door.
“Damn it. He’s afraid of a confrontation with someone who sees art not for its monetary value, but for its quality of moving and uplifting people,” I muttered.
“He’s afraid of you,” Brian said. “That barking thing you do.”
“I could do a lot of good with a million dollars.”
“See, I’ve got you thinking about the possibilities, that’s a good thing,” Brian enthused.
“Oh, I always think about the possibilities,” I muttered. “It’s the unintended consequences that trip me up.”
“You’re learning. Now, come with me.” He slipped his arm around my shoulders in a friendly fashion.
Did he expect me to go with him back to his flying saucer? Was he actually a psycho serial killer trying to lure me to some private spot where he’d murder me with an axe? Somehow—I didn’t know how—I was sure it wasn’t because we were married in an alternate universe. I didn’t think so. Somehow, I thought he was harmless. Possibly even well meaning. But, to err on the side of caution, I asked, “Come with you where?”
“Back to the big bang. Which wasn’t a single event.” He leaned his head close to mine and spoke in a conspiratorial voice. “Imagine, if you will, the velvety black of space, with multiple explosions radiating out … .”
His tone was so soft and persuasive that I could visualize it perfectly. It would make a lovely painting of some kind, but not a serious one, not high art, no … . What the hell was wrong with me? I knew better than to let him draw me into his mishegaas.
Brian was still talking. “In the theory of eternal inflation, there are endless, on-going big bangs breaking off from an underlying substrate of inflating space-time. Each one produces its own separate cosmos. Mine, yours.”
Out of my peripheral vision, I spied a security guard walking in the front door, carrying a paper cup of deli coffee. This was my chance! “Guard, guard,” I called.
The guard trudged over. “Can I help you?”
I shoved Brian at him. “This crazy man is bothering me.”
“I’m not crazy, I’m visiting. I know her better than I know my own self,” Brian returned vigorously.
“I’ve never seen him before today,” I said.
Brian pointed at my pelvis. “She’s got a heart-shaped birthmark on her back, right above the cleft in her ass—show him, Tessa!”
How did he know?
The guard cast his eyes at my ass with prurient interest.
“I’m not pulling down my skirt to show anyone my behind!” I said, outraged. But I was a little spooked. How did this goofball know?
Frances Gates must have summoned a pair of testicles because he marched out of his office, braced as if for battle. He asked coolly, “Is there a problem here?”
“Love that suit, hot damn!” Brian said. He threw his arms around Gates and hugged him effusively.
What was it with that crazy man and hugging?
What was it with that crazy man and his absurd, tantalizing ideas?
“Oof,” mumbled Gates. “A simple handshake will do. You’re spewing germs all over me.”
“I’m Dr. Brian Tennyson, physicist at large,” Brian said, pumping Gates’s hand. “Where’d you get this? Is it custom? It’s awesome. Never felt anything so soft!”
“Isn’t it fabulous?” Gates asked, preening. “I’d tell you the top-secret thing they do to the fabric, but then I’d have to shoot you.”
“I always wanted a red velvet suit,” Brian said.
“There’s no time like now,” Gates said.
“Ain’t that the truth. You always think you have forever, then you find it’s over before you realized,” said Brian.
The guard jumped into this thoroughly inane conversation, and I took advantage of their masculine absorption in gossip to do what I needed to do, and then to slip away.
My bag was a little bit heavier.
And I felt a new gumption surging through my veins.
----
----
8
A kiss by any other name
T he lecture hall in Leitner Observatory was filling to capacity. Brian stood near the door,
“Damn it. He’s afraid of a confrontation with someone who sees art not for its monetary value, but for its quality of moving and uplifting people,” I muttered.
“He’s afraid of you,” Brian said. “That barking thing you do.”
“I could do a lot of good with a million dollars.”
“See, I’ve got you thinking about the possibilities, that’s a good thing,” Brian enthused.
“Oh, I always think about the possibilities,” I muttered. “It’s the unintended consequences that trip me up.”
“You’re learning. Now, come with me.” He slipped his arm around my shoulders in a friendly fashion.
Did he expect me to go with him back to his flying saucer? Was he actually a psycho serial killer trying to lure me to some private spot where he’d murder me with an axe? Somehow—I didn’t know how—I was sure it wasn’t because we were married in an alternate universe. I didn’t think so. Somehow, I thought he was harmless. Possibly even well meaning. But, to err on the side of caution, I asked, “Come with you where?”
“Back to the big bang. Which wasn’t a single event.” He leaned his head close to mine and spoke in a conspiratorial voice. “Imagine, if you will, the velvety black of space, with multiple explosions radiating out … .”
His tone was so soft and persuasive that I could visualize it perfectly. It would make a lovely painting of some kind, but not a serious one, not high art, no … . What the hell was wrong with me? I knew better than to let him draw me into his mishegaas.
Brian was still talking. “In the theory of eternal inflation, there are endless, on-going big bangs breaking off from an underlying substrate of inflating space-time. Each one produces its own separate cosmos. Mine, yours.”
Out of my peripheral vision, I spied a security guard walking in the front door, carrying a paper cup of deli coffee. This was my chance! “Guard, guard,” I called.
The guard trudged over. “Can I help you?”
I shoved Brian at him. “This crazy man is bothering me.”
“I’m not crazy, I’m visiting. I know her better than I know my own self,” Brian returned vigorously.
“I’ve never seen him before today,” I said.
Brian pointed at my pelvis. “She’s got a heart-shaped birthmark on her back, right above the cleft in her ass—show him, Tessa!”
How did he know?
The guard cast his eyes at my ass with prurient interest.
“I’m not pulling down my skirt to show anyone my behind!” I said, outraged. But I was a little spooked. How did this goofball know?
Frances Gates must have summoned a pair of testicles because he marched out of his office, braced as if for battle. He asked coolly, “Is there a problem here?”
“Love that suit, hot damn!” Brian said. He threw his arms around Gates and hugged him effusively.
What was it with that crazy man and hugging?
What was it with that crazy man and his absurd, tantalizing ideas?
“Oof,” mumbled Gates. “A simple handshake will do. You’re spewing germs all over me.”
“I’m Dr. Brian Tennyson, physicist at large,” Brian said, pumping Gates’s hand. “Where’d you get this? Is it custom? It’s awesome. Never felt anything so soft!”
“Isn’t it fabulous?” Gates asked, preening. “I’d tell you the top-secret thing they do to the fabric, but then I’d have to shoot you.”
“I always wanted a red velvet suit,” Brian said.
“There’s no time like now,” Gates said.
“Ain’t that the truth. You always think you have forever, then you find it’s over before you realized,” said Brian.
The guard jumped into this thoroughly inane conversation, and I took advantage of their masculine absorption in gossip to do what I needed to do, and then to slip away.
My bag was a little bit heavier.
And I felt a new gumption surging through my veins.
----
----
8
A kiss by any other name
T he lecture hall in Leitner Observatory was filling to capacity. Brian stood near the door,
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