06-24-2012, 12:49 AM
Sandra picked up a muffin, broke off a tiny piece, and spread a daub of low-fat margarine upon it. "So, you really think you can get Buzz Aldrin on your show?" she asked.
"Hard to say, babe," Criss replied as he popped a piece of canteloupe into his mouth. "He's already here for his own exhibit, so he's probably got a pretty tight schedule as it is." He swallowed, and added, "I'd be lucky to get a photo op with him. I mean, the guy's an American hero, for chrissakes! I can't think of anyone who doesn't want to meet him."
Sandra sipped her coffee as she mused about the subject. "I know I would," she said. "I mean, someone who's actually walked on the moon--that would have to be a once in a lifetime experience!"
"Meeting him or actually walking on the moon?"
"Meeting him, of course, silly!" Sandra giggled. "Of course, actually going to the moon would qualify, too, but, well, I don't think I'm cut out for space travel." She looked at Criss. "Would you like to travel in space someday?" she asked.
"Me?" Criss mumbled through a mouthful of muffin. He hastily chewed and swallowed, almost choking as he did so. "(Bleep), I dunno," he said, taking a gulp of coffee to clear his throat. "It'd probably be fun for a while, but, tell you the truth, I like it here on Earth just fine. Why?
"Oh, nothing," Sandra replied airily. "It's just that I read about plans to set up space colonies, especially when the world comes to an end on December twenty-first--"
Criss held up his hand to silence her. "Sandra, please!" he groaned. "I don't wanna hear about it. The world is not going to come to an end on December twenty-first, no matter what the Mayans or the Incas or whoever the hell says it is! It's all just a lot of bull(bleep), so let's just drop it, okay?"
"Okay," Sandra said, backing off, "fine, whatever."
"Look, I didn't mean to--"
"No, no, you're right, it's all a lot of BS as you say."
"I'm just saying you shouldn't believe everything you read that's all. I mean, hey, I've been a victim of a few conspiracy theories myself."
Sandra looked up. "You?"
"Yeah, me. Some wack job started a website accusing me of being the AntiChrist, if you can believe it!"
Sandra burst out laughing. "The what?"
"Yeah, really, he accused me of being the AntiChrist. Can't go into too much detail about it, but he was pretty serious at the time."
"Did you sue him or anything?"
"Him?" Criss scoffed. "I wouldn't give him the time of day!" He glanced at his watch. "Speaking of time of day, we got to get going! We got a lot to do today!"
Criss wolfed down the last of his muffin, washing it down with coffee, then rose from the table. "I'll bring the car around," he shouted as he made his way to the garage. "You get the files!"
Sandra got up and walked to the office. The files for the week's production schedule lay on the desk in a flat leather binder, ready to go. She picked them up and carried them to the front entrance. Outside, she could hear the roar of a very expensive car engine. Several months of living with Criss had taught her which of his cars made what sound when revving up, and this particular one meant they would be taking the Viper to work. I hope he stays within the speed limit this time, she thought anxiously.
The gull wing door on the sleek black roadster flew open. "You got the files?" Criss shouted over the engine.
Sandra waved the black folder to show him that she did. "Okay," he yelled, "hop in!"
With not a little trepidation, Sandra slipped into the passenger seat, clutching the folder like a life preserver. No sooner did she buckle her seat belt than Criss shifted into gear and sped down the drive. "Aaaaannnnd Houston, we have liftoff!" he crowed as the Viper flew down the road and vanished over the horizon.