Fade to Blink - A Quantum Date Ch. 01

"I'll see you at a table over there." I jumped and recovered, looking where he was pointing to a long line of two-seats at the window. Prime seating. I nodded and focused on the chef prepping my meal.

"How are you settling in?" He set his plate down before taking his seat. Hamburger. With all the fixings. Khaki pants (still), pleated front, leather belt, sliver buckle. White table top, black edge. Tomato. Lettuce. Toasted bun. It looked good. The omelet rich and flavorful in my mouth. I hadn't waited. I hate eating eggs cold. I could hear my mother tsking in my head.

"Good! Fine." Enthusiastic, but tempered. As much because of the food in my mouth as by design.

We slipped into a conversational rhythm appropriate for two people getting to know one another, although it took almost all of my effort not to jump up and run away. Every time he spoke, the gooey syrup in my gut would glow orange, red, orange, pulsing up into my throat and down between my legs. I could actually feel my clit throbbing at one point. You stupid fuck...just breathe...eat...take a sip of iced tea.

About 45 minutes in, the tone changed. Jimmie dropped his voice and all but looked around conspiratorially. I could tell he was thinking hard about what he was going to say next, figuring he was going to ask me out on a date. Never in a million guesses would I have predicted the direction he went instead...and reflecting on it, that's the heart of the entire matter, isn't it?

"You notice anything...unusual...going on...?"

I could tell he had left the object of his question unstated. I figured he was worried he'd be overheard or something. I looked around carefully; chairs, tables, people...too many people...out the window, blue sky, gardens, trees, grass, paths, up at the ceiling, tiles, lights, microphones, cameras. Of course there were. It suddenly felt like a spy thriller. Either that or Jimmie was a nut-case. Wouldn't that be the frosting? Annie...what do you know about this guy? But Marybeth's accounting hadn't mentioned anything threatening...Ceiling tiles, lights, cameras, fire sensors, speakers, air registers, lights, walls, windows, tables, people, people, people...I looked back at the ceiling over our heads before quickly darting my eyes back to his face.

"Uhhh...unusual? Jimmie? In what way?" I paused, looking at him, feeling both relieved at my sudden confidence and the shrinking of the orange goo.

He looked at my plate and, noticing I had finished, nodded to the exit. He turned to look out the window. "You have time to walk? It's turned into a gorgeous day."

"So, what's going on Jimmie?" We were out of sight of most of the squat headquarters building, on a winding path through grassy berms that comprised the complex's courtyard.

He seemed to be calculating his response. "Okay. So, I suppose you're going to think I'm some kind of conspiracy theory nut job or something..." he looked over to gauge my reaction.

Reaction to what? He hadn't said anything yet. My neutral face. Open. Neutral.

He exhaled, apparently resigned to continue down the path he'd led us, figuratively and literally, waving to a modern-art-sculpture-bench-thing. It was surprisingly comfortable.

"Okay, okay, okay..." He took a breath and looked around. "First of all, shit...where do I start? How do I do this?"

It looked like he was getting distressed, but his voice was calm. Caring. This calls for a caring template. I reached over and put my hand on his, not anticipating the orange syrup. As soon as my skin touched his, it flared into yellow and red drips, some traveling up, mostly oozing down. I pinched my thighs together unconsciously, but kept my hand where it was. His face looked at mine, searching for something.

"Look," I said as reassuringly as I could, "if there's something you need to say, I'm happy to listen. But if you don't know whether to trust me, that's cool. We don't know each other very well. And..." the security training kicked in, "if you think you might be compromising your security clearance, please don't..."

He put his other hand on top of mine and looked deeper into my eyes. The anxiety/arousal was in full force: my entire body felt flushed; only my forehead felt cool. Eyes, hands, chest hair, eyes, mouth, nose, chest hair, hands, eyes. My insides were melting.

He exhaled with a little whoosh and pulled his hands away, sitting back to look across the grassy knoll. "Okay. Let's see...You know what MEI does, right?"

I pulled back a little. "Uh, we make components for quantum applications?" The syrup was still moving, but its energy had settled a few notches.

"So, yeah. We do. 'Quantum bearings.' At least that's the cover story." He paused, collecting his thoughts. "And, like all good lies, it has a lot of truth to it. It's true, we do build quantum bearings, and it's true, they are key components to a variety of applications, most of which are still laboratory experiments..." He took another breath.

"But, well, let's just say I've been part of a bunch of conversations since I joined that suggest MEI isn't really interested in those...at least...hmmmm...the company isn't going to turn a profit with those applications any time real soon." He stopped again.

So far it didn't sound too compromising. No details...maybe the financial stuff was pushing it, but still definitely Blue zone stuff.

"MEI -- you know what it stands for, right?" He didn't wait for me to answer. "Montrose Enterprises, Inc. Montrose, as in Dr. Montrose Green?" He looked to see if I knew the reference.

I nodded my head. I don't spend a lot of time worrying about the business world, but Green was hard to ignore.

"Dr. Montrose Green. Boy genius. A gazillionaire. He owns this place." Jimmie waved his arm. "And a bunch of other places...No?" His face open, questioning.

"I...uh...sure. I've heard of him. Who hasn't? But I didn't know he owned this. I thought it was 'privately held.'" I shrugged.

He nodded. "Yep. That's what that means. He has majority share in a syndicate that owns this 'foundry' as they call it, and several other much smaller labs.

"The thing is..." and he paused again, "the shit they're doing in the basements? It's...it's...damn." He sat back, his mouth a thin line. "It's fucked up. I think it's super fucked up."

I turned to stare at him, not sure what to say to that, and waited, eyes open, eyebrows raised. The 'tell me more' template. But that might not be right. Basement meant Red Zone, Checkered Zone. So maybe I didn't want to know more?

He looked around and then back to me. "Not here. Not now." He looked calmer. Resolved. "I...fuck," he exhaled, staring at me, his eyes boring into mine. "I can trust you?" It was almost a whisper.

I nodded, a little scared. What was going on? Bench, leaves moving in the breeze, blue sky, freckles, chest hair, chest hair, buttons, sparkling eyes, sun reflecting off windows. I knew we were crossing a line, but I didn't know what exactly.

"Okay. Just do me a favor, yeah?" He waited until I nodded. "Don't go into the basements. Ever. Okay?"

The way he said it, a small lightning bolt of terror pierced the orange blob, deflating it. I'd already been in the basements! The mid-90 security refresh meeting. Everyone had to go into the basements, right? I'd been there twice so far: my first day and my 45th. I nodded again, my hands unconsciously rubbing my gut. "Uhhh...but I already have...right?"

He stared at me, a look flooding his face. Disappointment? Disapproval? Concern. He looked away. "Shit. Shit. Shit."

I reached back for his hands. "But...sure. I mean. I don't have any reason to go back into the basement...K?"

He kept staring back at the building, nodding slightly.

1st Week June 32 Monday

"Good morning, Anne..." The irony of Marybeth's formality wasn't lost on me. After six months, we knew almost everything about each other. Reading her wasn't any effort at all. She stopped and stared at my face. "Are you...you look...okay?"

"Hey," I looked her in the eye. "I'm exhausted. Probably shouldn't have come in today, but..." I shrugged. "You know."

"Hard weekend?" She smiled, sly or secret-like.

I pressed my lips together. "You don't know the half of it...It was..." I looked around. "You busy for lunch?"

She shook her head. "Roger's?" She could tell it had to be off-campus.

I nodded and turned away.

"Hey. That's a new look, too, isn't it?"

I looked back at her and smiled thinly, ducking my head slightly. "Lunch."

I headed to my desk, nodding and greeting the team on my way. I was hyper-conscious about what I was wearing and was convinced everyone else was too. But another part of me knew that was just stupid; nobody cared what I looked like. And so went the morning. No amount of make-up could hide the dullness in my eyes. When I looked in the mirror I barely recognized the haggard face staring back at me. I looked older. Way older, like I imagined I'd look after two kids and I'd turned 40. I sighed, scratching an itch at my waist, only to be reminded, again, why I was feeling this way.

George bumped into me in the kitchenette. "Hey Anne, how are you doing?" He stared down, concentrating on adding packets of chemicals to the oily blackish water jiggling in his mug. It was lame; nothing could make that shit any better. He looked up when I answered noncommittally. "Wow. You've done something different to your look...new hairstyle?"

George was a moron when it came to fashion...actually when it came to anything having to do with people. Different from me. He was noticing that I was wearing a dress for the first time since I started working here...and he was one of the first people I met back in January. My hair? I change my hair almost as frequently as I change my moods, and in spite of seeing George almost every day, he'd never had anything to say. But now, with an entirely different set of clothing covering my body he decides it was my hair.

"Nope, George. Same old hair. What are you working on these days?"

I barely listened as he dropped down a rat hole, describing some obtuse piece of code he was assigned. He droned on as George often did, reminding me I wasn't on my game. My awake self, the one I usually bring to work, would never have given George an opening. Making an excuse, I headed back to my desk hoping to get something productive done with my morning.

Sitting down I winced, silently swearing at Jimmie and beating myself up for forgetting. I rubbed my thighs and mentally stepped back: I'd only had his contraption on since yesterday, it was natural to forget. Still, he'd have to make a few adjustments; it was chafing my skin, alternately itching and rubbing it raw. I turned to my screen and signed in.

"Hey Anne."

I practically jumped out of my chair, startled by the greeting. Jeez, Annie, you've got to relax a little. I looked up, trying to recover as gracefully as possible. "Hey Henry, what's up?" I pulled my hair back and swiveled to face him.

"You look like shit, Anne." He said it with a smile. "You feeling okay?"

"Fuck you, Henry. What's up?" Smiling back.

"Sprint Review on Friday. You want to demo what you've been working on?"

I didn't let on, but eyerolled mentally. Shit. "Of course. Happy to. When do you need it ready?"

"Where you at with it? You gonna have it done by week's end?

I scrunched my mouth and gave him the look. "Fuck you again Henry. You know where I'm at on this. I'm finishing the last few unit tests today and tomorrow. Mop up and documentation...and now sprint review dog and pony."

He laughed and walked away. I turned back to my screen to stare at the code, calculating how hard I'd have to work to deal with the sprint review. At least I knew everyone and it was only a handful actually in the room. I didn't have a problem with faces in windows on screens.

"Hey. You ready?"

Is that how it's going to be today? Nothing but interruptions? I looked up to see Marybeth standing there. Disoriented, I checked the clock. Shit. I'd been working for more than two hours without moving. Well, that wasn't true, I realized. Every time I shifted in my chair I could feel Jimmie's widget rubbing my skin. I had slipped my fingers in to make sure it wasn't blistering a few times ago. But still. "Yeah. Gimme a minute; just need to close this thing out."

As we walked to Roger's I kept the conversation mostly about the office, upcoming meetings and feigning interest in Marybeth's opinion about the leadership power struggle going on.

We found an open booth and ordered before John, the regular server, had time to put down the menus.

"Coffee?" He asked, gathering them back up, taking our drink orders and slipping away.

"Hey. I need to use the girl's room. Shoulda gone back at the office." I said it in the way I hoped she'd understand that she should join me.

"Whassup?" Marybeth asked as I closed the door behind us.

"You wanted to know why I'm feeling like crap? Check this out." Facing her I lifted the hem of my dress. I knew she couldn't see the details, but Jimmie's gadget was pretty obvious beneath the cotton fabric of my boy shorts.

Her hands flew to her mouth, her eyes opening wide flitting between my face to see if I was for real and back to stare between my legs. "What the fuck, Anne??? What the fuck is that....a...chastity belt???" She started laughing, struggling not to reach out to touch it.

"Go ahead. You can touch it. Yeah. I guess that's what you'd call it. Hmmmph. Hadn't really thought of it that way, but...yeah. Fuck. Chastity belt." I couldn't help myself and started laughing with her, watching as her fingers traced across the top at my waistband and down a little towards the V between my legs. "Hey!" But she had stopped before getting more personal. Chastity belt. As if. But...well...sort of...I guess.

"How...how do you...?" She looked over at the stall.

"Pee? I know. I don't even want to go there. Literally and figuratively." I put my dress down and looked in the mirror, disgusted with the image reflected back at me. I took out my compact and tried to do something, but it was a lost cause. "Fuck. I need about 10 hours of sleep."

"So...?" She stared at my reflection, waiting.

I shook my head, my smile tight. "It's...what can I say? It's fucking Jimmie..."

We headed back to the table and I knew she wouldn't let me off the hook that easily.

"Okay." I sighed. "Okay. I'll give you the abridged version." I looked up and saw she was trying her best to look disinterested, fiddling with her screen, but I knew she would be creaming by the time I was done.

"I thought there was something funny about him..." she offered, trying to make me feel okay about whatever it was she thought I was going to tell her. I laughed. She had no idea how I'd gotten into this thing and she had no idea how funny Jimmie really was.

"Really?" Trying my hardest to make my eyes drill into her. "Weren't you the one who said, 'he's good people?'" I waited 'til she looked down at her silverware. "And listen," I warned her, "no bullshit. This is strictly between us. Strictly." That's the thing about BFFs: you kept your friendship by sticking to a code. 'Strictly' in this relationship was as good as Checkered security.

I had said I was going to tell an abridged version, but where to start?

Mid-April 32

That lunch. Jimmie and I had crossed a line. The mystery, the threat. His behavior. It all jumbled up and left me confused. I thought...I thought all sorts of things: that he'd blown something by talking to me; that he was risking too much; that he had woken up and realized he was threatening both of our jobs. That day, after our lunch, I didn't know what to think. I went home that night and tried not to think about it.

And the next day. I figured if I didn't encourage it he'd just forget about it. About me. As if. I sure as fuck couldn't forget about him. Sparkling eyes. Freckles. Wispy chest hair. Pleated front. A lump? Just a gathering of fabric? I mentally shook my head.

But he hadn't. A few days later he messaged me, inviting me for another lunch. This time he came downstairs to fetch me, but I wasn't at my desk. When I got back to the room I saw him sitting at the windows that overlooked the main entrance and the "visitors' station," aka guard station. I walked over.

"Hey."

He turned to look at me, nodding toward the glass. "Take a look." That same tone of voice: quiet, too normal.

I joined him at the glass and looked over the lobby. It was a pretty nice lobby: granite tile floors, beautiful maple with pink tones, the guard desk a monument to fine carpentry.

"You ever just spend time looking out here?"

I shook my head, glancing between his eyes, the window, the desk, eyes, face, eyes, zipper, jeans, window, desk, front doors, small group milling, back to his face. "Doesn't help me get my coding done."

He laughed. "You might want to get up and take a break every couple of hours, walk over here. Kinda interesting."

I couldn't imagine what might be interesting and shrugged, looking down, chest, waist, belt buckle, shirt, chin, lips, eyes. Fuck, Annie! Get it together!

"Ready for lunch?"

"Sure. Let me grab my bag." We turned to my station and found our way down to the cafes.

"Okay if we take it outside?" He had his tray and was waiting for me at the grill. I shrugged and nodded.

"So," he started right in, both to his salad and whatever was on his mind. "About last time," he stopped and looked up until I nodded. "I didn't mean to scare you."

Well, buddy, you failed. "Okay," I cut into my steak, waiting.

"I just...," he paused, collecting his thoughts, looking over the courtyard of tables. Nobody was too near. "I get this feeling when I'm with you..." Another pause, this time as if I was supposed to fill in the blanks.

I had no idea what the fuck he was driving at. Like I said, my templates and tools only work so well and then I'm blind. "Sorry?"

He exhaled. "I just feel like I can trust you." His shoulders relaxed and he looked calm. "There isn't anyone else here who I feel that way around." His eyes looked almost desperate, questioning.

I shrugged and chewed on my steak -- exquisitely prepared, of course. Medium rare with some kind of Ethiopian spice or some such. Amazing. "What's not to trust?" I looked him straight in the eye. "I'm an open book." Except for the fact that I can't telegraph what I'm actually feeling unless I work at it. Except for that.

"Okay," he whooshed a breath out and focused on eating for a few minutes. "I want to show you some things. But not here." He looked around as if he had been waiting for someone to come outside. "At my place," still looking around.

What was he doing? What is he saying? "Okayyy. That's probably one of the weirdest come-on lines I've ever heard."

He shot me a look and smiled, grunting a laugh. "Nice. You're funny."

Sometimes people think that, but I hadn't been trying to be funny.

"Join me at a club tonight? It's a place a lot of us hang out at. Been cleared for Red2, so we're okay to talk shop...within our cohort of course," he added, his tone parodying the security video voice over.

"Spooky's."

He nodded.

I'd heard of it, but...a club. People. A lot of them. Loud music, I assumed. That would help. But strangers. I looked at him, trying to figure out what he was so worried about. "Sure. I might bring a friend."

A flash of disappointment, or something, before that fucking smile. Orange blobs rising. "No problem. But I do want you to see something, and that'll just be you. K?" He looked for reassurance.

"No problem," I assured him, my voice more confident than I felt. The syrup was starting to bubble. I looked down at my plate, and tried to find a template to get me through the rest of lunch.