Late to dating

She puckered her lips as she applied the lipstick, pursing them to smooth the pink gloss evenly from end to end. Angela was staring at the face of what once was an attractive woman. What she saw didn’t please her but you can only work with what you’ve got and above all else, in life, she was a pragmatist. That was her attitude borne of life experiences.

 She stood up and adjusted the dress that sheltered her ample bosom and middle-aged spread. The dress and she had both had better days but Rome wasn’t built in a day and Angela had set the wheels in motion for a new her. Her gym subscription had only started two days ago and let's be real, it would be several weeks before changes would be seen. Angela had hit the ground running tonight another part of her new life plan slipping into place. Life was beginning again at 55.

For 35 years she had settled for Pete, unreliable Pete. In a quiet night-in over Christmas, one of many, she had had a vision. It was of yet another night alone because Pete at the last minute had to babysit for his daughter. The vision produced a brilliant moment of complete clarity. She saw clearly the reality she had been blind to for all those years. He was never ever going to leave his wife for her. It had been promised many times. When the kids are older, when they finished secondary school, university, when they get over their need for Dad. Then it was “I can’t leave Angela. She’s ill now, She may lose her sight, She’s alone. She needs me. Well, I need you. I live alone. What about me? You’re different Love, you’re strong, you’ve always lived alone it's going to be all-new for her. She can’t cope with life without me. And I can? Yes, you can.

Finally, 3 years ago he left his wife. Angela knew nothing about it for a month until a mutual friend let it slip in casual conversation. He’d turned out that he'd gone to live with another woman he’d been having an affair with, in Kilmore, Co Tipperary. All this came as news to Angela. It fair blew her mind and she kept it to herself for over a month before confiding to her best friend who didn’t seem so shocked.

His deception hurt her deeply and she burned with rage against this bastard that has been at the core of her existence for all these years. As in the past, Pete was unreachable for several weeks at a time. She drove round to his wife’s address and checked his workplace but he never appeared. With him being a travelling salesman it meant she could never be sure of his movements. She comforted herself that she still had some of his clothing in the spare bedroom. She also took some comfort in the fact that he’d always come back to her. That’s what he thought too. In his own time, he’ll make contact and no he won’t deny or apologize for his actions. She’ll control herself and let him talk and by the end of the call his voice, good humour and warmth with have won her over and her life will light up like standing in the glow of a 500-watt floodlight,  bathing in the warm glow of his affection. “So I’ll be around on Tuesday” he’d finish and she will find herself saying “Sure Pete, see you about 8 – I’ll have your favourite coq au vin done just as you like it”. Then when he’d arrive she’d serve him his favourite dish, fill his glass with his favourite bottle of Chilean Chardonnay and lead a sleepy woozy Pete to the bedroom where she’d tie him to the bed, cut off his cock and he’ll find just how handy a cheated trained nurse is with a scalpel.

Yes, Angela said to herself this year is going to be different. Donning her black designer leather coat with a white hood and dangling tassels she stepped out into the icy night, her breath pushed forward like a small white cloud in front of her. She pulled out her keys and engaged the mortice lock pulling hard on the door handle to make sure it was locked. Above the clear sky showed the universe in all its glory seemingly falling in on top of her. It was rare to have a clear night sky in suburban Dublin but tonight was special.

Now down the steps, careful to avoid dislodging the loose concrete tile on the last one. Angela makes a mental note to get her brother to fix it when he’s over next Friday. She scrapped the thin layer of ice off her windscreen with her debit card and thrust the keys in the ignition with a sharp twist to the right.

Driving cautiously she edged her way through the evening traffic. It was January and though the snow had stopped more than two hours earlier, wet sludge covered roads and with the temperature dropping she’d have to be careful on the way home. The wipers swept away the little crystals of snowflakes falling from trees and other vehicles. She turned left into Templeogue village and ground to a halt six cars back from the slow-changing traffic lights. She’d just missed a change so it would be 3 minutes before the next green. Angela reached onto the passenger seat and rechecked the directions the agency had sent for to-nights date. Another part of the new Angela was being slotted into place tonight.

“La Bonhomme” in Rathmines……. Time 8:00pm, OK its 7:20pm now…. Angela made a vow not to be early. She’d have to fight her better nature and sit in the car till 8:05pm. She re-read the name … Hans Glutzen, Hans Gluten, Hans Gluten….. tried to commit it to memory and failed. The agency idea was not hers but after so many years of trying out her own ideas, it seemed logical to try one of Tricia’s. Tricia had some success with this method of meeting new men and though her liaison had come to nought she insisted she had had fun trying it out. Tricia had rarely problems meeting men, Angela wryly observed. Keeping them was another matter. The burp of a motorist’s horn brought her back to reality and she slipped the car into gear and the rest of the journey was completed uneventfully.

 Angela found the restaurant rather more easily than the double empty parking space she needed for the car. There was just time for a last spray of Red Door, a tightening of the straps on the slingbacks and a glance in the mirror to check the face. Her hands were remarkably steady for a girl going on her first blind date in 20 years. She locked the car with her zapper and strode the short distance to the restaurant where a warm yellow glow emanated from the Parisian styled windows that guarded the canopied doorway.

Hans had arrived at “La Bonhomme” with time to spare. He prided himself on his timekeeping and had left his offices in Dalkey at 6:00pm. He didn’t bother going home as he had gone to the tennis club at lunchtime for a game of doubles and had showered & dressed casually for the afternoon. The business pre-occupied him and he found it hard to switch off even now. Being early he chose his table carefully, by the window with a clear view of the door. He settled in with an espresso and read a copy of today's Der Spiegel online thanks to his smartphone.

Tonight was his third date and he sincerely hoped it was the third time lucky. Yes, there was an agency fee but it wasn’t the money that was an issue for him but more the women that had been matched with him. He’d already spoken with Jacinta his relationship contact in Doves Dating Agency and made it clear to her that if tonight’s offering was wide of the mark he would have no alternative but to look for a full refund. How hard is it to find a woman in his age range (45 -55), interested in sport, theatre, nights out with a view to something more?

However, he felt good tonight. Having relocated to Dublin 10 years ago he had fallen in love with the country and with the house purchased at half what he expected for Dalkey (thank God for the recession) he just needed a partner to fill it. He wore an open shirt with a navy blazer and a full head of blonde hair, his own he hastened to add. He toyed with a gold ring, twirling it around his finger while he waited.

Hans recognized Angela the moment she arrived and waved immediately to catch her eye. He moved towards her and guided her to the table. Initial impressions were good and she and he shared a few moments of light banter before turning their attention to the menu. She impressed with her fluent French when ordering from the menu and allowed him to order her wine, one of his favourite German wines. Their conversation was awkward at first with an exchange of trivialities. Each tried to find common ground with the other.

He discovered she worked in the HSE and decided wisely to leave his feelings on the public sector pay agreements for another day while she parked her indignation about foreigners scoping up cut-price Irish property courtesy of the Irish taxpayer who will be repaying a debt to the ECB and Berlin for the next two generations.

They both found a love for gardening and the cinema and Whitney Heuston. She found herself warming to this educated, well-spoken German and bit by bit she let her guard down and barely noticed when he ordered a second bottle of wine. In fact, she hadn’t noticed at all that he was not drinking. The conversation that had initially flowed nervously now bounced along with ease. The food must have been good as she cleared her plate but looking back she later struggled to recall its taste.

Somewhere between dessert, a pear soaked in a brandy sauce and the complimentary liquor, a Crème De Menthe he asked what she knew of him? “ Know of you?” she asked. “So you didn’t Google me?” he said with a laugh.

“ Oh No” she answered honestly. Facebook and Linked-In had been her source, but she kept that to herself. She only did what any modern women do when meeting strange men for the first time.

“How did your previous dates go?” Angela asked. He answered honestly. “I’m afraid, not good. I fear I don’t understand Irish women. My last girlfriend was a Lithuanian and I really sense that Irish girls are different. 

Whatever information she had found online was stacking up with his conversation tonight and for once Angela felt there was a real possibility of a match. I think we have chemistry going on here she said to herself as she freshened up in the restaurant toilets. His bare forearms were lightly covered by fine hairs (a definite attraction) and his hands were similar to those of a pianist, with long elegant fingers. This was another plus. He looks much younger than his age and his piercing blue eyes danced with laughter when she spoke. He was also fluent in French which enamoured her further. She had visions of both of them in her apartment in the South of France. Somehow she’d ended up buying it on her own when Pete-the-unreliable yet again, failed to show on the day of contract signing.

Pete who? Hans was beginning to erase Pete in her mind and he’d only known him less than 3 hours. As she was about to return to Hans she noticed the first signs of tipsiness in herself and vowed to ease off on the alcohol. Don’t mess up on this one she admonished herself and headed out.

Hans rose from his chair to meet her on her return. He was charm and goodness itself. Angela noticed the liquor glass was magically full and she shook her head disapprovingly. “Now Hans,” she said “We’ve both got work tomorrow. As it is I’m going to be taking a taxi home. I’ll be leaving my car tonight. Thank you for a wonderful evening. I insist I go half with you on the bill. No buts…. .”

“ OK, “he said, “but only on condition you let me drop you home.” That sobered her up and she stared hard at him. She was a good judge of character. That’s what her Dad said and her judgment had never let her down before. OK – Pete – one slip in a lifetime of getting it right is acceptable she reasoned. But this time she knew she was right. “OK – this once.”

They slipped out into the night a full two hours later. The restaurant staff had their coats on and had dimmed all the lights. Hans made a fuss of thanking them loudly and slipping something into the hand of the head waiter who tipped his hat to them as they left. Walking through the fresh fallen crisp snow she held his hand, for fear of slipping. That and a little bit more. He opened the door for her and she slid in the back of the Mercedes 108L, her hands rubbing against the white leather seating. He sat into the driver's seat and the engine purred to life, the dashboard panels lighting up like the control deck of the USS Enterprise. He twisted to lean back over the corner of his seat “Where to Madame?"

“ I could get used to this” she laughed and gave him her address and directions. He knew Dublin well and as they glided up the Rathgar Rd she felt she was in a movie so perfect was the scene.

Occasionally their eyes met, she saw his through the rearview mirror. She regaled him with stories of growing up in this area, with characters from her childhood, friends long dead or worse married. Somewhere between Templeogue and home, she drifted off to sleep. She thought it was the warmth of the car but the huge alcohol intake over the previous five hours probably played a bigger part in the tiredness that overcame her.

He tapped her gently on the shoulder and she opened her eyes. “I think you are home,” he said. “Is this it?” She pulled herself up and gazed through the frosted car window. “Yes, Hans, this is it”. How rude of me to fall asleep. Will you come in for a cup of coffee? I have some of Bewleys finest Brazilian ground coffee.” She could see him tossing the idea about in his head. They both knew he could end up getting more than coffee and so it was a loaded question. “Finally he answered.” Sure, just for one mind you”.

Gathering her handbag she slid across to the car door. She passed close to him as she rose out of the car and her hair brushed his lips, her hand touched his, for a moment. Chemistry she thought.

Despite being five sheets to the wind she still managed to dodge the broken step as she moved with speed to the door of her house. She knew two things without a doubt. One, she was very drunk but knew what she was doing and two she needed a toilet and fast. Angela found her keys in the handbag and in one action entered them in the door and swung it open.  Pushing the door closed behind her, as she had so often in the past, she made her way straight to the toilet shedding her coat and shoes as she went. It was a full minute before she emerged. She stumbled into the kitchen to set the coffee making in motion. “Make yourself at home Hans” she shouted as she ransacked the cupboard for the ground coffee. It was finally found but with an expiry date of Aug-2015. The paper filters last used around the same time proved more elusive but were captured in the press below the sink and shoved into the coffee-making contraption. It was all taking longer than she had expected. Finally, it was done and the smell of fresh coffee permeated the kitchen. She opened a top button on her dress, showered herself with a fresh dose of Red Door and entered an empty sitting room. There was no sign of Hans. She hunted high and low but he wasn’t there. Eventually, she looked outside but the porch was empty and the car was gone. She drank the coffee alone.

It was more than a week later before she heard from him. Apparently, he was right behind her as she strode up the steps but as he went to enter the house she had slammed the door shut in his face. Strange he thought. He stood there a further five minutes but she never returned. He eventually gave up and went home. “I will never understand Irish women”.