This week, the prompt was to write
a story about a blind date, with a genre of romance. It was as follows:
“You haven’t been active socially
following a breakup months ago. A friend decided you’ve been on the shelf for
far too long, and arranges for you to go on a blind date. Your friend tells you
nothing about the person except where to meet, and you are given a code word to
use for purposes of recognition. It’s all a bit cloak and dagger for your
liking, but you know you’ll never hear the end of it if you don’t go, so you
agree.
It’s hard to anticipate how a
blind date will turn out. We want you to tell us all about yours.”
Please enjoy.
SAFE
My name
is Bea. Yeah, I know. It’s a name that’s a blast from the past, but my mother
never fully acclimated to the 20th century, and that name was quite
popular in her day. My point is, what was popular in her generation, she
visited upon me each and every day; that is, until a few years ago, when she
forgot who I was. But, that’s another story best left for another day. To close
the issue on mom for you, she’s in good hands, well cared for, and always has a
smile on her face. Now, back to me.
I’m a
jerk magnet. If a good-looking guy sits next to me, I shamelessly throw myself
at him. He gets my number and does call me and asks me out on a date.
You didn’t see that coming, did you. I’m no one-night stand though; I want to
make that clear up front. Anyway, he does call and I’m wined, dined, and smothered with charm. Before the
end of the evening, I could easily see myself falling head over heels in love,
but I don’t push it. We say goodnight, and he promises to call again, which he
does.
This goes on for a few weeks and
I’m told we’re going to be exclusive. What they all forget to mention is that
the exclusive clause is totally one-sided. I’m expected to sit home and wait
for my lord and master to call while he hooks up with anything in a skirt. How
I find out is that he accidentally, or deliberately – I’m not sure, sends me
suggestive texts asking me for suggestive photos, addressing these fairly lewd
transmissions to someone other than me. Sometimes it’s Lucy, other times, it’s
Suzanna – you get my drift. When I bring up the subject, first I’m told I’m too
clingy, then I’m summarily dumped. Is it my fault? Maybe, but that’s my life;
or at least it was until a few months ago when I decided to throw in the towel
and give up on finding somebody to share my life with. My friend, Sally,
however, refused to let me die miserable and alone.
Sally and I have been best
friends since First Grade and she’s always gone her own way and I mine, until
now. She’s been married to a nice guy for 11 years and they have two beautiful
kids. Her life is secure and safe – her words, and that’s how it should be for
all, including me. I’m too reckless – again, her words, and I need to find
someone safe and settle down. Can you guess where this is going? She knows the
perfect somebody for me and has arranged a blind date.
She won’t tell me anything about
him, except that he is normal and safe. To give this meeting a touch of
excitement though, she told me to meet him in front of the fountain at the mall
and when I approach him, I’m to say ‘Rosebud’. She’s never seen Citizen Kane,
but thought the idea behind the mysterious word might pique my interest. I
asked how I was to know who to approach, and she told me after I say ‘Rosebud’,
if he responds with ‘Ah, yes. Rosebud’, then, we should let nature take its
course. He’s quiet and shy, but stable and you guessed it, safe. Since I’ve yet
to figure out how to say ‘no’ to Sally and have it stick, I reluctantly agreed.
How bad could a safe life be? Every
day, Sally’s family gets up, she makes breakfast, puts the kids on the school
bus, and hubby goes to work. She cleans, does laundry, watches soaps, and helps
the kiddies with their homework. In the evening, they sit down to supper, play
a board game, put the kids to bed at nine, watch the ten o’clock news, have a
cup of hot cocoa, and turn in. She’s described her life to me many times,
glowing all the while. The thought of it makes me feel a bit nauseated, but it’s
a step up from the migraines I get from the jerks, so what the Hell?
***
I went to the Mall for lunch the
next afternoon and arrived at the fountain at exactly one o’clock. There were
two men standing there, both looking around. One was a few inches shorter than
me and the other much taller. The shorter one looked middle-aged, was a bit
overweight, and looked terrified. He had to be married, waiting for his wife to
finish her shopping. He had that look. The other one was well dressed and fit, had
dark hair, dark eyes, and a killer smile. I approached the dreamboat and said, “Rosebud”.
He leaned down to me, and with his peppermint scented breath replied, “Ah, yes.
Rosebud”. I owe you, Sally. I owe you big
time.
We spent the rest of the day
together. We went on a carriage ride through the park, and he invited me to
have cocktails and dinner with him in his penthouse. It was absolute Heaven. He
was the perfect gentleman, and took me home after dinner. He asked me if I
would be up for more of the same tomorrow. Was he kidding? I couldn’t wait to
tell Sally all about it in the morning. Turns out, I should have waited.
“What’s going on, Bea? Stanley
said you never showed up. My God. Who did you go with?” Sally was frantic.
Stanley? Oh dear. My new guy’s
name was Winston.
“What does Stanley look like,
Sal?” I knew the answer before I asked the question.
“Well,” she said, “he’s a bit
shorter than you, a tad overweight, and always has a frightened look on his
face.”
“But,” I was getting a bit
frantic myself, “when I said the code word, this other guy responded just like
you said he would.”
“An awful coincidence,” she said.
“Don’t go near this man again. He’s probably a serial killer.”
I doubted that, although they are
reported to be lookers and charming. I decided to keep tonight’s date and clear
the air about how we met. If he was a psycho, at least I’d be found dead in a penthouse.
***
Winston picked me up right on
time that evening. Sally watched through her balcony window with binoculars
planning to jot down the license number in case I mysteriously vanished. Sitting
in the back of his limo, I decided to ask him about the ‘Rosebud’ thing. I
figured if he tried to strangle me in the car, I could always throw myself out
the door onto the curb. Hey. It works in the movies.
“Winston,” I said, “I was
wondering. When I walked up to you by the fountain and said ‘Rosebud’, why did
you respond the way you did?”
“For one thing,” he said, “Citizen Kane’s one of my favorite
films. Too, I thought what a great pickup line that was. I’ve never had a woman
come on to me quite like you did.”
Oh my God. It was just a coincidence. But since his hands were
occupied with pouring champagne into chilled glasses for both of us and not
fixed firmly around my neck, I thought c’est la vie. Onward and upward. Winston
told me he had a very special evening planned. He said he felt a connection to
me and knew we had a promising future together.
When we arrived at his penthouse, he took me over to the hot
tub. I counted six women already in there - naked. Excuse me?
“This will be great, Bea. Remove your clothes and join the
ladies. I’ve got cameras set up all around the room. I don’t want to miss
anything. Our last film brought in close to $10,000.00. You’ll all be nice and
friendly with our new star, Bea, won’t you?”
***
I’m meeting Stanley by the counter at Woolworth’s. I’m so
looking forward to fixing supper, tucking the kids in, watching the ten o’clock
news, and brewing a couple of cups of hot cocoa.
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