Twenty Things About TARcon
Kevin: I am so showin' up for your big number at the Cherry and Spoon.
Alli: Forget it. That's expired. Never gonna happen. [pretends to look at watch, despite not wearing one] It's past the expiration date. It's lapsed.
Kevin: "Lapsed"? I don't think so. [changing to the subject he really wants to discuss] Actually, you know what I couldn't believe? I couldn't believe you didn't give him hell for selling that crap on eBay in the first place. I could. Not. Believe that.
Alli: Kevin, I know this is going to come as a horrible shock and disappointment to you, but there are times when I can be ever-so-slightly...girly.
Alli: Yeah. Right. I know. And...so...it occasionally happens that...I have this...
Kevin: [completely disgusted] Oh, right. Riiiight. And because it's Rob...
Alli: No. NO. I didn't say that. I'm saying that in general, there are times when it's...when I'm not that good at the whole...
Kevin: [grinning, both appalled and triumphant] YOU CAN'T DROP THE HAMMER!
Alli: [pause] Shut up.
By the time I hear that Blake and Paige are wandering around somewhere, I have already retreated to the back of the bar, where I am sitting on a long bench along the wall with a few of the TARflies. (Interestingly, with all of the Racers and wackiness and screaming and partying and drinking that went on, my time along that wall is probably the most enjoyable, and certainly the most comfortable, portion of the evening.) Inevitably, the little group of people standing in front of me parts, and Blake is standing there. He walks toward me and extends his hand very politely. "Miss Alli," he says with that lovely, toothy grin. "Blake," I say, thinking to myself that this is going to be exactly the way I predicted -- he can't stand me, but he's going to be much too polite to admit it. We shake hands. Me: "It's nice to meet you." Blake: "Nice to meet you, too." He steps toward me to give me the obligatory semi-demi-hug, which puts his mouth right next to my right ear. "You little shit," he says quietly. HA! As he steps back to stand next to me, I turn to him. "You just made twenty points with me, just for saying that," I tell him quietly, out of hearing range of his mom, who is standing about six feet away. He nods slowly. "Twenty points, huh?" he repeats. (He wants to say it again, right then, I can tell.) I tell him that, strangely, I had found myself rooting for him late in the game. "We were such underdogs," he says. "We'd never traveled before, we didn't speak any foreign languages..." I nod. "You know," I say to him, "after you lost the money" -- he grins -- "that was a heck of a comeback." He nods and laugh a little. I realize I am becoming jaded about meeting contestants, because I really am mostly thinking about the fact that he's sort of not-tall. Of course, I am rather not-tall myself, so I'm not judging. I'm judging him a little for the fact that he suddenly looks like he has a Brady Bunch perm, but that's a different problem. Oh, and I'm judging him for the see-through shirt, also.