The Wrong Man

"Um, I think I'll just have another soda water please", she said, ignoring the glares of the manager as she ordered another free drink, whilst remaining on the much coveted bar stool.

The bar tender grinned at her, conspiratorially, as he added ice cubes and a slice of lemon and slid it towards her over the beer mat.

"Waiting for someone?" he asked,

"You could say that" she replied, as she slumped on to her elbows and leaned towards him, "I'm supposed to be meeting some guy off the net, do you think I'm mad?"

The barman grinned, he got as many confidences in the bar trade as his sister did cutting hair and he always enjoyed hearing the stories.

"Nah, I don't think you're mad," he said, picking up a damp pint glass and starting to polish it with a manky looking tea towel, "you're being careful, aren't you? Meeting him in a public place and that"

"Yes, I suppose so, and I asked my friend to call me every 15 minutes, so I have a get out if I need one."

"Do you think you will need one?"

"Who knows?" she admitted "he might be hideous, or smelly, or something"

The barman looked askance at her,

"You haven't seen a photo of him?"

"Um, no." She blushed, " He didn't have any pictures online, he just described himself to me, he sounded nice."

She looked a bit doubtful now, at having taken this Internet stranger at his word.

"Well I hate to be a party pooper," he said, "but how are you going to recognise him?"

"Oh, he's going to be carrying a copy of Internet World, then I have to go up and say hi."

"Wait no longer", said the bar man, picking up another glass, "there's your Romeo over there" and he gestured with a flick of the towel.

Taking a deep breath to steady herself the woman turned round slowly and felt a shiver of goose pimples wash over her, for there he was, reading the Internet World and looking pretty much as he had described, yet he was nothing like she had imagined.

Certainly he had the mid-brown hair, but it was thinning and unwashed. He had on a suit, but it was too tight, with gleaming knees and elbows from years of wear. His gut spilled over the fraying belt with a quite unjustified exuberance and a faint glimpse of sweat marks could be glimpsed from beneath the gaping jacket.

She let out a faint sigh of disappointment and tried to remember what he had said about himself when they had talked.

*** Sweet_Vicki: So... now we're so well acquainted, will you tell me what you look like?

Liam2000: I suppose so, what is it that you want to know?

Sweet_Vicki: Just the basics; your height and colouring – don't tell me anything you don't want to.

Liam2000: No no! I don't mind telling you. I'm just over 6 foot, mid brown hair, grey/blue eyes. I wear a suit most days. Is that enough information?

Sweet_Vicki: Yes, that's fine. I'll know you when I see you now!

Liam2000: Oh? Are you planning on seeing me any time soon then?

Sweet_Vicki: Oh, I don't know! Do you think we should meet?

Liam2000: Well, I thought that's what you were suggesting...

***

And it was done. How she wished, now, that she had demanded a photograph, or even to know his waist measurement as well as his height.

Vicki cringed in horror. Would she dare to just leave and not go over and introduce herself?

Normally she was so nice, always considerate of other people, even if it meant inconvenience to herself, but she had built up her hopes so much about Liam that she just couldn't stand the disappointment if it really was him, never mind the embarrassment of being seen in public with such an unkempt and, to be blunt, ugly man.

She felt close to tears, she had been incredibly stupid to be so blithely optimistic about this man whom she'd never met, never seen a photograph of.

She had become so close to him online, after they'd met on some dating website, that she'd felt they had really got to know each other and somehow she had expected his exterior to be as shiningly beautiful as his personality.

She knew everything about his childhood: a semi in West London and a series of private schools punctuated by a hideous year when his parents got divorced. His job: advertising copywriter and his hopes and dreams: a house, a family, a novel.

In return he knew all the most secret, private things about her, but despite all this his surname was still a mystery to her even though it had almost begun to seem as though he was her soul mate.

Vicki had been shy growing up and now she was in her twenties things weren't much different. She still had trouble approaching strangers, especially men and, even if she managed that, she found it really hard to talk about herself with any degree of openness.

It was for all these reasons that the internet had seemed like an ideal answer; get to know the man and allow him to know her, then the terrifying ordeal of the meeting.

Now she could feel her carefully summoned courage rapidly dissipating, to be replaced by apprehension and a chill of fear.

"Are you alright love?" the barman leaned forward, concerned by the look on her face,

"It's the wrong man," she said in a quavering voice. "That can't be him, can it? I never imagined he would look so old, he said he was only twenty-eight".

"Sometimes people lie online, it's what they do it for. It allows them to be somebody else, even if it's not real."

"But then why arrange to meet me? Surely it would all become obvious then."

"Perhaps he thought you'd overlook it and just see him as the man you'd talked to online" he suggested, really getting into his role of wise father confessor, then instantly regretting it as he saw she now felt obligated to talk to this revolting specimen of manhood.

"But you know," he added, "if he lied about his age, he may have lied about other things, you don't have to talk to him. He has no way of recognising you, does he?"

Mutely she shook her head and pushed her hair behind her ear, managing, in the process, to knock her glass over the man who had just sat down next to her.

"Oh God! I am so sorry!" she cried, making a grab for the glass and dabbing at his wet trousers with one of the bar towels whilst the man looked on with amusement.

"It's quite alright," he assured her, "but maybe I should do that" and gently took the towel from her to resume mopping his groin, smiling as he watched a flush rise up her neck until her face was suffused with rosy pink. "Were you supposed to be meeting someone off the Internet?" he asked, having heard snippets of the conversation, "who is it?"

"That man over there," she said, indicating the greasy gentleman on the far side of the pub.

"I would have thought he was a bit old for you, are you sure it's him?"

"Oh yes," She said mournfully, "He's carrying a copy of the Internet World, just like he said he would. I've been trying to decide whether to introduce myself or not, he's nothing like he described."

"Yes, I heard," said the young man, "has he no way of recognising you?"

"Well, I described myself to him, but he's supposed to recognise me by this" and, leaning closer, she revealed a scrunched up bundle of pale green silk, "I'm supposed to be wearing this scarf, you see, but I thought I'd check him out first."

"Lucky he didn't think of trying the same trick," murmured the man, the amusement showing in his mist coloured eyes. Vicki smiled back at him and realised, for the first time, how very attractive he was.

"I'm Victoria" she said, holding out her hand and giggling when he bowed gallantly over it and kissed her fingers lightly.

"Delighted" he said, softly. "I'm William. May I assume that you are going to stand up our be-greased friend? If so, might I suggest you accompany me to dinner? I was going to dine alone, but it would seem very dull now I've met you."

Her eyes goggled at such blatant flattery, but his ironic, overblown style of expressing himself appealed to her and, giggling, she accepted, first excusing herself to go to the Ladies.

"Lucky man," said the bartender, feeling envious of this newcomer for getting a date with the sweet, pretty girl.

"Yes," agreed William, a half smile still lingering on his face as he seemed to consider something. "I don't suppose you could do me a favour, could you?"

"Depends what it is"

"Could you get rid of this, for me?" Leaning across the bar, William pulled a rolled up and rather battered copy of Internet World out of his coat and handed it to the bartender.

Mouth falling open, he reluctantly took hold of the magazine and dropped it into the bin, then looked curiously at William. "You going to tell her then?" he asked, as he realised the implications of this new development.

"Oh yes," William admitted, "mainly because I think she'd figure it out eventually. We know so much about each other that she'd match up the personal details soon. Besides, I'd be bound to give myself away. I think I'll play it by ear for now, though."

"Shall we be off then?" Said Vicki shyly, coming up behind him.

"Certainly, Miss Victoria, allow me" he said as he helped her into her coat then held the door open for her.

"Call me Vicki," she said, gasping as the chilly November air hit her throat and she hurried to wrap the green scarf around her neck, "Nobody calls me Victoria unless they're cross with me."

"Of course, if that's what you wish" he said, taking her arm in his, "but in that case I suppose you'd better call me by my nick name."

"Ok then, is it Will?"

"No," he said, turning to look at her, "it's from the end of my name. It's Liam" and he smiled as she gaped in recognition, "I use it for my screen name online, too."