Merchant of Venus

We had agreed to meet near the harbor at Shakes Pier Seafood and Grill, and as soon as I entered the restaurant I knew which person was she. She had told me in her email that she would "stand out as an emerald in a bowl of pierogies."

"Dah-ling," she began, with some kind of an accent that seemed to be a cross between Eastern European and German Shepherd, extending her hand toward me as I approached the corner of the bar where she was standing.

Though first impressions are not everything, I made a mental note of the first few things that ran through my mind in those opening seconds of our inaugural encounter. First, she was wearing what I suppose was a dress but which actually looked like a toga; second, she had piercing dark eyes that seemed incredibly focused (so much so that I inconspicuously examined her face to see if I could detect a button to turn off the pair of laser beams); and she was wearing enough bling that she could have supplied the concert attire for ten rap bands and their audiences. My first impression? She was about as intimidating as the Soviet army at its peak.

"Zoor, Julia C. Zoor," she continued, formally introducing herself. "I am so glad to meet you," she said in a way that sounded as though she were auditioning for a part in Doctor Zhivago.

"The pleasure is mine, Ms. Zoor," I said politely.

"Yes, I am sure," she agreed.

We were ushered to a table and handed menus.

"I am from Venus. Where are you from?" she began.

I looked at her blankly. "Uh, I'm from earth," I responded.

She smiled. "No, I mean Venus, Texas."''

"Oh oh, yes, of course," I said, perhaps blushing a bit.

"Now I suppose you are wondering how I convinced you to ask me out on this date," she continued confidently, with an ostentatious air that further solidified my initial impression.

"Pardon?" I asked.

"Oh surely you realize that you only asked me out because I coerced you to," she remarked.

"It wasn't the shotgun that your father was pointing at me?" I half joked, feeling a bit uncomfortable already.

"To put it bluntly, I have the power to bend minds," she casually replied, with almost the same degree of low key delivery with which one might say, "I'd like fries with that, please."

"Bend minds?" I asked.

"Yes dah-ling, altering your thought process so that you see things the way I see them. In other words, I can make your decisions for you."

"Interesting," I said. And indeed, it was interesting. I didn't believe it, but there was no denying that this was going to be a memorable lunch.

"Isn't it though?" she stated.

Before I could say anything, she continued. "I sell products designed to make the body and mind function as a unit, working together in harmony."

"You mean, as opposed to making my body work with someone else's mind?" I was trying to be funny.

"No, not like that at all," she said seriously. "For example, my company makes an elixir with tiny magnetic particles that will align and cure all of the nasty stuff inside you."

"Nasty stuff?"

"Nasty stuff."

"When have you looked inside me?"

"Everyone's got nasty stuff inside. That's what the Biology Channel on cable says."

"So this, uh, potion will cure me of everything?"

"Oh, indeed. It will cure diseases, make your hair shiny, and can be used to scour the linoleum on your kitchen floor."

"We have hardwood floors."

"It'll clean that too. It's also loaded with anti-oxidants and a highly concentrated amount of grain fiber that will guarantee that you won't need a colonoscopy for another five years. And it removes any dried blood that may be on your clothing or in your carpet."

"I don't have any dried blood on my clothing or carpet."

"You will after next March 15th."

"What?"

"I'm also a fortune teller, thanks to this potion, as you call it."

This was getting weird.

At that moment, fortunately, the waiter arrived. At least I initially thought it was fortunate, until the waiter and my date began talking.

"Tay, dah-ling, how are you?"

"Fine, Ms. Zoor. Is there anything I can get you to drink?" the waiter asked Julia.

"Yes dah-ling, I'd like a cup of hot tea. Let's go with a cup of 1975 A-Team."

"Very good choice, very good choice," the waiter affirmed, as any good waiter would.

"Would you care for tea, sir?" he inquired.

"Uh, sure ... what do you recommend?"

"Well, Ms. Zoor knows her teas, and you certainly wouldn't go wrong ordering what she ordered."

That made me want to order something very different.

"Tell you what; I'll have a glass of sweet ice tea."

My date quickly turned pale and the waiter left the table.

"Sweet ice tea?" she asked. "You do know, dah-ling, that the educated public does not drink sweet ice tea."

"I did not know that," I stated, somehow affirming my ignorance.

"Tsk tsk tsk," she astutely and brilliantly mumbled. "You should have gone with the A-team brew. It was developed by a gentleman named Mr. Tea."

"Mr. Tea?" I reflected.

A moment later, her tea arrived.

"Just as Madame likes it, brewed with the seven - three balance."

"Thank you Tay, you are so totally divine."

"Oh Madame, thank you, but you are too kind. I am only part divine."

Julia held the steaming cup to her nose and then frowned slightly. "Tay, dah-ling, this does not smell as my custom seven - three brew should; it smells more like an eight - two. Tay, you know I will get deathly ill if my lips taste anything other than the seven - three brew."

"Ms. Zoor, I promise you this is a seven - three brew, not an eight - two."

"Very well then," she sighed. "You may go."

He then left.

"Seven - three balance?" I asked nonchalantly.

"Yes, seven parts of dried seaweed from the bed of a baby octopus, and three parts maple leaves from the forests of Western Nebraska."

"There are no forests in Western Nebraska," I commented.

"Now, let's talk business," she said, ignoring my statement. "I've got the products that will solve all your problems. "

"I know, I know, it'll cure all my illnesses and clean my kitchen linoleum if I had any. It can also be used as a fishing lure."

"What?"

"Never mind. What else do you have?" I asked, almost afraid to bring up the topic.

"Well, we sell facial creams too."

"Facial creams?"

"Yes. Our first product is a clay-based mud pack. It gets rid of all wrinkles and makes your face so tough that it can withstand a punch with five hundred pounds of force."

"Clay? That really works?"

"Cross my heart and hope to die," she said. "We call it Cassius Clay."

"Cassius?"

"Cassius. Now we also have other food products. These (she pulled out a small jar of green olives) can be smashed up and also used on your face. It will remove your double chin and will give you the features of a boxer."

I glanced at the label. It was a bottle of Mohammed Olives.

At that moment, Julia picked up her cup of tea and took a sip.

Instantly she had a violent reaction, falling to the floor and knocking the table over on her way down.

The waiter rushed over to see what happened.

Julia C. Zoor looked up at the waiter and whispered, "Eight - two brew, Tay."