Chapter 13

Harold had missed the day's excitement. He never watched the morning news programs or television, he simply read the paper - front section, funnies, Dear Abby, any smut, while he drank a glass of orange juice and had a piece of toast. He had tried the bran revolution only to find himself in the john all day. He suffered already from IBBS, Itty Bitty Bladder Syndrome, which had driven him away from coffee. This new bran fad had driven him away as well. Then he went to work. He was one of those workers who could ignore everything around him. He could probably miss an earthquake so long as nothing actually fell directly on him. So the fact that he was the center of the rumor mill attention had completely passed him by.

He and Emily had a dinner date at eight in Alameda. He had scheduled it late to avoid the Bay Bridge rush hours. It had sort of worked. He had made it all the way to the tunnel in 35 minutes. He rolled into the parking lot of the Rusty Scupper about five minutes early. He loved to look at the boats in the yard. He loved to imagine what it would be like to sail around the warm Caribbean waters with a woman who knew when to wear and when not to wear a bikini. Harold had a fertile imagination, but was usually too shy to do anything with his fantasies. There he was sailing off Tortola with a woman dressed only in one of those tanga bikinis, her firm taut thighs free of cellulite. Her tan legs looking like she had just finished teaching a Jazzercise class. The sun would be setting in the distance and she would be holding a glass of Chardonay. She would be discussing some geopolitical economic theory, Harold had a thing for brainy women, when her eyes met Harold's. They would both smile, she would lick her lips, Harold would smile and she would put down her glass and walk over to Harold. They would kiss. He would reach around to undo her top, and Blamo. The concept vaporized as Harold realized he needed to get reservations at the restaurant.

"Yes, table for two. The name's MacAnish, Harold MacAnish."

"We don't have a smoking section." The maitre d' looked up from his reservation book.

"Good. Did I want one?" Harold looked at the maitre d' inquisitively.

"No?" He looked back at Harold, like what kind of weirdo is this.

"Has a Emily Bandor registered?" Harold decided to get on with what he needed to know.

"No." The maitre d' was already tired of Harold. He had no idea who this lady was and really just wanted Harold out of his area. Maybe he'll go buy a $4.00 coke.

"Well, I will wait in the bar." Harold ascended the stairs to the bar past massive beams encrusted with nautical lore. His favorite cute saying was painted on a beam over the stairs. "To our wives, and mistresses, may they never meet." He ordered a sletzer. Harold was always a party animal. Emily walked in a few minutes later. She was stunning as always. She was dressed in a black, skin tight dress that plunged to a centimeter from her dorsal cleavage. Her pert breasts filled it with abundance. She walked up to him. He stood. She squeezed his hand and gave him a wet kiss. All was right with the world. It always amazed Harold that any woman, let alone a woman as wonderful as Emily, would go out with him. He always had the feeling that he must be fooling her.

The sun was going down over the Golden Gate. The sky was alive with the orange nimbocumulus clouds wisping across the sky like little sheets of cotton. They watched the sun disappear and just sat there for a minute or two holding hands. Emily was the first to speak.

"Harold, I love you."

"Oh..., Really? I love you too." Harold knew how to blow a moment. "The last few weeks have been wonderful. I've just been wandering around in a daze."

The waiter brought water glasses, a basket of bread and a tub of butter wrapped in those aluminum foil wraps. Behind their table the waiter was seating a young couple with a one year old. The child was placed in high chair and just sat quietly cooing at his parents.

"But you did that before we met." Emily smiled as she teased him.

"More than that daze. More than baseline." Harold picked up a slice of sour dough bread from the basket. He then picked up a pat of butter but in leaning for the butter, knocked over the water glass. Water and ice spilled across the white table cloth. Harold dabbed at the flood with a napkin. The one year old just stared at each parent in turn while they had a quiet conversation in the background.

"Harold, did you see the morning news shows? George was on." Emily didn't even flinch as the flood of ice water and bread crumbs flooded over the table and onto the floor. She just continued as if nothing had happened.

"No, I missed them. There was a bit of discussion at work over it. I didn't pay much attention." Harold unwrapped the pat of butter but got some on his fingers. As he started to use the knife it slid from his grasp and onto the floor. He reached across to the next table and grabbed another knife.

"There was also a discussion on all of the evening news shows, both local and national. I thought you watched the national news." Emily didn't seem to notice as Harold spread the butter on the bread. He tore large holes in the slice and was unable to spread it in anything but large chunks. He then chomped into his bread. Small crumbs collected in front of his place setting.

"I usually do. I have just been preoccupied with other matters." At this point the waiter, dressed in the relaxed island wear appropriate for Hawaii but a little strange in Alameda, walked over to the table and tried to clean up Harold's mess. The young mother handed a cracker to the infant and he quietly ate it.

"Was George any good?" As the waiter left Harold knocked over another water glass and then dabbed at the returning flood with the napkin from his lap and the folded over edge of the table cloth. The child reached for another cracker and began eating it.

"That wasn't the point. It was easily believable, but there was a lot of discussion of the appropriateness of changing the atmosphere of a planet that no one has ever been to, let alone knows much about."

"Don't you see, that is the beauty of the idea. At present we can't go there. We can't survive on the surface. Robotic vehicles can't even survive on the surface. This project will make it so that we can live there: Build houses, shopping malls, parking lots, McDonalds. All the convenience of home and only 50 million miles away."

"Harold, they were talking about a Congressional investigation, hearings and such."

"George will do great. He can sell anything to anyone. We just have to spread the development projects to the right states and the Senators will vote for it."

"They were talking about having you testify."

"Me. Oh? Well, that's impossible. George is our spokesman. Besides, they would make me look, uh, uh, you know..."

Emily just smiled.

"I warned George not to take these ideas of mine too seriously. Now we are in deep kimchi, kinshi, whatever. I can't do it. I know if I leave town now it will just fade away. Tierra del Fuego. That's where I'll go. I can learn Spanish, it's like French only without the complicated spelling and acent. I'll pack my bags after dinner. Do you, would you, go to South America with me?"

Emily reached across the table and squeezed his hand. She had only known him for a short while but she understood how shy he was and how testifying in front of a bunch of Senators would be about as popular as having major root canal work done with only acupuncture.

Chapter 14

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