by Meg Ripley
Once he had come to this conclusion, Banek had spent the rest of his time on the voyage to Earth researching how best to conform to the expectations that human women would have in a romantic partner. He had grown his hair out of the usual close-cropped style that his people adopted when in space, and had reviewed the physical traits of romantic males extensively. Banek knew that the most important thing for him—and for all of the scientists participating in the extraordinary study—was to blend in with the humans. Khateen technology allowed them to keep in touch with the skeleton crew manning the ship, keeping it out of the range of human detection, and in certain ways, they were able to disguise their inhuman skin color and eye color. But Banek wanted more than to simply blend in with the societies of the planet he was on; he wanted to present himself as a potential romantic partner.
There seemed to be one archetype of human romance whose looks Banek could hope to duplicate with a reasonable amount of success; he had seen the human man, named Fabio, on multiple covers of romance books—as well as in other media that humans produced. It seemed that even when the man was past the point of ready reproductive viability, he continued to be a figure of female desire. Because of the greater gravity of Khatanar, Banek and his fellow researchers were larger, more heavily muscled, than the human males; in that sense, it would be easy to mimic the physical traits of the one called Fabio.
Clothing was more difficult for Banek; there were so many varied styles associated with human romance, and he had gathered from his research that some of the romantic media took place in bygone times—different eras of human society. He had taken the human money his superiors had given him and invested in a variety of romantic costumes: Banek had purchased clothing consistent with what he knew to be called a “cowboy,” as well as a “Lord,” with a few pieces that were less easily defined as a type.
As he prepared to leave his laboratory and temporary home, Banek looked over his outfit intently, comparing it against the norms that he had absorbed from books and films. He had left his long, dark hair flowing, though the brush of it against his shoulders was still something that he couldn’t quite get used to. His broad, muscled chest was on display in a loose shirt, the first three buttons open. A pair of tight jeans—and Banek had wondered more than once how any human male could be comfortable in the constricting garment—accentuated his muscled legs, and a pair of boots covered his feet. Banek debated whether or not to include the leather jacket he had purchased; but the planet was much warmer than his own—and it was the season that humans called summer, making it even warmer in the area he had chosen for his base. He decided against it.
In the weeks since Banek had established his base on the planet, he had not found a great deal of success in attracting a subject. Some of his other colleagues had reported back already, finding preliminary success with human women and putting forth some new ideas about female sexuality. Banek had absorbed some of the information that his fellow scientists had come up with, but he was eager to test his own theories. He had met with one of his colleagues the week before; Hanket had managed to find a subject to work with, and the woman had given him a wealth of information—namely that women were capable of climaxing many, many times in the course of a sexual interlude. Hanket had laughed the Khateen way, saying, “It’s very, very gratifying to test how many times she can achieve climax in a single session,” he had told Banek.
****
Banek made his way towards the bar he had planned to patronize that evening in order to seek out a willing human woman for experimentation, considering the problems he had encountered thus far. Some of the women he had met over the weeks he had been on the planet seemed to be interested in him romantically at first—but somehow, he had not managed to convince any of them to follow through. I’ll have to refine my techniques, he thought as he walked along the sidewalk, barely taking in his surroundings. He had become a “regular” at the bar—Banek had been careful to tip well every time he ordered a beverage, and to be patient with the bartenders, waiting until they had served others without complaining. There was one woman at the bar that he had seen a few times—but always, it seemed, she was with someone else, usually a group of friends.
She was tall and slim, with dark hair and green eyes, and there was something about her that drew Banek’s gaze again and again. He had not been able to understand the feeling that came over him whenever he saw her—it was foreign to any experience he’d ever had. But the sound of her voice, the way that she moved, made Banek wish again and again that he could gather the courage to speak with her, to use his well-studied behaviors and mannerisms to convince her to participate in his experiments. While he had refreshed his studies on the subject of how romantic males approached a woman in a group, he was no closer to understanding how to perform the correct way than he had been before.
Banek stepped through the door of the bar called Vagabond, looking around. It was early in the evening; there were only a few people scattered around, listening to the music and nursing beer or cocktails, talking in small knots of two or three people. “Banek!” the man behind the bar called out, and Banek raised his hand, nodding his head to acknowledge the greeting. He told himself that he would find a subject that evening—whether it was the woman he had been interested in or not.
Banek approached the bar, settling on one of the stools, waiting as the bartender finished serving a diminutive brunette. She was a potential subject, Banek thought, examining her as nonchalantly as possible. The woman seemed improbably tiny by Khateen standards, but he had met women who were smaller than she. Her body was intensely curved: her breasts so full and her waist so small that for a moment Banek wondered how it was possible for her to live without pain. The woman smiled up at the bartender, taking her drinks and leaving a few dollars on the bar as a tip before she left, and Banek considered the possibility of beginning the complex dance that would—he hoped—lead to her agreeing to come “home” with him.
“What’ll you have tonight, Banek?” the bartender asked, leaning forward slightly. “Love the look you’ve got going tonight, by the way; much better than the cowboy thing.” Banek nodded, smiling.
“I think I’ll have a whiskey sour, James.” He had been trying all of the alcoholic drinks he had seen mentions of in books and films—since the Khateen were able to drink alcohol with almost no effects, he had seen no reason not to.
“Good choice.” James started to grab a bottle of whiskey and glanced up as someone walked into the bar. “Looks like your lady-love is here,” James said with a little smile. Banek’s eyes widened and he glanced in the direction of the bar’s entrance. Walking through the door—for once by herself—was the tall, slim, dark haired woman. Banek felt his heart beating a little faster; she looked upset—which filled him with a mixture of concern as well as excitement. A damsel in distress was the perfect opening for his particular understanding of human seduction. So many of the stories he had seen depicting romance involved an upset woman; at first, in his research, Banek had thought that the distress was a required component—but he learned quickly that it simply increased the odds of success.
James served Banek his drink and moved immediately to the seat that the tall, slim woman sat down at. Banek racked his mind for the best possible opening. She had chosen a stool a few places down from him; that didn’t exactly make it easy to talk to her. He thought about his options carefully as he sipped his drink. The whiskey sour was potent—Banek thought that if his metabolism were human, it would give him what was called a “buzz” before he even finished it. He laid down a few dollars for James’ tip and watched as the bartender spoke to the object of his interest. He saw the tall, slim woman smile slightly, nodding to something James said. Banek felt an irrational surge of irritation at the man, who he considered something like a friend, and pushed down the impulse. There was such a thing as getting too into character, he told himself firmly.
James mixed a drink for the woman, and Banek watched in fascination as the barte
nder added one element after another into the steel mixing cup, shaking vigorously before pouring it into a glass. The woman must be in deep distress indeed, Banek thought. Normally she drank very straightforward cocktails: gin-tonic, or whiskey-Coke. Banek sipped his drink again as he thought about how he would approach her; it would take something very great indeed to woo such an unattainable woman, even when she was in distress.
****
Jessica smiled at her favorite bartender, James, as he handed her the Long Island Iced Tea he had decided she needed after hearing the cause of her troubles. She moved to slide her card across the bar and James shook his head, wagging his finger. “We’ll open you a tab if you decide you want another, but that one’s on me, Sweetie,” he said, turning to help the next customer. She sighed and took a long, grateful sip; at least, she thought, if she had to contemplate the wreckage her life had suddenly become, she would at least be able to enjoy the haze of liquor to soften it. She looked around the bar; Vagabond had been her favorite place for years—ever since a friend had introduced her to the hole-in-the-wall bar. The relationship with the bartenders had outlasted her friendship, and the ever-changing customer base of goths, hipsters, club kids, and hip hop lovers kept the atmosphere interesting.
As she was beginning to unwind, the copious alcohol in her Long Island loosening the grip of panic that overwhelmed her, Jessica felt the uncanny sensation of someone watching her; someone close by, rather than across the room. Darting her gaze around, she spotted the source. She had seen the guy in the bar before, sporting some rather odd—at least to her eyes—ensembles. He would’ve been a unique sight even without his romance novel cover outfits, she thought idly, turning back to her drink. She had heard from James that the guy’s name was Banek; the foreignness of the name made her think that he must have come from some very isolated country. Probably close to Chernobyl, she thought wryly. The man was tall—taller than she was, which was unusual in and of itself. He was also massive, with shoulders so broad that Jessica thought it would be impossible to wrap her arms around them and legs that a tree trunk would envy.
His hair was strange, too—falling down to his shoulders in a cascade, it was a bizarre orange-gold color, contrasting weirdly with his brown-gray skin. Jessica realized that half of her drink was gone and shook her head in amazement; when she stopped to consider it, she realized that she could feel the hum in her veins, the subtle fogginess that came along with the alcohol entering her bloodstream.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of someone clearing their throat, right at her elbow, almost making Jessica jump. “Excuse me, ma’am.” Jessica swallowed the sip of her drink that she’d nearly choked on and turned her head to look at who had approached her. It was the strange foreigner; she tilted her head up slightly to be able to meet his gaze. Up close, his eyes were just as strange as the rest of him, an oddly appealing cerulean color. Where in the world did he come up with that combination? she thought in bewilderment. Somehow, in spite of how strange he looked, Jessica had to admit to herself that she didn’t feel any instinctive creepiness about the guy.
“Yes?” she said, setting her drink down with unsteady hands. The guy may not be creepy, but he was big—and so close to her. In all the times she had visited the bar, Jessica had seen him on several occasions, but he had never introduced himself to her, never done more than casually glance at her from across the bar. She had seen him talk to other girls—but he never seemed to leave with anybody. If that’s even his intention, she reminded herself. Not every guy who went out to bars viewed them as a meat market.
“Forgive me if I’m being forward,” he said, “but you look like you’re very distressed, and I was wondering if a sympathetic ear might be useful.” Jessica glanced at James, who was leaning against the back of the bar, surveying the slowly growing crowd. She worried at her bottom lip, mentally calling to the bartender. James’ gaze fell on her and he grinned, raising an eyebrow slightly and inclining his head just as subtly. If Banek had James’ approval, then Jessica thought to herself that it probably wasn’t a bad idea to accept his invitation.
“Have a seat,” Jessica said, gesturing to the stool next to her. Banek sat down, and Jessica almost laughed at how improbable he looked. “I’m Jessica, by the way,” she said, extending her hand towards him politely. She steeled herself; guys of Banek’s size tended to almost crush a person’s hand without even realizing it.
She was shocked when Banek took her hand lightly in his—more lightly than she would have thought possible—and leaned forward, pressing a soft, gentle kiss just above her knuckles. Jessica felt her cheeks burning at the chivalrous gesture without knowing why. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” Banek said, sitting up once more and giving her a smile. “My name is Banek.” For a moment, flustered, Jessica was not entirely sure how to respond.
“Nice to meet you, too,” she said, licking her lips and reaching out almost blindly for her cocktail glass. She took a quick sip and a deep breath to steady herself.
“What’s troubling you, Jessica?” Banek asked. Jessica remembered that he had asked her that before—his strangely courteous gesture of kissing her hand had thrown her. She cleared her throat again and focused on the subject of hand.
“Well,” she said, setting her glass down and spinning it carefully on its base against the bar top, “this has kind of been a week from hell for me.” She felt a short, sharp stab of pain somewhere between her ribs—a pang that she had felt several times in the last few days. Jessica swallowed as her throat convulsively tightened at the thought of what all had happened to her. “First, my boyfriend broke up with me,” she said. Jessica closed her eyes; she could remember all too easily the look on Thomas’ face when he had told her he wanted to “see other people.” “And then my car threw some kind of rod or something, and it’s in the shop until I can come up with seven hundred dollars to fix it.” Jessica opened her eyes. “And to cap it all off, tonight I got a notice from my landlord that if I can’t pony up an extra three hundred a month for rent, he’s going to lease my apartment out from underneath me.” She smiled wryly, glancing over at Banek. The huge guy nodded, his eyes sympathetic.
“Those are very deep troubles indeed,” Banek said, reaching out and giving her free hand a squeeze. “Would you like me to beat up your former boyfriend? Or maybe your landlord?” Jessica nearly dropped her glass in the process of bringing it to her lips, her mouth falling slightly open in shock at the matter-of-fact way that Banek had proposed “beating up” the two men causing her the most grief. She closed her mouth, licked her lips, opened her mouth to respond, and then closed it again in rapid succession.
“Did you just offer to beat up my ex or my landlord for me?”
Banek nodded solemnly. “Or both of them, if that will solve more of your problems,” he said. Jessica stared at him, blinking slowly as she tried to work his words through her mind to make sense of them. It wasn’t the alcohol; she certainly was not nearly as drunk as she would like to be. Jessica steadied her hand and took a long drink of her Long Island, still reeling in shock at the offer that Banek had made.
“That won’t be necessary,” she said finally, licking her lips of the potent concoction. “My…my ex can just…” she took another sip and laughed ruefully. “I’ll leave karma to deal with him. As for my landlord…” Jessica shook her head again. “I’d rather you didn’t end up going to jail just to get revenge for me.”
Banek shrugged. “I could also provide you with money to pay for your car repair, or repair it myself,” he suggested. Jessica laughed, finishing off her drink in two more gulps and bringing her hands up to her suddenly warm face.
“I don’t know what you’re trying to pull,” she said, glancing at Banek furtively. “But I’m not that kind of girl.”
Banek frowned. “What kind of girl?” he asked. Jessica pressed her lips together; his strange looks in addition to the inflections and accent in his voice made her certain that Banek was as foreign as t
hey came.
“I don’t want—or expect—a guy to…pay for things for me,” she said quickly, pushing down the other retort that sprung to mind. I’m not a call girl, I’m not a sugar baby, and I can solve my own problems.
“But it would be easy for me to remove all of your troubles,” Banek pointed out; Jessica had to admit to herself that he sounded sincere—and that unsettled her almost more than the offers themselves had. “I wouldn’t expect anything in return except for your kind regard.”
“My kind regard?” Jessica raised an eyebrow.
James came over, attentive to her needs as a regular customer. “Another Long Island, or something else?”
“Whatever she wants, James, please let me pay for it,” Banek said quickly. Jessica glanced at him, irrationally irritated with the gesture. She was in dire enough straights that free drinks—no matter the source—should have been met with nothing but gratitude, but the fact that Banek had offered to take all of her troubles away by giving her what amounted to at least a thousand dollars in exchange for “her kind regard”—whatever that meant—made her wary of any other offer on his part.
“Another Long Island it is, then,” James said, giving her a surreptitious wink. Jessica pressed her lips together, taking a slow breath to conquer her sense of irritation. She shouldn’t be mad at Banek; he hadn’t suggested that he wanted her to have sex with him in exchange for his help, after all.