The Drought (The hilarious laugh-out loud comedy about dating disasters!)

by Steven Scaffardi

  “Just be yourself,” Kelly advised as I took a deep breath and started my way over towards Carla.

  “Hi,” I said as I reached her.

  “Oh, it’s you,” Carla didn’t even try to hide her disgust. “What do you want?”

  “I just wanted to come over and apologise, for last time I mean. I have the tendency to say stupid things when I get nervous,” I told her and she gave me a curious look. “I just wanted to say hello, not bribe you, or blackmail you. Just hello.”

  She stared at me for a while longer as if she was examining my expression. “Just hello?”

  “And maybe coffee sometime? I just want to talk and maybe get to know you.”

  She gave me another look, her eyes narrowed as though she wasn’t too sure if she should believe me or not. “What if I said yes, will you sign up for the charity?”

  “Now who is blackmailing who?” I said with a smile.

  Carla lowered her clipboard as though she was letting her guard down, and smiled back at me. “But if you don’t sign up how will I get your phone number?”

  I took her clipboard off her and wrote my name and number down on the piece of paper and handed it back to her.

  “Thanks...” she looked at the clipboard, “Dan.”

  “I need to get back to the office, but maybe you’ll give me a call sometime?”

  “Sure,” she said twisting a lock of hair around her finger. I said goodbye and as I walked away she called out to me. “How about tomorrow afternoon? If you really want to get to know me then perhaps you can come help me out tomorrow?”

  “Sounds good,” I told her. “Text me where and when and I’ll be there.”

  I made my way back over to Kelly, keeping a straight face trying not to give anything away.

  “Well?” she asked.

  “Oh that,” I said nonchalantly. “It’s in the bag, there was never any doubt, was there?”

  “Shut up,” Kelly said punching me in the arm. “I never doubted you for a second, Romeo. So when are you meeting her?”

  “Tomorrow afternoon.”

  “And where are you going?”

  “No idea. She is texting me later with the details, I think.”

  “That’s brave of you.”

  “I’m just that type of guy, Kelly,” my tone suddenly taking on a newfound air of confidence.

  “Oh please,” Kelly said, punching me in the arm for a second time. I pretended it didn’t hurt.

  “Come on,” I said. “We’d better get back to the office and let Dick know that Pete might be on an extended lunch break.”

  Chapter 11: Up in Smoke

  Saturday, March 28, 2009 - 11.15am

  Drought Clock: 86 days, 1 hour, 12 minutes

  Meet me at 1pm outside Charing Cross station. We’re going to Trafalgar Square. Carla xx

  That was all the text had said. I didn’t really question it; I didn’t need to. Trafalgar Square seemed the perfect place to meet for a first date. We could take a stroll through the square, take in some of the fine art at the National Gallery, enjoy a romantic walk under Admiralty Arch, and there were plenty of bars and cafes along Charing Cross Road if we wanted to meander on up to Leicester Square. Hold on, mental note to self – do not use the word meander if you want to get laid.

  And that was the whole point of today. Nearly three months had passed since my penis had experienced human contact, other than that of my good self and the assault I received at the hands of Toni the mum. Neither experience was worth boasting about. I knew that if I played my cards right, I could win Carla over. I was going to take things slow and be myself just as Kelly had told me. There was no need to rush things. I’d waited long enough – I could last two or three dates.

  Now what to wear for a lunchtime date? I decided to give Rob a call. He worked in fashion. Well a clothes shop anyway, or a boutique as he would constantly remind us. It was one of those obscenely expensive outlets where you were required to remortgage your house just to buy a sweater.

  “First of all you need to decide what sort of tone you want to set,” Rob said when I called him. “You want to make sure you are smart, but not too smart.”

  “Right, not too smart,” I said as I worked my way through my wardrobe.

  “Go for a casual look, but not too casual. Smart casual. You want to make an honest impression and a statement about your style and attitude.”

  “Okay, style and attitude,” I repeated his words as I pulled out a horrible yellow and purple flower patterned shirt Stacey had bought for me for my birthday last year.

  “Pick from the classic basics unless you have a specific side of yourself to express,” Rob continued. “Wear neutral colours if you want your conversation to do the talking.”

  What the hell does that mean? I held up a Bart Simpson T-shirt and Bermuda shorts and even I realised that wasn’t going to work here.

  “Footwear is important. Girls notice things like shoes,” Rob said as I dusted off an old pair of stained black suede Wallabies that hadn’t seen the light of day since the 90s. “Personal grooming says more about you than your clothes.”

  “Good point,” I said. I hadn’t showered yet.

  “Remember – clothes make the man, so create the man you want to be. And Danny?” Rob trailed off. “Whatever you do, don’t wear white socks like you normally do eh? Just promise me that one thing.”

  I promised and Rob clicked off. Brilliant, I was even more confused than when I first started out.

  I thought back to Kelly’s advice: just be yourself. Yeah, sod listening to the guys. It was time I started listening to advice from a woman. So I pulled on a pair of jeans, a blue and white hooped polo shirt I had bought in New York last year, and a pair of plain white trainers with Velcro straps. I looked in the mirror. That will have to do.

  I set off just after midday to travel the Tube to Charing Cross. I arrived 10 minutes early. I walked outside of the station and stepped out onto the Strand. Crowds of pedestrians hustled and bustled as they went about their business. London taxis and red buses zipped up and down the bus lanes whilst the rest of the traffic crawled along at a snails’ pace. A few hippy types walked past flashing me the V sign for peace. At least I hope it was the peace sign.

  I walked back to the station entrance. I had only been waiting a few minutes when Carla appeared. She was wearing a pair of khaki combats, a grey vest top, and a black hoodie top. It wasn’t quite the short skirt look that I had been initially attracted to, but I could work with this. Maybe she was going for the GI Jane look. Yeah, that was it and I was her Action Man. How I wished I had worn my camouflaged patterned boxer shorts. I’d have to remember that for our second date.

  “Hey,” Carla greeted me with an air kiss on the cheek. “You look...” she paused, searching for the words as she studied my white and blue hooped polo shirt. “...like a sailor!”

  Not quite the response I was hoping for. Style and attitude Rob had said. Apparently my interpretation of that was Popeye-chic style with Village People attitude. Good job I had left my can of spinach at home.

  “Thanks,” I hesitated in response, trying to search her tone as to whether that was a compliment or not.

  “Come on,” she said grabbing me by the hand. This was good, this was female contact. The way she was dragging me through the crowds made it feel more the female contact a mother would give her child when she was in a hurry, but I was hardly in a position to complain.

  “What’s the rush?” I asked.

  “We’re running late,” Carla replied without turning around to face me. Instead she continued to weave her way through the crowds and built up speed.

  We were late for something. Maybe she had a surprise planned for me. I wondered what it might be. Perhaps she had booked a table for a nice romantic meal. Or it could have been the theatre – we were in the West End after all. My mind raced at the possibilities. I was excited. If I was lucky it might be a visit to the Trocadero in Piccadilly Circus.

  Or
maybe, just maybe, she was one of those direct-and-to-the-point type of girls and had booked a hotel room and we were late for check-in. You hear about these girls who like to get straight down to business. Granted, most of those girls normally require payment up front. No matter, Carla was forthright and a headstrong girl. She knew exactly what she wanted.

  And she had said that I looked like a sailor. Maybe she was into that sort of thing. This could be some sort of twisted, erotic, role-play. Carla could be one of those girls who fantasised about men in uniform. And hello, we were heading in the direction of Nelson’s Column. She didn’t see me as Popeye or one of the Village People – she saw me as some sort of Admiral Horatio Nelson type, and before long she’d be asking to see my very own version of Nelson’s Column.

  As we approached Trafalgar Square, I could hear chanting and whistles sounding off. Perhaps Carla had arranged a party for me. Hell, after three months of celibacy I probably deserved a party. Wow, I really had hit the jackpot with this girl.

  “This way,” Carla said and pulled me through the crowds towards the noise. Over a wall of bobbing heads and a sea of tourists I could make out a line of police officers. Surely she hadn’t arranged a police escort for us. Beyond the line of police officers was what looked like a 500-strong group of people, all looking like the hippies that had passed me earlier.

  “This is it,” Carla said excitedly and pulled me towards the crowd. I could see many of them were holding signs and posters. “Are you ready to make a difference, Daniel?”

  My face told the story of confusion and pure bitter disappointment. “What is going on here? What are we doing?” I asked. What I really wanted to ask was where is the bloody hotel?

  “The G20 summit takes place in two weeks. It is time world leaders started to listen to us,” Carla started. “It is time to stop the wars, end world poverty, and help the starving families all over the world.”

  “But I wanted to be an Admiral,” I whined under my breath, my head bowed like a child as I drew circles with my foot.

  She held both of my hands and tilted her head as she gazed into my eyes. “This is important to me,” Carla went on. “It is vital we build a different future, one that fights recession by making the world a fairer and a greener place. Do I have your support?”

  I didn’t care about world peace, or saving the ozone layer. I didn’t sign up for this. I just wanted to get naked with this girl and give my usual 6-out-of-10 performance under the sheets. I swear it never used to be this hard. Had the rules changed since the last time I was single? Did women grant you sex for every good deed done? This was confusing.

  “I guess so,” I finally conceded. Maybe it was a test and if I passed my prize was that we left immediately and headed around to that hotel.

  “Brilliant!” Carla threw her arms round me. “Put this on.” And she pulled out a bright pink T-shirt with the words Hug Me. Hug the World written across the front in black. “You look a bit too much like a supporter of capitalism in those clothes.”

  But I look like a sailor!

  I reluctantly pulled on the T-shirt. Someone patted me on the back. A woman with greasy hair wearing a brown woolly jumper and fingerless gloves gave me a massive hug. It was then that I realised the crowd was actually much bigger than I first thought. Spread all around Trafalgar Square were protesters of some kind, all supporting a different cause. Before long the crowd seemed to have grown tenfold and the banging of drums and whistles grew increasingly louder.

  What do we want? WORLD PEACE! When do we want it? NOW!

  That ought to do the trick, I sarcastically thought to myself, rolling my eyes. I stared up at Lord Nelson perched on top of his column and I could have sworn he was looking down on me with a mocking grin on his face.

  Carla screamed at the top of her lungs, waving her fists and joining in with the crowd’s chants. I kept looking for a way out, but by now I was well and truly penned in.

  Over the next hour the crowd grew in numbers, and like a tidal wave I was swept along from Trafalgar Square towards Piccadilly. Someone handed me a signpost to carry. I didn’t even bother to see what it said. I didn’t care. I’d had enough of this. We got about halfway down Haymarket and I pulled Carla towards me. “How much longer does this go on for?” I shouted to her over the noise.

  “You can’t put a time on making the world a better place to live, Daniel,” she responded before rejoining the chanting.

  I pulled her towards me again. “No, I meant do you think that perhaps we could sneak off for half hour and grab a drink or something?”

  If looks could kill I would have been brown bread at that moment. “A drink?” Carla said in a tone so disgusted you would have thought I’d just confessed to duetting with Gary Glitter on his comeback song. “I was right about you the first time. You don’t care about saving the planet or ending poverty. You just want to get into my pants.”

  And before I got the chance to respond she shoved me as hard as she could. I went flying back, still holding the signpost, and crashed into the wall of police officers who were lined up along the street.

  “You’re nicked,” I heard one copper say and before I knew it, two riot cops pounced on me. A camera crew appeared from nowhere and a news reporter shoved a microphone under my nose asking me something about this being an injustice.

  “Yes! Yes!” I shouted. “I haven’t done anything!”

  “Leave him alone,” I heard a cry from the crowd and suddenly there was a surge from the protesters. I found myself in the middle of a tug-of-war between the chanting crowd and the police. I was helpless and spread-eagled as both sides wrestled with my body, and with one final heave a huge cheer went up from the protesters as they prised me away from the clutches of the Old Bill.

  Like a rock star crowd-surfing at a gig, I was lifted to safety out of reach of the police. Two stocky guys with cropped hair hoisted me on to their shoulders and the cheers grew louder.

  “Daniel!” I heard Carla cry out as she ran towards me. The two men lifted me down and Carla jumped at me, wrapping her legs around my waist and started kissing me passionately. “I was wrong about you,” she said kissing me more. “What you did there was amazing! You really made a stand.” She kissed me some more. “I’m so turned on.”

  “You don’t understand...” I suddenly stopped myself, realising I was about to put my foot in it again by admitting the truth.

  “Understand what?” Carla said between kisses.

  “Understand...” Think Dan, think. “How much saving the planet and the monkeys and the...” I started to run out of things to save and just blurted out the first thing that rhymed with monkeys. “…and the donkeys means to me.”

  “Oh, Dan,” Carla melted and kissed me more. The police were now starting to make their way through the crowd towards me. “Quick,” Carla said taking me by the hand, “we need to get you out of here.”

  The protesters opened up a pathway for us, like Moses parting the Red Sea. They cheered for me and gave me congratulatory comments before closing their ranks as I passed to make it difficult for the police to get through.

  We snuck out of the crowd and made our way down Jermyn Street and then quickly to Piccadilly Circus tube station. We ran down the escalators and jumped onto the carriage just before the beeping doors closed. We sat back in our seats catching our breath. Carla turned to me. “I’m sorry for judging you, Daniel,” she said before grabbing me by the head and pulling me towards her to kiss me again.

  “Where are we going,” I managed to ask as she smothered me.

  “My place,” Carla said, straddling me on the seat. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed two pensioners looking at us, shaking their heads in disgust.

  “Hey, it’s been three months,” I said to them and then returned Carla’s kisses.

  *

  Carla had a little flat in Waterloo. She opened the door and didn't hesitate in taking me by the hand and leading me to her bedroom. She pinned me up against the wall, her han
ds all over me. If this was a sign of things to come then three months had been well worth the wait. I decided to seize the moment and moved her over to the bed. I climbed on top of her and moved my hand up her top. Yes! This was boob action. This was progress. Carla wrapped her legs around me and arched forward to kiss me.

  But suddenly she pulled away. “Wait,” she panted. “Let’s take things slower.”

  No, no I thought to myself. Why do we need to take things slower? Please don’t do this to me, not now. “But why,” I asked holding back the tears.

  “Don’t worry,” Carla said, obviously noticing the look of concern on my face. “I just want to take our time. I promise you won't be disappointed,” she leaned in to kiss me and moved her hand up my thigh. “Let’s have a drink and relax before we get started.” And she kissed me once more, biting my bottom lip as she pulled away.

  We went into her living room and she got two bottles of beer from the fridge. She reached down beside the armchair and pulled out a small tin box. She mischievously bit down on her bottom lip as she opened the box. Immediately the strong sickly smell hit me.

  “A little appetizer?” Carla said, waving a bag of weed at me.

  I hadn’t smoked weed since I was at university, but perhaps having a little relaxing stimulant might not be a bad thing. I was anxious enough as it was about this moment. I didn’t want to get too over-excited and end up disappointing Carla. After all, I was a hero now. And a sailor. In your face Nelson!

  “Sure, why not.” I casually replied like I had been smoking marijuana my whole life, and I gulped down my beer. “Can I grab another one?” I asked shaking the empty bottle. Carla pointed me in the direction of the kitchen. I came back and sat opposite her, watching her roll up the monster of all spliffs. The weed was a much lighter green than I remembered, and she sprinkled about half the bag into a Rizla.

  She lit the joint up and took a couple of puffs before passing it to me. I took two puffs and then held it out to Carla, but she shook her head. “You have it,” she said. “I’m going to roll another one.”