Star Fish (2 page)

I walked up to the reception desk and suddenly all my fears returned, as here in front of me was what I can only describe as a 1980’s reject.

I am not normally a bitchy kind of girl, but when one is confronted with the likes of Cordelia Drake, one can only be grateful for what little breeding one has.

Cordelia Drake must have been around forty-five with bleached blonde, dry, wiry hair with about three inches of dark roots coming through. Her denim mini-skirt, stripy tights and thigh-length boots were worn with tight red T-shirt revealing a cleavage that would have made Jordan’s eyes water.

Ms Drake wore purple lipstick and matching nail varnish in a shade of what I could only call ‘Varicose Vein’ that clashed horribly with her red top. She was tapping away on her keyboard at about 90 miles an hour.

The funny thing was when she opened her mouth to greet me she sounded as if she had not only one, but about fifteen ripe plums in her mouth!

‘You must be Amy. The pleasure is mine, dear.’ She offered me a spindly hand with a gold sovereign on her middle finger.

I did my best to keep a straight face. Maybe she had gone to a really posh school and was fighting against her upper-class upbringing or maybe the Starr & Sun clientele were just so awful that the tactic was to make them feel superior next to Cordelia Drake, who did not have beauty or style on her side. I finally decided that she had worked on the voice in order to snare new recruits to Starr & Sun over the telephone, banking on the fact that once you were actually there you would be so gobsmacked by her appearance that you would hand over any amount of money to join up and run way!

‘My boss, Mr Starr will be with you in a minute to interview you,’ Posh Voice piped up.

Oh my God I thought. What kind of weirdo would have employed the likes of Cordelia Drake?

But Cordelia’s employer turned out to be far nicer than I had imagined an owner of a dating agency would be. For some strange reason I had pictured somebody without a life of their own. Somebody who wanted to live through other people’s fantasies.

This guy was wearing a smart grey suit, which matched his friendly, bluey-grey eyes. His smile was open and warm and his handshake firm and welcoming. My dad had taught me that a firm handshake is very important. I am glad that I acknowledged his worldly wisdom on this one, as I cannot bear a wishy-washy limp-wristed offering either. I think it reflects gravely on somebody’s personality. There is no excuse for not putting effort into that important first bodily contact.

‘Christopher Starr – Capricorn – the son in Starr and Sun,’ he introduced himself

‘Ah, I see. I thought the company name was just a clever idea for an astrological dating agency.’

‘Yes, well that’s my mother for you. It’s her business, although she’s semi-retired now and has left the running of it in my capable hands.’

‘Is it interesting?’ I enquired.

‘That’s one word for it.’ He smiled his friendly smile. ‘Wouldn’t really have been my first career choice but I am beginning to enjoy it, and there is the perk of meeting a lot of single women.’ He then caught my eye and looked slightly embarrassed.

‘Right – let’s get down to the important business of finding you a man then, shall we?’ He continued.

I instantly felt at ease. Maybe this wasn’t going to be quite as dreadful as I had imagined.

‘Your photo is flattering,’ he said nicely. ‘From reading your introduction form you certainly don’t look your age, and your sample profile is spot on.’ I laughed to myself wishing Liv were here to listen to all of this. ‘There shouldn’t be any trouble at all in matching you up,’ Christopher promised. ‘In fact, I’ve got somebody in mind already. You Pisces ladies are very adaptable.’

I liked this man; he was friendly and charming. Don’t fancy him, don’t fancy him, my inner voice insisted. But hey, he didn’t actually know me; he’d read my details on a form I’d filled out, he’d said hello and then thought he could match me with someone immediately. Perhaps it was all just a con.

‘Right, Amy let’s introduce you to the Blue file.’ He grinned.

Oh my God, I thought. Blue file? What sort of place is this?

But Christopher had anticipated my reaction.

‘Blue for boys, pink for girls,’ he explained. ‘Cordelia’s intricate filing system for you!’

I laughed this time.

The Blue file was interesting, to say the least. I opened it to see male creatures of all shapes and star signs appear in front of my eyes. Christopher told me he would leave me to peruse the ‘lucky contenders’ at my leisure in the Green Room. Lucky contenders? It sounded more like bloody
Gladiators
.

‘The Green Room.’ How strange! I remembered my horoscope from this morning’s newspaper: A green door signifies good luck for you today. Green room, green door. Oh my God, this was just too much of a coincidence!

Christopher had also made a point of seeing if I could pick out the person he thought would be most compatible with me. I wondered cautiously just who was playing this dating game?

It was hard to keep a perspective on the whole situation. On turning the pages and seeing all those men smiling out at me I suddenly had awful doubts about what I was doing. The men were sorted in to the twelve star signs. I started to flick through them all. Under each photo were a few words taken from the corresponding introduction form. Some of them were hysterical.

Reece, 35. Gemini.
Accounts Manager. Likes scuba diving, Leeds United and anchovies. Looking for a blonde with similar tastes.
Or how about
Greg, 42. Libra. Producer.
Likes animals, gladioli and classical guitar music. Looking for someone for dog walks and dinners.’

Surely Christopher was having a laugh? But then if there were pages of information I personally wouldn’t read it all through. When you first see someone you fancy, you don’t know what’s behind the initial attractiveness until you take the time to speak to them. So Christopher’s logic won this time. Brevity and humour – sounded like the state of my love life really.

I started to look just at the pictures, particularly at the eyes and smiles. My friend Harriet had also advised me to look at a man’s shoes. I could never quite understand this one, because if somebody looked like George Clooney but was wearing white tasselled loafers, the chance of looking at the ceiling of the ER would win every time!

After careful deliberation I picked out three men who I wouldn’t be embarrassed to be seen with in public.

Steve, 27. Aries. Photographer.
Looking initially for fun and friendship.
Neil, 29.
Taurus.
Legal Executive.
Looking for someone to wine and dine.
Laurence, 40. Libra.
Managing Director of IT Company.
Glamorous liaisons a must.

Curiously, Steve, Neil and Laurence were not truly compatible in an astrological sense, but the words ‘fun’ ‘dine’ and ‘glamour’ had helped the sale in this bizarre supermarket of lurve! I doubted very much if any of these manly contenders had degrees or if they could even spell Capoeria, let alone know what it was. I found this strangely comforting.

As I handed over two weeks’ salary to encompass my twelve introductions, I suddenly felt apprehensive. I also felt quite broke; it would probably have been cheaper to just buy a husband over the Internet!

This was for sure the start of something very big. Something very big – and very embarrassing.

– Three –

Aries:
You could be skating on thin ice today if you make a love decision.

‘I am allergic to my wrinkle cream!’ I screamed, running down the landing towards Brad.

‘The model on that advert is a bitch. How dare she smirk on television with her smooth face, telling the world how gorgeous she is because of this wonderful product.’

‘Calm down Princess,’ Brad replied in his usual relaxed manner. ‘They film her from a distance with something over the lens, I expect.’

‘That’s not the bloody point! Just look at my eyes – they’ve gone all red and swollen.

Brad was now laughing. ‘I bet they say not to put it near your eye area.’

‘Don’t be smart, that’s not the bloody point either!’ I then calmed down as in the grand scheme of things you could hardly notice it. I was just being dramatic as tonight, Friday, I was going on my first date with Aries photographer Steve Edwards.

‘I’m going to snee – Attishoo!’

‘Bless you,’ Brad said hastily getting out of range.

I love sneezing – great big powerful sneezes. I also like the ceremonious ‘Bless you’ that follows. In fact there are three main things that I want from a man: For him to say, ‘Bless you’ whenever I sneeze, preferably a ‘bless you’ for every single sneeze, even if they come in a whoosh of say three at a time. That he buys me flowers at least once a month, and most importantly, I want to hear him say, ‘Amy Anderson, don’t ever change’ just once. Then, I would most certainly marry him.

Steve Edwards was funny. His whole appearance made me smile. He was around six foot three, his arms and legs were everywhere, and he had a stubbly chin and smiling brown eyes. Steve wasn’t particularly handsome, but he was fun. I liked fun, therefore I liked Steve. He made me laugh; he made me feel at ease. I had known him precisely twenty-one minutes and we were getting on brilliantly. Maybe this dating game was going to easier than I thought.

The fact that we had to wait ages in the queue to pay to go ice-skating didn’t matter. The fact that I had put on a skirt didn’t matter. The fact that I was with a man from a dating agency didn’t matter until aargh!

Here I was Amy Jane Anderson; thirty-two years old, being dragged round the ice rink like a whirling dervish by a mad photographer. Whee! My exhilaration was taken over by complete terror when I lost my grip on one of his gangly arms and went hurtling towards an advertising board on the edge of the rink.

‘Amy? Amy are you OK?’

I felt as though I was in a Tom & Jerry cartoon with stars coming out of my head. If only I could have pressed the ‘Off’ button. And I really wished that I had checked beforehand where Steve was taking me on our date so that I could have dressed appropriately. By now, my skirt had risen right up my thighs and my new M&S hold-in knickers were on show to the whole of Ice City. Who in their right mind would wear stockings ice-skating?

There and then I decided that I should take off my Piscean rose-coloured glasses and get ready to expect the unexpected where this dating lark was concerned. My watery smile suddenly turned into gushing tears of humiliation.

‘I’m so embarrassed Steve. I’ve only ever been skating on a school trip before.’

‘It’s OK, don’t worry – my sense of adventure got the better of me. I thought you’d be able to keep up.’

I was very wobbly when I got back onto my feet. Steve struggled to pull me up and I rearranged my skirt.

The teenagers nearby were still smirking when Steve asked, ‘OK now? See you in a min.’ He then proceeded to speed-skate around the rink again.

I had had enough. I felt sore and humiliated. There were the beginnings of a blister on my heel and I wanted to go home. Tentatively I made my way to a gap in the hard boards round the edge of the rink. Finding a gap, then a seat was almost as fulfilling as that first sip of cold wine when you’ve had a bad day at work.

I thought I’d get back into my own boots, go to the loo and repair any damage to my make-up and then hopefully bond a bit more with daredevil Steve. When I got to the toilets, however, I realised why the teenagers had been smirking. I had the letter ‘a’ imprinted like a brand right across my face. How could Steve have let me carry on with that on my face!

And how could he speed off and leave me when I had just had such a terrible fall? There hadn’t even been time to do my sneeze test on him.

Aries man was obviously not for me.

Limping slightly, I hobbled out of the ice rink and headed straight for home.

Christopher Starr phoned the next day, concerned that I’d left my date without a word. I did actually feel quite guilty, as Steve was lovely, but a bit too boisterous for my liking. Life would certainly never be dull with an Aries man,that was for sure. Maybe I was being too picky; maybe I should give him another chance? But he wasn’t my perfect date and I now had the opportunity to meet other men, so the decision was made that I would go out with Neil.

I was to meet Taurean Neil for dinner in Henry’s Wine Bar on Cecil Street at 7.30 next Friday. Christopher informed me that my second date would be waiting at the bar for me.

– Four –

Capricorn:
Nobody said your job was easy. Humour is important to get you through the challenges that today will throw at you.

The fitness instructor, aka ‘Sex God’ to me or just ‘Guy’ to his other clients, was due to call at my house at 11.30 on Saturday morning. He had sounded delicious on the phone. I was annoyed at myself for thinking this. Why did I have to look at every man as a prospective husband? This meeting with Guy wasn’t a date, however it was my last-ditch attempt at gaining the body beautiful. I had this fear that because I had been lucky with the ageing process so far; I would hit forty and everything would suddenly sag, wrinkle and wither.

At the sound of the doorbell I checked my face in the mirror and casually opened the front door.

‘Amy?’

‘Hi, yes – that’s me, you must be Guy. Come in, come in, sit down’ I said frantically, doing my blurting thing.

Oh yes! Guy Jamieson was indeed a sex god! He was around 6 foot tall, with dark hair, beautiful blue eyes and obviously the fittest body I had seen for quite some time.

In his casual tracksuit bottoms and crisp white polo shirt he looked like something out of an advert from a health and fitness magazine.

I know this isn’t a date, but please let him be a Scorpio, I thought wistfully. With my Piscean rose-coloured glasses firmly in place I was off in a world of make believe. I would wake up every day to this gorgeous being. He would feed me Special K and grapes. I would be fit. I would be happy.

My sexy celestial dream suddenly collapsed into cellulite reality by Guy saying.

‘Right, let’s get down to business then.’

If bloody only! I thought.

Seating himself on the sofa, he opened up the briefcase-type thing he was carrying and pulled out a blood-pressure machine and something that can only be described as callipers. The sight of them induced yet another classical blurt.

‘Well really I thought it quite extravagant to have a personal trainer but I was thinking that I was getting a bit fat and I have no self-discipline and basically I don’t care if you get me fit, although don’t get me wrong that would be nice but to be honest I just want to look like a babe by my birthday, well in fact I’d like to lose a stone by my birthday.... By the way, when’s your birthday?’ Guy was smiling, ‘Your birthday is when exactly, Amy?’

‘It’s the thirteenth of March, so around six weeks away.’

‘Unlucky for some egh?’ He then realised he really shouldn’t have said that and quickly added. ‘A Pisces egh? I’m a Capricorn, Christmas Day boy me.’

Oh God, how embarrassing, he knew why I had asked when his birthday was. I was a bit miffed about his unlucky for some comment, as the number thirteen is actually my lucky number. I was quite impressed however, that he knew that I was a Pisces and was just about to ask if he got two sets of different presents when he swiftly continued in a business-like fashion. He was obviously aware that there was no time to lose if I wanted to shed a stone in such short a time.

‘Do you smoke Amy?’

‘No.’ I smirked proudly. ‘I gave up 3 years ago.’

Short of dumping my ex-boyfriend James Crook (of whom more later) it was the most difficult thing I’ve ever done in my life. It was actually verging on a miracle that I gave up smoking. In fact, I should have gone round and sold my story as an inspiration to the whole smoking fraternity who wanted to give up. I was such an addict that I actually had cigarettes and a lighter on my bedside table so that I could wake up, roll over and light one up as I watched the news on breakfast television. I was an avid twenty a day girl, going on to forty once alcohol had been consumed.

I chose a Valetine’s Day to give up – and chewed nicotine gum from 8 a.m. that morning. In fact, I chewed anything that I could get my hands on, and soon put on one and a half stone.

The first week of giving up will remain in my memory for ever. It was dreadful.

I gave up on a work day, by lunchtime everyone in my office was under his or her desk, trying not to catch my eye or mention anything to do with smoking. My bad mood was heightened by the fact that I had not received a single Valentine’s card, not even from Penelope or Brad who always remembered!

Why is it that when you know you can’t mention something, you always do? My work colleagues excelled at this.

‘Amy you’re looking a bit puff – I mean rough.’ And so it went on.

I put the phone down on my boss on numerous occasions; I started crying on the station platform because the train was delayed. Worst of all I told the woman behind the bakery counter to ‘shit off’ when she commented on the fact that I’d been in three consecutive times for doughnuts and I must be very hungry today.

The hardest thing was that at that time I was working for a tobacco firm! I had to leave, as the weekly free cigarette quota was too much of a temptation for an addictive fish like myself. Brad was actually disappointed as he enjoyed calling me ‘Fag Ash Lil.’

I still get the odd urge to have a puff when drunk, but know that one puff too many could lead to disaster. Brad laughs his head off whenever I say this. ‘Ooh and don’t I know
that
ducky!’

‘Right – I need you to fill out a questionnaire about yourself Amy, so that I can start to get an idea of your lifestyle and at what level I should pitch your sessions,’ Guy said efficiently. ‘Once I have taken your blood pressure and measured your fat proportions we can go through a few basic exercises so I get the whole picture. I can then work out a programme for you.’

Oh God – the calliper thingies were to pinch my fat! How embarrassing was that?

Surprisingly, my blood pressure and pulse were fine, even though I had a vision of the machine exploding because of the intense lust I was feeling.

This feeling soon subsided when Guy then chirpily said, ‘Now let’s just gauge your fat percentage.’

I suddenly had that horrible feeling you get when you’re in a meeting and somebody says, ‘Right, let’s go round the room and just say who we are and a bit about ourselves.’ Even though you’ve lived with yourself for so many years and know exactly who you are, you feel your mouth going dry and your mind going blank, and just don’t want your turn to come.

Guy noticed my expression.

‘Amy, please don’t be embarrassed, it’s just my job and to be honest you are not seriously overweight. This simply helps me to decide on the right training programme for you.’

‘Attishoo!’

‘Bless you.’

At that moment I fell completely in lust with Mr Fit.

A first session was arranged, and before Guy Jamieson had even got down the front path I was online ordering all the latest fitness gear on the market.