by MJ Rodgers
There were sensational clothes and shoes and jewels and every manner of accessory on display. Just as she was trying to decide which to try first, a high voice suddenly screeched beside her.
“Oh, horrors, a ponytail!”
A.J. swung around to see a slim blond man snatching her arm and urging her inside his hairstyling salon.
“Come, come, wayward child,” he said. “I am Claude Poz of the Wizard of Poz. But you may simply call me your savior.”
Claude Poz spoke in that high-pitched, exuberant manner that was the epitome of the effeminate-malehairdresser cliche. He was such an impossible exaggeration that he made A.J. laugh.
“My savior?”
“Saving you from yourself is obviously what I must do!” he exclaimed, smiling at her with a face full of teeth and charm as he led her inside his salon and sat her in front of a mirror.
A.J. watched as he snipped the rubber band holding her ponytail in place with an enormous pair of cutting shears. Her long, thick, dark hair fell like a damp towel onto her shoulders.
Claude placed one hand on his hip as he waggled the index finger of his other hand at her reflection in the mirror. “How could you mistreat these beautiful dark locks, you wicked stepmother, you!”
A.J. laughed again and found herself being bustled off, chair and all, to a sink in the back. Claude eased her head into a spray of warm water. He sang in far too high a voice, “Off to see the wizard, the wonderful wizard of Poz,” as he massaged lather into her scalp.
A.J. tried to remember the last time she’d been in a beauty parlor. She couldn’t. She forgot how good it felt to have her scalp massaged. As Claude’s happy little ditty droned in her ears, she closed her eyes and relaxed beneath his soothing fingers. Just about the time she started to feel guilty about lying there and absorbing the pleasure, he rinsed the suds from her hair.
“To style! To style!” he yelled at the top of his voice as he wrapped a towel around her head and scooted her chair to his station. But when she tried to see herself in the mirror, he blocked her way.
“No, no, naughty! You mustn’t look until the wizard of Poz had completed his creation!” Claude admonished as he brushed and combed and fussed.
“This is supposed to be a short session, Claude,” she said. “I don’t want to have to wait through a set and dry to see the finished product.”
“Impatient, aren’t we? Well, no matter, the masterpiece is finished!”
And with that, Claude danced out of the way with a flourish.
A.J. looked at her reflection in the mirror and stared. Her just-washed hair was totally dry, gathered in soft, thick, gentle waves about her face. It never looked so bouncy, so shiny, so full of light or so flatteringly feminine before.
“Absolutely beautiful,” a very deep, distinctive voice said from behind her.
A.J.’s heartbeat quickened as she looked up to see the hard glint in Zane’s dark eyes reflected in the mirror. His large hands circled her shoulders. His fingers gently stroked the soft waves around her cheeks.
“The hair’s nice, too,” he added, his rough lips pulling into that combative smile she recognized.
Her heart skipped to a happy little beat as she smiled back.
“All right,” Clarise’s voice was saying suddenly. “I have to admit this program may suit you after all.”
A.J. blinked and turned to the program customizer standing beside her. The beauty-parlor scene had faded into nothingness. She looked at the poster in front of her. She saw herself sitting in front of the mirror inside the beauty salon, her hair falling to her shoulders in those impossibly full, soft waves.
“That was very…unexpected,” she said in a rush of air.
“Yes, your synapses were firing pretty well on this program, too,” Clarise admitted. “It may not be as perfect a fit as the Mysterious Adventures Series, but you’ll undoubtedly have a good time. This way.”
A.J. followed Clarise through the swinging doors at the end of the hallway and positioned herself once again in front of the counter of the VR travel agency.
“The Femme Fatale program disks will be delivered to your room while you’re at dinner,” Clarise said. “There are five CDs in the program. They’re clearly marked for proper sequence. When you are ready for your fantasy, insert the proper disk into the CD ROM drive at the top of your room’s bed. Then lay down and put on the mask, just as you did in the viewing room. That will automatically activate the program.”
“And what do I do to stop it?” A.J. asked.
“At the end of the fantasy, it will stop by itself.”
“But if for some reason I need to stop it—”
“Once a VR experience is entered, it should be allowed to end naturally and never be manually stopped, otherwise the transition to reality will be far too jarring and abrupt.”
“How long does a fantasy last?”
“Each CD is three hours long. And it is important that you take a breather between each disk.”
“Why?”
“Because although your VR fantasy experiences give you the impression you’ve been active, your body has actually been lying still for three hours.”
“So too many hours in a VR fantasy could make you stiff?”
“Yes. We believe very strongly that each patron should get up and move around. To ensure this happens, the control center monitors your hours in VR and will automatically shut off the computer interface into your room for two hours after every three-hour VR fantasy.”
“Is that the only restriction?”
“No. The computer is also disengaged to all room units between one and eight in the morning, both to encourage our patrons to get their needed sleep and to join the other attendees for the seven o’clock breakfast while their rooms are being made up.”
“Automatically turning off the juice puts the park in a sort of parenting role, doesn’t it?” A.J. asked. “Why don’t you just advise the patrons to use some common sense and take a break?”
“Because common sense is not nearly so common as the term implies. Be sure to avoid disappointment and begin your last fantasy of the night no later than ten o’clock. A disk placed in the interface after ten o’clock at night will simply not work.”
“It sounds like you’ve had some bad experiences.”
“No, we’ve avoided bad experiences by learning from other amusement parks’ mistakes.”
“Are other VR amusement parks as sophisticated in technology as this one?”
“No,” Clarise said, a confident smile spreading her lips. “We are at least a decade ahead of any competitor. We intend to stay that way, too.”
“Are there any other rules about VR use?”
“Just an informational item. Although each one of your program disks lasts three hours, sometimes you will disengage from your VR fantasy thinking that you spent a lot longer than three hours in it, and other times you will think that only a short period has passed. Virtual reality alters not just the world you experience, but also the time you spend there. Anything else?”
“Just one last question. Is there any danger I might get so caught up in the fantasy that I think it’s real?”
Clarise laughed. “We hope you do get so caught up in your fantasies that you think they’re real. That’s our whole purpose here at Fabulous Fantasies—to provide you with the kinds of wonderful feel-real experiences that aren’t otherwise available to you. Just let go and enjoy yourself. Your heart’s every desire is waiting to be lived.”
Clarise’s smiling face seemed to slowly fade along with the travel bureau counter. That same soft, melting music that A.J. heard earlier combined with the velvet blackness to wash the images from her eyes. The next thing she knew, a hand was tapping her shoulder.
“Ms. Lane, you can remove the mask now.”
A.J. did so, and saw Tripp’s face bending over her in the white interview room, so starkly plain after the vivid colors and images of the VR environment. She sat up, swung her legs over the edg
e of the bed and reached for her shoes.
“I think I understand now why everything around here is so utilitarian-looking,” she said. “It would just be a waste of money to decorate. After a VR experience, even Disneyland would seem drab.”
“I’m glad you think so,” Tripp said, smiling.
“Have you been here since the park opened?” A.J. asked as she tied her shoelaces.
“Most of us have.”
“What do you think of the suit against the park?”
“Totally bogus.”
“Do you remember the two women when they visited here on opening day?”
“They were just two of the crowd,” Tripp said, his smile still intact although a slight frown knitted his brow as he glanced at his watch. “I’ll show you the recreation and exercise rooms now. Then I’ll take you to your room so you can freshen up before dinner. Your bags are already there.”
A.J. stood, checked her watch and ended up staring at it in surprise. “I could have sworn I was only in that fantasy session for ten minutes or so. Nearly two hours have passed!”
“You’re one of the last to complete your sample session,” Tripp said. “There’s only about forty minutes between now and dinner. I don’t mean to rush you along, but I’m helping to cook and serve.”
A.J. knew how to act on good news when she heard it. She also knew how to put good use to these forty minutes while she was free of Zane’s watchful eyes.
She smiled at the attendant. “Just point out where my room is and I’ll ask one of the guests to show me the recreation and exercise rooms after dinner. That way you can get to your other duties.”
“Well, if you really don’t mind,” Tripp began as he opened the door.
“There you are,” Zane’s voice said suddenly as he materialized on the other side of the door.
A.J. was so startled she stopped dead in her tracks. Tripp jumped in surprise.
“Mr. Cranston,” he said. “What are you doing here?”
“Just waiting to show Margot to her room. It’s okay, Tripp. I’ll take it from here.”
“I UNDERSTAND NOW why this weekend costs so much,” Zane said as they took chairs together at an otherwise empty dining table. He had insisted that they be among the first to arrive. He didn’t want to miss anything.
She had complied with that smoldering look she’d been wearing ever since he told her they would be working together. He had to stifle a smile as he remembered the surprise on her face when he showed up after her VR preview session. Clearly, he had foiled her plans to do some snooping on her own.
She was sharp and she was fast. He was going to have to watch her every second. He’d had a lot worse assignments. “Yes, the physical accommodations might be modest,” he continued, “but the mind power and the computer power it took to put together such sophisticated VR simulations are nothing less than incredible.”
He figured the topic would be too irresistible for the private investigator in her to pass up. Her eyes rested on her salad fork for a moment before she answered.
“It certainly was impressive,” she said finally. “I no longer wonder why there are only fifty people here at one time. I’m surprised they can even accommodate that many with the kind of computer power needed to run fifty fully interactive programs at once.”
“Yes, very impressive,” Zane agreed, picking up his water glass from the white tablecloth that hid the Formica top. Fake paper flowers sprayed out from a plastic center vase. He took a sip of the water. It was as tasteless as the decor.
She picked up her fork, fiddled with it. “They can read a user’s responses,” she said a little reluctantly, as though she was debating whether to share that information.
“I found that a little disconcerting, too. This stuff is powerful, no doubt about it.”
The tables around them were beginning to fill. Zane leaned a little closer, disappointed that for some reason he couldn’t seem to catch her distinctive scent.
“Did you order the Femme Fatale tapes?”
A small smile lifted the edges of her lips. “It’s a sure bet you couldn’t. Is that why you’ve insisted we work together? So you could gain access to those program disks?”
“Gaining access to the disks won’t help. Remember, hundreds of women have gone through the Femme Fatale program without returning home to divorce their husbands.”
“I have to start somewhere.”
The waiter came by to set a green salad with croutons, bits of cheese and a white house dressing at each place setting.
Zane pointed at the contents of his salad bowl as the waiter moved on, trying to make it seem as though their conversation had something to do with the food.
“Don’t worry, A.J., if Linbow’s hiding something, we’ll find it. Together.”
Her pale eyes met his with interest. She leaned a smidgen closer. “You have a plan?”
He liked what her sudden nearness was doing to him. He slipped his hand beneath the tablecloth and ran his fingertips lightly over A.J.’s knuckles. He felt the telling quiver beneath his touch before she slipped her hand away.
“Don’t complicate things,” she said.
“It doesn’t have to be complicated,” Zane said.
“But it would be,” A.J. replied. “Just tell me your plan.”
“Well, hello, Lamont,” Deann’s exuberant voice sang out suddenly from the other side of the table.
“After dinner,” Zane whispered quickly.
Zane wiped away the frown he felt before turning, smiling and rising to hold out the chair for Deann.
She wore sparkles sprinkled onto her short, curly red hair, a low-cut flesh-colored dress, three-inch heels, a lot of makeup and a very big smile. The heads of men throughout the room were all turned in her direction.
As Deann made herself comfortable, Zane glanced at A.J. He had given her fifteen minutes to get dressed for dinner. She had taken five. Her long, dark hair was drawn into its typical ponytail. Her face was freshly washed and free of any makeup. She wore comfortable shoes and a loose-fitting navy blue pantsuit that hid whatever curves might lay beneath its folds.
And without one brush stroke of blush, she was a hundred times more alluring than Deann could ever hope to be. Besides being beautiful in a way he could not clearly define, A.J. had that depth of character often lacking in women who focused all their attention on their packaging.
“So, what program did you select, Lamont?” Deann asked.
Zane turned to Deann as he took his seat. “Mysterious Adventures.”
Zane sensed A.J.’s startled movement beside him and wondered why. His curiosity battled momentarily with his need to use Deann’s obvious interest in him to pump her for useful information. His need for useful information won out.
“Ever try it?” he asked Deann.
“No, I’m not even sure I remember the poster. I’m going to be Cleopatra and seduce Caesar and Mark Antony this trip.”
Zane watched her lean back and stretch, bringing her well-rounded breasts out just a smidgen more from the skimpy material barely covering them. He noticed that she was surreptitiously glancing around the room to be sure she was still receiving the bulk of the male attention. She was.
Tripp came by to fill the glasses with wine. He wore a white apron over his white jumpsuit. Zane could tell that Tripp was watching him from the corner of his eye. He found it more than suspicious that with Deann at the table, Tripp would even pass a glance in his direction. The man would bear watching.
As Tripp turned to fill the wineglasses at the next table, the older couple who had sat in front of A.J. and Zane on the plane approached and took the empty seats beside A.J.
“I’m Emma,” the older woman said with a small smile as she scooted her chair up to the table. “And this is my husband, Ralph.”
“Hi, I’m Deann. This is Lamont. And that’s Margot,” Deann piped up before anyone else had a chance. “This is my third time at the park. I know you’re new. I heard your comments whe
n you got off the plane and saw the facilities. Everybody thinks they’ve been ripped off until they get their first VR sample. Then they change their mind.”
“The samples were wonderful,” Emma admitted, her smile creasing her ample, cheery cheeks. “So many interesting choices. Our grandson and his wife attended shortly after the park opened. They wouldn’t tell us much—just that we should go as soon as we could.”
Ken Beyette strode to the table and sat on Deann’s other side. Strands of his longish brown hair flopped onto his forehead. His full beard rose high on his cheeks. He looked a little like a raccoon with all that hair. He pushed his chair closer to Deann’s.
“So, here you are, Dee,” he said. “You’re looking good tonight. Real good.”
Despite Deann’s earlier comment to Zane about not appreciating Ken’s advances, she looked distinctly flattered at his attention and happy to welcome him to the seat beside her. She introduced Ken around the table.
“Is this your first time, Lamont?” Emma asked.
Zane was a little surprised that the elderly woman had remembered his name—and that she had singled him out for a question.
“Yes,” he said. “I heard about it from an associate. Like your grandchildren, she refused to tell me much, only that I should experience it for myself.”
“Is she someone from your mountain-guide business?”
“How do you know what I do, Emma?” Zane asked, punctuating his question with a pleasant smile.
“Oh, I overheard you talking about it on the plane. Our granddaughter is a park ranger in the Olympics. She’s also been to Fabulous Fantasies. I thought she might be that associate you spoke of. Her name is Ellie Elton.”
“No, sorry. Another lady. Did your grandchildren have this two-month waiting list to contend with when they attended?”
“Our grandson said nothing about a wait. I think Ellie mentioned a month’s delay. I suppose over time Fabulous Fantasies has gotten busier as more and more people become aware it’s here.”
“Yeah, I only had a week’s wait last time,” Ken said.
“So how often have you come to the park?” Zane asked him as he impaled some limp lettuce with his fork.
