Can’t You See That I’m Dangerous?

Louisa had it down to a fine art. She placed the ad in the personals column on a Tuesday morning. Tuesday was a slow day. The personals were cluttered up with people looking for handy men and kitchen assistants. The lonely hearts section was slim pickings. Nobody was thinking about romance on a Tuesday morning. Louisa did not vary her posting. Woman (35) seeks Man (any age) for companionship and possibly more. No timewasters need apply. She included no further information about herself knowing most men reading her advertisement would note the absence of a good figure, auburn hair or a winning smile and assume this meant she was plain or perhaps even hefty. The more confident men tended not to reply. Those who carefully copied down Louisa’s PO Box number and agreed to meet her in front of the Ritz or next to the train station were almost always lonely, dull, unattractive men; the sort of chaps who were not popular; who would not be missed for at least a week.

Louisa liked to take her time with them. It was a game she played and enjoyed. She’d try to make the date last for as long as possible before she laid into her man. Of course, this kind of carry on was not without its risks. It was important not to be spotted out and about together. So, she avoided over-crowded and well-lit spaces. If her date suggested a meal, she insisted upon fish and chips, eaten outside on a shady park bench. She did her best to steer her men down darkened alleyways and through long tunnels and was at her easiest when snuggled up next to the stranger du jour, at the back of a blacked-out cinema. Then, she’d lean back in her seat, impervious to the clammy hand, resting on her knee, and finger the handle of the knife in her pocket. She always found it impossible to concentrate on the movie. She was far too excited thinking about how the evening would end. Under normal circumstances she’d resent the expense. Cinema tickets were an unnecessary luxury and Louisa was a frugal young women, inclined to cut every corner possible. Where she could she encouraged her dates to pay. When a man proved stingy, they went Dutch and she chalked the costs up to essential expenses. She always asked for a receipt.

Louisa’s favourite part of a date always came right before the end. Having -quite easily- convinced her fella to step outside, into the shadows, down a back alley or beneath an awning for a ‘breath of fresh air,’ she’d force him up against the wall and smile seductively, using her spare hand to pin him in place. Then, and only then, when his eyes were all sheepish and dewy with lust, would she produce the knife and hold it, point first in front of his face until he saw what she was grasping and understood he would not live to see much more. There was nothing in life Louisa loved more than the split second wherein it dawned upon these hapless men, that she was a dangerous violent woman and they had been very naïve to answer her ad. The actually stabbing was tremendously fun but the experience was always secondary in comparison to the moment when Louisa stood, lording it over her soon-to-be victims, feeling six foot taller than she usually felt.

Therefore, it was frustrating to say the least, when Louisa found Gerard waiting by the bus stop. He was a short, dumpy man with a forgettable face. She did not mind this. She was not even bothered by the smell of him: a stagnant sort of aroma, like tea leaves left too long in the kettle. Louisa had had worse and still managed to enjoy her evening. No, it was Gerard’s glasses which bothered her. They were milk bottle thick and fogged from the rain. Even from the other side of the street, she could tell he was dreadfully short-sighted. He was squinting into the darkness, oblivious of anything beyond the end of his nose.

Louisa stood perfectly still outside the butchers wondering what to do. She’d taken the train all the way out here and sharpened her knife and specially worn her plastic mac, the one which could be easily wiped down. She’d been looking forward to meeting Gerard all day; sitting at her desk, filing tax returns, while she pictured the horror in his eyes as she lifted her blade and ran it deftly across his throat. There would be no fun in killing Gerard, if he stood there grinning like an eejit, oblivious to the threat she posed. She pictured herself, hours from now, in the alley behind the Roxy, shaking him by the shoulders, waving the knife around wildly, shouting “can’t you see that I’m dangerous?” whilst Gerard stared blindly back at her and continued to grin. No, thought Louisa, this one simply would not do. She turned and walked away. From now on, she’d have to amend her ad. Woman (35) seeks Man (any age) for companionship and possibly more. 2020 vision essential.

Inspired by a line from Agatha Christie’s 1945 novel, Sparkling Cyanide