Writing for Fun
April 2022
I Wouldn't Want You To Know This About Me - Pete Norman
The mirror never lies. Neither does it tell you what you want to know.
Sally half turned and squinted over her shoulder, then the other way and then back again. The mirror could not make the choice for her, the final decision rested fairly and squarely on her own two shoulders and she was torn between the two.
She slipped into her first choice again and twirled in front of the mirror. A light came on in her brain. This had to be the one – it fitted perfectly, the colour was subtle not brash and the cut was just the perfect level of discreteness . . . and it was a perfect colour match for her new clutch bag.
She spent a little longer than usual at the dressing table trying to persuade the war paint to look slightly less warlike, then she gave a triumphant grin when the final glance in the mirror met its fastidious requirements.
She ignored the car keys and rang for a taxi – she never usually drank a great deal but this evening might turn out to be a little unpredictable and she could not afford to take the risk.
The building looked old and tired and it certainly did not inspire her with much confidence but, she reasoned, at the very least she could say that she had made the effort – that would appease Margaret, who had been pushing her relentlessly into this.
She stepped inside where a rather tatty desk was manned by a rather bored looking girl who took her rather exorbitant entrance fee and directed her to the cloakroom. As she passed the entrance doors the jangling sound of muzak sucked away the last remnants of her confidence. It would be so easy to turn around and escape but her resolve dragged her kicking and screaming through the doors.
The room was quite small, which had the effect of squeezing the people tighter together. A row of seats around the edge of the hall looked more like a hospital waiting room than a party venue. In the centre of the room were the predators. Margaret had described them as predators and she was bang on with that description; she felt like a fox at the moment the huntsmen and the pack turned in her direction with blood lust in their eyes. She took a deep breath and walked inside.
The men were trying their utmost to look suave and interesting but failing miserably – they could not conceal the fact that they were just middle-aged men with piercing, demanding eyes relentlessly scanning each new potential victim as she crossed the threshold.
She raised her head, straightened her back and, keeping a safe distance from danger, strode purposefully across to the bar. She politely rejected the offer of a drink from a man twice her age in a crumpled suit designed for a man half his age and two thirds of his size and ordered a vodka with a substantial splash of coke – something she could sip in safety.
She turned away from the bar and surveyed the room in more detail. Couples were standing around chatting, a few were dancing and, in the hospital waiting chairs, a few rather desolate looking people were nursing their drinks and either hopefully scanning the room or staring into space.
One man in particular caught her attention. His was an island in a sea of empty chairs. He looked lost and totally out of his comfort zone. He was nursing a half empty pint as if it was his only friend and he appeared to be taking no interest whatsoever in the intrigues and machinations which were unfolding in the room.
As she stopped in front of him, he raised his eyes and gave her a brief embarrassed smile.
‘Do you mind if I join you?’ she asked.
He waved a hand at the chair next to him. ‘Er, yes, of course.’
She took a sip of the vodka and coke and said, ‘This is not quite what I was expecting.’
He scanned the room. ‘Nor me. It’s a cattle market, isn’t it?’
She nodded in total agreement. ‘I’m Sally.’
He shook her hand somewhat formally. ‘I’m Derek. I’m pleased to meet you.’
For a while the conversation was rather stilted until he drained the last of his pint. ‘Would you like a drink?’
She took a glance at the circling vultures and said, ‘If you don’t mind, I’ll come with you. I’d rather not sit here on my own.’
A simple offer and a companionable response broke the ice and soon Sally was discussing her tastes in music, films, holiday experiences – anything and everything – but shying away from details of their personal lives.
Some time later, Derek asked, ‘Do you fancy getting out of this place? If you’re hungry then there’s the Maharajah just down the road.’
She smiled. ‘I would love to get out of here. That sounds great.’
The surroundings were comfortable, the food was good, the company was wonderful and Sally was enjoying her evening far more than she could possibly have hoped for.
Finally Derek attracted the waiter’s attention and asked for the bill. As she reached for her coat he said, ‘Tonight has been fantastic, Sally. Do you think I could see you again?’
She froze. Of course the thought had crossed her mind and of course it had sounded like a very good idea at the time but there was just the . . .
She coughed and whispered, ‘That would be amazing, Derek . . . but first there is something you need to know about me.’
He said, ‘You’re not married, are you?’
She shook her head and stared at the table for inspiration and support. ‘No, of course not.’
He laughed. ‘Well, that’s alright then.’
She said, ‘But you really need to know that I was . . . I was born a man . . .’
She added, ‘But I’ve had the operation.’
He laughed and took hold of her hand. ‘Sally, my sweet girl, do you believe in coincidence?’