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Chapter Four
“So, Penny, what do you look for in a man?”
I knew this was going to be a bad idea. I could be missing the opportunity to meet the love of my life while I sit here with the low resolution, atari st versions of Chris Pratt and Robert Downey Jr, but I’m far too inexperienced socially to know how to get out of this without coming across as a complete and utter bitch, and even if I did, I have no idea what I’d be doing instead.
For a girl that prides herself on the far stretching limits of her imagination, it amazes me how absolutely clueless I can be when it comes to working out how to attract good looking men. The emphasis very much on the plural there.
I’ve been told I’m not unattractive, which is kind of a nice way of saying I’m not ugly, and I do get attention from time to time, like the somewhat slanty-eyed stare I’m getting from Charlie right now, but never from the type of men I really want to be with. I know it’s a little over the top to expect the Xbox one S version of well known celebrities, and a lot of my fantasies involve people that don’t actually really exist outside of the pages of books, but surely I merit someone somewhere in the middle of all of that.
Before Casper there was James, and between both of those bookends in an otherwise less than illustrious career, I can count on the fingers of one hand how many times I’ve pretended just to get it over with.
Not once have I had the pleasure of the athlete, the billionaire, the star football player, the politician, the adventurer, or the rock star, but to be honest, the profession means less than the personality for me. What I’m really looking for is someone who can call themselves a man and mean it.
I contemplate the faces in front of me, and decide to answer Mike’s question as honestly as possible.
“Courageous, magnanimous, respectful, gracious, humble, and sexy would be getting off to a very good start”, I say. “Times that by two and I’d be in heaven.”
Alice smirks at me.
“What?” I say, “I can’t help it if I like doing things in twos.”
Charlie and Mike pass furtive glances across the table to one another. “You know, I’ve always considered myself as humble”, Charlie says. “Ask anybody at work, I’m about as meek as you can get.”
Mike taps the table. “Me too”, he adds jabbing himself in the chest. “Totally, one hundred percent meek and humble. Any door you need holding open, I’m your man.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less from a doctor”, Alice says, returning his suffocating grin.
“So how about you, Alice?” Charlie asks. “What do you look for in a man?”
“A big bank account and an absolutely gigantic” - Charlie and Mike lean in like puppets in a punch and judy show - “cock”, Alice says, swallowing the silence that follows with a ferocious laugh.
“I’m only kidding”, she adds quickly, just in case there is any confusion. “I don’t really care about the bank account.”
I smuggle Alice off to the restrooms again before Mike fills the prevailing gap in conversation with another one of his pop quiz questions or an offer to get up and dance.
“I don’t think I can take much more of this”, I confess. “Our table’s been tapped so many times the legs are likely to fall off. I don’t know where to tap he’s tapping so much.”
“You haven’t got an international right to be the only tappee”, Alice says. “Besides which, I kind of like them in a weird kind of kinky way. Aren’t you having fun?”
“Yes, of course. I mean, sort of”, I lie. “But it’s kind of like getting a fourteen in Blackjack. You’re never going to win with a fourteen, but you don’t want to twist either and risk being out of the game. It’s not exactly a pair of kings is it?”
“You want to ditch these guys and find some kings?” Alice offers.
“I think I want to go home and draw”, I say, suddenly feeling miserable.
“You don’t want to go home and draw”, Alice says. “What you want is adventure. Come on, let’s go and say goodbye to Scrubs and go and find Game of Thrones. You can draw while I pee, as long as you make it quick.”
One tiny but perfectly rendered erotic image later, that adequately represents my current emotions, Alice and I are back in the bar, looking for the men we plan to ditch.
There is no sign of them at the table we were both sat at, which is now occupied by a gaggle of well-oiled women on a hen night out, and they don’t seem to be at the bar or the sparsely filled dance floor. In fact, they don’t seem to be in here at all. Alice and I look at each other in utter confusion.
“They can’t have just left without saying anything”, I say, a little hurt at the blatant rejection. One thing is telling them subtly that we’re not interested, having them leave without saying a word is another thing entirely.
“Those fucking assholes”, Alice says. “They’ve dumped us.”
I can’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of it. All of that time wondering how to get out of the situation we’ve somehow found ourselves in and without any need to worry. Pinky and the Brain have left the building.
“Well that sucks”, Alice says, still chewing it over. “They were punching well above their weight there as well.”
“Tinder again?” I suggest.
Alice shakes her head. “Fuck that. We don’t need dating apps, we need a miracle.”
Without anywhere to sit, and drunk but not quite drunk enough to dare the miserable looking dance floor, we decide to change venue, but before we leave properly, I have to check at the table to make sure I haven’t left anything. I know I won’t have done because I already have everything I own in my handbag and I’ve checked inside it three times already, but that’s not the point. Alice knows these things happen whenever I leave somewhere, and because they are completely unavoidable for me, she never complains.
We’re at the exit, half way through the doors when I decide to turn back. It happens so often like this Alice knows my half of the script and I know hers.
“I’ve just got to-”, I say, without any need to finish.
“That’s okay”, Alice says on cue, “I’ll just wait for you here.”
She’s an incredible friend like that. I’ve never met anyone as patient and understanding as her, over what must, by now, be incredibly annoying.
This process requires a full retrace of the places I’ve been to within the particular establishment I’m trying to leave, combined with a thorough search anywhere I might have sat for long periods of time, which can often be rather embarrassing.
I go to the restrooms first, wait for the cubicle I need to examine to become free, and resist the urge to break out my sharpie in the meantime. I know there is nothing in here that’s mine, but I check it twice anyway, just to be sure.
I’m appalled to see my beautiful drawing has already been scribbled over with biro, making the already adequately proportioned penis into something absolutely monstrous and briefly wonder if Alice is the guilty party.
I pass through the ba
r, weave around the dance floor, keep my eyes in the shadows where the floor meets the wall and finally, unable to procrastinate any longer, make my way back to the table we were sat at.
“I’m sorry”, I say meekly. “I think I might have left something here.”
I’m reluctantly invited to have a look around for something I can’t explain I’m looking for.
“Is it your cell?” one of them asks me.
“Your purse?” another chimes in.
I just smile, root around behind their backs and crouch down to a face full of spray tanned legs.
“I guess I must be mistaken”, I say, tapping the table twice and quickly rearranging some of the empty glasses into a line before I leave.
I back away but don’t get far, because either someone has moved the wall, or embarrassment has frozen me solid.
I turn slowly, already coming up with excuses, expecting to come face to face with one of the door staff who’s likely been tipped off about my sexy graffiti and plans to turn me over to the police, but even if I have a chance to say them, the words never make it to my mouth.
I stare at him like I’m seven years old again and Mom’s just brought home the arc of the covenant. Without the capacity to do anything else but stand there gazing up at him awkwardly before he orders me to get out of his way or squashes me like a giant might a flea, I gather as much information as I can, my eyes like dinner plates roving across his torso, his chest and his arms like an information hungry robot, my brain about to explode with glee. When I get to his face, I have to control myself not to moan. I couldn’t draw anything more perfect. If I closed my eyes, I wouldn’t be able to imagine anything this incredible. He’s the superhero I’ve been waiting my whole life for and now he’s here I don’t have a clue what to say to him. Actually, I don’t think I can say anything at all, because all I’ve been doing up until now is stare, mouth-open, like I’m on day release from a high security mental institute.
“Are you looking for this?” high definition Prince Valiant says, holding a piece of paper out in front of him.
