The Blind Date

by Alice Ward

  “Um. After our date.” What the hell did she think I was talking about?

  “Okay, back up here,” she said. She pointed at a bench. “I think you need to sit down. Get some oxygen in your brain. Are you… have you ever had a history of hallucinations, Jule?”

  She was eyeing me with such concern that it scared me. I didn’t really want to sit, but I did, falling onto the bench with a thud as she held my hands tightly. “What? Hallucinations? No. Why?”

  She sat beside me. “Because, well… didn’t you get the text from my brother?”

  Her brother? Her brother didn’t even have my phone number. “No… why would he…”

  “You had to have. He sent it to your number and mine.” She fished out her phone and paged through her messages. I read the number she’d given him. She had typed in my last four digits as 6678.

  I shook my head. “My number is 6687.”

  She slammed a hand to her mouth. “I switched the digits. Oh, my gosh. I gave him the wrong number. You’re on my speed dial so I just completely must have spaced on it.”

  I scooched to the edge of the bench and tried to see her phone. “What the hell are you talking about, Leah?”

  She was busy smacking her forehead. “I don’t understand. I don’t understand.”

  “Well, explain it to me. Why would your brother be trying to text me?”

  “Okay. Listen to me. After you texted me and told me that he hadn’t showed up, I texted my brother and asked him to find out where he was. Since I was going in the shower, and you know how long my showers are, I gave him your number — or at least I thought I did — so he could text you directly.”

  “But he never…”

  She gave me a sorry face. “Right. Because I gave him the wrong number.”

  “All right. But what difference does it make? He showed up, and…” I trailed off when I realized that Leah was just shaking her head, a shell-shocked look on her face. “Um… wait. He didn’t show up?”

  She nodded, a very slow up and down.

  She had to be pulling my leg. I might have been delusional now and again, but I’d never hallucinated so vividly as to achieve six of the most toe-curling orgasms ever. I stared at her, willing her to explain.

  She took a deep breath. “Zachary, my brother’s roommate’s cousin, your blind date, had an accident on the way over to meet you. He got hit by a taxi, Jule. I mean, he’s okay, but he’s not going to be dancing anytime soon.”

  I opened my mouth, but no words came out for at least a minute. Finally, I managed. “What? That’s not true. I met him right after you texted. He was cute, no, hot… hotter than Chris Pratt, even. And I didn’t hallucinate my entire Friday night, Leah, give me a break.”

  “Okay, okay. I always thought you were quirky, but not that quirky. But the fact still remains… whoever you were with was not my brother’s roommate’s cousin, Zachary. It had to be someone else.”

  “But he said his name was Zach,” I said. “Zachary Vaughn.”

  “Zachary… Vaughn? The Zach I was setting you up with was Zach Brown.” She clamped her hand over her mouth. “Oh my fucking god. So who was he?”

  I sat there, dumbfounded, as reality hit me like a ton of bricks. Zachary Vaughn, rich, powerful, successful owner of a toilet paper factory who swept me off my feet to a gala at the Met. No wonder Leah had no idea about the gala, or his wealth, or that he was, without a doubt, her type. He was every woman’s type.

  He was the wrong Zachary.

  So, was I the wrong Juliana?

  “I…” I started, still not fully believing this. He was a man who’d taken me on the most thrilling adventure of my life, and then just walked out of it. Very much like a hallucination. If I couldn’t still feel the pressure of his lips on mine, the way his hands molded the curves of my body, his tongue exploring my core, I almost could’ve believed it was just a product of my imagination. “I don’t know. But I’ve never had a night like that.”

  A grin spread across her face. “Really, girl? Spill!”

  So I did, eagerly. Turned out, I’d been wanting to recount the entire story to someone, so I could convince myself it hadn’t all been in my head. I told her how he’d been wearing a tuxedo like a second skin, how he’d bought me an outrageously expensive outfit from Valentino, and how we’d twirled around the dance floor at the Met like Prince Charming and Cinderella. All the while, her eyes grew wider and wider.

  “Fucking hell,” she breathed when I paused for breath. “That sounds like a dream date. I’m sorry, but you need to find this man. Stat.”

  I shook my head miserably. “No. I told you. He blew me off. After we… you know, I gave him my number, and he never called.”

  “After you…?” she repeated. Her jaw dropped. “You had sex with him?”

  I nodded.

  “And it was…?”

  I blushed. “Unspeakably incredibly indescribably fan-fucking-tastic. All night long, without fail. He played Marvin Gaye.”

  She squealed. “It’s not the biggest deal in the world that he hasn’t called yet. First of all, it’s only been two days. And second, a guy has never lost a phone number? Please. It happens.”

  “If I meant that much to him, he’d have taken very good care of that number. And…” I sighed. “He thought I was someone else too. He must have had a blind date and mistaken me for her. For all I know, he realized his mistake and is now with the woman he’d been fixed up with.”

  “But you just said that you guys had a lot in common.”

  I nodded, feeling miserable.

  “So, so what if you were both supposed to meet other people? As fate would have it, you met each other. Fate can be a bitch, but maybe she knows a thing or two.” She smiled and started to whip out her phone. “If you know his last name, I bet you can find him.”

  I stiffened. It was one thing for him to call me. But me calling him?

  Oh, god, no. Hell no.

  I suddenly flashed back to my high school self, huddled over my home phone in my kitchen in Fort Lee, the school directory balanced on my knees, pressing in a call to Colton. When he hadn’t called me all weekend, I’d decided to give him a call on Sunday night.

  Back then, I thought his not calling had to be a mistake. I thought that maybe he’d lost my number too.

  I could still remember saying, “H-hello, Colton?” when I got on the phone, the receiver sweaty in my grip.

  “Who’s this?” he’d said.

  I closed my eyes, remembering how I’d announced my name proudly, knowing he’d be happy to talk to me, his girlfriend.

  But then there was a pause. And right after that, a dial tone.

  That memory buzzing in my ears, I put my hand over the display of Leah’s cell phone. At least I knew why he hadn’t called — I wasn’t the Juliana he wanted to meet. Somehow, his rejection didn’t sting as bad now. Oh, it still hurt like a bitch, but it felt like closure. And I really liked the idea of letting things go, putting them in the hands of fate.

  If he found that number, if he called me, then maybe it was meant to be. Until then…

  “Please. I’m not going to stalk him. If he calls, he calls. If he doesn’t, he doesn’t.” I stood up and started to power walk. “Come on. I want to do another mile.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Zachary

  By Wednesday night, I was flying high.

  And it all had to do with one thing.

  Jewel.

  I couldn’t get her ass out of my mind. I had equal appreciation for all parts of the female anatomy, but damn, her ass. Round, and firm. I was going to take her from behind this time, spreading her wide while she knelt on her hands and knees. I wanted to sink my teeth into that plump mound of flesh and hear her sweet moans of pleasure.

  Praise be to the inventor of the elliptical machine.

  We’d exchanged just a few messages in the Kitn.com app. This time, I wanted to cut straight to the chase, so I’d have more time in bed with her.

 
; My message had been plain and simple. Meet me at the Ty Bar in the Four Seasons at 8. Don’t be late. I have something that’s yours.

  She’d responded almost immediately. I am looking forward to it, xxxooo Jewel.

  I put on my jacket, sans tie this time. Just another thing to take away from the flesh-against-flesh time I’d have with Jewel. If we started early and went all night, maybe I’d have my fill. Funny, before, one night with a beautiful woman had always been enough to sate me.

  But not now.

  I’d had her already. Usually, after the first time, I could already feel my interest waning.

  I wasn’t sure why, but I only wanted Jewel more now.

  I slipped the panties into one pocket, the envelope with another seven thousand in the other.

  I even got to the Ty Bar early, ordered a scotch, and sat at a high-hat table close to the lobby, waiting for her to arrive. As I did, I drummed my fingers on the top of the table, licking my lips and waiting for her. I couldn’t remember a time I’d ever felt so excited, like a kid getting ready to enter a toy store.

  She slinked into the lobby about fifteen minutes late, with a confidence I didn’t know she owned. I saw her smiling sexily at the men she passed as she turned each one of their heads. Her hair was down on her shoulders, and she was wearing a tight black tube dress that accentuated her fantastic body while baring almost too much skin to be appropriate to wear out in public.

  By the time she reached the darkened entrance to the bar, I knew something was wrong.

  She strutted over to me in silver fuck-me heels, grinning slyly. “You must be Zach.”

  Her voice was low and assured, nothing like Jewel’s, which was tentative, more songful. It grated on me at once. This girl was beautiful. Tight body, dirty blonde hair, flawless face, but she looked like a fucking escort.

  What. The. Hell?

  Had Jewel not been able to make it, so she’d sent one of her friends? I downed the rest of my scotch in one gulp. “Who are you?”

  Her smile fell. “I’m Jewel.”

  I glared sourly at her. I was not in the mood for being played with. “No,” I said flatly. “Who the fuck are you, really?”

  She crossed her arms. “Are you fucking kidding me? You call and ask for me, I come all the way from Brooklyn, and you’re going to play amnesia with me? Is this some fucking joke?”

  She was speaking so loudly, and in a grating accent — you cawl and axe for me — that every face in the bar was now turned to us, tuned into our conversation. Tact was one thing this girl was missing, which angered me even more.

  “Look. All I know is that you’re not the same girl I met on Friday. Where is she? Because she’s the one I want.”

  She stared at me like I was crazy, then huffed out a breath. “How the hell am I supposed to know? It wasn’t me.”

  Well, no shit.

  “I was on a date in Colorado before yours. My flight got delayed. I didn’t get in until Saturday morning,” she said. “I left you a message on Kitn.com. Didn’t you get it?”

  I stared at this strange woman, realizing that yes, she was the woman from the picture. This wasn’t Jewel. My Jewel. The Jewel I’d met in the flesh on Friday night was far more gorgeous… and wasn’t from the escort service?

  Call me Jewel. Most people do. She’d said her name was Jewel. And she’d also introduced herself as Juliana. And…

  And she hadn’t acted like an escort. She hadn’t wanted the fancy things I’d thrown at her. She’d seemed embarrassed at the idea of taking my money. She hadn’t been dressed for a gala.

  What the fuck was going on here?

  Now that I thought about it, my Jewel didn’t look a hell of a lot like the photograph at all. The photo had been dimly lit, and the woman had been laid out to look like someone’s fantasy. My Jewel was more real than that, much more beautiful, her tits rounder, her lips more sensual, her hair sexier.

  But who was she?

  Was she even an escort? She’d taken my money, and…

  I shook my head. Actually, I’d just put the money in her purse. Maybe she wasn’t expecting it. Maybe she’d just gone to bed with me because… she wanted me. Maybe I hadn’t had to pay her, after all.

  Suddenly, I felt an odd sense of falling through time and place, like everything I knew was shifting around me, about to fall upon me.

  I’d gone up to this gorgeous woman at Terra, thinking she was my date. Was it possible that she was also a Jewel, and she’d been there to meet someone else? A hell of a coincidence, but stranger things had happened in this city.

  And now, I wanted this mystery girl, whoever she was, more than ever.

  “I’m sorry, I made a mistake,” I said, sliding off the barstool.

  “What’s your hurry, sexy?” she purred, leaning into me and splaying a hand flat on my chest, begging me to stay. “Buy me a drink. Even if I’m not the girl you expected, I can still make you feel good.”

  I shook my head and nudged her off. There was really only one way to get rid of her.

  I reached into my pocket and dropped the envelope on the table. “I’m sure you can buy yourself plenty of drinks with this, but I have to go.”

  She lifted the envelope and inspected the contents.

  “Just for showing up?” She grinned. “I like your style, Mr. V. I actually wouldn’t have minded getting into bed with you.”

  She said it loudly, unabashedly, and I avoided her come-hither bedroom eyes and the curious looks of the bar patrons who had been carefully listening in on our conversation. I dropped a twenty on the bar and slid past her, out onto East 57th Street, where the night was just beginning.

  And bloody hell, I was destined to spend it alone.

  This was a city of millions. How would I ever find the one girl I wanted?

  I pulled out my phone as I walked the street, trying to think of how to search. It was then I realized how little I knew about my mystery woman. I typed in: Jewel NYC and frowned as I scrolled through a thousand entries on the Jewel Hotel on 51st.

  Then I wracked my brain, trying to think of something else to search on. I dug my hands into the pocket of my jacket and pulled out her thong. This was not quite your average Cinderella story. It wasn’t like I could go around the city, asking women to try them on. Besides, I knew I wouldn’t be sated by any other woman who fit them.

  I only wanted her.

  I wracked my brain, trying to think of something else to search. But as much as I felt like we’d connected, I really didn’t know anything about the real her. I knew she loved to read. I knew Ugolino and His Sons was her favorite piece of art in the Met, and that the Met was her favorite museum. I knew she was from Jersey and had just moved to the city a few years ago. She also liked green Tic Tacs.

  None of that was anything I could search on.

  Tell me something about yourself. And what had she said? I’ll tell you the most important thing about me. I want you to kiss me now.

  Back then, I’d been thrilled. Now, I wish she’d given me a last name along with that request.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  I was so deep in thought, I nearly walked straight into a taxi barreling down Fifth Avenue.

  That near-death experience brought clarity. As I stumbled back, it came to me.

  Even if you took me back home to Queens.

  Queens. It narrowed things down considerably. But typing in “Jewel Queens NYC from NJ” only resulted in a closed Indian Restaurant and a bunch of locations on Jewel Avenue. I went through page after page, my chances turning dimmer and dimmer. Then I switched to the image locator, hoping I could find her picture in one of them. The more pages I scrolled through, the more hopeless it seemed.

  But the rabid hunger inside me didn’t go away.

  I wanted this woman so bad, I could practically taste her on my tongue.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Juliana

  The auditorium on the first floor of the Children’s Hospital was packed, standing room only. N
ot only that, but several nationwide news outlets were there to cover the forum. So obesity in the schools wasn’t a battle I was fighting alone. It had gotten a lot of attention recently, and now, more people were taking notice.

  Good.

  It didn’t help me feel any less nervous.

  A female pediatrician finished her speech to thunderous applause. She was great, impassioned, interesting, and engaging, someone who clearly loved giving speeches to throngs of people. I watched, waiting in the wings as she stepped down from the podium and the applause died down.

  Then all eyes turned to me.

  It was time for my presentation.

  Ugh. I hated this. I’d always been afraid while speaking to groups of people. If I hadn’t been so passionate about this topic, I’d have done everything to get out of it.

  I strode up to the podium, seeking out the kind faces of my friends in the department. Leah was there too, and my supervisor, Dr. Irwin. They smiled encouragingly at me, willing me to go forward as I strode past the white screen, where the first slide of my PowerPoint entitled Is School Lunch Killing Our Kids? shown on the screen. I reached the podium and turned, holding my index cards in front of me.

  “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen,” I began, nodding to everyone. “It is an honor to be here today, speaking about a topic so near and dear to my heart.”

  I flashed to the first slide, a slide of me as a teen, round-faced and desperately overweight. It’d been at my sweet sixteen, and though I was smiling, wearing a strapless pink gown, the smile didn’t quite ring true. I’d hated myself so much then.

  “This is me,” I announced as murmurs rustled through the crowd. “When I was in high school. Thanks to an abundance of widely available junk food on my high school campus, I’d made a lot of wrong decisions. But I’m happy to report it doesn’t have to be that way. Our children deserve better. So let me tell you what I would like to see.”

  In the back of the enormous room, a hand shot up. A male voice called, “Miss Hurley?”

  I hadn’t expected questions so early. I’d hoped to save them for the end of the presentation. In fact, I thought Dr. Irwin told me that questions wouldn’t be entertained until afterward.