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This place is, apparently, retro and is done out in purples and oranges in psychedelic patterns. The music is sixties, the volume very much now. Go-go dancers dressed in knee-high boots and silver shift dresses that skim their bottoms gyrate at head height in cages suspended from the ceiling. I can see their matching silver knickers without even trying.
Scanning the bar, I can’t see anyone who fits Lewis’s description. According to Nina, he’s tall, dark and handsome. That could apply to about a dozen men in here. Unfortunately, most of them look young enough to be my son, when actually I am hoping for someone who looks old enough to be my date. Taking the one empty seat at the bar, I eventually manage to catch the barman’s eye for long enough to order a drink. Even though the Blah-Blah Bar has a scintillating list of cocktails that I’ve studied extensively, I order a Diet Coke as I’m driving.
Sitting self-consciously on my stool, I sip my cola and try not to look as sad and lonely as I feel. Ten minutes pass and I’ve nearly finished my drink. One glass doesn’t last long when it’s all you’ve got to concentrate on. I’m being jostled and I don’t want to order anything else to drink as it took so long last time. Another ten minutes and I begin to wonder if Lewis is going to show at all. I try texting the number I’ve been given but there’s no response. Now I don’t know what to do with myself. I can’t even sit properly. Should I cross my legs or just keep them together? And my arms, they’re no better. If I cross them, do I look defensive and unapproachable? Then again, I don’t want to be approached by anyone other than the person I’m waiting for. This dress was a bad idea. I look dated and frumpy in among the trendy tunic and leggings brigade.
Half an hour now and I’m more than certain that I’ve been stood up. The first date I’ve summoned up the courage to go on in years and the bastard hasn’t even had the courtesy to show up. I haven’t been stood up on a date since I was about fifteen and believe me, it’s no easier now than it was then. Tears prickle my eyes, but I think that I will not cry over this. A man will not get me in this state, let alone a man I don’t even know. Wait until I tell Nina, perhaps then she’ll stop bullying me into another blind date.
I pick up my handbag and head for the door. I’ll be home well before nine. Perhaps Mike will still be up for that film and we can laugh about this together. Then I can have a few glasses of therapeutic grape juice and not think about it any longer.
Pushing my way through the crowd, I’m almost at the door when a hand catches my arm and spins me around.
‘Hey,’ he says. A short, balding man is standing in front of me. I have no idea who he is. He leans in close and shouts at me, ‘Are you Jemma?’
‘Janie,’ I offer.
‘Oh, right. That’s what I mean,’ he says. ‘I’m Lewis,’ he gives me a smarmy smile, ‘your date for this evening.’
‘I was just going home,’ I tell him.
He looks a bit put out by that.
‘I’ve been waiting for half an hour.’
‘Got caught on the internet,’ is his explanation. ‘You know how it is.’
Not really, I think but that’s all I’m going to get by way of an apology. Clearly Lewis Moran has not been going through the agonies of preparation that I have subjected myself to.
Not that looks are everything, but I’d be perfectly entitled to complain under the Trades Description Act about this one. I’m just thinking how I can tell him that I’m still planning to go home as he’s not quite the image I had conjured up when Nina said he was tall, dark and handsome, when he increases his grip on my arm and drags me back towards the bar.
‘Vodka and tonic,’ he says to the barman. Lewis is texting on his phone as he orders while I stand there like a lemon. ‘Make that a double.’ He nods in my direction. ‘One for you?’
‘Diet Coke please.’ Why is it that things come out of your mouth before your brain has time to censor them? I should have said, no thank you. I should turn on my heels now, cut my losses and go home straight away, but I’m transfixed by the awfulness of this.
‘Not planning to let me get you drunk and take advantage of you then?’ Lewis laughs raucously.
‘No,’ I tell him. ‘That’s not what I had in mind.’
His phone beeps to say that he has a message. ‘Twitter,’ he says. ‘Bloody great fun. The people you meet on here.’ Eventually his attention drifts back to me. ‘So how do you know old Gerry then?’
‘I work with his wife, Nina.’
