by Robin Roseau
"Is he that good?"
"He doesn't just do the feet. He does my calves too. Oh god! Isaac. God." She moaned again.
"Are you sure I'm not interrupting something?"
"No, no. He's watching some crap on television. Oh god, yes. Right there."
"I've got to get me one of those, my own Isaac, but with more curves."
"Pain in the ass," she replied. "Especially the ones without the curves. You give them a little sex and they get you pregnant. Then you spend nine months growing fatter and fatter until you can't sleep at night, and just when all that torment ends, out pops this squalling brat, and then you really can't sleep at night."
"Is it that bad?"
"I'm just bitching," she said. "I love the little poop machine. Remember his name yet?"
"It's Biblical. Um. Jacob. Um. No. Not Jacob. Joshua! It's Joshua!"
Meryl laughed. "That's pretty bad, Violetta. Didn't I used to be like, your best non-gay friend? And now you struggle to remember my firstborn's name."
"It's not you. It's me."
"This sounds like a bad breakup. Isaac, I don't care what's going on in your show. You can watch and massage at the same time. Oh, yes, better. Much better."
"I really need one of those."
"You'd have to put out," she said. "God, when I was pregnant. He told me just looking at me made him horny."
"Men are jerks."
"Yeah, but this one's my jerk, so you have to apologize now."
"I'm sorry your husband is a jerk like all the other men."
She laughed.
We chatted for a while. Finally I said, "So, guess who I ran into last weekend at the grocery store."
"Ooh, guessing games. I love guessing games. Was it the president?"
"What?"
"You know. Barrack Obama."
"What would the president be doing at the local Cub?"
"I don't know, but I figured he was as likely as anything I might guess."
It was my turn to laugh. "I'll give you a hint. Who do we both know who loves you and hates me?"
"My sister doesn't hate you."
"I beg to differ."
"She doesn't. I think you intimidate her, that's all."
"I intimidate her. Yeah, no. I don't think that's it." I told her the whole story about texting and driving a shopping cart.
"Wait, back up. Auction?"
"Oh, yeah." So I had to tell her that part.
"This woman could be some sort of, oh, I don't know. Some sort of something."
"Oh, that's articulate."
"Hey, don't blame me. When you get pregnant, they suck your brains out of your head."
"I think it's the foot massage."
"He keeps getting distracted. We had sex a few days ago, so he didn't realize it was on the table for-" Then she moaned, and I laughed.
"Does that really work?"
"Oh yeah," she said. "This is the best foreplay. He'll do my feet until I hang up, and then I'll let him just keep going up."
"We could get off the phone."
"No way. Beside, his show isn't over yet, and he's got another one he wants to watch."
Then I heard Isaac in the background. Meryl laughed. "He says the next show is a repeat, so you've got another ten minutes. So, you said something about selling your body."
I told the rest of the story. She laughed. A lot.
"Oh, now he wants to hear the story. Here." There was fumbling, then I heard Isaac's voice.
"Hey, Isaac. Don't stop massaging if you want some."
"Oh, don't I know it. What's this about selling your body? Do you need money or something?"
"Oh, Isaac. No. Is that what you thought?"
"I can only hear half the conversation."
"It was for charity, a bachelorette auction."
"I thought you were gay."
"Um. It was a woman who won me."
"Oh, right. That makes sense then. When are you coming to dinner?"
"Does your wife remember how to make anything that isn't strained or mushed or pureed?"
He laughed. "No, but I do the cooking."
"It would be fun to see you, and the little munchkin. So, is he going to be a star quarterback?"
"You know, given my athletic prowess, I'm guessing that's a big no. But he might be a doctor. I'm hoping for something that makes a lot of money so he can spoil his mother and me when we're in our decline."
"That's a good reason to have kids."
"We're going for four to improve our chances."
"Yeah, I bet Meryl's up to that plan."
"I just have to massage her feet and she'll do anything."
"Yeah, you know, I don't think you should have said that when she can hear you."
"Maybe not, but it's working. She's stripping."
"She is not!"
"She is," he said. "And she doesn't seem to mind I'm telling you. I think I'll hand you back now."
"Don't read too much into it," Meryl said. "His show sucks, so I'm on my stomach now. I told him to do my feet and legs until a commercial, then we're adjusting and he's doing my back until the show is over."
I shook my head. "Sounds nice. Should I go?"
"You haven't finished your story. Then yeah, probably. But we should get together. But forget dinner here. How about next Tuesday?" We agreed on a time and place, and then I finished my auction story.
"So you're seeing her Thursday. Excellent. You can tell me all about it next week. Violetta, it was great to hear your voice. I'm sorry I've been so out of touch."
"Understandable. I'll see you Tuesday."
* * * *
I was nervous on Thursday, although I shouldn't have been. Charlotte, as I was calling her, and I texted frequently throughout the week, and she admitted to being far more nervous than I was. That made it a little better, I supposed.
The package arrived at 5:30, delivered by the same messenger service as the phone. I'd received instructions not to open it until I texted her.
It arrived.
Please don't freak out about this.
That's exactly the sort of sentence that causes people to freak out. Is it a pair of handcuffs or something?
No. Text me when you're dressed and ready. I'm getting in my car.
It was a few minutes before six before I decided I was as ready as I was going to be. I found the phone and texted.
Ready.
I need you to be completely ready to step out the door, so shoes and everything else.
That took another minute.
Okay, now I'm really ready.
If you freak out, I'll understand.
Can I open it or not?
Open it.
I had a knife ready, so it didn't take long. I found a small box that used to hold blank checks from the bank. And inside the box I found a pair of wide sunglasses, almost, but not quite comically dark, and two things that looked like big Band-Aids, but in an odd shape. Not round, but sort of a lopsided oval.
Okay. Sunglasses I won't need at night and I don't know what's with the Band-Aids.
They are eye patches.
I stared at the text for a long time.
Did I freak you out?
A little. Processing.
If you're too freaked out, you don't owe me anything.
I owe you a date.
We'll count it even after all the texting.
You're going to make me do this.
You can say no. I'll drive away. You'll never see me.
It seems like I won't see you anyway.
Maybe you'll say yes to more dates, if you enjoy this one. I'll let you see me eventually.
I thought about it for a while. Then I came to a decision. Maybe it was a weird decision, but what about this wasn't weird?
What do I do?
Make sure your front door is unlocked. I'll wait five minutes then drive up and come in to collect you. Put an eye patch over each eye then put the sunglasses on. No one will be able to see, but I'll peek.
You promise I'm safe.
Vickie promised, didn't she? You're safe. I promise. Do you need to call her first?
Are you going to talk to me?
No. Just touch.
This is really weird. You know that, right?
Please, Violetta. I know it's weird.
All right. I'll be in the living room. It's to the right from the front door. Let me arrange everything.
I moved to the living room and set everything on the coffee table. I checked my appearance once more then sighed. She wouldn't see my eyes. I thought my eyes were my best feature.
I was named after my eyes, after all.
I'm a little sad. My eyes are my best feature. Did you know they are violet, like Elisabeth Taylor's?
Yes. Violetta, you don't have to impress me. I have to impress you.
This is an unexpected way to do it.
I took a deep breath.
All right. Doing it. I won't be able to see any more texts, but if you take more than ten minutes, I'm taking this crap off.
I picked up one of the patches then without removing the backing, fit it over one eye. It was clear what they were now that I knew. I peeled the backing and pressed it into place.
The phone buzzed. I still had one available eye, so I read it.
I'm around the corner and started a timer. I'll be there, Violetta. Thank you.
One eye done. Starting second.
I made sure I would be able to find the sunglasses, although I suppose if I wasn't wearing them, Charlotte could find them for me. She'd be able to see. I pressed the second eye patch into place.
They were good. I couldn't see a thing, not even a glimmer of light. Although they also encouraged me to keep my eyes closed as well. I reached for the sunglasses, slipped them on, and then leaned back on the sofa with my hands in my lap.
I was nervous as hell. But I thought about everything she had said, and I decided something. If she was struggling to come out, then a little vulnerability wouldn't kill me. Maybe I could help her. And she'd been funny in her texts.
I wonder what her plan was for dinner. I didn't have to wait very long before I heard my front door open. It sounded a little tentative. I hoped to hell it was Charlotte, and I hoped she wasn't a complete freakazoid.
What was I thinking? Of course she was a freakazoid. And I was letting her, too.
My floors are wood, and I could hear footsteps. She was wearing boots -- I could tell the difference between boots, heels, and other types of footwear. And I could even tell it was probably a woman. Guys' shoes sound different. I couldn't describe the difference.
She moved into the room, and I turned my head.
"I can't see," I said.
She moved to me, and then she was seated on the sofa next to me. She reached over and squeezed my hand for a moment. Then I held very still as she lifted the glasses from my face. She paused, and then she smoothed the patches a little before replacing the glasses. She caressed my cheek for a moment before dropping her hands.
"We need signals," I said. "I'm not doing this if you don't have a way to communicate somehow. At least yes and no." And with that, she squeezed my hand again. "Did you have a plan?"
Nothing.
"Okay, so I presume that means no. Squeeze my hand if I'm wrong."
Nothing.
"All right," I said. "You'll pat my hand or arm. One pat for no, two for yes. Agreed?"
Two pats on my arm.
"I'm feeling really vulnerable. Are you going to embarrass me?"
One pat, and then she squeezed my hand.
"I want lots of touching," I said. "Okay?"
Two pats, then two more, and she caressed my arm besides. That felt nice.
"I want to touch you," I said. "Will you let me?"
Two pats.
I didn't wait. I moved towards her then actually shifted and straddled her lap. If I surprised her, I couldn't tell. But I lifted my hands until I found her arms. It took a minute of exploring to decide she was wearing a short-sleeve dress with a shawl or scarf over her shoulders. She had on a necklace and earrings. Yes, she let me explore to discover them.
Her hair was long, and I had fun running my fingers through it for a minute. If I was messing with her styling, well, too bad.
Then, carefully, I raised my hands to her face. I didn't know what I would find. I touched carefully in case she was wearing makeup. She took in a deep breath of air, but she didn't stop me as I slowly explored.
I'd never done this before, so I didn't know what my fingers were telling me. She didn't have a double chin, and as I sat on her legs, I could tell she was roughly my size, give or take, oh, probably fifty pounds. But I'd wondered if she was really, really big, and she wasn't. If anything, she was a little bit petite, but I wasn't sure.
"I thought you were hiding something," I said. "If you are, I'm not finding it. Will you tell me what color hair?"
One pat. No.
Because I could, I explored her face just a little longer before lowering my hands. I climbed from her lap slowly.
"I'm afraid to move," I said. "I know the coffee table corner is close."
She set her hands on my hips and moved me a little to the left and then pushed back just slightly. I stepped away and then waited for her. She stood and then moved close to me, really close. I lowered my head, but she lifted my chin.
She caressed my face, although she only used one hand. She explored it just like I had done hers.
It was deeply intimate, and it was really weird, just like everything else. First date, and we were being pretty physically intimate in the first few seconds.
But then she slipped my arm in hers and led me to the front door. We made it to the front door and I pulled her to a stop. "My purse is there." I pointed. "On a little side table. You'll have to lock the door. I left the keys out. Give me my purse."
She moved slowly from me. I heard her pick up the purse and keys. She handed me the purse, and I slipped the strap over a shoulder. Then she helped me out the door. I heard her close the door and then fumble with the keys to lock it.
"Give me the keys."
She put them into my hand, and I slipped them into my purse where I could find them later.
* * * *
She did everything to put me in the car. She handed me in then reached in and did my buckle.
"Thank you."
During the drive, I talked quietly, randomly. From time to time, she reached over and caressed my arm. But she didn't say a single word. I was actually impressed. I'd have slipped by now. It wasn't like I was a total blabbermouth, but being that quiet would be hard.
We slowed, turned, drove slowly for a moment, and then she pulled into a slot and parked. Charlotte reached over and unbuckled my belt, but she set her hand on the top of my chest and pressed backwards.
"I'll wait."
Two squeezes on my arm.
She got out, closed her door, and a moment later my door opened. I let her help me from the car. And then she took my arm again.
Inside the restaurant she moved me to the side, then helped me into a chair. I received a caress, and then she stepped away. She was gone for about a minute before she returned to me, helping me to stand.
She led me through the restaurant, finally handing me into a chair.
"This should be very private," someone said -- the hostess, I guessed, or a waitress. Charlotte took her seat to my right, taking my hand. But then I felt someone approach on my left. "Ma'am, I understand you're blind, and she has taken a vow of silence. Your date wants me to explain where you are. This is the White Orchid."
"Oh," I said. "I come here often."
"Often enough you know our menu?"
"Everything is good," I said. "Did she really tell you I'm blind? And if she took a vow of silence, how did she tell you anything?"
The waitress chuckled, perhaps a little nervous. "She had a note. It said it's complicated."
"I agreed to be a blind date. I didn't kno
w it would be literally." She and I both chuckled, nervously, I'll add. "Did the note explain how she intended to order?"
"She'll point."
"Are you the waitress or the hostess?"
"My name is Sarah. I'm both tonight."
"I'd like hot tea," I said. Charlotte reached over and patted my arm twice. "Um. And so would Charlotte. Charlotte, are you ready to order?" One pat.
"All right. She said no. But can we get an order of fried egg rolls?"
"Of course. I'll have your tea and put in the order for egg rolls."
The waitress disappeared. I heard Charlotte deal with the menu, but when I held a hand out, she took it in hers.
"You're going to have to feed me, you know." Without releasing my hand, she patted twice using the tips of her fingers.
I thought about it then chuckled. "You're my date. You're not in the closet anymore, Charlotte." I leaned closer. "The waitress knows you're a..." then I whispered the next word. "... lesbian."
She squeezed my hand.
Without some sort of prompting, I was temporarily talked out. So we sat quietly. But Charlotte was generous with her touches, and so I sat quietly and enjoyed the physical affection.
This was going to be the world's most awkward date.
The waitress returned. I heard her set down tea and cups. "The egg rolls will be available soon. Do you know what you wish to order?"
"I know what I'll have, but I'd like to hear what Charlotte orders, first."
Charlotte patted my hand once. Then she pressed a finger into my chest for a moment before setting two fingers on my arm.
"I should order for both of us?"
That was two pats.
"All right. I like the chicken lo mein and the chicken with pea pod. Is that all right?" Two pats. I turned my head towards the waitress. "That's what we'll have."
"White or fried rice?"
"I usually get fried. Is that all right, Charlotte?" Two pats. "Fried rice it is."
"Very good," said the waitress. I listened to her collect the menu from Charlotte and then disappear. Then I turned my face towards my date.
"May I have some tea?"
I could hear her pour and set the pot down, then she took my hand and set a cup in it. I cradled the cup with both hands and sipped carefully. It was very hot.