The Meet Cute Method, page 7
‘Okay,’ I reply. ‘See you later, Darcy.’
‘See you,’ she replies with a smile.
Bless her, I think she thinks she’s done me a huge favour, and she sort of has, it’s just I’d really rather it wasn’t tonight, and I’d much prefer someone other than Tom. Max, obviously, but it’s pathetic how much I’m thinking about him.
‘We need to walk quickly,’ Tom tells me once we hit the pavement. ‘It’s not too far, but it’s a bit of a walk.’
‘Shall we just get a taxi?’ I suggest. I know, I’m not exactly made of money right now, but I’m wearing a wedge heel and it’s boiling again now the breeze has cleared off.
‘Don’t be daft,’ he says. ‘It’s good to walk. It does you good, you know.’
Right, wow, okay. Do I look like I missed the memo about exercise and its benefits? To be fair, probably, given how knackered I must look already.
‘Tell me a little about yourself,’ I suggest, trying to hide how out of breath I am, trying to keep up with him.
‘What do you want to know?’ he replies.
‘Oh, just general stuff,’ I say. ‘Get-to-know-you kind of things.’
‘You have to be more specific,’ he insists. ‘I can’t just talk about myself. You have to ask specific questions.’
Oh, boy, it’s going to be a long night.
‘Erm…’ I wrack my brains for questions to ask. What’s his problem? Everyone knows how to say a bit about themselves. Isn’t it part of being a grown adult? ‘Where did you grow up? What’s your favourite food? Do you prefer cats or dogs? Not to eat, obviously, that last question is its own thing.’
Tom turns around to pull a face at me. He doesn’t find me charming at all. He thinks I’m stupid.
‘I would’ve thought, from my accent, that it’s pretty obvious I grew up in North Wales,’ he says, as though he’s almost angry I even asked. ‘Veal escalope is a food that I enjoy – I’m not six years old, so I don’t have a favourite anything. And, I don’t know, cats, I suppose.’
Wow. What a tosser. I wouldn’t say he had any detectable accent, so I don’t know how I would possibly know that, I think veal is absolutely gross, and I’m definitely more of a dog person than a cat person. This really could not be going any worse.
‘How old are you?’ I ask him. ‘“Not six” leaves a lot of possibilities.’
‘I’m twenty-nine,’ he tells me.
Oh my God, he isn’t even thirty yet? He’s got such middle-aged-man energy.
‘You?’
‘I’m thirty-four,’ I reply.
‘Thirty-four?’ he repeats back to me.
‘Thirty-four,’ I say again, for the people at the back.
‘I didn’t realise you were older.’ He sounds quite annoyed by the concept of me being an ‘older woman’. The good news is that this means I must not look my age. The bad news would be that this is clearly a turn-off for Tom, were it not for the fact that I do not care one little bit what he thinks of me.
‘Yep, I’m a regular granny,’ I joke, trying to get things back on track. ‘But don’t worry, I’m young at heart.’
Tom steps out into the road while there’s a break in the traffic. I follow him.
‘Do you want kids?’ he asks me.
‘Not today, thanks,’ I reply. ‘Usually more of a third-date activity.’
‘I mean generally,’ he says, ignoring my joke. I obviously know what he meant. ‘I just mean, at your age…’
The oncoming traffic is the only thing preventing me from stopping in my tracks. Oh, he did not just say that, did he? If this were a real date and not something I was doing for the sake of an article, believe me, I would turn around right now and never look back. I should probably do that anyway, except…
‘We’re here,’ Tom announces.
Hopefully now that we’re here, he’ll forget about my ovaries. I’ve come this far. I may as well stick it out. You never know, he might turn on the charm now that he’s not worrying about us being late. Or not. But even if he’s a crap date, well, it’s another failed meet cute to add to the list. Too many more of these and I’m going to need to shift the focus of the article to something along the lines of how not to meet men. I’m clearly great at that.
We’re at the Guelder Rose, a restaurant that I’ve heard of, but never been to before, so if all else is a bust, at least I’ve got to try somewhere new. It seems like a cool place, flamboyant but romantic (it’s a shame I’m here with Tom, what a waste), with white flowers everywhere, climbing the walls, hanging from the ceiling. There’s a purpose-built flower archway against one of the walls in the entrance, framing a backlit sign with a large flower logo in the centre. The perfect spot for taking a trendy snap for social media. I wonder if Tom would take a photo of me for my Instagram? There’s a group of women there at the moment, taking it in turns to snap pictures of one another, having an absolute blast doing so.
‘Isn’t it pathetic?’ Tom says to me, not all that quietly, as we pass them. ‘More nonsense for their social networks – they mine your data, you know.’
‘Wow, do they?’ I reply sarcastically.
Tom is officially joyless. Imagine begrudging strangers taking a photo in a beautiful place. I, like most ancient millennials, love social media. I’d probably be scrolling Instagram right now, if I weren’t here.
‘I’ve got a booking for Tom Daley,’ Tom tells the hostess.
‘Your name is Tom Daley?’ I say with a smile.
‘Yes, and what’s wrong with that?’ he asks angrily.
‘Oh, no, there’s nothing wrong with it,’ I quickly insist. ‘I just… you have the same name as the famous diver. You must have heard that before?’
‘Would you believe you are the first one?’ he says with an almost aggressive level of sarcasm. He rolls his eyes before turning back to the hostess.
Oh my God, what a miserable man. I was just trying to be cute. I mean, come on, I’m called Frankie. Do you know how often I get told to relax? Or asked if I’ve ever been to Hollywood? When I was in Year 10 and my French teacher found out my name, he started singing ‘The Power of Love’ to me – a reference I didn’t even get at the time, but it was the reason one of the meaner boys started a rumour that this particular teacher fancied me. Funnily enough, this was the same kid who used to call me Dettori.
‘Let me show you to your table,’ the hostess says. She flashes me a sympathetic smile. Suddenly I feel embarrassed, like she’s looking at me thinking this must be the best I can do, if I’m still willing to stick it out when Tom is so very clearly a dick. Let it never be said I’m not devoted to my job.
The place is about as busy as you would expect for 7 p.m. on a Tuesday evening. It’s a nice big room with lots of space between the tables. I’m glad, because that means no one will be able to hear what I’m subjecting myself to.
‘Dinner is on me tonight,’ Tom announces.
‘That’s very generous of you, but I don’t mind paying for myself,’ I tell him. I don’t want to give him any kind of signals that this is a date that is going well, and I definitely don’t want to feel like I owe him anything.
‘No, I told you, I’m paying,’ he insists.
‘Can I take your drinks order?’ a friendly waiter asks, looking at me first.
‘Hmm, I think I might have a glass of wine,’ I say as I cast my eyes down the menu.
‘We’ll get a bottle,’ Tom says.
‘Oh, I’m fine with just a glass,’ I insist. ‘I’m not in much of a drinking mood, at work today we had—’
‘They have some very good bottles around the thirty-five-pound mark,’ he tells me, interrupting me, clearly uninterested in what I was about to say.
‘I know, but I’d rather just get a glass of—’
‘We’ll take a bottle of the Grüner Veltliner,’ Tom tells him.
I feel my eyebrows shoot up.
‘I’ll be back with that in a moment,’ the waiter says, minding his own business, doing as he’s told.
I pick up my food menu and cast an eye over it. I wonder if he’ll order my food for me too, like Patrick Bateman in American Psycho. He’s certainly got that vibe about him.
‘Veal, is it?’ I ask him. I can’t help myself sometimes.
‘They don’t offer it,’ he replies. ‘Not everywhere does. It’s ridiculous. I’m made to feel like I’m a cannibal, just for enjoying it.’
I don’t say anything. I stare at my menu. It doesn’t take me too long to choose what I fancy, but I keep reading, just to avoid having to talk to him.
Eventually our waiter returns with our wine. He pours us a glass each before taking our order.
‘Any starters?’ he asks.
‘Not for me, thank you,’ I say. ‘I think I’ll go straight for my main.’
Anything to make this process go faster.
‘Have a starter,’ Tom says, and it sounds like an instruction rather than an offer.
‘I’m fine.’
‘Have one,’ he insists.
I just freeze.
‘Okay, well, I’ll have the truffled wild mushrooms,’ Tom says. ‘And bring her the salt and pepper chicken too.’
‘Okay,’ the waiter says, keeping out of it. ‘Your main?’
‘Can I have the lobster mac and cheese, please?’ I say.
‘No,’ Tom interrupts.
I know I’d phrased it like a question, but that’s just what you do when you’re ordering, isn’t it? I wasn’t really seeking permission from Tom.
‘No?’ I repeat back to him in disbelief.
‘No, not that,’ he tells me. ‘Have something else.’
I’m nearing the end of my patience now.
‘What am I allowed?’ I ask him, almost sarcastically. ‘That might save some time.’
‘Anything but the lobster dishes and the steak,’ he says rather oddly. I wasn’t expecting him to actually give me an answer.
See, this is why I want to pay for my own dinner, so I can get what I want. I imagine this is all because Tom is insisting on paying – not that I’m going to let him.
‘I guess I’ll have the cheeseburger, then,’ I say as I hand over my menu.
As we wait for our starters, I make the terrible mistake of asking Tom about his job. He’s currently working as a legal secretary and, other than believing he is severely underpaid, his main complaint seems to be that he works under a woman, and that having ‘secretary’ in his job title is somehow emasculating too. I’m getting serious small-dick energy from this one.
It feels like forever before our food is placed down in front of us. I can’t wait to try the chicken I didn’t want or order. At least it looks good.
‘How is it?’ Tom asks me through a mouthful of mushroom. ‘Any good?’
‘Yeah, it’s nice,’ I reply.
‘Describe it to me,’ he persists.
Now I definitely feel like I’m in some kind of horror movie.
‘What do you want, an essay?’ I reply with a snort.
‘No, just thirty to fifty words,’ he says.
Erm… thirty to fifty words? That’s oddly specific. What the…?
‘Hang on a minute,’ I start as my mouth catches up with my brain. ‘Is this some kind of review thing?’
‘Lower your voice,’ Tom insists loudly, before lowering his own. ‘Yes, I do mystery dining for cash. The food is free, you just have to order certain things, but I don’t get paid – or reimbursed – if we don’t do it right, so can you just do what I ask you, please?’
Oh my God, this isn’t a date at all, it’s a job. His job. All I’m getting out of it is some free food that I didn’t want, some wine that I don’t like, and some misogynist reminding me that my biological clock is ticking. Fantastic. Oh, I can’t wait to tell Cora and Addison about this one. Definitely another failure to add to the list.
11
‘Have you checked your pockets?’ Cora asks me.
‘Checked my pockets?’ I reply. ‘For what?’
‘For the freak magnet you appear to be carrying around with you,’ she jokes from behind her desk.
I’ve just told Cora and Addison all about my horrible nightmare date (if we’re even calling it that) last night. Naturally they think it’s hilarious. I suppose it is – now that it’s over, and I never have to see him again.
‘Do you think he’ll give you half of what he gets paid?’ Cora asks.
‘Oh, I doubt it,’ I reply. ‘Not that I’d take it. Eventually he told me how he gets paid for doing these jobs – he doesn’t really get anything. Just the free food and a mileage allowance. We walked, so I suppose that’s how he gets paid.’
‘I’d check for that magnet,’ Addison insists. ‘Where are all the normal men?’
I think she’s speaking rhetorically but I can’t resist finally telling them about Max, after managing to keep it to myself for not even twenty-four hours. I could wait until it’s just me and Cora, but I’m hoping that if I encourage Addison’s friendship, there is no way she could fire me.
‘I did meet someone yesterday,’ I confess. ‘Someone charming and hilarious and absolutely gorgeous.’
‘Did you?’ Cora replies with a squeak. I don’t know if she’s surprised I’ve met someone nice or surprised it’s taken me so long to tell her about it. I imagine it’s a bit of both.
I nod as I try to mask my grin.
‘His name is Max. He’s wonderful,’ I blurt. ‘He works downstairs at ByteBanter. He’s a writer, we met—’
‘Let me stop you there,’ Addison says. ‘Workplace romance? That’s boring.’
‘I know, but I—’
‘No,’ she interrupts me again. ‘I’m working on something much better for you. How do you feel about jumping out of a plane?’
‘Honestly?’ I reply. Addison nods. ‘Really bloody negatively.’
‘I’m thinking we have you strapped to some big, buff army man,’ she explains, not really explaining all that much. ‘See if the adrenaline of jumping out of a plane together makes the two of you fall in love.’
‘Erm…’
‘I just need to work out who and how,’ she continues. ‘I’m not sure the army is the right one. Would it be the air force?’
There’s no way I’m helping her with this one.
‘Do you really think someone is going to fall for Frankie if they jump out of a plane with her?’ Cora asks in disbelief.
‘Yes – why?’ Addison replies.
‘Frankie is my friend, and I love her to pieces, but I went on the Hangover ride with her at the Winter Wonderland a few of years ago,’ Cora explains. ‘Believe me, she is not at her most loveable when she’s up high.’
‘I was terrified,’ I insist, in an attempt to strengthen my case to Addison. I’m not going to contest what Cora just said, it’s true, I was swearing, crying, throwing up, making deals with God. I didn’t realise I was quite so scared of heights until I was that high up – well, how else would I know? Never again. Never ever again.
‘Perhaps we need to work on your seduction techniques,’ Addison suggest.
Wow, this ought to be good.
I raise my eyebrows in anticipation.
‘Oh, yeah?’
‘Yes,’ she replies. ‘Go on, show me your skills, seduce me.’
I snort. She can’t be serious. There are people working at their desks. What if they look over?
‘They made me sit through a very long, very weird video when I started here,’ I tell her. ‘One that made clear I should absolutely never try to seduce my boss.’
‘What if it’s an order?’ she replies.
‘I’m pretty sure they probably made you watch a video too, telling you never to order your staff to seduce you,’ I remind her through a laugh.
Addison thinks this is hilarious.
‘Just do it,’ she demands. ‘We need to work out why you’re failing so spectacularly.’
‘Seduce your boss, Frankie,’ Cora playfully commands me.
I’m actually cackling now – and in a very unsexy way.
‘I can’t just be sexy,’ I insist. ‘Can you?’
Addison stands up and sits down on my desk. She slowly pushes my pen pot and a small pile of papers off my desk with her feet before dancing on top of my desk, sort of like when the Vandergeld sisters dance on the bar in White Chicks. Wait, no, that’s a terrible point of reference, maybe Addison has a point. I shouldn’t have said that, I should have said Coyote Ugly or something similar. Damn, maybe I am terrible when it comes to seduction. If I were to get up and dance on a bar, I would probably look more like Pee-wee Herman busting moves to ‘Tequila’.
‘Wow, that’s pretty good,’ Cora admits.
I glance around the room. Addison has caught a few people’s attention with her display. No one really seems to find it funny or shocking. There’s been a major vibe shift since Addison turned up. No one feels relaxed any more and I’m embarrassed that she’s spending so much time with me. I don’t want my colleagues thinking I’m teacher’s pet and holding it against me.
‘It’s for work,’ she calls out.
‘Nothing to see here,’ Cora jokes.
‘It’s not exactly hard,’ Addison insists, turning her attention back to me, now that her little performance is over. ‘Come on, Frankie, try to pick those pens up, but be sexy about it.’
‘Erm, okay,’ I say. I push my chair back, hoping I’ll know what to do as I’m doing it, but I run over my pens with the wheel of my chair, causing them to crunch. ‘Shit.’
It isn’t exactly going to be sexy, watching me pick up fragments of plastic from the office floor for fifteen minutes, is it? Is it? I clearly have no idea.
‘Perhaps practise on a man,’ Addison suggest. ‘Then it might come a little more naturally.’
I’m absolutely sure it won’t.
‘Back to the drawing board, then,’ I say, scooping up my crushed pens. Some are salvageable – unlike my meet cute ideas.
‘Oh, I know who you can practise on,’ Addison says as a cheeky grin spreads across her face. ‘On my first day, when I was having trouble logging into the system, they sent an absolutely smoking hottie from tech support to get me going.’
