Writer Wednesday #1: Blind Date

On my blog, I am doing a new 'event' called Writer Wednesdays. I post a prompt and others(including me) write something based on that prompt.

            I checked my phone again for the time.  Quarter-after.  She was fifteen minutes late.  At twenty I was going to call it quits.  I don’t know why I let Sam and Ellie talk me into this blind date.  I would have been perfectly content spending my Valentine’s Day at home watching American Horror Story on Netflix and eating pizza.  But they had twisted my arm and made it seem like a good idea.  Now I was sitting in a fancy restaurant, alone at a table for two, surrounded by love-struck couples.

            The door opened and I looked up.  She was everything I had hoped and feared she would be.  She was beautiful, long red hair flowing over her shoulders and down her back, piercing blue eyes surveying the room and landing on me.  As she walked over, her dressed hugged her figure, extenuating her hips.  I wanted to run; was I dreaming?  She sat down across from me.

            “Sorry I’m late,” she said in a sultry voice, “I had to talk to the florists again.  Don’t know what’s so hard about ordering a couple dozen white roses…” her voice trailed off and her eyes widened, “Sorry, I was going off on a bit of a rant.  What is it that you do, Daniel?”

            My name is Dave, “Dave,” I conversationally corrected her, “I manage a Starbucks, in the East Side.”

            “Interesting, interesting,” she had already picked up the menu, she had barely given me time to respond to her, “Oh my, the rib-eye sounds succulent… your treat, right?” she eyed me over the menu.

            “Yeah,” I sighed; this was one of those restaurants I walked by often and had never intended to go inside for forty-dollar salads.

            “Good… left my pocketbook at home,” she chuckled, “But as I was saying, I am a party planner.  That’s why I was calling about the roses, you see, I have a wedding party in a few days and the florist just can’t seem to pull his head out of his a*s-” she stopped talking abruptly as the waiter approached.

            “Are we ready to order?” he asked pleasantly, his uniform nicer than anything I owned.  I suddenly wanted to disappear, feeling terribly underdressed in my Henley and black jeans.  I thanked my lucky stars that I at least owned a nice blazer.

            “Yes, I’ll have a glass of Chardonnay �" actually, just bring the bottle �" and the rib-eye,” my date, whose name I remembered to be Margaret, ordered.

            “And sir?” the waiter turned to me.

            “The fish,” I said stupidly, but quickly corrected myself, “The pan seared halibut… and a glass of Merlot.”

            As the waiter took their menus, Margaret giggled into her hand.  As he walked away, she spoke, “Oh Derek, you know that reds are usually taken with steak?”

            “Dave,” I replied irritably, not retorting with the fact she had ordered a white wine with steak.

            “No matter, no matter, I was only teasing,” she patted my arm, “So as I was saying, the florist keeps wanting to send me red, when my client is very set on the idea of white roses, but he cannot seem to get that through his thick skull.  I swear, if he messes this up, I will never do business with him again.”

            “Sounds… exhausting,” I replied dryly as the waiter brought out our wine.

            She poured herself a glass of Chardonnay, “Extremely… it’s so nice to meet someone who understands… but you must know all about that, being a manager.  Where was it Ellie told me you work again, Darwin?”

            “Dave!” I slammed my fist down on the table, causing many heads to turn.  I slowly removed my hand from the table, wanting to be at home, my fingers greasy from pepperoni DiGiorno watching television in my sweatpants and Rangers’ jersey.

            Margaret nervously sipped her wine and I sighed in exasperation, hiding my face in my hands, “This was a terrible idea, I’m sorry,” I stood, pushing my chair in behind me, “I hope the wedding goes well.”

            I stopped at the counter on my way out and covered our dinner on my credit card.  I told the hostess to cancel the halibut.