So, well, Jay’s wife had gone to her mum’s place for a week. And this was the opening he was looking for. He wanted to do something exciting. As exciting as going out on a date. He was tired of his playboy issue. He checked himself out in the mirror. He ruffled his hair and played with it till he was satisfied. Then he quirked his eyebrows and stood at various angles to see which was his best side. He figured, if he stood with his face turned right and his body turned left, his head held slightly higher, his arms placed on both sides of his waist, with one leg slightly bent and the other straight, and his tummy sucked in, he almost looked like a Roman emperor.

He had prepared himself well in advance. He had stayed up late in front of his PC on the pretext of looking for work, but he would secretly check out videos on Youtube. How to be successful with women? How to ask a girl out? How to ask her for her number? How to not act on a first date? How to sexually attract women? How to use your body language to impress the opposite sex? How to talk to women? How to have an engaging conversation? “Women want sex as much as men do,” had said one of the confident looking guys talking to a group of his students. Jay had chuckled with excitement when he'd heard that. “When you meet a woman, don’t stare at her like an idiot, but picture her in your mind as a naughty little girl who wants to be punished for being disobedient,” some other video podcast had announced. Jay had practiced that look. He would enact the tips over and over again in front of the bathroom mirror every night after his wife would go to bed.
      
Look your best, he kept repeating to himself. He had a lot to do. He began with shaving. But he couldn’t decide whether he should keep a French beard, or just go for a trim, or lose the moustache and keep the beard, or vice versa or shave it all off, except the jaw line to accentuate his strong, squarish face. He finally went for a trim. He took a shower and spent about an hour in the bathroom; shampooing, scrubbing and exfoliating (The literature on the face wash bottle read, “A deep cleanser that will make your skin smooth and shiny). Jay immediately felt the skin on his face after applying the face wash and nodded, impressed.

He put on his favorite cologne and deodorant in copious amounts, while the emanating vapor engulfed his nostrils and made him cough. He attacked his limited wardrobe, leaving it like it had been through a Katrina when he’d finished. He would try a shirt and a matching trouser and walk in front of the full length mirror in his bedroom, before deciding whether or not it bought out his best features. He would not only check his outfit in different mirrors, including the one in the bathroom, and the one in his kid’s room, but also in different lights. He would put on the fluorescent bulb first, then the tube light and if still not satisfied, he would open his curtains to check himself out in natural light or he would try a combination of all three. He finally picked a blue shirt, grey trousers and a grey striped tie.
 
He looked at himself with pride one last time, before buoyantly stepping out. He decided to go the University of Sydney, because that’s where he had heard were the hottest girls in town. He got on bus no.545, and right away found someone he would like to go out with. She had auburn hair, neatly pulled back into a pony and was reading a book. Her dress, a formal black striped jacket with a black inner and a short knee length striped skirt, suggested she was a secretary or something like that. Jay took off his shades to “look” straight into her eyes. All the video had one common suggestion, “make eye contact.”

“Does this bus go to Epping?” he asked, inserting the tip of his shades between his teeth and pinching his eyebrows and narrowing his eyes like Richard Gere in “Pretty Woman.” He had seen several movies of Pierce Brosnan, George Clooney, Tom Cruise and Richard Gere to emulate the way they speak and carry themselves.         

“Umm, I don’t think so. I think you would have to get down at the Macquarie Shopping Center and catch another bus from there to Epping,” she replied, looking up from her book.  

She isn’t all that great looking, he mused, while he plonked himself in a seat right behind her. But she is plump. She must have a great ass. His seat was at a slight elevation and he could look over her shoulders. She had gone back to reading her book. He would pretend to look out of windows on either side, secretly glancing at her every time his head move from left to right. After a while, she shut her book. Encouraged at the gesture, he leaned forward and said,

“The traffic’s pretty rough, isn’t it?”

She didn’t respond for a second, denting his confidence slightly, before saying,

“Yeh, usually on a Friday, this is how it is.”

“Yeh, people will be eager to get home, Friday night party,” he said with flamboyance, specially stressing on the word party.   

“I know. I am,” she said, smiling, showcasing her perfect white teeth.

“So you work?” he enquired, at the risk of seeming stupid.

“Yeah, I work at Asics,” she replied.

“As a?”

“As a mechanical engineer,” she said, filling in the blank.  

“Ohh, that’s interesting,” he said, in a bid to appear intellectual.

“Yourself?” she asked, hinting that she was interested in furthering the conversation, or that’s what Jay thought.

“I am studying architecture at the University of Sydney,” he said, trying to keep a straight face and hoping that she wouldn’t catch his bluff by prodding further. But he was prepared to delve a bit deeper as by now he was more or less aware what his wife was studying.

“Hmm, what are you planning to specialize in? And what’s the duration of the course,” she asked.

 “Sustenance architecture,” he said, aware of his quickly waning confidence. “It is a one year program.” He knew if she asked him more questions about the course he would falter. 

“Wow, I am impressed,” she said. He shrugged his shoulders and his face formed an expression suggesting mock vanity. They both laughed.

“Where you from?” she enquired.

“I am from India,” he said proudly.

“Yeh, your accent does have that Indian ring to it.”  He swiftly diverted the conversation.

“So, what were you reading?” he asked, letting her know that he was observing her.

“Umm, it is Paulina Simmons’, The Girl in Times Square. I am almost half way through it,” she said, thumbing through the pages. If this wasn’t my lucky day, no day would be. He had read the book, as part of his exercise in improving his English and had quite liked it.

“No kidding. I have read it too. I loved it,” he said, his confidence slowly making its way back. Just to make a further impression, he ventured, “Have you read Henry Lawson? He is one of the biggest writers in Australia.” He had only read one of his short stories and was hoping that she won’t say yes.
 
“Yeh, I have heard of him, but haven’t read any of his works,” she said, with the same conviction of a child who tries to avoid eye contact if caught stuffing his mouth with cookies before dinner.

“I am Jay by the way, and you?” he asked.

“I am Trina,” she said, adding, “I will be getting down soon.” 

Is she giving me a hint?

“Oh ok,” he replied, unsure of his next step.

“Yours is just the next stop,” she said.
        
Should I ask for her number? But how? What if she says no? There are so many people in bus. It will be embarrassing.

Her stop arrived and she got up, not before saying, “Well I hope you reach Epping safe and sound. I am sure you will be fine.”

Jay, do something. Are you just going to sit and let her walk out? Oh, forget it. You are such a looser.

She looked back one last time before stepping out of the bus and waved and Jay waved back.

Kick yourself you jackass. She so wanted you to ask her number.

He got down at the next stop and caught another bus back home. The whole night he kept cursing himself. Just when he was about to go to bed, an ingenious idea struck him. He thought of looking up her company’s website and finding a contact number. He googled it. After browsing numerous result pages, he finally found it. He couldn’t believe that such an idea had struck him. He noted the number down and decided to call her office on Monday. He patiently waited through the weekend. He woke up early on Monday morning, took a shower, got dressed and switched on his PC. He typed what he was going to say on the Notepad, because he didn’t trust himself to come up with things to say spontaneously. But he refrained from calling her in the morning to avoid seeming desperate. So he waited till half past 12, rehearsing his pre-planned conversation over and over again.

He picked up the phone and started dialing the number. His heart seemed more nervous than him for it was pounding at his chest as if asking to be let out. A crisp, courteous female voice spoke into the receiver at the other end.

“Hi, this is Asics Engineering. How may I help you?”        
 
He gulped nervously. His mouth had completely dried up. He still had a chance to hang up, but a strange, unknown courage beckoned him to move forward.

“Can I speak to Trina please?” he asked, unsure of her reply.

“Yes sure. Please be online,” she said and put him on hold, while a Chinese instrumental music played in the background.

“Hi, this is Trina here.”

“Hey, this is Jay here. We met on the bus the other day,” he said cheerfully, reading from his pre-written notes.

“Oh yeah. How are you?” she asked.

So she remembers me, not bad. She did expect me to call.

“I just called up to say hi, and tell you that I had a great conversation on the bus.”

“Me too.”

“So, listen I was wondering may be we could get together sometime,” he said, finally saying what he intended to say.

“Well, err, umm, uh.”

“So I am going to leave my number with you and you could give me a call whenever you feel like doing something, you know,” he said, not giving her a chance to say no and the same time dreading her response.

How easy it is to just read it out. Phew!

“Yeah, I will be glad to have a drink sometime, she said.

Oh my god. Youtube worked. Those guys were right. I am the ultimate god of dating.  

But, umm…I am…married,” she added, after much thought.

Jay found his mouth glued together, as he hadn’t written anything down for this sort of a response and he furiously dug his mind for something to say.

Me too.

He hung up. Jay looked at himself in the mirror, repeating the conversation in his head. His face had an expression somewhere between why-don’t-you-slap-yourself? And ha-ha-ha-ha. He went over to his closet, took out his playboy magazine from underneath his clothes, grabbed a tissue, closed his bedroom door and settled comfortably in his bed.