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Marcia Miller-Twiford

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Books by Marcia Miller-Twiford
The Blind Date
By Marcia Miller-Twiford
Thursday, October 22, 2009

Rated "PG" by the Author.

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Recent stories by Marcia Miller-Twiford
· The Attic
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           >> View all 17

Adult content.

Her plea to me was, "He seems to be the perfect man for you Sandra. He’s new in town, hasn’t had the chance to meet many people yet and he appears to be lonely. I've only met him once but he's good looking, tall, intelligent, apparently successful and the poor guy is facing a divorce. It's just dinner and I'll bet you have a great time. Do it. Do it for me and you'll see. Jeff's trying to set up a business deal with him and this would really help. Say yes Sandra. Please? I’ll owe you one."

Connie knows I hate blind dates but it was obvious she needed my help, and I felt obligated. What's one dinner. It wouldn't kill me.

So, much against my principles, and only because Connie's my best friend, I agreed. But what to wear? A simple black dress always works. Understated without down playing. A pair of high heels, a string of opera length pearls that had been my mother’s, a pair of small diamond studs in my ear lobes, a cashmere cardigan tied around my shoulders, (casual chic I thought), and I was ready.  I was walking down the stairs when the doorbell rang. What the hell? It couldn't be him. Connie had set it up for us to meet at an upscale restaurant. Opening the door what do I see but a florist delivery man holding out a small gold box. I tipped him and shut the door. Inside the box, a corsage of gardenias. Preposterous and inappropriate. This was a blind date for drinks and dinner not a formal affair. A bouquet of flowers would have been a better choice, but he’d obviously meant well. Leaving the box on the hall table I want to meet Mr. Obligation. I didn't know his name.

Before leaving I checked the plants in the cast iron planter boxes my dad had made for me. He’d taken up iron working after he retired and he was good at it. The planters were all different shapes with intricate scroll work, and he’d painted them an off white. They looked so nice lining the hallway of the foyer. I had selected the plants for each one very carefully and the overall effect was lovely with a soft wall sconce shining light upon them and the gleaming hardwood floor. The plants weren’t in need of watering so off I went.

When I entered the restaurant and gave my name to the maitre d' he led me to the bar. I'd expected him to be waiting at a table but no, at the bar sat one of the best looking men these eyes had ever seen. Too good looking to need a blind date was my first thought. My second was, you're no slouch yourself so shift your thinking. He stood as polite introductory greetings were exchanged and then asked what I'd like to drink. I ordered a martini, he ordered a double scotch, neat. I sipped my cocktail and he downed two more doubles. When he asked about the corsage I told him none had arrived by the time I left the house. He just shrugged. I felt bad about lying to him but there was no way I was pinning those flowers on my dress thus looking like a  mother of the bride in mourning.

When we got to the table he ordered a bottle of wine for us to share and another double for himself. It was a nice restaurant, nice ambiance, good food, a good wine, excellent service, and mundane conversation mostly one sided - his side. Through appetizers, soup, salad, main course and desert I listened and he downed more doubles. My feelings that this was the right thing to do disappeared with the salad plates. Throughout the long dinner I nodded now and then, and except to eat or sip some wine, kept my mouth shut. I was more than uncomfortable and wished I wasn’t here. Why oh why did I ever agree to this? I agreed because of Connie and also because I’d been through one not too long ago and I felt sorry for anyone facing a divorce. When he started on yet another rhetorical deluge I interrupted claiming an early day at work tomorrow. When he suggested staying for after-dinner drinks, I insisted on leaving. Reluctantly, he agreed.

Thank god I'd driven myself. The thought of him driving me home with all that scotch in him gave me the chills. I suggested he call a cab for himself but I might as well have been talking to the wind. He insisted on seeing me safely home and followed me in a zig zag fashion. I tried to get away from him three times by making quick turns onto other streets, but he was right behind me all the way. I kept hoping a police car would spot him weaving but none were in sight. Once I stopped at a convenience store hoping to use their phone to call the police but the clerk declined my request telling me I had to use the pay phone outside. Why on this of all nights didn’t I have my cell phone with me. Because I wanted to carry that new cute little clutch bag that could be placed on the table and the phone wouldn’t fit. Stupid, stupid, stupid! When I got back outside he was parked just behind my car with his fingers impatiently drumming the steering wheel. Maybe I could ditch him at the house and then call the police and report a drunk driver.

I couldn't wait to get inside my house so I parked in front instead of in the garage and quickly headed for the front door. He was right behind me. The scent of night blooming jasmine by the front porch was overcome by the stench of ingested scotch. As I reached to put my key in the lock he grabbed at my hand, took the key and said, "Here, let me." Before I could protest he blundered in ahead of me and stood in the foyer swaying. I said a prayer that he wouldn’t see the box containing the corsage sitting on the table next to him. He didn’t. I don’t think he could focus well enough to. Then he said, “Let’s have a drink.”

I declined and repeated that I had an early day tomorrow.

“Well, give us a kiss then.” he said. Before I had a chance to reply he grabbed the front of my dress, placed an open mouthed sloppy wet kiss on mine that tasted like scotch laden saliva. I almost threw up as I felt it dribbling down towards my chin, but managed to just gag. My wiping my hand across my mouth made him irate.

"Okay, babe, have it your way. Where's the bedroom?"  Apparently his consumption of large amounts of alcohol didn’t have any effect on his sex drive. His arousal was obvious. My feelings must have shown on my face because his next words were, "Are you an idiot? Don't look so surprised. This your first time out? If I spend that much money on flowers, wine and dinner, I expect something in return and I know you know just what I mean. Get to the bedroom and get your clothes off. It's pay-back time bitch."

I uttered a profanity at him and he grabbed my dress harder, twisted the front thus breaking the string of pearls and sending them to the floor. Without letting go of me, he slammed me against the wall and slapped me across the face, then turned, slipped on some pearls, finally let go, fell, and smashed his head on the corner of one of the cast iron planters. Blood spurted everywhere then began pooling under his head. I was frozen. I stared at him laying there with his eyes open and glazed over. In his hand was a torn piece of my dress.

The doorbell rang. I rushed to the door to find my next door neighbor. Jim, is a police officer and I've never been so happy to see anyone as I was to see him at that moment. "Are you all right Sandra? I thought I heard some yelling and your car is parked at the street along with another one. You always park it in the garage. What's going on? You're white as a sheet, and your nose is bleeding. What happened to your dress? Here, sit down." Then he saw the body. "What the  . . . .,"  Jim made the required phone call and I told him, the investigating officers and the coroner the whole story down to the last gory detail.

The article in the local newspaper two days later read, "Body of man with multiple outstanding warrants in three states for DUI, battery, and alleged date rape found in local residence by off-duty police officer. Resuscitation efforts by EMT’s called to the scene were unsuccessful. The deceased allegedly slipped and fell hitting his head causing massive head trauma during an attempted assault on the owner of the property, an unidentified local woman. The body was taken to the local morgue pending notification of next of kin."


© Marcia Miller-Twiford




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Reviewed by Annabel Sheila 10/23/2009
Wow! Awesome write, Marcia! Absolutely loved it...great twists to the plot with a shocking ending. Wow!

Reviewed by Jeanette Cooper 10/23/2009
A scrary experience but a redeeming ending. Your story is well told and an interesting read.
Reviewed by Georg Mateos 10/23/2009
Good for Daddy's cast-iron planter boxes, it shows that father's keep protecting their girls from schmucks!
This short story dear Marcia, is a keeper!


Reviewed by Karen Lynn Vidra, The Texas Tornado 10/22/2009
Good story, Marcia; well done!

(((HUGS))) and much love, your friend in Tx., Karen Lynn. :D

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