Blind Date

“Excuse me miss. You look like you’re waiting for someone.”

The woman laughed and the man grinned, lowering himself into his seat. Around him, the warm air of the restaurant hummed with the sound of striding waiters and gentle conversation, a soft bed of noise draped in the scent of garlic intermingled with smoky firewood.

“I was beginning to think you weren’t going to show,” she said. Her voice had a clear, clean ring to it that reminded him of spring water. “Or that maybe you’d gotten lost.”

“A little lost,” the man admitted, “But the nice Irish lady on the GPS told me right in the end.”

They both laughed.

“Belinda.”

“Michael.”

Their words were warm, though neither moved for a handshake.

“How’d you find me?”

“Oh, the nice maître d at the front helped. Apparently you stand out.”

“It’s the indoor sunglasses,” she laughed, “Such poor fashion sense.”

“Well, fashion is my everything,” he replied dryly, and they both laughed again. By the time the laughter died out, the waiter had arrived and handed them both menus.

“We should have thought this out better,” said Michael, running his finger down the page.

“How so?”

“Well think about it. This was a real opportunity. We could’ve both shown up here in our most disgusting outfits without it ever being an issue. We could’ve really made a scene.”

“Oh my,” Belinda replied, falsely aghast, “What a horrendous idea. Think of the children.”

“Second date perhaps.”

“Bold of you to presume there’ll be a second date.”

“What can I say? I’m an optimist.”

They chuckled. Michael waved for a waiter and they ordered wine.

“So how do you know Julie?” he asked, once their orders had been taken.

“She was my flatmate in college. I spent three years listening to her and Brendan having sex through the walls.”

Michael laughed. “Oh God.”

“Yeaaaah,” said Belinda, sucking a satirical breath through her teeth, “But don’t tell her I said that, she’d be mortified.”

“Scout’s honour.”

“Thank you. They were always asking me if I could hear anything, and the walls were thick enough for everyone else, so I just went with it. What’s the harm, right? Let a girl have her fun.” Her tone turned slightly more serious. “But no, she’s great. Helped me out a lot. We’ve kept in touch. How do you know her?”

“She works on the floor above me,” Michael explained, “We kept running into each other in the lift. Got to chatting. She’s lovely.”

“Isn’t she?”

“Yeah. This whole idea is completely her though.”

“Oh completely,” Belinda agreed. She took an audible sip of her wine. “Even in college, she loved playing matchmaker. Like a little girl pairing up her dollies. ‘You look lonely Barbie’; ‘Hold hands Ken’.”

Michael laughed again. “Is that what we are? Playthings?”

“You betcha,” the woman across from him replied, smacking her lips. “Toys in the palm of a five-foot Asian superwoman.”

“Could be worse,” shrugged Michael.

“Yeah, she could be here watching.”

“How do we know she isn’t?”

“Good point.”

Their entrees arrived. The oyster shells were rough underneath Michael’s fingers, and he traced their edges delicately so as not to cut himself.

“So you’re an actuary?” Belinda asked.

“Yes,” he replied, with only the slightest sigh, “I mean I studied as a seal trainer, but no one will hire me.”

“Sounds like discrimination.”

“I was going to say it smelt fishy.”

Belinda snorted. “Oh my God, that’s terrible.”

“Sorry.”

“You should be.” She slurped another oyster. “So what’s being an actuary like?”

He shrugged. “It’s fine. Just numbers mainly. A few deadlines. Everyone’s very nice, very considerate. They’ve got a couple of good computer programs. There’s a lot of dictation, like you’d expect.” His hand found the wine glass. “And you do-?”

“Physio. For a couple of years now.”

“How’s that?”

“Oh you know, pretty standard. Poking, prodding, stretching, does it hurt when I do this. Shocks some people at first, but I know what I’m doing. You handle enough bodies and it’s easy to feel when something’s out of place.”

“You must have excellent fingers.”

“You have no idea.” Her grin was audible.

Their mains arrived. The smell of sizzling bacon and parmesan rose up from his spaghetti carbonara and he drew in a deep satisfied breath. They said the first bite was with the eyes, but the nose had to come a close second.

They enjoyed their first few bites before resuming the conversation.

“How’s the spaghetti?” Her steak-knife clicked as it made its way through her meat.

“Great, actually.” The silky, creamy blend of fat and salt saturated his mouth like dye sinking into thread. “I know you’re never supposed to order it on the first date but…”

She chuckled. “One of the perks.”

“Exactly.”

They lapsed into momentary silence, Belinda’s fork scraping between her salad.

“Can I ask you a real question?” she said after a moment.

“Sure.”

“Why are you single?” It didn’t sound like a mean question to Michael – simply curious. He twisted another forkful of spaghetti and pondered.

“I think it’s just the obvious,” he admitted finally, still turning the pasta, “It’s a big hurdle. People have got other choices. That’s just the truth.”

“Yeah.” She sounded a little disheartened. “I know what you mean. Although I think you might have it worse – a lot of guys want to look after me.”

“Is that good?”

“Sometimes good,” she answered, “Sometimes frustrating. I think I get sick of talking about it, you know? Repeating myself on boundaries. Having to explain.”

“I get you.”

She paused. “So no ex-wives? No long-term girlfriend?”

Michael chuckled. “Well I got a sympathy date to prom in high school, but apart from that, no, not really.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t sympathy.”

“I didn’t mind,” he said kindly, “Beggars can’t be choosy.”

They switched through topics for a while, then the waiter bought round dessert, him crème brûlée and her ice cream. There was no attempt to share.

Finally, the meal was at an end.

“Well this has been lovely,” said Michael.

“It has,” replied Belinda, then added with a fake growl, “Damn Julie and her meddling.”

“It’d be less annoying if she was worse at it,” he chuckled. A pause. “So can I walk you home?”

Belinda laughed out loud. “Now that would be a sight. Truly the blind leading the blind.”

Michael grinned. “That’s not a no.”

“Well of course it’s not,” she huffed, almost indignant, “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

They rose from their chairs. One hand on the table, Michael slowly made his way around towards Belinda. She rustled her handbag to the other side and his hand found her shoulder, and then in a movement so smooth it could’ve been coordinated, they unfurled their canes and began steadily tapping their way out of the restaurant.