I
was nervous. The taxi ride hadn’t done much to help matters. I slipped the
black raincoat over my jacket and fumbled in a pocket for the false beard and
moustache. My fingers alighted on its soft texture and I pulled it out. A quick
glance around, but the only activity was passing traffic. I ducked into a shop
doorway. Using what little reflection I could make out in the window, I
positioned the beard and moustache on my face. Next I pulled out the cheap glasses
from my inside jacket pocket and put them on. The whole thing felt weird but I
was taking no chances with this date. If she looked nothing like the bombshell
on her profile I could make a fast exit without being recognised. A quick
reconnaissance mission would put my mind at ease.
I
just had to hope my disguise would do the trick. For reassurance I pulled my
mobile out and hit the camera app. I tapped the icon in the top right corner
and watched as the image swivelled around to reveal my face. I looked a bit
like a cross between Johnny Depp and a serial killer but I was confident the
end result would fool even Cecil, had I run into him. My date would be
expecting the clean shaven image portrayed in my online profile so, if she
caught a glimpse of me, I felt confident I could carry it off.
I took a deep breath and headed
for the restaurant. A waiter greeted me.
“Good
evening, Sir. Can I take your coat?”
In the bright lights, my
confidence diminished. “Err,
no... no thank you. I’m not... stay... I mean, not cold. Not hot, I meant. Err,
cold... I’ll keep it on for now.”
The waiter nodded. “As you wish, Sir.
Do you have a reservation?”
“A reservation?”
“Yes. Have you a table booked?”
“Uh... yes, I mean... no, I’m
meeting someone.” I peered over his shoulder hoping to catch a glimpse of my
date.
“Very good, Sir. I’ll show you to
the bar.”
“No... no. It's fine.” I needed
to lose the waiter. “I just need to... to use your, erm... facilities... first.
Freshen up, you know.”
“Of course. This way, Sir.”
He was not for losing, but I realised
that if I stuck close to him, it would aid my cover. He walked ahead between
rows of tables filled with animated Saturday night diners. I tried to stay
focussed.
And then I saw her. She was sitting
at the bar, legs crossed, one elbow lightly perched on the bar surface with
what appeared to be a Martini held delicately between her slender fingers.
Tall, elegant, immaculately dressed in a simple black evening dress that
stopped just above the knee, her legs, toned like a dancer’s, sheathed in black
stockings. The whole image, professional, cool yet extremely sexy. A city lawyer
and a stylish lady.
She looked round as we
approached. She was stunning. Her profile pictures had not done her justice at
all. And in that first fleeting glimpse my concerns evaporated. I hesitated, a
wave of relief washing over me, a surge of euphoria following swiftly in its
wake. I took a step towards her just as she glanced down at her watch.
“Hello,” I said.
She looked up. A flicker of a
smile but no recognition.
“Sir, the lavatories are this
way.”
I heard the waiter’s voice but I
was mesmerised by the stunningly good looking vision to my left. I looked at
him and said, “It’s okay. I’m meet... ” And then I remembered my disguise. “I
am me. Yes... uh, I’m... look, sorry, I don’t want to go now. Thank you. It’s fine.”
Diana looked round at the waiter
and then back at me. I realised I had to get out of the restaurant and ditch
the disguise. I was already forty-five minutes late due to Real Libel Cars sending me the world’s most incompetent taxi driver. This was one date I could
not afford to mess up.
I swivelled round and took a pace
forward to leave. As I did, my trailing foot caught up in something and I
pitched forward flat on my face onto the floor.
“Oh my goodness.”
I heard the sharp intake of
breath. And then Diana was crouched next to me.
“Are you alright? I am so sorry.
A stupid place to put a bag. Are you okay?”
“A bag?” I mumbled, as I rose to
a sitting position.
“Yes, my bag. I put it on the
floor with the strap hooked around the stool. You caught your foot.”
“Uh, yes. I’m... ” Up close she
was mesmerising, sparkling blue eyes and a concerned frown creasing her brow,
giving her an air of vulnerability. But it was the heady rush of her perfume
that overwhelmed me and rendered me unable to complete my sentence.
“You look dazed. Did you hit your
head?”
I was dazed but not through
injury. “Err,
no, I caught my ankle, that’s all. I’m... I’m good. Sorry about your bag. I
didn’t see –”
“Goodness. Don’t apologise.
Entirely my fault. Let me check your ankle.” She leant forward and reached for
my foot. I pulled it away. “It’s fine... it’s nothing, honest.” I got to my
feet, the waiter applying some half-hearted assistance.
“Let me get you a drink at
least,” Diana said. “You look like you could use one.”
She was almost right. I could use
several. And then I remembered I was supposed to be meeting her.
“It's okay. I... I’m supposed to
be...” I hesitated. I could hardly mention a date, a subject too close for
comfort given the circumstances. “... you know, to be… err... and I’m sure you
have to be... as well and –”
“You sound confused. Are you sure
you’re okay?” She stretched out a hand and placed her red tipped fingers
lightly on my arm. “I won’t take no for an answer. A good stiff drink will do
you the world of good.” She glanced at her watch. “And anyway, it looks like I’ve
been stood up. I had a date but he’s now nearly fifty minutes late. So join me
for one at least. I hate to drink alone. What will it be?”
At the mention of her date my
senses slipped into stall mode and I had a sudden overwhelming need for pure
oxygen. I actually felt my face change colour. Diana’s voice arrested my
freefall into catatonia.
“Look, are you sure you’re okay?
You look a little dazed. Perhaps I should call an ambulance?”
“An ambulance? No, no. A drink
will be fine... err, whiskey.” I didn’t really care what drink I had. My focus
was now on rescuing the date, especially now Diana thought she had been stood
up, and to do that I had to ditch the disguise. “Look, Di... err... ” And then I
realised that I shouldn’t know her name. “... I digress. I mean... look, I think…
I… err, need the gents. I won’t be long.”
She smiled. “Okay. Whiskey you
say? Any particular one?”
“No... just, you know... malt.”
I headed for the lavatories.
Once inside I pulled off the
false beard and stuffed it into the coat pocket along with the glasses. Then I
took off the coat, scrunched it into a ball and placed it on top of the cistern
in one of the cubicles. Next, I checked my look in the mirror. All seemed okay.
I took a deep breath and decided to go for it.
I opened the lavatory door and
took a surreptitious peek into the restaurant. Diana was engrossed in
conversation with what looked like a very officious staff member who sported
incredibly bushy eyebrows and a Hitleresque moustache. A good time to make a
discreet entrance.
I swallowed hard, nerves
jangling, and headed towards the bar.
“Hello. Diana? Is it you? I’m
Matthew. I’m really sorry I’m late...” She turned suddenly and it threw me. “Err,
delays on the... the... mini cab, taxi thing.”
“Matthew. You made it. I’d given
you up as a lost cause. I’m not used to being made to wait so long I have to
say.”
“I’m so sorry. The tube... I
mean, the taxi... it was, you know...”
She smiled, her whole persona
cool and unruffled. “Well, never mind. Glad
you made it.” She glanced at the barman and then looked back at me. “Would you
like a drink? I have a tab going.”
As she said it the barman placed a
glass of whiskey on the bar. “Your Dalmore for the gentleman, Madam,”
he said.
I needed a drink. I reached out,
grabbed the glass and necked the contents in one. Diana’s
reaction was almost as instant as the whiskey blaze that hit the back of my
throat.
“Matthew! Excuse me. That was for
my friend.”
“Your friend. Err... I am... he
is... ” I took a deep breath as I realised my error. “I’m really sorry.” I
pointed at the barman. “Uh... he said it was for the gentleman. I assumed –”
Diana raised an eyebrow. “A
gentleman never assumes, Matthew. My friend has gone to freshen up. He won’t be
long. I’m just making sure he's alright. He had a minor accident. Anyway,
lovely to meet you. I’m delighted to say that you look exactly like your
profile pictures. So refreshing. So many men on these dating sites are
extremely false.”
I gulped but tried to style it
out. “Err, and you look very like... well, like you too.” I was saved from
further bumbling when Hitler moustache intervened.
“Are you ready for your table, Ms
Twist?” he asked.
“No, not yet, James. I think I
should like to make sure that that young man who tripped on my bag gets his
drink and is okay first. Speaking of which, can I get another Martini.”
“I’m sure he'll be fine,” I
blurted out, anxious to dismiss the thought from Diana’s mind.
“With respect Matthew, you can’t
say that. The poor chap took a tumble and may have hurt himself. Men are so silly,
putting on a brave face. All very well until you have concussion. I need to
know that he’s well.”
I bit my lip and wished I had
another whiskey at hand. But I knew there was no option other than to sort my
alter ego if I was going to have a successful date with Diana.
“Excuse me a moment,” I said.
“Just need the... the, err, lads’ room.”
Diana smiled and turned back to
the bar.
I reached the toilets and headed
for the cubicle where I’d stashed my disguise. I pulled out the raincoat and
slipped it on. Next I took out the false beard and moustache and placed it on
my face. Then I put the glasses on. I buttoned up the coat and checked the
mirror. The image that stared back at me blew any modicum of confidence I had
into tiny pieces. Diana wasn’t stupid. She was too cool and too... too...
legal. I looked like a pantomime villain. But I knew I had to sort out the ‘friend.’
If he didn’t come out of the toilets, Diana would fret. I needed her attention. I
took a deep breath, stared at the bizarre image and decided to style it out.
I strode back into the restaurant
determined to sort the issue I had created. I approached Diana, my intention to
thank her for her concern and take my leave. But she beat me to it.
“Ah, there you are,” she said.
“Are you okay?”
“Err, yes. Fine. Look, I have to
go. I need to –”
“Have your drink first.” She
picked up the replacement whiskey from the bar and handed it to me. I necked it
in one, the sensation causing my eyes to squint involuntarily.
Diana smiled. “Well, nice to meet
you. You be careful now. Watch your step and I’ll make sure I place my bag
somewhere sensible in future.” As she said it she glanced at my feet. “Nice
shoes by the way.”
I was pleasantly surprised by the
compliment and for a split second forgot myself. “Thank you, Diana. I bought
them especially for –”
“You know my name?”
My face flushed beneath the
beard. “Uh... No... I mean, no... Not exactly... I –”
“But you just said it. That’s precisely
my name. Diana. You could not have been more exact.”
I faltered for a moment, my
instinct to run. There was no point in arguing with a lawyer. And then I said,
“Someone told me it.”
“Someone? Who?”
“Err... yes. It was... it was the
man in the gents... the toilets. We got talking. He said he had a date. I told
him that I’d been offered a drink by a... a very nice blonde lady at the bar.
And he said that it might be you and asked if the name was Diana. I said I
didn’t know but that you had a black dress on and he said that it sounded like
his date, Diana.”
Diana smiled. “I see. Well, speaking
of my date, I wonder why he’s taking so long. He was late in the first place.
Would you take a look, make sure he’s okay?”
A wave of panic shot through me. “Uh...
I’m sure he is. I mean what can go wrong in a toilet?”
She placed a hand on my arm. “If
you wouldn’t mind. You never know. I’ve been looking forward to this evening
and it has got off to a strange start.”
I nodded. The sooner I solved the
problem the sooner I could enjoy my evening. I headed towards the lavatories
and then I noticed a short corridor to one side with double doors at the end.
Each door had a glass panel at the top. I went along the corridor and stared
through the glass. The restaurant kitchens. And an idea popped into my head.
I pushed one of the doors open
and was immediately confronted by one of the chefs.
“You can’t come in here, Sir,” he
said.
“Sorry. I... are you the Head
Chef?”
“No. If you’ve got a problem with
your order you need to speak with the Maître d’.”
“No, no. Nothing like that. Can I
speak with the Head Chef? It’s urgent.”
The guy was not of a mind to
co-operate but we were interrupted by one of the other staff members.
“What’s the problem here? I’m Head
Chef. It’s my kitchen,” he said.
“Of course. Sorry to barge in but
I’m a customer who’s trying to surprise my friend... a special occasion. Have
you got a back door? Out to a yard or something? I have another friend... the
lady’s brother. He’s come a long way... err, from Australia. I’m trying to
smuggle him in to surprise her.”
“You should see the Maître d’ for
that,” the Head Chef said.
“Who’s that?”
“The guy with the moustache, out
front.”
There was no way I’d get Hitler
moustache to co-operate. “No... no, he’s busy. If you could just leave the back
door open so he can come in through the kitchen. It will be a huge surprise as
she won’t see him coming.”
The Head Chef frowned. “We have a
back door, sure, but it’s for deliveries.”
I pulled out my wallet. “There’s
a drink in it for you.”
“A drink? How much?”
“Err... twenty quid.”
He laughed. “There’s four of us
here. A hundred and I’ll open the door for you.”
“A hundred?” I gulped. “But that’s
more than twenty each?”
“You want it opened or not?”
I did. “Okay. Here.” I pulled out
five twenties and handed them over. “My friend is about my height, dark suit,
white shirt. Looks a bit like me. Oh, and shoes very like mine too. His name is
Matthew. He’ll be five, ten minutes. Okay?”
“Okay.” He rolled up the notes
and stuffed them in a back pocket. “He got a beard too?”
“Sorry?”
“You said he looks a bit like
you. He got a beard?”
I kept forgetting about my
disguise. “Err, no… no, clean shaven. I meant that if he did have a beard…
which he hasn’t, he’d look a bit… a bit, you know… like me.”
I turned around and went back out
to the corridor and emerged into the restaurant from the direction of the
lavatories. Diana saw me coming.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
“Yes. All good. Your date will be
out soon. He’s, you know, just sprucing up. Difficult journey he said. Anyway,
I have to run. Nice to meet you. Thanks for the drink.”
I didn’t wait for a response. I
headed straight for the front exit.
Once outside I pulled off the
beard, glasses and the coat. I wrapped them into a tight bundle and walked to
the corner of the street. I figured that if I went around the block I would end
up at the back of the restaurant. I turned right. Midway along the street there
was an alley lined with green wheelie bins. I turned right into the alley and
realised I was behind the main block where the restaurant was. I
followed it until I was somewhere in the vicinity of the restaurant. I opened
one of the wheelie bins and found it was filled with flat packed cardboard. The
top two or three pieces had the names of catering suppliers printed on them. I
lobbed my rolled coat into the bin and walked towards the back of the building
through a small fence-lined courtyard that had two cars parked in it. At the
end of the courtyard, partially hidden by the fencing, there was a large white
door set off to one side of the building. I pulled it open and found a wide
corridor stacked with empty produce boxes on one side. At the end, a see-through plastic curtain filled the door frame. I walked through and found
myself in the kitchen but this time at the far end. Immediately the Head Chef
spotted me.
“And you are?”
I searched rapidly for an
Australian twang, hoping something of Neighbours or even Skippy had rubbed off.
“Err... g’day cobber... erm,
sport. Ahm Matthew, from Oz. Ma mate said it’d be fair dinkum to come through
yer... err, uh... billabong... kitchen. Good onya. Come to surprise the Sheila
out front there. My mate cut ya some... err, some buckeroos I hear so we’re...
uh, bonzer?”
The Head Chef shot me a strange
look but said nothing. I strolled through the kitchen trying to give it as much
swagger as I could. Just as I reached the door that led out to the restaurant,
I heard the Head Chef call out.
“Hey, Matthew. Where’d you and
your mate get them shoes?”
I stopped as the word ‘shoes’,
linked with ‘mate’ in the same sentence, sank in.
“Yeah, you both got the same
shoes. I like them. Where’d you buy them?”
I turned, unable to say anything
meaningful, my mind focussed on the implications of ‘same shoes.’ “Err... same
shop,” I blurted out and headed through the door.
Back in the corridor that led to
the restaurant I stopped to collect my thoughts. If the chef had noticed my
shoes were the same as the other guy’s, then Diana must have done. She would
have noticed them on my disguised persona too. I had fallen over right in front
of her. I remembered that she'd tried to look at my ankle. So she would have
seen my socks - black, with a thin blue stripe. Not distinctive, but
noticeable. She was a lawyer. She spotted things.
I turned and headed for the
lavatories. Once inside I stared for a moment at my mirrored reflection. I
needed this date to go well. How likely was it that two guys in the same
restaurant had identical shoes... and socks? I couldn’t risk it. I had
no choice but to ditch the shoes. I pulled them off and stuck them on top of
the cistern in one of the cubicles. I hesitated for a moment, a storm of wild
thoughts blowing through my head. Should the socks go too? No, barefoot was a
step too far. I could come up with some rational explanation for no shoes but
no socks was a tricky one. Shoes were being left on the road all the time.
Nobody had a clue how they got there. So it wasn’t unusual to lose your shoes.
The same socks could just be co-incidence. My decision had been made, helped by the two large
whiskeys. Time to style it out and get to know Diana.
I went back to the restaurant. Diana was still at the bar.
“Matthew. Goodness you were ages.
I thought you’d got cold feet and escaped.”
At the mention of feet I decided
to go for it.
“Oh, no. Nothing like that. I’m looking
forward to our date. I... I, err... lost my shoes.”
Diana giggled and stared at my
feet. “Lost your shoes? How funny. How did you do that?”
I asked myself the same question.
“Well... I... it’s a long story. Err... tarmac... look, I don't want to bother
you with the details. Can we get another drink?”
“Of course we can get another
drink. Whiskey?” She nodded to the barman. “And then you can tell me about your
shoes. It would be a lovely ice breaker rather than all that dating small talk.
And they were very smart, classy shoes I have to say.”
I gulped. “You... you saw them?”
“Of course I did. I’m a woman. We
always make a point of looking at a man’s shoes. And his watch. They say things
about a man. Shoes are detail.” She raised her glass and winked. “And, of
course, they are a good indicator of the size of his feet.” She sipped her
drink and then said, “They can’t be far away, Matthew. You had them on when you
came in.”
The barman placed a glass of
whiskey on the bar.
“Err, yes... yes, I did. But I...
well... ” I grabbed the glass and necked the contents in one.
Diana smiled, a mischievous glint
in her eyes. “Tarmac.”
“Tarmac?” I repeated.
“Yes, you said something about
tarmac.”
“Tarmac. Err... yes. Well... I...
on the way here, I stood in some wet tarmac. Accidentally. Road works near the
restaurant... I didn’t see it. I stepped out of the taxi... dreadful journey.
Wasn’t thinking... and my shoe went in it. So I decided to try and clean it off
in the lavatory but it was really tough and... I needed more... err, loo paper, and as I was getting some I accidently dropped the shoe into the actual
toilet.”
“Really? Why didn’t you just pull
it back out?”
“I was going to but the floor was
wet and I slipped as I went to get it out. As I fell forward my hand hit the
flush lever and it... it got flushed away.”
Diana laughed out loud. “Must be
a very big lavatory to flush away your shoe. So what happened to the other
one?”
“The other one?”
“Yes, your other shoe.”
“Oh, I left it there. No sense in
walking around with one shoe.”
“Well, what a disaster. I hope
you haven’t left sticky footprints on the carpet.”
“Uh... no, I don’t think so. I
was careful.”
Diana turned away and picked up
her drink. I felt a sense of relief. My story had rambled on. It was off the
cuff but I considered that it may just have been plausible.
I picked up a bar menu and
browsed for some Champagne. Diana interrupted my thoughts.
“I do hope that young man that tripped up earlier watches his step. He
had identical shoes to yours. A shame if he stepped in that wet tarmac too.”
