by Nicky Wells
“Yes, I am actually,” I hastened to confirm, somehow pressured to convey that I had legitimate, non-single business there. “His name is Dan.” I hesitated. Would Dan have booked in his real name? As in, would Dan give away his identity or would he go incognito? I tried a description instead. “Tall, dark hair,” but the waiter interrupted me.
“You must be Sophie. Dan is waiting for you downstairs.”
Wow. Double wow. You must be Sophie. Dan had told the waiter to look out for me. Dan had expected me to turn up. Dan had made preparations. Dan was actually here. Thoughts jostled in my head, competing for prime airspace, rendering me incapable of coherent speech. I had to restrict myself to nodding dumbly and grinning broadly.
The waiter led me downstairs and, sure enough, there was Dan at a little table in an alcove toward the back. He rose to greet me, pecked me on the cheek, and then whisked a single red rose from behind his back. I wanted to swoon with delight, but instead I found my voice—just—and croaked a few words of thanks. Dan sat me down and the waiter swished a napkin on my lap. I felt like a queen.
After the waiter retreated to let us contemplate the menu, there was a little silence as we regarded each other across the table. Dan smiled and mouthed, “Thank you for coming. I was worried you wouldn’t turn up.”
I didn’t know how to react to that so I simply inclined my head in what I hoped was a romantic, seductive pose and smiled enigmatically. Dan obliged by making more conversation.
“I do hope you’ll like this place. It’s my favorite. Did you know, it featured in a movie not too long ago? You know, that thing with Ella McNeele and John Sephia?”
“Oh, right?” I ventured, struggling to overcome my conversational blockage. “That’s amazing. I thought the place looked familiar somehow, but I couldn’t place it.”
“Yup, that’s its claim to fame. Apart from, of course, offering the best Italian fare in town. Personally, I’ve not actually seen the film, but I’m told it’s rather good.”
“It is.” I grinned. “We ought to close this glaring gap in your education sometime soon.” Oh dear…I was asking him out for another date already, before this one had even begun. I was a hopelessly lost cause.
“Oh, we definitely must,” Dan agreed. “But first we should order. What do you fancy?”
I perused the menu, sensing a mounting panic. First, what was the payment etiquette here? If we were going Dutch, which we really ought to, my choices would be limited to the less extravagant dishes with the less exorbitant price tags. If Dan would pay, it would still be wise to show some restraint. It never went down well to be a glutton on a first date. Except this isn’t a first date, it’s just dinner, I reminded myself. If Dan expected me to pay, well, then I was up shit creek without the proverbial paddle, or, more to the point, Visa card, as I hadn’t yet cleared my purchases from New York.
I stalled. “What’s good here?”
“Everything,” came his prompt response. “Although the fish is particularly good.”
“Right.” The fish. Just what had caught my attention. There was a lovely-sounding starter of smoked salmon with capers and a main course of tiger prawns and scallops that I really fancied. Dan cleared his throat. “This is my treat, by the way, so don’t hold back.”
While probably intended to be helpful, this announcement sent me into further paroxysms of worry. A treat sounded like bad news for bowing out gracefully at the end of the evening. And while I liked that he was being forthright, this was, well, perhaps a little too forthright and too early in the evening. Why was it that things that were supposed to make me feel better made me feel worse?
“No, I can’t accept that,” I insisted. “We hardly know each other. You can’t treat me. To a treat, I mean.”
“Why ever not?” Dan wanted to know. “After all, in a manner of speaking, we’ve known each other for years.”
That was certainly one way of looking at it. I laughed. “But this treat is still pretty…significant,” I continued to object.
“I don’t see why?”
“Well, because…”
Dan looked at me expectantly. “Because?”
Okay, I might as well get it over with. Rachel had advised me to be honest and upfront, and clearly Dan was honest and upfront. So I might as well. And if he chose not to have dinner, well, at least we all knew where we stood.
I took a deep breath.
“Because,” I faltered. Another deep breath. How could I get this across without being presumptuous? “Because,” I resumed. “There’s something you should know.” That’s right, go for a bit of drama.
Dan raised his eyebrows. “What, are you still a virgin? After all this time?” he asked with a wicked little smile.
I blushed deeply. How was I supposed to maintain some dignity here? “Oh, sure,” I said sincerely. “I’m saving myself for my husband to be. I thought I’d told you this ages ago.”
The look on Dan’s face was priceless. His eyes were like saucers and his mouth was hanging open. I reached over and gently lifted his dangling lower jaw with my index finger. He shook out of his stunned shock and scrutinized me intensely.
“You’re kidding,” he stated at length.
I burst out laughing. “Of course I’m kidding,” I confirmed. “Do you honestly think I’ve led that sheltered a life?”
“I don’t know,” he confessed. “You can be quite convincing, you know. It was quite a shock when you said it the first time round, too.”
“Ah. Well. That.” I paused.
“What?” Dan pounced. “Don’t tell me you made that up?”
I said nothing.
“You didn’t,” Dan exclaimed, incredulous. And when I still said nothing, he whispered, “You did? But why?”
“Well, because…I don’t know really. I couldn’t go through with it. I was too scared. And I needed a way out that would…at least leave your self-respect intact, if not mine.”
“You made that up, about being a virgin?” Dan still couldn’t believe it.
“Yup,” I confirmed dryly.
“But you weren’t?”
“No.” I shook my head in despair. “I wasn’t.”
Suddenly, Dan gave the most almighty bellow of laughter. “You truly are incredible. You are so funny.” He was shaking and had to hold on to the table. “That’s a fantastic story. And here I thought you were pure as the driven snow.”
“So sorry to spoil your high opinion of me,” I muttered darkly.
“No, I think it’s hilarious,” he corrected me. “I think you are clearly one determined young woman quite capable of looking after herself. I just can’t believe I fell for it.” And he was gripped by another convulsion of laughter.
“But,” I cut into his mirth, “Virgin or not, I still can’t accept your treat.”
This had his attention immediately. “Why ever not?” he wanted to know once more.
I took another deep breath. I nibbled a breadstick and tried to explain. “I really wanted to see you tonight, to have dinner and all that. But technically…” After the whole virgin fiasco, I couldn’t get myself to own up to having a boyfriend. Dan would think I was a walking date-disaster zone.
Dan raised his hand theatrically. “No, don’t tell me,” he pleaded in a teasing tone of voice. “I can’t take it. If you’re no longer virginal and you can say that without even blushing, you must be married.”
I giggled. “No, of course I’m not married, but…”
Of course I’m not married?
“That’s a relief,” Dan made a big show of wiping his brow and shaking off imaginary beads of sweat. “I thought I’d lost there for a second.”
“Err…,” I tried again. “But…well, I’m not married, but I’m not single either. I’m not, like, available.”
Available. That word hung between us for at least ten seconds before Dan exploded with laughter. “You are so funny. So, you got a boyfriend. So, maybe I got a girlfriend. So what? Aren’t two adults allowed to
have dinner together, just as friends?”
I nodded enthusiastically, delighted to hear his reasoning echoing my fail-safe logic, although I was most put out to consider the possibility that he might have a girlfriend.
“That’s exactly what I said to my friend, Rachel. Just because there’s Tim, doesn’t mean that I can’t meet other people for dinner, right?”
“Absolutely,” Dan confirmed with a grin. “But then, I have an ulterior motive for saying that, don’t I?”
“You do?” Now it was my turn to raise my eyebrows superciliously, masking my sudden uncertainty.
“But of course I do,” he asserted. “That’s what I do…have ulterior motives when I take beautiful women out for dinner.” He winked in a convincing imitation of a lecherous old man and continued in a jittery, brittle voice, “At my advanced age, you never know when you get to score next.”
At this, I snorted in my drink, convinced now that he was having me on. And away we went, flirting like nobody’s business but somehow within the realm of knowledge that at least one of us had a steady partner. Dan didn’t seem in the least put out.
All that upfront-honesty business had made me extremely hungry, so I decided to go for the two dishes that I coveted. The waiter thought that was an excellent choice, and Dan decided that he would be “joining the lady in whatever she is having.”
The food was delicious, but the conversation more so. Dan was absolutely unlike anything I had imagined. From previous encounters, I really only knew him in the context of the band and their music—backstage, after a gig, hyped up, tired, a little rowdy. Tonight, Dan was funny, relaxed, thoughtful, witty, charming. I had always had a crush on him. Now, I sensed that I could have been open to something far more serious had it not been for Tim.
“So, what’s with that boyfriend of yours?” Dan ambushed me with a mischievous grin. “Are you happy?”
I choked on my scallops and sipped at my wine to clear my throat and steady my nerves. Take it easy, a voice whispered in my head, but I ignored it.
“I don’t know,” I confessed, surprising both Dan and myself. “There’s something missing. I’m…bored.” Dan raised his eyebrows.
“Not bored…not exactly. I don’t really feel like me, half the time.” Blimey, where had that profound insight come from? I changed the subject before I did further damage.
“What about you? Are you with someone?”
Dan smiled a sad smile. “Not really, no,” he supplied. Then he told me all about Irene. Irene had been his wife for two years. They had had what Dan called a great run together. I could tell from his wistful look that he had really loved her and he was genuinely sad, even after all this time, that it hadn’t worked out.
“So, what got in the way?” I felt free to ask.
“Honestly?”
“Absolutely.”
“Well…” He smiled sadly, naughtily. “Honestly, what got in the way was that I just couldn’t keep my hands off the girls. I was a total pushover. Any kind of pretty girl and I’d want her. It was a combination of intoxication—from alcohol, yes, but also from success and fame—probably some kind of incorrigible weakness inside me. Prey to beauty and all that.” He paused.
What an admission. Was this a hidden warning?
“Irene was pretty tolerant at first. She kept saying she knew what I was like when she married me. Her patience and understanding initially had me in such awe that I was faithful for a while. But…I don’t know,” he shrugged. “Everyone else would be shagging on tour, and it was so hard not to when all these girls were available.”
We sat in silence for a little while, and I sensed there was more to come. I listened eagerly, although I found it hard to concentrate on his words. I wasn’t feeling very steady in my head anymore.
“Eventually, Irene wanted kids. And with the kids, she wanted a responsible father. Someone who’d be at home every now and then. And I tried. But we were touring all the time making albums. One day, she rang me up and said she was moving out. I couldn’t really blame her.”
He took a sip of wine; I took a sip of wine. I noted in shocked surprise that this marked the end of the second bottle we had shared.
“She’s remarried, now. She has two lovely kids. I still see her from time to time. But you know, I’m just not cut out for the family thing. I’m bad news, if you must know.” And there was his explicit warning.
What a sop story, though. And what a bummer that I was a sucker for sop stories. I was deeply moved. I gulped down some tears of sympathy.
“Dan,” I declared solemnly and only just slurring my words, “you are not bad news. You are lurvely. Absolutely luvely. And I like you very much. Cheers.” I knocked back the rest of my wine. .
“Sophie,” Dan declared in an equally solemn tone of voice. “You are absolutely drunk out of your little head. I think it’s time we got you to bed.”
I hiccupped. “Absolutely. Bed. Great idea.” In fact, the best idea. I could barely wait. All of a sudden, I felt as groggy as if I had done ten rounds with Mike Tyson.
“We’ll have to get you home first,” Dan informed me with gentle irony.
“Great, great,” I gushed. “Home. Bed.”
Dan shook his head in bemusement. He mumbled something like each in their own, but I couldn’t be sure as there was a very loud roaring in my ears all of a sudden. Also, we seemed to be caught in some kind of whirlwind. I had to hold on to Dan most almightily not to be blown away.
“I am so glad you are here,” I slurred. “And so strong…else we’d be blown a-way.”
“Yes, sweetie,” Dan soothed while trying to expedite me into a cab. “Just bend your head now. There’s a good girl.”
“Where are we going?” I asked in wonderment.
“Where do you live?” he asked back.
“I live in Too—ting,” I announced. “Toot toot. Like a puffa train.”
“Beck or Broadway?” the driver interjected from the front.
“Beck or Broadway,” Dan repeated for my benefit.
“Beck,” I said. And then, “Broadway.”
Two pairs of male eyes locked in exasperation. Then Dan told the driver to get going, and he would supply the address in due course.
“Which address?” I asked giddily, dimly aware that I should be going home.
“Yours, dummy,” Dan coaxed. “Where do you live?”
I sat up straight. “Number fourteen, The Crescent, top floor,” I announced with all the gravitas I could muster before a sharp bend caused me to topple over and slump against Dan’s broad, comfy shoulder again.
“Right, you heard the lady,” Dan said to the driver.
“Dan,” I asked. “Where do you live?”
“Currently,” he informed me. “In Clapham, so not too far from where you’re going.”
“Tha’s good.” I was delighted. “Shall we go there?”
“No,” Dan told me firmly. “You are going home. To bed.”
“And you,” I thought out loud, “Are coming with me, which is great?” I cackled at my wisecrack.
Nestling back into his shoulders, I closed my eyes gratefully. He smelled so good. I did rather like his arm around my shoulder, too.
Only two seconds later, Dan propelled me out of the cab.
“Sophie, love, we’re here. You have to get up,” he coaxed. “Come on now.”
Reluctantly, I let myself be folded out of the cab and over Dan’s shoulder. He seemed to be walking up my garden path. “How come we are going up my garden path?” I asked.
“Because you’re nearly home. Now where are your keys?”
“Are you coming in then?” I asked. “Because I got a boyfriend already, you know, and so I can’t…”
“I know, I know,” Dan laughed. How was it possible that he was so much more sober than me? “But I’m not sure you’ll find your way up the stairs if I don’t show you.”
Once inside, he sat me on the sofa and looked at me warily.
“Are you goi
ng to be all right? You don’t look so good.”
“I’m fine,” I assured him. “I had a super time. Super-duper. Thanks much. Do want coffee?”
“You want a coffee?” Dan double-checked. “Sounds like a good plan.”
“No, not me…you?” I tried to clarify.
“I’m good,” Dan informed me. “But I’d better be going.”
“To Irene?” I wanted to know. Oops, bad question.
“No, not to Irene.” Dan corrected patiently. “Just home.”
I considered that for a moment. “Not to Irene. Right. Good. Oh.” I noticed a red light blinking on my coffee table and examined it with some fascination. How weird! Then I remembered what it was. “Couldoopresh tha’ red bu’on on my ph-phone? Is going to ‘noy me all night if I don’t put out.”
Dan obliged, and seconds later, Rachel’s rather hysterical voice filled the room: “Soph, it’s Rachel. When you get back from your date with the delightful Dan, please come immediately. Do you hear? Tim has left a message that he wants to drop by to pick you up, and I don’t know what to do. Please hurry.”
“Oh dear,” Dan observed. “That sounds like trouble. Where does this Rachel live?”
“Rachel,” I mused, uncomprehending. “Just down the road. Five minutes. Tops. Why? Shall we go and visit her?”
“We shall indeed,” Dan announced grimly. “But first we shall call to check the coast is still clear.” He picked up the receiver and looked at me expectantly. “What’s her number?”
“Whose number?” I wanted to know. “Who are you calling at this time of night?”
Dan grimaced and muttered darkly under his breath, something like totally drunk but never mind. He tapped a few numbers into my phone, and then I heard him speak to someone—someone called Rachel, like my best friend.
“Rachel, is that you?—Yes, hi, it’s Dan.—No, no, everything’s all right. I ’ve just brought Sophie home. She’s a little jolly, I’m afraid. Yes, you could say drunk like a rat’s arse.”
I raised my eyebrows at him. Who was he talking about?