My boyfriend is a Jeopardy superstar.  People always recognize him at Circuit City, where he’s assistant manager.  He knows all about cell phones and digital cameras and laptops.  He has a pendant that says “Jeopardy Superstar,” and people buy stuff because of it.  Jeopardy doesn’t give out pendants. 

He won twelve games in a row, which is a lot.  He doesn’t like it when people mention that Mormon guy who won like ninety-five times.  He says he’s gonna kick that Latter Day Saint’s ass in the Tournament of Champions.  

Dan’s reign on Jeopardy ended before I met him.  But he still wears that Jeopardy glow.  And the pendant. 

My mom is proud of me and tells all her friends.  “Isabel’s boyfriend was on Jeopardy.   She’s very smart in her own right.  I’ve always told her she should take classes at the community college or even try out for Wheel of Fortune.”

She’s such a liar.  Always has been.  She taught me early on how to moisturize, saying “all you’ve got is your looks, hon.” The only competition she ever encouraged was when she entered me in a Little Miss Riverside contest when I was six.  I came in second and never saw her get her hopes up for me again. 

She thought Dan was a loser until she saw his pendant.  I thought he was a loser when I saw it.  He’s cute, though, and he might win a lot of money.

The Tournament of Champions is coming up. Five weeks.  Dan is in training.  He has me quiz him all the time.  Just ‘til it’s over, he says.  Then we’ll take a few days off and drive to San Diego or something.  

“Thanatos is the Greek god of this.”  I think of San Diego. 

“What is death?” 

He counts a second before buzzing in on his ballpoint.  He always tells me that the key to winning on Jeopardy is knowing how to use the buzzer.  Ringing in too soon will lock you out.  And when you’re locked out, you might as well take the third prize luggage set and head home.  You’re not even making it to Final Jeopardy.  He has excellent timing with the buzzer.

“He ran for president of the United States and lost against both Franklin Roosevelt and Harry Truman.”

“Who is Thomas E. Dewey?  Come on, Iz.  Enough of the $200 questions.  Throw me some hardballs.”  He intertwines his fingers, flexing them away from his body like he’s preparing for some heavy lifting.

“If you’re tophophobic, you fear this.”

He buzzes in.  “Ummm.  What are … soybeans?”

“No, dummy.  Fear of being buried alive.”

“Damn, I knew that.”  He mumbles “tophophobia, buried alive, tophophobia, buried alive.”

It’s a freaking oven in Riverside.  I picture lying on the beach down south.  I already bought a new bikini at Nordstrom with my employee discount.  I feel ocean breezes and smell Coppertone.

“Come on, Dan.  Let’s take a break.”  I loop my finger through his gold chain and pull him toward me.  He likes when I touch his pendant.

“This is where I like to be kissed.” 

“Where is your neck?”  He runs his tongue and lips up my throat to behind my left earlobe.

“This is where I like to be touched.”

“Mmmm.  Where is everywhere?”  His hands explore my everywhere.  He is very smart.

I push him back on the bed and position myself at the end.

“This is the thing that you like best.”

No buzzer.  No question.  I lower my head and think of San Diego.