Almost Perfect on Paper

1.

Joanne Tuckett made a circuit of the coffee shop for one last pointless round. If she had failed to spot a man in a red headscarf the first three times, it seemed unlikely he was going to magically appear now. Clearly, her date was either late or he simply wasn't coming.

She sighed to herself and joined the queue. Her life was replete with romantic disasters - her marriage being the most obvious one. On a lifetime scale, being stood up for a lousy blind date hardly registered. After all, the guy hadn't even got as far as seeing her, so she couldn't exactly take it personally -- a sudden attack of cold feet, maybe. Still, there were only so many times that hope could spring eternal. It was a pisser.

She blamed herself. In this day and age, there were better ways to do this. You could exchange pictures and text messages first and maybe have a video call. That way you didn't waste your whole evening and a babysitter with a non-starter. She'd said no to that. She had wanted to actually meet someone and feel that spark. Or not. It didn't have to be love at first sight, but at least attraction at first sight. Otherwise, you spent all your time staring at their photographs and getting to know them online and you could fool yourself into thinking there was something there when there wasn't. And then, when you did finally get round to it, the first date became boringly predictable.

The barista came to take her order and she asked for a latte, but in a paper cup just in case he walked through the door and it turned out she still had an evening ahead of her. As her drink was made, she pulled her phone out of her handbag and sent a message to Rob, her colleague who had arranged the date.He's not here. WTF? It was now twenty minutes after the appointed meeting time. True, she'd been ten minutes late herself, but that was a woman's prerogative.

Collecting her drink, she scanned the room again, this time for an empty seat. Every table was taken, mostly with people who had spouses, partners, or groups of friends -- the type of person Joanne was starting to really resent. There was the occasional lone hipster taking up an unnecessary amount of room with their laptops and blocking out the world with their headphones in. No one she wanted to double up with.

Finally, near the back of the shop, she saw an available chair at a table for two. The other occupant was an attractive but nervous-looking woman in a red sari. A plastic cup which had contained some kind of green tea concoction stood nearly empty and so, according to her understanding of coffee shop etiquette, Joanne felt she would be perfectly justified in asking for the other seat.

"Excuse me," she asked. "Is this seat taken?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. I'm waiting for someone," the girl said.

Joanne was about to suggest strongly that maybe she could have the seat until whoever the woman was waiting for turned up but looking at the almost finished drink and the rather dejected way she was talking, she suddenly realized that here was a fellow lost soul also in for a crappy Friday night. She looked her up and down, feeling better and better as she did so. It turned out that even beautiful girls got stood up sometimes as well, not just aging single mothers.

It was a pity. The girl had scrubbed up nicely. She was wearing what Joanne would have described as a modern minimalist sari -- a single colour of not quite burgundy, with minor golden embroidered flowers and slightly more ostentatious around the sleeves and belt. She'd matched it with a large multi-sectioned gold necklace and hanging ball earrings. The size of these adornments could have been crass if they weren't so exquisite. Her long, slightly wavy hair had the air of having been done that very day and was covered with a simple red headscarf...a red headscarf...

Joanne got a sinking feeling in her belly. "This might be a strange question, but are you Bakul by any chance?"

"Yes, I am." The girl went from uncertain to smiling and back to uncertain again all within three words.

"And you're waiting for...?" Joanne pressed.

"Joe. Joseph Brackley. Why? Do you know him?"

She sat down on the chair and sighed. Somehow a cock-up of enormous proportions had occurred. She didn't quite have the full picture yet, but her mind was scanning the jigsaw pieces for bits that looked the same.

"I know ofa Joseph Brackley. He worked at my company until about a year and a half ago. As far as I know, he currently works in Brazil."

"Oh," said Bakul. "Then why..."

"Your date was set up by Susan Pritchard, right?" Joanne already knew the answer and Bakul's nod only served to confirm this.

"Yeah, see mine was set up by Rob, her husband. He works at the same place as I do. He worked with Joseph as well. I'm Joanne by the way." said Joanne.

Light started to dawn on Bakul's face. "So, Joe for Joseph and Jo for Joanne. Some of the text messages had it without the 'e' but I thought it was just a typo."

She pulled out her phone and scanned her messages. "Yep, all the ones from Susan have an 'e', and a couple that Rob sent don't."

"What I don't understand," said Joanne in summation, "is how it's possible for a married couple to discuss and arrange a whole blind date for their colleagues without using a single-gendered pronoun. I mean Rob asked me three times how I'd feel about dating an Indianman."

Bakul laughed. "And Susan said your response was that you were fascinated by other cultures and wanted to learn more about them. Which is why I wore this instead of my more usual getup."

"Thank you," replied Joanne. "I mean you look stunning. It's clear you've spent more time on your appearance than any other person I've ever shared a romantic event with, including my ex-husband on our wedding day."

"You're looking pretty good yourself," Bakul replied. Joanne wasn't so sure. This would have been her first date in far too long and she'd spent a long time looking in the mirror, but most of what it had reflected had been doubts.

Bakul continued, "The way it was sold to me, there were a lot of 'You boths'. You know, we are both divorced, we both have young children, we both looking for a serious relationship with no drama. Maybe they were talking so much about what we had in common they never go around to whathe is like and whatshe is like. And from my understanding Susan and Rob don't so much discuss things as Susan dictates to Rob what she wants to happen and Rob grunts in agreement."

"Sounds about right. I've always been pretty clear that I'm desperate for anyone even vaguely resembling 'second husband material', but Rob still acted like it was the most embarrassing thing ever for him to try and introduce us."

"It's all starting to make sense. Susan originally said you had two kids and had been divorced for three years, and then later changed it to one girl, ten years old, and divorced five years. I'm guessing the second is you and the first was Joseph?"

"That's right. There's no other Bakul, so I'm guessing the information I have about you is correct. I guess Rob didn't realize it's a female name. Honestly, I didn't either. You've moved down to London from Leicester after completing a degree in Accountancy and started a new job at Susan's firm. You haven't even found a proper place to stay yet. You have been separated for a little over a year and have an eight-year-old boy?"

"You got everything completely correct," said Bakul. "Well, apart from my gender."

"Yes, well, it would been an almost perfect match-up on paper if not for that one small detail," said Joanne. "Did you have to spring for a babysitter tonight?"

"We're staying with my Aunt Darpitaa while I look for a place. She's agreed to take Aakil for the night. She's been helping out a lot while I get settled in down here. You?"

"I called in a favour and she's at a sleep-over at her best friend Tilly's. I was hoping to keep the house empty, you know, in case things went well tonight."

"Not one to take things slowly?" Bakul asked.

"In my situation, I can't afford to be. It's just so difficult, you know. Well, maybe you don't. I guess you haven't been separated that long," said Joanne.

"No, this is my first proper date since we broke up. Or at least it would have been. Okay, so tell it like it is," said Bakul.

"I'm a thirty-six-year-old single mother. So, what are my options? First, you've got the guys with no kids," Joanne said. "They'll promise to come and rock my world for a night or two and some of them even succeed. But all the time I'm with one I like, I'm constantly thinking 'Don't ask for commitment, don't ask for commitment' and then just a little bit of plea for commitment slips out accidentally and, poof, they're gone."

"So, you find a guy with kids of his own," said Bakul.

"Oh, you poor sweet summer child," said Joanne. "You're an accountant, so run the numbers. For every one single father, there are four single mothers. It's a buyers market and they know it."

"Now you're going to tell me what's wrong with a divorced guy where the mother has custody, aren't you?"

Joanne sighed. "Yeah, they're probably the most realistic, but they come with issues. Well, don't we all, but it's just a recipe for drama and resentment and feeling like you're the consolation prize. Especially as there's no way I'm having any more kids."

"So, divorced dating sucks, huh?"

Joanne looked back at Bakul's face. "Sorry, these are just my problems. It'll be different for you. You're proper gorgeous. What was it, twenty-nine? And looking younger. Hell, probably a good thing I came in and torpedoed this date, otherwise, snap, there'd be another man straight off the market for the rest of us."

"Yeah," said Bakul apparently not completely convinced. "I'll find someone. It's just, you know, it's not always so easy, culturally and what-not..."

Joanne took another sip of her coffee and then deflated into her chair. "Well, fuck. There goes my Friday night...our Friday night, I guess."

"Well, I did get two tickets for that movie. I still want to see it," Bakul said.

"Yes, and I booked that restaurant. We'll still both need to eat," Joanne replied.

"Yeah, I thought it was weird how Susan said that Joe was insistent on paying half-the-bill. Sounded militantly equalist coming from a man, but seemed a lot more reasonably feminist now."

"So," said Joanne raising her paper cup of latte. "Girls' night out?"

Bakul raised her nearly empty plastic cup of green tea. "Fuck it, girls' night out."

2.

"Fuck this girls' night out." said Bakul trying hard to focus well enough on her Pink Camel that she could take another sip.

It was six hours later. While movie and meal had been indifferent, the company had been great and, neither of them wanting their one night out a month to end, they'd decided to move on to somewhere else. The problem was, Bakul knew nowhere in London, and Joanne had known everywhere but two decades ago. This club was one that Joanne had come to often in her wilder days. She'd quickly realized that while the décor had definitely aged twenty years, the clientele had not. She was feeling like a solitary piece of mutton in a field of fresh lambs, and although she was being approached, she still had enough self-awareness, even after all the alcohol, to notice that she was never approached first.

A hand rested on the table and Joanne heard a voice from behind her. "Can I buy you two ravishing ladies a drink?"

"Piss off," said Bakul immediately. That had been more coherent and eloquent than her last refusal. Maybe she was sobering up a little bit.

Joanne turned quickly enough that she saw a set of broad shoulders and a peachy arse pissing off back to their mates.

"What was wrong with that one?" she asked.

"What was wrong? Like you haven't been telling me what bastards men are all evening," slurred Bakul.

"Yeah, well, I didn't mean that you shouldn't...look, don't let me get in the way of you finding someone nice."

"Anyway, did you hear him? If he starts with 'ravishing lady', it'll be all 'my dusky-eyed, espresso-skinned pearl of the east' before we've even hit the dance floor and then I'll need a sick bag."

Bakul would need a sick-bag regardless if they stayed any longer. Joanne decided to take charge "Should we get out of here? I'm not going to pull and you're not going to let yourself be pulled, so shall we just call it a night."

She supported her new friend on their way to the coats and together the two ladies made their way to the side of the road. Joanne pulled out her phone and started to find them a cab. "Where you going? We should be able to share," she said.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." said Bakul. "I can't go home like this. Look, big favour, could I possibly crash at yours for tonight."

"Well, I guess, but what's up?"

" I can hardly go back to Auntie Darpy's half-cut like this," she explained.

"You told her you were going out on a date, right? If you stay with me, she's just going to assume you're sleeping with that guy. How's that better?" quizzed Joanne.

"No, it is. It really is, right? Look, I'm fourth generation and a divorcee, alright. My parents are realists. I spend the night with some respectable and financially secure gentleman, that's moving my life in the right direction, and basically a good thing, even if they can't acknowledge it as such. I stagger in pissed at two in the morning having spent the evening at some night club, that's moving very much in the wrong direction. I'll be hearing about how I'm so hopeless that I couldn't even arrange a date with an actualman at every family gathering for the foreseeable future. Please?"

"Go on," said Joanne hitting the 'take me home' button on her app.

They grabbed a seat on a nearby wall and waited. It was November and the wind had a nicely sobering effect on both of them. Joanne pulled a packet of cigarettes from her bag. She offered Bakul one and then lit it for her. The younger girl took a drag and then started coughing.

"Not a smoker?" asked Joanne. "Why did you take one?"

There was a pause as Bakul recovered and then took a more careful puff on the cigarette. She blew out a mixture of smoke and frozen air into the night. "Haven't smoked since I was a teenager. End of my bad girl phase. Been a good girl, ever since -- marriage, home, job, kid. Where did it get me? Figure these things are cyclical. Might try being rebellious again."

"So, I've got to watch out for Bad Bad Bakul, have I?" said Joanne.

"I figured you were going to mentor me in misbehaving. Look, taxi's here." They checked the plates and got in.

"Evening ladies. Joanne, is it? Right, Woodford, it is." The driver, a middle-aged bald guy, pulled away and made his way out of London. "Good evening?" he said after a minute or so.

"Alright," said Joanne cautiously.

"Special occasion or just a night out?" he continued.

"If you must know, we were out on a date," Bakul answered.

"Oh, what like a double date? You strike out?"

Friendliness was quickly giving way to creepiness. Joanne was just thinking about how to shut it down when Bakul sprung into action.

"Not a bit of it," she said putting a hand on Joanne's cheek. "My colleague told me this one would be perfect for me and they were right."

Suddenly Joanne felt Bakul's lips pressed against hers. It was just for a moment, but it was a moment longer than it needed to be if it was pure theatre, and fuller on the lips. It had been a while since she'd been kissed with real passion and she found her mouth opening slightly in surrender. For a moment, a tongue was inside her mouth and then just as quickly it was gone.

"Ah, alright. I see. So, is Riviera a gay club now? Not prying mind, just checking for the Knowledge's all."

"No, we just like it," said Bakul in a voice that suggested the conversation was now over.

There were those creeps who, on discovering their passengers were lesbians, would double down, and then there were those who would slowly die inside from resentment. Luckily their driver appeared to be the second type. The rest of the journey past mostly in silence.

Joanne spent the time trying to process what had just happened. It had been a gambit to shut the guy up, but it had also been more. Surely? Or was she just imagining it? She hadn't been imagining her own reaction to it which had been completely different from how, in the cold light of day, she would have thought she would have reacted. She wanted to try it again to see if it was as nice the second time.

She tried to replay their evening in her mind. Their chatter all evening had been strictly heteronormative. Had she missed certain clues? Maybe not, at least at first. Bakul had been hitting the sauce far harder than a confident, attractive lady on a first date should. Joanne had assumed she was drowning her sorrows. Maybe she'd been drowning her inhibitions instead.

Somewhere in the mansions of Joanne's mind, a light bulb had come on in a deserted store room, as if on a timer. It wasn't the first time that room had been lit up. It wasn't even the first time she'd been in the room, mentally, when it happened. It was however the first time she didn't immediately switch it off and slam the door. Instead, she found herself wondering what was actually in all those boxes, and, with a bit of unpacking and sorting round, if the room might have a purpose.

Bakul suddenly seemed like a prize she'd won in a competition she hadn't entered. The girl was so much younger, slimmer, and generally more beautiful than she was that it seemed almost churlish to turn her down. She suddenly felt incredibly lucky. After all, Bakul would have a far easier time on mid-life dating than she would, whichever gender she eventually went for. It was incredibly flattering that Bakul had any interest in her at all.

No, flattering wasn't the word.

The word washot.

She, Joanne, was hot, apparently. Hotter than she had been in years.

And now it was simply a matter of deciding whether to douse that heat or let it burn.

This left Joanne with a choice to make. She alternated between looking out the window at the road signs that indicated that she was getting closer and closer to needing an answer and sneaking glances at her new friend out of the corner of her eye that only raised more questions. By the time they passed Leytonstone, she realized she was not longer thinking about theif, she was planning thehow.

3.

After giving some brief guidance to the driver, they finally pulled up at her house in the row of terraced houses just a few hundred yards away from the fly-over. It wasn't much but with just her and Lucy, she hadn't needed more.

She opened the patio, then the front door and let Bakul go in first. The younger woman paused at the stairs, waiting to be shown where to go next. Joanne walked straight up to her, put her arms around her, and kissed her firmly. A moment later their lips were locked and the younger woman was pushed up against the banister. There was a battle of hands behind backs which Joanne won - the sari had been held only by a clasp and was soon off from the shoulders to the midriff before Bakul could even get purchase on the zip on Joanne's own back. A moment later and the bra was off as well. Joanne buried herself in her partner's bosom.

Having lost the clothing battle, Bakul surrendered herself to the older woman, putting her hands on the railings behind her to steady herself and throwing her head backwards as her breasts were worshipped.

The initial burst of passion burned brightly but burned out fast. Seconds later they parted and were left looking into each other's faces again.

"Well, that was unexpected," said Bakul..