A Knight to Remember

 

 

 

©2010 The Angst Guy (theangstguy@yahoo.com)

Daria and associated characters are ©2010 MTV Networks

 

 

Feedback (good, bad, indifferent, just want to bother me, whatever) is appreciated. Please write to: theangstguy@yahoo.com

 

Synopsis: An offbeat Daria shipper about a girl, a guy, and a Batmobile. The tale continues from where “Sappy Anniversary” leaves off, about half a year later.

 

Author’s Notes: I wanted to write a shipper, thanks to a lot of people writing shippers (thanks, hey!). There were many good ones on PPMB when I started this, but the story I wanted to do had to have a quirk in it. The Batmobile supplied the necessary quirk, combined with the dot-com crash in spring 2000. This story appeared on PPMB and SFMB in late April 2006, but it was not a response to an Iron Chef. It popped into my head, and that was that. More notes are at the end.

       This story makes use of a free type font for the title and other bits, for aesthetic value. The font is Cornerstone Regular, which has an excellent dramatic look.  The font is available for downloading (again, for free, and without viruses) at either SearchFreeFonts.com or WebPagePublicity.com. Enjoy it.

 

Acknowledgements: Many thanks go out to the error-catching powers of MMan the Great.

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

       She finished her hour-long set at nine that evening, put away her acoustic guitar, and got one of the bouncers at the Zon to hide the battered case under the bar where it would be safe. She then ordered a strawberry wine cooler and took a drink as she surveyed the noisy, ill-lit tavern, one elbow resting on the wooden, knife-engraved bar. Thursday night’s usual just-short-of-a-crowd was in, mostly Lawndale State undergrads and twenty-something office workers from the industrial park. A few patrons waved at her before continuing their conversations or drinking or dancing to the Zon’s loud canned music. Everyone there knew her, and she knew everyone there.

 

       Almost everyone. Someone new was sitting at the little round table in the far left corner, well away from everyone else. Too old to be an undergraduate, too dressed up to be a grad student, more like someone with an actual office job. Sitting alone might mean he was an upper manager, not well liked or sociable. He seemed very quiet. She raised her bottle, took another sip, mulled over the possibilities—It’s a new millennium, February already, so why not?—and left the bar to give him a look.

 

       Details appeared as she got closer. He looked Asian, as in Chinese, mid-twenties, tall and broad shouldered and rather handsome for a random guy. A spiky-topped haircut with a little down-curl over his forehead—not too dreadful an affectation. He wore a cool yellow button-down shirt with the top buttons open, dark pants, and black leather shoes. She pegged him as an office manager, a bit compulsive, a guy who took care of himself but didn’t get out much. She liked the quiet ones. He was lost in thought, looking at the half-lit stage where she had been performing only a few minutes before, a long overcoat hanging over the back of his chair. Three, two, one—

 

       “Hey!” she said over the background music as she came within range. “Got room at your table for one more?”

 

       He looked up, startled, and his eyes widened. “Oh!” he said in a pleasant baritone. He stood up and fumbled with a chair to pull it out for her. “Uh, sure, there’s room,” he said. “C’mon and have a—” She put down her wine cooler and took the seat “—yeah.” He sat down after she did, his face still reflecting shock at his good fortune.

 

       The stick-thin young woman looked fragile though she moved with the assurance of a survivor. An unruly waterfall of raven black hair crowned a delicate-featured face with bright dark eyes, smiling red lips, and a black silk choker around her neck. She wore a tight black sweater and long black pants and high black boots and two rings on each hand. She was pleased at her good fortune, too. Naïve but cute, she thought, looking him over. Has that nerd vibe going, but he looks good. Kinda sexy in a nerd way.

 

       She almost shouted to be heard over the music. “I saw you and I thought I’d come over and say ‘hey,’ so . . . hey! How’re you doing?”

 

       “Um, okay.” He sat forward in his seat, hands wrapped around a glass full of clear soda as if he feared he would knock it over. He cleared his throat and pointed to the stage, trying not to shout. “I liked your music. You, uh, I mean, it sounded alternative, the music. It was great. I liked it.”

 

       He sounds like Mr. Sulu from Star Trek. Very sexy. “Hey, thanks!” she said, grinning. “I write my own stuff. My name’s Monique. What’s yours?”

 

       “Xiangdong,” he said, pronouncing it sheeang-dong. He said it so quickly it almost became a single syllable. He wiped a hand on his pants and reached over to shake. “Glad to meet you!”

 

       “You, too!” Gentle, firm touch. I like him. Gotta be a computer geek. She pulled her chair closer to the table. “Xiangdong?” she repeated, getting it almost right. “Are you a grad student?”

 

       “Oh, uh, no, I work in the park. Halcyon Hills, I mean, the corporate park, at an Internet company.”

 

       Knew it. “What do you do there?”

 

       Like any guy asked about his job, he immediately became more animated and less nervous. “I’m an interactive strategist with Buzzdome dot com,” he said, clutching his drink as if afraid of having nothing else to do with his hands. “I started there three years ago last fall, one of the first ones hired.”

 

       “You’re an inter . . . what?”

 

       “Oh, interactive strategist. I evaluate server systems, applications, and platforms for portability and independence, then interface them with our e-clients to maximize market potential, boost SEO, link pop, and so on. Mostly I work with ad metrics.” He shrugged. “It’s not really marketing, like other interactive strategists do. It’s working with systems. It’s sorta complicated.” He coughed into his fist, then said, “What do you do?”

 

       “I play guitar,” said Monique, smirking because she hadn’t understood anything he had said about his job. “That’s about it. Except teaching music part-time and working a cash register at Payday. Kills my feet but pays the bills.”

 

       “Yeah, I can see that,” he said, nodding rapidly. “You’re, um—” He appeared to be searching for the right line “—really good with, with, with your music. I really liked that song you did, the one about the highway, you driving at night on the highway.”

 

       He was so flustered and sweet, she had to smile. “Yeah, I like that one, too. It means a lot to me. One of my better ones, I think. You play an instrument?”

 

       “No, no!” He shook his head and laughed. “No, I suck at music. I couldn’t do what you did. That was great.”

 

       She was on the verge of asking more about his work to keep his side of the conversation going when he gestured at her and said, “Have you been playing guitar long?”

 

       “Have I been playing long?” She wasn’t sure how to answer that at first. It had been a long time since a guy had asked questions about her. Someone must have coached him on talking to girls. Guys usually weren’t this considerate. “Well, yeah, since I was a kid. I practiced on my dad’s guitar when I was little, then I played bass guitar and drums in a high-school band. It was a lot of fun. The band still plays in this area. It’s called Mystik Spiral. I think tonight they’re in Swedesville. I used to date the lead singer but we broke up a while ago. He was . . . he was what he was, not going anywhere. It’s all over. Not seeing anyone right now.” In case you needed the hint.

 

       “Oh.” He stared at his drink, suddenly nervous, struggling to think of something to say. “Uh . . . Magic Spiral. I think I’ve heard of them. I don’t remember anything by them, though.” He shook his head, out of topics.

 

       At least he’s trying. “So, tell me more about what you do,” Monique prompted.

 

       “Oh. Um, as I said before, I’m an interactive strategist.” He frowned. “A lot of people think it’s kind of boring, but it isn’t. It’s really challenging. I mean it’s—” He stopped and laughed. “I’m not like this when I’m at work. I know what I’m doing, there. Anyway, it’s kind of like . . . um, second nature, you know. Kind of fun. To me, anyway.” His face fell. “It used to be more fun, but it’s not so much anymore.”

 

       At least you’re not boring. I haven’t been on a good date in a while, and I’m not doing anything special tonight. This could turn out well, if you’ve been paying attention to other kinds of instruction. “You still like what you do, right?”

 

       He had trouble coming up with an answer. “It’s not the same,” he said. He swallowed and pushed his glass away, letting his hands fall together before him.

 

       I hit something there. Something’s wrong. Go roundabout.This your first time at the Zon?”

 

       He looked around the room and nodded. “Yeah. Kind of hard to hear with all that music. I liked your stuff better.” Big sigh. “I don’t get out much. I work a lot. It’s been like I live at work all the time, eighty or ninety hours a week. I have an apartment, but I don’t stay there long. Things keep happening at work and I have to stay on top of it.”

 

       A look of disbelief crossed Monique’s face. Eighty or ninety hours a WEEK? “Oh, man! What kinds of things happen there?”

 

       “Uh . . .” He hesitated, then came to an internal decision and went on. “Well, we’re having trouble with our clients, the people who get services from our company. Or maybe it’s that they’re having trouble with us, with our interfacing. They’re either not using our products right, which I know some of them aren’t, or . . . or we’re not making the . . . I don’t know. I probably shouldn’t talk about it, and it’s probably boring.”

 

       A little bit, but I love secrets. Monique rested her chin on her hand, elbow on the table. “I won’t tell,” she promised. “I probably won’t even understand it, and no one else can hear you. Go ahead!”

 

       Xiangdong looked relieved and leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Okay. It’s just that we’re having a lot of problems lately. It hasn’t gotten out, but . . . things aren’t going as well as they used to. We bundled a pack of apps, I mean applications, for this one client, this company that sells pet grooming supplies by Internet. We tailored the apps for their platform right on the money, but they couldn’t do anything with what we sent them. I don’t know what the problem is. I don’t usually worry about it, but it’s happening a lot lately. I don’t know if it’s the clients or us or what, but everything’s going wrong.”

 

       He paused, looking at the table and chewing his lower lip. Monique waited patiently.

 

       “There’s more going than that,” he said, not looking up. “It’s a lot of little stuff, but it adds up. Things aren’t going well. We’re rushing stuff, moving too fast, not taking care of the details. It’s a big problem. Noah—Noah Barkman, I mean, he’s the CEO of Buzzdome—he thinks it’s nothing. He doesn’t see anything wrong. I showed him some of what I thought was going on, but he blew it off. He said I didn’t have any e-vision.” Xiangdong made a face, clearly stung. “It really got to me that he said that, like I didn’t know my own job. I can’t believe he said that.”

 

       “So, you’re seeing something big happening, but your boss—”

 

       “He calls all the trouble speed bumps, you know, just little bumps in the road. You have to run over the bumps, he says, but it’s not all bumps, not to me.” He became animated and spoke faster. “It’s big. I really think it’s bigger than people realize, but no one seems to get it. It’s like . . . I don’t know how to say this . . . you know, you can’t put too many tigers in one place, okay, because there wouldn’t be enough food for them to eat, right? Too many tigers in one place, some of the tigers will starve to death or eat each other.”

 

       Monique nodded. He made sense so far, but—

 

       “Well, you can’t have too many e-businesses like ours, facilitating clients into the ‘net. That’s more-or-less our niche, our specialty, but it’s overrun. In Lawndale alone, there are five companies just like ours, doing exactly what we do. We’re the biggest shark in the pond, Noah likes to say, and we’ve got it made because we’re all fighting for market share and only one shark can win locally, meaning us. But, see, we’re not in a pond. We’re in a big worldwide ocean, competing against lots of other companies just like ours across the planet, and we’re really not anywhere near the biggest shark in our niche. We’re . . . we’re kind of like nothing, if you want to know the truth. We can’t even define in one sentence what it is we really do. Noah can’t even do it. He says we help other start-ups maximize their potential, but that doesn’t mean anything. I can’t define what it is we do, either, things are so confused. I mean, it’s ridiculous.”

 

       He played with his drink. “We’re a little tiger that’s gonna get eaten or starve, real soon. I can feel it coming. We’re running out of venture capital, we’re not making a profit yet, and our debts are stupendous. Too many sharks and not enough food—clients, I mean. Not enough clients.” He looked ashamed as he continued. “Plus, we’re making mistakes from rushing things through. There’s this lady who works for us, Jackleene, who interfaces with clients. She’s like the complaints department, but she’s doing most of the complaining. She’s always yelling at customers who call us with their problems, telling them they’re stupid. She shouldn’t do that because it drives people away, but more people are calling her with more problems, especially lately, and she’s losing her temper all the time now. Plus, our stuff’s not working as well as it should. I don’t think it’s me causing the problems, but I can’t tell anymore. I’m too close to the problems to see it, maybe. We can’t afford to make mistakes like that. People go somewhere else when you screw up on them, and I think more clients are leaving us than are coming in. It’s not good. And it’s happening all over to a lot of other places, not just us. I keep hearing things about it through the grapevine.”

 

       This is weird, she thought. I don’t understand some of what he’s talking about, but he sounds like he’s on to something big the way he talks about it. It is a little boring, but who knows? Won’t affect me, probably. “What do you think you can do about it?”

 

       Xiangdong looked at her, then down at the table. “Nothing,” he said. He looked up again. “That’s why I liked listening to you sing tonight. It took my mind off things.” He looked embarrassed. “This is the most relaxed I’ve felt in months.”

 

       Funny. He looks as tight as a steel cable. “You’re welcome, but that’s really sad that you don’t think you can do anything about it.”

 

       Xiangdong gave her a painful smile. “Actually,” he began, then hesitated a moment before going on. “Actually, I thought about getting out. Quitting, retiring, cashing in my stock options and everything else and moving on with my life. The time’s about right.” He looked up, anxious. “I don’t want anyone to know about me doing this. I want to wrap things up and get out, not get fired and lose everything.”

 

       “I won’t tell,” she said solemnly, and she held up a hand as if swearing an oath. “Promise.”

 

       He smiled back in relief. “That’s okay. I’m sorry I’m talking about me and my work so much. I don’t mean to. My sister says I talk about my work all the time and no one wants to hear about it. I think about work all day long, about things like, what’s the best server platform for this client or that, tweaking apps, et cetera. It’s really got me down lately. Um, maybe you could tell me more about you.”

 

       He did it again. What a nice guy. Wonder what his downside is, and how soon I’ll see it. Monique blew out her breath and straightened in her seat. “About me. Well, I’m twenty-three, I like music, and I want to get out of here. I mean, really get out of here. I want to go away somewhere for a while and grow, grow musically, but maybe grow in other ways, too. I went to college for a while, here in town, but . . . well, the money ran out, and I had to work. My parents can’t afford to help. Now I don’t know if I can go back to school, I’m so used to being out of it.”

 

       “What were you majoring in?”

 

       “Oh, music, of course. The music school at Lawndale State is okay, not great, but it wasn’t bad. I made it for two years before I dropped out.” She sighed heavily, looking away. “I tried bumming around once, went up to New York City, but I had to come back. Too expensive to live there or do anything else. Sure couldn’t get any gigs for my music. Anyway—” She gestured to brush the problem aside “—I came back and decided not to let myself stagnate if I was going to hang around here. I keep busy with songwriting, experimenting, trying new things, but I’m mostly writing about myself, I guess. Write what you know, they say. I think I know myself a little too well, though.” I can’t believe I actually told someone all this stuff, she thought. Guys never want to hear about me, they just want to slam it to me. Hope I’m not driving him nuts. She glanced back at Xiangdong and smiled briefly. “I get bored with myself. Other people are a lot more interesting than I am.”

 

       The remark caused Xiangdong to snort and hide a smile.

 

       “What?” she asked. “Are you laughing? C’mon, what was so funny?”

 

       “Oh, just . . . you saying you weren’t interesting, and I thought that was funny.”

 

       “What, you think I’m interesting?”

 

       Xiangdong nodded, looking embarrassed.

 

       “Well, that’s a new one. You must be drinking something other than a soda. Anyway, I’d like to travel. Did I say that already? Yeah, I’d like to get out and see the world. Did you ever go anyplace?”

 

       “Um . . .” He looked at the ceiling in thought. “Hong Kong, but that’s where my parents are from. My grandparents still live there, all four of them. We’ve been back a few times, but not since it went back to China. Have to wait and see if we go again.”

 

       Hong Kong?” Monique rested her chin on one hand, elbow on the table. “What’s that like?”

 

       He laughed. “Big. Crowded. About a million times more crowded than Lawndale. I still love it, it’s very exciting. It’s what I think of when I think about a real city, not something like, you know, Lawndale. New York City’s nice, most of it. I’ve been around a lot, mostly on business for the company, conferences and things like that, to Miami, Seattle, Chicago, London, other places.” He looked down at the tabletop. “I wanted to climb Mount Everest once, but not anymore. That was dumb.”

 

       Mount Everest? Are you kidding me? You were going to climb Mount Everest?

 

       “Yeah, really, I was. I had everything set up to go once. I’d made travel arrangements and everything, was going to fly to Katmandu and trek out with a group from the base camp, do the whole thing. I had it all set up, and then . . .” His expression changed and became distant and strained “—then I had this dream. It was the weirdest thing. I dreamed I was on top of Mount Everest, by myself, and I could see to the ends of the earth. I was so high up, I was above the atmosphere, the highest place that a human being could ever go, and then I realized . . . I had nowhere else to go but down. I could climb down or fall down, one or the other, but I was going to come down, and soon. I couldn’t stay at the top of the world forever, like I wanted.” He spread his hands. “And that was when I decided not to go. I’d wanted to go because . . . I don’t know why. I guess I wanted to go because I could. And then I realized I didn’t have to go. It didn’t prove anything to do it. And I’d have to come down again.” He sighed. “Kind of like what’s happening in my life now.”

 

       You must make a lot of money to do all this stuff, Monique suddenly thought—but she did not say that aloud, knowing it would be the wrong thing to bring up to this particular guy. She waited for more.

 

       “You know, it’s funny,” he said, still looking at the tabletop, “there was this old guy, Jake someone or other that Noah hired a while back to be part of our work node. I don’t remember what he was supposed to do, but he was sort of, um, he was like in his fifties and trying to be cool and everything, trying to make it in a dot com, but he couldn’t keep up. We move very fast—” Xiangdong snapped his fingers rapidly, pop-pop-pop “—so Noah had to let him go, but then he took Jake on as a consultant to show us how old people interacted with our products, giving us a look into that old-folks mindset. Anyway, the point was, for the day or two Jake was around, I got to watching him because he was so weird, you know, just this goofy old guy who didn’t get it, but then it hit me that maybe in a way he did get it, and I didn’t.”

 

       He hesitated, thinking of how to explain it. “He had a wife and kids, and he talked about his kids all the time. He had these two girls, one was really smart and the other was really cute or something, and he was so proud of his kids, you could really tell it in his voice, how he talked about them. He had all these pictures of his family, which was really funny, but when he talked about them he got all schmaltzy and sentimental, and after a while I began to get the idea that maybe he knew something that I didn’t, and that really bothered me. Here was this old guy who wasn’t any good at his job or anything, but he had something I didn’t, something that really mattered, and I didn’t know if I would ever have it.” Xiangdong frowned, too much revealed, and he shook his head. “It wasn’t important. Sorry. It just bothered me, that’s all.”

 

       “You want to go out somewhere that’s not as loud as this?” said Monique suddenly. “Maybe get something at that Seattle Coffee place? My treat.”

 

       “Uh . . .” He looked around the dark, riotous Zon. “Sure. My treat, though.”

 

       “No, your treat some other time. My treat now.”

 

       Thankfully, he gave in without further argument. “Okay. My treat later.”

 

       “You mind walking? My Metro’s in for repairs again, and it’s only three blocks to the shop.”

 

       “I don’t mind.”

 

       They left after they got their coats and she got her guitar case. He carried the case for her. It was cold outside but neither noticed it. They made small talk about Lawndale’s pros and cons, delighted that they didn’t have to shout to make themselves understood. Things clicked. Then they reached the coffee shop.

 

       It was closed.

 

       “Looks like the floor’s all wet,” said Monique, peering through the windows. “A pipe must’ve broken. They’ve got a water vac or something running.”

 

       “We could get my car and I’ll show you where I work,” said Xiangdong. “We could go out afterward.”

 

       She shrugged. “Sure. My treat still?”

 

       “Okay. What kind of food do you like?”

 

       “What kind of food do you like?” I wonder if he’ll say Chinese.

 

       A quirky smile curved his lips. “Well,” he said, “I’m kind of sick of Chinese, because everyone at work gets carryout, but anything else you want to try is great with me.”

 

       Monique laughed and leaned toward him. He put an arm about her and gave her a friendly hug, but the hug lasted longer than friendship would have demanded.

 

       “Where’s your car?” she said, hugging him back. Their arms then dropped and their hands came together naturally. They were at exactly the right height to hold hands in perfect comfort. Monique felt giddy. About time a date got off to a good start. Hope he waits until after dinner before he asks me to sleep with him. I hate rushing it.

 

       “It’s at a garage two blocks over that way. Uh, I might have to move some stuff around in it so we’ll both fit in. I brought some work with me. I’ll get it out of the passenger seat.”

 

       “Sure, whatever.” They trudged on through the February evening. Monique wondered what kind of car he had: Mercedes, Porsche, Corvette, all of the above? “So, how do you like Y2K?” she asked.

 

       “It’s a lot like Y2K minus one, so far.”

 

       “Did you stockpile stuff in case everything blew up?”

 

       “No,” he said with a touch of disdain. “I knew it wouldn’t. That was a lot of crap.”

 

       She hoped the disdain wasn’t aimed at her. “So, what did you do at midnight on New Year’s Eve?” After she asked it, she realized it was a dangerous question. He could have been kissing a girlfriend.

 

       “Nothing.”

 

       She hesitated a beat. “Nothing?”

 

       “Yeah. I was working.”

 

       She looked at him, startled. “You were at work on New Year’s? Are you kidding me?” She said it even though she knew he wasn’t.

 

       He shrugged. “I had a lot to do.”

 

       “Wow,” she said. “If you didn’t work, what would you do with yourself?”

 

       The silence stretched just a little too long. Well, I guess that’s the end of his dream, she thought. He’ll keep working and working because he doesn’t know what else to do with himself. This might be the end of our date, too. I hope I didn’t irritate him when I asked

 

       “I’d like to keep busy doing something,” Xiangdong said at last. “I love computers, it’s really exciting, but I’d like to do something a little different than what I’m doing. Not sure what exactly, not yet. I’d like to work for myself for a change, but . . .” He sighed heavily as they walked. Monique glanced at him and saw he was looking at the ground with a dispirited air. “I have all these ideas, but none of them sound like they’d be any good. I don’t have the kind of vision it takes to create my own company the way that Noah did, even if he doesn’t see what I do. I feel like I do better when I’m working for someone else, but—”

 

       “Can you work freelance?”

 

       “Freelance? You mean contract work?”

 

       “I guess. You wouldn’t have to work for anyone directly, but you could be a consultant.” She grinned mischievously at Xiangdong. “You could show other people how young people think, the opposite of what that guy Jake was doing.”

 

       Xiangdong turned to her with a pained but tolerant expression.

 

       She giggled. “Hey, I’m just sayin’! Okay, let me ask you this: What’s the most important thing you think people should be thinking about right now?”

 

       He became instantly solemn. “What’s most important?” There was no delay before his response. “Survival of the species. Ensuring that the human race continues, no matter what happens.”

 

       “Okay,” she said, taken aback because this was not what she thought he was going to say. “And what’s the best way to do that?”

 

       “Uh,” he said, and thought about it for one second. “Expand the options available for space travel. Get us out into the universe big time, as soon as possible, everywhere.”

 

       She blinked. Whoa, that came out of left field. “Then get a job with NASA,” she finished, shooting from the hip. “Be a consultant for them on space stuff, computer stuff.”

 

       There was another long silence. She looked at him again, but he didn’t appear upset at what she’d said. He looked surprised, wide eyed and open mouthed. Oh, now, that couldn’t have been THAT big a brainstorm. Unless he really does have trouble coming up with ideas for things to do on his own. Hmmm. She looked around. “We’re at the garage,” she said. “Or did you mean another one?”

 

       “What?” He shook himself and looked around, giving her hand a squeeze. “Oh, yeah, it’s this one.” He led her into the three-story parking structure to the attendant’s booth at the exit.

 

       “Is that your car?” she asked, nodding toward a dark-green Jaguar XKE parked nearby.

 

       “No, that’s Joe’s,” said Xiangdong. He let go of her hand and waved at the attendant. “Joe!”

 

       “Dude!” called the overweight, bushy-bearded attendant wearing a gray sweat suit. He bent down, then got up again with a set of keys. “Here you go, Mister Wayne! Have a good one!”

 

       “Your last name is Wayne?” asked Monique.

 

       “No,” said Xiangdong. “It’s Li.”

 

       “L-e-e?”

 

       “L-i,” he corrected. Xiangdong took the keys as he walked up, then waved and set off for a ramp going down to a subterranean parking level. DO NOT ENTER, read a sign on the massive wire-mesh gates at the ramp entrance.

 

       “Then why did he call you Mister Wayne?” Monique asked, walking faster to catch up. Xiangdong had a longer stride than she did.

 

       A clank sounded from the gates, which began to slide apart with loud rumbling and rattling noises. “I don’t come here often,” said Xiangdong, ignoring her question, “but I rent parking by the month anyway. The security’s worth it.” He looked back and slowed down, reaching for her hand as they walked through the gate. “Oh, sorry. Didn’t mean to get ahead like that.”

 

       “So, why’d he call you Mister Wayne?”

 

       He smiled but didn’t answer. They rounded a corner at the bottom of the ramp and she looked around the almost empty garage level. There was only one vehicle present under the fluorescent lights.

 

       Monique gasped, came to a halt, and let go of Xiangdong’s hand. Xiangdong stopped beside her and gave the vehicle an admiring look. “Nice, huh?” he said.

 

       The vehicle wasn’t exactly a car. It was blacker than night, a gleaming fighter-jet on wheels, low slung and wide and streamlined and over twenty feet long, sitting across several parking spaces at once. What appeared to be a turbojet intake dominated the front of the vehicle. Winglike fins rose at the rear.

 

       “Holy sh—” Monique gasped, almost forgetting herself “—shoot! Ohmigod!”

 

       “I like it, too,” Xiangdong said, his smile growing. He pointed. “It’s the Batmobile used in the first Batman movie from eighty-nine, the one with Jack Nicholson as the Joker and Michael Keaton as Batman. It wasn’t really the first Batman movie, just the first of the new ones, you know. It was used in the second Batman movie, too. I’m not supposed to call it a Batmobile for copyright reasons, so it’s a Gotham Cruiser, but what the heck. They’re supposed to be coming out with another movie with a different Batmobile in—”

 

       “You are like totally kidding me! This is the real Batmobile?

 

       “Well, yeah, with modifications,” he said, and he put on his lecture face. “There are several different kinds of Batmobiles, like the one from the old TV show or that big tanklike one from The Dark Knight Returns, but I think this one is the most aesthetically attractive. What do you—” He turned to her and noticed she was pointing at his face “—uh, think?”

 

       “I read about you in the papers!” she exclaimed. “I can’t believe it! You’re the—the—” The computer geek with over ten million dollars “—the Batmobile guy! This is great! Oh, wow!”

 

       He shrugged self-consciously, trying not to smile too broadly and look too smug. “Now you know all my secrets,” he said. “So, you want to be Robin for the night?”

 

       “Are we going for a ride in that thing?”

 

       He pulled a keychain from his coat pocket and pressed a button on a small black case shaped like the Batman logo. The Batmobile chirped and its lights flashed. Then the entire roof over the small interior compartment lifted away like the canopy over the cockpit of a military jet, revealing two bucket seats with not a lot of room around them.

 

       “The roof doesn’t move forward like it does in the movies,” Xiangdong said. “It worked better to get in this way, so I had it rebuilt.” He scratched his nose. “I had a lot of this car rebuilt. There’s still one big problem, though.”

 

       “Where’re the doors?” Monique asked, looking the car over.

 

       “Uh, yeah, that’s the problem. In the movie, Batman just climbed in and out of the driver’s seat. It doesn’t work too well like that in real life. I’ve scratched up the paint with my shoes and gotten dirt and mud all over and everything, and getting inside while it’s raining really sucks, but I can’t really put in a door to the front seats without messing up the car’s design even more than redoing the roof did. It runs great, but it’s hard to get in it and hard to get out of it. Anyway, you wanna go for a ride?”

 

       “Yeah!” said Monique. Her face filled with delight. “Let’s do it!”

 

       The top of the Batmobile’s low body came up to Monique’s hips, and there was a two-foot space across the top to get to the interior. Without a door, entry was going to be clumsy at best. Am I ever glad I’m wearing pants tonight, Monique thought as she considered how she was going to get into the passenger side. On the other hand, with this guy . . . nah, I’d better slow down. I don’t want to mess this up. This guy’s no Trent; I hit the jackpot this time.

 

       Part of the entry problem solved itself when Xiangdong opened a panel door and pulled out a small attached ladder that let her climb up, swing a leg over into the cockpit to an interior footrest, and then climb down inside. She handed out a stack of paperwork and a laptop computer that were taking up the bucket passenger seat, then sat down as Xiangdong pushed the ladder back inside, then walked around to the back of the car. She heard what sounded like a trunk door open and shut, then he reappeared on her left to pull out the ladder on the driver’s side and climb in as well, pulling the ladder in after him.

 

       “I put your guitar and my stuff in back,” he said. “Despite how big this thing is, there isn’t a lot of storage space.”

 

       “Wow,” she said. She was marveling at how comfortable the seat was, how far she sank into it. “Does this have like a massage thing built into it, too?”

 

       “A massager?” Xiangdong looked thoughtful, almost frowning. “I hadn’t thought of that. I bet I could have one put in the next time it goes into the shop. I think it could fit in. Maybe a foot massager, too.”

 

       God, you’re killing me, stop it. She turned to her left, pushed herself up, and leaned toward him over the gear shifts. He looked up as her red mouth came down and met his. Her black hair fell over his face. He tasted like the wintergreen breath mint he had sneaked in while they were leaving the Zon. They kissed a long time.

 

       “Thank you,” she whispered when she came up for air. “This is the best time I’ve ever had.”

 

       “Uh . . . good!” he gasped.

 

       She kissed him again, a quick one, then settled back in her seat. “Whenever you’re ready, Batman,” she said, buckling in.

 

       He appeared to have trouble remembering how to start the car. After fumbling around, he hit a switch. “The top’s coming down, keep your hands inside,” he said. With a quiet hum, the canopy began to descend. Dozens of dashboard lights and dials in front of the driver’s seat lit up brightly and flashed twice, then began blinking or changing color. Tiny monitor screens came to life. One twelve-inch monitor was directly in front of Monique; in moments it showed a colorful Internet webpage for a Buzzdome dot com employee named Xiangdong Li. He had two hundred and sixty-seven e-mails.

 

       “Jeez, you’ve got mail!” said Monique, pointing to the monitor.

 

       “I’ve always got mail,” he sighed. “Most of it’s junk. The spam filter needs tweaking.”

 

       The tinted-window canopy snapped down into place. Only the control panel lights and the fluorescent light coming through the polarized windows illuminated the cockpit. The air smelled like new-car leather. “Don’t you ever get anything important in your mail?” she asked, still taking it all in.

 

       “Sometimes. I’m waiting for a one right now, but—” He peeked at the monitor and shook his head “—maybe later. Oh, well.” He buckled in and turned the ignition key. A rumble gently shook the car as it increased in power. In moments the engine was drumming like a diesel locomotive.

 

       “I don’t believe this,” said Monique, stretching out her legs. “The for-real Batmobile.” She looked out the window. Her view of the parking garage wall was superb. It would doubtless get better once they were outside.

 

       “It is cool,” he admitted. “I had a lot of stuff added to it. The car didn’t have that much when I got it. It wasn’t really outfitted like the movies made it out to be.”

 

       “What’d you put in?”

 

       He pointed to controls, lights, and objects as he named them. “GPS tracker-navigator, satellite radio, satellite phone, quadraphonic sound, radar scanner, exterior lights, self-contained air system and purifier, engine computer, remote engine start, damage monitors, fireproofing, run-flat tires, body armor, bulletproof glass. I forget what else. It was such a pain to keep it street legal, adding the lights and all.”

 

       “Why’d you put in bulletproof glass? Are you worried about something?”

 

       “Nah. I just wanted it. It was cool.”

 

       Monique shook her head. He was sweet, but deep inside he was just a kid with the biggest, best toy ever. He was such a guy.

 

       He put the car in gear and they went forward smoothly, the engine just between a purr and a roar. They turned up the ramp, left the garage, and went out into the night. Traffic was very light. Monique was not surprised that both cars and pedestrians stopped to watch in astonishment as the Batmobile went past.

 

       “I can understand why you don’t drive this thing around very often,” she said. “You’d attract a heck of a crowd all the time.”

 

       “Yeah. You wouldn’t believe the insurance. Are you warm enough?”

 

       “Oh, yeah, thanks. So, hey, did you ever think about being a crimefighter?”

 

       “No. This’d be a lousy car to do it in. It works great only in the movies. It’s kind of a pain in real life.”

 

       “Heck of a date car, though.”

 

       “Yeah, it is at that.”

 

       Me and my big mouth. So, I’m not the first. Oh, well. He’s not my first, either, by a long shot. At least I was careful. Most of the time. She began to think about her name as Monique Li instead of Monique Martin. Li, Li, who else was it that—

 

       “Hey,” she said, “are you related to that Ms. Li who’s the principal at Lawndale High School? Angela Li?”

 

       “Uh, no. I get asked that sometimes. There are a lot of Lis around, millions of them. We’re not family that I know of.”

 

       “Thank God.”

 

       “Funny, everyone else says that, too.”

 

       Monique laughed. “You’d have to know her to understand it. I went to school when she was there. She’s still there, I think.”

 

       The car turned onto a broad boulevard and headed northeast. “We’re going around Seven Corners,” he said. “I’d never make it through there in this car.”

 

       “You’re taking the eastern bypass?”

 

       “I can’t afford not to. This suburb’s layout sucks ass.”

 

       “You’re telling me. I’ve lived here all my life, and I still can’t get around that fast. How fast does this thing go?”

 

       He looked regretful. “I don’t know. It’s got a ten-cylinder engine, custom made. I’ve never tried to get it above seventy. I’m too afraid I’ll get arrested and lose the car.”

 

       “Yeah, that makes sense.” She paused. “You ought to try it sometime, anyway.”

 

       They drove in silence for half a minute.

 

       “What do you want out of life?” he asked out of nowhere.

 

       “What? What do I want out of life?” She looked out of the side window at passing houses, their windows glowing in the night. “Peace,” she finally said.

 

       “World peace?”

 

       “No, that’s never going to happen. I just want personal peace, peace inside me.” She shifted in her seat. “I have a lot of things I want down the road, but mostly I just want to stop worrying about little stuff, day-to-day stuff, and deal with more important things.”

 

       “What kinds of important things?”

 

       Damn, he would ask that. A regular permanent guy. Marriage. Kids. A dog. Some nice clothes and jewelry. Another couple of guitars and a drum set and a nice big house to put them in and a shot at recording something, my very own music. I think I could do it. I could wait on everything else if I could only get my music out there and see it fly. How many demos have I mailed out in the last few months? Fifty? Sixty? I lost count. They must be lying in garbage cans from New York to L.A., with a big pile in Nashville. Maybe I should forget it. I’m a nobody and I always have been. All I’ve really got is my music. That’s all that’s really mine.

 

       She looked over at Xiangdong. He was at ease behind the wheel of his big toy. He was handsome and rich and interesting and very nice—a jackpot.

 

       This is never going to work. She turned away, suddenly sad. This’ll never work out. He wants the same things I want, but we’re just not in each other’s league. Maybe I’ll go to bed with him anyway, because he’s okay and it’s been a while since I’ve done it and maybe for a little while that’ll keep me from thinking about the rest of my life stuck in this town going nowhere, one day marrying another nobody and having some nobody kids, then disappearing into the background. At least I’ll always remember this night, riding in the Batmobile.

 

       “Monique?”

 

       She glanced at him, startled. “Oh. Uh, I forgot what you asked me.”

 

       “What kind of stuff is really important to you?”

 

       She brushed back her thick hair with her fingers and did not meet his gaze. “Lemme think about that.”

 

       “Okay.”

 

       Monique Li. She hated herself for even thinking about it now. We would have had great looking kids, too. Awesome, beautiful, brilliant kids. I took my pill this morning so it won’t happen tonight. Maybe I should have skipped a day. We’d have made one hell of a great kid together. We could’ve done it. I can feel it.

 

       She covered her mouth and tried not to cry.

 

       “There it is,” he said a minute later. “The company’s on the hill over to the right, over by . . . oh! Are you okay? Is something wrong?”

 

       “What?” She wiped her eyes and reached in a pocket for a tissue. “No, I’m fine. Got something in my eye and it hurt for a moment. That’s all.”

 

       He reached in an inside pocket of his coat and pulled out a handkerchief. “Here,” he said, handing it over. “It’s clean. I didn’t use it.”

 

       “Thanks.” She dabbed at her eyes and blew her nose. “Sorry.”

 

       “You can keep it. Don’t worry.” He turned into a driveway that climbed to the top of a low hill, then entered a large lot that was still a third full of cars. Monique noticed that he had his own parking space, custom-fitted to the size of his Batmobile. The building before them was a vast one-story structure that resembled an ultramodern warehouse with glass bricks along the side facing the road. The parklike grounds around were filled with trees and flowerbeds. A clear plastic tower by the front door, illuminated by floodlights, had the title “buzzdome.com” written up and down its length.

 

       “Here we are,” said Xiangdong, turning off the engine and flipping the switch to raise the roof. “Sure you’re okay?”

 

       “Yeah.” She shoved her problems aside and forced a smile as the cold air swept in. I’m going to have major fun tonight, no matter what. Let’s go out with a bang.

 

       “Great.” He got out, swung his legs over the side, and jumped down to the asphalt. Moments later he was at her side, the ladder down, and helping her out. He lifted her down the last two steps.

 

       “Thanks,” she said when she was on the ground. “Do you work out or something?”

 

       “A little. Noah’s been on a health kick, makes everyone work out for half an hour a day. I do the machines, not much else.”

 

       “Good for you.” He’s going to make a great husband for someone. Wonder why he’s not been snapped up already. He doesn’t get out much, I know.

 

       He walked her to the building entrance, then pulled out his wallet and pressed it to a black rectangle by the door. The door clicked and he opened it for her. They entered a vast open space with a twenty-foot ceiling along which ran girders, tracked lighting, electrical lines, water pipes, and ventilation ducts. The rest of the room was a gigantic cube farm with a maze of low gray walls blocking off workspaces. Many of the cube lights were still on, though it was almost ten at night. She heard fingers click keyboards and distant conversations against a background of electronic chirps, beeps, and hums.

 

       “Wow,” she said in awe. “Doesn’t anybody ever go home?”

 

       “Sometimes. My work node’s over this way.” He led her off into the maze with the confidence of an old hand, soon arriving at a low-walled enclosure with two desks turned away from each other. One of them, next to the entrance, was occupied by a petite red-haired woman with a pixie cut. She wore a black dress-suit, high black boots, and black stockings—and a black wrist brace on each hand that ran back to the elbow.

 

       The petite woman looked up at Monique in surprise. Her surprised deepened when she glanced at Xiangdong, who was blushing furiously. “Visiting?” she asked, looking at Monique again.

 

       “Yeah, just for a minute,” said Monique.

 

       Xiangdong rushed in. “Nora Cohen,” he said, “this is Monique. I’m just showing her around.”

 

       “Monique Martin,” said Monique, eyeing Nora’s wrist braces. “I’d like to shake hands, but—”

 

       “Carpal tunnel, can’t risk it.” Nora gave Xiangdong a concerned look. “She doesn’t work for a competitor, does she?”

 

       “I play guitar,” Monique interjected quickly. “All my competitors are other guitar players.”

 

       “Cool.” Nora turned to Xiangdong again. “Noah’s looking for ya.”

 

       “It’s not about the CT report, is it?” said Xiangdong, looking around the open room. “I finished that before I left.”

 

       “I think it’s a little drive-by management,” said Nora, her eyes on her monitor again as she stiffly began to type with the wrist braces on. “Attitude adjustment about a memo you sent him or something.”

 

       “Oh, that. Great.” Xiangdong looked irritated. “Uh, Monique, can you wait for me here for a few? I’ll be right back.”

 

       “Sure. You want to leave your coat here?”

 

       “No, I’ll just be a minute.”

 

       Xiangdong left at a rapid pace and was soon lost from view. Monique studied the cubicle. Other than several low filing cabinets, only the other desk was present. It sat against a wall covered with vivid computer-game posters showing armed spacemen shooting at disgusting monsters. The computer on the desk was surrounded by plastic dinosaurs and large toy robots, and festooned with Dilbert cartoons.

 

       “Have a seat,” said Nora, still typing away. “He’ll be longer than a minute.”

 

       “Thanks.” She sat in the roller chair at the spare desk, peering at the smaller toys and mementoes scattered around. No pictures of any girlfriends, at least. Unless Nora’s his work-time squeeze. “Is this Xiangdong’s desk?”

 

       “Yeah. Say, you know anything about decorating?” Nora stopped typing and spun in her seat to face Monique. “I’ve been buying Danish modern furniture in teak, and now I want to redo my condo in, like, fifties retro, while keeping as much of the furniture as I can. I like that Deco-ish biomorphic look, you know, active and flowing at the same time it’s just sitting there. Is that possible, mixing styles like that?”

 

       Monique raised an eyebrow and smiled. “Sorry, I go to resale shops. I don’t think I’ll be any help here!”

 

       Nora laughed. “Friend of the X-Man?”

 

       “X-Man?”

 

       “Xiangdong, ‘cause his name starts with an X.”

 

       “Oh.” Monique felt a little silly. She had thought his name started with an S because of the way it was pronounced. “We just met tonight. I play at some of the local taverns and coffeehouses; tonight I was at the Zon downtown, and he was in. We got to talking, and now we’re sort of driving around. He wanted to show me where he works, so . . . hey, here we are!”

 

       “Yeah, he’s something else. You like the Batmobile?”

 

       “Yeah, that was—” Monique exhaled and feinted a look of surprise “—kind of unexpected. It’s pretty cool. Kind of a big toy, but hey, he’s happy with it.”

 

       “He does love his toys. He’s a great guy, maybe a little too inhibited. I think he worries too much about stuff—he’d drive me nuts if we were going together—but he’s still all right. You know about his family?”

 

       “Uh, no, except he said his folks were from Hong Kong.”

 

       “Well, his parents ride him about dating. I should let him tell you the rest of that.”

 

       The light dawned. Monique nodded slowly. “They want him to go out with someone like him and not like me.”

 

       “Yeah, that’s it. He’s talked about it before, and it makes him pretty mad. He says they’re trying to arrange a marriage for him, and he won’t have it. He’s really independent at heart, but he’s kind of slow about going out because of the grief he gets.” Nora looked around, then lowered her voice. “I gotta tell you, though, bringing you here is a really a big thing for him. He must really like you. He’s never brought anyone else here before except his parents, right after he joined.”

 

       “Oh.” What do I do about that, then? Am I gonna get mixed up in his family issues now? Or will I be around that long? She turned to look at his desk again. “Do they say anything about his job, too?”

 

       “Probably. The good news is, they live in San Diego. He doesn’t have to worry about seeing them except once or twice a year. Parents, huh?”

 

       “Yeah. Parents. Well, he won’t—”

 

       The sounds of arguing came through the huge room. Monique thought one of the voices sounded like Xiangdong’s. Nora looked in the direction it came from. “Oh, boy,” she muttered under her breath.

 

       Moments later, a tight-lipped Xiangdong appeared. He strode quickly over to his cube as Monique got to her feet. “Excuse me,” he said, then took his seat and swung to the computer. “This will just take a moment,” he added in clipped tones.

 

       “Something wrong?” Monique asked. She noticed too late Nora making hand motions to warn her away from saying anything.

 

       Xiangdong did not reply. He called up an Internet connection on his computer and accessed his company e-mail. Focusing on one e-mail in particular, he opened it and read the contents. Monique watched him, unsure of what to do. Let’s see how he handles anger, she thought. Always the date killer, right there.

 

       Glowering, Xiangdong tapped his monitor screen. “Sales are off again,” he said. “I just got this from my financial analyst. People aren’t buying high-tech like they used to. It’s industry wide and it’s accelerating.”

 

       “It’s a correction,” said a new voice. Startled, Monique turned. A glasses-wearing young man with bleached-white hair and a black goatee stood at the cube entrance with his arms folded across his chest. He wore casual clothes over which was a necklace supporting a large carnivore’s tooth at the end. “The market will take a correction in the next few weeks, and then it’ll take off again. It’s a bump in the road, nothing more.”

 

       “That’s not what’s happening, Noah,” said Xiangdong sharply, jabbing a finger at his monitor. “This is not a bump in the road. This is the space shuttle blowing up! This is the Titanic going down! This is not a bump!”

 

       “I’ve spent years looking at crap like that,” the white-haired man responded with more heat. “I built this company from the ground up, and I had a hundred stock-market analysts tell me I was going to lose my shirt and everything else I had, but I didn’t! The need is there! They’re not going to abandon us! People need to get into the ‘net, and we’re the ones getting them there! Filling needs is what drives our success!”

 

       “We’re not filling their needs, Noah! They’re—” Xiangdong suddenly broke off and rubbed his face with both hands.

 

       “We’re staying the course,” said Noah in a calmer tone. “We’ll go through the correction and we’ll take a hit, for sure, but by October we’ll be steaming into record territory.”

 

       Xiangdong lowered his hands and looked at his monitor. His expression was one of pure, bottled-up frustration.

 

       “The future belongs to those with e-vision,” Noah went on. He uncrossed his arms and stuck his hands in the back pockets of his faded blue jeans. “You can’t sweat the little stuff. You shouldn’t worry about it. Let me do the worrying about it.”

 

       “Because you have the e-vision and I don’t,” said Xiangdong, his face tense.

 

       There was a moment of silence. Noah began to chew a wad of gum he had tucked into a cheek earlier. “Yes,” he said. “That’s exactly why.”

 

       Another moment of silence followed.

 

       “I quit,” said Xiangdong, looking Noah in the eye. “I want out, right now.”

 

       Noah stopped chewing his gum.

 

       Oh no, oh no, oh no, ran the refrain through Monique’s head as she stared at him in horror. She could see Nora at the edge of her field of vision, her braced hands clasped over her mouth below wide green eyes.

 

       Noah broke the third moment of silence. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll call the CFO to cash out your options tomorrow, if that’s what you want. You’re gonna take a hell of a hit with taxes and capital gains. You’ll be down by half, at least.”

 

       “I’ll have nothing left period if I stay here,” Xiangdong said in a low voice. “Nothing at all.”

 

       Noah snorted and shook his head as he walked away, chewing his gum again. “Whatever. Leave your door card on the desk. I’ll get security to escort you out.”

 

       “I won’t need it.” Xiangdong stood and looked over his desk. He reached in his coat pocket and produced his wallet, pulling a red plastic card from it and tossing it beside his computer. He then started to pick up some of the toys around his workstation, but then he stopped for a long moment, and then he put everything down again. He wiped his hands on his pants, then glanced at Monique before lowering his gaze to the floor. “We should go,” he said in a whisper.

 

       “Xiangdong,” said Nora, getting to her feet. “Wait a minute. Think this over before—”

 

       “No.” Xiangdong let Monique out first, then walked with her through the cube maze to the front door. A confused, drowsy-looking security guard was already there with a squawking walkie-talkie; he raised a hand and waved at Xiangdong, said “Good night,” and held the door open for him.

 

       And they were out in the cold night air again. Xiangdong looked back at the building for a long time, then lowered his head and walked to the Batmobile. Monique followed at a discrete distance. At the car, Xiangdong clicked open the top and started to walk around to the driver’s side—then looked back at Monique and grimaced before coming around to let her into the car first. She got in silently and took her seat, buckling in. Xiangdong got in a few moments later after one more look at the building. The roof closed, he started the car, and with the engine grumbling in their bones they drove away.

 

       “I should take you back home,” he said once they were on the highway. “I apologize for the evening.”

 

       “It’s okay,” she mumbled.

 

       A fragile silence reigned for perhaps a minute.

 

       “He should not have said that,” Xiangdong said at last. “That was too much. He can’t say things like that to me.”

 

       “I agree,” said Monique, who found that she really did agree. She hated people who pushed others around and made them feel bad. One thing she had liked around Trent was that he was kind—lazy and broke, but kind.

 

       “It was worth it,” he went on. “I have enough money. I could retire now if I wanted to. I can get another job. What you said, about NASA—I could do that. I know some guys online who work there. I can talk to them about it. One of them works in the personnel office there somewhere. I could do it.”

 

       She swallowed. “You did the right thing.”

 

       “What?”

 

       “What you did. You said the company was in trouble, they didn’t believe you, and then they insulted you. That was very brave, what you did.”

 

       Xiangdong looked less sure of that now. “My family,” he finally said, “will tell me I was stupid.”

 

       “Yeah, well, that’s what families do sometimes. My dad said I’d never make it playing guitar. He wants me to go back to college and get a degree and do something he thinks is real work, like work in an office, be a secretary or whatever. My mom says I should just get married and forget about it.” She paused, then added, “It’s hard, but you have to do what you want to do, not always what everyone else tells you to do.”

 

       He didn’t reply.

 

       “I live over on South Davis, near Augenblick, at the Colonial Winds Apartments. You can let me off at the entrance. My building’s a block away.” She stared down at her hands, rubbing them together. A random thought came to her. “Can I ask you a question?”

 

       He didn’t answer, so she went on. “Xiangdong is a Chinese name, right?”

 

       “Yeah,” he said, watching the road ahead.

 

       “What does it mean? I mean, does it have a meaning or anything, translated?”

 

       “How do you mean?”

 

       Monique half laughed. “My name means something like, someone who gives advice. It was Latin at one time, I think, then it was French. So I’m like an advisor or whatever.”

 

       “Oh.” He thought. “My name means, ‘to face the east,’ I guess like the Far East, China.”

 

       “To face the east.” She considered this. “It could also mean something like, ‘to face the sunrise.’ The sun rises in the east, so you would be the person who sees the sun come up, the new things start. Maybe that will happen with NASA. You never know.”

 

       “The sunrise,” he repeated.

 

       “Just a thought.”

 

       “Hmmm.”

 

       They took the eastern bypass. Monique gave directions as they went.

 

       “I should use my navigating computer,” he said, “but I should’ve programmed it before we left. I didn’t think about it.”

 

       “It’s okay.”

 

       “Do you still want to go out to eat?”

 

       The question took her aback. Go out to eat? After you just fought with your boss and quit your job? “I’m not hungry,” she said, listless.

 

       “I should call my parents about tonight,” he said as an afterthought.

 

       “You don’t have to call them right away. Give it a day to settle. Sometimes that helps. It helps me.”

 

       “Okay.”

 

       He actually sounds like he’s taking my advice. We should have gone back to my place instead of going to his office. What an awful night.

 

       He pulled up on the deserted street outside her apartment complex, got out, and helped her out, too. “I can make it from here,” she said.

 

       “Are you sure? I can see you up.”

 

       She started to answer, then she stepped forward, put her arms around him, and kissed him again. She did it because she knew she would never see him after this. To her surprise, he kissed her back this time. Things heated up. When the kiss broke apart they were breathing heavily with their need, their skins on fire. It was a long moment before either of them could speak.

 

       “Goodbye,” she said, and she pulled away and turned and walked to her building alone. She went through the front doors, up the stairs to the second floor, down the long hallway to her room, then went inside, shut the door, and cried all the way to her bed.

 

       She slept until ten the next day. It was hard to get going, but there was no rush. She had a gig in Oakwood that night at a student coffeehouse—

 

       “My guitar.” She looked around. Nothing. “Damn it! God damn it!”

 

       It was still in the trunk of the Batmobile.

 

       She still had her electric guitar. She made a phone call and discovered that the club had amps aplenty, plus several local musicians would loan her an acoustic guitar if she needed one. She was covered.

 

       The shower was running to get the hot water started when the doorbell rang. She was still wearing yesterday’s clothes and felt grubby and dirty, but she decided it didn’t matter and she walked over and opened the door.

 

       “Hi.” Xiangdong stood there, holding her guitar. “May I come in?”

 

       She nodded and let him in, brushing her tangled hair from her face.

 

       He put down her guitar. “I found it this morning when I went to get my work out of the trunk. Noah Barkman called and asked for my work back, so I drove it over to him. I drove my regular car. They paid out my stock options and employee bonuses. I’m on my own now.”

 

       He made it seem like good news, so she tried to smile for him. It was hard. “You’ll find something,” she said. “I know you will.”

 

       “Are you doing anything this weekend?” he asked.

 

       “Uh . . . I have to play in Oakwood tonight, and I have a couple people to tutor Saturday. Why?”

 

       “I’d like for you to fly to San Diego with me.”

 

       Her face wrinkled in confusion. “Why?”

 

       “To meet my parents.”

 

       Her confusion deepened. “Why?”

 

       He reached in his pocket and pulled out a small black box and offered it to her. She took it, looked it over, and opened it.

 

       She stared at the contents of the box. Her eyes almost fell out of her head. She tried to speak but nothing came out. When she was able to break her gaze away from it, she stared at him without comprehension.

 

       “You listened to me when no one else would,” he said. “You believed in what I said. You told me what to do when I didn’t know what to do, and it was right. No one else ever did that for me.”

 

       They stared at each other.

 

       “My sister said I was supposed to kneel,” Xiangdong added.

 

       She nodded, hardly aware if she was breathing.

 

       “Oh.” He started to kneel, but she caught him by the arm and made him get up again. “What?” he said.

 

       “What will your parents say?”

 

       “Oh, they’ll get over it. I’m buying them a vacation to Hong Kong this summer.”

 

       “Ah.” She nodded. “You’re a good son.”

 

       “Maybe you can tell my parents that. They need to hear it from someone other than me.”

 

       “I can’t believe you’re asking me to marry you. Are you serious?”

 

       “Marry you?” He put on a perplexed expression. “I was just asking you for another date.”

 

       “Another date? You were asking me for another date with this?” She held the open black box up to his face, showing him its contents.

 

       “Just kidding,” he said. “Of course I’m asking you to marry me.”

 

       She stared hard at him. “You’re for real. You’re for real asking me to marry you.”

 

       “Yes.”

 

       She bit her lip, then spoke. “I won’t give up my music. If you want me, you’ll have to take my music, too. I’m serious.”

 

       “Your music was what attracted me to you in the first place.”

 

       “Okay, then. Just so you understand.”

 

       “I got it.”

 

       “All right.” She then walked over to make sure the apartment door was locked. After that, she gave him her answer. It took a long time to give, but it was worth it.

 

       She missed her gig in Oakwood that night, and both of her guitar tutoring appointments the following day. By then, she was in San Diego. It was a new millennium, a time to try out new possibilities.

 

       Two weeks later, the dot-com bubble burst and washed everyone and everything away.

 

       Except them.

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

Author’s Notes II: I’m toying with doing several stories based on Buzzdome.com’s erasure in the dot-com bubble-bursting of spring 2000. Next, I think, will be Nora (not right away, but down the road), then Sameer and Jackleene, and then Noah at last. I was going to call the series “Noah’s Arc” (get it?). As I see it, Xiangdong was the only one who got his money out in time to avoid the market collapse.

 

Using Xiangdong was bizarre but perfect, given his interest in the “original Batmobile.” He didn’t say which original Batmobile he wanted, so I picked for him. His name wasn’t spelled on the show, so I also picked the most likely Anglicized form it would take. Monique was kind of a natural to write about, too, given her appearances with Daria. Oddly, Xiangdong and Monique each know one member of the Morgendorffer family, but not the same one, and they don’t know those two people are related. Monique appeared in “Pierce Me” and “Lane Miserables,” and Xiangdong in “Sappy Anniversary.”

 

In order to get personalities and backgrounds for both characters, I had to take what little I had about them and extrapolate a lot. In terms used by the Myers-Briggs personality test, I pegged Monique as an ESFP musician and Xiangdong as an INTJ computer nerd—exact opposites and perfect for each other. The translations of their names also helped. Li and Martin are common Chinese and French names, respectively.

 

The streets in Lawndale are named after real-world people who worked on the Daria show. I picked the names out of the two cartoon books, something I also did with “Forgotten but Not Gone,” “Darius,” and elsewhere. “The Omega Jane” has street names based on real-world people who wrote end-of-the-world stories (Stephen King, etc.).

 

Useful online information used for this story’s background can be found  at the links below.

 

 

Wikipedia’s “dot-com bubble” entry

 

Batmobile history

 

1989 Keaton Batmobile

 

 

 

Original: 04/30/06, modified 06/03/06, 09/18/06, 10/02/06, 11/12/06, 11/05/09, 05/05/10

 

 

FINIS