Franny Malachite sat at a table by the window at the Al Smith Brasserie high
atop
the Empire State Building. Two roses, one pale salmon and one wan orange,
sat in a small vase before
her, just as she had said they would in her email
to Mister X. It was two minutes past the hour.
Franny pulled up her phone
and updated her Facebook profile. "Mr. X," she wrote, "is
late. Two minutes late.
Two minutes late and counting." She then
set her phone beside her coffee cup.
Who agrees to blind dates with mysterious misters,
she asked herself. Honestly,
who? As she sipped at her coffee,
she wondered about that honestly, who?
Was that right? Was it honestly, who?
Or honestly, whom? She had barely
begun to fret when the elevator bell
sounded, the elevator doors opened,
and a mysterious stranger stepped out and scanned the tables
for a woman
alone beside a vase with two roses.
