Trembling and with pulse racing, Jordan drove through the night, fazed by the too bright lights of oncoming cars. It was his first time at ATableFor6 for over fifties and he did not know what to expect. He was entering the dating scene after an ugly divorce. He circled the surrounding streets for a place to park his anonymous and battered black SUV. But it was Saturday night, so nothing to be found. Feeling desperate, he settled for parking in a no standing zone, which made him more nervous. He hated being late, especially tonight. As he shut the door, it began to rain in large drops that spattered his dark mauve shirt. Jordan opened the boot to take out his ample umbrella, but it was not there. It was a cool evening and he wished he had brought a jacket, if only because of the rain. China Doll, where six hopefuls were due to meet at 7, was four blocks away. It was already 7.12 according to his iPhone. He walked as fast as his paunchy frame would allow, avoiding the puddles and trying to use what little cover was available. His stomach rumbled, as he had missed lunch because of a sudden call-out to help his sister.Jordan was heaving as he arrived, wet, flustered and out of breath at the restaurant on the pier. The waiters were busy ignoring him, so that he pulled the sleeve of a bearded man to catch his attention. The waiter informed him that the table booked under Queen was at the furthest recess of the ample hall, which was decorated with ceramic dragons and partitions showing Chinese landscapes. He dashed across, tripped on a black bag, but did not fall, and arrived panting at the table. Two men and one woman were already conversing. "Hi, I'm Jordan," he introduced himself, trying to sound upbeat. Liam, John and Sira exchanged names with him. "We are still waiting for Sally and Oprah," Liam informed him. Jordan sat down opposite Sira, who was between Liam and John. It was the best seat for a male, as he would have a woman on each side and one opposite. Since it was a Sydney restaurant on Saturday night, Jordan could barely hear his immediate neighbours. Talking diagonally across the white tablecloth was out of the question. The hard floor did nothing to muffle the background noise of many people speaking loudly plus the piped rock and roll music.
The others were animatedly discussing the merits of Game of Thrones, a series Jordan had not watched, so that he could not enter the discussion. He couldn't very well ask what it was about. Feeling stupid, he pretended to consult his mobile. A few minutes later, Oprah arrived, apologising for being late. She wore a long white dress and tortoise shell glasses. Oprah placed herself on Jordan's right. Jordan asked her whether she had been to ATableFor6 before. It was her second time. "How do you like it?" Jordan asked, not knowing what else to say. "Oh, it's a good way to meet people, eat at good restaurants and socialise."
Liam was tall, young looking but with a receding hair line. He seemed perfectly at ease in his brown jacket and jeans. Sira was short and average looking, with straight brown hair that terminated half way down her head, a particularly unflattering hairstyle, thought Jordan. John was in a dapper cream suit and flashed a polished moustache, which he stroked unconsciously, as if making sure it was still there. Oprah was overweight, with a double chin but a pleasant face. Her long hair dyed black framed her face agreeably.
The two ladies discovered they lived in adjoining suburbs on the inner North Shore. They began discussing the local school, where Sira's daughter was about to graduate. They became increasingly animated as they discovered they had more in common, including their favourite cafe. The two women conversed in a familiar way, ignoring the three men, who spoke to each other about the football season. At least Jordan could chip in there. He noted that he had seen this pattern before - women bonding easily with each other, rather than with males. Both women had been part of the "Feel Good, Look Good" programme, one as a volunteer, the other as a beneficiary, which was another bond. "I bet they will ask for each other's phone number and become fast friends", he thought glumly.
Neither lady was physically attractive. Even though he was himself overweight, he did not fancy a partner with broad thighs. He wanted a slim blonde with long straight hair. Yet he knew that his options were limited, as women showed scant interest in him and he was already over 50. He recalled that in Adelaide, he had watched a slim young man walking hand in hand with a fat girl. His immediate reaction had been that he would not want to be seen with a fatty, but on reflection, he decided that this cast him in a bad light, and he even felt vaguely guilty.
Liam managed to break into the female flow by suggesting that they order, as Sally was 30 minutes late, if she was even going to turn up. The bearded waiter took their orders for mains and wine by the glass. When this arrived, Jordan felt more comfortable sipping a fruity red. His seat was well padded, like his behind. Helpful friends had told him to ask questions of a prospective date. He was doing this with Oprah, but he knew it wasn't working. It seemed more like an interrogation than an easy interaction. Oprah played with her hair and asked him nothing at all, which was not a good sign. The table conversation now turned to Sydney suburbs - where people grew up, went to school, where they lived now. This seemed pointless to Jordan. Supposedly, they were all here to find the love of their lives, rather than to play at real estate agents. Admittedly, he had little idea how one should speak to a possible date - maybe ask what food she likes? He had never learned how to talk to a woman, or to listen to his wife, for that matter. What did she use to say? "Are you listening to me, Jordan?" Perhaps that was why she divorced him. He really didn't know why.
Jordan wondered whether people were fearful to venture into personal territory. Or maybe they had already decided that no-one there interested them. Was he himself interested? He reviewed what he wanted in a woman: warmth, openness and curiosity. The two ladies did not seem to possess these qualities, though their table manners were high class.
What he did know is that most women wanted a funny man. Jordan's theory was that females have less of a sense of humour than males, and hence rely on males to inject some levity. Was he funny enough to qualify? He had no idea, but he knew he lacked charisma. At least he had both kidneys, something a woman online had stipulated. Jordan often felt invisible at Meetups and other gatherings. No woman had even bothered enough to ghost him.
Eventually, Sally did appear. She was a pretty blonde with a ready smile and subtly applied make-up. Jordan immediately thought she was too nice looking to be interested in him. Yet he fantasised about her. She wore torn blue jeans, sneakers and a black blouse. Would she dress up and wear mini skirts for him? More to the point, did she like to give blowjobs? His mind returned to the present moment, which was one of mild discomfort, as he felt excluded from the conversation at the table and did not know how to butt in. It transpired Sira had a PhD, on the topic of suicide prevention. That could come in handy, Jordan thought. Sally said that there is no such thing as a generation gap in music, because she and her five-year-old grandson adored the same rock group. Jordan's uncharitable conclusion was that her musical taste had not evolved.
Trying to find an opening, Jordan asked Sira, "What makes you laugh?" She made a non-committal reply and reflected the question to him. "I love English humour and humour of the absurd. One of my favourite jokes is: 'A teenager is a person who does not realise, that one day, they will be as stupid as their parents.'" Sira liked this, but turned to her male neighbour on the left. Jordan knew he was not afraid of rejection. He wasn't afraid of it because he expected it. He operated on the salesman principle, that you ask ten times in order to get one positive reply. In fact, his average when he wrote to women on the RSVP website was one positive response out of 15 messages he sent. The rest did not bother to reply or said he wasn't a suitable match. Clearly, he wasn't up to the mark as a salesman.
Many smells wafted into the room before the actual food arrived, with garlic prominent. When he finally bit into his steak he savoured the luxurious taste of underdone cow muscle. At least people were not playing with their mobiles, thought Jordan.
Oprah had ordered whiting with white sauce and she suddenly began to choke. A fish bone had caught in her throat. She tried to remove it, but instead pushed it further down. John suggested she eat some soft bread rolls and he called a waitress to order them. When the rolls came, they did the trick, though her throat was sore for the remainder of the evening.
Jordan asked Sally what music she liked best. She answered that she liked all kinds except heavy metal. "I hate that answer," Jordan replied. "It tells me nothing about your musical taste. What do you really enjoy?" On reflection, she admitted to having a weakness for rhythm and blues, a genre that Jordan had not even heard of. Not yet ready to abandon asking questions, he asked Oprah what were three things she could not live without. She was stumped for an answer, which was another dead end. Jordan began to wish the evening would just end, though he had not yet finished his sirloin with black pepper reduction. Would he get a parking ticket? he wondered.
The evening waned, and the noise level diminished because the hysterically laughing young women at the next table left to go drinking. John launched into an interminable series of anecdotes about a trip he had made to Ireland. No-one thought to tell him to cut it. Jordan thought of it, but decided against.
Before leaving, Jordan asked Sally whether he could pick her up from the restaurant, so that she would not get wet. She smiled sweetly but declined his offer, saying that a friend was giving her a lift home. "What did you expect?" Jordan asked himself silently.
While they were all saying goodbye, John said he had tried to commit suicide twice. There was an uncomfortable silence before Sira advised him to see someone.
Driving home, Jordan wondered, Did he even want a girlfriend? He'd have to give up being a lazy slob on weekends, cut down his drinking, and what would his sex doll say?