16) The Blind Date II
October 31, 2006
I am currently playing a blowjob giving, drug taking, psychic who is obsessed with horror movies.
“Getting into character” currently involves concentrating on four areas of expertise.
1) Blowjob giving
Since the Actor Friend disaster on my birthday, I have been celibate. They say that celibate people should not give blowjobs. The Polish chefs kindly offer to show me some phenomenal blowjob pornography and let me practise on them. Blown away by their selfless passion for theatre, I tell them to knob off and stick their sweaty poles somewhere sharp with a grater. I trawl the Internet for porn on Live In Ex Boyfriend’s computer whilst drinking wine instead. I hope he doesn’t get arrested.
2) Drug taking
I live in a colourful area of north London. I am offered marijuana approximately 11 times a day. When I hear the mumbled words ‘skunk weed’ coming from a hoodie, I smile and say
“I’m fine for skunk weed at the moment thank you for asking though. ” The character in my play takes heroin. I could say to the lacksadaisical youths
“I’m fine for skunk weed at the moment. Thank-you for asking. I am however thinking of taking some heroin. Would you be kind enough to suggest somewhere I could purchase a little bit of smack.”
I decide I haven’t really got the time or the money to cultivate a Class A habit. I look at pictures of Pete Doherty and practise the vacant dribbling doe eyed stare whilst drinking wine instead.
3) Being psychic
I am crap at being psychic. If I ever I believe it will be a nice day a blizzard will descend. If ever I think I’m “in there” the man in question will run away screaming, “HELP, she’s a nutter!” After my audition for this play I come home. I cry to Live In Ex Boyfriend until he gets bored. Then I meet up with one of my favourite people in the whole world Northern Actor Friend Who Goes By a Name Other Than His Own. We meet for late afternoon lager. I wail and moan that I will never get another acting job. The sound of my hiccupping sobs drowns out my Lovely Agent calling me and leaving a message saying that they want me to play the part. I realize there isn’t a psychic bone in my body. I watch Minority Report and drink wine instead.
4) Watching horror films
I am also crap at watching horror films. I still have a weak heart after watching Ghostbusters as a child. Still, “Suffer for beauty and art.” I think as I spend a fortune on horror in Fopp.
One average night I am lying alone in my single bed watching Texas Chainsaw Massacre. My eyes are blotchy and swollen after X factor. I am detoxing so my teeth are black after three quarters of a bottle of red wine.
It is late. My phone rings. Whoever it is will be drunk.
“Lucy, Lucy, Lucy, Lucy, Lucy” sings Funny Actor Friend Who Has Given Up Acting For Osteopathy. He sounds as though he might not remeber this conversation tomorrow
‘ Oh no I’ve got a terrible line…I might lose you.”
“Bugger I just wanted to say that you’re gorgeous, talented and funny. I can’t believe you’re single and I think I have the perfect man for you.”
“How weird,” I exclaim. ”The line seems to be perfect now.”
“He’s a great guy, great guy, great guy! I’ll give him your email.”
“Great.” I say thinking, ‘why don’t I have a proper email instead of my ‘spinsters quest’ thing? I look like a freak woman with cats. Still it is nice of Funny Actor Friend Who Has Given Up Acting For Osteopathy to think of me, even if it is to fob me off with his ugly, desperate, mad friends who will probably tear my limbs off with an axe and stuff me in a freezer.’ I shudder. I realize that an overindulgence of horror is affecting my rational thoughts.
The Perfect Man For Me emails two days later. He sounds witty and sane. “Don’t get excited Lucy. You thought that about the Smelly Scary Goth Platform Wearing Midget you met through Dating Direct.” I remind myself wisely.
He has a business link on his email. I click on it. There is a photo and a biography. He looks disarmingly happy. His job is very corporate and he plays football. On a positive note I can see a hairy chest poking above his sensible shirt. I love a bit of chest hair.
My schedule is a nightmare owing to Drunken Unreliable Reality TV Star being sacked from my play and having to be replaced by another actor. However we arrange a last minute drink on the river. He masterfully tells me where we are to meet. I am relieved not to have to spend ages sending emails going “I don’t mind, where do you think, you choose…please. I can’t make decisions…. help…argh”
It’ll be easy for him to dispose of my mutilated body there I suppose.
I go straight from rehearsal. I have spent an afternoon having my clothes ripped off and being slapped by an actor I have never met before. I have lost the heels on both of my slut boots so I sound like a Shire horse. I am late and flustered. When I am late and flustered I wave my arms around a lot
The look is “Clomping, Madly Gesticulating Soon to be Disembowelled Wanton Woman.”
I sit down and witter apologies. He smiles in a warm, kind way and says.
“I am actually very relieved that you are Lucy Johns and not my friend Pete.”
“He’s bloody mad.” I think.
He goes on to tell me a very strange story.
Perfect Man for me has two friends, Pete and Another Bloke Who's Name I've Forgotten. Some years ago Pete and Another Bloke Who's Name I've Forgotten are drunk. They want to get into a private party. They blag their way in by saying that they are the DJs. They have a go at DJing. With drunken bravado and no musical skill they get the crowd going until the real DJs turn up and the question ‘who the bloody hell are you’ is asked. They smugly believe that they have found their calling. They scope local venues looking for DJ work. They assure one club owner that they specialize in R and B. They are offered their own R and B night. They buy scores of R and B CDs. Unfortunately they can't be played on the vinyl turntables. Unable to make any sound other than violent feedback, they are rightly sacked. However Pete still harbours DJ dreams. He keeps the business cards with his special DJ name close by. One-day years later The Perfect Man For Me gets his hands on one of these business cards and sets Pete up. He says knows a woman who is looking for a DJ. They pluck a random name from out of the ether for the phantom DJ needing woman. The name they plucked happened to be Lucy Johns. It’s almost psychic.
By the end of this story I am really laughing. He suggests a bottle of wine.
“So what have you been doing today?”
“Oh this Drunken Unreliable Reality TV Star was sacked from my play the day before yesterday. I’ve just been rehearsing with the new guy. It’s the scene where I try to seduce two men, I get slapped and tied up then they have sex with each other. “ I sigh coolly. ”What about you?” I say preparing myself for mind numbing corporate blurb.
“I’ve just set up this business with a friend, I’m really excited by it. I love working for myself. I jump out of bed every morning” He goes on to get me quite excited by it.
He is really good company, and a very funny storyteller. We order food. I have a goats cheese salad.
“Girls love goats cheese!!” he exclaims. “Oooh that’s true!“ I gush.
We have another bottle of wine. We walk along the river. I take 16 photos of him at arty angles on Tower Bridge because I am drunk and I am a knob. Then we give all our money to a nervous looking medic. I can’t remember why.
We stumble into a riverside hotel bar and drink brandy with regional sales reps.
He doesn’t sink my bin bag covered torso in the river. He doesn’t even chuck my severed head in a wheelie bin. Instead he insists on dropping me home in a black taxi.
No dog walkers are scarred for life by stumbling across my decomposing loins the following morning. Instead I lay in bed clutching my wine head.
I may have a day off horror.
I may watch a sneaky romantic comedy instead.
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25) Guardian Soulmates Online