Zeke
Renee Beauregard
The emotional and sexual drought one experiences following a divorce may be enough to motivate one to go on the ever mysterious and frightening blind date. This is what, I believe, caused my own most unfortunate evening with Zeke. His name has been changed, not to protect the innocent, but to protect myself from a lawsuit.
I met Zeke at an Applebee’s with Jess and her new boyfriend, Ryan. They were a sort of security blanket, just in case Zeke turned out to be a serial killer. Or just an asshole. We were early, and I finished a gin and tonic before he showed up. Jess and Ryan faced the door, and I could tell by her bitten lip and his stifled laughter that Zeke had just arrived. Suddenly, a short, pony-tailed man wearing an oversized polo shirt stood in front of me.
“Muh-lady,” he said in a surprisingly high voice, and he did what I can only describe as a little curtsy.
“Hi, you must be Zeke.” I smiled, and tried to spot our waitress in my peripheral vision. I was successful. “Oh! Um, could I maybe get another gin and tonic, please?” I looked at her intensely, trying to make her understand the gravity of the situation. She smiled sympathetically. She understood.
“Sure, hon. And for you?” Zeke took a deep breath.
“What do I want. What I want is a Blue Moon with a slice of orange. Capiche?” He winked at the waitress. She didn’t wink back. At this point, I would have loved to know what Jess and Ryan were thinking, but I couldn’t quite read the expressions on their faces. This is because the expressions on their faces were hidden behind giant menus as they whispered to one another.
“As a matter of fact,” Zeke continued, “I think we are ready to order.” I experienced the momentary panic that usually occurs after someone tells a waitress that I am ready to order when I am, in fact, not ready to order. I quickly looked at the menu, then ordered the mahi-mahi with mango salsa. Zeke ordered a cheese pizza, and stuck his thumbs up at the waitress before handing her our menus. Now there was nowhere for Jess and her boyfriend to hide.
“Well, then!” Zeke clapped his hands together. “What would you like to know about me? I work at MIT, doing a lot of complicated computer security stuff. Frankly, I make a lot of money. My parents are both doctors, so I was always used to that kind of money. What do you do? A student, right?”
“Yeah. An English major.” I resisted putting my head on the table.
“English? So you’re going to teach. That’s respectable.”
“No, I’m not going to teach. Maybe I’ll do something in publishing. And I write.” Zeke snorted. It wasn’t the quirky snort of a bespectacled math student. It was the high-powered sucking snort of a truffle pig.
“So, you’re spending however much money on school, racking up debt and actually planning on an impoverished lifestyle? That’s interesting.” I am not a violent person, but I felt for a brief moment as though I would have liked to stab Zeke in the neck with my fork. Fortunately for Zeke, the waitress arrived at the booth with our drinks.
“Thank you,” I said, and I meant it. As Ryan talked to Zeke about his professional life, I sucked rapidly at my gin and tonic. I looked up for a moment and saw that Jess was looking at me. I raised an eyebrow and she raised hers, and we excused ourselves and went to the bathroom.
“How do you think it’s going?” she asked.
“Not so good, really.” I shrugged. “He’s very obnoxious.” A girl in a striped black shirt and combat boots stepped back from the sink and tucked her fire-engine red lipstick tube into her pocket.
“I think he’s cute. You should take him home.” She flashed a smile at us and walked out. I considered this. Maybe I was making too snappy a judgment. We waited an acceptable amount of time, just long enough so that Zeke would think we had both peed and subsequently washed our hands, and we went back to the table.
Hey, you!” Zeke stood up to let me scoot into the booth. Our food had arrived. I stabbed at my mahi-mahi, and offered Zeke a bite. He looked horrified, for a moment, as though I had requested that he get a sex change operation.
“No. Way.” He inched away from me.
“Not a fan of fish?”
“I eat cheese pizza. I eat burgers with ketchup. That’s it.” He had inched so far away from me that one of his butt cheeks was hanging off the edge of the bench.
“No. You don’t just eat pizza and burgers.”
“Trust me. I don’t do vegetables, and I don’t do fish. Just pizza and burgers. I know what I like. A lot of women find that to be a turn-on.” I did not find this to be a turn-on. In fact, I found this to be the exact opposite of a turn-on.
I tried to make the dinner less awkward with a pleasant anecdote about my niece. There was polite laughter, and then nothing. I started to tear my napkin into little shreds in my lap. Zeke looked up suddenly.
“I’ve got one!” Jess, Ryan and I let out a collective sigh of relief. “So, I was at the dinner table with my family one time. Remember how I told you that my parents are doctors? Well, I looked over at my dad, and realized that he had these little dried-on specks of blood all over his glasses from surgery that day.” I stopped chewing. Jess bit her bottom lip for a moment.
“What kind of a doctor is he?” she asked.
“A gynecologist,” he answered.
Jess and I ate in silence as Ryan and Zeke talked more about their professional lives. When we finished, the waitress brought the check.
“Thanks, guys. Whenever you’re ready.” She winked at us, but I noticed that she avoided looking at Zeke. I reached for my purse.
“How are we doing this?” I asked Zeke.
“Well,” he said, sticking his fist under his chin and looking thoughtful, “since you’re a starving English student, I might as well let you pay a little less than your half. How about twenty?” I froze in shock for a moment, before pulling a twenty from my wallet.
“Here.”
We paid quickly and the four of us walked outside. I shivered a little, both from the chilly air and from the prospect of the inevitable end-of-date hug from Zeke. Sure enough, he hugged me, digging his pointy fingers into my sides. I backed up quickly. We said goodnight.
Three days after the bling date, I received an email from Zeke. He asked if I would like to see a movie the following Friday. I politely refused. Then I not-as-politely decided to publish a detailed account of what happened.
I met Zeke at an Applebee’s with Jess and her new boyfriend, Ryan. They were a sort of security blanket, just in case Zeke turned out to be a serial killer. Or just an asshole. We were early, and I finished a gin and tonic before he showed up. Jess and Ryan faced the door, and I could tell by her bitten lip and his stifled laughter that Zeke had just arrived. Suddenly, a short, pony-tailed man wearing an oversized polo shirt stood in front of me.
“Muh-lady,” he said in a surprisingly high voice, and he did what I can only describe as a little curtsy.
“Hi, you must be Zeke.” I smiled, and tried to spot our waitress in my peripheral vision. I was successful. “Oh! Um, could I maybe get another gin and tonic, please?” I looked at her intensely, trying to make her understand the gravity of the situation. She smiled sympathetically. She understood.
“Sure, hon. And for you?” Zeke took a deep breath.
“What do I want. What I want is a Blue Moon with a slice of orange. Capiche?” He winked at the waitress. She didn’t wink back. At this point, I would have loved to know what Jess and Ryan were thinking, but I couldn’t quite read the expressions on their faces. This is because the expressions on their faces were hidden behind giant menus as they whispered to one another.
“As a matter of fact,” Zeke continued, “I think we are ready to order.” I experienced the momentary panic that usually occurs after someone tells a waitress that I am ready to order when I am, in fact, not ready to order. I quickly looked at the menu, then ordered the mahi-mahi with mango salsa. Zeke ordered a cheese pizza, and stuck his thumbs up at the waitress before handing her our menus. Now there was nowhere for Jess and her boyfriend to hide.
“Well, then!” Zeke clapped his hands together. “What would you like to know about me? I work at MIT, doing a lot of complicated computer security stuff. Frankly, I make a lot of money. My parents are both doctors, so I was always used to that kind of money. What do you do? A student, right?”
“Yeah. An English major.” I resisted putting my head on the table.
“English? So you’re going to teach. That’s respectable.”
“No, I’m not going to teach. Maybe I’ll do something in publishing. And I write.” Zeke snorted. It wasn’t the quirky snort of a bespectacled math student. It was the high-powered sucking snort of a truffle pig.
“So, you’re spending however much money on school, racking up debt and actually planning on an impoverished lifestyle? That’s interesting.” I am not a violent person, but I felt for a brief moment as though I would have liked to stab Zeke in the neck with my fork. Fortunately for Zeke, the waitress arrived at the booth with our drinks.
“Thank you,” I said, and I meant it. As Ryan talked to Zeke about his professional life, I sucked rapidly at my gin and tonic. I looked up for a moment and saw that Jess was looking at me. I raised an eyebrow and she raised hers, and we excused ourselves and went to the bathroom.
“How do you think it’s going?” she asked.
“Not so good, really.” I shrugged. “He’s very obnoxious.” A girl in a striped black shirt and combat boots stepped back from the sink and tucked her fire-engine red lipstick tube into her pocket.
“I think he’s cute. You should take him home.” She flashed a smile at us and walked out. I considered this. Maybe I was making too snappy a judgment. We waited an acceptable amount of time, just long enough so that Zeke would think we had both peed and subsequently washed our hands, and we went back to the table.
Hey, you!” Zeke stood up to let me scoot into the booth. Our food had arrived. I stabbed at my mahi-mahi, and offered Zeke a bite. He looked horrified, for a moment, as though I had requested that he get a sex change operation.
“No. Way.” He inched away from me.
“Not a fan of fish?”
“I eat cheese pizza. I eat burgers with ketchup. That’s it.” He had inched so far away from me that one of his butt cheeks was hanging off the edge of the bench.
“No. You don’t just eat pizza and burgers.”
“Trust me. I don’t do vegetables, and I don’t do fish. Just pizza and burgers. I know what I like. A lot of women find that to be a turn-on.” I did not find this to be a turn-on. In fact, I found this to be the exact opposite of a turn-on.
I tried to make the dinner less awkward with a pleasant anecdote about my niece. There was polite laughter, and then nothing. I started to tear my napkin into little shreds in my lap. Zeke looked up suddenly.
“I’ve got one!” Jess, Ryan and I let out a collective sigh of relief. “So, I was at the dinner table with my family one time. Remember how I told you that my parents are doctors? Well, I looked over at my dad, and realized that he had these little dried-on specks of blood all over his glasses from surgery that day.” I stopped chewing. Jess bit her bottom lip for a moment.
“What kind of a doctor is he?” she asked.
“A gynecologist,” he answered.
Jess and I ate in silence as Ryan and Zeke talked more about their professional lives. When we finished, the waitress brought the check.
“Thanks, guys. Whenever you’re ready.” She winked at us, but I noticed that she avoided looking at Zeke. I reached for my purse.
“How are we doing this?” I asked Zeke.
“Well,” he said, sticking his fist under his chin and looking thoughtful, “since you’re a starving English student, I might as well let you pay a little less than your half. How about twenty?” I froze in shock for a moment, before pulling a twenty from my wallet.
“Here.”
We paid quickly and the four of us walked outside. I shivered a little, both from the chilly air and from the prospect of the inevitable end-of-date hug from Zeke. Sure enough, he hugged me, digging his pointy fingers into my sides. I backed up quickly. We said goodnight.
Three days after the bling date, I received an email from Zeke. He asked if I would like to see a movie the following Friday. I politely refused. Then I not-as-politely decided to publish a detailed account of what happened.
