The Singer

I awoke the next day with a clear head that became increasingly muddled by lunch time. It wasn't my idea that was bothering me, it had a lot to do with sheer nervousness about this lunch date. I mean this woman can look good in a potato sack but every time I'd seen her at work she always seemed to look like she'd just walked off the set of a photo shoot. She'd styled her hair differently that day as well with soft waves reminiscent of a Farrah Fawcett Majors look. Combined with a brilliant white satin blouse, and black leather, pencil skirt the effect was electric and she certainly got a few looks from the guys at work that morning. I guess they were talking about us behind our backs when we drove out to the hot bread kitchen at Burnt Bridge.

"So, what's this idea of yours?"

"I want a picture of the band that I can put on the flyer, so I was thinking of taking a few pictures at the rehearsal and we can choose one."

"Sounds good," she slung her handbag over her shoulder, "and it's not going to get you into trouble with the gay brigade?"

"They won't know but even if they find out, it's my life. Build a bridge and get over it."

"A rainbow bridge?" Rowena smiled slyly.

"Rainbow, concrete, wooden, who the f... hell cares."

"It's all right to say fuck in front of me," she slipped a hand into the crook of my arm, "just because I'm a Christian it doesn't mean I'm a bloody prude."

It was a fairly entertaining lunch date in her car. I found out about her family. Her dad worked in the construction industry as a project manager and her mother was a doctor. She had two sisters, Amelia and Zara, and a brother, Joe.

"My parents decided to work their way through the alphabet," she explained, "Amelia was first, Joe was next, I'm number three and Zara is number four. Dad got a vasectomy after that."

"Sounds almost logical."

"I always thought it sounded weird," she pursed her lips, "what about your family?"

"Dad was a soldier and mum teaches kindergarten," I replied, "they divorced when I was six and mum got remarried two years later."

"Brothers and sisters?"

"Two, both older than me, Tony is five years older than me and Bridget is two years older. They still see a bit of dad but I'm closer to my stepdad, Brian. He's a mechanic and he got me the job here through a mate of a mate."

"Handy to know," she replied, "so, are you single or is it complicated?"

"I was with a woman, Wendy and I broke up six months ago."

"That's a long time to go between roots," she eyed me, "or do you pick girls up?"

"I've done it a couple of times but I find myself thinking about Wendy and then I get guilty and I don't call them back."

"Ouch," she winced, "that's got to hurt in the morning, she must have really gotten under your skin."

"She and I were together for two years, we pretty much organised our wedding before the day but about a month before the ceremony she suddenly decided we needed to take a break and I just said yeah but then I found out she was seeing someone else."

"I'm sorry," she looked at me.

"Thanks," I stared straight ahead, "it's one of those things I know I should be able to handle better but for some reason I can't seem to get past first base."

"Have you had counselling?"

"Not sure I need that as much as just getting on with things, maybe I should just plough on and things will get better."

If that sounded lame it's because it was fucking lame. Honestly I had a small circle of friends but they were with partners and while I was always welcome at their parties I always felt a little like the third wheel. We have a saying in Australia, a spare dick at a wedding, which doesn't exactly fit the lesbian parties I went to for obvious reasons but you get the meaning. I always felt like an intruder and whilst I did go to the odd party I'd found myself becoming more isolated.

It wasn't until we were back at work that Rowena came out with her suggestion as I sat with a can of Coke in her car. She was texting a friend and looked up now and then, I was fully aware that the guys were now looking at us. Bazza must have told a lesbian joke because the others were laughing and I half considered giving him the one fingered salute when she nudged me.

"You listening or not?"

"Huh?"

"I've got a proposal for you."

"Okay, shoot," I eyed her.

"I need to scout out a few live venues for the band and you need to get out there and dip your toes in the dating pool," she took out her lipstick and popped the top.

"So, how's about we make a night of it, every Saturday night we'll pick a different venue. I can be your date until you find a woman who's interested and from then on it's up to you."

"Oh, fuck," my head hit the headrest, "where did this come from?"

"It's called a compromise," she applied some lipstick.

"I know you look at me like that and while it's flattering, I'm not that way inclined but I still want to help you find someone and I really do want to look for new venues but a woman like me walking into some of these pubs would be like jumping into a piranha pool. We can come to some kind of story whenever a lesbian approaches you. We can say we're cousins and if you don't fancy her then give me some kind of sign or verbal code and I'll be your girlfriend," she pursed her lips.

"Just don't try to kiss me or the deal's off."

It took me a few seconds to reply but when I did it sounded rushed.

"All right and yeah, I do like you but I really do want to do this flyer."

"Cool," her eyes flickered to the guys, "will you check out Barry, I think he's getting ready to cream his jeans."

She was observant, judging by Bazza's erection and I grinned as well.

"He's harmless enough but he is a bit thick, he hit on me the first week I was here but when I told him I was gay he just wanted to know if I'd like to get into a threesome with his girlfriend."

Her laughter caught me by surprise because it was loud and infectious.

"How not to impress a girl," she finally finished.

"Well on that note," she put her lipstick back into the bag, "I gotta love you and leave you."

We exited the car and Bazza stared lustfully at her but all I could think about was my hair. It's not too short but it's never been high on my list of priorities, but if I was going to dip my feet in the old dating pool I was going to have to swallow my pride and go visit an old girlfriend who worked at a salon in Eastland.

What am I doing?

To be continued...