped the earrings into her ears and stood back to admire herself.

  ‘Excellent,’ she murmured, wishing she didn’t have so many butterflies in her stomach. This was what she wanted. This was what she had come to Dublin for. She hoped Bryan didn’t ask her too much about what restaurants she’d been to. Tiger Becs would definitely be her most upmarket. One of the girls at work had been there and raved about it. She’d just play it all very cool, and at least this time she’d know better than to make a faux pas as humiliating as the one she’d made in Mao’s in Dun Laoghaire soon after she’d come to Dublin.

  Even now her cheeks burned at the memory.

  One of the girls at work had been telling the rest of them about the fabulous range of Christmas presents in Meadows & Byrne and a few of them had decided to go out to Dun Laoghaire on the Dart to have a browse around. Lorna had adored the elegant, stylish shop and had bought some beautiful wooden serving dishes for her mother and a gift basket of delightful goodies for her grandmother. They’d spent a happy two hours shopping and were just going to sit down in the little coffee shop to have coffee and something to eat when Shelly, the head housekeeper, said briskly, ‘I know, let’s go into Mao’s and eat there. We can have cocktails.’ That suggestion had gone down a treat and they’d all trooped out of Meadows & Byrne with their shopping and made their way against the buffeting winds to the cheerful red and blue wooden-floored restaurant further down the shopping pavilion.

  Giggling and chatting they perused the cocktail menu and Lorna ordered a Margarita and felt completely happy. This was the life, she assured herself. Sitting sipping cocktails, in a hip, cool restaurant, buzzing and vibrant. It was just like Sex and the City. Kilronan was so hicksville in comparison. Eventually they’d decided to eat and Lorna had thought she’d go for the Malaysian chicken and jasmine rice dish. Shelly was going for the tempura of sole.

  ‘I don’t know about the Malaysian chicken,’ Viv, one of the other girls, murmured. ‘It might be too hot … the chillies!’

  Lorna read the dish’s description again: there was no mention of chillies, that was why she’d gone for it. She didn’t like ‘hot’ food. ‘It doesn’t say anything about chillies,’ Lorna declared.

  ‘It does,’ argued Viv.

  ‘It’s number eleven I’m talking about.’ Lorna was perplexed at the other girl’s insistence.

  ‘There’s no numbers on th— you idiot!’ Viv shrieked with laughter. ‘That’s not number eleven, that’s two chillies. That lets you know how hot it is.’ She guffawed with laughter and some of the others joined in.

  ‘Oh, silly me, the Margarita’s gone to my brain.’ Lorna had tried to pass it off but she was mortified at her ignorance and the episode had quite ruined the meal for her, even though the others had forgotten all about it and spent the next hour discussing men, as they enjoyed their meal.

  That certainly wouldn’t happen tonight, she assured herself. She’d stick to something innocuous.

  The doorbell rang and her tummy gave a little flip-flop. Taking a deep breath she sprayed some Issey Miyake on her neck and wrists and went to open the door.

  ‘Well hellooo, Gorgeous!’ Bryan bowed as he handed her a white rose.

  ‘Oh, that’s lovely!’ Lorna exclaimed in delight, extremely pleased at this romantic gesture and completely forgetting that she was playing it cool.

  ‘A lovely rose for a lovely lady.’ Bryan smiled wolfishly. He was looking rather dishy in a black jacket, black open-neck shirt and black trousers. Very dark and brooding. He looked casually but expensively dressed. A man of taste and style, she thought happily.

  ‘I think this might look nice here,’ Bryan said suavely, taking the rose from her. He broke the stem, expertly, Lorna thought, sensing that he’d certainly done this before. Then he slipped the rose down into her cleavage, the merest touch of his forefinger against the creamy skin of her breast, and all the while he stared into her eyes with a deep intense look that made her nervous. She willed herself not to blush. Sex icon Samantha Jones would never be so uncool as to blush.

  Thinking of Samantha was a great help and she knew exactly how to play it. ‘Well, aren’t you the romantic one?’ she drawled, arching an eyebrow at him. ‘A regular Sir Galahad!’

  Bryan drew back and laughed. ‘Let’s go and eat. I was out in the boat today and I don’t know about you, but I’m starving!’ He eyeballed her when he said ‘starving’ and she knew exactly what he meant. ‘Nice place, by the way,’ he said as they descended into the lobby. ‘I hope I’ll get to see a bit more of it later on.’

  ‘We’ll see.’ Lorna slanted a smile at him.

  He was extremely well groomed, she noted approvingly as he drove out of the marina, the cuticles of his neatly manicured nails white against his tanned fingers. The Beautiful South played on the stereo, and she started to relax as they drove out through the porte-cochère and headed for the city.

  By the time they’d parked and begun to walk towards Dawson Street she was feeling a little apprehensive again. Keeping up an ultra-cool façade wasn’t as difficult as she thought. Sometimes it even seemed that she was standing outside herself, looking at herself zipping out smart one-liners as though she were a character in a film. But now she was going to have to sit opposite Bryan for at least two hours and keep it going while eating, with that sure knowledge that he wanted to have sex with her tonight. It was unmistakable, the way he looked at her, the way he touched her lightly on the knee in the car when he leaned over her to get another CD. Being desired boosted her confidence and she banished her momentary flash of apprehension.

  She could almost taste the vibrant buzz of chat and laughter as they descended the steps under Samsara Café Bar to Tiger Becs. It was a long, narrow design, with an exotic African ambience. Tables edged a central platform which led to a small bar set against an unusual stained-glass panel. Lorna was mega impressed. It really was hip ’n’ happening! Lots of gorgeous-looking girls and cool guys. A greeter, model thin, looking extremely chic, led them to their table. The oriental wooden carvings on the wall and myriad of mirrors lent sophistication to the restaurant. If she’d been here with Heather she would have thoroughly enjoyed the experience, gawking around at all the glitz and glamour and taking it all in. As it was she had to pretend to be totally blasé.

  ‘What will you have to drink?’ Bryan asked as they were seated at a small table for two with tasteful linen, cutlery and glassware.

  ‘I’ll have a white wine spritzer, please,’ Lorna replied, although she was longing for a couple of VRBs. Tonight wasn’t the night to go heavy on the booze. She needed to keep her wits about her.

  ‘And a Tiger Beer for me,’ Bryan ordered as he unfolded his artistically arranged napkin. They chatted about this and that as they waited for their drinks to arrive. He told her a little about his job, which all went over her head and sounded terribly technical and boring, and she told him about being a hotel receptionist and threw in a few amusing anecdotes about some of the guests she’d had to deal with. They perused the menu and decided to have the combination starter, which Lorna privately felt wasn’t too scary as she’d often had the Thai combination in Chinese takeaways. Chicken and pork satays, spring rolls, fishcakes and prawn toasts were not ‘danger zone’ food. For her main course she played it relatively safe and ordered the stir-fried king prawns. Bryan went for the steamed seabass with lemongrass and chilli dressing. Animatedly he informed her that there was nothing like the thrill of catching a bass, reeling it in and cooking it fresh that night. The reeling in bit sounded a bit gruesome to her, but she pretended interest.

  He was something of a contradiction, she decided, the poseur side of him slipping every so often when he got talking about
his love of sailing and fishing.

  She nibbled at the starter platter when it came, anxious not to appear too ravenous, even though she was peckish by now. She’d been hardly able to eat all day, she’d been so nervous. Her nervousness annoyed her. This was what she wanted in life, to be wined and dined by handsome men. She remembered so well telling Heather that in no uncertain terms the night they’d had the row before Oliver Flynn’s wedding. What she wanted had come true. Unfortunately she felt unable to completely relax and enjoy it. Bryan wolfed down the starter and made short shrift of his not very large portion of seabass. ‘It’s nice, but this sort of stuff,’ he forked some pretty cut floral carrots and a piece of salad, ‘doesn’t fill a man whose been on the briny all day.’ He tucked into a helping of Phed Makeur Wao, while she nibbled at some Phad Thai vegetarian rice noodles. Her eight king prawns had been nice enough, the dressing sauce tasty and not too hot, but she’d kept well away from the dipping sauce garnished with a slice of green chilli, guessing that it was breathtakingly hot. Bryan was impressively dextrous with his chopsticks, she noted enviously, resolving to buy a pair and practise using them at home, but for now she kept strictly to the knife and fork.

  For dessert she threw coolness to the wind and indulged in a mouth-wateringly scrumptious Thai banana roll. The crunchy honey-glazed sesame seed coating was just what she needed after the spiciness of her prawn dressing. After coffee, while Bryan was taking care of the bill, she tried to hide her self-consciousness as she walked the long walk between the tables to the loos at the end of the restaurant.

  There was a queue, and she could feel perspiration between her breasts as she tried to stare nonchalantly around her. Eventually and with relief she got into the very small cubicle, and when she was finished she flushed the loo, pulled down the seat, sat down and did some swift running repairs to her make-up. There wasn’t room to swing a cat outside – she was as well off where she was. She applied some deodorant and perfume, and touched up her face make-up with bronzing powder. A quick flick with her lipstick and she was ready. Taking a deep breath, Lorna opened the door and made her way back out to the restaurant, where she swanned down to her seat, head held high, aware that everyone at the tables on either side could see her and that Bryan was waiting with an appreciative glint in his eye.