Blind date

Tele sat, relaxed, on the back of his seat at the restaurant. He had been named after a guitar. His father, a musician, was said to have placed the notes inside the heads of his audiences. He was locally famous in Cleveland, where Tele sat now, awaiting a woman for tonight, a blind date.

Earlier that day, after escorting a disappointed and anxious date from last night to his front door, he went to his bedroom and prepared for tonight's date. He closed his eyes. "Wear a red dress," he said, "and white heels. You'll look amazing. The date will be fabulous: you'll have one drink and I'll have the best table, and then we'll go to my place and I'll play you a song." He turned around. "Sir, MaitreD', you will let me have the finest table in the house."

Tele smiled remembering this as he lounged at the table, sipping a margarita, and waiting for Carol, the woman he was meeting. Tele loved blind dates. People were so susceptible to his influence when there was no history between him and them. He twiddled his thumbs. "I told her 9:00."

At 9:01 exactly, Carol entered the place, and Tele saw the most beautiful woman that he could imagine: a woman with straight sheening dark hair wearing a red, silk, fitted dress and white heels.

"Carol..." he said in an astounded straight tone. "Tele," he pointed at himself.

"I'm Carol, hi. Nice to meet you. Do we have a seat?"

"Yes, he said, "up front," and he escorted her to the table in the back. "Would you like a drink?" he asked. "She'll have a margarita," he said softly.

The waiter arrived at the table. "Hello madam, sir. Would you like a drink, madam?"

Carol looked at Tele. "What do you think?" she said. "A margarita?" she asked. "A margarita," she said to the waiter. "Actually no... a bourbon, please. Thanks." She winked at Tele.

"Something wrong?" she asked. "No, absolutely not," he replied.

They talked for a half hour. At 10 the restaurant would close. Tele had counted on this. He suggested that they go back to his place for a drink, and she said, "Yes." They arrived at the condo, he went to the wet bar, and she to the sofa.

"I love the place, wow," Carol said. You must be doing well."

"The key to business is getting your point across, by any means," he said smugly. He smiled and walked to Carol and gave her a drink, and then, suddenly, he had the strongest notion to go to his bedroom alone. He excused himself, shaking his head, and went there.

Tele immediately--inexplicably--took off his jeans. He pulled his acoustic guitar from the wall. He then said, "I need to turn on The Weather Channel on the TV in the living room." Tele seemed in a daze. He flung the bedroom door open and burst into the room, wearing only his boxers, and strummed the guitar and began to sing. "Well, Yankee Doodle Dandy went riding on a pony..." he sang. Carol smiled deviously from the sofa. Still playing and singing, he went to the TV remote at the edge of the sofa and turned on the TV and put in the channel number... "and called it macaroni." He stopped, a big smile on his face. "What do you think?" he said.

Carol burst into laughter. "Holy Shit Tele, really? Tele Slade, wow!"

He shook his head, snapping out of some daze, and, feeling mortified, laid the guitar on the floor.

"Wait, how'd you know my last name?" he said.

"Earlier today, Tele, I had some words of inspiration that I decided to send your way. I closed my eyes and I said, 'he'll want a red dress, with white heels. I'll have a drink at the restaurant and he'll have the best table. He'll desire me, and will play guitar naked in his living room while the television plays something ridiculous. Then he'll finish, proudly.' What I didn't say was what I'd do next: I'd laugh, and then say...

Remember me?" she said. Carol closed her eyes and Tele caught an image in his mind of a pretty girl with straight hair sitting on the couch next to him and...

"KRISTY! Holy Shit!" he said. He looked down at the floor, bashful and alarmed. He looked up. "You're Kristi's roommate! I mean we met but that was months ago. Is this, this whole thing...and why am I watching the fucking Weather Channel right now?" He turned to Carol. "So this, this was all a setup. How?"

"You dumped her, right? Well, you cheated on her," she said plainly. "Ever wanted a girl you couldn't have, or couldn't trick?"

The television was showing a red banner with "Storm Warning" written in white across it.

"There will be a thunderstorm tonight and..." the weatherman on the television began.

"Oh, Tele. You didn't want me to wear a red dress, I did. And 'she'll be beautiful and dressed amazingly...' Well I do look good in just about anything, but take a closer look."

Tele looked down at her dress. Now, once a gorgeous silk dress could be seen for what it was, a baggy, second-hand pick-up from the used store that Carol had intentionally ripped, making it "probably my ugliest suggestion," she said proudly.

"You," Tele said.

"And you! Carol said. "Some might say that you put thoughts into Kristi's head every time she sobbed and inquired about Trish, Claudia, and whoever else. And the girls you have probably tricked with your mind since then? Some would call that being smooth, but you and I, we share something."

The weatherman on the TV had more to say: "There will be a thunderstorm tonight and..."

"STOP SAYING THAT!" they yelled in unison, looking at the TV.

The weatherman changed course. "No, actually tonight will be clear, sorry."

Tele looked at Carol.

"Telepathy," he said.

"You're not the only one. Just go forward knowing that others might be like us. Don't be an asshole," she said, and left.

Tele locked the front door and sat on the sofa. He turned the television off. He straightened his back and got serious. He took a deep breath. He closed his eyes and said, "she'll have a really shitty day tomorrow."

She didn't.