Jennifer

This is a major rewrite of the first published (4500 word) version. It has so much added content that I consider it a new story.

Very special thanks to AwkwardMD for her critical evisceration of the first version of this story. Jennifer owes her life to Doc Awk as much as she does to me.

This story is a prequel to "A Visit From the Sex Goddess". I created the character of Jennifer for the epilogue of that story. Then I wanted to flesh out the relationship with her that leads up to that story, so I wrote this.

There are some inconsistencies between the two stories, I know. Sometimes that happens when the end is written before the beginning.

"That's a really good one," said the woman beside him. "Have you read it before?"

He stood before the Graphic Novel shelves at the public library, and had just taken down a copy of Persepolis, Marjane Satrapi's memoir of growing up in Iran during the Islamic Revolution. He had noticed the woman already at the shelves when he arrived, but given her only a passing glance before looking for the book he wanted. Now he turned to face the speaker.

She had straight medium brown hair, with broad streaks of deep blue and purple, that went past her shoulders down her back. She wore large eyeglasses with thick black frames. Her face was very pretty, with a slight roundness and an extra chin from the surplus mass she carried - she was somewhat fat, with thick arms and thighs, a bulging belly, a roll around her waist, and very large round breasts. Her figure was just barely hourglass. She wore a dark grey tee shirt, black denim jeans, and boots. Her skin was pale and clear. She stood two or three inches shorter than him.

He saw what she held in her hand - three volumes of Marvel's Unbeatable Squirrel Girl. "I love that book," he said. "When I first read them I thought it was the best thing ever."

"You don't now? What changed your mind?"

"About a week later I found Moon Girl and Devil Dinosaur."

She brightened. "Those are awesome!" she exclaimed, almost too loud for the library. She calmed herself and indicated the book he was holding. "Have you read that before?" she asked again.

"Twice. Been over a year and I thought I'd read it again. I should just buy it, but I already have too many books for my shelves."

She recoiled in mock-horror. "Too many books? Blasphemy. There's no such thing."

He smiled. "You think so?"

"I think your real problem is that you need more bookshelves."

He nodded thoughtfully. "You may be right. Hey, would you like to get some lunch with me? I think we need to keep talking."

"Sure, I like to eat. As you can probably tell," she added wryly.

. . .

"I'm Jennifer, by the way," she said as they stepped out of the library.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Jennifer," he replied. "I'm Tal."

"You're not that tall," she said with a smirk.

"Ha, ha," he replied dryly. "No, my name is Talmadge. Not sure what my dad was thinking or why my mom went along with it - I really should ask them sometime - but here I am anyway."

"It's certainly an unusual name," she observed.

"Oh, I was made well aware of that, quite early on. And because most young children are sociopaths, it wasn't long before I was going by my middle name, David, up until I was about sixteen and stopped giving a shit about what other people thought of my name."

"I understand," she said. "Adults have nothing on children when it comes to deliberate cruelty, I know."

He believed she did know. "You've always been, um, large, I take it?"

She smiled indulgently. "The word is 'fat.' It's okay to say it; it's just an adjective," she told him. "I don't need to hide behind euphemisms like 'big girl' or 'BBW' - I'm a fat chick. And yes, while I was also called things like 'four-eyes' and 'bookworm,' a lot of schoolyard teasing was about my weight."

They left the checked out books in their cars at the library and walked to Mo's, a burger joint on the next block.

"So, Persepolis," she said as they walked. "A favorite of yours?"

"Not a favorite, no. But still a very good book. That it's a personal memoir makes it even more powerful."

"What's powerful about it to you?"

"Her experience of growing up there and then. Living in Iran through the Revolution probably wasn't easy for most people. And harder for being a girl too, at least twice as hard I'm sure. Especially a bright and strong-willed girl like Marjane. I mean, her parents even sent her away to Europe for a while because they knew it was just a matter of time before she'd get into real trouble in her homeland."

He paused for a breath. "Sorry, you already know that; you've read it too, right? I can get kind of worked up on this subject. I'm a feminist, you should know."

"You're a feminist, are you?" she asked dubiously, like she'd heard this before, from other men who were anything but. "What does that mean to you?"

"It means I acknowledge that women are human beings and equal people, no worse or better than men, and I believe society should reflect that."

She smiled wide. "Good answer! You get a cookie, and it's iced with the words 'meets minimum standards of decent person'."

He laughed. "What kind of cookie? Chocolate? Shortbread? Ooh, chocolate shortbread?"

"Just a little round sugar cookie, I'm afraid."

He feigned disappointment. "How basic."

"What other comics do you like?"

"I grew up reading stuff like Uncanny X-Men, Batman, Green Lantern, and such," he answered. "Then I found stuff aimed at older readers. Some of my favorites are The Sandman, Watchmen, V For Vendetta, Preacher -"

"Oh, ouch!" she interrupted, looking pained. "And just when I was thinking you were a man of taste."

"What? Preacher isn't everyone's cup of tea, but it's still good."

"I read the first Preacher collection and decided that Garth Ennis has one of the worst cases of testosterone poisoning I've ever seen. I think he tries too hard to offend people with his work, like he sees himself as part of some righteous pushback against PC culture. I tried The Boys to give him another chance, but he failed to change my mind. From what I hear, his best work is Battlefields, but I haven't bothered with it because I'm not a fan of war comics."

"Battlefields is an excellent war comic," he confirmed, "and again, I get that it's not your thing. You make good points about his other work, too. Sure, part of the appeal is the over-the-top outrageousness, and a lot of it does seem to be outrageousness for its own sake, I'll give you that.

"Jesse Custer in Preacher isn't really a hero," he continued, "but I like his sense of morality and honor - except when it comes to Tulip, I'll admit. Yeah, he's so in love that he can't stand the thought of losing her, but it manifests as overprotective chauvinistic chivalry, when we've been shown that Tulip is very capable even when the bullets start flying."

"I don't think I got that far in," she said.

"Probably not, if you only read the first book," he said. "But of course, the whole main plot of looking for God, to make Him answer for how He's handled the whole 'master of the universe' job, that shit is right on my street."

He chuckled then. "'Testosterone poisoning', though. That's good, I like that."

"It has a better ring to it than 'toxic masculinity'," she said. "And I guess I can forgive you for liking an edgelord like Ennis, considering that I enjoy a few problematic works myself."

"Do tell," he probed.

She shook her head. "Maybe later."

They arrived at Mo's. As they approached the doors, a man walked out wearing a tee shirt bearing the slogan "BAZINGA!"

"Ugh," he muttered as they passed the man, and noticed Jennifer rolling her eyes at the same time. She also heard him, and they shared a knowing look for a moment before they entered and stepped up to the counter.

He ordered first: "Double cheeseburger, please, with extra onion, no pickles. Also a large order of onion rings, and a chocolate shake. That's what I'll have, please," he said to the cashier, then turned to Jennifer. "Can I get yours too?"

"No, I can get my own," she said. "This isn't a date."

"All right, then." He nodded to the cashier, paid, and went to secure a table as she began to order.

"Not a fan of The Big Bang Theory either, I take it?" he asked as she joined him at the table.

"Don't get me started," she replied.

"Then let me start. It's a show about 'nerds' written by and for people who aren't nerds, showcasing all the common nerd stereotypes and playing them for cheap laughs, and none of the characters are really likeable. Sheldon in particular is insufferable. If I had to live with him I'd probably murder him in his sleep within a week."

"That's a start," she conceded. "Those unlikable characters are also really misogynistic..." she paused and said her next words with forced perkiness: "...but in a totally cute and adorkable way!" Her voice returned to normal. "And Raj is yet another case of Hollywood emasculating Asian men."

He'd never thought about people from India being "Asian" before, but now that she'd mentioned it of course they were. She was right about Raj; his character was all effeminate mannerisms and interests, as well as crippling shyness around women. He recalled other examples supporting her point: Long Duk Dong from Sixteen Candles. Han from Two Broke Girls. Takahashi from Revenge of the Nerds - a film that was a problematic can of worms for more than a couple of reasons. The most recent on-screen example of unfettered Asian masculinity he could think of was martial artist Bruce Lee, who had died long before he was born.

She wasn't wrong about the "adorkable misogyny" either. He nodded. "We're in accord then. Fuck that show." She smiled again.

He continued: "You know what's a good show for nerds? Community."

"You know what's really a good show for nerds?" she countered. "Futurama. That one's for the science people too, not just the pop culture junkies."

Ooh, point, he thought to himself. I just got taken to school. "You're absolutely right," he conceded. "So are you a science person?"

She pulled up the left sleeve of her shirt to show a tattoo that had been mostly hidden on her upper arm close to the shoulder. It was a man's face: short-haired, clean shaven, no glasses, and smiling broadly, perhaps even laughing. He recognized the face instantly; he'd seen this picture before. "That's Carl Sagan."

"Got it in one." She smiled. "Have another cookie."

"A smart cookie?"

She winced. "Boo. No cookie, I take it back."

"Sorry." He managed to look abashed for a moment before he spoke again. "So, Dr. Sagan. Can't say I've ever seen him tattooed on anyone's body before. You're obviously a fan."

"'Fan' would seriously understate what he is to me. I was always interested in science, and space in particular, so my parents showed me the original Cosmos when I was eight. It really captivated me. I was so enthralled by it that I read all of his books too."

"I've read The Demon-Haunted World," he said. "And Contact."

"Demon-Haunted World is a very good book," she said, "but not his best."

"What do you consider his best? Suggest my next read for me."

"Pale Blue Dot," she said. "Well, a few of his books can be compellingly argued as his best, and those two are on the list, but Pale Blue Dot is my favorite."

"Excuse me a minute, please," he said, taking his phone out. He logged in to the library system's app, quickly found the book he wanted, and placed a hold. There were a couple of available copies at other branches. "I should have it in a couple of days," he told her.

She smiled then, the first completely unguarded smile he had seen from her. "Most guys won't read books I recommend. But you're going to read this one, I can tell."

"Why wouldn't I? I like Sagan, I like science, and I like your tastes, as far as I know them at this point.

"I discovered Doctor Carl when I was fourteen," he went on. "That's when I saw Cosmos and read Demon-Haunted World. And as a result I stopped believing in gods, ghosts, and anything else considered paranormal. I don't even believe this world's ever been visited by extraterrestrials. Sagan made me a materialist and a skeptic." He nodded at the arm where her tattoo was now covered again by her sleeve. "He obviously didn't influence me quite so much as he did you, though."

Their food arrived and they paused as it was set before them. They thanked the server and then continued talking as they ate.

"So anyway," she said, "to sum up: I had the biggest crush on Carl Sagan when I was eight, and I wanted to grow up to be just like him."

"A laudable ambition," he commented. "How close have you got so far?"

"Haven't written any books or TV shows yet, but I do have bachelor's degrees in physics, astronomy, and astrophysics. I had to stop at bachelor's because I ran out of money."

He boggled. "Three degrees? You're, what, twenty-three or so?" he asked, guessing her to be his own age.

"Twenty-five last August," she corrected. "Don't be too impressed, there's a lot of overlap between those subjects. It's not like my three degrees are in mathematics, metallurgy, and medieval literature."

"You'll have to pardon me, I'm going to go ahead and be impressed anyway." He sighed before continuing. "I bounced between majors two or three times for about five years, before I just dropped out with nothing to show for my efforts."

It was her turn to look dumbfounded. "How do you even do that?"

"Well, it helps if you're me, to start with. I was never really challenged at school. Most of the teachers were just there for the paycheck and only did the bare minimum they had to, to give us passing grades and move us through their classrooms. It wasn't long before I viewed school as more of a glorified daycare than a place of learning."

He paused and sighed again. "Middle and high school were the worst; I didn't have a single good teacher for all six years. By that point I so resented the imposition on my time that I was phoning it in, just as much as the teachers were. Sometimes I would cut classes and smoke weed with the other degenerates, and we'd commiserate about how school was so much bullshit. I still finished with high Cs and low-to-mid Bs, but I guess the lasting damage was that I was never prepared for college. I'd never really learned how to 'do' school. So when I went to college I had no plan and no focus."

He shrugged dejectedly. "Good thing I went to Castaneda where tuition is practically free to state residents, so my only real expenses were books. And I recouped a lot of that by selling them back. So I didn't waste too much money, but I still wasted time."

"Time spent learning is never wasted," she said. "Except maybe in your case. I mean, holy shit - five years at a junior college?"

"I know," he said dully, making an effort to meet her eyes when he just wanted to shrink down into his seat and crawl under the table. He'd always been told he was smart, and he enjoyed reading and learning, but his academic years were a history of aimless foundering. Now sitting before this woman, barely two years his senior and already a triple-BS, made him feel particularly small. "INTP stands for 'I Never Tap Potential'," he said.

She smiled - a little condescendingly, he thought. "You've typed yourself. Of course you have. You took an online personality test, right? No," she amended, "most people who type themselves do it online, but you probably got a book about Myers-Briggs types and used that."

"Damn, you're good." He nodded, impressed. "No flies on you. I suppose it doesn't matter what book I bought."

"It doesn't," she confirmed. "You can't count on the results if you didn't take the real test from a trained professional. Even then the reliability of the test is questionable."

He couldn't help feeling he was making a poor impression, despite their seeming to have hit it off back at the library. She probably saw him as a loser now, and would be looking to cut this lunch short so she could leave and be done with him.

Contrary to his prediction, she seemed to sense his discomfiture and mercifully changed the subject. "Got any good books to recommend to me?"

She's still here? She wants to keep talking? "Not sure if this counts as recommending it, but my favorite book is Cyteen, by-"

"C J Cherryh," she finished. "I love her. At least, I love her science fiction. I tried a couple of her fantasy novels but they didn't speak to me. Most fantasy doesn't. I'm probably the only person I know, in nerd circles at least, who doesn't like The Lord of the Rings. Or Star Wars - I know it helped bring science fiction into the mainstream culture, and I appreciate that, but it's really just a fantasy story with robots and spaceships instead of elves and dragons."

"Can't say you're wrong there," he said. "As for Cherryh, I tried a couple of her fantasy books and bounced off them as well, even though I do like some fantasy - including Star Wars and Lord of the Rings. Is there some particular reason you don't care for fantasy?"

"I'm mostly into science fiction because the best of it looks at what could be possible. My favorite sci-fi looks ahead to the future, whether it's an optimistic vision of what we might do, or a dystopian warning about where we're heading and should turn away from. By contrast, magical fantasy is rooted in impossibility - it's basically a fairy tale - so it doesn't really interest me. It takes something special to make an exception, and sadly, being the classic exemplar of the high fantasy genre and having spawned countless imitators just isn't enough - so Lord of the Rings doesn't meet my standards."

"Considering your high regard for Dr. Sagan, and your general disregard for fantasy, I'm figuring you don't have any great opinion of C S Lewis either, am I right?"

She glared across the table at him. "Are you trying to irritate me?"

"Not at all," he replied, grinning. "I enjoyed our little takedown of The Big Bang Theory so I thought I'd pick some more low-hanging fruit for us to hate on. What have you read of Lewis?"

"Even as a child I saw through the obvious Christian message in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, and didn't bother reading any more of the Narnia series," she said. "I tried the 'Space Trilogy' too, but even though Out of the Silent Planet was set on Mars it was plain that Lewis didn't know the first thing about the real planet. It was just more fantasy pretending to be sci-fi, and more Christian proselytizing. Even Burroughs treated Mars better. I didn't continue that one either."

"You didn't miss anything," he assured her. "That series only got worse, he didn't know any more about Venus than he did about Mars, and the last book was just fucking awful. Then there's his apologetics. Have you read any of those?"

"Do I look like a masochist to you?"

"Heheh. No, I didn't think so. I read Mere Christianity on my mom's recommendation." He paused, and then added: "She's a right-wing evangelical fundie; we don't see eye-to-eye on much, and I actually don't talk to her at all now if I can avoid it.

"But anyway," he continued, "ever since I was old enough to start questioning things that grown-ups told me, I wondered about this whole 'Jesus died for our sins' concept. I was hoping Lewis might explain how a man getting nailed to a post was supposed to redeem humanity, and when I got to that part, all he said was something to the effect of 'A man can eat food and be nourished by it without understanding how digestion works, and he can accept Christ and be saved without understanding how that works.' That was his chance to convince me, or at least make me understand, and he failed hard."