‘Don’t what?’
‘They don’t come here, not much. I think this is more of a place for fortune-hunters, so the fortunes stay away.’
‘No.’ I couldn’t believe it. Why hadn’t she told me before?
‘Ru, it figures. Rich men with their wives and girlfriends come here and rich single men do mail order. It’s total logic. Sorry, you won’t find Mr Right here.’
We went home with an addition to Jess’s lipstick collection and sore feet.
So, where did you go to find men? Why was that the best-kept secret of all time? Due to my lack of social life, I had to hunt during the day. How the hell was I going to meet someone?
‘Thomas, fix me up with one of your friends,’ I begged, when he came over that evening.
He looked at me over his glasses, ‘You’ve got to be joking. You went out with my best friend and now he’s left the country.’
I hit him. ‘Sarah, do you know any single men?’
She looked at me over her glasses. ‘I wouldn’t have a clue if they were single or not.’
‘Jess?’
She didn’t even look at me. ‘I don’t have time to match-make.’
‘Soph?’
Sophie smiled. ‘Well, I could probably introduce you to one of James’s friends, he’s got loads and I think they’re all rich – well, they talk about money a lot anyway.’
On second thoughts, ‘No, thanks, Soph.’
She looked offended. So on my list of places to meet men, I had struck off Harvey Nichols, my friends and bars. That left one. The supermarket.
***
I remembered reading that the supermarket was a real pulling place. I knew that wasn’t a sign of wealth, but I still thought it might hold potential. And I could go there on my own.
Sunday afternoon, that was bound to be a good time. I prepared carefully: I dressed nicely, put on my makeup and left for the local Salisbury’s. It was not full of single men. It was full of families. I bought some salad and left. I went back that evening – single men, Sunday evening, it made sense – but it was closed. My plan was not as foolproof as I had first thought. Of course, not one to give up easily, I planned to go every night the next week – I was determined to find singles’ night.
The job Sarah had got me was as an administrative assistant in the marketing department of a small animal charity. I began with an attitude even less enthusiastic than for job one. Although I considered that if I had to work I might as well do some good but, then rich men/animal charity, it just didn’t tally. Sarah said it was a good job, with prospects, but I didn’t want prospects. What good were prospects to me? I promised Sarah I would try hard, but it wasn’t easy. There was a problem. My boss was a woman called Annalise and, well, if I’d thought Steve was bad, he had nothing on her. Annalise was a bitch. You could tell just by looking at her. She was the marketing manager and the office rumour was that she had slept with just about everybody important to get her job. I didn’t believe it, of course: even I knew that in this day and age men didn’t exploit women like that and women didn’t need to sleep with men to get good jobs. Jess had taught me that. But I could also see why they said it about Annalise: she was so horrible.
Janie, the department secretary, told me that Annalise had got my predecessor to do all her work while she just chatted to her friends then took all the credit. Apparently this had driven the said predecessor to a nervous breakdown, hence the vacancy. This didn’t worry me. After all, I felt I was in the midst of my own breakdown. But as I left the first day, having lost count of the times Annalise had shouted at me already, I felt that perhaps things would get worse.
***
Sainsbury’s, Monday night. No nice young men. I went to work the next day feeling more despondent. But I didn’t see any of this doing-all-the-work thing. Annalise seemed to be giving me only little tasks, so although she shouted it was fine.
Sainsbury’s, Tuesday night. Lots of men but in pairs. It was either gay night or male-bonding-over-a-tin-of-tomatoes night. No one even looked at me.
Work the next day was great. Annalise was out of the office all day so I just gossiped with Janie. She said that Annalise was only going easy on me because I was new and that in a couple of days, she’d be having me working really hard. I just brushed this off. No one would ever expect me to work hard.
Sainsbury’s, Wednesday night. Finally spotted a cute guy and breathed a huge sigh of relief. I met him in the fruit department as soon as I walked in, good sign. I took my basket to him. He chose apples, I chose apples, he chose bananas, I chose oranges. Then we moved to the tinned produce, we both browsed at the soups. He still hadn’t noticed me. I pushed close, then apologised. He smiled. He picked up a can of mushroom soup, ‘Good choice, I love mushroom soup,’ I cooed. He nodded. I picked up tomato soup, feeling a little bit of a moron. Then we went to pasta, I dropped back a bit and met him later in the deli. ‘Should I get streaky or not?’ I asked. He shrugged. This was not proving as easy as I’d thought. I was following a man through the supermarket, I was buying everything in sight, and he still hadn’t spoken to me properly. When I’d started I’d have put money on us having a conversation by Condiments, but no. And my basket was getting heavy. We went to Bread and Cakes, Cereals and Frozen, but we didn’t buy much in Frozen.
Then, to my immense relief, we went to Alcohol. At the beer section I, like him, picked up four cans of Stella. ‘What a coincidence,’ I said. He looked a bit scared. I don’t know how but I think he’d figured out I was following him. Oh, well, it had to come out at some point – he had to know I was interested. I just had to convince him I wasn’t mad. I decided to go to the checkout next to his: that way we could leave together (having the same amount of food), and I would laugh and say something like ‘You must think I’m following you,’ and he’d say, ‘Yes, I did a bit,’ and I’d say, ‘I’m sorry. Let me buy you a drink to make up for it,’ and then we’d go for a drink and get on really well and then we’d see each other the next night, spend all weekend together and after a three-month whirlwind romance we’d get engaged to be married and I’d be happy. This was fun. It was working. Until the woman in front of me started questioning the cost of grapes and my man was being served. I started panicking. I willed the woman to go, but she wouldn’t. By the time it was my turn, my man was signing his bill. I had to do something. He couldn’t leave – I’d been here five times waiting for this man. I shouted, ‘Wait for me.’
He looked at me. ‘You’re fucking crazy,’ he screamed, as he ran out of the door.
Everyone was looking at me. I wanted to die. He was right, I was crazy, and I realised that madness wasn’t that attractive. I left Sainsbury’s alone and thirty pounds poorer.
***
On Thursday, Janie turned out to have been right about Annalise. I worked like a horse. She sat me down and said that I had responsibility for just about everything, from press cuttings to advertising and all sorts of marketing things I had never heard of. I had lied on my CV and told them I had worked in the marketing department of a publishing house. Sarah had told me to do this. She said I could learn as I went along. I couldn’t. I didn’t even really know what marketing was and Annalise had no intention of helping me. She chatted to her friends and went to lunch. I did all the work. And there was a lot of work. By the end of my first week, I had been working until seven at night to finish things and then I wasn’t sure if I had done them properly. The only good thing was that I was more distressed by my job than I was about the Sainsbury’s episode. I told Sarah what was going on and she said that I should report Annalise to the marketing director because she was a waste of resources. I knew I couldn’t do that: I was far too much of a wimp to do something so brave.
Until the following Thursday; I had been working really late, I hadn’t had time for lunch, I wasn’t enjoying the stress. I’d reached the end of my tether. Then Annalise shouted at me; my work wasn’t up to scratch, I was inefficient and if I wanted to keep my job I had t
o improve. I went mad. I marched up to the marketing director, told him I did all the work in the department, that Annalise did nothing and that she was a waste of resources. The marketing director promised to look into it but went red. The next day I was asked to leave. The rumour about Annalise sleeping with the bosses turned out to be true.
After this experience I actually felt better. Sarah was totally defeated and said she’d no longer meddle in my career life.
I was brooding about the failure of my supermarket plan more than being sacked. Then it hit me so hard I nearly fell over. The one place I would be sure to find a man was at work. You see? Simple. All I had to do was get a job in a male-dominated environment (according to Sarah, there were loads of them), become a secretary, find my man. It was beautiful, it was simple. Having been sacked by Annalise the Sleaze, I knew what I had to do. I would put conditions on my employment: only work in those industries known to contain men, only work for a man and wear short skirts. Watch out, the male workforce of London, I am out to get you and get you good.
My friends couldn’t figure out what had brought about this change in me. You see, I was excited, confident, and I felt I had started to put Ben behind me. Although I still missed him I’d come out of the denial stage that Jess constantly told me I was in when I had continually talked about Ben coming back. Well, I wasn’t there any more. I knew he was never going to be mine. I didn’t like it, but that was another stage apparently.
‘Ru, you seem different, more confident, I’m so proud of you,’ Sarah said.
‘Thanks.’
‘I mean, we didn’t expect you to deal with things so well,’ she continued.
‘What things?’
Sophie explained. ‘Well, we were worried after Ben, then Simon, and you hated your job, and then Mike and quitting and then Annalise. Well, it’s been pretty horrid for you, hasn’t it?’
‘But, look, Ru has come through. She’s positive, I knew you’d stop being a wimp and a bore one day.’ Jess slapped me on the back.
I wasn’t sure whether to thank my friends or scream at them. Sometimes their kindness was confusing. ‘I’m OK. Things haven’t been great, but I’m surviving. And, no, I’m not happy, but at least I think I may be happy again one day. Sarah, did you get me a new job?’
‘Yes, I think so. It’ll be confirmed tomorrow. There’s a secretarial vacancy in a management consultancy. It’s for two months and it pays well. But, Ru, it’s going to be boring, I hope you realise that.’ I nodded solemnly. Boring? Boring? A company full to the brim with men? How could that be boring?
‘Look on the bright side. Ruth may get so bored it spurs her on to get a proper job,’ Jess offered.
Sarah nodded, and Sophie said, ‘I think soon Ru will realise her destiny and everything will fall into place.’
‘Oh, girls, I couldn’t agree more,’ I said.
***
The job was confirmed, but after much persuasion. Sarah said I’d have to be able to type and use a computer. I assured her I could – after all, this was the computer age, wasn’t it? Actually, this time I wasn’t lying. I had used a computer when I had spent two weeks solidly typing Ben’s dissertation; this also meant I was quite a good typist.
I looked in the mirror. I was starting my new job and this was the first chance to put my husband-in-the-workplace plan into action. I didn’t look bad in my navy suit, but even though the skirt was short I was hardly sizzling with sex appeal. I guessed I would have to accept that I’m Ruth and I’m not really femme fatale. I left for work with a smile on my face and a sparkle of optimism in my pocket.
At first glance, my excitement about this job proved correct. The office I walked into was a husband-hunter’s paradise. It was fabulous. Men everywhere, young, old, fat, thin, lots and lots of men. A few women were scattered about, but this was definitely male-dominated and I loved it. My boss, Colin, was fiftyish, balding and had pictures of his wife and kids in his office. He was nice, but not really in my market. I started to work, but was really trying to formulate my plan. I had two months to find one man, out of lots, which didn’t seem impossible. But I knew I’d have to pay attention. I was sitting opposite another secretary and I decided to become her best friend.
Samantha was nice; she worked for Colin’s boss and had been there a while. She showed me around and told me all the gossip. She then said we should go to lunch together. Brilliant. Obviously my strategy had to be subtle, but at the same time it had to be quite quick I decided that the direct, but not too direct, approach was called for. At lunch I took the bull by the horns. ‘Samantha, I couldn’t help but notice the number of nice-looking men in the office. What are they like?’
‘Well, I’ve got a boyfriend, but if I hadn’t, I’d know what you mean. Not that I notice, I’m totally in love, but there are eighty men in the whole office and about twenty are young good-looking men. The rest are old or ugly, I guess. But out of the nice ones, be careful. Ten are untouchables because they’re married and you really don’t want to get involved with a married man.’
I liked Samantha: she was being incredibly helpful.
‘So, ten available, nice, good-looking men,’ I summed up.
‘Weeell, not exactly. You see, out of those ten, five are real womanisers. I mean, you wouldn’t believe some of the stories. They chew women up and spit them out. Not like my boyfriend, Dave. He’s lovely.’ She looked all dreamy.
‘I’m really glad for you. Now, we’re down to five men who are eligible, is that right?’
‘Yes. Five are OK. But I have to say that I do think out of the five, two are gay.’
‘Is there hard evidence of this?’ I was getting a little impatient.
‘Well, they were caught snogging at the Christmas party.’
‘Who were they snogging?’
‘Each other, of course.’
‘So, out of an office of eighty men, three are single, straight, good-looking and nice?’ Please let this be right.
‘Yes, absolutely. Darren, Justin and William. All very nice, single and gorgeous. Would you like me to point them out to you?’
‘Yes!’ I practically screamed.
We returned to the office and I made coffee. Then I persuaded Samantha to give me a guided tour. She, being either dim or just a pain in the arse, introduced me to every single person before Darren, Justin and William. She saved them until last. Was it worth the wait? Well, no, if I was normal, but yes, as I was desperate. Darren was quite good-looking, with dark brown hair, a nice physique and lovely eyes, Justin was short but he made me laugh – he definitely had a GSOH – and William was posh: he looked like he had money. Put them together and we’d have had my perfect man.
One good thing about being a new girl is that your value increases hugely because of your novelty. After speaking to the three guys, I hinted heavily that an after-work drink would be nice and they obliged me – well, me and Samantha (William especially seemed interested in her obscene cleavage). Undeterred, I felt that perhaps I could conduct a group interview with them, or get drunk and hope one of them picked me. A sort of Ruth’s Blind Date, but with a contingency that if I couldn’t think of enough good questions, I’d just have anyone who wanted me.
At five thirty Samantha and I went to the pub. The guys were joining us at six. I had to listen to half an hour of Samantha going on about Dave to whom she constantly referred as ‘my boyfriend.’ He was a rocket scientist or a car mechanic or something, and she loved him and they were going to get married soon. Etc. After the men turned up, Samantha’s boyfriend, mysteriously, was unmentioned. At one point they were talking about some guy from work, who had recently got married. I said, ‘Sam may be next,’ and she kicked me.
Justin made me laugh a lot, Darren was intelligent, the type of guy you’d want on your team when playing Trivial Pursuit. William was rich. William was not only rich but edging closer to Samantha, who was pushing her cleavage at him suggestively. Justin and Darren gave each other knowing looks. At nine we left
. Justin was going home, Darren had to meet a friend, William and Samantha left together, and I went home, feeling I’d achieved a hell of a lot more in one day than I’d ever hoped.
My friends were delighted to hear what a good day I’d had and how I’d made friends, but of course I omitted to tell them that I’d tracked these ‘friends’ down better than a sniffer dog and that I was preparing to go in for the kill. I went to sleep that night, dreaming of which man to choose. Gorgeous Darren or funny Justin, I really didn’t know. I knew I had to choose carefully because this was the rest of my life.
The next day I invited Justin to lunch and laughed all the way through it. I decided that he was the one. The day after, I had lunch with Darren and we had a great conversation. I thought he must be the one. By the end of the week, I was totally confused. Until Friday. William asked me out. William the rich, William the besotted with Samantha. William the rich. I said yes, because, well, he asked. I didn’t tell Samantha, but I asked her if there was anything between them.
‘Of course not, we’re just friends. I have a boyfriend,’ was her annoying answer. By this stage I knew how rich William was because Samantha had told me he had a large trust fund. Then something strange happened. I pictured myself married to William, living in a huge house, nice cars, surrounded by Jimmy Choo sandals. I’d never have to work. At that moment I fell in love with him.
We went to the same pub as we had on the first time we went out. That felt romantic to me. William had impeccable manners. He held the pub door open for me, he sat me down before asking what I wanted to drink, he lit my cigarette for me and he even stood up every time I went to the loo. Even his conversation was polite. He asked me about my family, my school, which he was surprised to find he hadn’t heard of, and about me. His voice was like cut glass: he sounded like a member of the Royal Family. I flirted, I tried to be as funny as I could, and I drank. William laughed at me, bought me endless drinks and flirted back.
I found out that he was twenty-four, had grown up on a farm in Gloucestershire – well, actually I think farm is the wrong word. While I conjured up visions of William in his Wellingtons, chewing straw and mixing pig swill, he was talking about being a member of the landed gentry. He went to Harrow, then Oxford, then got himself a ‘jolly little job’ as a consultant, on account of being the youngest of three sons. All the time he spoke he dribbled, which made me wonder if he was the result of inbreeding, but I quickly quashed the thought when he suggested going to dinner. I was delighted and drunk, or the other way around, I’m not sure.
Rubber Gloves or Jimmy Choos? Page 11