The Date: Part 1 (Cassie)

The phone call came when the e-mail said it would. There was a short discussion of what the date would consist of. I want to have several options. The editor explained that some things they would cover the cost, like breakfast and lunch, but the rest I would have to pay towards myself which I thought was fair.

The week leading up to the date was a little nerve-racking though I tried my hardest not to think about it too much.

The day before the date, a car came to pick me up to take me to the London hotel where I would staying for two nights. It had been arranged so that I could spend a whole day with Zayn.

I'd packed an overnight bag with a couple of changes of clothes along with a few necessities, including my Netbook. I never spent a night away from it. I wrote most of my stories, songs and poems on it. I also put in my new iPhone which came just two days after I'd recieved the e-mail and phonecall.

After checking into the hotel, I went straight up to my room.

A double bed dominated the room, but there was still enough space for a desk in the corner by the window. There was also a television set fixed the wall opposite the bed. There was also a fairly spacius bathroom.

After finishing my exploration, I immediately unpacked my Netbook and settled down at the desk to write up some ideas for a story I'd been working on.

After a very good night's sleep, I showered and dressed in the outfit that my mother had helped me put together. I had chosen my favourite quarter-length dark wash jeans, a green short sleeve T-shirt with a pink and purple butterfly design, and purple trainers. My favourite butterfly stud ear-rings and a platinum watch completed the look.

I had a quick much on on a cereal bar to tide me over before brushing my teeth and putting on a wish brush of waterprood mascara on my eyelashes.

In my handbag, I'd put in my iPhone, wallet, a bottle of water and an umbrella; you never know when you might need it.

Chekcing the time it had just gone half past eight. Time for me to go down to the lobby where I was to wait for Zayn.

I was just about ready, except for a few last minute touches. With a swipe of lipgloss and a sprtiz of my favourite perfume, I was ready.

Arriving on the ground floor, I checked my watch again to see that I still had fifteen minutes to spare, so I asked the receptionist to tell whoever asked for me that I was be in the seating area.

I plopped myself down in an armchair and took out my iPhone. I had already copied my favourite songs into it. Popping one earphone into one ear, I selected Emmy Rossum's Slow Me Down. I couldn't help singing along to it while I waited.

"Cassie Holmes?"

I looked up, startled. I hadn't been so deep in the song I hadn't heard anyone walk up to me. It was Zayn.

"That's me," I said.

He was even better in real life; his pictures and music videos didn't do him justice. His jet black hair was styled in a way reminded me a little of Robbie Williams. He had light brown eyesand a cute, boyish face. He was long and lean with a little muscle. He was dressed casually in light blue jeans, white trainers and a read button-up shirt thar brough out his tanned skin.

"I'm Zayne," he said. "I believe we have a date?"

I could help letting out a snort of laughter as I stood up. "Yes, we do."

Placing a hand on the small of my back, he led me out to the car.

The atmosphere was a bit awkward, as neither of us really knew what to say to each other, So I decided to make small talk.

"Nice weather today, isn't it?" I asked. The weather was always a good place to start.

Zayn looked up surprised. "Uh-yes, it is," he replied.

"Up in Oxford it's been raining cats and dogs nearly every day for the last couple of weeks," I said.

"You live in Oxford?" Zayn asked.

"Just outside Oxford, actually," I replied. "It's close enought that it's only a twenty minute drive from the city centre, so it's oretty convenient since I go to Oxford University."

"What are you studying?"

"Creative Writing."

There was a pause in our conversation, before Zayn said, "I read your story."

"You did?" I asked.

He nodded. "I really enjoyed it, and so did my band-mates."

"They all read it?"

"They said that the guy reminded them a lot of me," he said. "Which I have to admit I could definitely see; it was kind of like seeing myself on paper."

I blushed a little, I was not used to praise from someone who was not family, friend or a teacher. "Well, you were the inspiration for the character," I remarked. "I read some of the books that were published about your band, and watched some of your interviews and and music videos to get a feel for your personality."

"Do you watch the X Factor?" he asked.

"No," I replied. "I actually prefer The Voice UK."

"Fair enough."

We then started an argument about which programme was better, which led to a discussion about the musicians who had found fame through them. Inevitably we started a discussion about Zayn's own band. When I confessed that I wasn't a fan of his band and had only entered the competition, Zayn had been shocked speechless; mimicking the face of a fish.

"You must be really dedicated to your writing to enter for just that," Zayn commented when the shock had worn off. "I admire that.

"You are too, unless I've read you wrong," I said. "From what I understand it takes real dedication to get through the X Factor, even if you didn't win."

At this point we had come to a stop outside McDonald's, which we had decided on for breakfast. Zayn ordered a Bacon, Egg and Cheese Bagel, a Fruit Bag and a black coffee, while I had a Double Sausage and Egg McMuffin, a Hash Brown and a cup of tea with milk; well, the chauffeaur ordered them for us after we told them what we wanted.

I was a little surprised at Zayn's choice, as I knew that he was Muslim through his Pakistani father, but then I had heard from a television programme that children from a Mulsim-Christian marriage often 'mixed and matched' their family beliefs and customs, for lack of a better term.

"What would you like to do first?" he asked when we'd finished eating.

"What do you usually do when you go out?" I asked.

"Cinema, bowling, karaoke, hanging out at the music stores...that kind of thing," he replied, vaguely.

For some reason I got the feeling he was testing me, to see what I would choose.

"Well, when I go out with friends I usually go window-shopping, to the cinema or karaoke," I said. "Or, depending on the the person, to a museum or art gallery."

I thought the last two might appeal to him because I'd read somewhere that one of his hobbies was drawing.

"How about the Museum of Natural History/" I asked. I hadn't been there in years; not since I was six or seven when my uncle and his family were visiting from Italy. I can still remember running around the dinosaur exhibit with my cousin Roberto , who loved it so much that I'd written a story about a boy discovering a land of dinosaurs with him as the main character. He had been so chuffed with it when I read it to him that he wanted a written copy of it to take home.

I wasn't sure if Zayn would agree to going to the museum, but I was happy when he did.

We didn't have to pay for tickets, so we just went right in.

The museum was even more wonderful than I remembered. Some of the exhibits hadn't changed in fifteen years, but there was a lot that had been added, and many of the information panels had been digitised and made to be interactive.

I'd ignored most of the displays when I was little, but now that ther I was older I could appreciate it more. Laos, you never know when something will inspire a thought that would later turn into a story.

In the Red Zone, there was a gallery with sculptures of 'key figures in Earth's history and mythology', according to the brochure I picked up at the entrance. At the base of each of sculpture there was an artefact of some kind, a fossil or a mineral of some form. One of the sculptures was of a Cyclops and at its' mase was a Mastadon skull with a hole in the middle of its' head. The information panel next to it said that this was what may have inspired the myth of one-eyed giants. Maybe I could write a story about someone finding a cyclops skull.

Time just flew by in the museum, and we found ourselves back in the Central Hall just before my stomach started growling at me. I blushed in embarassment.

Zayn chuckled before saying, "I'm hungry too."

Glancing at my watch, I saw it was now nearly quarter past one in the afternoon. We'd started browsing the museum at about ten o'clock, so we'd spent a more than three hours in the museum. No wonder we were hungry!

"What shall we have for lunch?" Zayn asked.

"How do you feel about Italian? I know the best Italian restaurant in London," I replied. I hadn't been to cousin Luigi's place in a while.

Zayn shrugged. "Why not?"

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In the final week leading up to the date, I didn’t have time to think about it as the guys and I were busy with recording our new album. On the big day I was a nervous wreck, but Niall said to be my usual charming self.

I went over the possibilities over and over in my head. I didn’t know what she looked like, as I hadn’t asked for a photograph. The guys all wished me luck and made me promise to take pictures of her. They all wanted to see the girl who wrote such an interesting story.

Stepping into the lobby of the hotel, I noticed a casually dressed girl sitting in the waiting area of the hotel’s lobby. From what I could see, she was a very pretty girl. But I really shouldn’t be ogling other girls when I had a date to pick up.

Walking up to the reception desk, I asked for Cassie Holmes. The receptionist pointed to the girl seated in the waiting area.

As I walked up to her I could hear her singing quietly to herself.

She was so into her music that she didn’t hear me walk up to her. So when I said her name, she looked up, startled. She had sage-green eyes set in a softly angular face. Her wavy dark brown hair had a cherry tint to it, and she was lightly tanned. Her perfume was light and floral, and the make-up she wore was very minimalistic, which I liked. Too many girls caked their make-up on their faces and practically dowsed themselves in overpowering perfumes fruit scented perfumes.

“That’s me,” she said answering to her name.

“I’m Zayn,” I said. ‘I’m Zayn’? I mentally berated myself. Was that the best you could do?

It didn’t help that she laughed at what I said.

“I believe we have a date.” That was better.

I led her out to the car. The band’s manager and I decided not to rent a limousine; too showy, even in London.

There was an awkward silence at the beginning. Usually I can think of something cool or witty to say to a girl, but for some reason I didn’t know what to say to her so I was startled when she suddenly made a comment on the weather. After that we easily slid into conversation. I was very shocked to learn that wasn’t even a fan. She must be very dedicated to her writing and I liked that about her, which I told her.

Just then we stopped at McDonald’s for breakfast as we had decided earlier. I fancied something with bacon so I ordered a bagel with bacon, egg and cheese, along with a bag of fruit and a black coffee. Despite that I exercise fairly regularly, I have to watch what I eat to some extent. Such is the life of a celebrity. Cassie on the other hand devoured a Double Sausage and Egg McMuffin and a hash brown and washed it down with a milk tea. She’s definitely not the type to worry about her weight or what she’s eating, and I like a girl with a hearty appetite.

When we’d finished breakfast, we had a short discussion on where to start our date. Cassie surprised me again when she suggested the Museum of Natural History. I had thought she would go for karaoke or bowling. Then again, it would have been a bit awkward with the chauffeur and/or bodyguard with us. At least in a place like a museum he would only be following at a discreet distance.

I had fun with her in the Museum, looking at the different exhibits. There was something child-like in the way that wanted to see anything and everything, especially the familiar things that she remembered.

I found that Cassie was an enthusiastic photographer. At the museum she photographed anything that she thought interesting.

The more I learned about this girl, the more I liked her.

Almost immediately after we returned to the museum’s Central Hall, Cassie’s stomach announced its’ hunger. I couldn’t help chuckling at the timing.

“I’m hungry too,” I said. Hopefully she wouldn’t be too embarrassed. “What shall we have for lunch?”

Cassie suggested Italian. I hadn’t had Italian food since the band was in Italy for its’ world tour last year, so I was game.

When we stepped into the restaurant, which was called Piccala Italia, the hostess looked up from the register and, seeing Cassie, started speaking to her in rapid Italian before she quickly disappeared to the back of the restaurant.

“I guess you come here often,” I commented.

Before she could say anything, a booming voice cried, “Cassandra! Piccala belleza mia!”

Looking up, I saw that the voice belonged to a clean-shaven middle-aged man in a dark blue suit and black tie. He briskly strode up to us. He and Cassie hugged, kissed each other’s cheeks and began to converse in Italian.

For some reason, it made me feel…uncomfortable that they were so friendly; like I didn’t want him touching her so familiarly.

This confused me. I’d only met the girl today!

They ended their conversation quickly but not before I heard Cassie say my name and surname followed by some more Italian. She then turned to me. “Zayn, this is Luigi Sorrentino,” she introduced. “He owns the restaurant.”

I was shocked. How does girl like Cassie Holmes know the owner of a popular Italian restaurant in London? A family friend, maybe?

“Ciao, signor Malik,” Luigi said smiling.

“Hi,” I smiled in return.

Luigi led us to a table by the window, which was apparently one of the best seats in the restaurant. When we were seated, Luigi set our menus in front of us.

“Grazie, Luigi,” she said.

Now, that I understood.

“Qualunque cosa per cugina piccala mia,” the maître d’ replied. He turned to me and asked, “Is there anything in particular you would like to drink?’

Quickly scanning the drink menu, I decided on a glass of Sicilian lemonade.

Luigi once again turned to Cassie and asked her something in Italian.

“Si,” Cassie replied.

“A waiter will be out with your drinks momentarily,” he said.

Looking through the menu, it was hard to decide what to order. Everything sounded delicious.

“Cassie, what would you recommend?” I asked.

“Well, one of my favourites have to be the funghi cotte al forno con pancetta, it’s basically a baked Portobello mushroom stuffed with bacon, smoked salmon and mozzarella,” Cassie replied. “It may sound strange, but it’s actually very tasty.”

We both ordered the Portobello mushrooms for starters, and I had a Chicken Breast in Sage and Lemon Sauce with rice, while Cassie asked for a Sirloin Steak in Pepper Crust with Peas.

Having decided what we were going to have, they took our menus away. A minute later our drinks arrived. Cassie’s looked like a fizzy orange soft drink, but it was redder. When I asked Cassie what it was, she replied that it was in fact fizzy blood orange. Apparent it what she always ordered when she ate at Piccala Italia.

“Where did you learn to speak Italian?” I asked, sipping from my lemonade.

“My mother taught me,” she replied. “She’s from Naples. We didn’t have Italian at school so I learnt at home.”

“What other languages do you speak?”

“I can speak French fairly fluently, and a bit of Latin as well.”

“Latin?” Yet another surprise from this girl.

“My dad’s a translator for Italian and Latin,” she explained. “He teaches too.”

Our mushrooms arrived just then. They smelled wonderful.

Cutting off a bite-sized piece off and popping it in my mouth, I could see why Cassie recommended this dish. The bacon and smoked salmon complemented each other well and brought out the subtle flavour of the mozzarella. There was also an underlying flavour of garlic, basil and parsley which I liked. The whole things just melted in my mouth.

While we ate, Cassie confessed surprise that I’d ordered something with bacon at breakfast, as she knew that I was a Muslim. I asked her if she had a problem with my religion, but she told me that she had been baptised as a Catholic, but didn’t really conform to the religion, which I could understand especially have parents from two different religions.

That got me talking about my family, the kind of things we do day to day. I started to tell her about the two frying pans that Mum used when cooking meats at home. “She uses two frying pans, one for cooking pork, and the other for other things. If Dad so much as catches a whiff of the pork frying pan, he starts swearing in Urdu.”

Cassie laughed at the story and shared a few of her own with me. I learned that her mother was quite the cook herself; and made everything from scratch.

When our main courses arrived, I asked her a question that had been bothering since we’d entered the restaurant. “How do you know Luigi?”

“He’s a distant cousin of my mother’s, through my great-great-grandfather’s brother, I think. I always come here with my parents every month or so,” Cassie explained. “He always gives us discount, even though we keep telling him not to. He’s generous to a fault.”

We continued in this way, talking about our various relatives. We barely paused in our conversation, even when the plates were cleared and our mains were brought out. Something about Cassie made me comfortable enough to share things that were very personal to me with her.

We were finished eating, the dessert menus were brought out. There was quite a selection of desserts, most having some form of ice-cream. There were several cheesecakes that sounded attractive. I finally decided on a traditional Italian cheesecake, and Cassie had a scoop each of chocolate and cappuccino gelato.

Just as we were leaving, he said to me that since I was Cassie’s friend I would get discount whenever I come to the restaurant. I wasn’t sure if I should correct him, so I said nothing. But I would definitely recommend Piccala Italia to the guys.

Cassie and I decided to go to the National Art Gallery next.

Wandering around the galleries, I noticed that Cassie paid particular attention to the European Renaissance paintings and sculptures. Though I wasn’t really a Christian, I could appreciate religious art.

When it came close to dinner time, I took her to a Pakistani restaurant I had been to before in Marylebone called Eastern Spice. Since Cassie shared a little of her culture with me, I thought I’d share a little of mine with her. Earlier I’d asked her if she liked spicy foods to which she had jokingly replied that as long as it didn’t set her mouth on fire she would try it.

Neither of us really wanted much for dinner so we both ordered aloo chaat (fried potatoes with chutney) for starters, and then a chicken shami kebab for myself and a chapli kebab for Cassie.

As we ate we chatted about the paintings from the National Art Gallery we liked and why.

After dinner, we decided to end the date with a trip to the London Eye as Cassie had never been.

Coincidentally, we timed it just when the lights were coming on.

“It’s so beautiful from up here,” she murmured, as she gazed out across the London nightscape.

I knew this was quite the romantic cliché, but it didn’t stop this warm fuzzy feeling from building up inside of me. Not only that, I couldn’t help thinking how pretty Cassie looked with her eyes wide in that childlike wonder she seemed to frequently wear on her face. I was half-tempted to say something like ‘just like you’, but I had a feeling that she would just shrug it off like a meaningless platitude, so I just said, “Yes, it is.”

Cassie didn’t reply but kept her eyes on the view in front of her, while I kept my eyes on her.

“You didn’t have to walk me up to my room, you know,” she said as we rode the elevator to the fifth floor.

“I wanted to,” I replied.

When the elevator came to a stop, she turned to me and said that I could leave now, but I insisted on walking her to her room.

We came to a stop outside a room door on the right side of the corridor.

“Well, this is me,” she said. “I had a great time today. I hope you did too.”

“I did, very much.”

There was a moment’s pause before she did something I wasn’t expecting from her. She kissed me. On the corner of my mouth.

Cassie blushed before she quickly unlocked the door and darted into her room before closing it softly behind her.

I just stood there for a moment or two, not quite believing that she’d actually kissed me, before mentally shaking myself from my daze.

Touching where she’d kissed me, I chuckled before turning to walk back to the elevator.