Game Date: 03.17.2002

St. Patrick's Day with Helena

Chris' dates with Helena had consisted of Wendy's burgers and baked potatoes, as Helena hadn't wanted to leave the bookstore. The dates went fine. They would talk Joyce Carol Oates, Thomas Mallory, and comics over Wendy's Big Triples for him and cheddar and bacon baked potatoes for her. It was nice to meet a pretty woman that wasn't trying to be an anorexic. She was well read, too. Her knowledge of Joyce Carol Oates was stunning. He was cheating by using Whitney, and he still couldn't keep up. Chris decided that if she left this bookstore, their fiction section, especially the Joyce Carol Oates part of it, would never recover. She had this part of the world on total lockdown. Too bad the Wardens didn't need a Joyce Carol Oates expert. With Helena at his side, the bad guys would be so screwed. He'd made a mental note that he could get the New York Times and the Wall Street Journal here and it would count as quality time, too. However, she didn't really understand comics or Thomas Mallory. Comics, he could understand. After all, most women didn't read them. But Mallory was a different problem. He just couldn't get her to understand that the author of L' Mort de Arthur was a hired hitman. Okay, he was a knighted hitman, but that didn't make him any less a hitman.

It was another holiday just a month after Valentine's. St Patrick's Day was the occasion, and all the Irish were showing their colors. Chris had gone to the St. Patrick's Day parade that morning by himself. Helena had said that she needed to take care of some things during the day but would see him that evening. It would be the first time since Valentine's that they had spent some time together away from the bookstore.

Chris headed over to Helena's apartment to pick her up for the evening festivities. He was wearing his green Miami #5 football jersey with blue jeans and black high-tops and his UM letter jacket. His mind wandered to what they would be doing that evening. Maybe they would hit a few Irish pubs and drink some green beer, he thought as he knocked on the door. Helena answered the door wearing a long sleeved green button down shirt with green tights and black ankle boots. Chris smiled and gave her another bag of Granny Smith apples. "Well don't just stand there, come on in. Dinner's ready," she said. "Dinner?" Chris asked. He hadn't expected this. "Yes," she said. "I decided that we would be staying in this evening, so I whipped up something modest." Staying in this evening, in the back of his mind, there was the entire Hurricane bench cheering with Sebastian the Ibis doing the funky chicken. Which bench? Football? Basketball? Soccer? Let 'em all cheer, he thought. I've earned this. "Okay," he said. "I guess I can stay for a little while."

She led Chris into the kitchen, where he was greeted with roast beef, green beans, broccoli, lima beans and salad greens. "Like my theme?" she asked. If this was modest, he thought, Thanksgiving was going to be truly something. His inner workout guy was already scrambling for the treadmill. Even his inner glutton was slightly intimidated. "I like it," he said. "Between the outfit and the food, you successfully avoided getting pinched."

"What's with the green jersey, I thought the Miami Hurricanes wore orange."

"Normally we did. But on special occasions, like this one, we wear green. Since when did you know about what the Miami Hurricanes wear?"

"Since I started seeing you. I thought I'd do a little research. But apparently I missed that green was a Hurricane color. By the way, the Greek hoplite guy you work with is Brasidas."

Chris's inner security guy swallowed his bagel and started to gag. It was getting crowded and a bit chaotic in Chris's subconscious, but his inner smooth guy prevailed. "Yes, that's him. He's a great guy. Somewhat intense. You really don't want him on your back. I notice he doesn't give up."

"No, he doesn't. He was very brave to stick around the Pyramid on 9-11. I wonder how he recovered from that so quickly?"

Chris's ribs and shield arm throbbed. He was quickly deciding maybe smart girls who do research aren't such wonderful creatures. "He's one of the good guys. He's got right on his side, not to mention awesome medical facilities." Somehow he didn't grimace from the throbbing.

"I imagine so. What would your mother think about us seeing each other?"

Chris's inner smooth guy wasn't doing so well any more. Fortunately, he was loaded with those cute lame grins athletes get when they're surprised by such questions. He cracked one and said, "Ummm... I haven't really thought about it. You and my mom don't occupy the same sections of my consciousness."

"I don't know if that's a good or a bad thing."

"It's a good thing! C'mon, I can't french my mom!"

Helena laughed. "You certainly shouldn't. But..." and she leaned over and kissed him for about five minutes.

She's really good at this, thought Chris. But she didn't even wait to start eating the roast beef...

"I wanted to get that in before you ate any of the roast beef. Kissing someone after eating roast beef is almost as bad as kissing someone who's been smoking a cigar. You were considerably better."

Chris suppressed the urge to ask her how good he was. "Let's get started. I don't want you to have done all that work and it get cold."

She was a good cook, too. The meal was fantastic. Then again, most meals are better when you're eating them with someone who likes you a whole lot.

They went on to discuss Thomas Mallory. It was an intense but civil discussion. Unfortunately, Chris didn't get any farther in convincing Helena that Mallory wasn't that romantic.

When he turned the discussion to her mother, she changed the subject. "I don't want to talk about her."

So he changed the subject to green beer. That made her laugh. No, she didn't drink green beer. She wasn't Irish, either. Chris made mental notes and wondered how much green beer the Kronians were drinking.

They finished dinner, and she got very close to him. "Let's go upstairs," she said. He kissed her very passionately, then reined in his hormones and said, "As charming and beautiful as you are, I'd like to take a rain check on that. I wouldn't want you to lose your respect for me. However, I would consider setting aside a whole day to get to know each other really well. Besides, I've gotta see what Mom would think so I don't get caught unprepared for the next time you ask that question. Speaking of that, do you have an extra picture?" He handed her one of his mother when she was young. He didn't really know why he even had it, but if there was a moment to hand it out, this seemed like the time. "She'd want to know what you look like, and I really think she'd like you."

She took the picture. "She seems young."

"That was taken when she was a little older than I was. I think that was even before she met my dad."

She laid her right hand on his face. "I'm a little disappointed, but I respect your decision not to stay. But you better stay next time, and I want a picture of your Dad, too."

Chris agreed. As he left her apartment, he wondered if she'd realized how excited he was. Of course she did, he thought. She's a smart woman.

Helena wondered what kind of an athlete would turn down an offer like that. But she really did respect his decision and she wasn't letting him escape the next time, either. But she became a little depressed when she realized when he talked about his family, she'd have to reciprocate by talking about hers. But she decided to forget about that unhappiness and glory in the fact she finally got the roast beef right on a date...