The Date - Prologue

Aw right, maybe I don't know
everything.  Cool.  What I want
the world to believe, well, that's
*my* B.I. business....

When I think how much I didn't
wanna go along for the joy ride
that evening, to hang with the
same, so usual company, looking
back, makes me wanna 'L-O-L.'

One victory my restiveness didn't
win this time.  I can still hear
myself whining--whining....the
mother tongue I revel in whenever
the mood hits to be contrary.
Sometimes....

Just for the sheer kick of it,
I'm like that.

Earlier that morning, I was being
contrary at full tilt.  It took
me a while to realize, before
my cranky acquiescence, that
my partners in co-conspiritorial
theoretical opinion, wouldn't
take, "NO" as my definitive
answer.

'Ad refusal....'

"I told them we'd be at Scully's
at about seven-thirty," Byers had
informed, with that no nonsense
timbre cloying in his erudite voice.

The voice of zip possible recourse;
the timbre I could slap that self-
important little smirk off his face,
for....sometimes.

"I made the reservations at DC
Tivoli for eight o'clock," he'd
droned on.

I had rolled my clearer eyes,
yeah, they sorta are these
days....my nod to AA.  I think
those true confessions sessions
are kinda helpin'.  I don't think
about needin' a drink most of
the time like I used to.

I'd wanted to escape by jumping
into one of my red herring screen
savers, or inhaling a thimbleful
of Johnny Walker Red....hey--I
never said I was cured; there's
still a long way to go....Fro'
says it takes time....

Ten years screwin' around with
Mulder.  Is this a reason to make
with an anniversary moment?  Don't
think so.  Big, who cares, deal.

Don't get me wrong; Spooky's okay,
far as Fibbies go.  Scully too, for
that matter, when she's not being
her strict to scientific method
about things self....

'Sides, I'm working through gettin'
over this dumb crush I've had on
her for ages, so I don't really
wanna make the social scene with
her in Mulder's as big as life
company.

And we all know I ain't big on
celebrations....but I digress,
but who's noticin'?

Anyway....I'd said:

"So?" and had huffed and puffed,
but nobody's house got blown down.
I'd taken eye rolling to newer,
dizzing heights.

I'd pushed my glasses up, atop my
head so my glare wouldn't get lost
behind the ocular barrier.  "SO!"

"So, you're comin', man."  Frohike
had been in a not backing down mode
for anything all morning.

Boring!  How could I have possibly
imagined for one friggin' moment I
stood a chance in no compliance
land in the face of his serious,
granite attitude, which he always
seems to catch when it's me bein'
noncooperative.

Payback; you know what it is.
Get ready, get set.  When you
least expect it, I'll be there
to dis ya good.

I've been fighting with them....

OKay a lot, lately.  Why?  How
should I know?  I don't feel like
getting into it right now; not
in the mood.

I gave in without a big knockdown,
drag out, this round.  My
recalcitrance reserves were runnin'
fast....

"All right, already--you want me?
Ya got me.  You take prisoners.
Like I so care.  Long as I'm
drivin'--and I don't haveta sit
next to how-come-we-don't-do-this-
more-often Mulder, I'm in..."

xXx

So, here we are, back in real time,
and turns out, I'm still battin'
ten thousand.  Today's lousy track
record is still intact.

Byers has stationed himself in
the driver's seat ahead of me,
clean over my blistering verbal
assault.

Did I say I was in a good mood
today?  No?  Didn't think so.

Nothing short of a stick of lit
dynamite will blast him outta
*my* seat.  I'm the driver in
this trio....

Fine, then....chill....

It's all bein' recorded, buds,
kudos to my brain.  Ha!  Wait
till you lameozoids want somethin'
real bad....

I blink, but keep right on
ruminating, conveniently
forgetting what they've
sacrificed for me.  Saving me
from myself, among other things.

Did I ever, once ask 'em to?
NOT.  We're not gonna go THERE,
are we?

Absent-mindedly, I'm plunking
away on my left temple with
index finger and grinning,
suddenly feeling self-satisfied.

Just wait, both of you....How's
about a little hard drive hockey
when you need an uncluttered
one to back up some files?

Don't look at me....

I'm on the passenger side, behind
the conniving porn pervert, who
decided to go without wearing his
fingerless gloves for a change.

I close my eyes, trying not to
think about being undone by Mista
Brooks Brothers.

Okay....since I've been barred from
driving. I start craving a greasy,
arterial-clogging Big Mac, the
customary super size fries, topped
off by a....let's see uh, uh....

A vanilla shake.  Hey maybe I could
get a combo; chocolate mixed with
'nilla.  Not in the mood for a Coke;
been real gassy lately.

Every inch of the en route we tool
along to Scully's, the more I want
Mickey Dee's, and not Italian soul
food.

As though hypnotized, it dawns on
me, then, that we're turning down
the agent's block.  Time approx.,
who cares?

There they're, waiting outside
her building.  Scully, Mulder; I
start to yawn and....

HELLO!!  Oh my--GOD--who's THAT??

WHO IS THAT!!!!!

Who's the Goddess?  Pinch me,
baby.  She's the most beautiful
female I've ever laid popping
peepers on, and I've taken in
my fair quota of bodacious babes
in my thirty-somethin' years on
this orb.

Sorry, Scully.  Where's *she*
been hidin' all these years?

I slam my gaping mouth shut.  I
sure didn't tell it to spring
open like that.  This hotie out
babes every last one of 'em.

MAN--she's incendiary!

The surging need for the Mickey
Dee's fix is violently shoved
way into the background, replaced
by a different hunger.

As we pull up, I contemplate
the righteous vision standing
beside a tastefully-attired,
uncharacteristically grinning,
giggly Scully.

The honey can't be more than
thirty; one-twenty in stocking
feet....she's got real exotic
features.  Her skin's immaculate;
the color of creamy toffee....

Call me cracked, but there's a hint
of Scully in her face, but she's
much taller.  Meanly lean.  Maybe
five-seven, eight.  Kazaam!  We're
talkin' fashion model here.  Again
the question hammers.

WHO'S THE DIMEPIECE????

Perhaps a spanking brand new
next door neighbor of Scully's?
Hope, I hope, I hope.

I wonder what Fro's thinkin'?
Or, do I really haveta guess?

I like what she's wearin'.  Some
kind of charcoal grayish, pants
suit outfit.  How should I know
exactly?  One fashion victim at
your service.  What I DO know, is
that what she's got on looks
sizzling.  Bet she is....

Uh, there I go again....

I thread my more-stringy-than-it-
normally-is-'cos-I-neglected-to-
shower-this-morning hair behind my
ears.  Immediately, I agonize over
how much they stick out, though no
one has ever told me they do, to
my face.

Nah, wait; I've gotta take that
back.  Jerry D'Avalo said I had
ears like that Little Rascals kid,
Alfalfa, when I was nine.  Great
little ego booster that creep.
He's probably a corporate raider;
something white collar on the shady
side by now.

Not dressed for eating out in a
really nice, as in classy, place?
Ya think?  Hey--duh, but at least
I'm wearin' a clean shirt, and it's
not the Ramones.

I'm wearin' my black and white,
'See, it's painted on to look funky
like this...funky.  That's funky
the feelin', not the wiff,' kitschy
creation.  At least my jeans ain't
ripped tonight, and they match my
jacket.

"Good evening, ladies and gent,"
Frohike expansively bades.  "And
who's this stunning, pretty lady?"
he addresses to the celestial looker.

That's 'So-sicky' for ya.  I just
know he's got her stripped down to
her undies by now.  True to lech
form.

"Why, hello.  I'm Lislita Renee
Viscaya Marti.  Dana's cousin,
visiting from Miami.  You three
charming gentlemen must be the Lone
Gunmen, Fox has been telling me so
much about.  Mister Frohike, Mister
Byers, and Mister Langly, a pleasure."

She smiles amiably at me through
the open window.  Yowza!

Yeah, me Langly; you, one bold
knockout.  Hellooo.  I'd hung on
every significant, scintillating,
Hispanic syllable.  Committing the
pronunciation to indelible memory.

The way her name'd flowed out of
that perfectly regal looking,
conquistadora mouth, it's a wonder
normal, well normal for me, brain
functioning's still going on.

"Hop in, everybody," Frohike urges,
"before our reservation is given away."
Gruffly, he barks at me, "Just don't
sit there like a mummy, man, open up,
and let them in."

....I'll open up your head--you rag
on me again like that in front of
people....*her*....

I unlatch, and open the door.
Weird.  It's like I'm watching
myself do as badgered; the sole
player in a flick, acting in slo-mo.

"Thank you."  She hesitates.  "Ex,
excuse me.  I'm sorry..."

What?  She's supposed to crawl over
you?

"Wait--uh, like lemme-lemme slide
over," I audibly fumble.  Wouldn't
ya know she'd be first in.  No
shower, but I shaved, and remembered
to shmear on anti-perspi-deodorant.
I practically make myself one with
the extreme left side of the van.

I'm gonna call her Lee, if I don't
lose my tongue due to lack of
nerve.

I suck with Spanish, I've got no
ear for it whatsoever, despite
Frohike's tireless, or is it
try-or-else efforts?

Anyway, the babe smoothly approaches
to alight on the seat; prickly-heat
close to me for my discomfort.  I'll
be dry swallowing for a while.
Guaranteed.

She beams into my bemused face, and
I shrink in self-conscious instability,
not before I marvel....how does she
see through those clumps that are
her lashes?  'Mascared?'  For sure.
False?  I wouldn't bet on it.  That
high-cheekboned face of hers isn't
swimming in makeup, either.

Her full, mouth-watering lips have
some reddish glossy stuff on 'em,
and that's it, I think.  Mercy.
How'm I gonna live through this
torture?

Scully piles in next, with Mulder
right behind.  Is it my imagination,
or did he really put his hand on
hers?  He's grinning real stupid,
and Scully's giggling again.

Yeah--he *did*.  'The times, they
are a-changin'.'

Byers asks if we're all in, and
satisfied we are, takes off.

"So, my dear, what brings you to
our nation's bustling Capitol?"

I wanna barf.  Frohike swivels
around to get a thorough eyeful. He won't be turning back 'round
anytime soon, I gather, by the
jaunty lilt in his voice, and the
frisky glint in his eyes, like
he's got x-ray vision.  Too freaky,
man.  I feel I should give her my
jacket as a shield.

"I haven't seen Dana since
ninety-four.  We were very close,
growing up.  I've missed her very
much."

"I've missed you too, Leese."
Scully gives her cousin's closest
knee a squeeze.

Suddenly, the VW feels like a
sardine can fitted with tires.
I, especially, am feeling like
one of the smelly, oily little
suckers, packed in tight, as the
cousin settles her fine self in
against the seatback and me too,
to a large extent.

Should I be complaining?  No--and
yes!

Okay, maybe you'd say, "What--are
you nuts, dude?  Gorgeous honey all
snugged-up on you, and you're gripin'?
Seek help now!"

Okay, look....if I tell you bona fide
beautiful women, and Scully's cousin
definitely fills the bill, totally
freak me outta my gourd, you won't
laugh, right?  Stop snickering!!

I'm serious.  I revert to the pathetic,
acne-ravaged fifteen-year-old, who
never had a date in high school, and
had mercy ones once and awhile,
post-grad.

Yo, I like girls; women.  But, they
faze me.  I wish *they'd* like me
better; and not just as a friend....

Like when Scully first started showing
up with Mulder, I would skulk around
in the background.  Finally, it sank
in.  She wasn't one of those dull
chicks who think they're all that.

We were cool ever since.  I even
started imagining she....and me....

Whoa!!  I scrapped that idea quick;
long ago, after seriously deep
checkin' reality a couple kazillion
times....

Scully an' Mulder sittin' in a tree,
k-i-s-s-i-n-g; first comes love,
then comes--hey, like you know the
typical rest....

One-sided love blows.

I snap outta my maudlin little
universe of all by myself, to hear
her cousin reply in this totally
milk an' honey voice, "Dad's Mexican.
Unlikely gene mingling, I know.
Mex-Irish.  Irish-Mex.  He met my
uncle's sister in Mexico City when
she was on vacation.  They fell in
love, married--"

"Over Ahab's strong objections,
when we were kids," Dana tosses
in.  "He came around in time,
though.  As we got older, we all
ganged up on him.  We demanded
to meet this mysterious Mexican
cousin of ours, mentioned only
in hushed tones."

The captivating visitor nods and
continues, "Had me; just me.  I'm
an only child.  Child...'Dios mio,'
I'm twenty-seven, afterall."

Scully sniggers, and pats her
relative's knee.  "Oh, sure.
You're all grown up, but you're
still the baby of the bunch, Leese.
I'm amazed your father okayed your
settling in Miami; letting you live
on your own."

"What do you mean, 'let me?'  Wow,
give Danee-Waynee a real gun, and a
Special Agent badge, and suddenly
you're as old as dirt.  'Ay!'  No!"

Mulder tries stifling a snicker-snort,
but doesn't quite cut it.  Scully
slugs him, then cracks up too.

"I'm a big girl," she asserts.

....Nah, babe, you're totally
perfect, I drool.  Wanna try me
on for size?....

"I know how to take care of myself.
I've sure had to ever since mom
died when I was fourteen."  She
sighs, and when she takes her next
breath, I think I feel a tremor
vibrate through her, transposed
onto me, and I catch myself feeling
sorry for her.

Taking care of myself is somethin' I
know how to do too.  I've been doin'
it since I turned eighteen.

"I've appeared in 'telenovelas' in
Mexico, and danced in a few music
videos.  The latest ones being,
Enrique Iglesias' 'Bailamos,' and
Ricky Martin's, 'Livin' La Vida
Loca.'  So, me?  A 'baby?' I don't
think so."

"You're pretty big in Mexico, right?"
Mulder interrogates.  "Romance
He won'tand what's the other thing?"

"Rock 'en Espanol.'"

"You are, right?" Mulder persists.

I'm really into this conversation now.

"I guess.  I don't use my real name.
Too long.  It's the Spanish Mexican
name thing.  The father's mother's
maiden name, combined with the
father's family surname, through
the generations.  Back in Mexico,
DF, I'm known as 'Bellita Morena'...
Little Brown Beauty."

She hangs her head.  In modesty?  No
way.  What for?  She slays.  Scully
gives her shoulders a tight squeeze.

No way is right.  Course she knows
she's beautiful.  Right?  Anybody
would haveta be blind in a dark
room not to be bopped over the head.
Who's she tryin' to kid?

Do I hate her?

"'Televisa's' idea for a stage name.
Personally, I think it's too...too
immodest.  But, I didn't like to
make too many waves over the little
things.  I went along with it, and
hoped the people didn't think I was
fatally in love with myself."

Bam--s'kay, she's not so full of
herself.  Don't hate her as much.

I turn onto my hip, and into her a
bit more, giving her more room.  My
back's flush against the van wall.
I give her an anemic smile, then
gulp.

"We still have some ways to go,"
Byers informs, expectancy in his
voice.  "Would you view it as an
imposition, Lislita," he says her
name perfectly; I hate him, "if
I request your favoring us with a
sample of your song styling?"

If you want her to sing--just say
so, Dapper Dan--in English!  I
shift roughly, and Lee casts a look
of inquiry blended with apology in
my direction.

A barn; that's where I was raised.
You got it.  An, "I'm sorry,"
squirms through my lips; just barely.

"Oh, I'm sure you don't--"

"Like, yeah.  Sure we do," I tell
her, sounding blunt.  "Lay a tune
on us.  The radio's busted."

"Langly," Frohike upbraids by his tone
alone.

"What?"

"Never mind."  I can hear the,
'you geek,' loud an' clear in
omission.  "Would you mind, my
dear?"  He covers for my gauche;
which I don't think I'm being,
naturally.  "We'd be honored.
'Por favor?'"

....What a show-off!....

"'Bien.  Por supuesto entonces,
senor.'  If you insist..."

"We do," Forhike, Byers and Mulder
press, in unison.

"Oh, go on, Lis," Scully encourages.
She squeezes her shoulders again.  I
wish it was me doing that.  "Show
my journeymen friends a sample of
our families' talent."

"As you wish, Dana..."

She clears her throat, and the mini
concert begins.  The first song she
does is this thing called, 'No Se Tu,'
she says this dude Luis Miguel sings.

Acappella perfection.

When she finishes, everybody voices
their absolute approval.  No hype.
The chick's great.  I'm mum.  I just
sorta smile shyly at her, and
embarrassed, take an escapist glance
out the window.

Where's this stupid restaurant?
Near the Delaware Water Gap?  It's
like we've been riding for hours
already.  Geez....

The group wants her to do something
else, after she tells us she used
to date this Miguel dude between
his breaking up with Daisy 'Yummy'
Fuentes, and his hookin' up with
another main squeeze, Mariah Carey.

The little name dropper....

Okay, so she's halfway through Lauren
Hills' remake of, 'You're Just Too
Good To Be True...' yada, yada, yada,
and I wanna bolt.  She sings and
sounds the way she looks.  Sooo sexy.
I'm meltin' in my clothes.  I cannot
take much more of this close proximity
before I betray myself.

I'm like so uncomfortable!

Once she's done, and more accolades
are bestowed, I'm as silent as a
stone.

"Don't you like my singing, Mister
Langly?"

Involuntarily, I twitch.  She's just
breathed that into my ear.

"Sorry, folks, didn't want to roll
us over that."  The swerve Byers
just made to avoid, "a humongous pothole," according to him, has her
lips inches from my cheek now.

Her hand's braced against my chest.
I bang my eyes shut and gag, trying
to control what I feel happening.
It's good I don't wear tight jeans.

Baby....you could rock me in your
arms, and whisper-sing into my ear
all night long....

What's the closest I can describe how
sublime her voice is?  Madonna, Jewel,
Sarah, Mitchell, Turner, Twain, Sade,
LaBelle, Franklin, Mariah, ad hoc.
I add Scully's cousin to my personal
pantheon of blow-ya-away divas.

I turn my face, not knowing what's
come over me, and whisper into her
ear, "You're intense."

"Intense?" she whispers back.

"Totally good," I award, lowering
my voice more so.  "A star...if
you've got a CD out in Spanish,
or, in whatever, write the name
down.  I'll go buy it."

I'm not looking at her as I'm
telling her this, but something
tells me she's grinning.  I get
brave, and chance bouncing a smile
that's more concrete off her.

She's smiling, and I don't think
it's because she's bein polite!

Hey, I'm not dying anymore.  I feel
myself reviving.  What's up with
this?

"Why, thank you, Mister Langly."

"You can drop the, 'Mista' okay?
It's just Langly."

"Langly," she soughs again into my
ear.  Oh, man, does it tickle.  I'm
relieved to notice our conversation
has become private, since we've
arrived at the restaurant, and the
four of them are talking among
themselves.  Good.  No need for
prying ears to overhear my lame
attempt at gettin’ ta know her
better.  "Is it cool if I call ya
Lee?"

She eases off me, not appearing
even a smidgen shy about our sudden
thrown up against each other
affinity, but she looks somewhat
puzzled, so I think she needs more
translation.  "Cool--"

"Cool.  Yes, it is cool.  It is fine,
if it pleases you to.  'Popi' calls me
that."

"'Popi?'"

"My dad."

"Cool."  I'm grinnin' again, like
I won't be able to stop.  Would
that be a tragic thing?

I'm in the initial throes of diggin'
her deep, and not just her looks.
Her; package total.  Uh oh....somebody
stop me.  I'm settin' myself up
again....

When will I learn?  What would a
stone looker like her ever want with
me?  She dates hunks and pretty boys
on a regular basis.  True?

"It's valet parking," Byers announces,
sounding compelled to make us aware
of the fact printed before our eyes.
Maybe to hustle us out of the VW.
So, we all snap-to and pile out, like
dutiful little flunkies.

I watch as the van is driven off by
this lanky, gel-dipped kid who's
probably a drop-out.  I once parked
cars one summer at this country club.

A real lame gig, but the tips kept me
in guitar strings.  I sucked as a
guitar player, so I spent 'mucho' money
replacin' broken strings.  Five metal
wannabes.  We called ourselves, 'The
Terminal Outsiders.'  We all sucked,
man.

Remember I told you I've been gassy
lately? Well, here's a refresher.  I
figure eatin' Italian will totally
push the envelope.  I decide to lay
in prevention.

"Hey, group, like go on ahead.  Gotta
get some Rolaids or Tums.  Anything
antacid at that candy, newspaper,
whatever else place we passed down
the block.  Catch ya at the table."

"May I go with you?"

Lee's looking at me expectantly.
She's broken off from the Scully-
Mulder-Byers-Frohike party of four,
heading into DC Tivoli.  She stands
in the middle between me and them.

I can see Scully's all set to
sensibly suggest, "Leese, it
would be nice if we all sit down
together.  Langly's a big boy,
perfectly capable of buying an
antacid on his own."

She nods, but comes to stand
beside me, looking mind-made-up.
"Why, of course he is, Dana.  He
looks quite capable of a number
of things."

Bull's-eye....

She winks at me like she's got
me all figured out.  This
chestnut of a chick is soft-spoken
spunk in action.  Me likin' her
classy crust more and more by
leaps an' bounds.

"We won't be long."  She claims my
arm as hers, wanting us to link,
and without a word passing between
us, we head off for my digestive
relief.

Halfway to the store, she speaks
to a, 'I must be dreamin' me.'

"Do you have a first name, Langly?"

"Yeah, uh, sure.  I...well, it's
dumb.  I don't like it all that
much."

"Dumb?"  After I tell her what it
is, she transforms it, but I still
tell her calling me Langly's fine
by me.

"An...whatever you just said?"

"'Anillos.'"

"And that means?"

"Loosely.  Extremely loosely, it
means, rings."

"Okay.  Whatever.  When you say
it, it sounds cool.  Not like me.
I mutilate Spanish, just ask
Frohike.  Call me what you feel."
I hold the bell-rings-upon-opening
door for her, and I think....this is
surreal.  As she floats over the
threshold, I blurt like some basket
case, "God, you’re beautiful."

"Oh, my..."

Again the head lowering.  Must be
a chronic thing with her.  Girl,
what's the big deal bein' what
you are?  Why act like everyone
else knows but you?  You got me
to come right out and tell ya
to your face, and we've just
met....

"Thank you.  You're very sweet
for saying so."

Sweet?  Me?  Nah-ah; bein'
sweet's got nothing to do with
it, 'cos we all know I'm *not*
all that sweet.  I'm just statin'
fact....

"You're like so welcome."  Who
said that?  I smile.

After the door closes behind me,
nearly thumping me in the keister,
she reclaims my arm, and we sorta
glide, yeah, you got it--glide--to
the check-out.  I must be trippin',
and I don't even do drugs any more.
Well, uh....not the hard ones....

So no time is wasted huntin' for
my stuff, I ask the guy behind the
counter for what I need.  While
I'm waiting to be told where
antacids are, she mumbles something
about going to the magazine rack to
check out some fashion mags.

"Whatever, take as long as ya
want..."

"Tums or Rolaids, sir?"  The
fatherly lookin' Pakistani holds
out for my decision, because
they're where he is.

"I'll go with both."  Double the
reinforcements.  Already, my
tummy's doin' backflip somersaults,
brought on by femininity overload
to the max power.

After I pay for the rolls, I swing
around so I'll catch sight of
her.  Iscan the store's square
footage, up down, back forth, but
I don't see her.

I cram the antacids into my jacket's
chest pocket, and start off for the
pulps.

"Lee...hey, Leese," I call out.
Nothin'.  'Nada.'

I'm just about to round the
popcorn, chips, pretzels rack,
when I freeze in my tracks.

Holy sh--this--this maniac's
brandishing a knife at her, and
spewing the worst mouthfuls of
profane garbage I've ever heard.
And, mostly I've said most of the
worst crap I've ever heard.

Talkin' 'bout, "Yo--yo you comin'
with me, mommy, and you don't get
cut..."

I bristle in white-hot rage, even
though it's like my stomach's got
a hole in it.

There isn't time to think, only
time to react.

I jump-spring front kick the blade
right outta his big an' bad hand,
with a ninja war cry.  The weapon
goes sailing high and clear of
endangering anyone as it flys over
the nutrition bars.  I land solidly
on my Converses.  In the split
second I strike a Chuck Norris
warrior pose, Lee rushes to my side,
far from cowed.

She mimicks my stance, bluff for
bluff, although, she may not be
bluffing.  She looks way serious.

"Black belts.  Registered with the
cops.  Wanna hear your bones crunch,
up close and personal?  Our Kung Fu's
the best, man--be our guest."  I'm
smirking to beat the band, and feel
ten feet tall with her by my side.

The schmuck trips over his own big
feet, lays more profanity on us, and
streaks outta our sphere of impudence,
shooting out of the store.

I thank God he didn't call me on my
charade.

I lower my hands, ignoring how
shaky they are, and Lee crowds
into me.  "Hey, you okay?"

"Que mala onda!'  You saved my
life, Langly," she exhales, "you
were magnificent."

....I was?  I was too wired to
notice....

"No way.  I was mad.  When I get
angry, nobody's safe.  He was
threatening you.  I saw blood red,
him talkin' that shi--"

"'Porqueria.'"

"Yeah, like whatever.  Sure you're
all right?"

I take her arm to make a start for
the door when she's ready.  As we
head out, it appears that the
Pakistani conveniently disappeared
himself for the escapade.

"Sure; yes.  I am sure.  I think
I was more shocked than frightened.
Nothing like this has ever happened
to me in Miami."

"Shoot, Miami doesn't hold a candle
to DC.  Mayhem and murder capital,
USA."  We're back out on the wind
whipped street, and I'm wary, just
in case Lee's would-be pinheaded
molester is layin' for us with gang
members.  "Just be glad he didn't
have a gun.  If he'd had one, I
would've freaked more.  Probably
gotten us both killed."

Lee's weighted on my arm like it's
a plumb line, and I figure she's
more shaken than she's lettin' on.
I hardly blame her.  One minute
you're browsin' mags, the next,
you're bein' sized up for molestation
'a la' sliced an' diced....

THIS STINKIN' WORLD SUCKS!

"You are a martial arts expert,
no?"

"Who, *me*?  Nope.  You?"

"'Ay, claro que *no*!'  I copied
what you did.  I am an actress.
'Recuerda?'  Remember?"

I laugh, she is so way cool.  "I
lifted that kick move offa one of
my video games.  I'm an expert when
it comes to them.  Vid games, TV
cop shows and action movies are the
only training I've ever had.  Doubt
anybody would call it formal."

She's laughing now, but clinging
to me even more.  We're nearing
the restaurant and the thought
of getting in out of the wind,
and checking the nerve-racking
excitement at the door sits real
well with me.

I'm all set to sprint up the four
steps to the eatery's door to
hold it for her, but she prevents
me.

"Wait..."  Her hold on my arm
slackens, but then strengthens in
that instant.  She yanks me back.

Next thing I know, her face's in
my mug.
 

XxX

Bam--she's plasterin' her pair of
juicy, generous lips on mine.  Now
I *know* I'm dreaming; but it's
deeply weird.  I haven't been able
to wake up yet.

We both come up gasping after the
passage of some very expressive
moments.

"I will never forget your bravery
as long as I live," she murmurs,
as I shudder.  "Again, I thank you
for protecting my honor; my life..."

For the second time in so many
minutes, a time of reacting in lieu
of thinking presents itself.

Securing the base of her head with
my trembling hand, I kiss her back,
matching her intensity and ardor,
but then surpassing it.  I hear her
whimper, and I know she must have
heard mine.

So this is what doing what feels
so totally natural is all about....

Finally, when we untangle, words
are unnecessary.  We know more
than gratitude is happening here.
It's all so crazy.

Slew-footed, I resume getting the
door; I practically fall up the
stairs.  She passes along with
the tenderest of smiles splayed
on those soul-satisfying lips.

I join her on cloud nine where
she's made room for me.
 

xXx

Dinner?  All a blur; a bubbly
blur, sans booze which typically
generates it.  I was ridin' high
on the biggest feel good ever,
with no possibility of hangover
to slap me down next morning.

The singular thing I recall about
the entire restaurant experience
was Lee and me playing 'handsies'
beneath the table, gettin'
totally lost in a nebulous world
we were constructing with gentle
caresses, playful squeezes and
some seriously sensual intertwining
of fingers.

We were at that table, but we were
way gone.

My buds and the Fibbies were into
their stuff; Lee and I inserted
our input when called for, but we
knew we were into no jive meld
mode.

We were getting into some heavy
feelings.  I know; I know.  Hard
to believe, but it really happened
with her and me, like it did.

We didn't mention the incident.
We didn't feel the need to.  Our
secret.

But it was no secret how I was
beginning to feel....

During the ride back to Scully's, I
had no problem with Lee nestled in
my lap, and discreetly humming some
Mexican ditty in my ear.  Her
luxuriant mahogony-amber hair hung
like a bib about me.

Whatever the four of them had been
thinking mattered little to me, and
I guess Lee too.  They all gave us
odd looks; Scully most of all.

Like tough.  Never seen two people
click quick before?

Well, neither have I really, but I
went with it.

I had smiled as I thought about what
I'd thought when, earlier, she'd
asked me if I liked her singing.

...Babe, you could rock me all night
long....sometimes, I get so small
and lonely...sometimes....I need a
lot of tender, loving you know what....

Not tonight; but maybe one in the
future.  Dare I dare to hope?

All too soon, we’d pulled up in
front of Scully's building, and Lee
whispered, "Good-night," into my ear,
but she looked like she didn't wanna
leave me.

What choice did we have, though?
 
 

So....now, I'm lyin' here in my
messy bed; hands threaded underneath
my head, unable to fall asleep.  I'm
beyond freaked.

I'm all tingly again, after that
second cold shower.

Our parting conversation loops
over an' over in my feverish brain
like a treasured CD.

I hear her silky voice in my
mind's ear, as I stroke my cheek,
wishing it were Lee doin' it to
me, instead.  Stroking me the way
she'd done in the van.
 

"Call me?  Please?"

"Serious?  You want me to?  For
real?"

"If you don't, I'll call you,
Langly..."

"Nah--I will.  Uh, when do you
leave for Miami?"

"The day after tomorrow."

"Sunday...huh?...like, maybe?"

"Maybe you'd...wanna go out with
me tomorrow night?"

"Oh, yes--certainly.  But,
please...call tomorrow
morning--early.  I want to spend
the entire day with you..."

"The *whole* day?"

"I'd like that, unless you have
other plans..."

"No--no.  I'm free; I'm like so
free.  Yeah.  Okay; tomorrow...we'll
do the whole day.  If that's what
you want..."

"That's what I want."

"Like, what time should I call?"

"You decide..."
 
 

The way she'd said *that* makes me
smile all over again as I think
of it now.

I look over at the LCD on the
cluttered night table.  It's 3:30
in the A.M.

That's three an' a half hours more
to wait to make that call.

Two hundred and ten minutes to go,
for my day to be made....my tomorrows
too....maybe.  Yeah, I know....I'm
dreamin' with eyes wide open, but
can't help it.

I'm overwhelmed, man....by post
aural gratification.

I'm overwhelmed by everything about
her....
 

xXx
End Prologue

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