Star Fish (3 page)

– Five –

Taurus:
Be assertive today. Is someone’s attitude getting to you? Some smart talking may be in order.

My friend Harriet Brown, aka H, who had initially been very cautious about my agency exploits, was now completely into it. She said the whole thing reminded her of a soap opera and she couldn’t wait for the next episode. She was on constant mobile phone standby for any updates and also for any necessary SOS calls.

Five years younger, blonde with steely blue eyes and a heart of gold, H is indeed a friend that I know I am very lucky to have. We met through work two years ago. To each other we were ‘PR Tart’ and ‘Event Slut’. We struck up an instant rapport, as she too has a passion for the finer things in life. Before she fell in love with Horace, her husband, she managed to pick the lesser specimens of male, just as I did. We have been to Dublin, Lanzarote and Barcelona together – in fact, we spent so much time together at one stage that people thought we were an item!

Our fascination with the male penis however, put paid to any possibility of a lesbotic interlude.

In fact, we used to play a game called ‘The Quest’, based purely on the male penis focusing on its length, girth and performance. (Mainly length and girth though!) It basically involved finding the perfect penis and, ultimately, the perfect man. Fun at the time but how wrong in essence!

As soon as she met Horace, ‘The Quest’ was never mentioned again. Well, it’s probably a blessing not to know the dimension of your best friend’s husband’s penis. I think, myself, he’s got a small one or I’m sure she’d have whispered, ‘Quested’ to me on a drunken night out – even though the rule was to shout it across a crowded bar on meeting up if you had really found what you thought was the perfect one!

I thought I had ‘Quested’ when I met James Crook. When in fact he was he who went on to cause me the most heartache in my whole life. We broke up about four years ago, which was initially devastating but now I know that I’m better on my own than being within a sniff of him.

Nobody had ever before evoked such passion in me and on a similar level such anger within me, as James Crook. To prove it, my carpet regularly resembled that of a Greek restaurant after we tried to settle our disputes by chucking things at each other.

Anyway, a month after we split up I was in complete and utter turmoil, torn between deciding was it my fault, his fault, the cat’s fault or was my Neptune just not rising over my Capricorn at the right time? Then, after an intensive bout of therapy I realised that it was he who was the complete bastard. He, who was never there when I needed him – not showing at two grandparents’ funerals, for one example.

However, it was also he who turned up at my flat, naked, in his convertible and played ‘Hello’ by Lionel Ritchie at full blast so I would come down and he could say sorry for one of our many arguments. It was he who sent flowers not only to my office, but also to my flat and to my dad’s house just to make sure that wherever I was that day he could say sorry for something else.

Finally, it was he who even more magnificently bought me a whole outfit from pants to pashmina that fitted and suited me perfectly. He used to have my sizes written inside his wallet so that wherever he was, he could just buy me something special that would fit me. It was like having my heart at the end of a yo-yo on a daily basis and in the end the string got so weak it just had to snap.

The very sad thing about James and me was that we did truly love each other – so, so passionately – but we hurt each other over and over again. It was a typical can’t live together, can’t live apart scenario. The making up was amazing but the hurt involved in getting to that stage was too destructive to carry on. I like to think that I was like Elizabeth Taylor, she too a Piscean. I would, however, hate James Crook to think he was in any way like Richard Burton. From what I could gather, Richard Burton had a heart. James Crook just had an exceptionally large penis!

In the end it was for my own sanity that I had to get out of the relationship. Sometimes when I am at home alone with only the cat to talk to, I think I still love him. Maybe I do, but not in any useful or viable sort of way.

I can never go back to him anyway, firstly because my self-respect is a little higher now and secondly my arse would be kicked black and blue by everybody who cares for me.

I was lucky that all of my friends, apart from being loyal, fun and drunk most of the time had also taken on the extra duties necessary to support my new sort of quest, for Mr Right.

Harriet’s role was to be my dresser prior to dates, while Sam Clark was to be my romantic adviser. Sam was so excited when he thought of calling my quest the search for my ‘sole mate’ because of the Piscean/fish connection that he actually fell off a bar stool in our local. This got us all barred for one week as the landlady’s poodle was under the stool at the time.

Sam is cool. He is Cancerian. He is not like any other man I have met before, in that he is kind, sensitive and caring. He also has an amazing mop of curly dark hair, which when not in its usual pony-tail style is so wild and sexy that if it doesn’t turn the girls’ heads with lust, then it turns them with envy.

Sam started working as a web designer at Jenkins Software six months after me. The minute he sat opposite me my heart took a little leap. It was actually quite annoying in a way. I have always been one to turn up at my desk at a minute to nine, dump all my bags and then head down to the toilets to put my make-up on. This is due to the fact that I am always late getting up in the morning. I now had to get up fifteen minutes early to fit in some personal grooming so that I could glow and smile at Sam in full glory from 9.05 a.m.

Once I’d got over the initial shyness and really got to know Sam, I realised that he was far too nice for me. He didn’t have a nasty bone in his body. If I were to go out with him, I would lead a life on an even keel. There would be no shouting, he wouldn’t come in late from the pub, there would be no flirting outrageously with other women on a Friday night. Oh so normal – and oh so boring. I soon started turning up at nine again.

As well as H and Sam, I had my sister Anna, who did her best to stop my dramatic outbursts happening too often. Brad was Brad and my friend Katie Cook, who had moved out to Lanzarote after she fell in love with the ice delivery man in a bar, became my most patient listener.

But back to my date with Neil on the following Friday night. After a bracing shower, and lots of girly applications of perfumes, sprays and slap, H had squeezed me into black hipster jeans and a black top with
Foxy
emblazoned across my chest.

‘Are you sure it’s not a bit too tarty for a first date?’ I fretted.

‘Not at all. You look great, bird, and despite being ancient you do look pretty damn foxy.’

I laughed, slung on my long black coat as it was a cold February evening and rang for a taxi.

Cecil Street was buzzing. I laughed to myself thinking how funny it would be to meet a man called Cecil in Cecil Street, or indeed a man called Henry in Henry’s Bar. I then began to feel the same butterflies I had experienced before when meeting Steve. These dates certainly required nerves of steel.

Two burly, ugly bouncers greeted me at the door of Henry’s.

‘Evening, madam.’

‘Hi there.’

I could feel their eyes on my bum as I started to push my way through the

Friday-night drinkers, some still suited and booted, having their after-work drink, others freshly perfumed, like me taking that first luxurious sip of the weekend. I had in my hand a little photo of Neil

Neil was what can only be described as nice. Nice is not an adjective I like to associate with men, as over the years nice creatures have been dismissed on a regular basis. However, on this occasion I was going to make a massive effort to find out more about Nice Neil. I was not going to be shallow. I was going to do what Sam always told me to do and look for the person behind the pecs! Nice Neil had very short-cropped blond hair, big brown eyes and thin lips. I’ve got a thing about thin lips. I don’t even know why. Maybe it’s because I like big, full-hearted snogs and guess that if somebody hasn’t got the right equipment for this then they will peck at me like a hungry sparrow. He also had a soulful expression that reminded me of a dog, rather than a Taurean bull. Let’s face it – there was
nothing
about him that I found attractive.

Oh God, a whole evening ahead with somebody I didn’t remotely fancy! I began planning an early escape. Then I spotted him. He was dressed smartly in black jeans with a shocking blue shirt on. I did a quick take on his shoes – black boots, quite trendy. H would most certainly approve. I guess in the big scheme of the male rat race he wasn’t that bad really. He looked more like a Labrador than a rat so I would give him a chance.

‘Hello, you must be Neil.’

‘And I’m really hoping you’re Amy. You look very foxy, ha ha ha.’

I falsely laughed back. How on earth was I going to get through this one? However with his next words I felt better.

‘Fancy a drink before we sit down to eat?’ He asked loudly as the music seemed to go up about 10 decibels.

‘Large dry white wine please, not Chardonnay though.’

It wasn’t that I didn’t like Chardonnay, Chardonnay didn’t like me and it had turned me into a white wine witch on many an occasion.

I sighed inwardly. I had had a really hard day at work and wished I was going out with the gang for a big drinking session. I wasn’t in the mood for polite chit-chat. Dating was exciting but also such drudgery. If only you could get over the first embarrassing meeting, quit talking the usual bullshit and just be bold enough to say. ‘Look we both fancy each other, so why don’t we go back to mine, do the deed and if it’s good, let’s see each other again?’

I wondered if anyone at Starr & Sun ever did that. I pictured Cordelia’s look of horror at the thought of it, and grinned.

I vowed not to get too drunk and disorderly tonight. This man was a stranger and a good impression should be made. Even if he appeared to be a bit nerdy at first I must try really hard not to turn into a gibbering wreck by midnight. I actually wanted to end the date there and then but my inner voice said that if that happened to me, my self – confidence would be dented for ever and I would be found half eaten by Penelope as I would never leave my house ever again!

By 10 p.m. Nice Neil had mentioned how wonderful his mother was at least five times. I had hardly got a word in edgeways and suddenly realised that we hadn’t yet eaten.

‘She is fantastic,’ he was enthusing now. ‘She still pops round once a week, has a bit of a clean, washes and irons my shirts, changes my duvet when required.’

At every mention of Mrs Nice Neil, I decided a bar trip was required. By the time Neil got to, ‘In fact, Amy, you remind me of her. You really must meet her.’ I could now see two of him.
Please keep your balance and dignity
, my inner voice warned.

I was astounded at Neil’s ability to remain so sober after drinking the same amount as me, until I disturbingly noticed that when he bought rounds, he was drinking bottles of low-alcohol lager. He noticed my incredulous expression.

‘Mother thought it would be best if I stayed sober on a first meeting,’ he explained helpfully. ‘You know, get to know the true someone. Now let’s go to our table, shall we?’

‘She also says.’ Nice Neil paused suddenly. ‘Amy are you OK, you look a little pale?’

‘I’m absholutely fandabidosie, thank you for ashking. Jushed a little hungry that’s all.’

‘Good, good. Well Mother also says that home is where the heart is and I do love to keep it immaculate. I also love a girl who likes to eat. Every weekend I do a little bit of DIY – not too much, mind – maybe put up a new shelf, or touch up the paintwork here and there. Then I’ll make a cake or if I’m feeling really daring I might bake a loaf or two.’

Paintwork, I guessed, was probably all that Nice Neil had touched up in a while.

He was so boring I couldn’t even be bothered to sneeze! Oh no, I was starting to be unruly! My inner voice was having trouble containing me with five large glasses of wine to fight against it.

‘So, Nice Neil, what makes you tick apart from a clean, DIYed house?’ But before he could answer I carried on: ‘Have there been any other women in your life apart from your mother?’ I then let out a resounding hiccup, laughed and staggered to the toilet.

When I returned to the spot where we had been standing, there was no sign of him. I began to think in that strange drunken logical way that maybe I had been given Chardonnay by mistake and that I had upset him. However, I couldn’t remember saying anything bad.

‘Are you OK, darlin’?’ Ugly Bouncer Number One was suddenly by my side, looking at my
Foxy
intently.

‘Absholutely marvellous, thanks, but I think my friend may have left.’

‘Of course I haven’t left.’ The voice of Nice Neil boomed behind me. Even Ugly Bouncer Number One was a little taken aback.

‘Mother says however upset you are by a woman you must never leave her to get home alone. I’ve just called you a taxi.’

‘But what ifsh I want to sshtay here?’