The phone call should be a clue as to what Joey is like. But I have already spent a long time weaving a beautiful and detailed tapestry in my mind of what Joey is like and I am satisfied with the result. I’m not about to let him stain all my emotional homework by sploshing the cold tea of reality onto its delicate fabric. He’s just not very good on the phone that’s all, no worries. He will be everything I’ve ever dreamed of in real life. The gorgeous looks and brooding moodiness of Marlon Brando or Johnny Depp, the intuitive razor-sharp mind-swooning sense of humour of Bill Hicks, the gentlemanly courtesy of Jimmy Stewart, the swashbuckling bravado, lust and huge penis of Errol Flynn.

As the time draws near we move from emailing to texing on our mobiles, although this is expensive for Joey from Saudi. A tex from Joey whilst walking up the hill to take the kids to school is enough to make the day sail away into the sunset before it’s barely begun.
I have been through the scenario of what will happen when Joey and I finally meet in real life many times.
There are various versions, each a file in the ‘Joey Z ? What Happens When We Meet’ folder in my mind. I can click on any one to open it whenever I want, and if I choose, tinker with it a bit to make it even more palatable and exciting. The possibility that things are not going to go according to one of these scenarios is very doubtful. I am supremely confident that I have nailed the result by covering every option. Well, every option which is a variation of us meeting up, falling into one another’s arms, passionately kissing and making love that is. I don’t have any files that contain other options….
I count the days and weeks until our first meeting in real life. One day I wake up and today is the day. We’ve arranged that Joey will pick me up near Endcliffe Park in his car. ‘The Meeting In The Park’ scenario goes like this:
Joey has parked his car on the main road. We are going to meet right in the middle of the park. He is approaching from the road end; I am approaching from the woods, the other end. We check by mobile where we are, and now we’re both in the park, walking towards one another. We can’t see one another yet. Then, right in the distance, I can see a figure walking towards me across the expanse of open grass. Unusually for a gloriously sunny Bank Holiday Monday, there are no families or children in the park. In fact, the park is deserted apart from Joey, me and my pounding heart as I walk towards him.
Things go into slow motion as we get nearer to one another. Now we can make out one another’s faces. We are both smiling. He is as stunningly gorgeous as in the photograph taken on his office scanner. We’re getting nearer and nearer. Once he’s about fifteen feet away, the length of your average 30’s semi lounge (going into the bay window that is), we both stop, stunned by the sight of one another. Our smiles have faded from our faces. We have manoeuvred into position, it’s the countdown before lift-off, all is quiet. Suddenly the rockets are ignited and we are propelled towards one another in a desperate roar of passion. We throw our arms around each other and bury our faces in each others’ necks, then pull away, survey the others’ face, then kiss desperately and passionately, alone in the middle of the park, nothing but the sound of quacking ducks in the distance.
Just the romance of that is enough to make me giddy every time I think about it. Yes that’s a good one, the park one.
There’s also ‘The Meeting In Joey’s Battered Old VW Beetle’ scenario. This time I’m walking through the park and Joey rings me on my mobile to tell me that he’s parked by the main road entrance. I weave my way through the Bank Holiday Frisbees, dogs fetching sticks and tots running amok through the middle of the park towards the gate. I’m out of the park now and there just down the road is a fantastic battered old VW Beetle. It must be Joey’s, it’s so stylish. He must have recognised me from my photo and be looking in his rear view mirror because an arm sticks out of the driver’s window and waves.
I approach the passenger door and peer inside. It’s Joey, his hair slightly mussed up like the naughty schoolboy I first imagined; ripped jeans, a plain white T-Shirt slightly soiled and reminiscent of Marlon Brando just after clocking off from work in ‘On The Waterfront’, and smouldering eyes. I sit down next to him, we gaze into one another’s eyes, he says ‘You’re beautiful Dominique. I never imagined you’d be this beautiful in real life.’ I sigh heavily ‘Joey, you’re gorgeous’ and we fold into one another’s arms like flour into a butter and sugar mixture so that in the end we are one soft gooey mass of sweetness.
Sigh. I’ve covered every base. Nothing can go wrong…

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