Flash Fiction: Blind Date

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this Gina, I’m not hoity toity like this guy is!”

“He’s taking you to a sports bar right? Can’t be that bad.”

“It’s a private member’s sports bar, I can’t get in until he gets here!”

“Oh. Wow. Those things exist? LOL. Ok maybe he IS that bad.”

“Gee thanks.” A car purrs into the valet line that puts my Hyudai Accent to shame. “Ok, he’s here. Wish me luck.”

“LOL! Ttyl!”

He saunters over in his freshly pressed suit, his hand stretches out for mine and I raise mine for a handshake, though he plants a kiss instead.

“Rebecca I presume?”

“Everyone calls me Beccs.”

“Beccs it is. You may call me Johnny. But don’t tell anyone I gave you permission.”

He laughs and links my arm through his as he flashes a card to the guard. He pulls back the velvet rope, and holds the curtain to the side as we enter. We are taken to a table immediately and given a bottle of chilled freshly opened champagne.

“The usual Mr Ducator?”

“Yes Charese. And Rebecca? Order anything you like.”

I skim the menu quickly and order the parmesan risotto as a side to the rosemary chicken and he smiles in approval. He picks up his glass and holds it up to the center of the table.

“To a prosperous blind date Beccs.”

I lift mine to his quickly so he isn’t left there with his arm up for too long, and the drinks slosh onto the tablecloth as mine hits his too hard. I feel my face flush like an iron poker is being inserted under my cheeks.

“Oh my gosh. I am so…incredibly sorry. Oh my gosh.”

He laughs at my attempt to clean the table with my napkin, and simply pulls the soaking table covering from under our glasses without knocking anything over, and sits back down pouring us both a fresh glass.

“So you’re a magician?”

“I shudder at the term. No Beccs, men of my stature are expected to be skilled at entertaining those around us with ease.”

I smile awkwardly and nearly choke at the gulp of liquid I sip too fast. The whispers echo around me as I look away to calm my reddening face. What are they whispering about? My bumbling or his skill?

“Uh…Uh Beccs. How about a little music?”

He summons over a waitress and requests the music be turned up. But he doesn’t do it fast enough. I can hear them laughing behind me. I turn around out of instinct and there he is. Blown up on the television.

“That’s right folks. The mystery of the birthday clown has been solved. His true identity is none other than society’s very own, Jonathan William Ducator the third.”

I turn around, and he is sinking under the table as his rich friends laugh him from his seat. My fingers dance across the keys to Gina, “He’s sooo not that bad.”

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