CHAPTER FIVE

He was sick to death of cafeteria food, Al reflected as he pushed the indifferent-looking ground-beef-and-mushroom casserole around the melamine plate. The "so, fix it" voice in the back of his head told him he could always start packing a lunch. This prompted a rueful chuckle from another part of his brain. It was hard enough to prepare one meal, much less two at once. Not that he didn't like cooking. He did, always had, but the task of selecting dishes to concoct was exhausting. He simply wasn't used to choosing his own meals. It was like those early days on solids all over again, when the sight of three, even four foods all on the same tray and meant just for him had dazzled his eyes and confounded his faculties.

This mush in front of him was made no more appetizing by the knowledge that less than two years ago he would have devoured it with pathetic gratitude even if it had been stone cold and growing mould.

That last thought tore it. Al got up and crossed to the trashcan, tipping the plate's contents into the garbage.

"Shit," he murmured, staring at the consequence of his whim. Unjustly, the very thought that had prompted the gesture in the first place came back to berate and shame him for the sinful waste of meat.

He rubbed his brow and shook his head, disgusted at his momentary ingratitude.

"Lieutenant Commander Calavicci?" Lauren Taggert rounded the counter and hurried over.

"I told you, call me Al," he said, trying to collect himself and return fully to the present.

"Al." She glanced at the contents of the trashcan. "It's horrible stuff," she said apologetically. "I don't know where they dream up these nightmares."

"It's a little bland," Al admitted. He was feeling charitable so he didn't add that it was also rubbery, with little flaky lumps that really didn't belong there.

"I… could fix you a sandwich, if you'd rather have that," Lauren offered shyly. "There's turkey and lettuce and stuff. If you want."

Al favored her with a grateful smile. "My dear, I would be eternally grateful," he said.

"D'you want a tomato?" she asked, smiling back.

"Love one. You're as merciful as you are beautiful."

She flushed, her eyelashes fluttering. Then she hurried off. Al wandered over to the beverage counter and poured himself a mug of strong black coffee. The food might be some kind of purgatorial offering courtesy of Rod Serling, but the coffee bordered on damn good. As he dosed his cup liberally with Sweet'N Low Al reflected that there was probably some profound message there about NASA's priorities.

He turned back to find a seat just as Elsa Orsós entered the room. He hung back while she chose her food, then moved smoothly to intercept her as she sat.

"Mind if I join you, Els—Miss Orsós?" he asked.

She could not have looked more disbelieving if he had been standing there in a prom dress and makeup. Then moment of astonishment waned and she pursed her lips in fury.

"What are you?" she demanded. "Are you and imbecile, or a pervert, or just an intolerable jerk? How do you not understand I want nothing to do with you?""

Oh, he had got the message, all right, and he had genuinely tried to give her what she wanted, but it was no use. He saw her almost every day, and the lack of even the most rudimentary pleasantries was driving him crazy. Nature had originally planned for him to be an outgoing and gregarious person, and years of trying to undo the mistake had not succeeded. It irked him when he couldn't connect with the people around him.

"Well, unfortunately we work together," Al said, trying to communicate that he didn't think it was unfortunate, while at the same time not coming across as smug or gleeful. "I'd like to work on rebuilding our professional relationship."

"What professional relationship?" Elsa asked scornfully. However, instead of retreating to another table she began to douse her casserole with pepper. "You haven't once treated me like a professional since we met."

"And I want to apologize for that," Al said firmly. "It's just that I like to think of people as individuals—"

"Oh, so that's the lie you tell yourself," Elsa said. "I see. You excuse your shameless treatment of women as sex objects by saying you're thinking of them as individuals—let me guess: individuals who all just happen to want to hop into bed with you at the least invitation?"

Ouch. "Elsa, I don't think that's fair—"

"You call me Miss Orsós, I said!" she snapped. "You can't even respect a little request like that!"

"Yeah, but that's a tough habit to break," Al said, waxing defensive.

"So is leering?" She turned up her nose in an ineffably charming fashion at his look of surprise. "I see the way you look at me when you think I can't tell! Undressing me with your dirty little mind!"

Damn, she wasn't scared to say what she was thinking, was she? Well, why should he hold back, then?

"You probably don't realize it, but you're one hell of an attractive woman!" Al said. "I'm trying not to think of you as beautiful, but I'm only human—"

"No, you have a long way to go before you graduate to human!"

"Would you just put a sock in it? I'm baring my soul in contrition, here!" Al exclaimed. Elsa curled her lip in ill-controlled anger. Al took that as permission to continue. "I didn't realize that you didn't like to be told how—I didn't think you'd just want to be one of the guys—"

She gave him a look of absolute loathing, not even dignifying that remark with comment.

Al scrubbed his eyes. "Boy, am I glad I washed my feet this morning," he muttered.

"You what?" she asked, frowning. "Oh. Because they're in your mouth." The faintest twitch of amusement visited her cheek.

"Yeah, exactly," Al said, hoping that he was making some progress. "I'm sorry. Form now on it'll be astronaut and programmer. I promise."

"You're not an astronaut yet," she pointed out.

"What's your definition of an astronaut?" Al asked. And why did he have the feeling that her definition was tougher than the norm?

"Tomorrow you start crisis tests for Apollo 19," she said. "Then we'll all see."

"Crisis tests? You mean the prolonged simulations, no sleep, as many problems as they can throw at us?" Al asked.

"Precisely," Elsa said. "Then we'll see if you can be an astronaut.

Al shrugged. "Can't be tougher than 'round-the-clock evolutions," he said dismissively. As a matter of fact, he was looking forward to the challenge. If there was one thing Calavicci excelled at it was performance under pressure.

"What are—"

Elsa was cut off by the arrival of Lauren Taggert with Al's sandwiches. "There you go," she said sweetly, setting them in front of him. "I hope they taste all right."

"They look delicious," Al said, taking her plump, pretty hand and kissing it. "Just like you."

Lauren blushed a brilliant pink and withdrew hastily. Al grinned and took a bit of sandwich. It actually tasted like real food. He closed his eyes blissfully.

"She's married!" Elsa hissed furiously. "That's Lieutenant Taggert's wife!"

"So what?" Al said, swallowing and opening his eyes.

She was glaring at him with eyes like lasers. "You don't talk to a married woman like that," she said curtly.

"Being married doesn't make her any less beautiful," Al said.

"I don't care if she's the most beautiful woman on the planet. You have no right to talk to her like that!" Elsa snapped, the fragile peace dissolving. No, shattering.

"She likes it—"

"You think she likes it! Maybe she things it too, but you're both wrong!"

"Hey, don't go projecting your attitudes onto other women!" Al said, jerking his index finger in admonition. "Just because you have a problem with being young and beautiful and—"

"You can't stop, can you?" she challenged, he voice afire with vindication. "You don't even know how to relate to women except in the terms of your next conquest!"

Al could tell she was really angry now, because her accent was growing thicker and her grasp of the vernacular deteriorating. Unfortunately, he was losing his reign on his own temper also.

"You have no idea how I relate to women, because you won't let me get past the initial advances!"

"Advances! Hah! You see? You can't treat us like human beings because you're too busy trying to get us into bed! It's contemptible when you try it with single women, but when they're married—"

"Hang on!" Al snapped. "I am not trying to seduce Lauren! It doesn't hurt any woman to hear how pretty she is, especially not a married woman!"

"Oh, so you'll lie to her to get favors?" Elsa rejoined, gesturing at the plate of sandwiches.

"Now who's having trouble being open-minded?" Al demanded, glancing at the counter to be sure that the round little form of his colleague's wife was out of sight—and hopefully earshot. "I thought you feminists were all about defying conventional standards of beauty!"

"Oh, I'm a radical because I want to be treated like a human being, am I?" Elsa queried, as hostile as ever.

"I was trying to treat you like a human being when you started attacking the way I was talking to Lauren!" Al barked.

"Mrs. Taggert!" Elsa corrected.

"Why shouldn't I treat her like a person instead of identifying her by her marriage?" Al through out triumphantly, feeling he had cornered her. "If I want to be on a first-name basis with the wife of a colleague—"

"Hypocrite!" decried Elsa. "You make me sick! Every word you say you prove you're just as narrow minded as the rest of your selfish countrymen!"

"If that's true, I'm certainly not the only one putting people into boxes!" Al cried. "You're being just as closed-minded about men as I am—as you claim I am about women!"

"Not all men, just men like you!"

They were on their feet now, though Al had no idea when they had got there, and they were squaring off over the table. The other diners were staring. Al scarcely even registered them in his conscious mind.

"Oh, I see. Men like me! Let me tell you something, sweetheart: you've never met a man like me!"

"You're RIGHT!" Elsa shrieked. "I've never met such an arrogant, lecherous, filthy-minded, posturing creep!" She spat out the last word as if it was the vilest English insult she knew.

"What a coincidence!" Al exclaimed, now completely beside himself with choler and far beyond the stage of filtering his words through the lens of a gentleman. "You're the first woman I've met who could chill a beer between her casabas!"

He might have got away with that, if Jacobs—who was sitting at a nearby table with a couple of the guys on Skylab—hadn't hooted his approval. Elsa's head snapped over to the crowd of sniggering astronauts, and her face went white with fury as she deduced the definition of the unfamiliar word. The slap sent Al's chin bouncing off of his shoulder.

"Bazd meg, elfajzott!" Elsa screamed, continuing with her accent suddenly so thick as to be almost unintelligible. "You come near me again, you béna hapsi, and I'll tear you up so that the crows won't find the pieces!"

There were whistles and more sniggers from the astronauts. Elsa bristled, making ready to storm away. Al, however, was determined to have the last word.

"Oh, don't go!" he snapped caustically and much louder than he needed to. "I wouldn't want to deprive all these nice people of your charming company!"

So saying, he swept past her and strode from the room at top speed. As he passed the door a plastic cup full of orange juice sailed after him. Only his desperation-honed ducking reflex saved him from a rather painful wetting.