The Dreaded Call

Later that night with a totally forgettable Chevy Chase movie as background noise I made the dreaded call to Emma. Not an easy thing to do with the phone next to the lounge room and half a dozen flatmates trying desperately hard to look pre-occupied. They knew what I was up to the moment I left the comfy chair. I knew that they knew. I was unsure whether, they knew that I knew that they knew. No-one left the comfy chair without just cause. It just wasn't done.

It was like some perverted episode of perfect match to them. Waiting, listening, does he get the dream date, prawn fishing off the coast of Southend, or will she go with number three? Well, I'd show them a thing or two. My reputation as a smooth operator was at stake here. I couldn't fail. I'd already been branded by the Kid as someone who couldn't close out. I needed redemption. Redemption and so much more.

I dialed quickly, reading the numbers from the crumpled ATM receipt that had lived in my wallet since Thursday. Three rings then an answer.

'Hi, is Paul there.' Elongated, hugely embarrassing pause. 'Sorry, let me start that again. Hi it's Paul. Is Emma there please?' Shit, I'd practiced that line in my head a dozen times. Spank merchant! The coolometer was bottoming out.
'I'll just check' the girl replied with a giggle.
I regrouped and twirled a pen in my free hand for the benefit of my sickly voyeuristic flatmates. It's all about body language.

It wasn't looking good. I wore a smirk that belied my inner torture. I shot a wink at the Kid but he could tell it was forced. I continued twirling but was dropping two out of three. Thirty seconds passed, my palms were clammy, I could feel my throat drying up. Then the dagger to the heart.
'Sorry, she's not in at the moment, can I take a message?'
'Yeah, could you just tell her Paul called and I'll get back onto her. Not that I was onto her before. Shit! I'm going now, bye.' I hung up and crawled back into the lounge room. There was a sickening silence. Not even a word from the Kid. What could he say? Humiliation was such an understated word.

I quickly put that particular episode behind me. Blotted it from memory like some sick, dark childhood secret. On the plus side my hair was at that cool half way between haircuts length.

I spent most of the week in the local library boning up on the different facets of web design and fantasizing about chance meetings in the periodical section with the exquisitely proportioned librarian. I'd woo her with my knowledge of the Dewey Cataloguing System, then we'd share round after round of high octane action on the returned books trolley. I hadn't been out much that week.