two ships have been docked for three days, while Night
Searcher is in geosynchronous orbit. I keep a resume stashed in my perCom
awaiting just such opportunities, but I will have to tailor copies for each
ship. I’ll also have to consult the UniNet to get the down and dirty on each.
Fortunately, Jimmy was sweet enough to include the appropriate URLs. I’m
pretty oblivious to everything and everyone on the MagTrain ride to the station
in the neighborhood of my flat. I do get all three communiqués off before
arriving at my stop. Now comes the hard part: Awaiting their replies.
I don’t have a ton of cash saved up, so I am going to have
to let Jimmy do something I don’t like to let him (or anyone else) do: pay my
way. I like to be courted and charmed as much as the next girl. I’d never
want him, or any other guy, to think I was leading him on. But let just one
feel like I owe him something after springing for a meal and a movie, and I’ll
drop kick him in the esophagus. Hmm, maybe Jimmy was the one helping me hide bodies.
That would explain a few things and the blank spots in my memory.
For my aesthetic efforts I don’t go crazy, but Jimmy does
rate a shower and fresh clothes at a minimum. I select a nice, but not too
nice, skirt and shirt combo. The black pumps and a 4mm automatic in a garter
holster complete my preparation. It’s a night out with my best friend, but
this is still Tammuz. I consider makeup, but decide I don’t have time to look
like I’m not wearing any. I did scrub my face in the shower. The door chimes
precisely at 1929. How can you not love a man who is on time every
time?
Jimmy took the time to primp a bit as well. He says he
never played, but he wears a rugby shirt very well. And why can’t I ever
find jeans that fit me like that? Is that gel in his hair?
“Dearest one, you never fail to amaze me,” he says. “How
could you have had time to accomplish such wonders of transformation from the
soiled guttersnipe I saw only this afternoon to the breathtaking beauty now
standing before me?” He dodges the punch I pretend to throw at him. I love him
and throw a hug around his neck and hold him. Tight. Vise tight. Pit Bull
tight. He starts to grunt, feigning choking. He’s patting me on the arms,
tapping out. “Sweetie, Jimmy can’t breathe. The tunnel vision starts. Sonia,
everything is going black. Goodbye, cruel world! Hello, my faithful…Ah! That’s
better. Thank you. Shall we be off to the diner?”
Jimmy wasn’t kidding about the pseudo food. I didn’t
believe it was possible to ruin krill, soy or plankton. The new “chef” at The
Ranch has proven me wrong. It’s supposed to be tasteless aside from the
artificial flavoring. The base, whatever it was, must have spoiled. Between
us, Jimmy and I empty a bottle of hot sauce in order to make it almost
palatable. But there’s something to be said for suffering through a meal with
one’s closest friend. He’s not cheap by any means, but feeding two people real
food just isn’t in his budget—or mine, for that matter. But like I keep
telling him, I’m not here for the menu. I’m here because my best friend
invited me.
The Zombie Sentinels is a singularly unremarkable
movie. The only thing that makes it bearable is watching it with Jimmy, my
dearest friend. I consider using the time to make out with him. But I can
pick up those vibes in his persona that he’s not exactly in favor of it.
That’s what makes our relationship really work: There are few physical
expectations between us.
My perCom buzzes three times. I silence each call without
looking at the unit. I stare down other patrons. If I were having a
conversation I’d understand and probably agree with the scorn. I’m not.
Anybody can receive a message. You’d have to be pretty foul to answer anything other than a text message in a public forum where others are