News Blues by Marianne Mancusi Page A

football on my profile? This was going to be a long date.
    Definitely time for a subject change. “So, um, you surf?”
    “No.” He laughed. “Sorry. My brother put that on my profile ’cause he said girls dug surfers.”
    Of course. The football thing (which I had no clue about) was real and the surfing thing (which I could at least hold my own
     in a conversation) was fake. I didn’t want to even broach the topic of the ten kids. So now what did we talk about?
    Luckily at that moment the waitress announced our names and we were ushered past other diners to our table in the back of
     the restaurant. Unluckier, when we got there, The Date From Hell turned the conversation back to football. He was like a mad
     dog with a bone. Who cared how many goals this player scored last night? Or how so-and-so was probably going to get traded
     because he screwed up royally in the midfield? Or how this other guy was always diving? I mean, diving? Was there a pool or
     something?
    He paused only for a moment, as the waitress took our orders and then launched back into his incomprehensible spiel.
    I desperately wanted him to shut up. But what could I say? I mean, I was the liar who initiated the date under false pretenses,
     not him. Now I simply had to sit back, enjoy my food and get through the night. Then I’d never have to see this football bore
     again.
    Oh, and I had to get a photo. Might as well get that over with now. Then maybe after dinner I could feign a headache and get
     the hell out of Dodge.
    “I have to make a quick phone call, ” I lied, reaching into my handbag for my cell.
    “Is that a fake Kate Spade?” he asked. “The label looks funny.”
    Oh, nice. My counterfeit bag was evidently so counterfeit-looking that even a macho guy who had been delivering a sports monologue
     stopped long enough to notice it. I sort of gave him a half laugh which he could interpret as he would, ditched the bag back
     by my feet, and flipped open my camera phone. Needed to get this over with ASAP.
    Pretending to dial a number, I turned on the camera and framed him up. I felt like a secret spy. A double agent. I was on
     a stealth mission to get photographic evidence of an international conspiracy.
    I clicked.
    SNAP!
    Oh, shit. I forgot to turn the fake camera snapping sound off. I would definitely be fired from James Bond duty. Maybe Ted
     wouldn’t notice.
    “Is that a camera phone?” he demanded, looking a little pissed off. You know, between the handbag and the cell phone, he’d
     become suddenly become quite observant.
    “Oh, ha, yeah, ” I said quickly closing the phone and stuffing it in my bag. “I guess so.”
    “Did you just take a photo of me?”
    My face flamed. “Uh, I think maybe? It went off? By accident?”
    “Did you delete it?”
    “What?”
    “Did. You. Delete. The photo. That you ‘accidentally’ took?” Now Ted looked seriously angry.
    “Um, yeah. I did. It’s gone.”
    “Let me see.”
    I was in hell. Seriously in hell.
    “What? Why? It’s fine. It’s gone, ” I said.
    “Give. Me. The. Phone. Now!”
    Reluctantly, I pulled the phone from my bag, hoping to delete the photo before he could see.
    Unfortunately, he grabbed it out of my hands before I could manage to flip it open. And when he did his own flipping, of course
     he saw his own mug staring back at him.
    He pressed “delete” and threw the phone back at me. It landed with a loud clatter when it hit my bread plate and several diners
     turned their heads in interest.
    “You’re psycho, ” he said. “Completely and utterly psycho. Who does that?” He rose from the table. “No wonder you need a fucking
     service to find a date! You’re pathetic!”
    Before I could protest, he stormed out of the restaurant, leaving me to face the stares from the other patrons.
    “She took a picture of him, ” whispered an elderly woman at the next table.
    “On a first date?”
    “Those camera phones should be illegal. I heard once that some