It’s a Small World
Donna Starving had been living in Miami for three months. She had moved there for a fresh new start. Donna was lonely so she decided to post an ad in a singles’ newspaper to meet gentlemen. For the past couple of weeks, she had been having nightly conversations with one of the guys that had responded to her ad. He seemed like he had a lot in common with her, and she loved the fact that they both were born and raised in Los Angeles. They were getting along so well on the phone that they decided to meet for dinner, in downtown Miami, at Seaside Bistro Bar and Grill. When dinner was over they were going to take a romantic stroll down the beach. Donna arrived at the restaurant five minutes early for her blind date. As soon as she was seated, she checked her hair and make-up and smoothed down her white linen skirt. Satisfied that she looked good, she put her mirror back in her purse. She was startled when she looked up and saw a tall, handsome man standing at the table staring down at her.
“You must be Charles,” she said, smiling broadly.
Charles sat down at the table, said, “Hi, Donna.” He stretched out his hand and gave her a weak handshake.
“I am so happy to meet you, Charles.” Donna was gushing; her cheeks were rosy pink matching her lipstick.
“Thanks.” Charles averted his eyes away from Donna’s eyes and looked down at the floor, he replied, “Umm…you too, Donna.”
“Do you want to get the waitress so we can order?”
Donna raised her eyebrows, “Bu-but, why not?”
“Because you had sex with almost every guy in my frat house at UCLA, slut. That’s ‘why not’ we used to call you the head mistress.”
“WHAT!” Donna’s face turned beet red. She searched Charle’s face trying to remember him, but back then she was always high on pills, alcohol, or any other drug she could get her hands on. His face did look vaguely familiar…
Charles jumped up from the table, spilling his ice water. He turned and stormed out of the restaurant. He left the lingering sent of Jovan musk hovering around the table in his absence.
Donna started shaking uncontrollably and crying. Suddenly, the spilled water hit her lap. A chill ran down her spine as she frantically brushed the water off of her new white linen skirt. “My white, clean, brand new skirt,” she mumbled to herself. She got up and ran out of the restaurant. Make-up was streaming down her face. The big water stain in the middle of her skirt was spreading like crazy.
The waitress came over to the table, eyeing the spilled water and wet napkins, she said, “What a mess and they didn’t even leave me a tip.”
Copyright Trina Bell