"I feel the same way about blind dates that I do about disco, actually," said Mark. "Commander," he added, sardonically.
"It's been a year since you got back," Melissa continued. "You're in New York City for the next week, why do you want to stay holed up in your hotel room like it's the Hab? When you could be having dinner tonight with someone that I personally guarantee is a nice person, instead? She hates disco, also," Melissa added, amused. "Ever since we were kids, she has. At least you've got that much in common."
Mark wavered a little.
"Like she really hates it?" It did sound like an awfully attractive personality trait, when he stopped to think about it. And maybe it would be more interesting than room service.
"Despises it."
"How much?"
"She makes fun of me and Robert, all the time, over it. Says it makes her ears bleed."
"And she's not going to make a big deal over me being Mark Watney?"
"She deals with celebrities way more famous than you all the time. It's her job. To her, you're just another one of my coworkers."
Mark sighed.
"Ugh, fine," he acquiesced. "One dinner. But she'd better not turn out to be a dog," he teased.
"Watney, my sister is not a dog."
"Wait, she's your sister?"
"Hey sis," Darcy answered the phone on the seventh ring. Melissa had expected it to go to voice any moment.
"So," Melissa cut right to the chase, "Watney is in town for a week, and I need you to watch out for him for me. Please?"
"Oh hell no," she groaned. "This is another set-up attempt, isn't it?"
"Of course not," Melissa lied. "It's just that I get worried about him, spending a week in Manhattan when he doesn't know anyone. And you make new friends so easily," she wheedled, "it would be nothing for you to take this guy under your wing, show him the sights, he's a scientist, Darce. He's shy."
"I know plenty of shy little scientist types," Darcy reminded her, "and 'Look! A Pair of Boobs! Watney is not one of them! I'm sure he can find a date on his own."
"He hasn't, though," Melissa told her, "not since before we launched."
"Probably gay, then," Darcy needled her. "Pass!"
"Oh my god," Melissa retorted. "Watney is not gay."
"That you know of," Darcy finished her older sister's sentence. "But he doesn't date women for what, five years. Yeah. I'm sure he's exceedingly normal."
"Well, he said he'd go out with you," she finished, triumphantly.
"Ugh, fine," she agreed, finally. "One dinner, and that's all. And, I get to be the deejay for at least six songs when you and Robert renew your vows next month."
"Three songs," Melissa tried to barter her down. "And you have to dance with Watney if he shows up without a date."
"No deal. Six non-disco songs. Anything I pick. I'll dance once with your potato nerd. If he asks. No photographs will be taken. Final offer."
"Sold," Melissa said.
Oh, for fuck's sake.
This had been a mistake.
Lewis's sister was not a dog, exactly, but she sure wasn't trying very hard, Mark thought. She'd actually shown up wearing a black knitted… hat thing on her head. It was pulled way down low, covering her forehead and ears. Furthermore, it was impossible to tell what she even looked like, aside from her face which was half covered in the aforementioned hat and hair that curtained down on both sides.
She was covered from throat to wrist, wearing head-to-toe black, and Mark wasn't sure what to make of that, either. Was she trying to get some extra mileage out of her cat burglar Halloween costume?
Why did I agree to this, again?
"Nice beanie, there," he greeted her, with no small amount of sarcasm. She was late, of course, and if there was anything that irritated Mark, it was sitting around waiting on someone. He'd done enough of that for one lifetime, in his opinion. "I'm Mark," he introduced himself, and shrugged. He was sure she knew who he was, but it still felt weird to go around acting like he knew how famous he was.
And now, pretending that he didn't know was, officially, just as weird. Fuck me, he thought. There is no normal anymore.
"Darcy. Sorry I was late," she replied, flopping down into her chair, "My boss, well, he doesn't actually like to sign documents, and it took me longer than usual to forge his signature…" she trailed off, and he wasn't actually sure whether or not she was kidding.
"Ah. So, uh, you're just going to like, eat dinner, wearing that?" He raised an eyebrow at her hat.
"It's part of my outfit," she leveled him with a gaze that reminded him, momentarily, of Commander Lewis. "So, yeah. I am."
"Okay, cool. As long as the waiter doesn't mistake you for a commando, I guess we're good."
The waiter in question chose that moment to show up.
"And what can I get you, to drink?" he asked Darcy.
"Something stiff," she muttered. "To match my date."
Mark rolled his eyes, and ordered a beer. This evening could not be over soon enough, he thought. Awkward silence ensued until the drinks were duly delivered. Darcy's drink, a fizzy-looking red concoction with an umbrella and a straw, arrived, and she sipped it.
"Mmm," she raised her glass and saluted the bartender, unseen. "Good stuff."
"What's in that, anyway," he asked, curious in spite of himself. "It looks like Kool-aid."
"It's a Redhead," she said, taking another drink. "Raspberry vodka and Red Bull," she grinned.
"Oh Jesus Christ, seriously?" He recoiled, imagining how that unholy combination must taste.
"And Kool-aid." she added.
"I don't even…" he trailed off, horrified, shaking his head. "Does Melissa give you a hard time if you order one those in front of her?"
"I think they named this drink after Melissa," Darcy smirked. "I was kidding about the Kool-aid."
"Could've fooled me," he muttered.
Oh man, Darcy thought, this guy obviously left his personality behind on Mars. And maybe his wits, too. It was like talking to a brick wall.
What a weird guy he was, too. Who cuts his hair, she wondered. Does he do it himself, maybe? With a lawnmower?
"So," she ventured, "First time to New York?"
He frowned. "No. I've been here before."
It was like pulling teeth, she thought, to try and get the guy talking. About anything. Ugh.
"What brings you to the city? Something for NASA?"
"Yeah." He sighed. "Well, sort of."
She paused, expectantly, expecting him to continue, and when he didn't, she prodded, "Doing?"
He looked at his hands, obviously uncomfortable. "I got invited to appear on a TV show, and NASA said I had to do it, so here I am."
A normal person would have finished that statement by including which TV show they were appearing on, but not Mr. Space Cadet here.
"What show?" Darcy prompted.
The waiter arrived with dinner, and Mark didn't deign to answer. In fact, he looked grateful that he'd managed to avoid discussing it, so she decided not to press. He did seem very ill-at-ease, and kind of fidgety, and Darcy wondered whether or not he might suffer from PTSD or something.
Lord knows, she'd worked with Tony long enough by now to recognize the signs.
It was just like Melissa, to foist her shell-shocked astronaut pal off on Darcy, like she didn't have enough space oddities in her friend catalogue, already.
This was for Melissa, though, so she'd make the extra effort. So maybe the guy's no good at conversation, she mused. And he doesn't want to talk about himself, she thought. Obviously. No doubt he's uncomfortable with his unwanted notoriety. Maybe he feels like NASA capitalizes on it?
Darcy racked her brain to think of a safe topic to try.
"So, Melissa and Robert are renewing their vows," she observed. "She mentioned that you'd be there?"
"Just for the reception," he grumbled, looking none-too-thrilled at the idea.
"Not looking forward to ah, Melissa's questionable taste in music, I take it?"
He scoffed, and Darcy saw the tiniest hint of a smile. A micro-smirk.
"Well, worry not, spaceman," she said, "Because Darcy has got your back. Melissa has agreed to let me take over for the deejay duties for at least a good handful of songs."
"Yeah?" he said, noncommittally.
"Yep," she grinned. "Put in your requests now, and I'll see what I can do. What kind of music do you like?"
"Don't care, really, as long as it's not from the seventies."
"Oh cool, well in that case, postmodern it is!" she deadpanned. "You must be such a huge fan! Maybe we could listen to 4'33 by John Cage, that's your favorite song, am I right? Except.. oh, wait," she trailed off.
He raised an eyebrow.
"I've already heard it played, like a bunch of times, tonight," she concluded with a smirk.
"No offense, Lewis," Mark reported back dutifully, the next day, "but yeah, sorry, I don't think that's going to work out. At all."
"Oh, well." Melissa sounded kind of disappointed. "Thanks for meeting her, anyway."
"I'd say you're welcome, but that might imply that I'd be up for round two."
"I thought you two might hit it off."
Not in a million years, he thought.
"It's okay," he said, instead. "It was fine. By the way, what kind of music does John Cage perform? Darcy mentioned something-"
Snorts of laughter were all that Mark could hear, from Melissa's end of the line.
Finally, she collected herself enough to say, "He's the guy that composed a song that consisted of four minutes of dead silence."
"She said I must be a big fan of his," he chuckled.
He had to admire Darcy's nerve.