Page 24 of Christmas Romance Galore!
Sometimes, my friends depressed me more than I could put into words.
Spanish Vixen and I were meeting in Covent Garden at one of those bars that promise to do American diner food really well, but normally leave you with nothing more than a sad taste in your mouth. Still, they had a happy hour, so all was not lost. My heels clip-clopped across the cobbles as I made my way across Covent Garden’s main square. The market stalls were just packing up as I passed them, and the scent of anticipation and roasted chestnuts coated the air. To my right, a unicyclist was juggling knives and telling the crowd a story of the last time he did this and how he nearly died.
I scanned the bar as I went in, but couldn’t see any sign of my date — at least, nobody who matched her profile picture of dark Latin looks, long shiny hair and a smile that radiated confidence.
Nicola Sheen had left me reeling with her revelations: she was a divorcee and a mum already, and on top of that, she remembered our kiss. Plus, from her body language, she wanted to relive it just as much as I did. However, I was starting to have doubts about my feelings towards Nicola. What else didn’t I know about her? If I thought about myself aged 16 to now, I guessed the answer would be quite a lot.
I didn’t have much time to dwell on my thoughts, though, as my date arrived bang on time. She was shorter than me, only by a couple of inches, but she was way more glossy, with yards of white teeth shining out from olive skin. She took my hand and shook it firmly, but her eyes avoided direct contact. Perhaps she was shy.
“Nice to meet you Vixen — I’m Tori.” I still wore my best smile. “Can I get you a drink? I might be Christmassy and have a mulled wine.”
She sat on the stool beside me, fighting with it to get comfortable. “I don’t do red wine — stains the teeth.” She smoothed down her black skirt and crossed her shapely legs. “I’ll have a white wine, though.”
I ordered her a glass of Sauvignon Blanc and a Malbec for me. I knew drinking wine on an empty stomach was a bad idea, but I’d deal with that later.
Vixen’s real name turned out to be Max, which was the name of our dog when I was growing up, so slightly off-putting. When I asked her what she did, she told me sales, but then asked about my work. I filled her in on my marketing job and she smiled in all the right places, but there was something about Max that just wasn’t quite right. Was she already in a relationship? One of those women who just liked to come out on dates to remind themselves they still had it? I couldn’t put my finger on it.
It wasn’t until the second glass of wine that I found out exactly what wasn’t quite right with Max, when she produced a green folder and spread some papers out across our table.
“What’s this?” I asked.
And then Max came alive. “This,” she said, wafting a hand across the papers, “is the key to your future. This is my bullet-proof insurance scheme.” She grinned at me and flicked her hand right, then left. “I weighed up bringing this out on the date, but I figured I couldn’t let this one slide because I want to share this opportunity with everyone I meet. And I’ve got a good feeling about you — about us.”
I was confused. “Sorry, you’ve lost me.”
Max shook her head. “Do you currently have insurance for yourself and your job?”
“What?”
“What happens if you lose your job? The economy’s very uncertain, do you have savings put aside to pay your rent or your mortgage?”
I held up a palm to stop her in her tracks. It didn’t work. Max was on a roll and nobody was going to stop her. Our date was just a stage and I was the audience.
“What about if you get a terminal illness and need 24-hour care — you can’t rely on the NHS any more,” she continued.
“Max!” I almost shouted. Okay, maybe I shouted a little. The man at the next table turned to me and frowned. I ignored him. “Are you honestly trying to sell me insurance on a blind date? Is this what you use this app for?”
She leaned over and put a hand on my arm. “I’m not trying to sell to you. I’m trying to save you so much heartache in your future. Think of me as your fairy godmother looking out for you. I’m on your side, which you’ll see when you look at our stunning terms and conditions,” she said, lifting up one of the forms.
I stood up, shaking my head and gathering my coat. I was close to laughing out loud at the situation. I mean, I’d heard about the perils of online dating, but honestly? So far, I was a walking encyclopedia of how not to do it. Perhaps I should let Holly choose my dates from now on.
Max frowned up at me. “You’re going?” she said. “But I don’t think you understand — you can’t afford to walk away from me. This deal is too good to be true!”
Now I did allow myself a little laugh. “It’s a risk I’m willing to take,” I told her, putting a hand on my hip. “Tell me, are you even a lesbian or is this just a way of approaching new clients?” I shrugged my coat on, staring at Max.
Her face stayed calm, not reacting to my imminent departure at all. She looked me in the eye, stood up and gave me the fakest of fake smiles. “I’m 100 per cent lesbian, sweetheart. And if you buy a policy from me and stick around, I’ll prove it to you and give you the best orgasm of your life, guaranteed. What do you say?” She winked at me before holding up the form again, this time along with a pen.
I wondered how many times Max had used that line, and more to the point, how many times it’d worked. I’d love to have known.
She was slick, I had to hand it to her. It was almost a shame I wasn’t going to experience all that Max had to offer.
Almost, but not quite.
I was so glad to be home after the day I’d had — emotional trauma and hilarity of the highest order. I made myself a cup of tea and flicked through the dating app, but I didn’t have the energy or the heart to arrange another date. Maybe celibacy was an appealing option after all.
I’d had a text from Jenny today, asking if I fancied meeting up again.
I hadn’t replied.
