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First Date

A writer worries that the venue his date chose might be too expensive.

By Chris CunliffePublished 3 years ago 10 min read
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First Date
Photo by Ibrahim Boran on Unsplash

I shook out my umbrella before heading into the restaurant and was very grateful when one of the staff offered to take it along with my coat. The rain had seemed to come from nowhere, but I always had my umbrella with me – best to be prepared. Under normal circumstances, my friends would have laughed at me, but this could be one of those times when I was proven right!

I looked into the dining area, gulping slightly at the look of it. It had many circular tables of different sizes, and there were chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. Intricate columns divided the space and the meals that were being carried around by immaculately dressed waiters looked exquisite. This place was a long way outside of my usual price-range for dinner, but I’d not known how to say no when Julia had suggested it. I could only hope that she was the type of girl who would insist on going halves on the bill when it arrived.

“Good evening, sir,” came the sonorous tones of the maître d. “Have you a reservation?”

I confirmed that I did, and he called for one of the waiters to show me to my table. I sat so that I could see the main entrance, wanting to see Julia when she arrived. I wouldn’t necessarily recognise her – this was our first date after all – but I liked to watch everybody who entered, wondering if each lone young lady might be her. I’d seen a picture of her, of course, but you can’t always rely on those when it came to recognising somebody in reality.

I glanced at the menu, immediately noticing the lack of prices – this was clearly the kind of place where price wasn’t supposed to matter. I stopped myself from gulping again. It wasn’t too late to back out – people changed their minds about first dates all the time. She still wasn’t due for at least ten minutes – I could come up with some kind of excuse. What had I been thinking when I agreed to this place? In truth, I hadn’t been. I’d been chatting to Julia and exchanging e-mails for weeks now, and we’d really hit it off – better than anybody else I’d ever met. Out tastes were almost perfectly aligned in everything – we enjoyed the same books (she’d even read one of mine!), the same plays, the same music. No – I couldn’t cancel on her. She’d no doubt gotten dressed up for a place like this, probably put a lot of effort into it. It was far too short notice now to call it off.

Nervously, I fiddled with the flower attached to my lapel – a marigold, and the way in which Julia was supposed to recognise me when she arrived. I’d asked her to pick the flower and I’d seen the choice as a good sign. In the middle-ages, the marigold had been seen as a good luck charm for people trying to attract somebody new into their life – many considered it a flower full of positive messages, with its bright colour and pleasant scent. Of course, the Victorians viewed it as a symbol of grief and cruelty, so there was a range of options there.

Nobody was coming into the restaurant alone – everybody was part of a couple or a bigger group. I checked my watch and forced myself to relax – no matter how it might feel, it had been less than two minutes since I’d sat down. I picked up the wine list to pass the time, wincing at the lack of prices. When the waiter came to ask, I picked out something from near the top of the menu – hopefully even without costs listed, they would become more expensive as they got lower.

I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d given a wrong impression of myself when I’d been chatting to Julia online. I’d told her that I was a writer who had sold a few books, but people often misinterpreted what that actually meant. I was hardly a bestseller, and nobody had wanted to option anything yet. I was doing alright – I had a reasonably successful webpage with a few dozen patrons that kept me going well enough, and the book advances had given me a lot of breathing room. However, if I started eating at places like this regularly, that would soon evaporate.

I had to confess that the wine, when it arrived, was delicious. Crisp, and with a light fruity aftertaste. I wasn’t generally somebody who could tell how good a wine was once it was more than £5 or so, but I could recognise that this was quality. I smiled to myself – even if I couldn’t make a place like this a regular visit, it was still nice for a one-off treat. And I hadn’t really celebrated the latest book sale yet. Getting to spend it with Julia would be a bonus.

When she sat down, I realised that I’d completely missed her arrival at the restaurant, despite my efforts to keep an eye on the door. She sat down opposite me, letting the waiter push her chair in behind her. Julia had, as I had expected, clearly put a great deal of effort into tonight, with a stunning dress and hair and makeup that must have taken hours to get just right. I was genuinely speechless for a moment, and I was pleased to see that the picture she’d shared online was clearly herself, and recent – just without the first-date effort.

“Excellent choice,” she said, her words quiet but able to easily fill the air between us, as the waiter poured her a glass of the wine, and she took a sip. “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long?”

“Of course not,” I assured her. It had only been a few minutes, and she had arrived exactly on time. “You look amazing.”

She blushed slightly, looking down to hide her smile. “Thank you,” she replied. “I must confess, I don’t get to dress up as often as I’d like to.”

I raised my glass towards her, and she followed suit. “To getting to dress up,” I said, clinking our glasses.

“Have you thought about what you might want to eat?” Julia asked, looking at the menu. “The chef here cooks the duck exquisitely.”

“I’m not sure,” I replied. “I often find duck a little greasy, but if you’d recommend it…”

She nodded to me, interrupting. “Oh yes – I absolutely would.”

“Then I’ll give it a try. Do you want an appetiser?”

She shook her head. “No, thank you – I prefer to leave room for pudding.”

I decided to do the same, and we both ordered. The waiter refilled our glasses when he had taken our requests.

“Any news?” Julia asked as she sipped at her water, leaving the wine for the moment. “It’s been a few days since we managed to talk.”

“Yes, actually,” I replied. “I sold my next book. My agent is still finalising the details, but it looks like a pretty much done deal.”

“Congratulations!” Her face lit up in shared delight at my good fortune. “Surely we should have champagne!”

I shook my head. “Not until the ink is dry – my agent says it is bad luck.” Never mind the potential cost of a bottle of champagne in a place like this! “How about yourself? Any news to share?”

Julia shook her head. “Nothing like that, certainly! You know how it is? The company achieved stuff, but it’s hard to take that as a personal win when there are so many people involved. My sister got a puppy – want to see a picture?”

I didn’t particularly. I love dogs, but I’ve never been especially excited about seeing pictures of them. Meeting the dog itself – that would be a completely different matter. Of course, I said yes and Julia handed over her phone. It was an expensive model – very recent.

“Very cute,” I said, smiling as I handed the phone back. “Her first one?”

Julia shook her head. “No – we grew up with dogs in the family, and she’s always had one since she left home. She can’t stand to not have a dog around the house. You?”

“My mum had a dog. My dad was allergic to them – I sometimes wonder if that was the reason they divorced. My mum got one very quickly after she moved out!”

Julia laughed, which was generous of her given that my joke hadn’t been particularly good. Our food them arrived, saving me from having to follow one poor joke with any further ones. Julia had been correct – the duck was delicious, without even a hint of the greasiness that I often found off-putting about the meat. When we’d both finished, she asked me how it had been, and I agreed that her recommendation had been a good one.

“Do you eat here often?” I asked. It was time that I got a better idea of what her expectations might be. This was a very pleasant treat, but if she expected this kind of dinner to be a weekly occurrence, I’d need to set the record straight swiftly.

“From time to time,” Julia answered. “I always have first dates here, though they are few and far between. It’s so hard to find the time to get to know somebody.”

I nodded. “Absolutely,” I replied. “That’s why I’ve started trying to meet people online first. So, this is your first date venue? You make it sound like it’s some kind of test.”

She laughed. “It’s a first date – of course it’s a test. For both of us – we’re both trying to make a good impression, only making safe conversation, judging each other’s reactions.”

I shrugged. “I’m just happy to be able to enjoy your company. I mean – you turned up. That pretty much passes all tests.”

“Liar!” she accused playfully. “Good answer though.”

“So, I passed that test?” I made my voice sound worried, though smiled at her to make it clear that it was a joke. I’d had problems with people not recognising when I was joking before.

“I’ll give you your score at the end,” she said. “Desert?”

I nodded, picking up the menu that the waiters had snuck onto the tables at some point when they’d cleared away our dishes. “Any recommendations?”

She shook her head. “Oh no. Which desert you choose is part of the test.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Alright. So, what are you having?”

“I can’t quite decide. Both of the top options are divine.” She looked at me over her menu.

“That’s easy then,” I said. “You order one, I’ll order the other, and then we can split them.”

She gave me a wink. “You passed that one.”

The deserts quickly arrived, and we did as I had suggested. There was more conversation over these than there had been over the main course, and we were hitting off well – or at least I thought we were. I no longer cared about how much the evening might be costing. I could probably afford it this once, and then I’d be honest with her.

Once we were finished, I asked if she wanted to go somewhere to get a drink and continue the evening. When she said that she would, I asked the waiter for the bill and reached for my wallet. As I did so, I noticed that Julia gave the waiter a wink, and a moment later the maître d came over.

“Is there some kind of problem?” I asked.

“Quite the opposite, sir,” the maître d replied. “I’m pleased to inform you that your meal is on the house.”

He left before I could question my good fortune.

“Can you believe it?” I asked Julia, speaking quietly, not wanting to tempt fate.

She nodded. “Yes – I own this restaurant.”

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