Blue Root

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Brad sighed as he slouched over his table.

Stay or go? Did it really matter?

Email her? She probably wouldn’t give him the time of day. Why did he have to cross up with her? It was a stupid accident. He didn’t mean it. Maybe she had some kind of emergency at home or with one of her friends. Yeah. That’s what happened.

“What the hell was that all about?” Danny shook his head as he stepped over to Brad’s table. “Goddamn. It was like I got hit by a flying sack of hungry anteaters.”

“I think that was the woman I was supposed to be meeting here.”

“And you freaked her out that fast? What the hell? Did you tell her ya only had a two-inch dick or something? Shit. I should’ve just let her hit the ground.” Danny pulled up a seat across from Brad.

Leave it to Danny to make a bad situation worse. “No. She’s nice. She sold me a suit a couple days ago. I dunno why she won’t talk to me again.” Brad felt his eyebrows contract together. He was a liar. “Well, I did accidentally cross up with her Blue Root while I was there.”

“Well, you must’ve sucked, then. Or maybe you didn’t suck and she wanted you to suck because I don’t think I’ve ever seen a woman run away so crazy like that.” Danny motioned toward the door. “So, wait a minute. Then you didn’t have to tell her you have a two-inch dick, she found out for herself!” He turned to Brad, mouth wide open, laughing.

“Shut up! No. It wasn’t like that. Never mind her. What are you doing here?”

Danny shook his head. “What’s worse than telling a chick your dick is small? Her knowing it’s true! Sounds like you’re gonna be hollering ‘Oh, yes, Blue Root, baby’ every time you blow your wad from now on.”

If he hadn’t been Brad’s best friend since kindergarten, there definitely would have been at least one punch flying. Danny pointed at a very frustrated Brad and continued. “Looks like you need to drown your lack of decent pussy in a serious infusion. Let me grab a server and hook you up before you rattle yourself off your chair.”

“No. I just want to go home now.” Brad wished he could wipe the sarcasm clean off Danny’s face.

“Oh no you don’t. You’re not going home now. I was just gonna grab a Purple Leaf Balloofa then go and fuck around with my Blue Root ’cause I got a new program for it, but you really look miffed, so I ain’t goin’ nowhere until you either drink me under the table or you tell me what the hell is up. And don’t give me that shit about you wanna take care of it yourself because I still owe you one from when Aurora kicked me to the curb.”

Brad shifted on his seat. “Danny, that was five years ago. By now, trust me, you don’t owe me anything. And besides, there’s nothing going on anyway. The chick just stood me up. She walked out on me. End of story. But if you really want to hook me up with a drink, I could use a Mighty Blue Hippo.”

Danny got up and looked around. “What the hell happened to all the waitresses here? Damn, this place really went downhill once Aurora left. Do you see Marcy anymore?”

“She’s been hiding behind the bar since you walked in. Is there a single waitress in this place that you haven’t hit on?”

“Wait, who’s that? Is she a new girl?” Danny headed toward the bar.

Brad sat there amid the crowd and sulked until a smile crept to his face. After all, it had also been about five years since the last time he’d been stood up and run out on. What a strange night that had been. Brad chuckled in spite of himself.

He’d started off on the wrong foot by being late because he had some last minute circuit details that needed ironing out. He’d emailed to let Angela know that he would be somewhat delayed. But by the time he’d made it to the restaurant, she was livid. Apparently, fifteen minutes was more than Angela had ever waited for a man.

Before storming out, she’d left him with a little bit of advice. “Never show up late for a first date. It leaves a bad impression. And more importantly, never smell like perfume and have lipstick on your collar.”

They’d had such a connection during the time they’d spent emailing and chatting. She’d been someone he’d really wanted to know a whole lot better. Obviously, she’d deceived him.

Angela was right about being late, but perfume and lipstick? As soon as he got home, Brad looked in a mirror and discovered that what Angela had thought was lipstick on his collar was a stain from the rose tea he’d spilled during lunch. Apparently, that infusion had scented as well as stained him. Hell, it might as well have branded him. Coincidental disaster had struck.

Danny clunked two pitchers down in front of Brad, drawing him straight out of his reverie. “The new girl’s name is Maya and she says she loves to use her Blue Root. I told her I could hook her up and she said she might email me. What do you think?” Danny sat down as he pointed out a skinny dark-haired girl with too much make-up staining her eyes and cheeks.

“I think any girl who might email you is worth a try. Just don’t fuck it up this time.” Brad agreed that the girl wasn’t half bad, but she was like a twig with hair. The only curves she had were her black, drawn-on eyebrows.

“Hey, if I can just get her together with my Blue Root, she won’t ever wanna stop partying with me. You know these things work through a network, don’t you? I’ll keep her going all night and all day until she thinks she’s had enough and then I’ll do it all over again. You know how chicks are once I get in their pants.” Danny pulled cups out of his pant-leg pockets and set them on the table.

Brad grabbed the blue pitcher and began pouring his tea. “Yeah, they run like hell from your tiny penis.”

“Oh, I see how it is. And even so, it’s not the size of the wave, it’s the motion of the ocean.”

“Yeah, but how many ships have you actually managed to sail?”

Brad laughed as his best friend’s mouth moved without words coming out. For once, Danny was absolutely stumped.

He poured himself a cup of tea and muttered, “Fuck you” before taking a drink. “You’re just pissed because your cruise ship already departed. Who was that chick anyway? She looked like that cheerleader nerd from high school.”

“She sold me a suit at Prixus the other day. That’s all.” It took a moment for Danny’s words to sink all the way into Brad’s thick skull. “Wait, you mean Jeuley something-or-other? She wasn’t a cheerleader. She was on the drill team.”

Oh shit. No wonder the woman had looked so familiar.

“Yeah, didn’t she hang out with that girl, Rachel?” Danny laughed and nodded. “Rachel Rodgers with the fiery red hair. Oh hell yeah. She was incredible. She and I hooked up under the bleachers every Tuesday for like three weeks. I rocked her world as hard as she rocked mine.”

“But once she found out your FMC 302 muscle car actually belonged to me, she dumped you like a load of shit in a pot of seeds.”

“Hey! At least I got in there. You don’t even know what you missed. And you hardly ever drove the car anyway.” Danny chugged his tea and poured some more.

“Sure you got in there, but so what? You never would’ve thought about her again if Jeuley hadn’t run into you.” Brad leaned back in his chair.

Danny paused for a moment and set down his cup, his face alight with excitement. “Wait. You were supposed to hook up with her, right? Can you get Raych’s email from Jeuley for me? Come on, man. Hook me up.”

“No…no. I refuse to even mention your name to her. Hell, she probably doesn’t even remember who we are anyway. She didn’t say anything when she sold me the suit.” Brad’s mind reeled. He rewound every encounter with her in his head, hoping he hadn’t said anything stupid. Although, what could be worse than crossing up into someone’s sexual adventure? That was far crazier than anything he’d ever done before. Hell, maybe even worse than Danny had ever done. Nah, maybe not. This was Danny. Crazy was practically his middle name.

That girl in high school, Jeuley Crissin. He remembered wanting to be her lab partner because she was the only person other than himself who geeked on differential equations. When did she get so damn sexy? She’d looked nice before, but now…his cock twitched at the mere thought of her.

Jeuley was the only girl on the drill team who stumbled and tripped her way through the routines at every sporting event. The rumor was that her mom had paid the principal to get her on the team even though the girl had absolutely no rhythm.

Now, Brad was having trouble getting her and that purple and gold mini-skirt out of his head. Dammit. And she ran away from him like he was–well, dammit again–some kind of pervert. Or maybe she recognized him from high school. Suddenly Brad wasn’t sure what was worse. He ran a hand through his hair.

Danny poured himself another cup of tea. “Just because she didn’t say anything doesn’t mean she didn’t want to. You should email her. Ask her if she remembers. Hey, find out why the hell she got her panties in a twist and ran outta here like a scalded dog.”

That was the kind of statement that Brad hated. He was used to the bad clichés and puns after all these years, but it never ceased to irk him when Danny made a good point. Especially since it felt like Brad’s handheld was burning a hole in his pocket. “Okay, but help me come up with something good. I don’t wanna look like an idiot.” He pulled out his handheld and set it on the table.

Danny grabbed a napkin then produced a ballpoint pen from one of his pockets. “Remember these? I found this plus fifteen refills at PennyPenny Thrift last week. It kicks ass. What do we wanna write?”

The men dove into writing the ultimate inquiry about her welfare coupled with an enticing plea for a second chance to meet. Danny worked in a mention of bringing Rachel along as well. But Brad drew the line at actually mentioning that Danny would be there. It was more to get Jeuley to bring Rachel and that Brad would bring someone he’d like her to meet. He made it a point to mention that they’d reminisce about high school and not talk business until they got caught up.

After scribbling out a rough draft on a napkin, Brad used his handheld to scan it and turn it into a coherent email. Both men hoped that Jeuley would reply. Even if only to tell them to take a hike. All Brad wanted was a second chance to talk business and then perhaps accidentally cross up with her Blue Root again, this time for research.

Danny and Brad crossed their fingers as he sent out the email. If she checked her inbox remotely, maybe he’d get a reply tonight. If she chose to reply, of course. Why wouldn’t she? If he remembered correctly, she was always online in high school. He’d watched her check her email several times during class. But was she still the same girl…just all grown up? Good grief. Why did this have to get so complicated? He shouldn’t have asked to meet her in person and thereby eliminated this dilemma before he’d gotten so worked up.

But maybe Danny was on to something with his Blue Root escapades. If someone as socially inept as Danny could get a second Blue Root date out of a woman, Brad shouldn’t have a problem with Jeuley. But this wasn’t just any date. If she was the same girl all grown up, then she was leaps and bounds too smart to buy a line and quasar blast.

He was beside himself wondering what to do. The memories of her in a drill team outfit along with knowing she was a programming genius had his cock swelling to a rise that his Blue Root could only dream of satisfying.

CHAPTER NINE

Ordal Laverock paced the length of what he called his executionary office. As the president and sole owner of BlueCentric Laboratories, he felt he needed such a place of power, but “executive” had sounded much too pleasant to his ears.

Using only two computers and three tablets, he controlled his entire business from his island compound. It was only an eight thousand square foot island off the coast of Florida, but he had to start somewhere. Hewlett-Packard started small. They were born in a garage.

Every window of his executionary office had an incredible ocean view. The building took up all the land space, leaving no room for a real dock. But that was fine. There was a helipad on top and Ordal rarely allowed visitors.

The night hadn’t turned out the way he’d planned, but all was not yet lost. By some stroke of luck his Intelligent Assistant program, affectionately named Second Thought, had finally traced down the hacker who’d written Carnal Bacchanal.

“Jeulmist aka Jeuley Crissin.” Second Thought boomed through the speakers, forcing Ordal to slap his hands over his ears.

“Thtupid machine. Not aka. A. K. A.” He sat in his high-backed, brown leather, fully adjustable, swivel chair and scooted close to his main computer, completely ignoring that his shoelaces got tangled in one of the wheels…again. He brought up the volume portal and readjusted his surround system levels. Damn thing hadn’t reset after his latest Blue Root experience.

“Whatever you say, fartlicker.” The volume level was better, but–

“What did you call me?”

“I don’t know what you mean, please clarify.” Second Thought sounded innocent. That wouldn’t do.

Ordal opened up another portal and keystroke-by-keystroke, entered in a new response progression. “I heard what you said. You called me a name.”

“I don’t know what you mean, poopiepants. You must be mistaken.”

“There it is again,” Ordal grumped. “What is your problem?” He searched through the code. Second Thought didn’t have any obvious speech abnormalities. Rats. The sheep transmitter might make his changes more precise, but it was easier to edit the code by keystrokes. The sheep microphone was more efficient for the big jobs like entering new progressions and conversational styling. That was why he’d built the darn thing in the first place.

“I do not have a problem, grumpybutt. I am currently furthering my search for Jeuley Crissin.”

“That’s good, but thtop calling me names. It’s not very profethional. What kind of a man do you think I am?”

Second Thought hesitated for a moment, frustrating Ordal further. He’d used the sheep to program the darn attendant’s reply and it better get it right. “I think you are the most intelligent man on the planet. Your stunning good looks and vivacious personality will make you go very far. Why, I’ll bet you’ll soon take over the market and own all the money in the world with your ingenious inventions.”

“Thank you.” Ordal puffed his chest and grinned. Now, all he needed was a programmer who could help perfect the Blue Root. Jeuley Crissin. All he needed was her email address. She’d be putty in his hands before long.

“You’re welcome.”

“That’s more like it.” He swiveled to face his second monitor, forgetting that his shoelaces were still tangled in his wheel. “Dammit. Why can’t I get a decent non-shoelace-entangling chair for once?”

“Would you like some fine cheese with that whine, knucklehead?”

That was it. Ordal smashed his fist down onto Second Thought’s control tablet. “Shut up! I’ll track her down mythelf.”

With one leg twisted around to the side and the other excitedly jiggling up and down in front of him, he pounded away at his keyboard. Search engine after database after amassed media dump, he compiled separate infostructures for Jeulmist and Jeuley Crissin. He’d pinpoint her even if it was the last thing he did. Well, okay, maybe not the last thing. Because the last thing he wanted to do was much bigger. Much, much bigger.

At the thought of such magnitude, he snorted. Jeulmist was his key to getting a Blue Root in every adult’s hands–or underpants, actually–and cornering the adult toy market. And definitely then, women would be clambering to have a Blue Root experience with the greatest inventor of all time. They would woo him and he’d pick out a harem to keep here in his compound. Gosh, just thinking about all those women in the flesh made goose bumps clatter up his belly, the little distended hairs tickling against the inside of his shirt.

Anonymous Blue Root sex was nice, but just for once, Ordal wanted to see who was pleasuring him. He wanted to watch as he pleasured her, too. You know, to make sure he was doing a good job. Sometimes it was hard to tell.

Facts, figures and directories streamed down Ordal’s monitor. As he searched, his sight caught on a heliflyer. Irrelevant to finding Jeulmist, but highly relevant for transportation to and from his compound.

Ordal helicoptered himself everywhere. He’d gone to school for it. Through dedicated hours of simulator practice, he’d been awarded his temporary license. But that wasn’t good enough to legally pilot a helicopter. He’d need to take the next step. Before he could, the school kicked him out and then closed its doors the following week.

He needed that damn diploma and it wasn’t his fault that it hadn’t been issued. When he went to court to win his lawsuit, he gave a full explanation about how he hadn’t done anything that would overload and break the simulators. They’d just stopped working while he was using them. Not like the time he spilled garlicfizz on the nav screen. They could’ve just wiped it off. But no, they claimed that the carbonation fried and gummed the wiring. He was a damn good simulator pilot. And he let the whole court know that. It was a conspiracy.

When the judge learned that Ordal needed a permanent license or he couldn’t get home and likely wouldn’t leave the courtroom, like magic, a new pilot record was created with Ordal Laverock’s name on it. Since then, he’d only crashed three helicopters, but that had nothing to do with his flying. Landing, yes, but not flying. Maybe tonight, he could fly in to Jeulmist’s town and see what he could stir up with her.

Nevertheless, first he had to find her. Two whole hours of fruitless searching went by. Carnal Bacchanal was all over the internet. The title was pretty good. It would’ve been better if both words started with the same letter. He’d have to teach her a thing or two about good program names.

Swiveling back and forth while scanning the data fluttering down the screen, his eyes glazed over and he grinned in spite of himself.

“Bingo.” He’d uncovered an email address, a work address, a home address, a phone address, even a handheld address. She was pretty clever to have them all registered with various aliases. Apparently, she had no idea that there would be someone as smart as Ordal “Orrick” Laverock tracking her down.

He set about dropping her a friendly email.

Dear Jeuley Crissin,

No, that would freak her out. She didn’t use her real name anywhere online. He’d stolen it out of Adrian McLinsky’s accounting chatter.

Dear Jeulmist,
Meet me at

Oh no. He couldn’t just invite her to a pizza place or some bar. What restaurant would really entice her?

Meet me at Le Rouge. I want to make you an offer you can’t refuse.

Shit. That wouldn’t work either. Ordal tangled his fingers in his rumpled hair. He pushed off to spin all the way around in his chair, but his trapped shoelaces nearly forced his knee to dislocate. Rattling off curse after colorful curse, he rummaged through the mess on his console for a pair of scissors, a pocketknife, a hatchet, anything sharp.

Settling for a pair of nail clippers, he worked through the waxed laces of his tasseled wingtips, reminding himself to get at least one pair of slip-on shoes next time he went to his warehouse. While he didn’t really need shoes with headlights on them, the BlueCentric models rotting on the mainland might as well be put to use other than as yearly company holiday gifts.

Sitting back up, he scuttled about in front of his computer and tweaked his way through writing a convincing email with the appearance that its author was simply a friendly businessman looking to gain the acquaintance of an incredible programmer. He trained his software to track the email then pushed it through his outbox.

While waiting for her reply, he commanded his replicator to build a peanut butter, jelly, garlic and grasshopper sandwich. Dinner never looked so good. He considered working on Second Thought’s programming, but on second thought, decided against it. The damn thing would likely develop even worse bugs.