The cell phone rings. The display shows an unidentified number from Jersey. Christina answers even though she knows she shouldn't. Research scientists from Smithsonian should know better. Even the alcoholic ones.

''�Hello?'�

'Christina! The love of my life! How are ya, sweetheart?'�

'I'm good. Kinda tired. Sorry I didn't call you back ' I was in West Virginia this weekend.'�

Which was true. But the real reason she didn't return his call is that she was a little scared. She had only met Michael a week ago. He was sitting across from her at a crowded bar in Jersey, drinking with a friend. Both appeared to be'�how should one say it'�'made men'�. And Michael couldn't look more the part. A well dressed older man with a thin straight scar that propagated from the corner of his eye to his lower jaw. Looking to score some coke, she waltzed over there and within fifteen minutes they were at the Hyatt, and (after he frisked her) they were flying. They talked for three hours about everything from politics to love to high performance liquid chromatography.

Beyond that not much happened, but he was very taken with Christina. That night he offered to 'get rid of all his other ladies' for her, and 'dress her up nice'. When he got her a cab, he offered some 'petty cash' for the ride home. But all of this she politely declined, as any good government employee should. The following day she thought she was safely back in DC, but she did give him her number. When someone like Michael asks for your number, you comply. Immediately and with a smile.

'Yeah, so I got this party in Vegas next week. You wanna to go? Some MTV thing. In Vegas, you know? Jay-Z is gunna be there. And some new Spanish singer. Remember I told you about her? She's gunna be big. She sings in Spanish and in English.'�

Christina does remember this singer, as well as his claimed acquaintance with rap stars and politicians. He had told her all of this that fateful night they met, seated caddy corner to each other at the hotel while Christina chain smoked his Marlboro Reds and absorbed his tales with wide eyes and borderline disbelief.

''�Uhh'�no thanks'�yeah'�I can't take off work with that short notice.'� Again, this is true.

'Oh yeah'�I wasn't thinking I'd go either. But if you wanted, I coulda taken ya,'� Michael defensively responded. Everyone has a soft spot.

Christina's in absolute awe. She didn't know people like this existed outside of Scorsese films. She's fascinated with the idea of knowing someone like Michael. He said he'd change her life, and she knew he could. But, even she knows somewhere deep down that this can't start, that she'll quickly get in over her head.

He continues. 'You know, you're my lightnin' bolt girl. You know what I mean by lightin' bolt? You ever hear of that? You know you really got balls, the way you came over to me that night. Most people are scared of me. You know that? Do you miss me? I miss you.'�

Awkward pause. What can one say?? She knew exactly what he meant. Christina too had similarly been struck, but unfortunately not for Michael. It was for a guy she met a few days before Michael. He was on tour with the Circus. Derek. She went out for drinks with him on a Wednesday night, and then off to his place. Most of the night previous to meeting Michael was spent whining to her friends that the circus guy hadn't called her back. But Christina didn't know that the number of lightning bolts going around at any given moment is limited, and unfortunately for her the one available hit Michael instead of Derek. She remained mistakenly hopeful that she and Derek would eventually run off into the sunset together, despite the fact that he hadn't contacted her since their first, and what was to be only, date. Christina should do some research into the probability associated with lightning strikes.

She finally musters up a response. ''�Who wouldn't miss you Michael?'�

'Ha ha'� now there's a stock answer. Yeah, okay. Well anyway, I gotta go. But I'm thinking of comin' down to DC. Yeah, I gotta meet some people over there in Washington. I'll take you out to dinner or sumthin'. Keep the rest of the week open. I'll call ya.'�

''�Okay. I'll talk to you later.'�

'By sweetheart. I love ya'�.

Awkward pause'�very long and exceptionally awkward this time.

''�Okay'�bye Michael'�.

She hung up. Her housemate Wolf looked at her from across the kitchen table, where he was keenly listening to this conversation, with a hint of a smile. He shakes his head and takes another swig of beer. In his well enunciated German-accented English he offers some advice:

'Is that your Mafiosa boyfriend? You have to stop taking his calls. You're going to get yourself into trouble.'� He giggles, shaking his head again.

One had to agree. She would stop taking his calls, but he always calls from a different number. She flashes back to their night at the Hyatt, where on the table next to his pile of coke there were three cell phones and a wad of cash.

Christina re-checks her e-mail for a sign from Derek. Her infatuation for him is utterly inexplicable. Unlike most analytical chemists, she chooses to ignore all the empirical evidence indicating they would never speak again, and instead holds fast to her theoretical model of a predestined love. She had discovered on their one date that five years earlier he had opened a bar in Greenwich Village only two units down from where her apartment at the time. They MUST have passed in the street at some point. It MUST be fate stepping in that that they met online. In reality, the reason Christina is so taken is that he is not in the least interested in her. She had spent the last week stalking him online, and checking his profile to see if he was logged onto the personal site where they had met. And he was, almost everyday. But this didn't stop her utter determination to get him to fall in love with her simply by willing it so in her mind. Guys, take my advice: if you want a girl head over heals for you, act like you don't give a shit. Guaranteed or your money back.

There is no reason that Christina should be so taken with him. To her it was destiny, because they had likely crossed paths before. She had discovered on their one date that five years earlier he had opened a bar two units down from where she was living at the time, in Greenwich Village with her Parisian boyfriend. They must have passed in the street at some point. It must be fate stepping in that that they met online. But in reality, the reason Christina was so taken is that he was not in the least interested in her. Guys, take my advice: if you want a girl head over heals for you, act like you don't give a shit. Guaranteed or your money back.

They had almost had a second date. They had planned to meet up late after the circus performance that next Friday. Christina spent most of that night waiting for him to call, trying to pass the time quickly hanging out and drinking with friends: Robert Marvin (Pueblo, spiritual advisor/drinking buddy) and Jay (Navaho, mathematician/sidekick). By midnight she was intoxicated and desperately texting Derek to meet up, but he gave a stock excuse only a circus employee could invent. Something about dancers practicing late or some shit.

'I'm getting stood up tonight,'� she told Robert Marvin while he was getting another round.

That night, he looked at her, hard and expressionless, and stiffly flipped his long black hair back over his shoulder. 'Its not meant to be, Christina. Let it go.'�

Christina looks down at her wine, slowly spinning the glass on its axis while trying to think of how to explain that meeting Derek is providence for christssake, and that he has to see her again. Robert Marvin can tell that her mind, like the glass in her hands, is spinning and filled with cheap pinot grigio. He looks down at again from the barstool.

'You're looking for something. I wish I could say it really simple and show you what to do. But you space when we talk and then drift. And I am not that sane, I drift constantly and begin new relations like I am looking for change to do laundry. It's difficult to explain, Cee. I am pretty sure you know where I am going. We are much alike we can't get enough of what we want and we don't throw it away very easy. I hope you will enjoy this right now. If you do not, then it might not've happened babe.'�

Whenever Robert Marvin gives her advice, Christina thinks he is crazy or mistaken. But in reality, she just doesn't get it. But this night she begins to realize this very fact, mostly based on Jay's solid nod in agreement.

'Come out with us tomorrow. There's another beer crawl.'�

'Nah, I can't ' I'm going to West Virginia for a Halloween party. It's going to be pretty insane. I'm taking the Germans with me.'� The 'Germans' are her housemates, with whom she shares a little purple house in the 'hood just north of the Hill.

'OK, Cee. Call me if you need to talk.'� They finish up the wine, and out into the cool night Robert Marvin gets her a cab.

---

It's Saturday night, and Derek is out at a bar in Arlington for a drink after work. They got done early today. He is wearing his signature Johnnie Depp hat and Elvis Costello glasses, with his goat-tee neatly trimmed and his jeans neatly ripped. His roommate Julie, a older rock-n-roll chick, is next to him with a beer.

'So did you meet up with that girl last night? The one that was at our apartment last week?'�

'Nah. She was fun. Not really my type though. Plus she seems a little, uhh'�desperate.'� Derek looks down at Julie with a smirk, and takes a long drag to accentuate this point. 'You should have seen the text messages I got from her last night,'� he says holding his breath, and lets out a long slow puff of smoke. He is quiet, lost in thought for a few moments, and then suddenly tosses back his head and lets out an explosive laugh (also signature). He takes the last gulp of his Maker's on the rocks. 'Man, that chick is crazy.'� He laughs again, and peeks into his pack of Camels. 'I gotta get another pack. I'm almost out.'� He pushes the empty glass aside and tosses a twenty on the bar to cover their tab.

'I'll come with,'� Julie responds as she puts on her jacket to leave. As soon as they step outside the bar, they are confronted by two 40 something men dressed in drag, standing outside a bus, amidst some sort of disagreement. Derek looks at Julie out of the corner of his eye, obviously curious. The older of the two, who looks like a drag version of Blanche from the Golden Girls, is shouting to the drag version of Barbara Streisand that he is definitely not the designated driver for the night. Babs rolls her eyes, exasperated, as it is obvious that Blanche has already had too much to drink. Derek scratches his goat-tee as he watches the scene unfolding.

'What do you think is up with those characters?'�

'Halloween.'� Julie gives a quick nod in the direction of the bus. It is teeming with other costumed people. 'Hold on.'� Julie saunters over to Babs and asks the obvious.

'We're going to Carlos's party,'� Babs explains.

'Carlos?'�

'Yeah. Do you know Carlos?'� Babs asks this as if it were a challenge, while he re-checks the perfection of his manicure. Julie's eyebrows raise a few millimeters higher in amusement.

'No. Should I?'�

'Anyone who's anyone around here knows Carlos,'� Babs retorts. She sighs and turns to Blanche, to make sure that Julie knows he is quite finished talking to her. Bitch.

'OK Stan. I know ' I'm driving. You obviously aren't. Get in already, we're going to be late.'� Babs helps stumbling Stan board the bus, whose engine is already running. They gun it to West Virginia, wigs and wings abouncing all the way up I-270.

They arrive and the costumed passengers excitedly debus as the party is definitely in full swing. There's a crowd of a hundred or so people in and around the little rectilinear house in Sheperdstown, which used to be a bus garage. Carlos, an older gentleman dressed as a cowboy with Marie Antoinette in arm, is proudly watching to see who has arrived. Each invitee was hand-picked by Carlos at some point over the past three decades, and this collection of characters may even be said to rival his collection of art which is safely corded off upstairs.

Stan has sobered up a bit by this point, so he quickly locates the bar. He is pouring himself another glass of wine when he is confronted by a short girl with bedroom eyes and long dark hair. She's dressed completely in black save a pearl choker. She grabs his arm to steady herself in her state of intoxication, donning a bewildered expression.

'Have you seen my Germans? I can't find them anywhere. And they were just here! Hmmmph'�.there are at least three of them.'� Christina is holding onto Stan's floral fabriced arm, and her swaying is starting to pull him toward her. But this pleases Stan immensely.

'You're Germans? Uhh'�no, I haven't seen them,'� Stan begins, a little confused as how best to proceed. 'But you have to be careful with Germans. Slippery little suckers.'� Christina frowns at this answer, and then looks up, focusing intensely on Stan's eyes.

'Yeah'� I guess you're right'�'� She sighs and with murky resolution accepts the fact that the Germans are lost among the tipsy dancing crowd. Christina is still using Stan to steady herself. He takes a drink of wine out of his plastic cup, and now regrets that he agreed with Bruce (a/k/a Babs) to go to this party dressed as an old woman.

Christina eyes Stan up and down then returns to his eyes in a drunken epiphany. 'You know, I used to date a guy who liked to cross-dress. On occasion, anyway.'� Stan's eyes widen and he pulls back slightly. Is this little pearl of information good or bad? It may mean that he has a chance with this girl he's trying to hold steady, but on the other hand, this chick digs transvestites?? This is not good.

'Really? That must have been hard. For you I mean.'� Stan is now even more confused as to how to deal with this situation. 'Actually, that's just fuckin' weird.'�

Christina, still holding Stan's shoulder, pulls back to get a good steady look at him. 'You realize that you're dressed as a woman right now, right?'�

This angers Stan. He isn't some freaky cross-dresser! He puts down his plastic cup, and hits the table in front of them squarely with both hands.

'But it's Halloween! I keep telling everyone! It's Halloween!!'� Stan is looking at Christina awaiting some sort of apology, but she only stares back blankly, as if she is thinking that Stan must be the crazy one.

The cross-dresser she dated was an physicist she had met while doing research at the synchrotron at Cornell two years back. That was the last guy she felt destined to be with. He too was similarly disinterested, and so Christina was in love. He was going to be in Washington in two weeks for a conference, and they planned to meet up. Was this fate stepping in again? Was meeting the dolled up version of Stan at a costume party in West Virginia really a sign from the gods that her transvestite physicist would realize that he was in love with her? Christina contemplates this, and quickly losing interest in Stan resumes her search for the Germans. But she is not dedicated, and after 10 minutes decides to go to bed. The Germans eventually find her, asleep in her boa and choker.

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