Paperback Tales

Is It Him? (Paul/Under 1000)

She couldn't be sure.

Her glasses, a pair of thick, black spectacles were absent from their usual place on the bridge of her nose and, for she was too angry to say anything in a proper tone, she couldn't fucking see anything. Everything was a terrible blur of colours she had to make guesses as to what the objects in her path were; it was like a friendly little game with herself while she waited on the corner of the road (like a hooker) for the man who was supposed to collect her for their date.

His name was David and she met him in a public library where he was searching for Edgar Allan Poe and she was searching for Edgar Allan Poe also. It was the typical romantic interaction of a first meeting; their hands reached for the same book, brushed, they giggled, he asked her out after a lively chat in whispers and she said yes. They organised a meeting time and a place – a street corner close to where he lived so then he would meet her. She got all dolled up in an expensive Mary Quant dress, concentrated on her eyeliner as if she were attending a beauty exam, styled her blonde hair high and didn't reach for her glasses. If she had been able to see her features clearly in the mirror she would have been proud of herself.

David was tall, long-legged, handsome and had thick black hair that swept in a fringe across his forehead. His smile was warm and luminous, melting her to the core when he looked straight into her eyes. David was wonderful, she thought when she was getting herself ready.

She walked a little down the street, narrowing her eyes. She couldn't be sure.

"Is it you?" she asked politely. She clutched her bright red strapped purse to her stomach, barely making out the features of a face as she stepped closer.

The man had his hands in his pockets, wearing a black ensemble suit which she thought was quite attractive. She was praying it was David but when he sighed a long, exhausted sigh, her hopeful expression dropped into one of utter disappointment.

"Look, I just want to get to–" he began but he was cut off by her, her palm raised to silence him.

"I'm sorry, I thought you were somebody else..."

She tugged her rose pink coat sleeve down, revealing a small, gold wrist watch tightened around her little wrist. She bit her lip. David was an hour late.

"Ye thought I was somebody else?" She heard him say with surprise but she was too distracted by the awful pain in her chest.

Another one; it was just like her teen years all over again when the boys would ask her on a date, excite her with the prospect of somebody's interest in her bookish ways, and then crush her spirits by standing her up as a joke. All over again.

"Oh," she pulled her sleeve up again, let her arm fall to her side and then bit her lip to hold back the tears pressing against the corners of her eyes. "Well, he can just go... fuck himself!"

She shook her head and turned on her heel, ready to walk all the way home if she damn well had to to get these awful feelings away from her. Another one, she kept chanting to herself. They're all the same. They're all the same to me, she kept thinking. They'll all break my heart before I had a chance.

"Ay, la!"

She turned to find the man she had mistaken as David approach her at a lazy jog, coming to face her completely. She quickly wiped at her eyes, eyeing the mascara and eyeliner painting the back of her hands and knuckles. She glanced up and felt her knees buckle as her vision sharpened his features.

Before she could utter his name in in a vocal combination of bemusement, surprise and completely, heart-wrenching embarrassment, he spoke first.

"'oo's the feller?" He inquired knowingly, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He offered her one and with a nonchalant "Fuck it," to escape between her lips, she replaced her words with a fag and let him light it for her. She wasn't in the mood to scream or be shocked by the presence of a famous person.

"His name's David. He's officially a cock. All men are cocks."

Paul – because everybody in the whole of London knew his name as well as three others – tilted his head, his soft features contorting into an expression of mock-hurt.

"Aw, luv," he moaned gently, his lips tugging into a sheepish grin. "Now that's not fair. There are nice cocks, too."

"Where are they? Locked away for the pretty girls to marry?" She snapped, still smoothing stray tears from her ears.

"Yer a pretty girl."

She pursed her lips, fighting back a charmed smile. "You're smooth."

"Not all men are cocks," he held his hand out to her, waving his long, calloused fingers. "D'you feel like some tea and biscuits?"

She walked off with a Beatle down the street, her hands in her pockets as was his. There was a little café around the corner, he explained offering her a comforting nudge.

Just as they turned the corner, hidden behind an enormous red-bricked building, a tall, handsome-featured man came racing across the street feeling an overwhelming sense of disappointment when he saw the corner was empty. David stormed off down the street he came in from, thinking if she had only waited a minute longer...