blind date

"Wow!" Leslie exclaims as she enters my office. "Your office is bigger than mine."

"Sorry," I say, "now you make me feel guilty." I gave her a Garfield like grin, while her gaze sweeps the office and her hand touches the mahogany desk and credenza

She smiles and sits on the corner of my desk. "In any case," she finally faces me. "John and I were wondering if you would like to join us for dinner tomorrow night."

"Aha, you're inviting me for dinner," I say. "You and John. How nice."

Leslie nods and gives me her own version of the Garfield grin. I prop my left elbow on my desk, and cradle my chin on the back of my hand. Leslie smiles. Before she can say anything, I say, "You're setting me up for a blind date, yet again, aren't you?"

She giggles. "Rajid is a nice guy, Victoria."

"Rajid?"

"Oh, he's Indian, but he grew up in Britain. Only his name is Indian but he's more British." Leslie plays with the half dozen thin gold bangles on her arm. "Oh, Victoria, give him a try. He's such a nice guy."

"Hmmmm. I don't know, Les. I think you and John should stop worrying about me."

"Victoria, you shouldn't have to sit alone in your apartment all the time. By God, you have got to meet people. You have got to have a boyfriend."

"I don't need a boyfriend. Boyfriend is not everything in life, you know.Sorry, I can't date Rajid." I grab my day planner and open it.

"Oh, puh-lease!" She stands up and walks over to where I sit. She puts her arms around my shoulders. "I promise you will like him. But if you don't, then I'll stop bugging you!"

I laugh. "You already set me up, didn't you?"

"Yes!" comes the quick reply. I roll my eyes and shake my head. “Please! Please! I promise you he’s a nice fellow.”

"Okay, but I will drive to this dinner so I can go home by myself."

“Sure,” Leslie says.

“I’ll leave at anytime I wish!”

“Okay, fine.” Leslie pats my cheeks and gives me a kiss in the air. “You’re such a darling.”

She runs back to her office across the corridor from mine. From my phone unit, I see her make a call.


The next day, I am busy sending telex bids to Dallas, Texas when I hear Leslie's high pitched British voice at the reception. Matthew, the office accountant, comes in to my office, smiling.

"You're on a date tonight, I gather," Matthew says.

"And how do you know about this?" I ask as I try to tear the yellow ticker tape off the telex machine.

"He's in Leslie's office with John. They arrived a few minutes ago." Matthew takes the ticker tape from me and slowly rolls it around his hand. He continues, "Rajid is a nice man."

"You, too, Matthew?" I say as I give him a smile. "You're passing by Mr. Duncan's office, please be kind enough to drop the Dallas folder. Thank you." I wave him to leave.

I am about to make a phone call to the gym when Leslie comes knocking at my door.

"Hello, hello! Can we interrupt?"

I place the phone back on its cradle. "Sure, come in."

John appears at the door, looking dapper as always. An Indian man comes right behind him. Rajid.

Rajid is well dressed. He has a thick beard. He wears a white turban. He is a Sikh.

I remember a news story from a long time ago, when Indira Ghandi was gunned down by a group of Sikh militants. Mrs. Ghandi was doing her gardening chores when she was murdered. I shudder upon remembering this.

Then I also remember a conversation with the Filipino technician the night before when he came over to fix our fax machine. "The Sikhs don't wash their hair that is why they wear turbans."

I look at Rajid. He looks clean alright despite his thick beard and surprisingly I can only smell John's shaving lotion. Rajid does not have the strange odours. He waves his hand at me, but apart from a "hello" and "nice to meet you", he does not say a word. He stares at me with a smile on his lips.

And there we are, Leslie, John, Rajid and me, with some frozen smiles on our faces, in the middle of an awkward silence. Presently, Leslie and John excuse themselves. Rajid is left standing alone in front of my desk facing me.

"Checking me out, ha?" I say to Rajid.

"Oh! No, no," he says, "John and I were in the neighborhood and he decided for us to come here."

I smile but I have nothing else to say to him.

"Well," I finally say, "I guess I'll see you tonight."

He breaks into a big smile, and says, "Oh, you're not disappointed in me? You will come to dinner?"

"Of course, I will," I say as I stand up and thrust my hand towards him. He reaches for my hand and we shake hands.

"I pick you up at seven?"

"No, it’s okay. Thank you. But I think I'll drive down to the restaurant."

He smiles and leaves.


At four o'clock, Mr. Duncan, our boss, comes back from his lunch meeting. He goes straight to my office. "You're having a blind date tonight, I hear." He pauses, then, "What's the matter with you now? You're face is all red!"

I am about to say something, but I bend down and bury my head inside my trash can underneath my desk. I push a ball pen down my throat and the cabbage rolls I had for lunch came right out.

"I think I ate something bad at lunch!"

"Well you better go home and rest." Mr. Duncan says. "Hope you feel better soon so you can go on your blind date. Have Vijayan drive you home. You can use him tonight if you want to."


At seven o'clock, Leslie arrives at my apartment. "Are you better?" She takes a sweeping look at me in my terry robe, dishevelled hair, smudged eye make up. "You're not ready?" I raise the cold compress to my head.

"As you can see, Leslie, I'm not exactly in good condition here." I slump on the sofa. "I'm sorry, I can't go tonight."

Oh was all I hear Leslie say. She slowly walks towards the door, seemingly annoyed.

"Enjoy you guys!" I say when I know she's already outside.


I look out the window as Leslie drives away in her convertible. John sits on the passenger seat beside her and Rajid at the back. I take the phone and dial Sophie's number, a friend who works at the Sultan's office as Catering Director.

"Sophie?"

"I thought you had a dinner date?" she asks.

"No, I decided not to go." I make myself a gin and tonic.

"But why, because you said he's Indian?"

"No, I wouldn't have minded it, really. He's a really nice looking dude."

"He smells?" Sophie laughs. I laugh, too.

"No!,” I say as I have a sip of my gin and tonic. “I wouldn't have minded it, really. He's a very nice looking dude."

“Nice?” I hear Sophie say.

“Yeah, nice. As in panty-slip-down nice looking.” We both laugh.

"Does he have a smell?"

"Nope."

"But you don’t want to date a man who wears a turban and has a beard? I know you don’t like hairy guys."

"That would’ve been fine, too. I could’ve put that aside, really."

"Oh." I hear Sophie cluck her tongue.

"But you know what killed the deal?"

"What?” Sophie asks and I can imagine her wide-eyed anticipation. When I didn’t answer right away, she yelps, “What! Tell me please."

"He shook my hand, Sophie."

"Oh, no!" I can almost feel and see Sophie's mouth gaping.

"Yup, my friend. If there's one thing I cannot stand, it's a limp handshake."