Page 21 of Flirtasaurus
“Maybe not with words, but your face certainly did. So. Moving right along… oh! You gotta cut that line about the dinosaur farts.”
“What? Why?”
“Because it’s absurd!”
“I said exactly that, though,” he argues. “The line was…” He grabs his notes and scans them. “…the downrightabsurdarguments that perhaps aliens annihilated them or that the dinosaurs did, in fact, fart themselves into extinction… See? I admitted it was an absurd theory.”
“Hey. You invited my team here to give you our feedback. I’m giving you feedback. Take it or leave it. On the positive side, though, your voice? Let’s just say you have a voice that’s perfect for radio.”
“Oh. Alright. I guess I fell for that one.”
“Fell for what one?”
“The insult. I have a voice for radio? Thanks a lot… um.” He searches for his next word. “What is your… I still don’t know your name.”
Has anyone ever had such perfect teeth? They’re so straight and white and standing at attention like little soldiers. Like little pepperminty rectangular squares of Chiclet gum that I want to nibble on. Am I staring at his mouth? I think I’m staring at his mouth.
“Would you… consider telling me, perhaps?” He’s tilting his head downward a bit in an effort to get my eyes on his. I startle to attention and look directly at him. “Your name, elevator woman?”
“Oh. My name is Calliope.”
“Muse of epic poetry.” His eyes brighten when he says it.
“Whoa! How did you…?”
“Astronomy major, English minor. I love studying the origins of things. The universe. Words. It’s a beautiful thing knowing how something began and how it came to be what it is now. Don’t you think?”
Is this guy for real? I desperately want to be mad at him for ditching me yesterday, but he’s making it really hard right now with how insightful and adorable he is.
“Um. Sure. Beautiful, yeah. Hey, for a guy with a thing for words and origins, your knowledge of euphemisms could use some work. The insulting phrase you were thinking of is afacefor radio, not a voice for radio. A voice for radio means that your voice would sound fucking fantastic on the radio, which it would. A face for radio means that you’re ugly AF, and I think it’s pretty obvious that you, sir, are the furthest thing from that.”
He smiles, and I want to kick myself for letting those last few words—which sounded suspiciously like a compliment—out of my mouth.
“Ahem.”
A throat clears. I whip around to see four gentlemen lined up and staring at us. Three of them I know. One I do not. The lights are up to full now in the theater, and I don’t think either one of us even noticed.
My sparring partner visibly panics.
“Dr. Abrams. Hello. My apologies for how this first run went. I did experience some technical glitches, but I assure you I have them all worked out now, and the next time I run the program, it will be smooth as—”
“There’s not going to be a next time, Ralph. In my office. Now.”
“Yes, sir.”
The man, who I have to assume is his boss, turns to leave, and Ralph—oh, his name isRalph!—immediately follows. Before he’s out of sight, though, he turns back to face me.
“For the record, I didn’t pull a no-show yesterday.”
“No?”
“No. I waited on the front lawn for you for over an hour. Lawn. Not fawn. Lawn.”
“Ah.”
“See ya around, Calliope.”
“Yeah, I’ll… I’ll see ya around.”
