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From: gyrfalcon@delphi.com (Gerri Oliver)
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: "It Didn't Matter At All" - story
Date: 19 Feb 1995 05:16:22 GMT
Organization: Delphi Internet Services Corporation
Lines: 84
Message-ID: <9502190012592.DLITE.gyrfalcon@delphi.com>
NNTP-Posting-Host: bos1f.delphi.com
X-To: Gerri Oliver <gyrfalcon@delphi.com>

Here's another of the selections of the AOL E-Mail X-Creative Club. All
comments to the author as usual, not!                              Gerri
**************************************************************************


This is my very first creative attempt for the EMXC.  It's an idea for
the "mystery woman" from Little Green Men.  Any comments, suggestions,
criticisms should be sent to Spookymb.


Disclaimer:  The character(s) and organization name(s) are used without
the consent and permission of Twentieth Century TV, Fox Network, Ten
Thirteen Productions and the federal government.  No copyright
infringement is intended.

"It Didn't Matter at All"
by Melissa Bovet
(Spookymb@aol.com)
Written 1/24/95

  Mulder sat at the end of the bar, watching the half-nude woman gyrating
in the middle of the stage.  He was half-way finished with his beer.  Next
to him were two empty bottles waiting to be retrieved by a waitress.
Mulder had finished work little more than an hour ago, and had made his
way straight to the Lucky Strike Bar.   It didn't matter that this bar was
the object of his recent wire-tap surveillance.  It didn't matter that
the FBI would be closing the place down this week for trafficking and
prostitution.  It didn't matter that he would lose his job if his
supervisors knew he was there.  It didn't matter at all.  Nothing much
mattered to Mulder these days since the X-Files had been closed down.
  As he drained the bottle, a waitress approached him, "Ready for another?"
  He didn't speak.  His only acknowledgement of her question was tossing
a ten dollar bill on the counter, then grabbing his jacket and making his
way to the men's room.  Mulder stepped up to the sink, turned the water on,
and splashed some cold water on his face and through his hair.  He peered
into the murky bathroom mirror.  'I look like shit,' he thought to himself.
He went to grab a handtowel to dry off his face, found there was none,
used his shirt sleeve instead.  He walked out of the restroom and collided
with one of the cocktail waitresses.
  "Jesus!  Watch where you're going!" the waitress shouted.
  "Sorry," mumbled Mulder, "...wasn't paying attention."  She was still
swearing at him while she was collecting the money that had fallen from her
tray onto the floor.  He bent down to help her and, when his hand grazed
the top of her hand, felt a tingling.
  The sensation caught him off-guard.  When the waitress saw the look on
his face, she softened.  "That's alright.  I should've been paying more
attention myself.  That actually happens a lot in that spot.  What's your
name?" she asked.
  "What's my--my what?"  Mulder was confused.
  "You know, your name.  Tom, Dick or Harry?"  She smiled.
  Mulder regained his composure.  "My name.  Yeah, right.  Mulder.
It's Mulder."
  The waitress studied him.  "Mulder, huh?  That's cute."  She smiled.
Mulder attempted a smile.  "My name is Sheila.  I never seen you around
here," said Sheila.
  "I don't get out much," replied Mulder.  There was something about her
that intrigued him.  Maybe it was her short brown hair, reminding him
of  . . . no,  it was her eyes.  They were sparkling, even in the dark,
smokey interior of the bar.  He couldn't tell exactly what color they were,
but he was determined to find out.  "Yeah, it's my first time here.  I just
happened to be walking by," Mulder said facietiously, "and I thought I'd
check it out."
  "Cute and funny.  I like that.  Well, Mulder, I'm off work in about 30
minutes.  Maybe you could wait for me and we could, you know, talk,"
offered Sheila.
  "How do you know I'm not some psycho looking for women, or better yet,
a cop?" Mulder said slyly.
  Sheila picked up on his game.  "Oh, I don't know.  Call it a hunch.
Anyway, you look trustworthy."
  Mulder went back to the bar to wait for Sheila.  He was about to order
another beer, when he started thinking about his brief conversation with
Sheila.  He picked up his jacket, took out his notepad, and scratched out
a note for her.
  "Got cold feet.  Sorry.  Besides, I'd rather see your beautiful eyes
in the daylight.  I'll make it up to you.  How about lunch this Thursday?
Here's my number.  Call me.  Please.     -Mulder"
  Two days later, Scully heard a woman's voice on Mulder's answering
machine:
  "Mulder, you hounded me to have lunch with you today and you didn't
show.  You're a pig!"
  
-END-



