Lalu and the Dinosaur

            by Arielle Usher

 

            Looking back on the whole affair, Lalu thought that the first sign was the pair of men seated at table twelve that night. This in and of itself was not unusual; men often came in together, for the companionship and support, which Lalu had learned they needed even more than women did. Nor was it especially odd that they requested Lalu; she was good at her job. No, what was strange about these two was the fact that they were important. Or at least they looked important upon first sight, the first tall and suave in a dark suit and the second oddly hansom, with coke-bottle glasses and a patterned tie. And the thing was that nobody important ever came into Bubba’s. The blinking neon sign out front and the boarded up windows, so that the general aura of the place was one of a lecherous old broken-toothed man, usually attracted only losers. Lalu broke people down into groups based on her experience of high-school cliques, and the jocks, the cool kids, the preps, and even the nerds and brainiacs who could never get a date had better things to do on a Wednesday night than come to Bubba’s. As a result, it was Lalu’s job to entertain that chubby pimpled kid who sat in the back of the class and never contributed anything but always stared at her boobs, now a chubby pimpled man clutching dollar bills he had earned checking out old ladies at the Winn Dixie down the street. So these two men were out of place.

She was taking a break after her first customer, leaning against the bar and sucking down a Mr. Pibb through a bendy straw when they walked in. Lalu watched as they spoke quietly to Bubba and then walked to their table with smugly satisfied grins. She watched them settle themselves, then glanced back at Bubba, who smirked at her and gestured over to table twelve mouthing, That’s your table tonight. Lalu sighed, shoved herself away from the bar, adjusted her bunny ears, and waited for a song change before clomping over to the two curious men. Her sickly smile felt plastered to her face, her feet were killing her, and she was only 20 minutes into her shift.

            The song was What Do You Do For Money Honey, by AC/DC, and Lalu hopped right up onto table twelve. She wrapped a leg around the pole running through the center, and went straight into her routine, gyrating and spinning around it while shooting the two men heavy-lidded looks and licking her lips. They didn’t look impressed. Lalu ground her teeth together – so these two would be hard to please. Well, she was up to the challenge.

            Lalu gripped the pole ferociously and shimmied into a back bend that brought her face to face with the first man. His mouth opened slightly. Then she swung herself around and down onto all fours and crawled to the second man, the one with the thick glasses, letting him feel the full effect of her cleavage. He gasped lightly. Lalu blew him a kiss and then turned away with a satisfied smile, giving both of them her pièce de resistance, her final blow, her cherry on top; the ass jiggle.  She heard them clearing their thoughts and shifting around behind her and almost laughed. This is what she loved about her job, this second of total control when she seemed to hold the whole world enthralled and she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she could be a lawyer, the President, hell even Queen of the World if she put her mind to it. If only her mother could see her now.

            They found her in the dressing room after her shift had ended, the two odd men, and it turned out that they were important. The first, the tall one, was named Mr. Ray.

            “This is my associate Dr. Zachariah,” he said after introducing himself. The second man smiled and the fluorescent lights in the room flashed off of his thick glasses. He leaned into his companion.

            “She’s perfect, isn’t she?” Mr. Ray nodded.

            “Um, what is all this about?” Lalu asked.

            “Oh, I took your measurements, see?” said Dr. Zachariah. He held up an odd device that said digital all-purpose scanner in fancy lettering on the side. “And your particular, uh, endowments make you the perfect candidate for our experiment in xenogenesis, which is a quite simple process really. We have perfected a method to emulate this xenogenesis, which can be seen demonstrated in lower life forms where it has been observed to occur that the, shall we say, seed of a species not related to another can be transplanted into a surrogate mother and at the moment of…“

            At this moment Mr. Ray cut him off. “I think,” he said, “That we had better start with this; I work with the CIA…”

            “Oh, wow, what do you do there?” Lalu chirped.

            Mr. Ray looked at her darkly.  “That is confidential information. All you need to know right now is that the United States Government has a business proposition for you, a mission of the utmost importance. Lalu, you could single handedly save our nation.”

            And that is how Lalu found herself, a mere eight hours after having woken up to just one more regular day as an exotic dancer, being outfitted for her mission in a secret underground research room at CIA headquarters.

            “But why do I have to do it right now?” she whined.

            “Because it is a timely matter,” said Mr. Ray. “Like I already told you.”

            “Yeah, but I don’t even know what the matter is. Stop that!” This second statement was directed to Dr. Zachariah, who was trying to cinch a latex bustier around her. Then Lalu turned back to Mr. Ray. “And why do I have to where latex? What kind of mission is this?”

            Mr. Ray sighed and glanced at his watch. “I suppose we have time,” he mumbled to himself. Then, “It has recently come to our attention, Lalu, that the CCIA…”

            “The what?”

            “The China Central Intelligence Agency,” Dr. Zachariah answered. He looked at her with disbelief, as if asking don’t you know anything? before returning to the bustier laces.

            “Yes, well it has come to our attention, Lalu, now pay attention-” for Lalu’s attention had been caught by a table littered with cool-looking black gadgets. There was one in particular that she was intrigued by; a big clock on a chain like the kind Flavor Flav wears.

            “Sorry,” she said.

            “It has come to our attention that the CCIA has recently come into possession of the means to create a dinosaur.”

            There was a moment of silence. Lalu looked at Mr. Ray with suspicion in her eyes.

            “Sorry, what?” she asked.

            “A dinosaur. A Velociraptor, actually.”
            “Look, if this is some kind of joke…”

            “No, Lalu. Look into my eyes. I am perfectly serious. The Chinese government plans to breed an army of Velociraptors, and use this army to wreck havoc on our country, your country. They plan to invade us.”

            Lalu gasped. “America?” she asked. “Why would they do that?”

            “The Chinese have had it in for us since we invented the fortune cookie in 1900. Anyway…”

            “But I thought that Makoto Hagiwara invented the fortune cookie while he was working in the Japanese Tea House in San Francisco in 1909,” Lalu said. She narrowed her eyes as if trying to remember. “Of course, there is the theory that it was David Jung of the Hong Kong Noodle Company in Los Angeles in 1918, but either way…”
            “No,” said Mr. Ray firmly. “Contrary to popular belief, it was the American Government that invented the fortune cookie, first as a method of sending message to our spies in China, and then as a way of controlling the masses with subtle suggestions hidden in the cleverly written fortunes. Of course, we encourage the rumors about Hagiwara and Jung, for the sake of propriety.”

            “Oh.”

            “Anyway, it was all down hill from there. And now the CCIA has Velociraptor DNA, and your country is in mortal danger. Because although we posses the technology needed to create a living dinosaur from its billion years old DNA that China is lacking, we don’t have the pure, genetic code. The fate of America hangs by the thread of time; who will get the missing piece first, a bunch of chinks, or Our Glorious Country?”

            “And that is where you come in, Lalu,” said Dr. Zachariah. He was strapping latex armguards onto her, having finished with the bustier. He looked up into her eyes, and his coke-bottle glasses had slipped down his nose so that she could see into his, and they were the color of thunderclouds. He pushed them up with his ring finger and went on to fitting Lalu with latex boots. “We, well actually I, have devised a time machine. It is really quite simple,” he said as he led Lalu over to the gadget-table. “All it takes is this clock-o-matic,” he grabbed the Flavor Flav piece, “which represents time, and this converted washing machine,” he gestured to his left, “which represents machine, and of course the power of your brain.” He smiled and tapped Lalu’s head with his pointer finger. “Now, if you are ready?” Dr. Zachariah carefully clipped the Flavor Flav clock around her neck.

            “Wait, ready for what?” Lalu asked, a little bit breathless. She was beginning to get worried.

            “For your mission, of course,” Mr. Ray answered.

            “So what, I go back in time, and…”

            “Collect the dinosaur DNA,” said Dr. Zachariah while leading her over to the washing machine.

            “And this DNA, this would be in the form of what, exactly?”

            “Well,” Mr. Ray blinked uncomfortably. “What do you think, Lalu?”

            “You want me to have sex with a Dinosaur.” Both men nodded. Lalu sighed. “I guess I should take these off then.” She reached up to grab her bunny ears, but was stopped by Dr. Zachariah.

            He said, as he positioned her in front of the machine, “Actually Lalu, recent studies have shown that the particular dinosaur who’s DNA we require finds bunnies exceptionally sexually attractive. Hop up, please.”

            Lalu put her hands on her hips. “And just what dinosaur is the particular one you require?”

            “Why, the Tyrannosaurus Rex, of course,” said Mr. Ray.

            “Of course,” repeated Lalu. There was one moment of silence during which the two men looked at her expectantly and she stared back. Then she sighed. “I guess I can’t let those Chinamen beat us,” she said. “Okay, I’m ready.” And with that, she gracefully lifted herself onto the washing machine.

            “Good,” said Dr. Zachariah. “Now all you have to do is focus really hard. See yourself going back in time, believe yourself going back in time.”

            “Is that all?” Lalu asked.

            “Surprising how easy things are, isn’t it?”

            “I guess,” said Lalu, but there was hesitation in her voice.

            “Now you must really believe it, Lalu. Envision it. Do you have it? Are you ready?”

            Lalu closed her eyes. She took a deep breath and thought, really really hard. And it came to her from far away, a miniscule spot growing bigger and bigger in her mind’s eye, until it was in clear focus; a Tyrannosaurus Rex. He was having a cup of tea.

            “Okay,” said Lalu. “I have it.”

            “Good, “ said Dr. Zachariah, and Mr. Ray looked on. “Now all I have to do is turn on the washing machine…” Which he did, with a flick if his middle finger, and in a blinding flash of light, Lalu was gone.