Rubber Gloves or Jimmy Choos?

by Faith Bleasdale

  ***

  Katie opened the door looking deathly. She was wearing a tattered towelling bathrobe and the previous night’s makeup. She looked really bad – she could even have passed for an extra in The Rocky Horror Show. She looked at me, walked to the sofa, picked up the butt of a joint and lit it.

  ‘God, Katie, what’s happening? Look at this place! You’re surrounded by empty beer bottles and overflowing ashtrays and you – your face, go and clean it’ I looked around. Katie’s flat was always so tidy, this was so out of character.

  Katie smiled. ‘Ruth, this is part of my rock-and-roll lifestyle, you know that. Soon I hope to be waking up in my own vomit.’

  ‘Disgusting! You’re disgusting.’

  Katie laughed. ‘Ruth, I didn’t even have a drink last night. I got a bit stoned, that’s all. You know Phil who lives upstairs and that weird girl Jiffy he hangs around with? Well, they caused this mess. They drank and smoked for England, then they left. I’m not sure why they came round but I didn’t ask them. It was a really boring evening and I was tired so I couldn’t be bothered to take off my makeup or tidy up. Why are you so strung up today?’

  ‘I’m worried about you.’

  ‘Fine, Ru, but worry about something that needs worrying about. I know that ever since I told you about my mother you’ve thought I’m turning into her, but rest assured that I’m not.’ Katie stalked off to the bathroom to wash her face.

  I wasn’t convinced. OK, she wasn’t a lush, well, not yet but she was a party girl and when they retire party girls turn into lushes. It’s a well-known fact. However, Katie’s appearance had distracted me from the real purpose of my visit. To gloat about Mark. Oh, well, Mark-gloating could wait. I had a new project: to sort Katie out.

  Katie reappeared. ‘Tell me about Mark.’

  ‘Katie, we’re talking about you.’

  Katie smiled. ‘He looked pretty gorgeous,’ she said.

  ‘Isn’t he? And he’s got the most amazing body.’

  ‘And a big thing?’

  ‘Katie, that’s really none of your business.’ We laughed. ‘Actually it’s more than adequate.’

  ‘When are you seeing him next?’

  ‘I don’t know, he’s going to call. But he’s got a really busy job so I guess it’s back to waiting by the phone.’

  ‘You’d think that the phone was invented so men could avoid using it,’

  ‘Alexander Graham Bell has a lot to answer for.’

  ***

  He doesn’t know how much I spent the next week in hell. Exactly the same way I’d spent the previous week. Oh, and next time you’re asked what heaven and hell are like, heaven is being in bed with Mark ‘Sexy As Hell’ Watson, and hell is waiting for him to call me. It’s as simple as that. I smoked twice as much as normal, I drank twice as much as normal, which is no mean feat, and I stopped eating.

  Jess was jealous. ‘Why aren’t you eating?’

  ‘Because I’ve totally lost my appetite – you know, Mark.’ I sighed.

  ‘Bloody hell, I’ll have to get Jerry to stop calling me if I’m going to lose any weight. Or perhaps you can ask Mark not to call me too?’

  I nodded. ‘Well, I will if he ever calls.’ Then I lit another cigarette.

  Just as I was exhausted from not sleeping, hung-over from drinking too much and weak from not eating, the phone rang. It was Thursday.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hi, Ruth?’

  ‘Yes, Mark, how are you?’ It’s him, it’s really him.

  ‘Brilliant. How are you?’

  ‘Great.’ Well, I am now.

  ‘Excellent. Do you want to come to a new bar on Saturday?’

  ‘OK.’ Yes, please.

  ‘Right, must dash, I’ll meet you at Tottenham Court Road tube station, or the McDonald’s opposite.’

  ‘OK. What time?’ Thank you so much.

  ‘Oh, about nine.’

  ‘OK.’ I can’t wait. I’ll count the minutes.

  ‘Look forward to seeing you. ‘Bye.’

  ‘Bye.’ I love you. The exhaustion left and I ate a whole packet of chocolate biscuits. I had another date and Mark liked me after all.

  I wasn’t so bad about the clothes thing this time, but Jess lent me some really nice trousers without me asking. She understood love now. Jerry was a poppet, according to her, and although they only saw each other once a week, things were going well. He hadn’t spent much time at our place since the dinner, but that was because they had so little time together they had to make the most of it. I had visions of us all going to dinner together and becoming a group. Me and Mark, Jess and Jerry, Sophie and the Thespian, Sarah and … well, Sarah and Thomas. Nice, cosy friendships.

  ***

  On Saturday I panicked for the whole day and went back to not eating. I was so excited and nervous at the same time, I couldn’t possibly think about food. I just smoked twenty cigarettes instead. I decided to be late meeting Mark, after last time, but no matter how hard I tried I was still on time. At nine on the dot I was waiting outside McDonald’s. I couldn’t understand it. Of course, Mark wasn’t there. I had the same half-hour of thinking I’d been stood up before he bounded towards me and kissed me passionately. I instantly forgave him.

  He took me to a new bar, which was very old-fashioned – oak beams, wooden chairs, like ye olde worlde pub. But I guessed it was very trendy because it was full of trendy people.

  ‘Drink?’ he asked.

  ‘Um, wine, please.’

  ‘Ruthie, no, we have to drink vodka and Red Bull. Guaranteed to get you drunk and give you energy at the same time. Sort of legal Es.’ He had a mischievous glint in his eye that I found irresistible. He came back with a jug of vodka Red stuff and it was really nice. Like punch. I started drinking.

  ‘Marky, hi, darling, where have you been hiding?’ A ten-foot blonde girl kissed him on both cheeks.

  ‘Oh, I’ve been working. Nadia, this is Ruth.’

  She looked at me with disdain. ‘Anyway, I simply must have you at my next dinner party. You know it’s not half as much fun without you.’ Nadia was a bitch.

  ‘OK, but only if Ruthie comes. We’re together,’ Mark said, and I nearly fell off my chair. Together, he said together, oh, my God, this was our second date and we were together. I had a drink to celebrate.

  ‘Of course,’ Nadia said, giving me a dirty look. I beamed at her, I couldn’t stop beaming. We were together. I decided that ‘together’ was one of the best words in the English language. It meant so much. Nadia left.

  Mark smiled. ‘I’m sorry I came on so strong. It’s just that I know so many nightmare people and she’s one of the worst,’

  I smiled back. ‘It’s OK.’

  ‘Unfortunately the circles I seem to find myself in are very much like that. False, stupid, airhead girls and playboy boys. I hope you don’t think I’m like that.’ I nearly fell off my chair again: he cared about what I thought.

  ‘No, Mark, it’s obvious you’re a more intelligent life-form than most of these people, but how do you manage to know so many of them?’

  ‘Well, family, really. It’s no big deal.’

  I laughed, he was so modest and I felt sorry for him having to know so many awful people. ‘What does your work involve?’

  ‘Oh, I could go on all day, but I don’t want to bore you. I produce various shows for radio stations. I suppose I’m freelance. I have a company that puts together programmes and sells them to the stations. Now, I think we need to go to dinner.’ After a jug of vodka Red stuff I wasn’t sure I had any room for dinner, but we went to Mezzo, which impressed me (don’t forget, I didn’t get out on dinner dates much). With dinner came a bottle of wine. In the true Ruthie tradition I got drunk. I ate the food, but I didn’t taste it I looked at Mark and fell more in love each second. By the end of the meal I just wanted to be alone with him.

  ‘Mark, let’s go home.’ This was becoming my standard line.

  ‘OK, I’ll get our coats.’


  We jumped in a cab and started snogging. We kissed all the way back to Mark’s flat and continued when we got in. I was in my best seduction mood. We undressed each other and we made love urgently and without foreplay.

  ‘Let’s have some fun,’ Mark said, with a suggestive glint in his eye. He mumbled something about acting out ‘that scene’ from ‘that film’, and as I licked my lips hungrily thinking this was a kinky 9½ Weeks thing and we were going to the kitchen to eat food off each other, he took me to his spare room and I realised I didn’t know this film. Then I realised I did. Don’t ask me why, but Mark’s spare room had a plastic sheet on the floor with a potter’s wheel in the middle of it. I had watched enough daytime TV to know it was a potter’s wheel. I was filled with horror. Then I remembered Ghost. He sat me at the wheel (I was naked), started it up and took a lump of clay from God knows where. I was only glad he was sitting behind me so he couldn’t see the look of terror on my face. I mean, I had seen the film a number of times but I’d never done pottery. As the clay lurched out of control on the wheel in a hard slab, Mark grabbed my hands and placed them firmly on it. Christ, it was so messy and I was no Demi Moore. Feeling totally out of my depth I tried to concentrate on making a pot. Mark was getting very excited, kissing my neck, making noises and pushing my hands firmly into the clay. I expected to hear ‘Unchained Melody’ start up in the background. By the time I’d lost half the clay on the floor and the rest was clinging to me, Mark reached the height of his excitement, pushed me on to the floor into my lost pot and made love to me with a passion I don’t even want to understand.

  Afterwards I excused myself to shower and Mark, who had now got a fair amount of clay on him, joined me.

  ‘That was the best, baby,’ he whispered into my ear, and although for me it definitely had not been the best I resolved to take up pottery.

  In bed later Mark told me how he loved the scene from Ghost so much he had bought the wheel but he’d never made anything.

  He told me Demi Moore was his ideal woman, he told me he loved having clay-filled sex, and I wondered how the hell I was ever going to get the clay out from underneath my fingernails.

  Despite the weird nature of Mark’s fantasy, I realised what life was all about. Lying in Mark’s arms, revelling in being with him, feeling warm and safe, not worrying about the morning, I knew then that there was life after Ben.

  The next morning was a repeat of the previous Saturday. We had Sunday breakfast, we read the papers in the café, it was comfortable. We went back to his place, and he offered to drive me home.

  ‘I don’t want to go,’ I said. (How cool).

  ‘I know, babe, but I’ve got work to do.’

  ‘OK, but, Mark, can I have your phone number?’ I just had a fear of waiting for another week – I wasn’t sure I could bear it.

  ‘Of course you can, baby. Here.’ He gave me a card with his home and mobile numbers on it. How great was that?

  ***

  I rushed into the house to gloat about my new great love-life (again). I told them how it went and was surprised to be bombarded by cautions to calm down and play it cool. Then I made the fateful mistake of telling them that I had his phone numbers.

  ‘Oh, my God!’ they all said in unison.

  I looked at them innocently. ‘What’s wrong with that?’

  ‘Ru, you’ll call him all the time – you know what you’re like. You’ll scare him off,’ Jess said.

  ‘How dare you? I am not going to bloody well call him all the time. Why can you never give me any credit?’ I was having a full tantrum, I stormed out and went to see Katie.

  I told Katie about the date and she skinned up. She was happy for me. When I told her about the phone number she pointed out that it was my life and up to me if I wanted to call him. She always made me feel better. That evening, fairly stoned, we went to the chocolate shop. We did buy some lager, but the looks we got for our ten packets of Maltesers, two Mars Bars, a Snickers, some wine gums and a large bar of fruit-and-nut were very strange. I didn’t go home that night. I know it seems childish, but I was fed up with my friends always fearing the worst with me. They never seemed able to let me enjoy my happiness without putting dampeners on it.

  After work the next day when I went home, I felt a little stupid for my outburst. Sophie was the only one at home and the Thespian was with her.

  ‘Hi, guys, how are you?’ I breezed cheerfully.

  Sophie hugged me. ‘We’re fine,’ she said.

  ‘I got a part in a pilot,’ the Thespian said.

  ‘So did I,’ Sophie said.

  ‘Wow, that’s fantastic! Oh, Soph, how wonderful, tell me about it.’

  The Thespian proceeded to tell me that it was a drama about medical students, like an unqualified ER, and he was playing a medical student and so was Sophie. Gripping. Then Sophie explained that it was going to be serious and amusing and fun, with sex, drugs, hard work, stress and intrigue. If it went well they might be regular TV stars. I hoped it did for Sophie’s sake.

  ‘Are we celebrating?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh, yes, Ru. Let’s cook pasta and have lots of wine.’ For a change.

  ‘Nik, are you staying?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Oh, good.’

  Sarah arrived in time for supper and the fact that we were celebrating meant I didn’t get told off for staying out all night. Jess didn’t arrive home until ten, she had been working, so I gave her some food and she didn’t tell me off either. Sophie looked so happy and we were all happy for her. It was a lovely evening and as I’d been out on Sunday, and doing this tonight, I hadn’t had a chance to call Mark. Who said I’d be straight on the phone?

  On Tuesday night I called him. Everybody told me to wait until Wednesday, but I wanted to talk to him, to hear his voice, to see him. I didn’t tell anyone I was going to call, I just did. I called his flat and got his answer phone, I left a message.

  Half past seven: an hour since I called and the phone hadn’t rung. I called his mobile. Got his mobile answer phone. Left a message, but didn’t really mean to.

  Eight: phone still hadn’t rung. I kept checking that it worked and it did, but perhaps Mark’s phones were both broken. Oh, God, listen to me, of course they weren’t. Maybe he was just out, but if he was, surely he’d have had his mobile switched on and I’d tried that.

  Half past eight: I was getting funny looks from my housemates and Thomas, who had appeared. They still didn’t know I’d called him. I was trying not to be obvious but when the phone rang a few minutes later I dived for it. It was someone trying to sell double-glazing and I shouted at them to get off the line. When I hung up I thought, What if he tried to call and the phone was engaged? I sat down and tried to behave normally.

  Nine: nothing. My friends thought I was still in sitting-by-the-phone mode, so they excused me. I wanted to phone the operator to check there was nothing wrong with his line, but I couldn’t without being caught. I thought of going to a phone box and calling him again. I could have told him I’d gone out so I was calling on the off-chance, or perhaps I could have borrowed Jess’s mobile. Oh, God, why was I going through this again?

  Eleven: the phone hadn’t rung and I hadn’t gone out. I decided to go to bed. It was obvious that he was just out and his mobile was switched off. Although I was worried in case he’d had an accident. What is the accident-reporting etiquette with someone you’ve dated only twice? I went to bed thinking the worst about Mark, that he’d gone off me, that he was never going to call, that he was dead. I knew I was being stupidly irrational and I hoped that when I woke the next morning I’d be back to normal.

  But I woke the next morning feeling sad. Then I remembered why, that Mark might be in trouble. I thought I should call to check that he was all right. Then I realised what a stupid idea that was.

  ***

  At work I told Katie about it.

  ‘Ruthie, you know that what you’ve done is exactly what you were trying to avoid by having his number?’r />
  ‘Huh?’

  ‘When you took his number it was because you didn’t want to go through the sitting-by-the-phone hell of the last couple of weeks. Now you’re doing just that,’

  ‘Oh, shit.’

  ‘And answer phones, well, if you leave messages, the ball goes back into their court and you have to chill out a bit. Remember, ‘A watched phone never rings.’ You shouldn’t wait in for him to call. If you’re not there when he calls you can call back. We’re going out tonight.’

  ‘Um, I can’t. I’ve got laundry to do.’

  ‘Really? That can wait.’

  ‘No, it’s urgent laundry.’

  ‘Ruthie, we are going out tonight. That is an order, not a request.’

  I wanted to scream and stamp my foot and say, ‘What if he calls? I need to be there for him.’ But I knew I was being pathetic and Katie was right on all counts, so I decided not to argue. But I really did have some urgent laundry to do.

  We went out and I got home about midnight, although I’d been trying to leave all evening. At one point I had a headache, then I ran out of money, then I felt sick, and by half past eleven Katie admitted defeat and let me go home. But not before she pointed out that it was too late to call Mark. Bitch. When I got in I searched for my message from Mark. There wasn’t one. Now I knew he must be in hospital somewhere – I mean, he’d had two evenings to return my calls and I knew he would have rung if he’d been healthy. After all, he had said we were together. I wanted to call, just to check, but it was midnight. I felt myself drawn towards the phone – it was like a magnet pulling me closer and closer. Then I remembered what Katie had said. And I remembered how pathetic I was as I dialled his number. I got the answer phone.

  ‘Hi, it’s Ruth, um, just called to check you’re OK and you got my message. Call me.’ I decided the best thing all round was if I went to bed and never got up.

  The next morning I had a slight hangover and a definite embarrassment problem. Fancy calling him twice in a row. Fancy leaving two messages. Fancy being so stupid. As she walked into the office Katie looked at me. I shook my head. I just thought that if Mark had had any intention of calling me he certainly wouldn’t now.