Jennifer

Jennifer chuckled. "Well, to be fair, there's really no way to explain it that makes sense."

"Again, we're in accord." He sighed, exasperated. "I should have expected that kind of bullshit copout after reading the first chapter, where he tried to justify why I should believe in his mythology as being any more true than that of the ancient Greeks or Egyptians or Sumerians or what have you. I bet he thought he was laying out some irrefutable chain of logic, but all he really did was jump from premise to conclusion without showing his work. Supposedly he was an atheist before he was a Christian, but he couldn't have been very firm in his convictions if he could be converted by such intellectually lazy arguments."

"I can't really help you there," she said. "Like I said, I didn't read that book. Christian apologetics is a waste of time to me. Most of what I've seen of it just points back to the Bible as 'evidence,' which is circular reasoning if not outright begging the question. It's like using comic books to prove that Spider-Man is real."

He nodded. "Just so."

They'd beaten up on Lewis enough, he figured, and she seemed ready for a change of topic as well. "So what are the exceptions to your 'no fantasy' rule? You have exceptions, right?"

"A few, but two off the top of my head are The Chronicles of Amber and Avatar: The Last Airbender. Oh, The Sandman too, and most of the associated spinoff comics."

Nice! he thought. Aloud he said: "You continue to show excellent taste in entertainment. I'm quite fond of all of those myself."

"Amber is a guilty pleasure," she said. "Corwin is kind of a self-absorbed asshole, and the casual misogyny of the time when Zelazny wrote really shows in his work." She smiled a little wistfully. "But then I just consider the epic world building and brilliant plotting of the series and I can't stay mad at him."

"You're not wrong," he said. "About any of that. 'Self-absorbed asshole' fits most Zelazny protagonists. But mostly, yeah, that amazing milieu is what does it for me. I keep waiting for a movie or television series, but every time I hear of plans for one, it gets stuck in development hell."

"What else 'does it for you'?" she asked. "You don't just read books and comics, and watch movies and shows, right?"

"I'm also a musician," he told her. "I play bass and guitar and some keys, I sing and I rap, I write and I compose. I'm not in a band but a few friends and I get together to jam most weeks, we call ourselves 'The Thursday Night Music Club.'" A blank stare told him the reference was lost on her. "I'm also an EDM producer," he added.

She rolled her eyes. "Everyone's an EDM producer. Over half my girlfriends make tracks on their phones and upload them to Soundcloud. A couple even have albums for sale on Bandcamp."

"Yeah, I'm on Soundcloud and Bandcamp too," he said. "My artist name is Theta Sigma."

"The Doctor's old nickname from his school days on Gallifrey," she said, nodding, apparently familiar with obscure Doctor Who details. Then she smirked again. "So does saying you're a musician usually get women to drop their panties?"

"Never," he said. "I've never tried to sell myself as any kind of rock god. I'm a pretty good bass player, but the best I could call my guitar or keyboard playing is 'competent'."

He sighed, not eager to share more unflattering facts about himself, but also unwilling to deceive or misrepresent himself to Jennifer. "I've always been too lazy to put in the practice time I would need to get really good. I reached a level that I considered passable, even though I'm far from the level I'd like to be at, and that's where I've plateau'd myself. I'm still young, so I could turn it around and work on getting better, but I'm never going to be Steve Vai."

"I don't know who that is," she said.

Following the cadence of the lyric but not singing, he asked her: "You don't really care for music, do ya?"

"That one I recognize. It's the 'Hallelujah' song, right? I remember it was in the Watchmen movie."

"Points," he said, nodding.

"Yeah... no, music isn't very important to me. Unless it's really grating or obnoxious, to me it's just there.

"I know what you mean about putting in the work though," she went on. She gestured to the burger and onion rings she was eating. "I almost never eat like this. Most of the time I cook healthy, balanced meals for myself at home. I'm not the fat chick who eats a whole cheesecake in one sitting."

"I didn't make any assumptions or judgments," he assured her.

"Thank you for that," she said. "But what I was getting at is, I tried to lose weight a couple of years ago. I joined a fitness club and got a personal trainer, and I restricted my diet - I stopped eating beef and pork, my only meats were chicken and fish, and I gave up dessert and sweet snacks completely. I busted ass two hours at a time, four times a week, for six months, and only managed to drop twenty pounds in four months. No more weight came off for the last two months. I looked a little better but I was still fat, and I figured if I was going to be fat anyway it wasn't worth all the effort to keep those twenty pounds off."

Looking at her, he figured that twenty pounds lighter she would be not too much heavier than the thick kind of woman he found most appealing. He kept the notion to himself, thinking: That's probably not what she wants to hear right now.

"I agree, it doesn't seem worth it," he told her instead. "But you're obviously not averse to putting in the work on something that really matters to you. Your three science degrees make that clear."

She smiled. "Some day I want to go back and make them doctorates," she said. "At least one or two of them, if not all three."

"That would be super cool," he said. "Doctor Jennifer, astrophysicist."

"Delgado," she corrected him. "I'd be Doctor Jennifer Joy Delgado."

"I like the sound of that."

"Yeah well, it's still a way off in the future," she replied.

"You're still young too," he told her, "and Brian May got his PhD when he was sixty."

"I don't know who that is either," she said. "Is he a scientist?"

"An astrophysicist, but I think most people still know him as the guitarist of the band Queen."

At last, he asked the question that had been on his mind since she had first pulled up her sleeve a while ago: "Do you have any more tattoos, or is Doctor Carl your only one?"

She gave him a sultry half-smile and said in a suggestive tone: "Wouldn't you like to know."

"I would," he said, ignoring the apparent flirtation, "if they're as cool as the one I've already seen. Of course, you don't have to show them to me. I'm just wondering."

"Actually I have the ring nebula, Messier object 57, as a tramp-stamp."

His jaw dropped. "Seriously?"

She laughed out loud. "No, not seriously! Holy shit, did you actually believe me?"

"I wasn't sure. I could believe you have M57 somewhere, but you don't seem like the 'tramp-stamp' type."

"You're right," she said. "It's actually on my left tit, with my nipple in the center." The image of her topless, one naked breast tattooed with a rainbow ring, came unbidden to his mind's eye. Her wicked grin told him that she knew he was visualizing it.

He looked back at her, his expression neutral. "You're still fucking with me, aren't you?"

She giggled. "How about that... you are smart."

He couldn't help smiling, unable to remember the last time he'd taken such an instant liking to someone. Maybe when he'd met his friend Paul in college a few years back. Whenever the last time had been, he found himself completely smitten with Jennifer now. She was funny and charming, and her intellect seemed to dwarf his own. And incredibly, though he'd shared details about himself that he was not proud of, she was still here and appeared to be enjoying his company as well. He fervently hoped this wouldn't be their only meeting.

"Can I give you my number?" he asked her. He figured if she wanted to see him again she would call; if she didn't want, he wouldn't put her through the bother of being asked for hers.

"Sure." She brought out her phone. "Go ahead."

He told her his phone number, and she tapped at the screen of her phone, adding his information. A moment later his own phone buzzed in his pocket. He took it out and saw a new text: Hi, it's Jennifer. Call me.

He smiled, added the number with her name to his contact list, and then touched the button to call. Her phone rang in her hand. She answered it, grinning across the table at him. "Hello! I'm glad you called. What's up?"

He lifted his own phone to his ear. "Have you seen Hard Wired yet?" That was the title of the latest SF blockbuster movie; it had been in theaters for almost a month now.

"Not yet, no."

"I haven't either, but I'm planning to see it this weekend. Would you care to join me?"

"Love to. Saturday afternoon?"

"Perfect," he agreed.

She ended the call and chuckled. "Dork."

"Hey," he protested, "You said to call, and I just figured 'why wait?'" He turned to his phone again and looked up the show times at the local cineplex. "Four-fifteen showing okay? Meet you there at a quarter to?"

She smiled again. "I'll be there."

* * *

After Hard Wired they saw another movie together the following week, getting dinner together afterward each time, and going separate ways once out of the restaurant. The second time, they went to a chain steakhouse. "I can make a better steak at home," he commented after a couple of bites.

"Oh, stop beating your chest before you crack a rib," she teased.

"No, seriously. This isn't bad, but I really can do a lot better. You should come try me."

"I'm free for dinner tomorrow."

"Okay, what's your preferred green vegetable? Asparagus, broccoli, kale, or Brussels sprouts?"

* * *

"Hey, Jennifer, glad you made it." She stood at his front door in a black knee-length skirt, short boots, and a black tee shirt that read "Fat Bitch" in fancy white script. He grinned as he took it in. "That's quite a shirt."

"It's just truth in labeling," she said, returning his grin. "I'm telling the world, 'This is me - love me or go to hell.'"

He welcomed her in with a hug and led her to the sofa in the living room. "Get you a drink?"

"What are you having?"

"There's a pinot noir for a dinner wine. I was going to have bourbon neat for now."

"Sounds good. I'll have the same."

He started the food cooking in a trio of air fryers, then poured their drinks and sat with her. They made light conversation as they drank and the food cooked.

When it was ready he poured two glasses of wine; then he plated the ribeyes, roasted asparagus, and baby red potatoes, and served them at his "dining room" table just off the kitchen area of his apartment.

. . .

"You're right," she said after they'd finished eating. "That was a much better steak than the ones at Frank's Turf. In fact the whole dinner was better than anything they serve. I think I'm going to have to buy an air fryer."

"You'll love it," he told her. "There's almost nothing you can't cook in one."

"I'm already sold, but I have to ask: why do you have three?"

"Hey," he said defensively, "dinner tonight would have taken three times longer to cook with just the one."

"Well, I'll start with one and see how that goes. Speaking of dinner, I owe you one. You'll have to try my chicken cordon bleu."

"I'm salivating already," he said as he poured them both more wine, nearly emptying the bottle. "Same time next week, your place?"

"Okay, we're on," she confirmed. "So what's next?"

"I think we should watch something we know to be excellent. Kind of like a palate cleanser." They were in agreement that the movie they'd gone to yesterday had been a steaming turd, and the one before, while not awful, had still not been good. "You mentioned Avatar: The Last Airbender as one of the few fantasy epics that earns the Jennifer Seal?"

"I see you were paying attention the day we met. Have another cookie."

"You keep saying that, but said cookies always fail to appear. Anyway, I have it on Bluray, the complete series. Want to watch it again?"

She grinned. "Does the Pope shit in the woods?"

"Don't change the subject," he admonished her playfully. "The toilet training of exalted religious personalities isn't relevant to what we're taking about here."

She laughed aloud. "Then yes, I'll watch Avatar again with you."

They watched the first six episodes before calling it a night. As they hugged goodbye, he promised to bring the discs to her place when he came to dinner next week.

* * *

To his surprise and delight, Jennifer had bought an air fryer sometime during the last week, and worked out how to cook her chicken cordon bleu in it: "Once I realized that it's just a tiny convection oven, I had its number." Moreover, her cooking was as good as his, possibly even better. Tender and juicy chicken breast had been wrapped around shaved ham and Swiss cheese, and dredged and breaded prior to cooking. "My secret is that I brine the chicken a day in advance." She had also used her new kitchen appliance to roast garlic Parmesan Brussels sprouts; they were crispy and delicious.

The meal was rounded out with thick slices of sourdough French bread, toasted under the oven broiler and buttered. She served it with a rosé wine and they killed the bottle while watching seven more episodes of Avatar.

They agreed to make it a regular thing, each taking turns hosting the other for dinner on weekends. Neither was a picky eater or had any food allergies, so the menu was anything goes.

* * *

Tonight was her turn to host again; it was their fourth home dinner together. Jennifer welcomed him into her apartment; then indicated an insulated satchel on the table. "That's dinner. We're going out tonight," she told him, picking up another bag that clinked with a sound of metal on glass. Probably a bottle of wine and a corkscrew, he guessed. He took up the satchel and followed her to the door.

She led him out into the parking lot, to a Toyota Landcruiser that he'd already seen parked there tonight and last time. She usually drove the small several-years-old Honda Civic that was parked nearby. "This is yours too?" he asked.

"This is mine too," she confirmed. "Sometimes the places I want to go don't have proper roads leading there." She opened the rear cargo area of the truck. "Like tonight, for example." They put the bags in beside a large equipment case, then climbed into the seats in front.

"Hope you aren't too hungry right now," she said as they pulled out of the parking area and headed down the street. "We're having a picnic tonight, but it's still about an hour away. We need to get out of the city for this."

"For what?"

"It's a surprise." She smiled. "You trust me, right?"

"With my life."

"Good man. I think you're really going to like this."

She entered the freeway and headed east, toward the nearby mountains. He put the pieces together. "Are we going stargazing?"

Her face fell a little. "You did figure it out. I thought you might, but I still hoped to surprise you. Yes, we're going to look at the sky."

"That sounds great," he said. "I'd like nothing better than to look at the sky with you. And yes, I can wait an hour or longer to eat."

They drove for over forty minutes on the freeway before she exited and continued for another fifteen minutes on a rural highway through lightly wooded hilly terrain, and nearly ten minutes along an unpaved, unmarked trail through the woods that ended on a clear grassy hilltop with open sky all the way around. The sky was still plenty light, though it was about half an hour past sunset.

"How did you even find this place?" he marvelled.

"It wasn't easy," she said. "We've gotten away from the city's light pollution here, so the stars should be good and bright. Before then, let's unpack and eat."

"Need help unloading the telescope?" he asked her.

"Need help? Not at all, I loaded it into the truck by myself. But want help? Yes, please and thank you. That case weighs over fifty pounds."

After they unloaded the equipment case, he returned to the truck for the food while she opened the case and began to unpack the telescope. He also found a picnic blanket, and spread it near where she was working.

She was obviously well-practiced; the apparatus, a reflecting telescope with a 12-inch primary mirror, was assembled in less than a minute. Then she took a couple of devices - one some kind of handheld laser tool, the other looking like nothing so much as a lens cap - and used them in the process of making some kind of adjustments to the telescope. "What's that you're doing?" he asked.

"It's called collimating," she answered. "Making sure the mirrors and the focuser are in alignment, in case transporting it has misaligned them. It just takes a minute or two."

She finished a moment later, stowed the tools back in the telescope case, and sat beside him on the picnic blanket. "Let's eat; it won't be dark for at least another hour. I see you've opened the wine already."

. . .

Jennifer aimed the telescope at the gibbous moon, checked the view, and then invited him to look. He took a drink of wine from the bottle and passed it back to her, then looked into the eyepiece. The lunar surface was like he'd only seen in photos. Countless craters filled the view, every one sharply defined. "Goddamn, I bet you could see Neil Armstrong's footprints through this thing!"

"Not quite," she said. "I did buy the biggest telescope I could afford, I told myself it was an investment in my future. That's what I told myself, but the truth is I just wanted a Big Friggin' Telescope. Anyway, no portable unit will show you Armstrong's footprints, or the flag he planted."

"Yeah, I was exaggerating, but wow... this is really amazing." He felt privileged to be here as she shared her passion with him. It was too bad that her apathy toward music precluded sharing his own with her... well, no matter. He was here now, and space was a passion of his as well.

He admired the view a little longer, then backed off and accepted the bottle back from her. "Please, show me more."

She returned to the telescope and re-aimed it. Looking through it, she muttered "ooh, nice." Again she invited him to look.

He saw a sphere banded with varying shades of beige, tan, and reddish brown. "That's Jupiter!" he exclaimed with delight. "I can even see the moons!"

"Ganymede, Europa, and Io, to be specific," she said. "Callisto's on the far side behind the planet right now."

He studied it a while, then stepped back and told her: "I've seen Jupiter before, but only as another bright star in the sky. I've also seen Mars and Venus with my unaided eyes."

"Not Saturn?" She moved to stand behind him, stretched her right arm past his head to point at the sky, and said "There's Jupiter. See it?"

He did. "I see it."

Her arm moved a little. "That's Saturn."

He followed her finger to a "star" a little less bright than Jupiter. "I see it, too."

She returned to the telescope and aimed the barrel again. "Check it out."

It was Saturn, all right. The rings were gorgeous, and as with Jupiter, a few moons were evident as well.

Euphoria overwhelmed him; it came partly from the view through the telescope, and partly from her company. Being buzzed on wine intensified the high. "Oh, Jennifer," he sighed, "this is so beautiful. Thank you for bringing me here and showing me this."

"I'm glad to have you here, too," she said. "I always come here alone, there's nobody else I can bring. Some of my friends would be all for coming out and drinking under the stars, but none would be into looking at them."