Rare Steak

Rare Steak

By April Barlow

Maybe this date would be different. He could The One, after all, or at least someone who was patient with Amy for a couple of hours. She knew that she was not the greatest at conversation or self-confidence. However, as she rehearsed her brilliant lines to the empty place setting, she had great optimism that the man she was about to meet would finally discover her inner goodness, somewhere.

At this stage in her life, Amy knew that it would be her own fault if she awoke, decades from now, in a room filled with never ending solitude. With that single-minded determination, she quickly accepted her landlady’s eager attempts at matchmaking. She just needed to power through tonight, and all would be well.

The full weight of the upcoming dinner hit her with a savage backhand. With her hair swept in a stilted updo and her bare legs cold beneath her sexiest skirt, Amy began to sweat inwardly. She traced the rim of her drink with a clean pinky, carefully studying the glass for any stain from her gross, unfamiliar lipstick. She glanced at her bare wrist, expecting her watch to appear, before remembering her elegant circumstances. Cursing silently, she dug through her purse, wondering if her date was late, or if she was simply being impatient.

“Hello. You must be Amy.”

She gasped as she dropped her purse with a thud on the floor. Staring down at it for a moment, she decided to leave it be and leaped to her feet. “Hi,” she said, her voice as high as a kindergartner’s. “I’m Amy. You must be…”

“Brad.” He accepted her outstretched hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Pleasure,” she squeaked. “I mean, likewise.” She gestured at the empty chair across from hers. “Please, sit.”

Brad sat, feeling like his mother’s toy poodle. He briefly appreciated her efforts, but why do girls always wear red on dates? He hated that color.

Amy carefully hid her slight disappointment. He was, well, a bit more filled out than his sparse online photos revealed. She was oddly intimidated by his bleached shirt, too clean and perfect. She unfolded her napkin onto her exposed thighs, smiling nervously over the centerpiece. “So, um, please tell me about yourself,” she began, her hands fidgeting underneath the table.

Brad took a roll and began unwrapping those impossibly tiny butter pats. “Is this a job interview?” he muttered under his breath.

Amy felt her courage rapidly dissipate. “Well, no,” she admitted. “Were you hoping for one?”

He snorted. “I don’t need one. Thanks anyway.” He took a bite, ignoring the sticky crumbs that formed at the corners of his mouth.

“Lucky you.” Amy held a practiced smile and eye contact, but neither were too long to be considered creepy. “How do you know my landlady?” She asked, trying to forget everything she saw about him on social media.

Brad sighed. “She’s- “

“Good evening!” They both jumped in surprise from the waiter suddenly at their table. “Now that we’re all here, what would you like to order?”

Brad pretended to read the menu. “I’ll take a Jack and Coke.”

Amy looked up at the waiter with anxious eyes. “Tea for me. And could I have the 6-ounce sirloin? Rare, please.”

Once the waiter was gone, Amy noticed Brad’s look of annoyance. “Don’t worry,” she reassured him. “I plan on paying for mine.”

Brad visibly relaxed, but only slightly. “You’re trying to bail on me, aren’t you?”

Amy shrugged awkwardly but said nothing. After a silence that felt like eternity, she rallied again. If she was going to be stuck with this gruff man for at least an hour, she might as well try to entertain him. “So,” she began again. “What do you like to do when you’re not saving the world?”

Brad rolled his eyes, but he was also smiling. “What makes you think I save the world?”

Amy’s laugh was far too loud. “I believe that everyone saves the world, in their own special way.”

For the first time that evening, he was genuinely curious about the woman seated before him. “How do you save the world?” he asked her.

“Oh, you know…” Amy’s voice trailed off as her courage died. They both looked away from each other.

Amy inwardly kicked herself for not having the guts to say something witty or inspiring. Why is it that her best ideas only flowed during her nightly showers? She had an entire list of questions and ideas to ask this stranger. However, the paper was folded up in her purse, and she knew better than to retrieve it in front of him. She cursed her memory for failing her so completely when she needed it the most.

“What do you like to do?” she asked.

Brad sighed, still not looking at her. “I like to read.”

“How wonderful!” Amy’s hopes lifted. “I do, too! What do you like to read?”

“The newspaper, mostly.” Brad’s fingers drummed beside his empty bread plate. “Online, of course. What about you?”

Amy sputtered again into silence. How could she tell him her interest in red hot romance novels, the dirtier the better, the heroine screaming as she climaxed unrealistically multiple times, without coming off like the silly woman that she knew she was? Her mental list of everything that she couldn’t tell him unfurled in her brain, reminding her that no one would ever want her for who she truly was.

She dropped her head in defeat. The dating advice was all wrong. It was so easy for a self-satisfied dating columnist, her smirking image dressed in beachy white and intertwined with a handsome tanned husband, to tell pathetic singles to be yourself, be vulnerable, but also be captivating and irresistible. How could Amy ever be herself around men, when everything she was repelled them?

They spent the remainder of the evening in silence. The steak was delicious, the red liquid oozing freely onto the plate. Amy was half-tempted to lick the dish clean like an animal, but did not want to lose her remaining shred of dignity to this starched stranger. Plus, Brad looked downright nauseous with the sight of all the bloody juices. Amy sighed, despondent.

She paid the waiter with a generous tip before her date’s entrée had even arrived. Standing beside his chair, Amy nodded and whispered a thank you and a ‘nice to meet you’ lie. She quickly stooped to pick up her purse, revealing the padding of her push-up bra. She hurried out of the restaurant as best she could on her unsupportive stilettos, hoping that he didn’t see her sudden rush of tears.

Brad finished his drink and eventual meal in silence. He had noticed her fake cleavage and real crying, and wished he hadn’t felt coerced into this date by that old woman he was secretly pursuing. He was clearly was not into romancing women closer to his age, as tonight’s events proved.

Brad shook his head and sighed. At least she tried, poor thing, he admitted, which was probably more than he could say about himself. And she paid for her own meal, which was nice.

***

Two months later, Brad was scrolling through his newsfeed when he came across an interesting article. A woman had been arrested the night before for slitting the throats of at least nine rich, elderly men over the past three years. There were lots of grisly details about the dripping body parts found in various homes and condos throughout the city, but also a disappointing lack of crime scene photos to whet his morbid curiosity.

Brad leaned closer to his screen and squinted at the corresponding mugshot. He gasped and stared in absolute disbelief at the frightened, tearstained face hovering above the white letters of her name. To think, he had been on a blind date with a serial killer!

His blood ran cold as he reread the fine print in more detail. No word on whether or not she wore plastic during the killings, but he assumed that she had. Or perhaps she always wore red, to better hide the evidence as she walked home after a hard night’s work. Brad visualized an empowered, self-assured Amy chopping up old men in her wobbly high heels, her hairspray valiantly keeping her bangs off her sweaty forehead.

Brad sighed with great remorse. If they had only been open with each other, instead of exchanging such bland questions and answers! The experts were right. Being yourself in front of others was the key to romantic happiness.

Personally, he had always preferred strangulation. No worries about getting stained with endless amounts of nasty blood. Plus, Brad liked watching the old ladies’ eyes bulge as they valiantly attempted to breathe. The power he held over another human life was just…mesmerizing. He wondered what would it be like, sharing such a deep passion with someone else. They obviously had differing opinions about cleanliness and body disposal, but Brad was willing to compromise for the sake of true love.

He briefly considered visiting Amy in prison, but quickly changed his mind. He would probably need to delay his plans involving that landlady for the foreseeable future. Brad was a very patient man, and thanks to his victims and a secret offshore account, a rather well-off one as well. He decided to anonymously send Amy a halfway decent lawyer, and see how things play out from afar.

Brad smiled to himself as he saved a screenshot of the article on his desktop. Perhaps there truly was the perfect mate for him out there after all. For the first time in years, hope filled his heart.