I nodded, but my thoughts were on a different track. “So you’re saying that she’s totally unsatisfied?”
“Yes, yes, that may very well be true. How can she be, by such men as these?” said Jones, gesturing around the room. One man stuck between two bar stools moaned for help as another round of shots went off, and the old barkeep ducked behind the bar, shaking his head.
Then the years of being a cynic crept up on me. “Superwomen? Come on, really?”
“Proof is it you want? Well, try these shoes on for size, Mr. Doubting Thomas,” Jones said, digging for more papers and pulling out a picture. “Take a look at that Mister!” he said excitedly, pointing at the picture.
“What’s this?” I asked, Jones’ build up making me expected more than a photo of the 1972 Russian women’s Olympic team.
“Do you see the year?”
I nodded.
“Do you see the medals around their necks? Those Russian women won 67.3 percent of all the medals that year. They are all gold!” When I failed to see the import, he frantically found a video file on his laptop and played it. “The woman in this video is the most famous female celebrity of Russia from 1972-1976, Olga Settchuoff. She was their biggest model, their biggest movie star, their record-holding cosmonaut, and a world-class competitive cheese roller.”
He played the video. It was a short film clip from one of Olga’s movies. She said a few lines in her native Russian, then turned to the camera for a close-up. When she did, her gray eyes suddenly flashed blue and then green like a lighthouse.
“Holy crap,” I mumbled. Remembering the look I had received from the blond in the bar, I glanced back over at her seeing her in a totally new light. “Did you see that?”
“See what?” asked Jones
“Olga’s eyes, did you see what her eyes did?” I exclaimed.
“Oh, yes, my friend, her hazel eyes were her trademark. Lovely, don’t you agree?”
“Hazel? Hazel eyes, my ass! She has gray eyes, and didn’t you see them explode blue, then green?”
Jones was puzzled. “There was no explosion, my friend. Perhaps it is because this is a digitization of a very old film. Everyone knows about Olga’s hazel eyes.”
I looked at the laptop and started to realize how crazy I was sounding. Then paranoia began to creep into my head. Maybe Mom was right about being too friendly with myself. The flashes were a sign that it was making me go blind.
Then a thought hit me. I leaned in toward Jones and whispered, “What about her?”
“What about who?” asked Jones looking around uncertainly .
“The woman over there…”
“Where?” jumped Jones frightened.
“What if she’s one of…them?” I said pointing a hesitant finger toward the blond.
“One of who?”
“You know…a superwoman.”
Jones smirked and shook his head. With the mystery gone, he stopped whispering. “For a minute there I thought you had seen my mother following me again… Logan, I understand that you are new to this project, but do you see where we are? “ Jones said holding is hands open to the whole room. “Do you see those guys running around with antlers on their heads? That one’s got a beer bottle in his ear for Christ’s sake. Do you honestly believe a superwoman would end up surrounded by morons in a dump like this? Besides, I have been… shall we say, researching the women of Scranton for some time now. While that woman may have heightened skills like advanced dwarf tossing ability or crushing you with her thighs until your eyes pop, I am afraid that if she is in a place like this, the benefits of epsilon radiation have … passed her by.”
“You sure?” I whispered unconvinced.
“Trust me. My intuition and scientific acumen tell me that she, while lovely…with dreamy Hazel eyes,” he said seeming to get a bit lost in her, “Is not the superwoman we are looking for.”
I glanced over at her again. Just as I did, she looked up from her phone, smiled, and her eyes flashed a brilliant hypnotic blue then green. Maybe she’s not the superwoman ‘you’re’ looking for but she looks pretty damn good to me, I thought.
“No, Logan, the woman we are looking for will be very difficult to find. She will be well disguised and protecting her identity and that of her family like gold…Not hanging around in bars making silly faces with antlers on her head. If she were that easy to find, believe me, I’d have found her already.”
“I’m sure you’re right Doc.” (What a freakin’ liar)
I had become so involved by then that Jones knew he had me. He nodded. “Yes. I can see you are intrigued. This video came from my friend and colleague Demitri in Moscow. Demitri was my professor at Oxford. We are working on this project together. This movie is now restricted and stored in high security. That alone should tell you that the Russians are trying to cover up their experimentation with epsilon. But he managed to smuggle it into Germany and emailed me this footage.”
But how does this stuff in Russia go with what happened here in Scranton?”
Jones smiled because he knew he had the answer. “Guess what building is located just behind this bar?”
“I drove by; it’s a beer warehouse. What does that have to do with it?”
“Yes, my friend, it is a beer warehouse today, but what do you think it was between 1967 and 1989, the year the Cold War ended?”
I shook my head. How could I know? Was it a trick question?
“It was the Miles Research Corporation, now known, thanks to the Freedom of Information Act, to be a front for the CIA, their Behavioral Sciences Section!” Jones had become so excited he literally seemed to take on another personality for a second. “How’s that for your Cold War, mind-altering research shit?”
“So you think this Miles Research, CIA, whatever, was trying to keep up with the Russians’ research on epsilon radiation?”
“If they ever wanted to win another Olympic medal, they were…just think of it as Russia’s perfect weapon. They use epsilon radiation to make entire Western armies into morons who might just shoot themselves like these assholes,” he said, as an RFD wearing antlers ran along the top of the bar, chased by the barkeep, who was frantically attacking him with a towel from below, “who can’t reproduce because they can’t even see the women, let alone know what to say to them.
“Worst of all, their superwomen would then be the best in every field. America loses its biggest export, Hollywood movies. Russian superwomen would rule the box office—not to mention the complete loss of the American porn industry! It would be an economic disaster! They would just walk through our defenses, and we would be powerless to stop them for at least two half-lives of epsilon radiation, or about thirty years.
“Look what has happened to Scranton since the epsilon release—years of a slowing economy, the population drop, the birthrate drop, high alcoholism; the mafia has moved in and taken control. This is the model of the plans Russia had for the entire economy of the U.S. First, they would strike Europe, and then the US mainland.
“But something went terribly wrong. Whereas the epsilon ray experimentation has only affected Scranton in the U.S., it seems to have had massive, wide-reaching effects in all of Russia. Look at what happened to Russia since their release of epsilon radiation—a bankrupt economy ends the Cold War, population and birthrates drop, alcoholism runs rampant; the mafia takes control of the country. Can’t you see the parallel connection? Do you still think a cowboy president Ronald Reagan bankrupted Russia and ended the Cold War? Or was it the result of their years of research in epsilon radiation gone out of control, like Chernobyl?”
I remember looking at him puzzled, blinking, and then mumbling something stupid like, “What was the third choice?”
I’m fucked…I’m fucked, glowed my laptop.
“I know this is a lot to absorb in a single sitting, but do you see the basis for my theory, and the importance of it to us all?”
I remember looking at the blond, looking at the RFD morons
around me, and finally asking Jones to show me the Olga video again. I just wanted to be sure I wasn’t imagining those eyes. But when I saw it again, she flashed me a blue/green eye glance that about melted my shorts. To my surprise, I could see Jones couldn’t see the change in eye color as I did. Maybe I did have something unique to offer, not that I knew what that meant.
I knew then that Jones was on to something, maybe just something crazy, but maybe something big. But what I didn’t know was how it was going to take over my life. I glanced over at the blond to find her sense my gaze and give me the most welcoming smile I had ever seen…felt throughout my whole body. I smiled idiotically back then, like an Eight grade boy caught looking, I snapped my head back to Jones trying to pretend I had not been seen. “Yeah, I think you’re onto something here, Doc…but I can’t just write about the theory.”
“No, no, of course not, my friend. This is just the introduction, the wetting of your whistle, so to speak. We have the RFDs as evidence,” he said, gesturing, as a young man wearing antlers plowed full speed into a pillar beside us and fell backward on to the floor. “We need to find proof of the other half of the equation, the superwomen, before we go public with this puppy. I could use your help in this. In Russia, Demitri is already trying to locate Olga Settchuoff and the women on that Olympic team. He’s also having a lot of luck with superwomen in the Russian personal ads, if you know what I mean,” said Jones with a wink and smile. When my unimpressed face didn’t find the idea of his friend getting lucky amusing, he continued,” Just yesterday, he said he had found the small town where he believes Olga has hidden herself.
“You and I need to find the Olga Settchuoff of Scranton.” His eyes widened with every word and he slowly leaned across the table until he was inches from me. “Once we find her and verify her powers, we go right to riches, fame, the Nobel Prize, and maybe even TV talk shows.”
Maybe there was a story here, or maybe there was just a bunch of half-crocked men, an epsilon-sniffing professor, and an asshole in need of money. (I’m not saying which one was me.) But if I could write about the safety hazards of pigeon poop in the park system, then I was certain I could write about this, if the price was right…Anything over 25 cents, said my empty pockets. Then I glanced over again at the blond to see if she was looking my way. No such luck, but she did down another bottle of beer. Man, I loved the way she finished that last drop at the end. It meant she enjoyed her work…Crap, where has my mind drifted off to? Focus, focus! I realized I was holding down a key on my laptop and had just made a page full of the letter q.
It was time for the Doc to put up or shut up. I didn’t want to lose him by being too greedy, but I sensed an opportunity here. “I also can’t write for free. This kind of journalistic research will take time, travel, and a lot of greased palms.”
“Oh yes! This I know! I assure you, Logan, that you will be well paid for your time. Next time we meet I will have a retainer fee for you, and there is more where that’s coming from…trust fund, don’t you know.”
Hearing those magic words was enough for me. “You got a deal, Doc,” I said, reaching for his little hand to shake with image of a paycheck enabling me to date a beautiful blonde as my reward.
He took my hand and gave it a ferocious shake. “You won’t be sorry; I am promising you this! Just wait till we find this superwoman. Mom will be so proud…and she wanted me to be a surgeon!”
We packed our cases, put on our coats, and started moving toward the door. I remember how excited Jones was to have converted someone to his theory. You could feel the energy oozing out of him—or maybe it was just the epsilon.
I too felt the excitement of being part of something that transcended the day to day. I just hoped there really was a paycheck in it.
Then there was the added excitement, south of the border, brought on by the fact that Jones was leaving, and this was my opportunity to introduce myself to the blond. I knew this was a scientific experiment and I should listen to the Doc and not interfere with the controlled conditions and that she could ‘fry me like an insect’, but man did you see the way she could lick a bottle? After a furious battle with myself, I decided to leave with Jones to keep him happy and then return to meet her. I began acting out in my head what I would say to her, searching for the always-illusive perfect line.
It was a great plan, a great plan until she spoke, “How are you boys doing tonight?” she asked as we passed her.
I felt like an ass, but all I could say, and all Jones could say, were a few slurred, senseless syllables—the SSS effect, as it later became known. I think Jones even drooled a little as well. Mr. Macho! I had wanted to approach her, but now I was reduced to Jell-O in her presence—lime Jell-O, the kind no one likes. We slowed as we passed but spoke nothing coherent, while she stared at us in near disbelief urging us to speak with encouraging gestures with her hands.
We continued in silence out the two sets of doors to the street with stupid grins on our faces.
Outside, I followed Jones across the street until he stopped in front of another bar, The Banshee. By then, we had regained use of our brains. He shook my hand. “Thank you again, Logan. I will be in touch with the details of our next course of action in finding the Scranton super female. I am sure the answer is somewhere in here,” he said, tapping his briefcase. “As you can see from that woman at the bar, there are exceptional women here in Scranton, but it is the queen bee, the one who benefited most from the epsilon release that we are after. Now, if you will excuse me.”
“Heading out for a little night on the town, Doc?”
Jones chuckled. “You saw those buffoons in the bar. In a town like this, where men would not know a woman even if she was sitting right on their face, even a guy like me can get lucky,” he added, giving me a smile and a big thumbs-up. “Research, research, you know,” he said, before turning to go into the bar.
“Oh, I get it, research. Lots of research, lots of fun,” I commented as I turned to go.
“Lots of research,” I could hear him say as the door closed.
I remember I was glad for him, able to move on with his night. But for me, I felt disturbed, like I was suddenly aware of a different world than the one I had known. I stood in front of The Banshee for a long moment as two RFDs walked by, one running head on into a lamppost that had suddenly jumped out in front of him; the other laughed, then tripped over the first’s legs and slid down the icy sidewalk on his belly into the base of a trash can. He’s right, a city full of assholes! I said to myself. That’s when the truth of Jones’s theory finally hit me. If the Epsilon had made these men this dumb, then it must have made the women…amazing. Then I thought about the blond with the flashing eyes, and everything became clear.
After watching a few of my deep breaths turn to clouds in the night air, I decided I had to find her again. So I followed the compass in my pants back across the street to O’Malley’s. (Luckily, I looked up in time to see a speeding beer truck appear around the corner and was able to stop before it flashed by and mashed me into the pavement.
I was just about to reach for the door of O’Malley’s when it opened and a blond woman dressed all in black appeared quickly before me. I was taken aback. She paused a second as well. A black Zorro mask disguised her eyes. She gave me a look of surprise, then recognition, before hitting me with a flash of blue and then green from her eyes that left me frozen. Christ, does every woman’s eyes do that now? I wondered. Am I going blind? Then She disappeared into a fog that seemed to come out of nowhere and vanish with her.
I wasn’t able to move until her image was completely gone. “Hey,” I said feebly when I was finally able to speak.
I stormed back into O’Malley’s and soon found myself standing before the empty booth in which the blond had sat. Stupid as it may seem now, I expected her to be there. Like an ass, I hadn’t connected the woman in the mask to the woman in the bar. In my defense, it was a really good mask…okay, even a four year old would
have known. I picked up one of her empty Miner’s Lite bottles and sniffed it like I was some sort of bloodhound or frickin’ DNA machine. She had left nothing else, except a twenty for a tip.
I stood and looked at the twenty thinking how nice it would look in my wallet, which was empty waiting for Jones’ work to fill it.. I knew taking it would wrong, and it certainly was not a habit of mine, but I also remembered the glowing empty fuel light on the dashboard of my car as I had pulled into the parking lot of O’Malley’s, along with the $1.47 in my pocket.
I was still debating when the old barkeep collected all five of her bottles off the table into a plastic pail with one sweep of his forearm. He gave me a don’t even think about it look, then grabbed the twenty, gave the table a quick wipe, and said, “If you’re looking for a drink, I recommend someplace other than here.” I noticed that now, in addition to his dirty white apron, he was wearing an army helmet on his balding head.
“One of those guys back there is getting pretty good; might actually hit something, if you know what I mean. I’m trapped in this dump with these assholes—they’re my only regular customers—but you should get out of here.”
“Thanks for the tip…” Then I couldn’t resist asking, now that I had become a real investigative journalist, “The blonde that was sitting here, know who she is? Is she a regular?”
“Not hardly. I might be an ol’ fart, but my heart is still ticking…I thinks I’d remember a bird like her.”
“Did you happen to see her eyes?”
“Listen,” he said, “I already told ya I was old! But I ain’t dead…least not that they told me! I done brought her a table full of beers; think I didn’t notice them eyes?”
My heart began to pound in my chest. “You, you saw them?” I was hoping I was the only one who saw the flashes and that I had some special connection to her.
“Oh yeah, I ain’t seen hazel eyes sparkle like that since…since I was a young man.”
Super Born: Seduction of Being Page 3
