Cyber Kittens and Cowboys (3 page)

“Sorry, folks! Gotta go!” Pamela waves,
horizontally black pager in air & frowns, ugly. She grabs dirty
tray & aims at trash receptacle. She hopes beyond hope she
could have enjoyed a couple of shared bites of Key Lime pie with
suave and dreamy Preston. Today, ain’t that day, maybe Preston will
follow Arthur to lunch tomorrow.

Preston eye burns Pamela’s path to trash bin
then, anticipated door archway. He pats, roughly cell. “Damn! Be
back in a sec!” He scoots, nosily chair & lifts, slowly dead
cell phone to ear while gallops, swiftly from table intercepting
Pamela before she exits…forever. Two girls, two choices, Preston
chooses her. She likes to eat & follows the rules and he likes
her long sexy legs.

Pamela taps, staccato beats into open hallway
as baritone trombone rumbles. “Hey, Pamela, right?” Sexy voice and
burning heat approach from left near her body.

Pamela swings, gracefully about & eye
burns Preston with cell phone partially to his neck. She grins,
toothy & corrects, pridely as Mr. Handsome Hulk recalls her
name. “Right, Pamela. You’re Preston.”

“Pamela…” He clears, nosily throat like high
school fool. “…maybe we can have supper… sometimes…how
about…tonight, if you’re not too busy?”

Pamela’s silly grin already slices, painfully
into cheekbones from smiling long and wide, now Mr. Handsome Hulk
wants to eat dinner with her, tonight. She presses, more deeply
polished white enamel away from pink lips & talks, boringly.
She shrugs shoulders for drama then shakes, sideways black skull
ending her Oscar winning performance. “No plans, just reading…some
stuff…from work.”

Preston’s grins, toothy with her immediately
acceptance & launches, quickly. “I enjoy Joe’s Bar & Grill
on Lakeshore. Have ya every been? They have American menu of beef,
fish, salads, burgers. Would that place be okay, Pamela?”

Pamela thinks, intellectually & smiles,
forever into Preston’s bluest of blue eyeballs. “Sounds Heavenly,
Preston. Joe’s Bar & Grill on Lakeshore, around seven or so,
does that time frame work around your schedule?”

Preston stands, soldierly with cell partially
hanging in air between black dusted square jaw line and broad manly
shoulders. “Seven, that’s good for me, too, Pamela.”

She loves his deep baritone timber when he
says her name. Pamela claps, softly like silly school girl &
confirms, swiftly while smiling. “Excellent, I’ll meet you in the
lobby.” Pager blasts ear-piercing shrieks for attention. She holds,
vertically object. “I’m being paged.”

“Sure, Pamela. Sure, get going…until this
evening.” Preston confirms, boldly & eye burns her. Pamela
twirls, elegantly as her cotton skirt swirls, outwardly from her
legs & strolls, dutifully back to her office. She glances
behind her shoulder & smiles, sweetly then disappears, totally
into elevator.

Preston pivots, soldierly & enters
Cafeteria marching to finish lunch pondering his date with
Pamela….this evening. He pushes, forcefully chair from table.

Arthur barks, loudly. “Still on that call,
boss.”

“Call?” Preston tilts, angularly black skull
& talks, meekly while standing and studying Arthur.

“Phone near your neck, boss.” Arthur points,
rudely at object then chuckles, lightly as he returns to dessert.
He thinks, mentally Preston would like that one chasing her down in
the hallway for a date.

Preston eye burns cell then pockets it into
jacket & sits, quietly devouring the Key Lime Pie with two
hands like wild monkey in South America.

“Who called ya, boss?” Larry inquires,
nosy.

“Geneva.” Preston lies, honestly while
thinking of Pamela.

Time: 6:28 pm. Preston’s house.
Nighttime.

Knock! Knock! Preston curses, strongly &
stomps, nosily to back door wiping exceed aftershave from hands
onto jeans. He almost escapes from that kid-neighbor selling
candles, zines, or colored toilet paper this month for school
fundraising events. He jerks, roughly door handle & reveals,
surprisingly smiling face.

“Pamela!?”

“Hi, Preston. I brought…” Pamela holds,
vertically white paper bags in air. “Thai food.” She steps, boldly
onto polished wooden floor & moves, swiftly around tall &
stunned Preston into black and white cozy clean kitchen. “Thai
restaurant off of Five Points South. I got sesame chicken. I like
this best along with sticky rice, white rice, garlic shrimp, spicy
chicken, Chaing Mai noodles, stir fired beef with Panang curry
and…” She holds, vertically wrapped brown rectangular items.
“….eggrolls.” She grins, toothy.

“Pamela!?”

“Explanation, yes, you deserve any
explanation, Preston. I’ve a very good one.” She pauses,
dramatically then sighs & breathes, heavily. “I don’t break the
rules.” She roller balls eyes into cranium then she holds arms with
intersected finger pads like folded prayer in the air & talks,
bravely. “I like my job. I need my job. I’ve been there only one
year…so I want to be there many, many years.” She thinks, mentally
then continues, boldly. “I probably…well most likely know lots of
stuff about you, personally than you will or can ever know about
me. You work with secretive Geneva.” Preston nods, once. “Well, she
doesn’t particular like me, or maybe she don’t like anyone…human,
that is.” Preston chuckles, lightly. “But, I’m new and still
learning under her direction. I like you, really like you, Preston.
I’m pleased as fruit punch that you asked me to dinner, tonight.
I…I want to go to dinner with you, tonight. But, at the same time,
Geneva makes it very clear that our…me…my position…there…at work is
top secret. I know about Ilenn and Arthur. Ilenn blabs all the time
but only with Lacy and I. Secondly, Ilenn is very good at her job
and has been there for two or so years or something like that. I
really don’t know my co-workers via Geneva’s orders. But, I like my
job and my co-workers. So, I respect the rules. Are you mad at me,
Preston? I hope not…and you smell great.” Pamela stops, suddenly
talking and stands, soldierly waiting for her verbal execution
while smelling vanilla, citrus & spicy aftershave which ignites
her engines.

Preston blinks, once eyelids close then open
& expresses, softly. “Pamela.” He pauses, dramatically then
sighs & breathes, deeply. “You’re most direct with your
explanation and absolutely correct with your interpretation of
Geneva.” Pamela nods, once. “I…I am not mad. I’m stunned and
surprised but not upset. I’m thrilled you’re here and brought
food.” Preston eye burns bags then to Pamela. “How? Where are my
manners? Let’s eat and talk, okay?” He shifts around her body to
cabinets, pulling plates and cups onto counter.

“Okay, Preston. Thanks for understanding me.
Over to the table, is that okay?” Pamela trucks food bags and
dishes to new destination.

“I understand Geneva.” Preston talks, boldly
then chuckles, lightly. He carries two tall goblets & pulls,
slowly cool white wine from refrigerator as she lays out plates and
utensils. Pamela dumps, generously portions of different food
entrees over plates. She sits, quietly watching Preston open the
wine.

“How did you find me?” He inquires,
mysteriously.

“Your social network platform with your
touchy/feely people, photos, pages of friendly relationships. Do
you date all those girls?” Preston shakes, sideways black skull.
Pamela giggles, lightly then talks, bravely. “Shared personal
content and tags of your skull, neck and beyond the stacked abs.”
She giggles, lightly. “Now, I see why you have 5,987 friendlies,
Preston.”

“Fringe benefit from FBI for my cover story
of smooth jock scouting Cyber bullies or goodies on the Internet.”
Pamela chuckles, lightly. “You wear your employer on your T-shirt
around the office. Is that a requirement?”

“For fun? How do you know my personal home
address, that’s not on my…personal social network?”

“Yeah, right or the telephone electronic
book, either because of your job I suspect, correctly. So, inside
your…personal social network, I connected some loose net variables
through a couple of logic root paths of one particular variable and
traced user’s model using one of 12 view dissecting the
creation…”

“You hacked me. You hacked my social network.
That’s illegal, Pamela, totally off the chart.”

“Not really, I investigate suspicious FBI
activities all the time without permission and with totally
authority from Uncles Sam and Ms. Lassater.”

“I thought you didn’t break the rules.”

“I didn’t. I wanted your home address so I
could surprise you with supper. And my devious plan
worked…perfectly.” Pamela grins, wickedly.

Preston laughs, hardy. “You did at that. Is
this your secretive job, spying on foes or friends or both?”

“Javelin is the UI framework on the popular
social web page.”

Preston understands bot techno language. “Ah!
It was known for busting through data and algorithms including
multiple synchronized POVs and used by the military in the early
government Star Wars project.”

“You’re a programmer, degreed?” Pamela
inquires.

“That’s top secret, so why don’t you find
out, tomorrow?”

“I shall after I’ve dumped some cyber
criminals into your shunt.”

“Tell me about yourself.” Preston asks,
sweetly.

“Can’t do that, Tex?” Pamela stops, chewing,
smirks, lightly, answers, swiftly.

“I’m slow but intelligent. I can honestly
comment that I know nothing about you, Pamela. Can you feed me one
tiny little datum?”

“No.”

“I know your name, Pamela Craft. Do you have
a middle name?”

“No.”

“That’s not a national secret, your unknown
middle name. Is it weird something like Tiger or Cricket? Ya got
those slanted eye things like you’re maybe Asia heritage.” Pamela
giggles, heavily.

“No, it’s not weird. It’s normal like I’m
normal…American.”

“We can discuss your heritage. Are you Asian
American, you’re eyelids give it away.”

“No, Preston.”

“You’re Asian American, on your Mama’s
side?”

“No, Preston.”

“Not your Mama then your Daddy’s side?”

“No data exchange.”

“Ya know, I learned some awesomely painful
FBI ways…of making you talk.”

“No.”

“You like threats. See, I’m learning little
things about you as you don’t speak to me about yourself but answer
kinda indirectly my inquiries about your person while sitting here
not answering my questions.”

Pamela giggles, heavily then breathes,
normally & quotes, sharply. “No.”

“You don’t like wine meaning you don’t get
intoxicated and I can’t ask more nosy questions. Do you want a
coke?”

“Please.”

Preston stands, swiftly & shouts, loudly
from kitchen. “See, I’m learning.” Pamela giggles, lightly. He
returns & places tall glass next to her elbow.

“Thank you.”

“So, let’s start from the top. Do you live in
Birmingham city limits?”

“No data exchange.”

“Do you like dogs? Got a dawg…he’s…probably
sleeping or chasing opossums under the fence. He likes to do that a
lot.”

“No data exchange, Preston.”

“Come on! You like cats, kittens, little
furry things, then?”

“You live at 235 Maple Street. You bank at
Alabama Union on Walker’s Chapeel Street account number 6528…”

Preston stands, swiftly & moves toward
desk. He shifts, loudly papers then flips open check book. He
whispers, softly. “6528…” He eye burns Pamela then tosses leather
case to desk & struts, manly to chair.

“Credit card number 4859…” Pamela stops,
suddenly then smiles, sweetly. “Shall I continue?”

“How much do you know about me? No, not the
right question. How did you get all that personal data about me in
relatively short period of time?”

“Internet leads to bigger clues to valid data
throughout electronic deep pockets of databases, storage historical
files in government and industry bins. I’d strongly suggest one of
them identity thief companies to monitor your CD and saving
accounts. $1,000,000 is a quite a little nice nest egg. Are ya
mad?”

“I’m impressed with your computer skills and
I’m definitely forewarned. Are you bank accounts safe?”

“I don’t own much but I have assured the best
security that my money can buy. But, I don’t want to dwell on lousy
bank numbers. I was only making a point.”

“Point received and filed.” He slurps, nosily
wine. “So, what’s next?”

“I can’t talk about my job or my person.
Kinda makes me a really dull person.”

“Do you go to movies or concerts on weekends,
Pamela?”

“Do you get flexible time off to see an
entire movie or attend four hours concert or do you work when
required, Preston?”

Preston clears, nosily throat. “Second point
received and filed.”

Pamela invades, heavily Preston’s space with
her cornflower blue eyes twinkling. “I clearly see the wonderment
Ilenn holds for Arthur. They’re the same but not the same.”