‘Yes, Rox. I’m definitely Team Hair rather than Team Bare on this one. Cameron’s right. Once you start lasering it, it’s gone forever, and ‘trends’ change. Yeah, the Hollywood and Brazilian are hot right now, but will they always be? I did a lot of research into this when we were working on a campaign for a waxing brand, and you’d be surprised how much opinions have changed over the years.’
‘Really?’ asked Bella, leaning in.
‘Yeah!’ I replied. ‘In the Egyptian times, women removed all their hair except their eyebrows and eyelashes because they thought it was more youthful. But in the 1500s a full bush was fashionable again. Then I think it was in the 1800s that lovers even gave each other pubic hair as gifts to one another.’
‘You’ve got to be joking!’ shrieked a horrified Bella.
‘Nope,’ I confirmed. ‘Weird, right? It was only in the early 1900s that women’s razors were introduced, and then when bikinis became more popular in the sixties, the pressure came to remove body hair. Then of course the Brazilian got invented in the nineties by some Brazilian sisters, and women went crazy for it. But there’s still plenty of support for the bush. Remember Kate Moss showed hers in that shoot for LOVE magazine, and when American Apparel put those mannequins in the window showing their muffs?’
‘I think so,’ replied Bella.
‘The thing is, Rox, women who went and lasered off everything are now spending thousands on bikini line restoration and pubic hair transplants to actually reseed their lawns,’ I said.
‘No fucking way!’ screamed Roxy. ‘That’s a thing?’
‘It is indeed a thing. We had a London clinic contact us to do their PR to promote it earlier this year. Look,’ I said. ‘To have or not to have hair downstairs is up to the individual, but all I’m saying is that personally, I like to keep my options open, so you won’t catch me booking in for a Hollywood laser any time soon,’ I said.
‘Yeah, I get what you’re saying about lasering,’ responded Roxy, ‘but you can wax down there and still keep your options open.’
‘I do wax, Roxy! I shave too. But whenever I wax, it’s just a short back and sides. I have to be particularly careful as my hair is super curly, so too much waxing could mean painful ingrown hairs, which surely would look much worse than a bit of extra female fur downstairs.’ Bella cringed again. ‘And, yes, of course I know there’s loads of products to help prevent that, but the last thing I want to do is have to exfoliate and put loads of chemicals down there every day. Why should us women have to torture our fannies just because men want us to look like plucked chickens?’
‘Excuse me,’ said Roxy, slamming her glass down loudly, ‘but I don’t do it for men. I do it for myself. I just think it’s cleaner and more pleasant for the guy who’s going down on you because he doesn’t have to worry about getting pubes stuck between his teeth or choking on a bloody furball.’
‘Oh my God.’ Bella winced. ‘The mental images you’re creating right now are seriously putting me off my lunch,’ she said, putting her head in her hands.
‘And another thing, Sophia. I do not look like a plucked chicken either. Just all smooth, lovely and kissable,’ she said, giggling cheekily.
‘Well, each to their own, Rox, but don’t be fooled—it’s not necessarily more hygienic. The hair actually prevents dirt and other shit from getting in there,’ I said.
‘What, like dicks and tongues?’ said Roxy, now cackling.
‘Funny, Roxy! I can assure you, no man who has an invitation to visit my garden party will have trouble gaining access! Lorenzo seemed to manage just fine. Like I said, apart from my pre-Italy lapse, I generally keep everything tidy down there. And clean too, thank you very much,’ I said proudly. ‘When I think of the hours I spent prepping for that date for him to tell me I still had ‘all that hair’ down there and he didn’t even bother to shower before we met up, it makes me so mad!’
‘Yeah, that was gross, Soph,’ said Roxy, wrinkling her face in disgust.
‘I cannot believe we are having a full-blown conversation about pubes and smelly willies,’ said a bemused Bella.
‘Yep, well, Bella this is our FTA session and anything goes!’ I said, laughing. ‘Anyway, that wasn’t actually the reason why I didn’t meet up with him in the end.’
‘What, there’s more?’ asked Roxy, looking curious and excited in equal measures. ‘Did he ask you to shave your hair on your head off too?’ She threw her head back, cackling.
‘Well, that would never happen!’ I said, horrified at the thought of ever choosing to chop off my locks for a man. I definitely considered it my crowning glory. ‘In a nutshell, he wanted to make a porno with me.’
‘No way!’ said Bella, her jaw literally falling to the floor.
‘Yes, way!’ I confirmed.
‘Welcome to the new world of dating, Soph,’ said Roxy matter-of-factly. ‘Doesn’t surprise me in the slightest.’
‘Well, it sure as hell shocked me. I even had nightmares about it afterwards. I know some guys just make them for themselves to watch at home, but could you imagine if he’d filmed me, put it online and then all my clients, my team, the journalists and—gosh, my bloody parents had seen it?’ I shivered just thinking about how years of reputation-building could have been shattered in seconds.
‘You’re right, Soph,’ said Bella.
‘I mean, how would I be able to pitch to some of the biggest beauty CEOs knowing they’d seen my butt and boobs jiggling all over the place? I’d be ruined!’ I said. ‘And for what? A few seconds of frustration with a guy I was just talking to out of sympathy and, dare I say it, slight desperation? This dating is fucking scary shit.’
‘It’s scary times and a world away from when I was dating before I met Mike,’ said Bella. ‘Cameras are everywhere and any sleazy guy can film you without you knowing—on the train, in the gym, in your home. Technology can be lethal in the wrong hands. You had a lucky escape, hon.’
‘Definitely! That’s it, though, ladies,’ I said, firmly planting my glass on the table. ‘I’m taking a break from the dating sites. It’s doing my head in. I’ve realised that men are men whether it’s on a hook-up site like Tinder or a paid site like Match.com. I’m not saying there aren’t decent guys on there or that I’m giving up forever, but I’ve had quite enough disappointment from swiping over these past few weeks to last me at least a few months.’
‘Oh, that’s a shame,’ said Roxy. ‘I was finding all of your dating disasters quite entertaining!’
‘Bloody cheek!’ I said, laughing. ‘Well, you know me. I get bored easily, so you never know, I might change my mind about the apps. Fear not, though, my friends. Like I said, there may well still be at least one decent guy out there, as remember, all being well, I have my date with Charlie this Friday. Lord only knows what tales I’ll have to tell during our next catch-up…’
Chapter Thirty-One
Tonight was the night. Although I was trying to play it cool, I was excited about my date with Charlie.
Since he’d got back from Australia, we’d either messaged or spoken every day. At first it was a bit formal, discussing fixing my car. He’d suggested that we didn’t go through insurance companies, explaining that his family used one of the UK’s finest car and body repair centres and promising that because they gave them so much business, they would ensure that the car would look practically new by the time they’d finished.
I’d given him the green light, so they’d collected it on Tuesday afternoon. Then on Wednesday night when we spoke on the phone (I know, an actual telephone conversation rather than messaging—so rare these days), he’d asked if we were still on for that dinner on Friday night.
I was tempted to follow the ‘dating rules’, act all aloof and pretend I had forgotten, but instead I just said yes. We’d agreed to meet at Sexy Fish in Berkeley Square as he’d assured me that, despite the short notice, he’d be able to get us a table, so it was all arranged. He’d texted me this morning to check that we were sti
ll on for tonight and I’d swiftly confirmed. Now I was about to leave the office to see Josh at Annabel’s salon for a pre-date blow-dry.
‘So have you Googled him yet?’ said Josh, who I’d just been filling in about my forthcoming dinner with Charlie.
‘I thought about doing that this morning, but I couldn’t remember his surname, other than the fact that it starts with a C. Christie? Chrombie? Something like that,’ I said, racking my brain to try and remember what I’d written down during our conversation. ‘All the notes I made about getting the car fixed are at home,’ I explained. ‘Also, after going on a load of failed online dates, this time I’ve decided to do things the old-fashioned way and just find out more about him by having a conversation over dinner. I don’t want anything I see on Facebook or anywhere else online to taint my opinion of him before we meet.’
That and I also didn’t want to lose precious hours social media stalking him like I’d done with Lorenzo. But I was too embarrassed to tell Josh about my past behaviour…
‘Well, if you say so, Soph,’ he said, rolling his eyes. I guess guys in their early twenties like him did everything online, so the old-fashioned way was far too alien for them. ‘Personally,’ he continued, ‘I’d like to know that my dates aren’t serial killers before I meet them, so I always search for them on Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, Snapchat, and LinkedIn, and see what pictures come up in Google too. Why else was the internet and social media invented?’ he laughed.
‘Really?’ I said, raising my eyebrows. ‘And you reckon that looking at a guy’s Instagram page is going to tell you whether or not they’re a nutter? Serial killers don’t generally post photos of their victims after the fact. Plus, I’m pretty sure you’ve gone out with people from Grindr, and that’s probably no better or worse than me meeting Charlie in the middle of a road,’ I added.
‘True,’ he conceded. ‘Oh well, Soph, either way it will be interesting.’ There was that word again: interesting. ‘Hmm,’ Josh continued, ‘at least he seems nice, and by the sounds of it he’s loaded!’
‘I’m not bothered about that, Josh. He’ll need to have more than a fat wallet to impress me,’ I said cheekily.
‘You little saucepot!’ he said, giggling as he added the last few waves to my hair.
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ I replied innocently. ‘Of course, I was referring to his intelligence, charm, ambition…’
‘Yeah, yeah, Soph. Whatever. I think you’re forgetting how well I know you. Remember, us hairdressers know our clients inside out. That includes your secrets and your sense of humour! There,’ he said, showing me the back of my hair in the mirror. ‘You’re all done.’
‘Perfect,’ I said, smiling with approval. I stood up, and Josh started undoing the velcro strip at the back of my neck to remove my gown.
‘Yes, Sophia!’ he said, walking around me to check me out at every angle. ‘Looking hot! So what are you hoping to get out of tonight? Snog? More?’ he asked cheekily.
‘Hmm…well, probably not ‘more’ tonight, Josh, but I definitely wouldn’t say no to a lovely, long passionate kiss for starters,’ I said, slyly letting out a loud laugh.
‘Sounds like a plan, Soph!’ he said as he went to the cloakroom area to get my jacket. He peered through the salon window. ‘Looks like your taxi’s outside, darling. Go get him, tiger!’
As the taxi dropped me off outside the restaurant, I started to feel the gentle flutter of butterflies in my stomach. Why was I nervous?
Remember, it’s just like going for a work meeting. You’ve had a few dates now. You’ll be fine, said Reasanna encouragingly. Roxy and Bella had both messaged me to wish me good luck too, which helped.
I took a deep breath and stepped through the door opened by the smartly dressed doorman in the bowler hat.
It had been a while since I’d been here, but it still looked as glitzy as I remembered, with sea-green onyx floors, Damien Hirst bronze mermaid sculptures, a glossy black crocodile slinking across the back wall, fish lamps ‘flying’ above the scarlet lava-stone-topped bar and super-soft leather banquette seats. I’d deliberately arrived twenty minutes early so that I could head to the swanky loos, with floor-to-ceiling back-lit marble, for a final outfit, make-up and hair check. I scrutinised myself in the mirror. The waves in my hair looked good –loose and effortless. Make-up was natural again, but with a bold scarlet matte lipstick.
I’d kept my outfit simple too: a fitted royal-blue bodycon sleeveless dress which just skimmed my knees and covered my breasts enough to be classy. All finished off with a pair of matching blue suede Louboutin shoes. Whilst I’d been dressing less designer lately, seeing as I already had them and this was a special occasion, there was no point them just sitting in my dressing room gathering dust. I was even tempted to message that guy Javier from Match.com who’d offered to buy me a pair every month with a photo captioned, ‘See, I have my own shoes, thank you. I don’t need a man to buy them for me.’
Yes. I was happy with how I looked.
As I climbed the stairs, I saw him sitting at the bar. He spotted me too, smiled and rose from the stool.
‘Sophia! Gosh, you look stunning!’ he said, eyes falling out of their sockets. Well, considering he had seen me bare-faced with hair tied back when we’d met, I’d imagine for him, this was a bit of a transformation.
‘Thank you, Charlie,’ I said.
‘Our table is ready,’ he said, giving a nod to the waiter and directing me to a table tucked away in the corner by the window with a full view of the restaurant. I spotted Naomi Campbell two tables down and a Hollywood actor whose name currently escaped me over on the other side of the restaurant. Clearly this place was still drawing in the celebrities, but right now, nearly three weeks after we’d first met, I was only interested in finding out more about Charlie. Oh, and desperately praying that he didn’t turn out to a) be some weirdo, b) have any strange fetishes, or c) have a penchant for making pornos.
As the starters and then the main courses arrived, the conversation flowed fairly freely. He mainly asked questions about me. What I did for a living, my family, what my hopes and dreams were for the future, which was quite deep for a first date. Well, that’s if this was a date? At times it felt like I was being interviewed (in fact, perhaps I should have emailed Charlie a covering letter like that Roger Green had sent to me on Match.com), but he listened and nodded intently, and I figured that he was just taking an interest. Either that or I was indeed being quizzed to see if I ticked the boxes on his seemingly extensive ‘ideal girlfriend/wife’ checklist.
Ever the cynic, I also knew that asking someone endless questions about themselves was also a tactic to avoid having to talk about yourself, so I was determined to flip the script now and give him the Spanish Inquisition.
‘So, Charlie,’ I said, tilting my head. ‘Enough about me, what do you do?’
‘Um, I’m a director for a, er, a food company,’ he stuttered.
‘Oooh, food. I love food. What type?’ I asked.
‘Oh, er, sweet things,’ he added, avoiding eye contact. ‘You know, like biscuits, cakes, that kind of thing…’ For some reason he was being coy and trying to downplay things. I remembered Fran’s tactics when quizzing Erica about Lorenzo. Like her, I was determined to find out more.
‘Cakes are my favourite things in the world—beating even prawns. What’s the name of the company?’ I asked.
‘Erm,’ he said, hesitating. Nana Cromwell’s.’
‘Ah, Nana Cromwell’s!’ I said with genuine affection. ‘I adore their Ginger Dreams, and the Coconut Macaroons are my favourite.’ Charlie blushed again.
Oh, hold on a minute…that name rang a bell…
‘Cromwell’s?’ I asked, frowning, trying to place the name. ‘What’s your surname again?’
‘Er, Cr-Cromwell,’ he said, stuttering and avoiding eye contact again.
‘So, are you any relation to the Nana Cromwell family, or is it just a coincidence that you’re working for a c
ompany whose figurehead has exactly the same name as you?’ I asked, doing my best Fran.
‘Erm, yes,’ he said before pausing. ‘It’s the, yes, it’s the family business.’
‘That’s amazing, Charlie!’ I gushed. ‘Nana Cromwell’s is a British institution. They’re hands down the best biscuits on the market. I remember when I got my first Saturday job feeling so pleased to be able to go into Waitrose and buy my own pack because Mum would never get them. She always said they were too expensive, so we had to get McVities instead. Now on the rare occasion I get biscuits for the house, I’d never buy anything else. I love the fact that’s your family business. You should be very proud of your success.’
He was fidgeting nervously in his chair. You could tell he was feeling embarrassed about it all. See? I was right about him being bloody loaded. Nana Cromwell’s was huge. As a fellow business owner (albeit not on that same ginormous scale), I understood what it must have taken not just to build a brand like that but also to maintain it, plus make it grow so phenomenally. That’s what impressed me the most. Much more than the money that came with their success.
‘So what do you do there at the business?’ I asked, genuinely interested to hear all about it.
‘Erm, well, I look after the retail relationship side of things, so dealing with the major retailers in the UK, but increasingly expanding our business globally. Hence my recent visit to Australia. We’re currently in fifty countries worldwide and intend to expand that to seventy-five in the next two years, so ambitious plans.’
‘Oh yeah, how was Australia?’ I asked. ‘You didn’t say much about it on your messages.’
‘It was fine, thanks. But business trips are never as glamorous as they sound. You get off a long flight and barely have time to drop your bags off at the hotel and have a shower before the driver whisks you off to a string of meetings with retailers, who are all trying to squeeze your margins so they can make more of a profit for their stores. And then there’s the negotiations to get the prime shelf space and secure the best promotions. It all gets a bit tiresome after a while,’ he said, sighing loudly.
The Middle-Aged Virgin: A Chick Lit, Romantic Comedy Novel: Newly Single And Seeking Spine-Tingles... Page 25