Al’s Blind Date: The Al Series, Book Six by Constance C. Greene Page A

didn’t turn a hair.
    â€œIt’s a blind date,” I added, testing him.
    He put his paper down. “A blind date? Are you old enough for a blind date? I thought they were out of style. I remember a blind date I had when I was in college.”
    Al and I looked at each other. My father? On a blind date? In college?
    â€œI was a very young freshman,” he said. “Very naive. Still wet behind the ears, as my father used to say. My roommate had a date with a girl he knew from home and he fixed me up with a friend of his date’s. I even got a haircut in anticipation. He said she was a hot number.”
    My father looked at us.
    â€œThat’s the way young men referred to women in those days,” he said. “I apologize for any sexism you can find in that statement.”
    My father really does track at times, I was glad to discover. That’s one of the things that makes him so lovable. Just when you think he’s out of it, he jumps back in.
    â€œAnyway,” he continued, “we drove to the meeting place and I was so nervous I told my roommate I couldn’t go through with it. He said it was too late to turn back now. He was right. The girls were waiting. They were sitting down. I remember thinking my date had terrific legs. She was also the better looking of the two. To my eyes, she was very glamorous, very sophisticated.
    â€œWell, when she stood up, she towered over me. Of course, she wore high heels, but even flat footed she towered over me. We were supposed to go to a dance. My date was all dressed up in something frilly. She was a very kind girl, though. Because, without any commotion, she let me know it was fine with her if we stayed put. Or maybe she couldn’t face dancing with me at all. Whatever the reason, it turned out all right. We parted friends.”
    â€œI never saw her again,” my father said, a little wistfully, I thought.
    â€œThat was a very romantic story,” Al said afterward.
    â€œI thought it was sad,” I said. “I felt bad for him.”
    â€œYour father is a very romantic man,” Al told me.
    â€œYou think so?”
    â€œExtremely so,” Al said firmly.
    I made a mental note to ask my mother about this.
    â€œWhat time is it?” I asked Al.
    â€œWell, last time I looked, it was six-oh-one,” Al said. She checked her Swatch and said, “It is now six-oh-four.”
    â€œWe don’t want to look eager and get there too early,” I said.
    â€œWe can always eat and run,” Al said. “I’m starving. No offense, but that cream cheese and olive wasn’t all that filling.”
    â€œI would’ve made you another if you’d asked,” I said. “Let’s go.”
    â€œWait just one sec,” Al said, and she made one more trip to the bathroom.
    â€œBlind dates are very nerve-wracking,” she told me on her return.
    At six-oh-twelve we rang Sparky’s mom’s bell.
    We laid our ears against the door, listening. There was lots of noise coming from inside.
    â€œIt’s probably an orgy,” Al told me, smoothing her hair.
    â€œYes?” The person who at last answered the door had eyes like two poached eggs, and when he talked I noticed his Adam’s apple bobbed like kids going for apples on Halloween.
    Al positioned herself behind me, ready to bolt if this guy turned out to be her blind date. I felt her tugging nervously on my skirt, telling me it was time to split.
    What the heck. We’d been invited, hadn’t we?
    â€œHi,” I said.
    â€œWhom shall I say is calling?” the person with the Adam’s apple asked.
    â€œAre you the butler?” I asked.
    Al turned to me and said, “Whom are we, anyway?”
    â€œWe’re the girls from the elevator,” I said.
    Sparky’s mom swept into view, as if she’d been hiding behind the door.
    â€œOh, there you are!” she cried, happy to see us. “I thought