That's A Date

Like A Book

Becky first noticed the attractive brunette near the book festival's entrance: she was in a t-shirt and denim shorts, and was wiping clear a blackboard behind the desk. Becky identified herself to the guy with the guest list while automatically admiring the brunette, who caught her out because she looked up and smiled when she heard Becky's name.

Becky's success as an author was quite recent, and she still got a thrill from people recognising her name. The brunette's smile gave her a different kind of thrill.

*

She next noticed the woman a few hours later, after dumping her backpack and heading back to the festival. She needed coffee and there were three choices: the busy beer tent, an unappetising-looking pop-up, and a small van. The brunette was queuing at the van, so Becky went for that one.

The brunette noticed her and smiled again. She was late-thirties, curvy, long-legged, with an unexpectedly sensual mouth. Becky was distracted and stumbled on the uneven ground. The woman turned quickly and caught her elbow. "Ooops." Her thumb stroked Becky's skin lightly. She had kind eyes.

"Sorry." Becky smiled and brushed her fingers against the woman's bare arm. The woman slightly tightened her grip, and Becky stood up straight. "Thanks." She took her arm away slowly, and managed to brush the woman's badge, where it lay against her t-shirt. "So, you're a steward?" The badge said her name was Sofia.

"Yeah." The brunette glanced over Becky as if checking Becky's badge out, but mainly just checking Becky out. "Let me get your coffee."

"Thanks." Becky caught a hint of an accent: Eastern European, Balkans maybe? She found it sexy. "So, I'm Becky."

"I know." Sofia grinned. "I read your stuff."

*

By sunset, Becky was perched on a bench in the beer tent, chatting to another of the speakers in that evening's panel discussion. People jostled into the next-door table and Becky felt a hand on her knee as someone brushed past to sit next to her. She looked round to see Sofia smile at her.

"Hi again." Becky uncrossed her legs. Sofia's fingers were warm through Becky's floaty skirt.

"Hi, Becky." Sofia slowly took her hand off Becky's knee. "Having fun?" They were forced to sit close on the bench as people took seats around the table.

Becky pushed her leg against Sofia's. "Loving it. Really geared up for this discussion."

Sofia stroked Becky's hand quickly on the tabletop. "I will try to come but must first take this author to the station." She indicated a woman further down. "I may miss the start." She looked genuinely disappointed. Their legs were firm against each other.

Becky dropped her hand casually onto Sofia's bare thigh. "Never mind." For a second, their eyes met and held. "We could meet tomorrow. Talk books."

Sofia almost blushed. "We already talk a lot. I've corresponded with you by email for years. You are kind, and always reply." She showed Becky her watch. "You must go."

*

The discussion Becky was involved in was about the relationship between fact and fiction. Becky started making a point about using others' experiences as situations in her writing: "I mean, sometimes people will email me and say how very like their own it was, whatever I wrote. Which is lovely that my writing speaks to them...but also a bit weird, that I've managed to make up something that actually happened to someone else..."

She noticed Sofia slip in at the back.

"But we all use what people tell us," said one of the other panellists. "Shamelessly. We're like sponges, soaking up all this life experience."

Becky agreed. "As a student, I wrote the advice column on the university paper. I'm not proud, but several of those real-life problems have ended up in my stories subsequently, in one form or another. Anonymously, of course. Particularly where I write about sex..."

Some years before, while still doing short erotic stories for lesbian magazines, she'd ruthlessly exploited her agony-aunt experience. One reader had contributed her own story of a date gone wrong, and been delighted when Becky had included a version of it in a story a few weeks later. The reader had emailed again, equally flattered and amused, with another story of a bad date and awkward sex. Becky had used that, too, and the woman had enjoyed that just as much. She'd kept on contributing, and Becky had found it weirdly exciting to rework the dates into her writing.

Becky knew she'd relied on the woman to keep her topped up with material from all her disastrous adventures. And for years now, she'd known as much about the woman's romantic life as any real friend – indeed, probably knew more than anyone else. Yet she didn't even know her name.

For some reason, she suddenly caught Sofia's eye. Sofia smiled.

The discussion moved on, but towards the end, the microphone went to someone at the back of the tent. It was Sofia. "You said about people writing to you with details of their life. Blurring life and art...have you ever dated a reader?" The audience laughed, and one of the other panellists answered.

Becky's heart beat faster. On her turn to answer, she kept her voice light, "No, I genuinely haven't. And I'd probably be just as bad as anyone else." The room laughed. Sofia just held Becky's gaze for a moment.

*

Afterwards, Sofia was busy elsewhere, so Becky went for a drink with some others instead. Her phone tinkled with an email while she was queuing at the bar, and she checked it surreptitiously.

It was from her regular dating correspondent: After so many years, I am pleased to meet you. I look forward to tomorrow. Unlike my others, you know me. It will be the perfect date. Love, Sofia

Becky looked around, but couldn't see Sofia. She agreed, though. If anyone knew what Sofia wanted from a date, she did. She smiled to herself in anticipation.