in the
b a t h
Funnily enough, the average Joe net surfer (who would have never read Oscar Wilde) would have been in complete agreement with Wilde's famous saying that the only way to deal with temptation is to give in to it. I also agreed with Wilde, but I preferred to jump into bed with a book rather than a man - there's less possibility of disappointment. But tonight I was hoping that I might get my book and my man.
We arranged to meet at the Adelphi, where I had made a booking under the name Melmoth. Decorated in the Victorian style, with polished marble floors, red velvet chairs and tables dressed in white lace, you could almost imagine you were back in Wilde's era. It would make a perfect setting for a romantic encounter with my first internet date - if he showed. We each had no idea what the other would look like. He asked, jokingly, on the net, if we should wear green carnations. I'd typed back that it should be a surprise. Secretly, I was hoping that Barry would look just like Bosie.
When a Bosie look-a-like walked into the restaurant five minutes later, I immediately straightened my posture and brushed imaginary lint off my shirt. He had that attractive and confidant look. I knew it was him and I couldn't wait to meet him.
As he got closer my stomach started to do somersaults out of nervous anticipation. He sported long, blond hair, my favorite type of hairstyle on men, and he'd dressed beautifully for the occasion, in a suit, no less. He could easily have passed as Wilde�s Bosie. My head spun with the thought of having a Bosie on my arm. I would take him out to expensive restaurants, the opening nights of plays, and even the simple enjoyment of shopping for vegetables at Woolworth�s would be a thrill with my Bosie next to me.
He was within feet of my table when he smiled. I smiled back, feeling a thrill of expectation pass through my body. At the very moment when he was closest he walked straight past me to the next table where a woman was waiting. I was flabbergasted. It wasn't him! I picked up the menu and began to scan it dejectedly. Looking up a moment later I saw a boy in a T-shirt and shorts standing next to me. He looked about fourteen and he was holding a rose. Thinking it was one of those pesky flower sellers I said, "No thanks," and looked back at the menu. Then the 'flower seller' spoke my name.
"Andrew Wright?"
I almost said my name is Mr Wrong,' but, being the honest type, I just had to open my mouth and speak the truth.
"That's right."
Barry was no Bosie. He didn't have that golden boy look; he didn't have a beautiful dress sense, and he didn't even have an attractive voice. Instead of a polished, even melodious voice, it was a gravely, working class accent. Worst of all, he was still holding that stupid, single rose in his hand. It was the most embarrassing public scene I'd ever been in. It took all my concentration to not say, 'get lost kid.'
"I hope I'm not too late?" His voice was nervous.
"No, no," I said, trying to hide my disappointment at this little kid.
"I stopped off to get you this."
He extended the rose to me, his hand obviously shaking. "I stopped off to get you this."
What do you say to someone who hands you a two-dollar rose? "How, thoughtful", I finally managed to force myself to say. But I had no where to put it. The nearest rubbish bin wasn't available so I placed it on the table next to me. A waiter came up to us to take our orders.
"You hardly look old enough to enter a bar, let alone meet another man." My attempted joke fell flat on it's face and the instant I spoke the words in front of the waiter, Barry jumped out of his seat.
"Did I say something wrong?" I said surprised. I wasn't sure if I should laugh or just tell him to stop acting like a little boy. But he looked genuinely anxious. His eyes scanned the room like a scared rabbit.
"Can we go somewhere else and talk?"
