The Dating Game (5 page)

Further information:  I have travelled extensively in
search of various antiques on purchasing trips, including Asia, South America
and the Orient.

Looking to meet:  A lady who wants to be treated to the
finer things in life.

He sounded as old as he looked and forty-nine?  In his
dreams.  She wondered for how long he had been trying to pass himself off as
forty-nine.  He did sound interesting, though, but a bit too fuddy-duddy.  Her
brain couldn’t compute a squash and tennis playing antiques dealer.  Instead
she conjured up the geeky, bookish, loner, effeminate, possibly gay, antiques
dealer, which the movies often portrayed.  Ronald had snow-white hair and a
tanned complexion, with sun spots.  He was a no.

Candidate Profile

Name:  Anton Sidorov

Age:  38

Lives:  Stirling

Occupation:  Research Scientist

Qualifications:  Equivalent of MPhys in Theoretical
Physics

Height:  6’ 3’

Marital status:  Single

Smoker:  No

Interests:  Golf, tennis, movies, reading, Zorbing,
pot-holing.

Further information:  I come from Vladivostok and have
been working as a Research Fellow in Scotland for five years.

Looking to meet:  An intelligent, attractive lady who likes
sport and trying new activities.  She should enjoy the cinema and weekends away
exploring new places.

Mmm.  He actually looked quite nice, now she could zoom in on
his picture.  High cheekbones, in that inimitable Slavic style, piercing blue
eyes and an indolent smile.  Much slimmer than Charlie, but not unattractive. 
He had some interesting hobbies, too, and she could always use the joke on him,
‘it’s not rocket science’ and see how it was received.  The fact he was a
research scientist didn’t intimidate her, as of course she had an engineering
degree.  She could probably hold her own and would undoubtedly find his
conversation quite stimulating.  They shared a love of cinema.  She wondered
what type of movies he liked.  Deciding that Anton definitely went in the
‘possible’ pile, Gill printed off the three profiles on her colour printer and
popped them in her briefcase.

Good.  She’d get a chance to go through these profiles with
Debbie and gauge her friend’s reaction to them.  Gill didn’t think she was
terrible at picking potential partners, just unlucky.

After sending a few last minute e-mails, Gill freshened up in
the toilet. Untucking her blouse, she applied some roll-on deodorant and,
standing in just her bra and trousers to allow time for the deodorant to dry,
she turned her attention to her hair.  Her hair didn’t cope well in the heat,
so she tugged a brush through it, and then applied leave-in conditioner, before
spritzing her hair with fixing spray.  A smattering of bronzer to give her a
bit of colour, since she hadn’t been on holiday yet, a slick of lip gloss and
she was ready.  Slipping on a fresh blouse, she donned a black fitted jacket,
smoothed it down and returned to her office to collect her things.

It was just over half a mile from her office and as the
weather was fine, Gill decided to walk.  She arrived at Drummonds a few minutes
before seven.  Entering the restaurant, a staff member, dressed in a crisp
white blouse, black waistcoat and sash, greeted her.

‘Good evening.  Do you have a reservation?’

‘Yes.  It’s under the name of Orr,’ Gill replied.

Checking the reservation book, the girl smiled and said,

‘You’re the first of your party to arrive.  Would the table
by the window be OK for you?’

‘Yes, that’s fine, thanks,’ Gill confirmed and the waitress
led her to a table, which had an excellent view over Sauchiehall St.

Pulling out Gill’s chair for her, the waitress asked if she
would like a drink.  Gill mulled this over for a few seconds then decided she
could always leave the car where it was overnight, and get the bus in tomorrow.

‘I’ll have a small glass of Sancerre, please.’  Best to pace
herself.

The waitress swiftly brought the wine to the table, along
with two menus.  She explained that her friend had booked through a special
deal they had on at the moment, so that was menu one, but they could also
provide anything from the
à la carte
, which she left her, too.

Thanking her, Gill resumed her daydreaming and people
watching.  Seated by the window gave her an excellent vantage point, and, since
the restaurant was raised one floor from the street, no one could see in. 
There was nothing worse than being in a restaurant, at a window table, on the
ground floor.  You felt like a goldfish in a bowl and people were so rude,
gawping at you.

Remembering she hadn’t switched off her phone, Gill opened
her bag and put it on silent.  She saw she had a new text message, from
Christopher.

‘Missed you this weekend.  The boys want to know if you will
come for dinner on Thursday.  Sarah’s promised to make meatballs if you do. 
Please say yes.’

Gill smiled.  She’d missed lunch with her brother and his
family on Sunday, as she was too busy, trying to catch up with work.  She felt
bad, as it was the only engagement that she usually kept without fail.  She
enjoyed this family time, a rare respite from the drudgery of work.  Sarah was
lovely, too.  She couldn’t have asked for a better sister-in-law.  Pity that
they never had time to have a girls’ night out together.  Their schedules were
simply too hectic.

As she put her phone back in her bag, she thought of how her
brother wrote all his texts longhand.  Gill had given in to shorthand on texts,
although she was no expert, simply to save time.

Just then, the door opened and she saw Debbie’s short, beige
trench coat being shed and handed to the waitress.  Her friend waved at her and
Gill stood up to give her a brief hug.

Once seated, the waitress brought Debbie’s vodka and both
girls relaxed.

‘Gerry dropped me off.  I’ll get a taxi home later.  So,
spill the beans,’ said Debbie excitedly.  Originally against the dating agency
idea, since it was now decided upon, she was embracing it wholeheartedly.

‘Where are these profiles?’ Debbie asked, barely able to
contain herself.

‘Why don’t we choose our food first, and then we can
concentrate on my love life,’ Gill enjoyed keeping the anticipation going for a
few minutes longer.

‘OK,’ and Debbie turned her attention to the menus.

After a few minutes they turned to each other and Gill said,

‘I’m going to have the Homemade Pâté and then the Chicken
Breast with Dingwall Haggis, with Whisky Sauce.  I can’t see past that.’

Gill was known for her calorific tastes, so Debbie, a bit of
a health freak, said,

‘I think I’ll have the Salmon on Herb and Leek Risotto.’ 
She continued to read from the menu, ‘and for mains, I think I’ll go for Sea
Bass Fillet with Scallops.’ 

‘Sounds fabulous,’ said Gill.  ‘You do realise, Mrs Orr,
that there probably isn’t a great difference in calories between your choice
and mine tonight?’

‘I’m having fish!’ said Debbie, defending herself.

‘Yes, but with risotto and creamy mash and garlic and herb
butter?  Tut tut!’

‘Yes, well, I work it all off, anyway.  Don’t tease me, or I
may have dessert, too,’ and she picked up the menu again and said,

‘In fact, Puff Candy Meringue with Honeycomb Ice Cream and
Hot Butterscotch Sauce sounds like it might round off the evening quite
nicely,’ Debbie smiled sweetly at her friend.

‘Bitch!’ Gill said sotto voce. 

Debbie didn’t get the opportunity to add anything else, as their
starters arrived.  They tucked in greedily, agreeing by unspoken consensus that
their chat would have to wait, whilst they polished off their first course.

They laid their cutlery vertically across their plates,
indicating they were finished.

‘So, am I getting to see these profiles or what?’ asked
Debbie impatiently. ‘C’mon, hurry up,’ she tapped her fingers on the table,
mimicking a drum roll.

‘All right, all right,’ said Gill, reaching for her bag. 
After some deliberation, she had decided to show Debbie the profiles in the
order she had received them.  Originally she’d thought it would be best to
start with the worst and end with the best, but later decided it might be
useful for them both to view the profiles in the same order.  Gill wanted to assess
Debbie’s reactions to see how closely they matched her own.

‘Do me a favour,’ Debbie said, ‘Cover up the photo first.  I
want to get a feel for them, without the photo.’

‘Oh, OK. I hadn’t thought of that,’ said Gill, feeling
almost shallow for having greedily devoured their photos first.  But then, she
had been unable to read the profiles, as she had viewed them on her phone and
with her poor eyesight, it simply hadn’t been possible to pick out any words. 
That was her story anyway.

Gill handed over Charlie’s profile, covering his photo with
a coaster.  Debbie slid the A4 sheet towards her and began reading the text.

“Forty-four.  That’s good.  Surveyor.  Probably drives a
nice car and has a decent job – likely to be reliable,’ she glanced at Gill
approvingly.  Lowering her eyes back to the page, she read on.  ‘Tall,’ Debbie
waved her hand in the air, giving that attribute a large tick.  ‘Divorced,
though,
and
he has a daughter.  Not a deal-breaker, but something to
bear in mind?’ she glanced up again at Gill, who remained silent, waiting for
her friend to conclude her assessment and more interested in what Debbie would
say when she saw his photo.  ‘Seems compatible with you, interest-wise.  I say,
unless he’s pig-ugly, he’s a yes.’  With a questioning glint in her eye at
Gill, trying to figure out how her friend felt about Charlie, Debbie withdrew
the coaster, to reveal Charlie’s photo.

‘Oh, hello!  He’s bloody gorgeous.  What’s he need to use a
dating agency for?’ Debbie said flabbergasted.

‘Ahem,’ said Gill pointedly.

‘Well, yes of course, you’re gorgeous too, but I
would
kick you out of bed.  I wouldn’t kick him out of bed.  In fact, I might tie him
to the bed, so he couldn’t escape!’ confessed Debbie.

Gill laughed.  ‘He’s not that good-looking.’

‘Er, yes, he is,’ said Debbie.

‘Well our tastes really must be different then.  Personally
I’d only tie him to the bed if he was Bradley Cooper, Matthew McConaughey or
Hugh Dancy gorgeous.’

‘Well he looks a bit like Bradley Cooper, without the facial
hair.  Who’s Hugh Dancy?’

‘The boss and Isla Fisher’s boyfriend in
Confessions of a
Shopaholic
.’

‘Ah.  Yes, he is quite tasty.’

‘So, if you had to rate Charlie on looks, what would you
give him?’

Debbie debated this for a minute then said, ‘Eight or nine.’

‘OK.  I think seven.’

‘Yes, but your marks are always lower than mine.  Seven is
really high for you.’

‘True,’ Gill admitted.  ‘OK, here’s the second candidate,’
and again covering up the photo, she turned the sheet of paper containing
Ronald’s details towards Debbie.

‘Forty-nine.  Older man, eh?’

She didn’t know the half of it
, thought Gill.

‘He lives up in Loch Lomond.  He might have a house
overlooking the loch.  Maybe even his own boat?  Nice place to have lunch in
the summer.’ 

Gill couldn’t deny that.  In Gill’s opinion, when the
weather was good, there was no country on earth more beautiful than Scotland,
with its diversity of scenery.  The drive up Loch Lomondside was particularly
rewarding.  Pity that good weather came when least expected, without warning, and
lasted all of two minutes. 

‘I’m more bothered by the fact that he smokes than by his
three kids.’

Gill stopped her, ‘OK, I’ll think about that.  Move on.’ 
She had no intention of meeting Ronald, so didn’t want Debbie to linger too
long over his profile.  She was more interested in knowing what she thought of
Anton.  She liked the name.  Anton, it rolled off the lips nicely – very exotic
sounding, a bit like its owner’s looks.

‘Well,’ said Debbie, summing up her thoughts on Ronald,
‘apart from the square name, why not Ronnie, after all, he seems quite
interesting.  In fact, are you sure he’s not a bit cultured for you?’

‘What are you trying to say?  I’m some sort of philistine?’
Gill said indignantly.

‘No, but you’re hardly going to start spouting forth on art
history, are you?’

Clearly not.  Gill had been to the
Uffizi
in Florence
once, under duress.  She had made the mistake of not booking her ticket in
advance and had queued for two hours to get in.  After being blown away by the
first five enormous, floor to ceiling, religious paintings, she was fed up and
could no longer marvel at how amazing they were.

‘I’m not quite so sure about him, but apart from being
perhaps a little posh for you, I think he sounds OK,’ finished Debbie.  She
removed the coaster which was covering the photo.

‘Yikes!  Forty-nine.  There’s no way he’s forty-nine.  He
looks about sixty-five.  Has he had Botox in reverse?’

‘Yeah, I thought he might be lying about his age, too.’

‘Lying?  He should be prosecuted for fraud!  That’s a gross
misrepresentation.’

Gill said nothing, as she was of a similar opinion herself.

‘So, can I take it, he’s a no?’

‘Yes,’ Gill smiled at Debbie, ‘of course he’s a no.’

‘Right, let’s see the last one.’

Quietly confident over Debbie’s reaction to Anton, Gill
repeated the process and showed Anton’s profile without showing his photo. 

‘Oh.  Nice name,’ said Debbie.  ‘That was one of the names I
had chosen if we had a boy, but Gerry was having none of it.  Research
Scientist.  That sounds impressive. Or has he souped up his title, so he sounds
more impressive?  Maybe he does data entry.’

Privately Gill had wondered the same thing, but she wasn’t
about to let Debbie know this.  Nor did she want Debbie’s judgment influenced
negatively or positively by her comments, so she held back from berating Debbie
for shattering her illusions.