Travel Thursday: The Girl With Three Left Feet, Part 4

We didn’t have to face any particularly knowing smiles as we walked through the reception area, so small favors there. She pretended not to hear my slight groan when I lifted my foot over the strolling backpack of an absent-minded office dweller, and I didn’t mention her leaning wearily against the elevator wall. For a second I contemplated telling her I’d like to slide down the banister on the big stairs connecting the second floor to the first, but it didn’t seem worth breaking our communal exhaustion.
The rose garden seemed to be walking away from us, considering how long it took us to trudge to it. “Hey, what’s with all the traffic?” She did her usual wrinkled nose thing.
My sharp eyes caught plenty of Mexican and club flags flapping from the cars. “Must be a soccer game at the Coliseum, probably a doubleheader, if past events hold. I’ve been caught in these traffic jams before.”
“I thought you didn’t like men’s soccer.”
“I don’t, but it’s a really good place to meet an informant, particularly in Europe or Latin America. Better than bullfights, anyway.”
“Yeah, I can imagine that.” She shuddered beautifully.
“Hey, a redhead!” I smirked at the five-year-old who was walking toward us with a smirk of her own, as well as her mom; redheads were usually advanced in this way.
“Future redhead,” she warned.
“She’s already red.” I smiled at the mom, who smiled back but not too much, not being a redhead herself, as well as having gotten a good look at Shannon. Women were confusing in this fashion, at least to me.
Very willing to let that particular conversation go as we took the steps down into the rose garden, Shannon went right up to a huge black guy on a bench that somehow managed to hold him up. He looked like an offensive lineman, or rather, like he’d eaten one. He was wearing shades, and next to him on the bench was a blonde cheerleader in white sweater and skirt.
Really, were there any kind but blonde here?
“Hi, Ken,” the no doubt much smarter blonde chirped.
“Hi, Barbie,” I couldn’t resist as I checked out the cheerleader.
She gave us a murderous look. “He’s asleep!” Then she gave Shan an extra look, basically saying, I know who you are, and it ain’t worth shit, slut.
Women. . .
Channeling the one and only Edison Carter from Max Headroom, I sweetly yet somberly told her, “Well, it really is too bad he’s asleep, because if he were awake, I’m sure he’d want to talk to us. But if he really is asleep, then I WOULDN’T WANT TO WAKE HIM!!!!!”
The guy laughed; so did Shannon. The cheerleader didn’t get it, which didn’t seem all that unusual.
Not wanting to give Ken too much time to wonder who I was, or what I got to do with her, Shannon immediately asked, “Kenny baby, know anything about secret entrances into the museum?”
“Really subtle,” I muttered.
Ken smiled at her, then looked the competition over. “You here because of what happened the other day?”
“Yep.”
“FBI?”
“They wish.”
That got a chortle from Kenny baby, who reached a hand out absently into the cheerleader’s hair and twisted a lock around his finger. The ditzy blonde shuddered, and not in the way Shannon usually did, but didn’t complain.
“Yeah, my grandpa told me there was a tunnel from the museum to one of the buildings in Barbie’s campus over there.” Everyone ignored the “My name’s NOT Barbie!” screech. “There was a professor there who also worked at the museum, and he was so white he didn’t want to be seen on the street.” Ken grinned. “Didn’t know things were like that so long ago.”
“So where does the tunnel come out?”
“I asked Gramps that, but he just grinned and went all poetical on me.”
“What’d he say?”
“‘The eye of the greater kudu will guide you.’”
“The what?”
Sounding a bit defensive, Ken repeated grandpa’s statement, then glanced over at Shannon and grinned. “So this is the guy who keeps you from sleeping with me?”
“I am not her keeper,” I intoned solemnly, just to keep everyone’s fires burning.
Shannon threw me an arch look, then laughed and bent down to give Ken a quick kiss on the cheek, straightening up and taking a step back before he could free his hand. “Thanks, buddy. Gotta go find out what the fuck a kudu is. . . oops, sorry big guy, didn’t mean to say fuck!”
She dashed away back to the museum, seemingly no longer tired.
Looking for all the world like a carameled Buddha, Ken laughed loudly, his stomachs jiggling in an almost fascinating way. Not at all like a belly dancer, I would be quick to assure you, but interesting to see anyway. . . for a few seconds at a time.
“Dude, she hot in the sack?”
“She ain’t no Barbie.”
The guy laughed at the look on the cheerleader’s face. “Yeah, brains do count for sumthin’ after all, huh?”
Apparently Shannon’s burst of energy had burned out quickly, for she was waiting for me on a bench outside the building.
“Did you know my aunt had twenty-three kids? That’s a lot of cousins to get Christmas presents for.”
“Twenty-three? Tell her you want her uterus on display here when she’s done with it!”

;o)

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A Vein of Sapphires

I do like ancient Indian poetry, huh? This is by Mahadeviyakka (1130-1180)

A vein of sapphires
hides in the earth
a sweetness in fruit.

And in plain-looking rock
lies a golden ore
and in seeds
the treasure of oil.

Like these,
the Infinite
rests concealed in the heart.

No one can see the ways
of our jasmine-white lord.

;o)

Travel Thursday: The Girl With Three Left Feet, Part 3

Finding a friendlier, and female, guard at the museum entrance the next morning, I got through with a wink and a quick flash of the I.D. without breaking stride a few hours after Shannon. Now knowing where the elevators were, and not feeling guilty about not taking the stairs because she’d left me delightfully exhausted, I quickly made my way through the anteroom and into her office before most people could look up.
“What’re you up to?” I had indeed learned my lesson about hugging her from behind, especially now that she was bent over the microscope.
“Building a bomb,” she replied absently.
“Well. . . I’ll be seein’ ya, then. . .” I backed away carefully.
“It’s a genetic bomb,” she laughed. “Inside.”
“Ouch even more.”
“This bomb kills the bad guys, don’t worry.”
“What about collateral damage?”
She thought about ignoring me, but figured it might be something worth knowing. “What’s that?”
“When someone wants to kill a particular person with a bomb, there’s always a chance that innocent passerby might also be injured–”
“Oh! No, this’ll leave all the good cells alone. You know I’m a humanitarian scientist.”
Not having anywhere to go with that, I stayed quiet.
“Unlike that Swedish redhead floozy you’re always panting after. . .”
“Are you still mad because of that one time she slipped me the tungsten?”
The blonde stuck hers at me, then giggled. “I love how you always play along.” Then she let out a sigh that was different from all the other ones I’d heard recently. “I need exact timing. One minute, forty-three seconds. . . exactly.”
“Exactly?” I thought about it, rejected the obvious sex joke, then grinned and went over to the microwave.
Less than two minutes later she was muttering, “There are no experimental failures, just more data.”
I leaned over, now that the smoke had cleared, and wiped the soot from her face with a harsh napkin. Luckily she’d been wearing goggles, so at least her blonde eyebrows were clean. “Science strikes again, huh?”
“Hey, you scientific imbecile!” She jabbed a new test tube at me, for some reason. “I could show you some cells that would have you crying in wonder! Now sit in the corner and ponder your mistake in not being supportive to your girlfriend. . . of the day.”
“C’mon, at least of the week. And can I ponder your ass when you bend over the scope?”
“That’s what I meant.”
“Instead I’m gonna go talk to security.”
“Ooo, wait, I wanna go! Time to learn something new.”
“So it’s not only when you’re unclothed?”
“My curiosity knows no bounds, no matter the subject. After you, dearest.”
We made our way down quickly, and for a change I was the one who led, since she’d never had cause to visit the security office before and therefore had no idea where it was. The people who normally inhabited the room were cold to the interlopers, but not more so than usual. Well, maybe the women, on seeing Shannon and particularly her perkiness, but on the plus side it did defrost the guys a bit.
Unfortunately, the liaison to the investigation was female. Fortunately, I knew how to do some defrosting of my own, which in this case meant nothing more than treating her like a fellow professional. Women seemed to like that.
“It’s been confirmed,” she told me as soon as she saw I wasn’t going to be a typical male superior asshole. “Surveillance cameras show no sign of him coming in through the three main entrances.”
“Are there any other doors?”
“Yes, but they can only be opened from inside.”
“So he called someone to open it.”
“There are security cams on each door.”
“No gaps?”
“No sir. No one used the doors all day.”
So the security people weren’t completely useless.
“What about windows?” Shannon piped, causing the female to roll her eyes and the males to think she was just adorable. Too bad she had a rule of not playing with people where she worked, or she might have been able to knock another fantasy off her list.
“But there is video, as well as witnesses, that have him coming out, right?”
The security lady admitted this was so, though you could tell it pained her.
“Okay. Thanks.” With a sigh I led the way out, Shannon making the guys, and even the woman, laugh as she pretended to be following her master out, leash pulled and tongue panting. She was quite a ham.
“As long as we’re here, let’s take a look around the areas accessible to everyone.”
“Luckily I don’t have a supervisor who checks in to see if I’m actually doing what I’m paid to do,” she mused, then realized we were right next to the cafeteria. “How ‘bout lunch first?”
“Now you’re thinking like an investigator.”
Chortling to herself, she led the way. “You know I’ve always been a dessert first kinda girl. As you found out last night.”
“That may be why your taste buds don’t discriminate anymore.”
“Hmmm?”
“The problem with eating dessert first is that it makes the rest of the meal taste horrible in comparison.”
“Ah, I see.”
“There is one logical way out of that trap, though.” I let her think about it as I looked over the menu above the ordering area.
“Nope, don’t get it. What?”
“Eat only dessert!”
“Ah!”
“Wait, they seriously want more than four bucks for a burger?”
“My treat today.”
“Doesn’t matter. Maybe I’ll just have dessert.”
“Then try the meat loaf sundae. It looks like a brownie sundae, but it’s made with meat loaf, mashed potatoes, and gravy.”
It made me think of a beautiful musician who used the phrase “brownie sundae” in one of her songs. “Don’t like meatloaf, though.”
“Ah well, let’s gorge on the desserts then.”
Which we did, for unlike the burger, the desserts were oversized enough to justify the price. Thus fortified, we were able to start the first preliminary search.
The basement, in addition to having the cafeteria and security office, was also home to the members’ lending library, work lockers, and staff lounge, along with the cultural part of the museum’s mission, which consisted mostly of the history of California.
“Most people don’t know that there’s stuff down here,” she ruminated as she led the way into a small temporary gallery which today housed a collection of ship-filled bottles. I let her ooo and aaah and wonder how they managed to stuff those ships through the narrow openings–a really simple trick that I had seen once, but also something most people didn’t know–as I checked the temporary walls of the exhibit. There did seem to be enough room to put something up there, since the walls didn’t reach to the roof, but it was too high to do it on a whim, and there were docents/security wannabes/whatever they were called watching everything carefully. I made a mental note to check later and followed her out, telling her I wasn’t going to explain the ships into the bottle thing until she’d had at least a day to cogitate on it.
The corridor leading past the elevators and to the work locker room had several doors, but all were secured very high-tech-wise. Again I left that as a last resort, thinking that unless the guy had everything planned out from the beginning, there was very little chance he’d gotten any access codes for these rooms. An arrogant guy like that–had to be full of himself for no reason, if he worked at that play school across the street–confident he would never be found. . . very doubtful he would have thought that far ahead.
No one had reported their lockers being broken into, so I stood up on the benches to see the top of the lockers, finding all manner of stuff but none that was useful to the investigation. Shannon spent these moments revisiting the new fantasy she’d thought of last night, but luckily wasn’t given enough time to put it into the planning stages.
The big room down here lodged the History of California exhibits, in chronological order if you started at the right place. Not much on the pre-nineteen hundreds, which wasn’t a surprise, but it did have the biggest exhibits sizewise, what with huge prairie schooners and the like. On the side I spotted a 3-D montage of downtown several decades ago, but it wouldn’t do to take things out of order, so I continued on century by century.
Next to the conquistadors exhibit I spotted a very old looking door, which didn’t look at all like the ones I’d previously found that led to the back stairs. I noticed scratches on the rudimentary lock, but that could simply mean the key had been lost sometime in the past almost-hundred years. Picking the lock easily, I looked into what turned out to be a janitor’s closet. Still checking everything closely, I got out of there with clean hands as well as the certainty it had nothing to do with the case.
Walking along, she happily pointed out one of her favorite exhibits, but I found my mind wandering to its more usual musings. “Check out that mom. Nice.”
She checked, and agreed. About twenty-five, dark blonde, slim. One cute little girl walked next to her as she pushed a stroller. “That coulda been me,” she mulled.
“Still could be.”
“Doubtful. Do you really thing I could go through all those months of not having sex while I was pregnant?”
Rather than pointing out ways around that, I settled for, “You have such a tender heart I’m sure you’d adopt.”
“Now that’s a lovely thought!”
Done with the basement, for now, we mounted the stairs to the main floor, sharing an amused glance at the tiredness in our legs. I told her we should concentrate on seeing things from the bad guy’s point of view, and since we had no evidence yet that he was in cahoots–she called it “Cahooties!”–with anyone in the museum, that meant basically a tourist’s viewpoint. Besides, I didn’t want any curious visitors to wonder why these people, who were dressed just like them, got to go to restricted places and they didn’t.
Not mentioning that she had no other way of thinking about it, not being a trained investigator, she tried, “I suppose that means checking back after closing hours if we don‘t find it before?”
“If necessary, yes.”
“Had I known it would involve all this walking, I woulda just lay back and let you do all the work last night.”
“Then I’d be too tired to do the job. You’re not saying you’d be better at it, are ya?”
She didn’t bother answering, figuring I was joking again. So far nothing had happened to make her feel like she was contributing to this case, although she did enjoy the few times we’d busted in on people hard at work and she got to say “Security audit,” with a wink.
Hours and seemingly miles later, starting to feel a little bored, she looked at the lit she’d collected off the internet, where she’d been crossing off the places as we checked them out, but now she was actually getting around to reading the stuff.
Not asking if I wanted to hear it, she read aloud, paraphrasing when it would do the most good. “The museum’s mission is to inspire wonder, discovery, and responsibility for our natural and cultural worlds.”
“Hmmm, someone’s thinking outside the box, not saying ‘resources’ at the end.”
Figuring this was going to make wonderful snarking material for both of us, she read on in a more jovial mood, practically skipping along as I continued to check the surroundings. Though skipping made it hard to read accurately. “The vast and diverse collection has more than thirty million specimens and artifacts–”
“They must be counting each of your study molecules.”
“–Covering four and a half billion years of Earth and human history.”
I let that one pass without a comment, much to her disappointment. Apparently she’d forgotten she was going to snark too.
“ Free admission to school groups, community outreach programs, monthly lectures and classes, yada yada yada. Adventures in Nature, that sounds like it might be fun. Interactive Discovery Center and Insect Zoo, where children can learn first-hand about natural science and history.”
“Let’s leave the insect collection for the very last,” I begged.
“You’re the boss,” she reminded.
“Only when it suits you.”
Ignoring my latest lie, she read on. “Hey, did you know that big dinosaur exhibit actually has a name? ‘Dueling Dinosaurs!’” She beat me to it. “Hmmm, I was hoping for something a little more poetical than that. Sounds like a 50s movie.” Not getting any response, she tried, “Who do you think would win in a real battle between a Rex and a Triceratops, even though I think they’re not called that anymore?”
“I prefer descriptive anyway, so I’ll keep calling him that. This is the age-old sports question of whether offense or defense wins championships.”
She frowned. “When I played basketball in high school, coach said rebounding wins championships.”
“So he was obviously no help. But what about volleyball?”
“Kills as opposed to blocks and digs?”
“Don’t forget the serves. No, that doesn’t apply anyway. Try football.”
She tried, but it didn’t help her much. “So Rex, being mobile and fast, relatively speaking amongst dinosaurs anyway, is on offense. Three Top, being slow and heavy, but having armor and spikes, is the defense.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe this conversation has lasted this long! Moving on. . .” She checked her papers, wondering why she didn’t just use her laptop. “Three world-famous habitat halls that showcase African and North American mammals in their natural environments. Okay, we did all we could with that, but we’ll have to come back tonight and actually go into the exhibits, right?”
“Yep. That’ll be fun.”
“You say so.” She didn’t have to do her famous dubious face, since her voice conveyed it well enough, but it was fun to watch. “Hey, here’s something I haven’t heard of: Megamouth!”
“C’mon, don’t leave it so easy for me!”
“Hmmmph. You better smile when you say that, or I’m never doing that to you again.”
“Most women would have said no more sex of any kind. You are so different.”
“That would have been worse for me, and you like me being different, so anyway, Megamouth is a shark, the world’s rarest. This one’s over fourteen feet long and the only one of its kind on public view in North America. Yeah! Countin’ coup on my buddy at the Field in Chicago. Woo-hoo!”
“You take this more seriously than your college pride. Notice you’re not wearing purple today.”
“That’s because you gave me a green fishing shirt, silly. More than eight hundred pieces from the permanent collections of the Hall of Native American Cultures. . . hey, remember those beaded sneakers? Woulda loved to play in those! ”
“And slipping on the beads that came off?” Knowing that was far too logical for her–at least when she wasn’t in her lab coat–I quickly added, “They were beautiful, though.”
“Knew you’d like them,” she giggled, then uughed, “Madagascar hissing cockroaches! A fully-stocked refrigerator of insect delicacies and interactive displays? I can see why you didn’t want to go into Insect Containment.”
“Yeah, that’s one door I’ll never open. And they put that office so it comes out in the rotunda.”
“So?”
“So if the insects escape, they’ve got the biggest empty space in the place to play wild goose.”
“Hmmm. . . remember that guy we met in England whose last name was Wildgoose?”
“He got married.”
“And?”
“Changed his name to Wildgeese.”
“Liar!” She laughed and smacked me on the shoulder, luckily hitting her target this time. “So I guess you don’t like snakes either.”
“You suppose correctly, but how’d’ya know?”
“The pilgrims in an unholy land line from Indiana Jones. He didn’t like snakes. Plus you’re an archaeologist.”
“Only as a hobby. But the snake thing was from the first movie, and the pilgrims were in the third. Probably not the same writer.”
“So how come you don’t like snakes?”
“Most recent example? I was hiking in the Angelus Crest, on a slight animal path along the tall grass, when I hear a rattle.”
“Oh no! That’ll do it!”
“Both my body and my blood froze, and I looked around for the snake, but of course didn’t spot anything because the grass was too tall. Then I heard it again and realized it was in my headphones. Why Libbie Schrader decided that was the best place to put that particular brand of percussion, I’ll never know. My heart started beating again the next morning; my shorts are a different story.”
She was laughing much too hard for the next few minutes to make a comment, gosh durn it. By the time she came back, the moment was long gone.
“I really need to check your music collection. You always know what I like.”
“Hmmm, if I hadn’t said ‘we have the same great taste,’ you woulda smacked me.”
“I must be more tired than I thought.” She rested her head on my shoulder, but only for a moment. “Hey, you still are buying CDs, right? Or do you just download now?”
“I’ve bought downloads, but only when I couldn’t wait to get a CD, especially if I’m in a foreign country. If your computer crashes or you lose the music somehow, it’s better to have the CD there just in case.”
“Good thinking. But what’s to keep you from bootlegging?”
“What’s to keep anyone from bootlegging once they’ve downloaded it?”
“Okay, I am officially too tired to even think! Let’s go to my office and rest.”
“Have we missed anything? Besides the insects? Run a check.”
She took a moment to throw me a mock salute, then went to the pages. “Discovery Center?”
“Check.”
“Chaparral exhibit?”
“Hasn’t burned yet.”
Giggling and happy I wasn’t going to let this get boring, she continued on down the list. “Marine Hall?”
“We came back up without getting the bends.”
“I’ll be bending over my desk soon enough, I hope. Ich. . . um, ichthy. . .”
“Ichthyology?”
“Don’t look so damned innocent!” she groused. “Like you know what it means!”
“Fish, of course. Your favorite animal even before you met Megamouth.”
Seeing she wasn’t going to win that one, she tried, “Herpetology?”
“Why’d it have to be snakes?”
A little chortle at that, nothing more. “Too bad butterflies are included with insects. I wouldn’t have minded checking those out.”
“You’ve never seen a butterfly up close, have ya?”
Best to ignore that, she told herself. “Marine mammalogy? I didn’t see any whales!”
“There was that narwhal tusk, but that was in the special exhibits, director’s gallery, or whatever it’s called. Mark that one to see later.”
“Okay-doke! Marine invertebrates? Biggest collection of West Coast watery no-spines in the world, crabs, starfish, water snails and worms from Antarctica to the Galapagos.”
“Yeah, check.”
“Largest catalogued vertebrate fossil collection in North America? And sixth largest invertebrate?”
“Not much room to hide a briefcase in one of those. Check.”
“Hey! According to this, there’s still an art collection here! More than five hundred works by American artists, though I don’t recognize the names on the painters. Drawings and prints by Currier and Ives, Audobon–”
“Well, that figures.”
“True. Western History Research?”
“Don’t remember it, so don’t check it.”
“What about the History Collections?”
“Didn’t see any room called that. Is it more specific?”
“Textiles, scientific instruments, armor, firearms, dolls, toys, games. . .”
“Could that be the basement stuff?”
“Could be!”
“Well, put half a check on it.”
“How do I do that?”
“It would look like a little v.”
“Oh, right!”
We passed through the dinosaur exhibit for the second time, the one that actually had its own room, not the big skeletons at the entrance. Having checked all I could on the previous runthrough, this time I was able to give my attention to the little workshop full of early instruments used by ancient paleontologists I’d given the skeletons and models as much consideration as I could, considering I was mentally running down as well.
Reaching the next exhibit room, I checked my watch as I saw the cleaning lady furiously squeegeeing the exhibit glass. “She’s getting an early start.”
“Think of all the glass she has to do.”
“True. Buenas tardes.”
“Como esta?” Shannon asked with her trademark pretty smile.
“Bien, gracias.” The lady smiled back and scrubbed all the harder.
“When did you learn Spanish?”
“Glad three years in high school retained something.”
I was prevented from replying to that by a pompous voice behind us. “This part of the museum is closing. Thank you for joining us today.”
She turned and laughed when she saw who it was. “Work on the sincerity, Brad.”
The guy scurried off.
“Now he knows he’ll never have you,” I sighed melodramatically, and walked away before she could say he already had. . .

;o)

Poetry Tuesday: An Ignacy Twofer

Ignacy Krasicki, Poland, 1735-1801

The Lamb and the Wolves
The predator’s excuse is always good.
Two wolves attack a lamb in the dark wood.
It said, “I want your legal rights defined.”
“You’re weak and tender, and it’s dark.”
They dined.

The Master and the Dog
Because of thieves, a dog barked all night through.
His master, sleepless, beat him black and blue.
On the next night the dog slept; and thieves came.
The silent dog was beaten all the same.

;o)

Travel Thursday: The Girl With Three Left Feet, part 2

The guard at the employee and handicapped basement entrance smiled at seeing her and did not ask for her I.D. “And guest,” she singsonged, but I already had my own special ID for the occasion, which made the guard roll his eyes. She grabbed for my hand and read it, then seemed to scowl, but at least she didn’t say anything.
“You want to join me in a private villa on a small Caribbean island, once I get my bonus for solving this?”
She gaped for a few seconds, very cute on her. “Carib, right on the beach? I’d give my ass for that!”
Snort. “Yeah, like that’s anything special.”
Sparing the time for a quick pinch to my stomach, she led me through the hallways and luckily took the elevator to the third floor. Perhaps still dreaming about tanning on the beach, she was quiet until she opened the door and entered the reception area leading to her office. Said office being empty at the moment, devoid of repairmen but not dust, she picked up a phone and called a gal she knew in some department who could bring up blueprints of the place. “Official business, wink wink,” she winked, although the friend couldn’t see it over the phone.
Trying not to yawn, I glanced over at the corner of her office and saw a fishing pole; she saw my glance and grimaced. “I’ve spent over a thousand bucks on new equipment and have yet to catch anything, not even a cold.”
“I hope when you do it’s extremely tasty.”
“Thanks for the thought. You’re such a nice guy.” Unfortunately, she was grinning hugely as she said this, and also didn’t tell me she was a catch-and-release kinda gal.
I looked out the window and saw something I didn’t like, if the expression she could see on my face was any indication. . . which it usually was. She once told me I could be a champion poker player, but when something DID show on my face, it meant I wanted her to see it.
Sighing, she went for it. “What is it?”
“You’ve been to UCLA, right?”
“Sure.”
“How big is the campus?”
She had a vast repertoire of sighs. “I took a little tour one day we were playing there, and I couldn’t jump during practice, I was so tired.”
“The point is, it’s big, right?”
“Right.”
“And hilly?”
“Yes.”
“And $c?”
“Tiny and flat, not unlike the girls who go there.” She smiled broadly to let me know she was getting into the game.
“In comparison to UCLA?”
It took her a moment to remember they were discussing campuses, not college babes. “No, completely. It’s really small.”
“And yet everyone’s got a bike! It’s a few seconds from one side to the other. These people are lazy!” A moment’s thought. “No, they’re spoiled!”
“That was rather redundant, wasn’t it?”
“Glad you’ve learned to agree.”
“How could I dare not to?”
Still killing minutes, since the new air conditioner hadn’t made a dent yet and there wasn’t enough time to start even a quickie, I got that look that she said always made her gulp. “So what were you looking up on the computer when I ran into you?”
“You said you came to see me, so you didn’t run into me.”
Her blush told me why she was evading the question. “So I was right? Another online dating thing? Good thing you don’t have to spend a lot of money on cosmetics and such, with all the dough you must waste on those websites.”
“Talk about a backhanded compliment!” she gasped, then tried, “ever notice guys of a certain age are known as ‘Eligible bachelors,’ but much younger women are referred to as ‘Old Maids?’”
Timing as usual being everything, the knock on the door saved me from having to answer. We poured over the building diagrams for a straight fifteen minutes, me concentrating on the non-public-access parts and she not able to concentrate on anything, partly because she had no idea what to look for but mostly because I was breathing on her ear and causing her to shudder and close her eyes involuntarily, which she hilariously thought I didn’t notice.
Already formulating a plan for searching tomorrow, I took a break and reached for the fishing rod. Stretching my arms out at an angle, the butt–of the rod, not the blonde–gripped in both hands, I lowered the tip slightly until it just touched a leaf on a low-hanging branch through the window above the tall blonde. Three times I lifted the rod away, and three times I lowered the tip delicately until it touched the same leaf, without touching any others, of course, giving a little nod of satisfaction each time.
“Would it be possible for one to ask what you’re doing?” one asked politely, a little uneasily. She knew I hated fishing, so I obviously didn’t have much experience with the thing, “I really liked having two eyes, it makes looking through a microscope much easier. And losing one would hurt too, I’d imagine. Plus it’s my favorite rod, and you have a tendency to break stuff I like.”
Then she winced as she read my smile: stuff you haven’t broken yourself, you mean.
But what I said was “Just thinking.” My eyes were still intent as I touched the leaf again, my tongue out the corner of my mouth like a certain famous basketballer.
“Yeah, but I was kinda curious about what you’re actually doing, hon.”
She hardly ever brought out the pet names, so I came back to the room with a little laugh, handing her the rod. “Just an academic exercise. Muscle control and stuff. Zen and Yoda, or is that yoga? ”
“I see. . . no, I don’t. You’re baffling me again.”
“Sorry. I don’t mean to.”
In other words, college girl, you’re not smart enough to get it, she told herself, even while knowing I would never mean such a thing.
“Tell ya what, fishing guru. Why don’t you try it, and then maybe you’ll understand.”
So she tried it, somewhat defiantly. And even though she was a pro with a quick cast, to actually do it slow seemed a lot harder. And soon enough she did understand.
Checking my watch, I told her there was nothing else for me to do here right now. “I assume you drove. . .”
“Indeed.” She took a quick look around the room, then at the desktop computer. “I got nothing else to do here either, and I’d love a walk to my car. In this neighborhood–”
“Gotcha. Gear up, little filly.”
She pouted. “I hate it when you call me. . . little.”
“I don’t trust media guides, so I have no conclusive proof you’re actually six feet tall.”
“At least I don’t wear heels. And don’t give me that, you’re just a middle-blocker typa guy.”
“At least you weren’t a setter, and being a lefty gets you extra points.”
“Now THERE’S a pleasant thought,” she murmured happily as she dumped everything she needed into her bag, regardless of fragility. I didn’t hear anything breaking, so I made no mention. For some reason she added the fishing rod to her take-home stuff.
Some guy in the outer office saw the pole and asked, “What exactly are you hoping to catch?”
She shrugged. “6 foot 2, dresses GQ, knows how to take his time. . .”
Proving I was still in the conversation, I tried, “Think you’ll find that in a river?”
Feeling naughty, and remembering all the times she’d made dates blush with a well-turned phrase in public, she suddenly starletted, “I still can’t believe you don’t know about that particular sex act!”
“Maybe I just don’t live in that world as much as you do.”
Her face fell as the laughter surrounded her. He did it to me again!
Once in the hall, I shook my head in mock reproof. “You never learn, do ya?”
“Real men don’t taunt,” she pouted, then grinned nastily and shoved me against the wall. But before she could follow up, I winced as my head hit a light fixture. “Oooo, sorry, darling!”
“It’s one thing for you to be clumsy, but when it starts being dangerous to–”
“I’ve learned my lesson,” she promised. “From now on I’ll let you take the lead any time you want to fuck. Well, I’m the one most likely to start it, so I’ll tell ya I’m ready and you can. . .”
She finally noticed I wasn’t walking beside her to the elevator. Turning around, she saw me still checking for blood, having banged it harder than she’d obviously thought. Suddenly she glanced to the sides and wondered if anyone had heard her speaking to what turned out to be herself. All the doors were closed and no one was laughing, so she thought she might have gotten away with this one as she waited for me to finally join her.
She couldn’t help but laugh at the way I stuck to the other side of the elevator, then waited five seconds before exiting after her. “I got it already! I promise, I’m never going to hurt you again.”
I didn’t have much to say as I followed her a step behind, until she threw her bag into the back seat and hopped behind the steering wheel, automatically reaching over to turn on the air conditioner.
Standing way back, I told her, “I wish you were still playing volleyball.”
“Why?”
“When I saw you rolling around the court, I always got dirty thoughts. . .”
“Good,” she purred as she slammed the car door, luckily missing both my digits and clothes. “That’s why I played. . .”

;o)

Poetry Tuesday: Blue River

By Muhammad ibn Ghalib al-Rusafi (died 1177)

The river of diaphanous waters
murmuring between its banks
would have you believe
it is a stream of pearls.

At midday tall trees
cover it with shadows
turning it the color of metal
So now you see it, blue,
wrapped in brocade
like a warrior in armor
resting in the shade of his banner.

;o)