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Speedy Date

Posted on August 24, 2007
Filed Under The Stories |

They turned up in front of each other, two unlikely people at a speed-dating session. “So,” she said, pen hovering over a square he couldn’t see, “What do you do?” He looked from the pen that looked poised to strike to the eyes that had already struck and forced a smile, “Aren’t you supposed to ask my name first?”

“I’m the girl. I get to sit while you have to find a quick way to settle into another chair in three minutes. I make the rules.” His hands were up in surrender as he confessed, “I’m a writer.”

Her brows rose like the wings of a bird preparing to fly away with a mighty flap of its wings, “What kind?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Do I have to tell you the rules again?”

“It’s embarrassing. Let’s rewind and pretend that I’m a bartender?”

“Are you?”

“Yes. It pays the bills.”

“While you write your sprawling epic of a novel. Come on, quit stalling, what kind of writer?”

“Struggling actually.”

“Writer’s block?”

“Sometimes I think it’s almost aspiring writer’s block.”

“So you’ve actually never written anything?”

“Oh no. I’ve written tons of stuff.”

“I’m confused.”

“I didn’t get to ask any questions yet.”

“Yeah and your time’s nearly up so if you ever want to find out my name you better tell me what kind of writing you do.”

“Okay, fine. Short fiction. I’ve been published online. Not on my own blog or anything but somehow…I don’t know, I’m old-fashioned I guess and I know how ironic that sounds since I’m at a speed-dating session but…I find it hard to think of myself as a writer when I haven’t ever held a physical book with my words in it.”

“Okay…so why did you say you were blocked?”

“Because I don’t know what to blog about tonight.”

The pen threatened to make a mark right then and she glared at him from under her eyelashes, almost daring him to complete an act of telekinesis and grab the pen out of her hands, “You just said you don’t blog.”

“Oh no, no, no! I do blog, in fact I get paid to blog, I just don’t publish my fiction on the blog.”

“So what do you write about? On your blog.”

“Can we talk about my bartending instead?”

“You’re awfully cagey for a guy.”

“Trust me, I have good reason to be.”

“Okay, I’m about to tick the box that says, this guy should never be allowed into a session again because he exposes himself and I don’t think he washes very often.”

“There’s no such box!”

“I might draw one if you don’t tell me what you blog about.”

“Hey quit that! I don’t think I want to get to know you after all this arm-twisting.”

“Actually, you do. Now tell me.”

“Why? Why do I have to tell you?”

The bell went off. The bell that let them know that they had another thirty seconds before he had to move on. She raised her eyebrows and waited. His shoulders slumped and he said, “Fine. Do you know the Ma-Ma-Mumbai sites?”

“Of course!”

“I’m Amrita.”

“You have a girl’s name…wait no! Shut up! You’re Amrita as in the Amrita? I’ve written to that blog. She gave me great advice. What the hell! I feel violated.”

“If it makes you feel better I don’t know which one you are.”

“Yeah, as if you would remember all the sad sacks who ever emailed you.”

“Actually I do.”

“Yeah right.”

The final bell went and he got to his feet. Just before he sat at the next table she said, “Wait. Really?”

He sat down, smiled at the girl in front of him and completely tuned her out. She felt a little hurt at the thought that she made so inconsequential an impression. She raised her voice a little as she spoke to the new guy and when she sneaked a peek to see if he was looking she was disappointed to find that he seemed engrossed in conversation with her neighbour. Slut she thought viciously and tried to focus on what the new guy was saying.

At the end of the evening he was handed six cards. After a moment of internal debate the person handed over a seventh card with the words, “I’m not sure what to make of this. She signed a different name from the one she gave us but I guess it does indicate that she wants you to call her.”

He smiled and accepted the card, checked it and understood the cause of organizer’s consternation. She had written, Call me…Amrita.

He pocketed the phone number and after a minute or two he dug it out of his pants and called the number. She answered almost immediately and said, “I can’t believe you nearly didn’t call me straight away. I was wondering whether I should come over and hit you.”

He looked around and saw her waiting across the street so he said into the phone, “I still don’t know your name.”

“Buy me a drink. Maybe I’ll tell you.”

He trotted across the road to join her and said, “You’ll be gentle with me won’t you?”

“We’ll see.”

After they had walked together in silence for a bit he said, “So I guess this speed date thing works hunh?”

She evaluated him for a second and then asked, “Are you always a smartass or do I make you nervous?”

“Always a smartass.”

“I don’t make you nervous?”

“Curious, maybe. Nervous, no.”

“See that’s what speed dates don’t tell you. Since you once gave me good advice, I’ll give you some too. Always be nervous around me.”

“Why?”

“Because I am a modern woman: dangerous, unpredictable and always on the edge. Of course I’m also caring, patient and gentle but you’re not a sick puppy so that doesn’t apply to you.”

“So I guess it’s a good thing I can take care of myself.”

“You’re a man. None of you can take care of yourselves. No matter how macho your kind acts one case of the sniffles is enough to turn you into helpless babies.”

“At least I’m with an experienced woman. It’s so refreshing to know that you know what you’re in for if this goes beyond a drink and a kiss good night.”

“Hold on, who said anything about kissing?”

He laughed and they walked together in silence. They were approaching a few shops and restaurants and he said, “Barista works for you? Or would you prefer Mondy’s.”

“A beer sounds good.”

When they were seated (she refused the air-conditioned section) he said, “So, my name is Amit…”

“Amit to Amrita. Cute. Kinda like Victor, Victoria.”

“Well not exactly…”

“Yeah, I know that!”

“And you are…”

“Kathy.”

“Short for Katherine?”

“Yes.” He saw that she was looking at him expectantly so he said, “What?”

“You’re a writer you said.”

“So?”

“You didn’t ask how I spell it.”

“I assumed with a ‘K’.”

She went to say something, stopped herself and said something else, “Okay you were right that time but don’t jump to conclusions around me. Won’t get you very far. Now I have a question for you.”

“Shoot,” a waiter floated past their table and he said, “A pitcher good for you?”

She nodded so he let the waiter know and added, “And peanuts please. Thank you.” To her he said, “You had a question.”

“Isn’t advice about psychology and counseling?”

“Yes.”

“You said you’re a writer.”

“I have a degree in psychology.”

“And that’s enough?”

“No. It’s not. That’s where life comes in. I try and use what I studied in combination with what I’ve experienced and I think the combination works most of the time.”

“And you really remember all the letters you got? Were there that few?”

“We get about fifty a week.”

“How long have you done this?”

“Two years.”

“That’s…over five thousand letters. You remember all of them?”

“Good job with the calculation. Though traffic doubles or triples around February.”

“Why February? Oh because of Valentine’s Day.”

He tapped the side of his head and smiled, “You really got it going on girl!”

She looked pleased with herself, “Yeah I know. Still doesn’t prove that you can remember every letter you ever wrote.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

The air seemed to go still around them and she became aware of the change in his demeanour. When their eyes met he said, “How are those fidelity issues working out for you?”

The colour seemed to leave her like a timelapse image, “I’m sorry?”

“Your big thing at first meeting seems to be clarifying the way you spell your name. So much so that it’s also your email ID: alwayswithak@gmail…Happy?”

The colour that had left her came rushing back and she looked red enough to explode. She placed her hands on the table, leaned in and pointed through the window “See that window there?”

He looked, “Which one?”

“The lit one, at the top.”

“Yeah…?”

“That’s where I live.”

“Nice.”

“Yes it is. Very. I was going to take you there and fuck you senseless. Then I was going to call you in the morning and offer to do it again.” She got to her feet, “But I don’t like smartasses. You just had to show off, didn’t you? Now take good look at my ass as I walk away and then remember, that that twitch in your pants is your dick wanting to rear up and punch you in the head. Happy jerking off, jerk!”

As she walked away, every guy in the room watched her leave. It was that kind of ass.

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