The Last Blind Date
Valerie Gillen
“I’m off dating,” I said to my best friend when she showed up at my door with a hopeful look on her face and another phone number clutched in her hot little hand. “After that last creep, I’m staying home. The men can come and find me.”
“Then it’ll be Jack the mailman, who’s 70 if he’s a day, or that meter reader with B.O. and terminal halitosis.” Judy declared. She searched my closet, shuffling through the hangers with the expertise of a casino card dealer. “Where’s that sexy black dress that makes you look like a million bucks?”
“Jude. I’m not going. Besides, I burned my black dress after the last blind date you sent me on.”
“Oh, come on, he wasn’t that bad! And this one is it, I can feel it in my bones.”
As if she hadn’t said that about the last ten guys she’d sicced on me. There was more rattling as she moved deeper into the closet.
“Whaddya mean, ‘wasn’t that bad,’” I said, trying futilely to restore order as Hurricane Judy bulldozed through my clothes. “My dress had drool stains on it. That’s where it is—at the cleaner’s.” I crossed my fingers and prayed this was true. No way was I going out with any more of Judy’s “sure things.”
She turned, triumphant, the dress pristine in dry cleaner plastic dangling from her hand.
My spirits sank. “Is he at least taller than the last one?” I demanded. At five ten in heels, the last guy’s head had been about level with my chest, a fact he was quick to take advantage of. I couldn’t even recall what color his eyes were, since he’d never raised them as far as my face.
“I haven’t actually met him, but I believe he’s—tallish,” Judy hedged. Great. So he was probably a jockey.
“What does he do for a living?” I asked next. The guy before Shorty had been charming and good looking, but had confided to me that he was writing the Great American Novel and was looking for an understanding woman to support him while he finished it. He’d been working on it for three years and estimated it would only take another three to polish it up.
“Um…” Judy was getting that shifty look on her face that I dreaded. “He’s in—public relations.” So he probably handed out flyers in front of a peep show.
“Judy.” I put on my sternest look. “You’re my best friend and I know you just want me to be happy, but if I do this for you, I want your promise that this is the last, the very last blind date you’ll set me up with, got it?” She nodded vigorously, her curls bouncing. So she had probably another five guys in mind.
* * *
Bill waited at the table. He had a mop of dark hair and nervous hands. His head was bent down and I couldn’t even see his face. If he doesn’t act like he has more than two brain cells to rub together, I’ll plead a headache and go home early, I bargained with myself. I owed it to Judy to struggle through dinner, but that was it. When he stood up, I could see that he was at least six feet tall. Nice, but that wasn’t the important part. His soul was probably full of cobwebs.
Then he raised his head and looked into my eyes. I felt that blue-eyed gaze clear down to my toes and knew it could only mean one thing; I was in big trouble.
We made small talk over the antipasto. Usually I was fending off the wandering hands of Judy’s finds by now, but Bill was polite, intelligent, and actually seemed interested in what I had to say. I found myself fumbling uncharacteristically, trying to think about what I said before the words came out of my mouth. Bill just smiled gently at my pathetic attempts, which made me even more nervous. It was almost a relief when my contact lens popped out and landed in the lasagna.
By the time I came back from the bathroom, lens back in place and lasagna gone cold, I had taken myself in hand. Sure, Bill seemed attractive after those other losers I’d endured, but there was bound to be something hideous in his character just waiting to be discovered. Over dessert, I questioned him closely about his job, family and hobbies, but it was all amazingly normal. He was an executive at a well known candy company. I love chocolate and he got the stuff for free. He spent his free time hiking with his two dogs. I’m an outdoor girl myself and I have two dogs of my own. This was going from bad to worse.
Then Bill asked me to dance. The moment his arm encircled my waist, images of our wedding and the faces of our children – a little boy with his blue eyes, a girl with my curly hair—popped into my head. Holy cats – he really is the one! I reviewed my behavior so far that evening. Not promising. I had been, by turns, bordering on sullen and unbearably nosy. No doubt Bill was manufacturing his own headache excuse at this moment.
“Sorry I’ve been so quiet, but I had a killer headache earlier,” he confided, as if reading my mind. “This is about the tenth blind date my friend Tim has set me up with.”
“I can’t believe it—me too!”
We smiled ruefully at each other and laughed. Our hands seemed to fit together like the interlocking pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.
Then Bill said, “Thank goodness, this is the last one I’ll be going on.”
My heart sank. I pasted a smile on my face and racked my brain for something to say that would make Bill fall instantly in love with me. All I could think of was locking Judy and Tim together in a dungeon somewhere for tormenting innocent people this way.
That was when my bra strap broke. I could feel it crawl onto my neck like an overgrown inchworm and Bill, being so much taller, had to have seen it. I slunk back into the bathroom, fully expecting him to be gone when I came out.
The strap had snapped at the end and could not be fixed. I shoved it down under my dress and came out with my arm clenched at my side like a recently animated store manikin.
The first thing I saw was Bill. He was leaning against the opposite wall, a safety pin in his hand.
He smiled at my astonished look. “Like I said, this is the last blind date for me. Tim kept promising the next girl would be ‘the one’. It only took him ten tries to get it right.”
We decided to go for an after-dinner latte. On the way out, Bill gave my million dollar black dress an admiring glance and said, “Tim told me you were a shy, ‘quietly attractive’ girl who worked in a book store. He must have gotten his wires crossed. By the way, where’s the red carnation you were supposed to be wearing?”
“Uh, I forgot.” I gave a mental shrug. No doubt Judy had forgotten to mention it to me. It was just the kind of hokey idea she would have found romantic.
Then I spied a short guy in a very loud sports coat sitting with a mousy looking girl who looked like she had a terminal migraine. He was talking a mile a minute and shoving life insurance papers under her nose. She was wearing a red carnation.
Bill and I looked at them, then at each other. Nah, couldn’t be. We left, our arms around each other.
Valerie Gillen lives and writes in the wilds of Vermont. She has one husband, one daughter, many cats, a dog and a house rabbit named Clyde. Her four-star reviewed YA fantasy, A Little Magic, is available on Amazon, Smashwords and B & N.
This isn't a literary journal. This is a brand new, indie fiction magazine. Some of the best indie authors collaborate each and every month to produce eFiction for your reading pleasure. The magazine publishes short fiction with a still-beating heart, fresh from the minds of their authors. While the ink is still drying, stories are pitted against each other in gladiatorial combat for the chance to reach your adoring eyeballs. Only the best stories make it into the issue. The magazine is edited via a collaborative, inclusive process which means that the stories are chosen by readers like you. The editors at eFiction know that readers know their own preferences better than they ever could. Genres include: Thrillers, Romance, Paranormal, Science Fiction, Horror, plus more. We alternate themed issues every other month with eclectic mixes of stories. Try it out for two weeks free!
Price: $1.99
