Short Story : Bad Date

“I wish I was dead!”

“Don’t say that,” Ginger advised her brother, Peter, “there are worse things in the world than being single.”

Peter stared at his half empty cup of tea and sighed. To be honest, life had been pretty good to Peter. He had a good job, a good home, and a great sister that paid rent to stay in his spare bedroom, but when it came to women, life had been pretty unfair to him over the years. Lately he’d made the conscious decision to try to find a girlfriend, which had finally given life something to be unfair about. Previously he’d spent much of his time trying to succeed at school, then college, university and work. Now that he’d accomplished what he thought he needed to in terms of academia and career, he thought it was high time he found someone to share his good fortune with.

But this was proving to be the hardest thing he’d attempted so far.

“It’s not being single that’s getting me suicidal,” Peter tried to explain, “It’s just this never ending barrage of women I keep getting set up with. They’re all just so awful! And the ones that I do like – the rare few that make it into my list of possibilities – well, I never hear from them again.”

“Mary was nice,” Ginger said, “I don’t know why you never did anything about Mary. And if I remember she liked you too.”

“Mary’s dead.” Peter said.
Ginger stared at him, “Is she?” she asked.

“Yes,” Peter nodded, “don’t you remember? She fell under that train? It was on the news.”

“Was that the day it took three hours for me to get home?” Ginger asked.

“That’s the one,” Peter nodded.

Ginger breathed a sigh, “Well, that’s a real shame. You two looked pretty good together.”

“I imagine she doesn’t look too hot now,” Peter sighed again, “you can see what I mean though? Mary was probably the best match, and she wanted to see me again. It’s as if someone or something is conspiring against me.”

“Yes,” Ginger said, adding sarcastically, “I’m sure that’s what Mary’s family took from her death.”

“You know what I mean, Ginge,” Peter said, “I just get so pissed off that I’m wasting so much time and effort on something that, realistically, should be so simple. Finding a partner should be the easiest thing in the world when you’re as successful as we are. I mean, you’re a doctor, and you’re still single.”

“That’s through choice, Pete,” Ginger told him, “I don’t have time to mess around with guys when I’m so busy with neurosurgery. Why do you think I rent a room with you instead of finding a place of my own? Do you really think I have time to do housework and cook dinner?”

“I guess not,” Peter conceded.

“In any case, I’ve found someone who might be perfect for you,” Ginger rubbed her hands together with glee.

“Really?” Peter raised a doubting eyebrow, “She isn’t anything like the last five you’ve tried to set me up with?”

“Not at all,” Ginger grinned, “This one’s an actress.”

“An actress?” Peter mulled this over in his head, images of saucy starlets spinning in his mind, “Has she done anything I might have heard of? Or seen?”

Ginger furrowed her brow, “Do you watch much children’s television?” she asked.

“Not really,” Peter answered.

“Then probably not,” Ginger shrugged, “She does a lot of kids shows because she’s so petite – she can pass for a young child.”

Peter glared at his sister,” Am I going to look like a paedophile if I go on a date with this girl?” he asked.

“Of course not,” Ginger replied, “she has to wear a lot of makeup to look like a kid. When she’s in her normal gear she’s really pretty – and apart from being five foot she looks like a grown woman. You know, like that chick from The Big Bang Theory – Howard’s wife.”

“Bernadette? Oh, she’s cute,” Peter smiled, “does she look anything like her?”

“Not really.”

“Oh,” Peter frowned, “But she is good looking?”

“Of course,” Ginger nodded, sipping at her own cup of tea, “I wouldn’t set you up with an ugly chick.”

“How do you know she’ll want to go out with me?” Peter asked suspiciously.

“I showed her your picture,” Ginger told him, “She thought you were cute.”

“She said I was cute?” Peter asked.

“Yeah,” Ginger replied, “she thought you looked handsome. And she likes tall guys, so that’s a plus.”

“So, what’s the plan?” Peter asked, “Do I just call her and organize something?”

“I’ll speak to her,” Ginger said, “I’m seeing her tomorrow for a consult.”

Peter narrowed his eyes suspiciously, “A consult?” he repeated, “Is she one of your patients?”

“Yeah,” Ginger said, “Is that a problem?”

“Only if she’s a nutcase,” Peter replied, “What exactly is wrong with her that she’s seeing a neurosurgeon?”

“There’s nothing wrong with her brain if that’s what you’re worried about,” Ginger rolled her eyes. People always assumed that if someone was seeing a neurosurgeon it meant they were in some way brain damaged, “She had a herniated disc – I’m just doing a follow up consult.”

“So she’s not crazy?” Peter asked for clarification.

“She’s not crazy,” Ginger confirmed.

“She just has a bad back?” he continued.

Ginger rolled her eyes, “Just a minor back complaint. She’s perfectly normal.”

“Okay then,” Peter slapped his thighs, “I’m in. Set up the date – I’m free any time she is.”

Ginger clapped her hands together, “Brilliant!” she said enthusiastically, “You two are going to look so cute together.”

●

Peter stood outside the train station, holding a bunch of flowers in one hand as he tried to check the time on his mobile phone. It was just gone a quarter past eight, and he was supposed to have met this girl Hannah at seven thirty – more than forty-five minutes ago. Ordinarily he’d have given up waiting at least twenty minutes earlier, but he’d promised his sister that he’d make the effort this time.

Peter looked at his watch again.

Seventeen minutes past eight.

Maybe he should give up. Forget what he promised Ginger. He hadn’t been looking forward to this date in any case. Hannah, the actress in question, had suggested they meet at a local wine bar, and Peter hated wine. Still, they might sell something he did drink, like a beer or a whisky. He looked at his watch again.

Eighteen minutes past eight.

Peter looked at the flowers and was about to give them to a homeless man who was sat a few feet away when he heard someone calling his name.

“Peter? Is that you?”

Peter turned around to see a very short girl jogging over to him. He could tell by the way her chest moved that she was well over eighteen, and that no one would think him a paedophile for dating her just because she was tiny. He smiled as she stopped in front of him.

“Hi,” she greeted him, instinctively looking up, “sorry I’m late. You know how it is.”

Peter didn’t know how it was, but he agreed anyway.

“Are those for me?” Hannah asked, gesturing at the flowers that Peter still held in his hand.

“Oh, yes,” Peter said, thrusting them towards her, “I thought you might like them.”

“They’re lovely,” Hannah said, taking a sniff before lowering them to her side.

“So, should we head to the wine bar?” Peter asked her, relieved to be rid of the flowers.

“Yes, lets,” she continued to smile, “I can’t stay for long though, I’ve got marathon training at five am.”

Peter furrowed his brow. Marathon training? Then why had she chosen tonight to meet up with him? Maybe she thought he was ugly, Peter thought. But Ginger had shown her a picture and Hannah had said he was cute. And handsome. Peter wondered what photo Ginger had shown Hannah. Maybe it was a really good one, and reality didn’t quite match up to it. Was Hannah just using marathon running as an excuse so she could duck out early if she got bored? Or had she taken an instant disliking to him now she’d seen him in the flesh?

“That’s not a problem,” Peter lied, “I’ve got to get up early too.”

“Really?” Hannah asked, “What for?”

Peter paused, then answered, “Work.”

“Oh,” Hannah said, sounding a little disappointed in the pretty generic response, “Well, should we go, then?”

What home? Peter though, then realised she meant to the wine bar.

“Let’s,” he said, and they headed to the bar.

On arrival, Peter immediately realised that the wine bar was exactly that – a wine bar. Other than orange juice and water, wine was the only drink that was on sale. And he’d been looking forward to a nice beer all day.

“What can I get you?” Peter asked Hannah as they stood at the bar waiting to be served.

“I’ll have a moscato, please,” Hannah replied. Peter assumed that was a type of wine and ordered a glass, along with an orange juice.

“Are you not drinking?” Hannah asked casually.

“Not tonight,” Peter said, “like I said, I have an early start.”

“That’s right,” Hannah said, “work, wasn’t it?”

“Yep,” Peter nodded as their drinks arrived. He took a sip of the orange juice, feeling the pith sticking uncomfortably to his pallet, as the barman told him the cost.

He almost did a spit-take.

He pulled out his wallet and handed over the money. Thank God Hannah would be leaving early, he thought to himself. With prices like this he wouldn’t be able to afford many more rounds, not without charging it to his credit card.

Hannah took her glass of white wine, and started to walk towards the outside of the pub, presumably looking for a seat. Peter followed her, trying to squeeze passed the milling throng of city workers chugging down glasses of wine like there was no tomorrow and eating small meals off large plates. It wasn’t easy to get passed them; unlike Hannah, Peter couldn’t easily duck under their elbows.

Once he got outside to the garden area, he found Hannah sitting at an empty table. He sidled up to her, not wanting to bump into anyone, and sat down on one of the opposite stools.

“There you are,” she said, as if she didn’t know that she’d just practically abandoned him at the bar, “I wondered where you’d gotten to.”

“You can’t get rid of me that easily,” Peter joked, even though he had a sneaking suspicion that this night was not going to go at all well.

As he took another sip of the extremely pithy orange juice – not actually enjoying the taste, but wanting to at least appear to be – Hannah started looking around the outside of the bar, in between checking her smart phone for messages. Peter was actually starting to get annoyed with her, but he didn’t want to say anything. Not yet. If this night was going to end badly, he wanted it to be entirely Hannah’s fault.

Hannah’s eyes suddenly lit up as she spotted two extremely drunk middle-aged men wandering around, looking for seats.

“Oh my God!” she breathed heavily, then stood up, “Hello?” she called out to the two men, “There are seats free over here.”

Peter couldn’t believe this. He looked at the two men, who looked almost as confused as he was. They clearly didn’t recognize Hannah, and most likely had never met her, yet she was inviting them over to sit with her and Peter, who were supposed to be on a date! Wait until Ginger heard about this.

“Thank you,” said one of the men, putting down his bag and taking a seat on one of the free stools.

“That’s not a problem,” Hannah beamed at the two men, “I know who you are, by the way.”

The first of the men looked at Hannah, then seemed to slump slightly in his seat, “You do?” he said.

“Yes,” Hannah beamed, arching her back flirtatiously as she sat up as high as she could on her stool, “and I must say I’ve always wanted to work with you.”

Who were these men? Peter thought to himself. They must be some big wigs in acting circles for Hannah to be acting in this way; producers or directors or something. Maybe she thought she could get some work out of them.

Hannah began to rummage through her bag, producing a bundle of business cards and, picking two out, handed one to each of the two men. Peter didn’t think she recognized the second man, but clearly she was hedging her bets.

“I’d love if you could take a look at my show reel,” she beamed, thrusting out her chest as best she could, “The web address to my website is at the bottom. I’m always looking for new opportunities, both as an actress and a presenter.”

Peter narrowed his eyes. Had Hannah planned this? Had she organized their date at this specific wine bar because she knew that this guy – who he could only guess was some sort of television or movie producer – frequented the place, and she hoped she could ambush him into taking her details? What kind of a person would do such a thing?

The first man tentatively took the business card between his forefinger and thumb, “Thank you,” he said flatly, “I’ll be sure to take a look.”

“That would be wonderful,” Hannah smiled widely, continuing to engage the two men in conversation until they abruptly left after less than ten minutes.

“Well, that was lucky, wasn’t it?” Hannah said to Peter, turning to speak to him for the first time since the producers had arrived, “I can’t believe they were here, of all places.”

“Clearly,” Peter said, though he could see through her act, which didn’t say much for her acting capabilities.

The date went on for what felt to Peter like an age, Hannah barely asking him anything about his life and constantly wittering on about her own. At just after nine o’clock, Hannah looked meaningfully at her smart phone.

“Is that the time?” she asked no-one in particular, “I didn’t realise it was so late. I really must be going.”

Peter was actually relieved. He hadn’t enjoyed this date one little bit, even though it had lasted less than forty-five minutes and had only cost him one expensive round of drinks. He stood up from his stool as Hannah did the same.

“Well, it was nice meeting you,” Hannah said, slinging her handbag strap across her shoulder, “we must do this again sometime soon.”

Peter couldn’t think of anything worse, but found himself saying, “Yes, we really must.”

Hannah reached into her handbag and pulled out one of the cards she given to the television producer or whatever he is, “You can give me a call sometime,” she said seductively.

Peter took the card, but somehow he thought it was unlikely that any level of seductive behaviour was going to make him forget this waste of an evening.

He walked Hannah back to the train station, where they said their goodbyes and he watched her walk down to the platform. He couldn’t help noticing that Hannah wasn’t carrying the flowers he’d bought for her – she must have left them behind at the pub.

“Thoughtless cow.” Peter thought to himself.

With Hannah gone, Peter decided to head back to the wine bar. If he wasn’t too late he could salvage the flowers that had been left behind, then head on to an actual pub for a few drinks.

When he reached the wine bar, the flowers were still sat on the stool next to the one Hannah had been sat on, looking a little wilted but otherwise none the worse for wear. Glancing down at the ground, he saw two of Hannah’s business cards, crumpled up and discarded. He smiled.

Carefully picking up the flowers, Peter walked back out of the garden area of the bar. With the flowers in one hand and his mobile phone in the other, Peter walked towards a nearby pub, dialling the number for his sister’s work phone. When she answered she sounded very chipper.

“Well, how’s it going?” she asked, “Just give me the bullet points, I’m due in for surgery any minute.”

“It’s not going, it’s gone,” Peter said dryly, “Hannah has to get up early for marathon training.”

“Marathon training?” Ginger repeated, “Well, that’s an obvious lie. With her recent back injury she shouldn’t even be thinking about any kind of long-distance running.”

“I guessed it was a lie,” Peter agreed, “But she was just so conceited I didn’t really care in the end.”

“So how did the date end?” Ginger asked curiously, “Does she want to see you again?”

“She said yes, but I really don’t want to,” Peter sighed down the phone, “Why can’t you find me a decent woman? One that doesn’t start flirting with other men in the middle of a date.”

“She did that?” Ginger asked, “That’s just wrong.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Peter agreed, “Anyway, I’m going for a quick drink then I’m going to get a taxi home. I’ve still got the flowers if you want them for your room.”

“Thanks, bro,” Ginger said, “And try not to let this chick get you down. There are plenty more women out there that will treat you right – we just need to find them.”

“Thanks Ginge,” Peter said, “I’ll see you when you get home.”

“Don’t drink too much,” Ginger said before cutting off the call.

Peter locked his mobile and put it in his jacket pocket before looking over at the closest pub. It didn’t look very inviting, what with the large amount of men standing outside wearing football shirts that could only mean that a fight would probably start as soon as someone showed up wearing the wrong kit, so maybe he’d give it a miss.

There were a few cabs driving past, most of them with their for hire lights still on. Maybe he’d just go home and get an early night; he didn’t really need anything to drink, other than some water to wash the pith out of his mouth.

Peter looked up the street at the cars coming along, and held out his hand when he saw the ‘for hire’ light of a taxi glowing in the night light. As he clambered into the cab, he thought back on his disastrous evening, and couldn’t help smiling. He did sometimes feel lonely, but just because he was lonely didn’t mean he should waste his time and efforts on the Hannah’s of the world.

Maybe his next date would be more successful.

Originally Posted 16/2/2016

Result - Joint 4th Place