White Phantom Chapter Two Beth and Maggie go through with it. Chapter two. The following Tuesday came all too soon and Beth was in a frazzle about what to wear, how to do her hair, what jewellery she should choose. Vodka is an evil beast, they had three large ones with coke while they got ready and Beth became caught up in the moment. It was exciting. She felt daring. She was alive, and for the first time in months she didn’t have to check her pulse to confirm it. She had no intention of following up on anything that came of the evening, but they could still have fun. That was the proviso; she only agreed to go along if it was just a one-off laugh for that night. Something crazy that you do, just to see how it feels. “After all,” she reasoned, “The Yanks gave us bikini waxing and that wasn’t a good move, was it?” Maggie agreed, no follow-up, just going for the crack and to see if they could still pull if they wanted to. This new-fangled gimmick was radical, and yet it was also a return to their youth. They felt the blood pump through their veins. It was seeing if they still had it! Maggie's daughter, Jess, was horrified. “Mu-um, speed dating? Ye-uk. How tacky. I can’t believe you’re doing this. H-ow embarrassing,” She was fond of doing that teenage thing of breaking words down and elongating them for emphasis.”How could you, you've already got a boyfriend.” Maggie, pushed her daughter's objections aside and said again that it as just a laugh. Beth went for tight black pants with flared bottoms. Can’t go wrong with your good old pair of any time-any place-anywhere-black pants, she thought. Teamed with a tasselled belt and a black top with a playful glittery motif she hoped that a few years would melt away. Subdued lighting would help. If God was merciful, there would be soft, muted lighting. Oh, and no grids of any description, she decided, grids and high heels just don’t go together. They got there early, intending to have time for a drink before things got going. It seemed everybody else had the same idea because there was already a string of women all talking at the same time, in the ladies queue. They were ready, standing in line for the dating. They were eager. They were alive too. Some of them had done it before. These women spoke with an air of authority, imparting tales of caution and some unbelievable horror stories. Beth wanted to run right then and there, but Maggie was having none of it. She thought it was all a right giggle. A woman came up with a microphone. Beth commented that she, “looks like summat out of, ‘Come Dancing’.” She wore a silver frock and her boobs only stayed in on a wing and a prayer. She was a real hoity-toity with hair piled up on top of her head. Beth nudged Maggie and said that she looked like Lily Savages’ twin sister. That’s when she learned that sound carries in the corridor. “Good evening, ladies,” said Elaine, their hostess for the evening. She dropped Beth a withering look. “We are about to start, but for those who don’t already know, I’d just like to explain the rules.” She patted her hair with a manicured hand and smiled a simpering smile “In a moment you will be given a number and escorted to your individual table. The men are lined up at the other side of the building. They will come in and each man in turn will begin with number one. He will have three minutes to find out as much as he can about the lady and vice-versa. Then, he will move on to number two, leaving lady number one free to talk to man number two.” At this point she peered over her prinz-nes glasses like a self important teacher to ensure that all her charges were keeping up with her. “As each man leaves you, ladies, you will be required to check either the, Yes, or the, No, box on your form. He will do the same. Where two yesses match up, you will be given contact details for the people you’ve checked with a view to meeting them for a proper date.” She went on to detail some rules of safety, like meeting in public places, always telling somebody where you were going. It was the stuff that parents tell their teenage daughters and then she said that the company would not be held responsible for any incident or accidents leading from the event. The participants, or ‘clients,’ as she preferred to call them, all had to sign a disclaimer to that effect. It was all becoming a bit cloak and dagger and Beth’s feet were killing her. “Right ladies, I’ll show you to your tables now.” Maggie was number eleven and Beth number twelve. Maggie had to nudge her friend in the back to make her move. They passed the time leaning over and making snide whispered remarks about their female, ‘competition’. Soon, there was a low hum of conversation as the first of the three-minute dates got under way. Beth craned her neck to try and see what man number one looked like but all she could see was the brassy perm of the blonde, three rows down. Maggie got him first. Beth wasn’t impressed. She couldn’t hear what they were saying but one look at him was enough to tell her that he wasn’t dating material. If that was the standard of the meat for sale in that market then she needn’t have worried about ‘follow up dates’. She felt that she was being cruel and judgemental. He was a nice bloke, sort of ordinary, tired looking, worn. He stood up and shook her hand, “Hello number twelve, I’m number one.” Beth giggled and stopped herself from muttering, “Come in number one, your time is up.” As three minutes go, they were long ones. After asking about his job and his family, what he liked to do for fun and how old he was, conversation dried up. He replied with monosyllabic answers and his only other input to the conversation was a repeated, “And you?” At a loss, they took to gazing around the room. Beth caught Maggie’s eye and she pulled a face, it seemed number two wasn’t going to be much better than number one. The silence had become uncomfortable. Beth reached into her vocabulary and pulled out the first constructed sentence she could find. “I don’t recon much to number two,” she said, with a wry grin. “That’s my brother,” he answered, coldly. The date wasn’t a success. She felt that their relationship had run aground It turned out number two was an improvement on his brother. The man was passionate, fired up, enflamed, but his passion only extended as far as the wondrous joy of fishing. He droned on for the entire three minutes about course fishing, sea-fishing, fly fishing and angling. She noticed that his fingernails were filthy and could only imagine which poor fish had lost its guts under those long, dirty nails. It may have been her imagination, but she was sure that he had an unpleasant odour about him; it was the unmistakable, though, diluted smell of lingering caught fish. Number three asked her if she was adventurous in the bedroom. Four was in love with his wife. Five, six and seven were all okay but none of them were the type of men you could take home to meet, Mother. Another glance across at Maggie showed that she was enjoying herself immensely. She was animated and flirtatious, showing too much bare thigh and more than a hint of stocking top. Beth could only imagine what number three had asked her. Number fourteen had soulful eyes. Sixteen wanted a British passport. Number twenty one smiled into her eyes, shook hands with her, and hitched his jeans up at the knee before sitting down. He looked a little tired. He’d done this eleven times. “I’ve been looking forward to getting to you,” he said, with a grin. Beth laughed, “And how many times have you used that particular line this evening?” she asked. She wasn’t sure whether to feel amused or insulted by the blatant attempt at a cheesy chat-up line. He looked offended. “I assure you. I mean it,” he continued. “I saw you earlier on. I’ve been watching you. I dare say I’ve been quite ill mannered to the ladies before you. You don’t belong here.” He made this last statement with such an air of confidence that she bristled but couldn’t think of a single worthy retort. She felt her cheeks burn. He exuded quiet confidence and she felt a little thrill mixed with a lot of caution at the thought that this debonair man had been watching her from across the room, the small amount of confidence that she had felt earlier fled, leaving her floundering and trying to come up with something intelligent to say. He smiled again, a slow, meandering smile, making no secret of the fact that he was weighing her up, assessing her. “Marc,” he said, again, offering his hand across the table, “with a C.” They shook hands for the second time. “Beth,” she replied cheekily, “With a B.” His eyes darkened, it seemed that number twenty one didn’t like to be teased. His grip was firm, dry and he neither kept his hand still nor shook with too much vigour. He left it to Beth to break the contact. “People will insist in spelling me with a K and it gets rather tiresome.” He grinned and relaxed back into his seat. “So, Elizabeth, tell me about you. Why does a lady who obviously finds this whole set up distasteful agree to come along? Which of these painted beauties dragged you here kicking and screaming tonight?” He glanced around the room and caught sight of Maggie bending backwards in her seat and giving Beth elaborate thumbs up, with shining eyes and wide grin. “Ahh,” he said turning back and giving Beth his full attention. “I see you are with the enthusiastic Margaret.” Beth giggled under his disapproving gaze. “Oh, don’t let her hear you calling her that. She’ll freak, it’s Maggie, only ever Maggie. You’ve got me wrong too, actually, it’s Bethany, not Elizabeth. I much prefer Beth, though. I don’t go in for all that formal stuff.” Marc, with a C, sniffed his disapproval. He guided the conversation, firing question after question, leading her to reveal more about herself than she ever intended. They discovered that they both lived in Ulverston, quite close to each other, in fact, only a few streets apart. Beth wondered then, if she had been stupid in giving out the name of her street. She mentally chastised herself and decided to exhibit more caution. Marc alternated between pompous and charming. He made her laugh several times despite her misgivingsf. The conversation flowed and Beth didn’t even notice that she was enjoying herself. Along with his jeans he wore a Ben Sherman shirt, though she had the impression that he was they type of man who was just as comfortable in a suit and tie. His shirt, fastened apart from the last two buttons, was pressed to within an inch of its life. His hair was black; jet black, perhaps even too black to be completely natural. His eyes were grey with a steely penetration that appeared almost severe until he smiled. His frame was broad, his waist slim and he carried self assurance as an accessory. Beth felt that he stood out from all the other men at the event. His self assurance was impressive and daunting. He looked gorgeous and she felt like a self conscious little girl sitting opposite him. She was attracted to him and intimidated by him, he intrigued her and she was flattered that he’d singled her out from the other women. The gong, indicating the end of the date, sounded. Beth jumped, not expecting the intrusive suddenness of the sound. She was sorry that his time with her had ended and felt a pang of something akin to jealousy as he smiled down at her and moved onto the woman at the next table. He was rude and patronising, insufferably arrogant and condescending but he was sexy as hell, and Beth was fascinated. Marc turned his charm on the next lady and murder walked behind him, but all Beth saw was a tight fitting pair of jeans.
Copyright © 2008 Sooz |