I don't own Thunderbirds
This is a follow up to Bedtime and will make more sense if you read that first
Thanks to all the reviewers of Bedtime, it made my day.
Dinner Party
Clean shaven, suit on, tie tied
Time to go
Alan has graciously decided to relieve me of duty on Thunderbird five meaning that I can make a dinner date with my three best friends.
I flicked the light off in my modest room and slipped of the island to enjoy my hard won night of shore leave.
The Lawyer now Judge, the Marine Biologist Nobel Prize nominee and the Forensic Psychologist now supervisor and myself starman turned call boy are meeting for dinner.
I took a cab to the restaurant where the forensic psychologist was already, early as is her manner. She probably took two nights off to make this. I joined her at the reserved table near the back, away from prying eyes. Her elegant little black dress clinging to all the right curves, her hair in a twist, strands framing her face, pearly whites and cobalt gaze.
The Lawyer now judge arrives soon after looking harassed. After a sigh, complaint and a drink he lightens up into the smooth talking Texan we know him for.
The Marine Biologist arrives late. Traffic can be murder.
Before we order the Forensic Psychologist, not in one of her periodic spouts of depression it seems has us remove all phones, pagers and communication devices, turned off and put in the middle of the table. Also she asks us to not look out of any windows in case our colleagues try to use smoke signals.
We all laugh
The starter comes and we no, they regale each other with work tales. The judge's great escape from his chaperone. The Forensic Psychologists suitably whipped colleague. The Marine Biologist and the seal with a taste for pens. They question me. I shift, uncomfortable in my spun wool suit so very different from the Lycra, cotton blend uniform.
I tell them about my latest book. They once questioned me about my resignation from NASA. They understand I can't tell and no longer ask.
The waiter comes to take our order for the main course. The Forensic Psychologist gives him hers in a curt and brisk manner one I imagine she talks to a suspect in. It then returns to the casual and light-hearted, London undertones to her Boston accent remind us she's British heart.
I admire the way she alters her voice and face when dealing with people. From narrow eyed and even toned to happy and cheerful in the time it takes to turn her head.
I sometimes wonder what happened to my dimensions as I feel distinctly flat compared to these people.
The Marine Biologist smiles at the waiter in her dark blue dress looking like a princess flashing her camera smile. Only it's genuine. She is a bright happy soul. Who works for satisfaction, not the pay check.
The Judge laughs heartedly. He holds the lives of criminals and victims in his hands, like weights on scales. Guilty, not guilty. Life, Death. Twenty five years, twenty. He left his work at the door.
The main course comes and we all tuck in. The vegetarian Forensic Psychologist tells us of her teen novel which is being published. Her eyes twinkle with excitement. The judge talks about all the social functions he has to attend. He adds that with all the drinking he does hes glad the improved his alcohol tolerance all those years ago. The Marine Biologist jokes about writing her thank you speech if she wins the Nobel Prize. We all then touch wood. I can't complain to them, about how dull my life is, how it's being constantly thwarted by my brattish brother and yielding father.
Desert came and we spoke of current affairs, music and the still unresolved Cavemen or Astronauts debate.
The judge is first to go. He has a lot of work to do. We hug manly and shake hands.
The Marine Biologist slips away. She has an early morning.
The Forensic Psychologist looks at me, her unblinking cobalt eyes boaring under the surface.
She tells me all of them are worried about me. They think I'm working to hard, pushing myself to much. That my task is thankless. I go to speak she hushes me. She tells me I need a holiday and invites me to come skiing with her in a few weeks time.
I am forced to turn her down. I wished I could say yes and forget about my obligations. But I say no. For one thing I have responsibilities, another the last time I went skiing father gave me an ear bashing, something I want to avoid.
As we leave in silence I realise we are all alone. No time for relationships. We are inching to our thirties and haven't got someone going steady with. Our base instincts have been overridden by their careers and my job (I'd hardly say call boy was a career)
I stand waiting for a cab whilst the valet brings the Forensic Psychologists car round. She offers to drive me but I again decline. She turns at me smiling gently and offers me some advice, well more a thought she says: In the line of fire you sometimes get burnt, but often the scars are worth bearing. If humanity isn't coming then take it. We all deserve to have the chance to be. My cab pulls up just then. I turn back to see her stepping into her car. She gives me a smile and leaves without another word.
I strap on my seatbelt as the cab pulls away. If in the line of fire you are likely to get burnt then sneak up behind.
Life may change eventually. I mused getting into bed. We all need faith in Humanity that it may come for us. If not then the line of fire. I fear the line has vanished as has humanity. I scoffed. When humanity's gone whats left?
A voice in my head said routine
And a routine is what I'm stuck in.