Chapter Two: Dates

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The Navy Yard took care of its own, so its roads and sidewalks were in reasonably good shape with the local equipment manned by E-1s after the snowfall. M Street was another matter, as Tim found once he left the Yard. Although a major street, M Street wore an outer garment of slush and ice, and cars moved along it slowly. The sidewalks were untreated, and Tim struggled to keep his balance on the icy clumps.

He did fall, once, hard. Even though he fought against it, gravity won out and his right arm, which he threw out to cushion his head in the fall, took a serious knock. Although the saving motion didn't jar his head too much, he still saw stars as pain did a hula dance around and between his eyes. Gingerly, he got to his feet. His arm hurt like hell. He thought of going home, but he really, really, wanted to see Ivy; after Tony's gibes, more than ever. Monday he would show Tony online pictures of Ivy (something he should have done today, had he thought of it), and that would stop the digs. Maybe.

"Tim! Tim!"

Abby?? Yes, there she was, in the cab that had pulled up to the curb, across the street, window rolled down.

"Tim! Come on, we'll give you a lift!"

He considered it, then dismissed it. "Thanks, but it's only a couple blocks more to the Metro stop."

"Don't be an idiot!" she called. "The radio says all the stations are packed. You'll be there for hours!"

Again he considered. "Well, okay," he called. "Thanks." He started crossing the street, and although he did it at the crosswalk, an oncoming car couldn't manage its brakes in the slush and missed him by an inch.

"Lordy, McGee!" said Tony, as Tim stumbled into the front seat beside the driver. "You were almost geekkill there. Don't you people have any life skills at all?!"

"No, Tony; we're too busy designing equipment that save the lives of you party animals when you've invariably gotten yourselves in trouble!"

"Boys, boys," Abby sighed, putting a hand to her head.

Tim settled back in the seat, feeling his arm ache. "Tell us about your date, Abby. Anyone we know?"

"Nope. I just met him last week. His name is Coleman. He's into alternative things, like I am."

"He's a goth?" asked Tony, sensing the truth.

"A very handsome one," said Abby. "He's a musical instrument maker, by profession."

"Oh, like guitars and mandolins?" asked Tim. "That sounds nice." He admired people who could work with their hands, since he had no talent there.

"No, Theremins and other electronica. He's making me a Theremin. I can't wait!"

Tony recognized the name of the instrument that generated eerie music. "You're going to put it in your lab."

"Of course! Where else? It'll be so much fun!"

Wincing, now from something other than the pain in his arm, Tim said, "Is 'Coleman' his first name or his last name?"

Abby thought. "I don't know. Does it matter?"

"Only if we have to BOLO him," said Tony, followed by "Ow!" when Abby socked his arm.

"Du Pont Circle," said Abby. "That's as far as I'm going; that's where you two get out."

"Me?!" Tim squawked. "What'd I do?!"

"I don't know, yet. I'll figure it out," she said, sourly. "Where were you going, anyway?"

"Well…Connecticut Avenue, a block beyond Du Pont Circle…"

"You're pathetic!"

"That's telling 'im," Tony said in satisfaction.

"You shut up!" Abby and Tim chorused.

Tim was not pleased being in the front seat, where he could easily see the bumper-car journey of the cars and trucks. One man pulled his new-looking BMW over to the curb, parked, and wept. "Have you been driving in DC long?" Tim asked the driver.

"Two months," said the smiling driver in a voice with a musical accent. "Since I come from Ethiopia."

"Two months! Have you ever driven in snow before?"

"No. Today first time. First time I see snow, as well."

Tim blanched. "Aren't you scared?"

"No. I go slow, I pay attention. Other drivers not pay attention. I take you to Du Pont Circle, safe."

And he did. The three passengers handed him money, and went their separate ways.

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Scenario 3: Abby entered the theatre on 19th Street, enjoying the warmth that melted the flurries on her coat. As her eyes became accustomed to the darkness, she made out the admissions table. "Hi, my name is Sciuto. I should have a reservation…?"

"Oh, yeah, chicky. You're at table 19. You'll see the numbers on the tables. Show starts in 20."

She absorbed this, giddy with the thought of her date. "Is my, uh, companion here yet? Coleman?" she asked the metal-clad attendant.

He checked the list. "Not yet. Lotsa dudes are late. Weather, maybe."

"Thanks." She took her ticket stub, walked in and found her table. A waitron took her drink order, and she sat down to wait.

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Scenario 1: The club on New Hampshire Avenue was hopping when Tony entered. Hopping, perhaps, to a smaller degree than it might otherwise on a Friday, given the weather. Tony had no complaints; on a night like this he had no desire to be waiting in a line outside. Tonight there was no line. Everyone was free to come in, get warm, and spend money at the bar.

He wandered the rooms in studied casualness, looking for Madison. Lots of tall, good-looking brunettes wearing next-to-nothing with it only 28 degrees outside, for cryin' out loud, but none were his date. I am getting too old for the club scene, he thought, though short of getting married—a terrifying idea—he didn't see many alternatives.

Seeking a quiet nook near the bathrooms, he pulled out his cell phone. "Hi, babe. I'm here; where are you? Stuck on the Metro? Which station?...Well, don't worry; I'll be here when you get here." He hung up and ordered a beer. It sounded like it might take her up to an hour to get there. Oh, well.

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Scenario 2: Glad the lecture hall was not far from where the cab had dropped them, Tim stopped at the pharmacy next door and bought a container of ibuprofen. His arm hurt unceasingly, though Tim was not sure whether this was intensified by his own general grumpiness at the unsatisfactory day,

The hall was bright and cheery; decked in holiday red ribbons, fake greenery, and thousands of small yellow-white fairy lights. This should be an entertaining talk; Karlov, the speaker, had written two books on physics and computing streaked with wild, off-the-wall humor. Tim had heard him lecture before, and it was a can't-miss talk.

Not date material—unless you had the right date. Ivy, he remembered, loved Karlov as much as he did. This would be fun.

They hadn't discussed afterwards yet, and perhaps he should have brought the subject up. But he figured dinner would be a safe bet; who didn't eat? He knew several good restaurants in the area. Maybe take in a show after that; there were a couple good comedy clubs in the area (Tony would be shocked to hear that I like stand-up!). Or not. And then…well, she was staying in a nearby hotel, he knew…

He smiled, even as he knew it probably wouldn't happen.

Heck, I'll just be lucky if she shows up here tonight…Don't know what she ever saw in me…

"Tim!" A loud stage whisper. He looked around, and there she was, standing at a seat in the lecture hall, waving to him. Ivy was a stunning strawberry blonde, a real head-turner. There was no law in nature that said that geeks had to be homely. Trying not too hustle too fast and look too eager, Tim took the seat next to hers.

"You came," he said, unable to take his eyes off that beautiful, lightly-freckled face that used to gladden his heart on those wintry walks across the MIT campus.

"Well, naturally," she smiled, dimples on display. "Karlov and McGee. Who could pass that up?!"