I shook my head, and was about to discard the newspaper when a small advertisement caught my eye. The Cuttings, it said, with a logo of a bullet train hurtling along a track. I noticed it because the answer to twelve across in yesterday’s crossword had been Shinkansen. Such small coincidences can pepper a life with interest. I looked at the content, which appeared to be an announcement of forthcoming events at said venue. Sandwiched between two artistes I’d never heard of was a listing for Friday. Tonight.
There was the name of a band – obviously, I’d never heard of them – and there, in smaller font, was the musician! I dropped the paper, picked it up again. No one had noticed. I ripped out the advert, folded it carefully and placed it in the inside pocket of my shopper. This was it, the opportunity I’d been waiting for. Written in the stars, delivered to me by Fate. This bus, this morning … and tonight.
I looked up the venue when I got to the office. It seemed that he would be playing at 8 p.m. I needed to shop for a party – and now a gig – outfit after work, which did not leave much time. Judging by the website, The Cuttings seemed to be the sort of place where one would feel most comfortable when fashionably attired. How, then, would I manage to be there for eight, dressed and ready? Ready to meet him? Was it too soon? Should I wait until another time, prepare properly? I’d read somewhere that one only gets a single chance to make a first impression – I’d dismissed the trite phrase at the time, but perhaps there was some truth in it. If the musician and I were going to be a couple, our first encounter needed to be a memorable one.
I nodded to myself, having made up my mind. I’d go to the shops straight after work, buy a new outfit, and wear it to the concert. Oh, Eleanor, it couldn’t be that easy, could it? I knew from experience that life was never this straightforward, so I tried to anticipate any potential problems and how best I might address them. What would I do with the clothes I was currently wearing? The answer came to me easily: my shopper was big enough to hold them. What about dinner? I am not a woman who functions well on an empty stomach, and it would be embarrassing to faint at his feet for any reason other than an excess of emotion. Well, couldn’t I purchase some food from a café after work, and still manage to arrive at The Cuttings for 7.45 p.m.? Yes, I could. That would allow me plenty of time to select a seat near the front for the best possible view. My view of him, and his view of me, of course. All of the problems solved.
I couldn’t resist a quick look online to see if he was as excited as I was about tonight. Ah, thank you, Twitter:
@johnnieLrocks
Soundcheck: done. Haircut: done. Get your fat backsides down to the Cuttings tonight, mofos.
#nextbigthing #handsomebastard
A man of few words. I had to google ‘mofo’ and must confess to being slightly alarmed by the result. Still, what did I know of the wild ways of rock stars? They used an unfamiliar argot that he’d teach me in due course, no doubt. Could the lessons start tonight? It was hard to believe that, in a matter of a few hours, I’d be in his presence. Ah, the thrill of anticipation!
I had a missive for him in my shopper which I hadn’t sent yet. Another sign that fate was smiling on me today. Earlier in the week, I’d copied out a verse for him, one I’d always loved, using a Bic biro. What a cost-effective miracle of engineering this instrument is! I’d selected the card with care: it was blank, and the front displayed an etching of a most endearing hare – long ears, powerful legs, and a surprisingly assertive face. It was gazing upwards at the moon and stars, its expression impossible to fathom.
Greetings cards are preposterously expensive, given that they are fabricated from a small piece of printed cardboard. You get an envelope with it, I suppose, but still. You would have to work for almost half an hour in a minimum-wage occupation in order to earn enough to purchase a nice greetings card and a second-class stamp. This was a revelation; I’d never actually sent a card to anyone before. Now that I would be seeing him tonight, however, I had no need to attach a postage stamp. I could present my humble gift in person.
Emily Dickinson’s beautiful poem is called Wild Nights – Wild Nights!, and combines two elements of which I am inordinately fond: punctuation, and the theme of finding, at long last, a soul mate.
I read the poem over again, licked the glue of the envelope with care – it was deliciously bitter – and then wrote his name on the front in my best handwriting. I hesitated as I put it back in my shopper. Was tonight really the best night for poetry? My reluctance was strange; the card was bought and paid for, after all. I wondered, however, whether I might be better off waiting to see what happened at the gig before taking things to an epistolary level. There was no need to be reckless.
Five o’clock took for ever to arrive. I travelled on the underground into town for speed, and went into the closest department store to the station, the same one where I’d purchased my laptop. It was 5.20 p.m., and the store would close in less than an hour. Womenswear was on the first floor (when did Ladieswear become Womenswear, I wondered) and I took the escalator, being unable to find the stairs. The shop floor was vast, and I decided to request assistance. The first woman I saw was matronly, and did not seem well placed to dispense fashion advice. The second was in her late teens or early twenties, and therefore too callow to advise me. The third, in the manner of Goldilocks, was just right – around my age, well-groomed, sensible-looking. I approached with caution.
‘Excuse me, I wonder if I could possibly ask for your assistance?’ I said.
She stopped folding sweaters and turned to me, smiling insincerely.
‘I’m attending a concert at a fashionable venue, and I wondered if you might assist me with the selection of an appropriate ensemble?’
Her smile broadened and looked more genuine.
‘Well, we do offer a personal shopper service,’ she said. ‘I could make you an appointment, if you like?’
‘Oh no,’ I said, ‘it’s for this evening. I really do need something right now, I’m afraid.’ She looked me up and down.
‘Where is it that you’re going?’
‘The Cuttings,’ I said proudly. She stuck out her bottom lip, nodded once, slowly.
‘What are you, a twelve?’ I nodded, impressed that she had been able to size me up so accurately by sight alone. She checked her watch.
‘Follow me,’ she said. It seemed that there were a variety of stores within the store, and she took me to the least prepossessing outlet. ‘OK, off the top of my head,’ she said, ‘these …’ a pair of ridiculously slender black denim trousers ‘… with this …’ a black top, similar to a T-shirt but in faux silk, with a keyhole of fabric missing from the back.
‘Really?’ I said. ‘I was thinking more along the lines of a nice dress, or a skirt and blouse.’ She looked me up and down again.
‘Trust me,’ she said.
The changing room was small and smelled of unwashed feet and air freshener. The jeans looked too small but, miraculously, they stretched around me and I was able to fasten them. The top was loose, with a high neck. I felt appropriately covered up, if nothing else, although I couldn’t see the cut-out section at the back. I looked exactly like everyone else. I supposed that was the point. I kept the outfit on, pulled off the tags and placed them on the floor, then folded up my work clothes and put them into my shopper. I picked up the tags for the woman to process on her cash register.
She was hovering outside when I emerged. ‘What do you think?’ she said. ‘Looks good, doesn’t it?’
‘I’ll take them,’ I said, handing her the bar codes.
I had forgotten about the security devices clipped onto the clothes, however, and we had quite a struggle to remove them. I had to come behind the desk, in the end, and kneel backwards beside her so she could detach them using the magnetic machine fixed to the counter. We ended up laughing about it, actually. I don’t think I’ve ever laughed in a shop before. After I’d paid, trying not to think about how much money I’d spent, she came out from behind the desk again.