Page 9 of Playing By Ear

“And sarcasm is always helpful.”

“Not always. But usually.”

Perry stepped into a pair of casual-but-not-too-casual dark-brown trousers. “For now I’m pretending Jamie’s not special. Puts less pressure on tonight.”

“You’ll be fine.”

“Will I? I can’t read body language much anymore.”

“Be sure and tell Jamie that.”

“I hate chatting about my disability.” Perry touched the Braille tabs on the shoulders of his shirts indicating their color. “It’s dead boring, at least for me.”

“No need to be a walking Wikipedia. Work it naturally into the conversation. If he’s as nice as you say, he’ll probably ask.”

“True.” He pulled out the dark maroon henley, recalling the words of the clothing shop’s sales assistant: “The color complements your brown eyes,” she’d said, “and the style shows off your physique but not in an obnoxious, gym-bunny way. More like, ‘I’m smoking hot, but I’ve got the confidence to be understated about it.’” He tugged the shirt off its hanger and put the Braille tabs in their container. This date would be less intimidating if he could still judge which clothes flattered him most.

“So be honest,” Brian said, “and don’t minimize.”

“In other words, don’t do what I did on my last three first dates?” Each had ended with Perry alone, frustrated, and bewildered.

“You said it, not me.”

Perry gave a skeptical grunt as he slipped on the shirt. Brian had still had most of his sight when he’d met Sarah, now his wife of six years. What did he know about going on a literal blind date?

Then again, Brian had been right about other things, like how the white cane could unlock a whole new level of freedom and independence. Perry had waited far too long to take that advice, so maybe now he should listen the first time Brian told him something.

“All right, Per?” Brian asked.

“Yes, yes, I’ll be honest. Promise.” He glanced toward the camera on a tripod at the foot of the bed. “Not one hundred percent, though.”

“You mean your side gig?” Brian chuckled. “Yeah, that’s more of a second- or hundredth-date conversation.”

“Quite.” Perry’s phone bleeped a two-toned alarm. “There’s my ten-minute warning.”

They signed off, and Perry turned to the full-length mirror on the inside of the wardrobe door. From a few feet away, it showed only the vaguest of details, like where his face ended and his hair began.

He leaned in for a closer assessment. It was a windy night, so maybe a bit more styling product? It was easy to apply too much, and it was important to look touchable. He ran a hand through the brown waves, imagining it was Jamie’s hand.

His note to Jamie truly hadn’t been a chat-up. He’d wanted only to share his awe and appreciation for the music. Still, his heart had cartwheeled when Jamie had stepped out of the ever-present murk and spoken his name.

The sun had returned all too soon, stealing Jamie’s excuse to remain in their cozy café instead of out on the street earning a living. But their coffees had lasted long enough to secure a Saturday night meetup.

The doorbell buzzed. Perry hurried into the hall and pressed the intercom button by the entry door. “Hello?”

“It’s Jamie. Sorry, I’m a bit early.”

“Be down in a minute.” He put on his jacket, unfolded his cane, then did a quick inventory of his pockets: keys, phone, specs, magnifier, wallet.

Downstairs, the lobby’s glass front door showed a man standing beneath the outside light, hair gleaming golden in the bright white glow.

“Hiya,” Jamie said as Perry joined him on the doorstep. His grin was broad and therefore visible. “You look great.”

“Thanks, so do you.” He touched Jamie’s arm, a motion that had come to take the place of a glance or a smirk. “I assume, at least.”

Jamie’s laughter felt like a shield against the evening chill. “I know we planned drinks, but I’m well starving. Shall we go straight to dinner?”

Already things were progressing faster than planned. He could handle this. “Absolutely. There’s a lovely Italian place not far from here.”