Project PANDORA
I first met The Interpreter over a week ago, very briefly when she poked her head into the History Club's game night. I invited her to stay & she declined politely, though I didn't look at her except out of the corner of my eye & extended the invitation as a courtesy, not because of any specific interest in her. (Game night: Wayback Machine Ein.) I met her more properly the very next evening, at the triumphant History Quiz Night. The Interpreter sat at our table & we were introduced; her name is Katie. Her Secret Base code name derives from her knowledge of American Sign Language (A.S.L.), & her habit, as her inebriation increased throughout the evening, to sign along as she spoke, signing even at those who doesn't know A.S.L. Our small team, Dr. Ellis's Own, was insufficient to occupy our entire table; The Braggart's girlflesh sat at one end of the group & I sat at the other, with perhaps four chairs between us. (Quiz night: Wayback Machine Zwei.) Originally, The Interpreter was seated at the far end of the group, but as the evening wore on she migrated toward me, which I interpreted as a good sign. I thought she was funny & she thought I was funny & I was beginning to wonder if there might be a possibility, until I returned from the water closet to discover she'd moved so close to me that she's taken my seat itself. I thought this a bad omen as I found her in animated conversation with the wild-eyed fellow who'd been useless as far as the Quiz was concerned, acting only as team secretary. Suddenly it seemed as if her movements throughout the night had been not her inching closer to me, but her inching closer to him. The low point came slightly later, when after the victory I returned to the table to discover that The Interpreter & some others had decamped to the Firkin & Fox below without me. (History Quiz Night was held, as it has been for the last few years, in the upstairs banquet hall.) Easy come, easy go, I sighed, & snatched up my trophy, intending to finish my Carlsberg & head home.

Only the trophy wasn't mine. Included amongst the prizes was a gift certificate to the Firkin & Fox; I'd removed mine & used it to purchase the Carlsberg I was enjoying, but the trophy I snatched still had a gift certificate stuffed in its cup. I headed down to the bar, intending only to trade the trophies & then beat my retreat. At a table, I found The Interpreter, the wild-eyed bloke, & a rotund cad who referred to himself with a wink as a "cunning linguist." (I disliked him viscerally.) I began to explain about the trophies, but had little luck before The Interpreter invited me to sit down & join them. I pressed on about the trophies, both because I didn't want anyone to be created out of their winnings & because I'd already staked out the trophy The Interpreter had taken as mine & wanted it back. I was able to finagle the of the trophies, but she was insistent that she not claim any of the other prizes, citing that she hadn't done much for the team; so, I accepted the doubling of my loot (minus the second trophy). Not long after this a waitress as tall & blond as a Valkyrie arrived at the table with a huge tray of drinks that had been ordered before I arrived; she informed the table that we'd just hit the "Power Hour," during which all drink orders are doubled at no additional cost. A great many libations were placed on the table, including at least half a down enormous shots (they had to have been at least triples, or the biggest doubles ever seen). I was invited to partake, though I said I wished only to finish my beer. I had soon downed three of the enormous shots. I remain uncertain of what exactly I drank. I wasn't going anywhere in the short term.

This was clearly a contest for The Interpreter's affections. The cad was the raconteur of the party, regaling us with tales of rock shows past heavily laden with sexual innuendo. The wild-eyed bloke spoke at length of his kids & his wife (not ex-wife), whom he believes is the devil. My advantage seemed to lie in being the closest to The Interpreter's own age (she's twenty-nine) & my moustache. The Interpreter's constant refrain was that she had to be awake very early the next morning to motor to Pennsylvania, & yet she continued to imbibe. At one point I gently removed a drink from in front of her & set it elsewhere on the table, but she insisted on its return. She signed more & more as she grew more intoxicated. Still able to read but thwarted in handling the keyboard on her new mobile, she dictated a couple text messages for me to type. At several points I thought to pack it in & extricate myself from what had the potential to be a night of banal drunken idiocy, but at each of those points some small, heretofore silent instinct compelled me to remain. I excused myself to use to W.C. & The Interpreter blurted out that she had to go, too. On the way, she saw from instructors she knew from her A.S.L. training & engaged them in a furious, silent conversation. After this, I guided the unsteady lass to the ladies' & continued on to the gents'. Once I was done, I waited outside her water closet, figuring she'd need assistance getting back to the table. There was a curious look on her face when she emerged, & without thinking about it I pulled her body close to mine, wrapped my arms around her waste, & told her that I was going to kiss her. She closed her eyes & tilted her face up toward mine & I kissed her.

We made out in the hallway for a few moments before we returned to the table. The wild-eyed fellow took his leave & when the cad excused himself for the moment I took the opportunity to abandon my chair & join The Interpreter on the bench opposite. She leaned on me & we kissed a little more, until she became suddenly self-conscious & remarked that we were in public. The cad returned & said in a jocular tone, "I see how it is," & left for another table, populated by others from History Quiz Night. The Interpreter announced that it was time for her to leave, & I walked her to her motorcar. We made out in the parking lot 'til a light rain began to fall & she remembered that she'd left her sweater & a bag of Quiz Night swag inside. We tramped back into the bar & found our former table already with new tenants, who were apologetic about having stolen out table. While The Interpreter rooted around for her bag, I assured them that the table was theirs, that we were done with it once she had her sweater. The Interpreter found her swag bag & another swag bag belonging to the cad. She returned it to him at his new table, & after another round of good-byes I again walked her to her motorcar. We again made out in the parking lot, this time ignoring the light rain. We quit after some little while, I urged her to drive safely, & we headed off into the dark night in opposite directions.

Friday night remained a pleasant memory through Saturday & by Sunday, Palm Sunday, just over a week ago, I decided to take action & call The Interpreter. First, though, I sought out an expert's advice, consulting The Watergirl, the self-styled "make-out queen." I text messaged her that I'd made out with a girl on Friday & wished to know how long to wait to call this girl, with a subquestion to confirm that it would be better to call than to text. The Watergirl was generous with her expertise, advising that I call that evening, or Monday at the latest. Yes, to call was better than to text. Shortly after this I visited the FaceSpace & spied that The Interpreter had put out an open call for assistance in moving some heavy furniture. Thinking this a more informal chance to see her than the phone call I'd envisioned for the evening, I text messaged The Interpreter relaying that I'd see her FaceSpace request for help & was proffering my manual labor. The Interpreter accepted, an address & directions were texted, & within an hour I was at her new basement apartment. There I joined The Braggart in carrying two heavy shelves, a mattress, & a box spring, while The Interpreter & her sister carried lots of lighter items. The Interpreter thanked us with lunch & a beer (I had a Newcastle) at a chain sports bar. I drove The Interpreter & The Braggart in Lumi the Snow Queen, while The Interpreter's sister popped home to change out of sweatpants into jeans; The Interpreter was aghast, exclaiming that I drove like a racecar driver. With a mischievous gleam in my eyes, I held up a driving-gloved hand for her to see. I was angling to stay, to get to know her better while I helped her unpack, but The Interpreter pointed out that The Braggart's truck was parked in by Lumi the Snow Queen, & I took my leave.

Just before I put Lumi into gear, I sent The Interpreter a text message saying that it had been nice to see her again, "& not for the last time I trust." Upon my arrival home I saw her return text, which sparked a text conversation that lasted the rest of the day. She asked how drunk I'd been on Friday night. Not as drunk as she'd been, I replied, relaying my hope that I hadn't taken inappropriate advantage (a genuine fear). I hadn't, & she revealed her fear that I'd kissed her only because I'd been drunk. We carried on in this nervous, self-effacing, sometimes playful way throughout the afternoon & into the evening. We made plans to have lunch together on Monday, the next day. I picked The Interpreter up at her office, where she works as a secretary, & we had a pleasant, mirthful lunch, getting to know each other better than we'd bothered to during Friday's free-for-all. We kissed when I dropped her off at her office, the first time in a very long time that I'd kissed a girl who hadn't been drinking. We texted on & off through the rest of Monday. I dropped by her office for a few minutes on Tuesday & we hugged when we parted, not kissing because her boss was present (he'd been absent on Monday). Via text message later in the day, she invited me over to her apartment that evening to hang out. I was tired & wished to spend a quiet night at home, so I rolled the dice & said I couldn't, asking if perhaps we could hang out on Wednesday night instead? She was to have a girls' night out on Wednesday, so we settled on Thursday. We texted throughout Wednesday & Thursday, alternately playful & earnest, each claiming, "I can't wait to see you." We each appeared to be making an emotional investment on Thursday night's proceedings, & the evening drew inexorably closer.

To be continued...