I’d like to say, for the benefit of the ladies, that I considered calling Sylvia right back. I considered it carefully. I gave it weight. I gave it time.

I threw the phone on the bed and opened the closet door, instead.

Several things fell out, things I’d apparently disturbed. I don’t have a bowling ball or hubcap collection, thankfully. I picked them back up, as I know having a clean bedroom is an invitation and I was feeling friendly, maybe even frisky.

“Snazzy,” I said aloud. I wondered how Rohana meant it. Tux and tails? (And am I the only one who pictures a Sonic rug like the bear rugs you used to see in cartoons? Nevermind. I also wanted to see the Azrael/Garfield Ultimate Showdown, though it might not be of Ultimate Destiny.) Did I have to sparkle?

I ended up taking out some good interview pants, and a vest I’d saved for a steampunk outfit I was going to do if I ever got my lazy rear moving for it. I took a few minutes transferring stuff out of my regular jacket for a suit jacket, reminding myself of a similar montage (minus a lot of making-people-dead stuff) in almost every action film.

I didn’t actually go through the list aloud. (“Salt. Check. Mirror shard. Check. Handkerchief. Check. Keys. Check. Checkcard. Card, I mean, check. Condom. Check. Deck of cards. Check. Old receipt for hamburgers down the street. Check. Now you’re being silly. Check.”)

I shaved carefully. The phone didn’t ring.

I put the get-up on. I tried on a succession of hats, and ended up far more towards, “Goofy,” rather than, “Snazzy.” I considered them anyway, but instead decided on a thin silk tie and a pin made of an old motherboard.

The phone was determined to remain silent.

I leaned back across the bed and grabbed it. No, no missed calls. I could just call her back. That had been kind of a jerkish thing to say. I could apologize.

Yeah, right.

I checked the time instead. It was time to start looking out the window compulsively. Of course, except for an ambulance, I didn’t know what Rohana drove.

I mentally tried to compose a scene. Should I look anxious? Should I be reading a book? I eyed the stack of graphic novels that had been undergoing some kind of multiplication on the chair. What if I picked up one that she thought was dumb? I mean, she was at least kind of into the same genres I was, so I didn’t want to run into the wrong side of geek snobbery. Of course, that went the other way around. What if she liked magic pony fantasy and didn’t like merchandise-driven continuity-confused technoporn? Or, um, the other way around?

I resolved to get through the stack, or build more shelving. I opened my closet door and picked up new and different things that decided to fall. Luckily, none had yet transformed themselves into bowling balls or hubcaps. I considered the space and had actually gone looking for a rubber mallet and a pretzel (it made sense at the time) when the doorbell rang.

I checked my phone, but it was the doorbell. I had just not heard anyone use it in a while. I wondered (while I crossed to the front door) if this was a good litmus test for the preternatural. I wasn’t sure entirely how I would get Peredur to approach a door that stood on a stage, but I was thinking it could be a truism that fey tend to knock.

I opened the door and Rohana jumped towards me. I moved backwards instinctively, catching myself before I knocked my head on the back of the couch or the breakfast bar or anything super suave like that.

She laughed, steadying herself on the doorframe. “I didn’t mean to launch myself at you,” she apologized.

“You looked ready to pounce,” I admitted.

“I hadn’t heard the doorbell ring inside, so I didn’t know if I should knock, and you opened the door too quickly and, wow, that’s pretty snazzy.” She handwaved her explanation away, however it let my hypothesis down.

She was wearing a long burgundy shawl with silver threads over a white top and a long skirt that matched the shawl. I didn’t know what to call the top, other than it evoked a sound more associated with deliciousness than fashion design. I expressed it to her with an exaggerated waggle of the eyebrows.

“Yeah,” she said, giggling. “Let’s go. I am back on shift tonight, so let’s try and make every moment count.” She leaned in to kiss me, and I anticipated it with enthusiasm.

“Even the traffic?”

“Hmmm. Locked up in a small space with you and nothing to do for minutes?”

“Sounds naughty,” I decided. “That’s promising.”

“Or a confessional,” she admitted.

I snickered and locked the door after us.

She drove a sensible late-model sedan, and it looked like it had been recently cleaned if not vacuumed. I got in on the passenger side, glancing at the rental car in the late afternoon sun, checking it over again for any material damage.

There was a paper under the windshield wipers that I noted while we were driving away. I’d get it when we got back. Probably a flyer for a local church. I had noticed they were pretty aggressive in their print advertising. At least it attracted the literate.

“Where are we going?” I couldn’t help but ask.

“I’m wearing white,” she said.

“So it’s not barbecue or italian?” I grinned.

“Or burlesque.”

“Does burlesque lead to staining?” I asked.

“No, but it sounded like the logical end triplet. Um.” She bit her bottom lip. “I’m sorry if I sound nervous. It’s been a while since I’ve been on a date, but we’re going to someplace I like. You’re not allergic to seafood, are you?”

“No, but a lobster killed my father.”

She glanced at me while getting onto the highway.

I laughed. “No, no, and only the original anime ‘Little Mermaid’ with Marina made me cry. I would have eaten Flounder fried up with some olive oil and salt.”

She smiled. Then frowned. “Hold on,” she said, her lips gone tight.

I waited for the crash.