Larkin read the email again. He shook his head, blinked, and read it again. Slowly this time.
He had been online for six months. In his day there had been no Internet cafes, no computers at school, no "Web-Surfing for Wankers" books in the local library. In one of his first jobs after school Larkin actually was a Computer. Working in the depths of the accounting department of a large engineering company, his job was to add up the columns of paper spreadsheets. His buddy added up the rows, and together they checked the sub-totals. No online porn or dating involved.
But in all the months surfing, all the hours spent setting up dating profiles, sending and reading messages, Larkin had never had a response. Well, not a real one, not one that had amounted to anything. Sure, he'd had the usual suspects, porn and spam of all types.
"Gorgeous girls looking for men in your area", "Lovely Lola is waiting for your call right now", Larkin had seen them all. He'd even responded to one of those "enhancement" emails (before he knew better), and had received a bottle of cream in the mail. It had made all his pubic hairs fall out, but his member, sadly, had not changed, neither in length nor girth. He'd measured. More than once.
By now Larkin knew all too well that the gorgeous girls in his area weren't at home, huddled around their PCs, waiting for emails from sad, lonely men who had probably spent too much time with their mothers. Nor were they willing to frotter themselves on camera either. Not for free, anyway. He doubted there were any such ladies in his area at all, judging from the spotty, pasty-faced pony-tail-and-tracksuit brigade at his local watering hole. If they did exist, they were probably in the middle of pretending to eat a ludicrously expensive meal at some exclusive restaurant, crammed with celebrities. Later, they'd be climbing into the passenger seat of a European sports-car and screaming off into the night. Even later, they'd be kneeling by the side of a plush four-poster bed in an even more exclusive hotel, with their mouth full.
"Lovely Lola", by the look of her, didn't need a phone call from him. What she needed was her passport back, a few weeks in a clinic specializing in treating crack addiction, and a flight back home to her grimy tenement. Looking at her gallery made Larkin feel horny, sure, but also sad and guilty, and not at all like phoning her up. Besides, it really didn't look like there was room for anything else inside her, not even something small and soft. Like Larkin.
No, this was an email from an actual woman, a real woman. She was witty and charming, setting our her likes and dislikes clearly and concisely. After exchanging a few emails with her, it emerged that her ideal man seemed to be someone approximately Larkin-shaped, with a personality not completely unlike his own. Some minor cosmetic surgery might be required, and some tactical lying about his family history would definitely help, but it seemed that she was attracted to him. He might be able to pull this off.
They agreed to meet for lunch, at a small restaurant in the City. Gloria would be wearing a blue scarf, Larkin a mustard suit. Like Larkin, she had no camera, so they couldn't exchange pictures. She phoned to confirm details. Her voice was lovely, confident but not over-bearing. Larkin was terrified of women, his long-dead grandmother representing his only link to their perfumed, mysterious world. That night he fired up his usual bukakke sites. He could feel their eyes on him, accusing. He stayed up late, masturbating, then weeping, then masturbating again, filled with self-loathing, lust and fear.
"Gloria!" he moaned.
At twenty past luch-time Larkin had to admit that it wasn't looking good. he had booked a table in the corner, facing the door. The waiter tried to be helpful, but Larkin could see the pity and scorn behind the mask of his smile. His eyes scanned the door, looking for a slim brunette in a blue scarf.
Finally he ordered lunch for one. He felt embarrassed as the waiter cleared the second place setting. After a reasonable meal and a bottle of wine, he left, overtipping the smirking waiter. Outside, across the road, was a woman in a blue scarf. She looked at him, smiled, then turned and walked quickly down the busy street. She was gorgeous.
By the time Larkin negotiated the traffic she had gone around the corner. He almost gave up then, but the memory of that smile drove him on. He rounded the corner, just in time to see her turn into a side-street. This time she waved, beckoning him on, before vanishing again. He hurried on, following her down the dark alley. Old newspapers lay in piles. A few garbage cans had been overturned. One streetlight still worked, and by that light Larkin could see Gloria, in her blue scarf. She leaned against the pole, and beckoned him towards her.
"Larkin". She smiled.
"Gloria".
"Don't talk". She put her fingers on his lips, drawing him in towards her. "Close your eyes". She kissed him, her tongue darting inside his mouth.
The blue scarf was wrapped tightly around his neck. His remaining eye stared out from his blue-black face. His naked body was frail and pathetic, punctuated with bruises, stab-wounds and cigarette burns. The woman he had known as Gloria spat in his face, then turned, quickly going through his wallet. She was gorgeous, she was in his area, and she was definitely still looking for men.
|
Short Fiction 
