would. Wired
and
BoingBoing picked us up, and I don’t know how many lesser blogs.”
Temi’s mouth quirked, as if she didn’t know if she should be impressed or not.
“Uh huh, and did we get any orders?” I asked.
“No, but that’s not how it works,” Simon said. “It’s the links from these big sites that count. The traffic is cool, but you’re right in that it won’t be targeted to our business. It’ll all be people interested in the monster story. Although…” He drummed his fingers in his Star-Wars-Imperial-March pattern. “If I acted quickly, maybe I could put together some T-shirts or something. We wouldn’t make a ton, but merchandising could be good for a few bucks.”
“Merchandising?” I mouthed to Temi.
She shrugged back at me.
“I don’t have any artistic talent, but maybe I could do something with the pictures I got,” Simon went on. “I wish I had one of the monster. I mostly have mutilated bodies. That’s kind of garish for a T-shirt, right?”
“You think?” I asked.
Temi was more tactful than I, forgoing sarcasm to simply say, “Yes.”
“I did put some impression-based advertising on the site when I saw all the traffic,” Simon said. “We’ve already made thirty dollars today.”
I kept myself from rolling my eyes—barely. Money was money, I supposed, but I wanted to succeed doing something that added value to the world, or at least made someone happy. True, an antique steam shovel probably wouldn’t grant anyone eternal bliss, but that fellow had been pleased to find one for his collection.
Simon switched to another app. “They’re not doing anything.”
“Still parked outside the Vendome?” I asked.
“Yup.” Simon’s hamburger was delivered, so he stopped staring incessantly at the screen for a moment. He didn’t, however, stop plotting. “I wonder how much traffic we’d get to our site if we somehow slew the monster and saved the town, thus ushering in a period of peace and prosperity.”
I shook my head at Temi and pointed my thumb at Simon. “This from the guy who made me march into a men’s room shower at a campground to get rid of a spider.”
Simon pointed a sweet potato fry at me. “It was a
tarantula
, not a spider. Huge difference. You all have some wicked critters down here in the desert.”
“If you find Arizona’s wildlife alarming,” Temi said, “I recommend you never visit the Australian Outback.”
“You’ve b-been?” Simon asked, stuttering for the first time since he’d sat down. It was also the first time he’d looked in her direction.
“Yes, I was in Melbourne for… work and went on a safari afterward.”
“He Googled you,” I told Temi, not sure why she was being evasive about her tennis career. Well, I guess I could understand, especially if she was being judged heavily by her old colleagues, but Simon didn’t care. I didn’t care. Heck, I’d never admit it out loud, but I was perhaps the teeniest tiniest bit contented that she’d fallen from that lofty pedestal and was here asking us for work.
“I see,” Temi said, then dismissed this information with an elegant shrug. How one managed to shrug elegantly, I wasn’t sure, but she did it. “The Outback was extremely hot that time of year—I was there in January—and we saw quite a few dangerous creatures. Did you know that the bite of a funnel-web spider can kill a human being in two hours? Also, I was told that the Inland Taipan has the most toxic venom of any snake in the world. It paralyzes you and eats away at your muscle tissue. It gets dissolved and passed through your kidneys until you start peeing out reddish-brown urine.” She wriggled her eyebrows, clearly going into the garish details because Simon seemed like someone who’d appreciate them. And she was right.
He chomped on his burger as she spoke, listening in rapt fascination. Or just rapt… enrapture. In truth, she could have recited the plot of her favorite chick flick for him and
and
BoingBoing picked us up, and I don’t know how many lesser blogs.”
Temi’s mouth quirked, as if she didn’t know if she should be impressed or not.
“Uh huh, and did we get any orders?” I asked.
“No, but that’s not how it works,” Simon said. “It’s the links from these big sites that count. The traffic is cool, but you’re right in that it won’t be targeted to our business. It’ll all be people interested in the monster story. Although…” He drummed his fingers in his Star-Wars-Imperial-March pattern. “If I acted quickly, maybe I could put together some T-shirts or something. We wouldn’t make a ton, but merchandising could be good for a few bucks.”
“Merchandising?” I mouthed to Temi.
She shrugged back at me.
“I don’t have any artistic talent, but maybe I could do something with the pictures I got,” Simon went on. “I wish I had one of the monster. I mostly have mutilated bodies. That’s kind of garish for a T-shirt, right?”
“You think?” I asked.
Temi was more tactful than I, forgoing sarcasm to simply say, “Yes.”
“I did put some impression-based advertising on the site when I saw all the traffic,” Simon said. “We’ve already made thirty dollars today.”
I kept myself from rolling my eyes—barely. Money was money, I supposed, but I wanted to succeed doing something that added value to the world, or at least made someone happy. True, an antique steam shovel probably wouldn’t grant anyone eternal bliss, but that fellow had been pleased to find one for his collection.
Simon switched to another app. “They’re not doing anything.”
“Still parked outside the Vendome?” I asked.
“Yup.” Simon’s hamburger was delivered, so he stopped staring incessantly at the screen for a moment. He didn’t, however, stop plotting. “I wonder how much traffic we’d get to our site if we somehow slew the monster and saved the town, thus ushering in a period of peace and prosperity.”
I shook my head at Temi and pointed my thumb at Simon. “This from the guy who made me march into a men’s room shower at a campground to get rid of a spider.”
Simon pointed a sweet potato fry at me. “It was a
tarantula
, not a spider. Huge difference. You all have some wicked critters down here in the desert.”
“If you find Arizona’s wildlife alarming,” Temi said, “I recommend you never visit the Australian Outback.”
“You’ve b-been?” Simon asked, stuttering for the first time since he’d sat down. It was also the first time he’d looked in her direction.
“Yes, I was in Melbourne for… work and went on a safari afterward.”
“He Googled you,” I told Temi, not sure why she was being evasive about her tennis career. Well, I guess I could understand, especially if she was being judged heavily by her old colleagues, but Simon didn’t care. I didn’t care. Heck, I’d never admit it out loud, but I was perhaps the teeniest tiniest bit contented that she’d fallen from that lofty pedestal and was here asking us for work.
“I see,” Temi said, then dismissed this information with an elegant shrug. How one managed to shrug elegantly, I wasn’t sure, but she did it. “The Outback was extremely hot that time of year—I was there in January—and we saw quite a few dangerous creatures. Did you know that the bite of a funnel-web spider can kill a human being in two hours? Also, I was told that the Inland Taipan has the most toxic venom of any snake in the world. It paralyzes you and eats away at your muscle tissue. It gets dissolved and passed through your kidneys until you start peeing out reddish-brown urine.” She wriggled her eyebrows, clearly going into the garish details because Simon seemed like someone who’d appreciate them. And she was right.
He chomped on his burger as she spoke, listening in rapt fascination. Or just rapt… enrapture. In truth, she could have recited the plot of her favorite chick flick for him and
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