***
The two girls arrived first. Fennula and Henrietta. They were as awful as they sounded and they looked like the Ugly Sisters on a bad-hair day. Of course they oohed and ahhed about how wonderful everything looked, but they made every compliment sound bitchy. Jess became just like them. Everything they said had a bitchy undertone and everything was about one-upmanship. The evening was turning out worse than I had first thought.
The four guys arrived together, and the last one to walk in was Ben. My Ben. As my heart flipped, I did a double-take and realised it wasn’t him – well, not unless he was masquerading as a Julian and had started wearing tweed jackets. But he looked just like him. I hardly noticed Rufus, Charlie and Marcus, I couldn’t take my eyes off Julian. I cornered Jess in the kitchen. ‘Why the hell didn’t you tell me he looked like Ben?’ I was quite shaken up.
‘Who?’ she asked.
‘Julian, of course. He’s identical to my Ben.’
‘I hadn’t noticed. Ru, how much wine have you had?’ She swept back to her guests and that was it.
Henrietta the Horrible gave me a horrible smile. ‘So, Ruth, I hear you’re writing a book.’
‘Yes, I am, and it’s taking forever, but I’m very excited about it.’ I beamed back.
‘How interesting,’ said Fennula, who made it sound very uninteresting. ‘What’s it about?’
Oh, God, I didn’t know. Jess hadn’t told me what it was about. ‘It’s a tragic love story,’ I said, Jess shot me a look, but then the questions flowed at me from all angles.
I started to panic, but Julian saved me. ‘Writers never divulge their secrets.’
I could have kissed him, literally. He then indulged me by telling me how much he admired me for taking on such a project and I got caught up in it. I promised he could read it as soon as I’d finished. After a while even I started to believe I was writing this novel. It was great.
We ate and drank and I concentrated all my energies on Julian. But he was as full of himself as the others. He was arrogant, vain and too confident. Dinner consisted of everyone trying to talk about themselves as much as possible, even me now that I was interesting. The conversation was mainly about PR, work and the whole evening was dull. I was short-lived as the centre of attention.
Dinner was over and everyone congratulated Jess on her cooking skills. I didn’t mind; she was my friend. When everyone was about to leave I asked Julian for his number. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision, based on drunkenness (I’d been bored) and that he really did look like Ben. He gave it to me then asked to see me next week. We arranged to meet on Wednesday for dinner. To be honest, I knew that dinner alone with him would be an ordeal, but as usual my hormones were out of control.
I came up with a theory that if Julian annoyed me as much as I suspected he would I might be able to get over Ben. It was so logical: go out with a man who looks like your ex but is horrible and you’ll end up hating your ex and anyone who reminds you of him. Pure brilliance. I just didn’t know why I hadn’t thought of it sooner.
When Jess found out about my date with Julian, she was thrilled. ‘Find out as much as you can about him. His weaknesses especially.’
‘Jess, I’m going out with the guy for my own reasons, not to become your spy.’ But she didn’t listen and she even tried to work out if she could fix Thomas up with one of the girls. Sarah, Sophie and Thomas were horrified that the person I had chosen to date after Ben (we’d eliminated Steve, Mike and William from my records) looked like him. Sarah said I was a masochist, I seemed to get myself into more and more situations that ended up with me getting hurt. She assured me that this would end in tears. Sophie told me, in the nicest possible way, that it was weird and even questioned my sanity. Thomas said I should be locked up and never allowed to go out in public. Actually, Thomas was quite cross with me and he never gets cross with me. These views might have upset me, but Jess defended me, which was nice: it was the first time I’d been defended by anyone. As I had become a total pain in the arse, I took more pleasure in being defended by someone rather than indulging in indignation at being attacked.
***
On Wednesday I was excited at work. Really excited. I’m not sure if it was the thought of Julian or the thought of going out, but I didn’t care. I breezed through the day, smiling at Nick and making him extra tea, and I couldn’t wait until half past five.
I met Julian in Covent Garden. He looked so lovely, more like Ben than I remembered. He kissed me on both cheeks. ‘Ruth, lovely to see you.’ We went to a bar, sat down and ordered drinks. After the initial God-what-do-I-say-to-him feeling, I decided that I would do the thing men like most and asked him about himself.
‘Tell me, how did you end up in PR?’ I tried to look as if I cared.
‘I’ve always been quite creative, really, you could say an ideas man, ha ha. So someone suggested PR to me and I thought, Well, PR makes the world go round, really, everything’s based on PR, it’s a powerful tool, you know, a powerful tool. And there you have it. Tell me about you and Jess.’
I looked stunned. ‘Me and Jess?’
‘Yes, how did you meet?’
‘At university.’ I couldn’t think why he wanted to know.
‘What was she like then?’
‘The same as she is now.’
Julian nodded thoughtfully. ‘What does she do in her spare time?’
‘I don’t know – she sometimes goes to the gym.’
‘Does she have a boyfriend?’
‘No, I don’t think so.’
On and on he went. He wanted to know what she said about work, what she said about her bosses and her colleagues, and it dawned on me that I was being used as a double agent. In a way I was glad: it would be much easier to hate this guy than I had first thought.
‘How about dinner?’ Julian suggested, so we went to eat.
The conversation turned back to him. ‘Which university did you go to?’ I asked.
‘Bristol It’s a pretty good university. I got a first, made loads of friends and played hockey for the first team.’
Oh, my God. ‘Hockey?’ I asked, spooked.
Then he went on about what a fantastic hockey player he was and how the girls adored him (not sure how we got around to that), and on and on he went. Time flies when you’re being talked at by one so arrogant, so when Julian paid the bill I felt that six months of my life had just passed.
‘Would you like to come to a party with me on Friday?’ he asked. I nodded, too tired to speak. So that was the end of the first date and this plan was sure to work. A few more dates with Ben-like-wanker Julian and I’d be over Ben the Beautiful. It had to work.
***
Friday came and we went to a party. This was the first party I’d been to since I’d moved to London. It was a good feeling. I felt that perhaps. I had a life again. Well, sort of. Julian might be good for me: he would give me a much-needed social life, even if it was a crap one, and I was hoping he might take my mind off all that career stuff too.
The party was in Islington, held by an old school friend of Julian’s in an impeccable flat, all white carpet and white sofas. I couldn’t help thinking that it was the sort of place that should host poetry readings not parties. Then I noticed that no one was smoking and no one looked the type to throw up over the floor, so it was more like a poetry reading than a party anyway, but without the poetry.
Julian introduced me to everyone he knew. ‘This is Ruth. She’s a writer.’ Everyone was impressed and I had to talk about the non-existent book all evening – a drawback of going out with Julian I hadn’t thought about. As long as I was with him I had to keep pretending I was writing a book. It might prove hard work.
After the party, I went back to his flat. He lived in West Kensington, which apparently was nearer than Clapham. In the cab, it suddenly dawned on me that I was going home with him. I was expected to sleep with him. Although so far during my time in London, it had not proved difficult to part me from my knickers,
I suddenly wanted to keep them well and truly on. Even though I was drunk. Panic gripped me, my chest tightened, everything closed in. I didn’t want to sleep with Julian. Julian was supposed to get me over Ben. He could bore me to death, he could patronise me, he could talk about how wonderful he was, he could do all that. But, and it was a big BUT, I did not want to sleep with him. Because sex with someone who looked like Ben – no. It was twisted, it made me feel sick. Sophie was right: I was weird.
My plan was not so great – trust me not to have thought of the details. I was going to have to think fast if I was to be saved. I started to calm down as we approached the flat. After all, there was no law that, just because I was staying there, sex had to be involved. We went in and Julian put on the lights. It was a nice flat, very clean, not really manly but not girly either. It was sort of modern and co-ordinated.
‘Nice flat,’ I said, as I sat down on the Habitat sofa.
‘Thanks. It’s all right, I suppose. I mean, of course it’s not ideal, but as soon as I get promoted I’ll probably buy one in Fulham.’ I thought for a moment that I was with Jess. I just nodded.
‘Coffee?’ Julian asked.
I was saved. ‘Oh, God, yes, please. Could I have a large mug?’ Julian gave me a strange look and went to the kitchen. I could stall for time.
‘Julian, where’s your flatmate?’ There was no sign of another person here.
‘Away this weekend. It’s just the two of us.’ Oh, great. I decided to have a look round. God, it was so tidy. Men aren’t supposed to be tidy. I went to the bathroom. It was like my house: pots and potions littered the shelves; Clinique for men was prominent, with expensive shampoo and conditioners, bubble bath, shower gel, and I’m sure I saw some waxing strips. I went back to the sitting room.
‘Julian, is your flatmate female?’
‘No, Ruth, I told you, I live with Duncan. He’s in corporate finance.’
‘Of course he is.’ I sipped my coffee slowly. We watched TV, had more coffee, but Julian was getting tired and every time he tried to get close to me, I jumped up and ran to the bathroom. He must have thought I had the weakest bladder in town. In the end he could endure no more. He nibbled my ear. ‘Let’s go to bed, baby.’
Oh, God. I decided I had to be assertive. ‘Listen, Julian, I just have to tell you something. I’m not the sort of girl who jumps into bed with every man she meets. In fact, I don’t intend to have sex until I feel we have an established and steady relationship. If that never happens then fine, but I need time before I take that step.’ Not bad, if I say so myself. I just hoped I’d be forgiven for the lie.
Julian smiled and stroked my hair. ‘You know, I wanted to make love to you tonight, but I wouldn’t have respected you in the morning. I think you’re quite right to wait.’ He took my hand and led me to the bedroom. Actually, I thought that was what he was going to do but we went to the bathroom, where I soon found out who owned the beauty products. ‘Here, I always keep a spare.’ He handed me a brand new toothbrush. Then he cleansed, toned and moisturised—what a woman!—before taking me to the bedroom. I borrowed a T-shirt, we got into bed, we kissed and cuddled then Julian fell asleep. Thank God. I lay there thinking how alien this all was. It was the first time since I’d been in London that I’d been in bed with a man and not had sex. I looked at him, and when he was asleep I could almost convince myself he was Ben. I stroked his hair and thought about how much I would give for him to be Ben. I then thought how much I would give for Julian to be just anyone nice.
If I had been honest with myself, I would have realised at this point that I should have given up this plan quick smart. Before Julian, I had reduced my thoughts of Ben to an almost acceptable volume. Now, looking at him, the obsession flooded in. I was back to square one. Ruth the boring, pain-in-the-arse moron. And I couldn’t believe Julian’s double standards. First he wanted to sleep with me and if I had he’d have got what he wanted, but then he didn’t want me to sleep with him because he’d have lost all respect for me. And men say that women are complicated. I would have loved to be in a situation where I had had a one-night stand with a man and in the morning I would say, ‘That was great, but you’d better leave now.’ He’d say, ‘Can we see each other again?’ and I would say, ‘No, I never see anyone again who puts out so easily,’ and that would be that. Huh, never call me anti-feminist again. It was time we developed the same double standards as men.
I left after breakfast, I wanted out. Julian told me to call him and suggested going to the movies on Sunday. Which wasn’t a bad idea – at least he wouldn’t be able to talk. So I agreed. I know I’d just spent a sleepless night but no one else would take me to the movies and although he wasn’t much he was all I had.
At home no one was in, which was great. I had a long bath, a long think. If being with Julian didn’t get me over Ben, at least I was going through some sort of self-punishment, self-destruction, more penance, which is all I felt I deserved. Sarah was right: I was a masochist. I lay on the sofa and started daydreaming. Julian wasn’t like Ben, whose beauty routine was soap and water. Clothes were jeans. He was a real man. Thomas was the same. I don’t know if it was just Julian, or were all men turning into girls? Will the Millennium be remembered as the time when you couldn’t tell the difference between straight and gay men?
Great Britain is in a state of confusion. Women are losing their femininity and men are losing their masculinity. Men are scared of women. Women are scary. Penis envy has been replaced by boob envy, men want to be women. They have started growing their hair into styles. They wear attractive underwear. They consult skin-care and make-up experts. At the end of the year 2000, men have spent as much on beauty products as women.
Men don’t hold doors open, they expect women to hold doors open for them. Shorter men wear heels, more adventurous men wear dresses. They try to be glamorous at all times and many men will not be seen in public without mascara. They have lost interest in working, lobby Parliament for the right to have breast implants and demand research into how men can have babies. Men always take the contraceptive pill now. There are two reasons for this, the first being that the male pill keeps you looking young, the second that women cannot be trusted with something so important: women spend too much time drinking after work, they will probably forget. Men cry after sex.
Men are not frequently found in managerial jobs. The majority of secretaries are men. A survey found that men made great secretaries because they were natural typists. The reason for this was that, despite trying, they never got the hang of growing their nails. In surveys when asked what their ideal job would be, eighty-six per cent of men said they would like to be housewives. Asked if they were in a happy relationship, seventy-nine per cent of men in a relationship said they felt downtrodden. Asked if they would object to the woman paying the mortgage, bills and housekeeping, ninety per cent of men said they would love that.
Men’s favourite hobby is dieting. They take care of their bodies ruthlessly, but women are finding less and less time for exercise. Women take thirty minutes in the hairdresser’s, men take hours having cuts, styles and colours. Men go shopping twice as much as women. They buy three times the amount of clothes. Women’s favourite films are action, men prefer romantic comedies. Women don’t like men. The make-up, the clothes, the silly emotional attitudes, the breast envy make them unattractive.
Lesbianism is growing in popularity. Women surveyed said that the most useful thing that men do is the cooking, ironing and cleaning.
‘Ruthie, I got shagged senseless by this right, nympho last night.’ Thomas bounded in and interrupted my daydream. I kissed him. He didn’t have a dress on. Oh, I loved men just as they were. Thomas wore his oldest jeans, a rugby shirt and a victorious smile.
‘Thomas, do you think that this, um, girl, who slept with you just after meeting you would be an appropriate girlfriend. I mean, will you see her again?’
‘God, yes, she was amazing.’
‘You don’t think she’s chea
p.’ I loved Thomas.
‘Ru, of course she’s bloody cheap. She came up to me in a bar and told me she wanted to sleep with me. She didn’t even ask my name. I’m so fucking lucky.’
‘But if she was cheap and you think she does that all the time, why sleep with her?’
‘You can be really stupid. Because she was female and gagging for it, I’m going to make some tea.’
I did love Thomas, even though I didn’t always know why. ‘See, the sexual revolution has caused many problems, Thomas. Women are allowed to enjoy sex and be sexually active outside marriage, but still, as has been the case for the whole of time, men are seen as cool if they shag a lot and women as sluts. Where’s the justice in that?’
‘There isn’t any. But I’m bloody glad I’m a man.’
‘Thomas!’ I hit him. ‘Think yourself lucky it’s me you’re talking to and not Jess or Sarah.’
Before I had had time to recover from my last date, it was cinema-with-Julian time.
‘So, Ruth, are you going out tonight?’
‘Yes, Jess, I’m going to the cinema.’
‘Oh, who with?’
‘Julian.’ Who else?
‘Oh. Tell me about his flat again. How much Clinique does he have? I called Henrietta to tell her about the wax strips. She wasn’t surprised. Can you try to find out what he uses them for?’
‘Jess, for God’s sake, you can’t go around telling people those things. I told you in confidence. And, for the millionth time, I am not seeing Julian so I can spy for you. I don’t tell
him things about you.’ I was upset; this had been going on all weekend.
‘Calm down, it’s just a bit of information-gathering – although you may be right, I shouldn’t tell anyone else. Why should I share? What I’ll do is accumulate, and when I have enough damning information I’ll destroy him.’ She was gleeful, she was serious. She was scary.
‘Jess, stop. I mean it. I know I don’t like him very much but I won’t have you talking about destroying him and trying to get me to help. No way. And in future I won’t share any information with you.’
Rubber Gloves or Jimmy Choos? Page 13