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: : : PAUL'S TAKING A BREAK IN the company cafeteria. During the day you can apparently get some kind of hot lunch but at five pm the kitchen staff goes home, pulling big gates closed behind them; so the suckers who work night shift have access to a bank of vending machines and a pair of microwaves bolted to a steel counter. Paul made one of those noodles-and-soup-in-a-cup deals and he's sort of stirring it rather than eating it because he's afraid he'll drip soup on his shirt or down his chin. This is, of course, a possibility any time you eat soup, but tonight the danger seems especially pronounced because Scott's sitting across the table from him and Paul wants to make a good impression. He lifts the tiny plastic spoon, and successfully guides a tiny trembling oval of broth into his mouth.
Scott's munching contentedly on carrot sticks, looking just cute as the dickens in the V-necked sweater vest he's wearing.
Paul has a plan. Sometime soon, Paul and Marvin are going to go see Matrix Revolutions, and Paul thinks he could get Scott to come along, since he knows for sure that Scott is a SF geek. He learned this as soon as Scott, in his cubicle, hung up a postcard of Wil Wheaton, Wesley Crusher from Star Trek: The Next Generation.
When Paul told this to Lydia one night, on the phone, she immediately responded he's gay.
Paul's not so sure, although the next postcard that went up was Dr. Frank N. Furter, from The Rocky Horror Picture Show, and that seemed like a clue. The third image that went up wasn't a postcard; it looked instead like something that had been cut out of a magazine: a picture of a young guy with a Prince Valiant haircut, dressed in some kind of yellow tunic.
—Who's that? Paul had asked.
—Oh, Scott had said. —That's Adric. From, uh, Doctor Who.
—Gay, Lydia said, authoritatively, as soon as she checked out the name via Google. —Totally gay. Gay and a geek. What are you waiting for? Ask him out.
—I don't know, Paul says. —Even assuming he is gay—and I'm not saying he is—Adric? Wesley? These guys are boyish. Look at me. I'm not boyish. I'm like a hulking mass compared to them.
—You're not a hulking mass, Lydia had said.
—Compared to them I am.
—Paul, came Lydia's voice over the phone. —Listen. This guy doesn't want to date those boyish men; he wants to be those boyish men. What that means is, what that means is that he's looking for someone who will highlight his boyishness. And you gotta ask—who could serve that purpose better than a big, hearty, barrel-chested guy like yourself?
—You're guessing, Paul said.
—I'm guessing, Lydia said. —But I have a really good feeling.
—So, Paul says, looking down into what's left of his soup. —Matrix Revolutions is out.
Scott raises an eyebrow, suspiciously. —I heard it kind of sucks, he says, almost reluctantly.
—I heard that too, Paul says, cringing. —A review I read said it couldn't have been any worse if they'd saved Zion using a bunch of Ewoks.
—Ouch, says Scott.
—What'd you think of the second one? Paul asks.
—It was OK, says Scott. —It was kind of weak but I was willing to accept it as a kind of transitional film if the third one was strong? I was hoping it wasn't the beginning of a long slide downwards.
—Mm-hmm, says Paul.
—I'll still probably go to see this new one, Scott says.
—Really? Paul says, brightening.
—Yeah, Scott says. —I mean, I'm a geek, I have to go. If you don't go, it's like—well, I don't know what it's like, but you have to go.
—Well, Paul says, —my roommate and I are thinking about getting together a group of people and going next week. If you wanted to come, it would be great to have you along.
Scott's chewing a mouthful of carrot so for a second all he can do is nod enthusiastically. —Sure, he says, finally. —That sounds fun.
Paul blinks. That went easier than he'd expected. —Um, he says, a bit flustered. —Great. I'll, uh, I'll e-mail you the details when we begin to figure them out.
—Okay, says Scott.
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