We both thank her, then she looks at me. “Oh, and terrific news! I was just talking with your boss, Dev, and he told me you’re going to Florida next week for a conference. Guess who’s going with you?”
Holy Captain Kirk. She better not mean who I think she means.
Nineteen
Serafina
As we walk to the elevator, Waltraut tells me all about how she wants me to accompany Ben to the Kennedy Space Center next week. “While he has his meetings, we thought we’d film you in front of some of the famous rockets they have on display. Then, when he’s free, we’ll shoot some footage of the two of you together talking shop.”
“Wow, okay. I guess that would be fine. How many days will I be gone?” I’m thinking about all the time this side gig is taking away from my real job — my app.
“Three days should do it.” Then, like she’s reading my mind, she says, “Think of this time as an investment in your future.”
“Totally,” I tell her. “I’m just about to start trials for the dating portion of my app and I’d like to be around in case there are any problems.”
“Have you gone on that date you were talking about on-air?” she asks as we step into the elevator to head down to the lobby.
“It’s today,” I tell her excitedly. “His name is Howard.”
“How would you feel if we sent a camera along with you?”
A cold shudder washes over me. “Maybe next time. I want to make sure any kinks in the program are ironed out before showing our new feature off to the world.”
“Let me know when that is,” she tells me. “The network might even want to do a bigger segment on one of the nighttime magazine shows.”
Oh. My. God. YES! That would be so amazing, but instead of saying so, I merely utter, “You bet.”
I’m actually going straight from the Goddard Institute to a restaurant near the Columbia campus. Oddly, my date is with a Gemini who is a psychology professor there.
After putting Charley into a cab and sending her home, I hoof it the three blocks to Kale Cafe, a vegan restaurant that not surprisingly specializes in kale dishes. This was obviously Howard’s choice as I would have suggested we go somewhere that is more comfort-food oriented.
The inside of the café feels like what I think an ashram would look like. The walls are painted with gorgeously bright, intricate patterns. The ceiling is high, giving the space a very open and airy feel, and the seating is actually bean bag-type chairs situated around coffee tables. It’s super cool.
I spot a man that I assume is my date, based on the description he gave me online — a lanky intellectual with a ponytail and a goatee. While he’s not exactly my physical type, I’ve vowed to keep an open mind, just as I hope the people who use this portion of my app will.
Veering through the bean bags and tables, I stop in front of him and ask, “Howard?”
He looks up at me and tilts his head. “Sarah?” As the owner of the app, I decided that even though secretiveness is not the best way to start a relationship, I should hide my identity, so my dates feel comfortable telling me what they really think of Dating for Your Star Sign.
“Hi,” I tell him brightly. Then I plop down on the bean bag opposite him, trying to maintain my dignity while wearing a shorter skirt. “Do you come here often?” I giggle at asking such a cheesy question.
“Yes, I do.” He isn’t even smiling. “That’s why I suggested it.”
Oooookay. “So, how did you hear about the star sign app?” This guy is not giving off the warm fuzzies in any way, shape, or form.
“A friend of a friend suggested I give it a try. Being a man of science, I’m not really into the whole astrology thing.”
“Oh.” Disappointment shoots through me like a wicked case of food poisoning. “But you took the time to fill out the form, so you must not be totally closed down to the idea.”
“Yeah, about that.” He picks up a lavash cracker from the basket sitting on the table and breaks it in half. “My friend filled it out. I thought the whole ‘date for your star sign’ thing sounded pretty hokey.”
Irritation quickly overtakes my previous optimism. “Are you even a Gemini?” I demand.
“Yeah, for whatever that’s worth.” He bites into the cracker and crunches it with his mouth open.
“Why exactly did you agree to sign up for this service if you’re not into astrology?” I’m suddenly not even hungry and I never turn down the opportunity to eat.
“My friend said that chicks who believe in wacky stuff like the zodiac tend to be pretty easy to get into bed.” He doesn’t even seem to realize how offensive he’s being. Or maybe he does and doesn’t care.
“I assure you that it will take more than a bowl of barley and a kale salad to get me into the sack,” I practically hiss.
“Really? I thought that was the whole point of this app.” Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.
“It’s a dating app. I’m pretty sure the whole point is finding someone to date.” This guy is a total loser, but I’m here on a mission to gain data for my app so I’m not going to storm out like I would normally do.
“Aren’t dating and sex the same thing?” He waves over the waiter before I can answer. When the server approaches, Howard says, “I’ll have the alfalfa and eggplant falafel, heavy on the cashew butter.”
The waiter writes down the order and asks me, “What would you like?”
I’m tempted to say world peace, or equality for all. Barring that, I wouldn’t mind a cheeseburger, but none of those things are likely to happen here. “What kind of soup do you have?”
“We’ve got a chickpea curry or a Thai ginger broth with tofu and kale.”
Yeah, no. “What kind of dessert do you have?”
“Our special today is coconut ice-cream served with a flourless dark chocolate cake.”
“I’ll have that,” I tell him while handing over my menu.
For some reason, Howard feels the need to say, “That probably contains all of the calories you need for an entire day and enough fat grams for a week.”
“Could be.” Gah, I don’t even want to talk to this guy. He clearly isn’t the consumer I’m interested in.
“So, why are you doing this star sign thing, if not for sex?” he wants to know.
I start to fantasize about grabbing all the crackers out of the basket and crumbling them over Howard’s head. “I’m interested in meeting a man that I like well enough to date.” Duh.
“You gonna sleep with him?”
“Nope. I’m celibate,” I straight out lie. I positively loathe this man and I’ve barely spent two minutes talking to him.
“Seriously?”
“Yeah, seriously.”
“That’s false advertising. Why didn’t you put that on your profile?”
“Probably for the same reason you didn’t write down skeezy sex addict.” Put that in your pipe, Howard.
At this point, Howard decides to act like I’m not even there and he pulls out his phone and starts typing away. So I do the same. I text Charley.