and we need to establish that we can trust each other. And since both of those will take a while, we may as well eat, right? Nice dinner, public place?"
"I already ate," she said, "And I'm not going to go..."
"You paying?" Phil asked.
And off they went.
* * *
Phil refused to eat any seafood at the seafood restaurant, and just had a hamburger instead. He said he didn't trust clams or fish or lobster more than a thousand miles from the sea. He also ordered a salad, but didn't touch it. Susan ordered a salad too, but ended up eating all of Lee's lobster-stuffed mushrooms instead.
"You're not very forthcoming with this set-up you promised," she said. "And why me, anyway? How do you even know who I am?"
"Saw you on the farm report," Lee said in between bites of his lobster, "You're new, you're pretty, you're young, I thought you could use the break. You've been on there a month now, and I never miss an episode."
"You watch the farm report? You don't look like a farmer."
"I am, actually. You don't look like a Farm Reporter."
This was what passed for witty repartee in the 1970s. She looked uncomfortable at his pass. After an awkward silence, he got back to the reason he'd asked her out.
"Ok. Here goes: As you know, the space program in this country is dead."
"No it's not, they're developing that Space Shuttle thing—the Enterprise—and…"
"The Enterprise isn't a shuttle," Lee said, "It's just a mock-up, a full-scale glider to make sure the design won't instantly crash. I don't have any confidence the space shuttles will actually fly. Did you know they were supposed to go into service last year?"
"No. Well, wait... no," she admitted. Lee liked her. She had an engaging Margot Kidder/Diane Keaton way of talking, generally sure, but then inexpertly shy and retiring at unpredictable intervals.
"No one seems to remember that. President Carter postponed it. He's got some kind of pathological hatred of space for some reason, I don't know why, maybe religious I think. Since 1973 NASA kept saying 'it'll be in service by 1978, it'll be in service by 1978' but now they're saying it'll be some time in Carter's second term..."
"Yeah, that'll happen," Susan said sarcastically.
"Huh?"
"Carter's an idiot. He's not going to get a second term. The Republicans could run a trained bear and beat him. The economy, the Hostage Crisis, Afghanistan, he's a dead duck."
"Lame duck."
"Whatever." She finished off the last of the stuffed mushrooms. Phil looked bored.
"In any event, there hasn't been an American in space since 1975," Lee said.
"Ok, so space is dead. What does it matter?" Phil asked.
Lee's eyes went aglow, "There's everything out there—entire worlds to conquer, limitless resources, vast land for us to colonize. America could become the space equivalent of what the British Empire used to be. Added to which, our species needs to get off this rock so that we'll be less likely to be completely wiped out by a plague or disaster or nuclear war..."
"No," Lee said, "It's too expensive, I've seen them big Saturn rockets on the TV, they're like a hundred million dollars a pop..."
"Three hundred million," Susan corrected, surprising Lee.
"Oh, I totally agree, that's not the way to do it. But there is another way."
Susan suddenly looked very disappointed. She said in a very flat voice, "I'm impressed: That's the stupidest line I've ever heard to get me in bed. Possibly the stupidest line anyone has ever used to get someone in to bed."
Lee glanced nervously and Phil, who was red-faced from the beer, and on the edge of sleep; not really paying attention.
"Oh, no, this isn't a line: I've actually got a rocket. I actually wanted to take you to the moon, and let you broadcast the whole thing to the whole world. Story of a lifetime."
* * *
Phil refused to let Susan go off alone with Lee, whom he insisted was a maniac, possibly a cannibal. After some argument, Lee pulled a Polaroid instamatic out of nowhere, and had the waitress
"I already ate," she said, "And I'm not going to go..."
"You paying?" Phil asked.
And off they went.
* * *
Phil refused to eat any seafood at the seafood restaurant, and just had a hamburger instead. He said he didn't trust clams or fish or lobster more than a thousand miles from the sea. He also ordered a salad, but didn't touch it. Susan ordered a salad too, but ended up eating all of Lee's lobster-stuffed mushrooms instead.
"You're not very forthcoming with this set-up you promised," she said. "And why me, anyway? How do you even know who I am?"
"Saw you on the farm report," Lee said in between bites of his lobster, "You're new, you're pretty, you're young, I thought you could use the break. You've been on there a month now, and I never miss an episode."
"You watch the farm report? You don't look like a farmer."
"I am, actually. You don't look like a Farm Reporter."
This was what passed for witty repartee in the 1970s. She looked uncomfortable at his pass. After an awkward silence, he got back to the reason he'd asked her out.
"Ok. Here goes: As you know, the space program in this country is dead."
"No it's not, they're developing that Space Shuttle thing—the Enterprise—and…"
"The Enterprise isn't a shuttle," Lee said, "It's just a mock-up, a full-scale glider to make sure the design won't instantly crash. I don't have any confidence the space shuttles will actually fly. Did you know they were supposed to go into service last year?"
"No. Well, wait... no," she admitted. Lee liked her. She had an engaging Margot Kidder/Diane Keaton way of talking, generally sure, but then inexpertly shy and retiring at unpredictable intervals.
"No one seems to remember that. President Carter postponed it. He's got some kind of pathological hatred of space for some reason, I don't know why, maybe religious I think. Since 1973 NASA kept saying 'it'll be in service by 1978, it'll be in service by 1978' but now they're saying it'll be some time in Carter's second term..."
"Yeah, that'll happen," Susan said sarcastically.
"Huh?"
"Carter's an idiot. He's not going to get a second term. The Republicans could run a trained bear and beat him. The economy, the Hostage Crisis, Afghanistan, he's a dead duck."
"Lame duck."
"Whatever." She finished off the last of the stuffed mushrooms. Phil looked bored.
"In any event, there hasn't been an American in space since 1975," Lee said.
"Ok, so space is dead. What does it matter?" Phil asked.
Lee's eyes went aglow, "There's everything out there—entire worlds to conquer, limitless resources, vast land for us to colonize. America could become the space equivalent of what the British Empire used to be. Added to which, our species needs to get off this rock so that we'll be less likely to be completely wiped out by a plague or disaster or nuclear war..."
"No," Lee said, "It's too expensive, I've seen them big Saturn rockets on the TV, they're like a hundred million dollars a pop..."
"Three hundred million," Susan corrected, surprising Lee.
"Oh, I totally agree, that's not the way to do it. But there is another way."
Susan suddenly looked very disappointed. She said in a very flat voice, "I'm impressed: That's the stupidest line I've ever heard to get me in bed. Possibly the stupidest line anyone has ever used to get someone in to bed."
Lee glanced nervously and Phil, who was red-faced from the beer, and on the edge of sleep; not really paying attention.
"Oh, no, this isn't a line: I've actually got a rocket. I actually wanted to take you to the moon, and let you broadcast the whole thing to the whole world. Story of a lifetime."
* * *
Phil refused to let Susan go off alone with Lee, whom he insisted was a maniac, possibly a cannibal. After some argument, Lee pulled a Polaroid instamatic out of nowhere, and had the waitress
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