Text Wars: May the Text be With You ... (An Accidentally in Love Story Book 3)
Page 5
“You were amazing, sweetie! Just amazing. While it’s not exactly what Lita, Lynda, and I were expecting, you sure did make an impression. You could definitely be a male model if you wanted to, not that I think you should do that because you’re wildly successful already, but you could. Lita and Lynda both said so.” It’s not that I expect my mom to be horrified by my television debut — she is my mother after all, and I can do no wrong. But you’d think she’d at least be embarrassed on my behalf.
“It was a ridiculous waste of time,” I tell her. “I didn’t even get a chance to talk about the project. It was just arguing with that … that … astrologer.”
“Wasn’t she wonderful?” my mom gushes. “I already signed up for her app. She has all kinds of information like how to eat, dress, and even where to vacation for your star sign. And did you know she’s adding a dating app? Apparently, it’s being tested in New York City now, but they hope to have it go national by next year. You should totally sign up!”
“That’s a firm no, Mom. I am not interested in dating according to my star sign. I’d rather date based on my favorite M&M color.”
“I think you’re missing out on a wonderful opportunity,” she says.
It’s time to shut this down before we start arguing about her crazy beliefs. “Okay, Mom. Thanks for calling, but I really have to get some work done.”
“Oh, yes, of course. You get back to searching for the next Earth, sweetie. Love you!”
“Love you too.”
I spend the next two hours keeping my attention focused on my computer screen, in part because I really am swamped, but also to avoid making eye contact with anyone who walks past my office. While I would never admit this to anyone, I’m also trying not to think about Serafina Lopez. No matter how off-base her beliefs are, she’s quite possibly the most attractive woman I’ve ever met. Talk about irony. The last person I would ever date is an astrologer, but she’s the only one to catch my eye in what … months? Years? Could that be right?
Yes, yes, it could. Pathetic as that sounds. While I occasionally gather the nerve to ask a woman out, nothing much has ever come from it. There aren’t as many single women at NASA as you might think and, since I rarely do anything other than work, I don’t have the chance to meet many potential dates.
My computer pings and I see an email from Dev (who thankfully hasn’t made an appearance yet today).
* * *
Email from Dev.Grover@GoddardInstitute.com
To: Ben.Williams@GoddardInstitute.com
* * *
Subject: Wake Up America!
* * *
Hey Ben,
* * *
Caught your segment on Wake Up America! and apparently so did about thirty million other people. Waltraut, the producer, called me just now to say you’re trending under the hashtags #DrBananaPants #DrRocketship, and #MarryMeDrBen. They’ve put your segment on their YouTube playlist and it already has over two million views.
Anyway, they want you back on as a weekly segment, starting next Monday. Obviously, I said yes. The top brass said no more tight pants, but otherwise they loved it. Our project website has had ten times the views it normally gets on a Monday, so people are paying attention.
* * *
Well done, lad!
Dev
Email from: Ben.Williams@GoddardInstitute.com
To: Dev.Grover@GoddardInstitute.com
* * *
Subject: RE: Wake Up America!
* * *
No. Nada. Not happening. Never again. Not doing it.
* * *
Ben
Email from Dev.Grover@GoddardInstitute.com
To: Ben.Williams@GoddardInstitute.com
* * *
Subject: RE: RE: Wake Up America!
* * *
Atlas V Lucy Mission launches soon. Will you be there?
* * *
D
I storm past Dev’s assistant, May, not giving her time to tell me he’s busy. Without knocking, I open the door and walk in, too angry to bother with manners.
Dev doesn’t even look up from his computer. He keeps typing as he says, “Yes, you are.”
“No, I am not.”
“Will you please read the words on the name plate on my desk for me?” he asks, pointing to the triangular wooden plaque.
“Dev Grover, Department Head, NASA Goddard Institute.”
“Right, and what does the name plate on your desk say?” he asks, looking up at the ceiling as though he’s trying to remember. “Oh right, nothing because you don’t have one. And you never will if you can’t show up for the job you’ve got.”
I swallow hard, trying to calm myself down. “Listen, Dev. They made a joke of me by dressing me up like a clown. NASA can’t want us to look like fools.”
“Actually, according to Waltraut, your willingness to play along made you very popular among female viewers in their child-bearing years.”
“Is that really who we’re trying to appeal to?” I ask, raising my voice a little.
“Other than seniors, stay-at-home moms are the other demographic most likely to have the television on during the day. If we can get them excited about space-related matters, we’re going to see a lot more funding from our partners and from the Feds.”
“So, you’re just going to pimp me out like … some … space whore?” I ask.
“Yes, Ben. Yes, I am.” Dev sits back in his chair. “I’d pimp out the entire team if it meant taking top-billing away from those Mars sons of bitches.”
“Well, that’s just perfect,” I say, folding my arms. “Why don’t we just pose shirtless with puppies like firefighters? We could make our own calendar.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” Dev answers with a grin.
“I’m not serious!”
“I am. Times are tough, my friend. At any moment, we could lose our funding completely and we’ll all be out on our asses. I’m not sure if you know this or not, but there aren't exactly a plethora of places hiring astrophysicists,” Dev says. “If you can be the key to us all having jobs, you owe it to the rest of us to make that happen. That’s what being a leader is about. Sometimes you have to take one for the team.”
My shoulders slump and I stare at him, scrambling to think of a viable counterargument. Nope. I’m totally blank.
“I’m going to make this very simple for you, Ben. Every Monday morning from now until the world gets tired of you, you’re going to be at that studio talking us up. And if you do that, you’ll get to come back here and spend the rest of the week doing the work you love,” he says. “If you don’t, you won’t.”
“You’d fire me? Are you serious?” I ask, my heart pounding.
“Don’t think of it like that. Think of it as me safeguarding the continued job security of all of my employees, including you.”
Shaking my head, I say, “Fine. I’ll do it, but …” I try to think of the perfect threat, but only manage to come up with, “I’m not coming to the Christmas party this year. Not if it’s at your house.”
There. I told him.
Nine
Serafina
“Six hundred dollars? You can’t be serious?” Charley practically yells when I hand her a check for her modeling appearance on Wake Up America!
“Apparently the money is why models are so willing to go on auditions they might not get. Take it and enjoy, but don’t fall for the lure of easy cash,” I caution her.
“As if there’s any way I could ever be a real model,” she grumbles.
I remember all too well the angst associated with being a teenager and I feel for my young friend. “Can you imagine what they’re saying about you at your high school right now? Because you know the word is out that you modeled on Wake Up America!”
“How could the word be out? I don’t even keep in touch with anyone.” She plops down on a bean bag chair looking more forlorn than I remember seeing her.
Winking at her, I pick up my phone. After going to the search bar and hit
ting the microphone and speaker buttons simultaneously, I say, “Call Eleanor Falls Academy in New York.”
Charley’s eyes pop wide open when she hears the secretary answer the phone. “Eleanor Falls Academy. How may I help you?”
Plugging my nose to alter the tone of my voice, I say, “This is Sera Martin calling from The Post, I’d like to speak to your principal, please.”
“May I tell her what this is regarding?”
“I’m calling about Charlotte Jenkins. I believe she’s a sophomore at your school.”
“Not anymore,” the secretary says snidely. “What has she done now?”
Charley looks like she wants to jump into the phone and do something that would really get her into trouble. I simply say, “She was accepted into Yale at age fifteen and just made her national modeling debut on Wake Up America!”
“What?! That can’t be right.”
“May I quote you in my article?” I ask.
She gasps audibly before saying, “No! I mean, I’d rather you didn’t. Please hold for Principal Fox.”
While I wait, Charley says, “You can’t go telling them I’m going to be in an article in The Post. They’ll be looking for it.”
“Ye of little faith. My brother Zay’s girlfriend’s mother works there. I’ll just call in a couple favors and see what they can do.”
“Why would they want to write about me?”
“Because you, my young friend, are extraordinary and brilliant, funny and talented. You are exactly the kind of person people want to read about right now.”
After a quick chat with Charley’s old principal, where I suggest she might want to line up some students and teachers to be interviewed for the upcoming article, I hang up and offer my young employee a bright smile.
“No one is going to say anything nice about me,” she moans. “They’ll say I’m a freak with a penchant for getting into trouble.”
Shaking my head, I tell her, “No, they won’t. Trust me, they’re going to bend over backwards to look and act like they’re your best friends.”
“They’d be lying then,” she grumbles.
“So what? You didn’t like them anyway, and this is a fabulous way to exact your revenge.”
Throwing her head back dramatically, Charley replies, “I do dream about that.”
“I know you do, kid. And I’m here to help.” Before I can say anything else, my phone rings with the ringtone I’ve assigned to Wake Up America!, George Michael’s “Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go.”
Charley sits bolt upright with a look of pure excitement on her face as I answer, “Hello, Waltraut. What can I do for you?”
“Have you been on social media since our segment this morning?” she asks.
“Not yet. I just got back to my place and haven’t even had a chance to kick off my shoes yet.” Meanwhile Charley has opened her laptop and is clicking away.
“Go to Instagram,” Waltraut says. “I’ll wait.”
Charley hands over the screen and I say, “Okay, I’m on.”
“Go to the Wake Up America! profile.”
Click, click, click. “I’m there,” I tell her. Then I start to read the posts.
When I don’t say anything else for several beats, the producer says, “You’ll need a month to read everything. The long and short of it is that we want you and Dr. Ben to host a regular Monday morning spot.”
My heart is pounding so hard I’m sure my blood pressure is reaching some kind of danger zone. “I would love to!” I gush before saying, “But I’m pretty sure Dr. Williams won’t agree to it.”
“NASA has already approved his participation.”
“You’re joking.”
“I am not joking,” she says. “The two of you were such a powerhouse duo that the world has fallen in love with you.”
“But how? We could barely stand each other.” And even though there was a brief moment where I thought about jumping the man’s bones, those feelings went right away as soon as he opened his mouth.
“The world loves conflict, Serafina, and you and Ben brought that in spades. Now, do you have a pen? I’m going to give you Dr. Williams’ number. I need you to contact him and pitch me three segment ideas by tomorrow morning. I’ll pick my favorite, so you know which one to run with.”
“Oh, wow. I mean, I thought I’d just come on and talk or something. This sounds like Ben and I are going to have to spend a good deal of time together.”
“You’ll be paid for your time, of course,” Waltraut says. “Also, the publicity will do a lot to enhance both of your agendas.”
Oh, my God! My app is going to go global! I make a mental note to investigate having it translated into other languages. It’s already available in English and Spanish, but if I’m going to be on national television regularly, I can definitely parlay that exposure into more.
“Thank you so much for this opportunity,” I tell Waltraut. “I won’t let you down.”
“I’m sure you won’t. Now, give Dr. Williams a call. I look forward to hearing from you soon.”
Charley has since jumped up and is hopping around my loft looking like she’s performing some kind of tribal dance. When I put my phone down, she lets out an honest to goodness scream. “You’re going to be famous!!!”
“I think you’re right,” I tell her, feeling every ounce as enthusiastic as she is. “But I have to work with that Ben guy.”
“You mean Dr. Banana Pants,” she bursts out laughing. “Did you see the hashtags they’re using for you?”
I hurry over to the couch and sit down with my laptop. #SassyStarLady, #LaLaLopez, and #WhatsUrSign are the most popular. I click on the Live for Your Star Sign page and see that I have over eight thousand new Instagram followers since yesterday.
Picking up my phone, I add Ben as a contact while I tell Charley, “Dr. Banana Pants and I have some work to do.”
Then I send him a text, because there’s no way he’s going to actually take my call.
LibraGrl: Hey Ben. It’s Serafina Lopez from the Live for Your Star Sign App. Looks like you and I have a new gig together. Waltraut wants us to pitch her three segment ideas by tomorrow morning. I thought we might consider an “Eat for your Star Sign” thing. I’d talk about interesting stuff and you could talk about Tang or something. Isn’t that what the astronauts drink in space?
* * *
DrBananaPants: …
* * *
DrBananaPants: …
* * *
LibraGrl: I’ve rendered you mute with possibility, have I?
* * *
DrBananaPants: …
* * *
LibraGrl: Should we grab lunch or dinner and plan the other two pitches together?
* * *
DrBananaPants: …
* * *
LibraGrl: Earth to Dr. Banana Pants; come in, Dr. Banana Pants …
* * *
DrBananaPants: It’s pretty rich that you’re using that ridiculous moniker when you’re the one who picked out those hideous pants.
* * *
LibraGrl: I thought you might find it funny since you’re the one who called them banana pants to begin with. So, dinner? Drinks? How do you want to do this?
* * *
Dr.BananaPants: I’m absolutely not meeting you for anything. As for the segment, I’m going to use my time to discuss the first of the five current ways we’re searching for planets. It’s called radial velocity (there’s a good explanation of it on the NASA Kids website if you'd like to read up on it). If you want to talk about star sign nonsense, that’s up to you. Perhaps we can find out how many minutes we have on air and divide it proportionally based on importance.
NASA Kids site? Rude! I can go to the regular NASA site, thank you very much. “Charley, as fast as possible, find out what you can about radial velocity. I need this jerk to think I know what it is.”
After about thirty seconds, she says, “It’s observing changes in a star’s light caused by a planet orbiting it. The pla
net and star have a tug of war going on that causes the star to wobble a bit … blah, blah, blah … gravitational pull … Doppler effect.”
“Thanks.”
LibraGrl: Well, if you’re talking about radial velocity, that’ll be a great opportunity for me to discuss the tug of war between opposing star signs in the dating world. But in order to appear professional, we really should get together and hash out a plan. Unless you’re afraid of me, of course. In which case, you should see if a braver nerd can take your spot on the show from now on.
* * *
DrBananaPants: There is nothing we can accomplish in person that we can’t via text.
* * *
LibraGrl: Ah, so you are intimidated by me.
* * *
DrBananaPants: Obviously not. I’m just extremely busy with far more important things. However, in the interest of ending this inane back and forth, I’m willing to meet you at the benches on 103rd Street at Riverside Park at six p.m.
* * *
LibraGrl: Are we going to have dinner after that? Where should we go? I hear there’s a great new place on Broadway and 107th. Should we meet there instead?