Love Vs. Illusion

by MJ Rodgers

  The cleaning man was barely ten feet away, huge earphones in place, gyrating to the music being played by the tape machine dangling on his belt. The only reason he didn’t see Zane was that his head was down as he followed the progress of the noisy vacuum in front of him.

  But Zane knew exposure was certain…and it would be soon. The guy was coming straight toward the file room.

  Chapter Ten

  There was no time for explanations. Zane grabbed A.J., swung her over his shoulder and sprinted out of the file room, across the larger cave to the entrance of the smaller one. He hoisted her into the cavity, pushed her through and climbed in behind her.

  “Was that entirely necessary?” she asked in a slightly peeved whisper as they crawled into the darker recesses of the cave.

  “Entirely,” he said as he busied himself replacing the vent, at the same time making sure the guy with the vacuum hadn’t taken notice of their escape. Fortunately, the cleaning man was still gyrating to his music as he moved into the file room behind his vacuum.

  Zane let out a relieved breath before turning to face A.J. “And if you ever find yourself in a similar situation, you have my permission to throw me over your shoulder and run like hell.”

  “Like I could,” she said, her tone cool but the ends of her lips rising. “So now we know Woodson is handing over blocks of stock to Linbow as collateral for the park’s expansion loans.”

  “And that, in turn, Linbow is handing over a VR program to Woodson that makes him feel like he can walk again.”

  “Yes. When Clarise spoke about stimulating Woodson’s motor cortex to give him a sense that he could still walk, I have to admit I was a bit awed. It’s rather wonderful to think they could do that for him. I wish I knew how they program something like that.”

  “Well, we may not have gotten a crack at what’s inside Linbow’s computer programming, but at least we got away with these disks. Come on, A.J. Let’s get back to your room and see what they have to tell us.”

  A.J. WATCHED as Zane reached across her bed to connect the leads from the pillow and mask he had brought from his room. He had shed his jacket—the one that stored all those marvelous gadgets she’d love to take a closer look at later.

  But right now, all she wanted to do was look at how the beautifully formed muscles in his arms and shoulders bunched beneath his T-shirt. He didn’t wear starchy, rough, tight jeans, like most casually dressed men did. He had on soft, thick black sweats, the kind that felt good to touch and let you move with a free range of motion. The powerful thighs and calves molded by those sweats would demand such freedom.

  Her eyes rose to his face and studied it as he concentrated on his task. His rugged forehead, cheeks and chin looked as though they had been hammered out of rock and were twice as hard. Not even the combative, half-amused smile that circled his lips so frequently softened the harsh angles and planes.

  He was a hard, stubborn, thoroughly exciting man.

  His eyes were on hers suddenly. Her heart jolted sharply. She could tell from the glow in his black eyes that he was aware she had been looking at him. Like a woman looked at a man.

  “Who were you on the phone with when you let me in a while ago?” he asked before she had time to react to and resent his knowledge.

  “Piper Lane. Clarise said that Woodson wouldn’t let them take care of Sacha. I’ve asked Piper to see if she can find anyone by that name associated with any of them. Did you return the uniforms to the storage locker?”

  “All taken care of. You ready?”

  “I’m not sure I’m comfortable with this coupling business. Why don’t I just see what’s on these fantasy programs?”

  “We’re doing this together, A.J.”

  Yes, that was what was bothering her. When she thought of them lying side by side on this bed, all sorts of things they could be doing together flashed before her eyes.

  “This is a program that’s designed for a woman alone,” she protested. “It won’t fit you.”

  “So I’ll just be your shadow.”

  His tone, as usual, was uncompromising. She knew she was wasting her breath. She’d just have to keep her reactions to him in check. She could do it. She had to do it.

  She grabbed the towels she had wrapped the white jumpsuit in earlier, kicked off her shoes, cleared off the surface of the nightstand and stepped up on it.

  “What are you doing?” Zane asked.

  “I’m jamming these towels into those vents and stopping this blast of moist air. Ever since we stepped back into this building, my sinuses are so clogged I feel like I’m a scuba diver without scuba gear.”

  Zane stepped on the bed and took one of the towels out of her hand. He used it to block the second vent. “Have you always had this reaction to moist air?”

  “Ever since I was a child my sinuses have been like a whirling psychrometer. They can tell the exact moment that the dew point has been reached.”

  “A byproduct of your illness?” he asked.

  A.J. was surprised to realize he had gone back that far in her past. She shrugged, not entirely comfortable with the discussion.

  “It might get a little stuffy in here,” he said, dropping to the linoleum floor and letting the subject drop, too. She was grateful.

  She hopped off the nightstand beside him and switched the wall fan to high. “I’ll risk it.”

  Zane checked his watch. “Damn, it stopped again. What time do you have?”

  “It’s almost ten. We have to get the CD ROM connected in the next minute, otherwise the computer won’t run the fantasy tonight.”

  She reached over to the disks they had purloined from the cave and set the disk labeled number one into the slit in the headboard. It hummed as it whirled into place. She slipped off her shoes, lay on the bed and let her head sink into the pillow.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Zane kick off his shoes and then lay down beside her. She immediately felt the long, strong, warm length of him. Her pulse started to pound, and that damn quivering began again at the back of her stomach. She deliberately focused on the ceiling and tried to put him out of her thoughts.

  “A.J.?”

  Her eyes drew to his face. She could see the individual shafts of dark stubble stabbing out of his chin. His eyes were even darker than usual and full of emotions far too easy to read.

  “Are you ready?” he asked.

  A.J. swallowed and took a deep breath, resolutely returning her eyes to the ceiling as she picked up her mask and began to set it over her eyes with fingers that refused to remain steady.

  “Yes, of course,” she answered with a forced calm she was far from feeling.

  Just like in the sample session, A.J. was first aware of melting music and velvet blackness. Then the scene focused before her eyes.

  She was once again at the entrance to the VR beauty mall. She grasped the knob firmly and swung the door open.

  Light, happy music and beautiful vibrant colors greeted her instantly from inside the mall. As she walked down the aisles and looked from right to left at the clothing and jewelry stores, everything was even more dazzling than she remembered in the sample program.

  She was just wondering if she would once again see Claude Poz and be treated to a new hairdo when a very stylish, mature, dark-haired woman with a lovely French accent stepped out of a clothing boutique and called to her.

  “Madam, this way, pleez. We have been waiting for you.”

  A.J. stopped in surprise. “You’ve been waiting for me?”

  “Madam has forgotten her fitting? No, no, it is not possible. Madam is teasing with Grazielle. Come, madam. The outfits are all ready. Oh, wait until you see! They are exquisite, dazzling!”

  A.J. followed Grazielle into the boutique and then behind antique-white drapes into a lovely pastel room lined with rich, thick carpet and gilt-edged mirrors. A young, very attractive woman immediately rushed over with a rack upon which hung about a dozen different outfits.

  They weren’
t the ostentatious, showy styles of the early nineties, but possessed a return to classic sophistication. Even A.J. recognized the designers—-de la Renta, Lagerfeld, Versace. She liked everything she saw. But her eyes came to a full stop at a black silk evening dress with a short, full skirt and two thread-thin straps. Her hand reached out to touch the shimmering fabric. Its simplicity was elegant, its daring front and back boldly flirtatious, its weight barely a feather.

  “Madam will try it on, yes?” Grazielle asked eagerly.

  “No,” A.J. said emphatically. She was proud of the health and strength of her body. But her shape was not one that would ever look right exposed in a dress like this. She moved on.

  And that was when she came to the classically designed, midnight blue, floor-length evening dress, glistening from full bodice to flared hem in the quiet grace of its Lesage embroidery, the kind of beautiful detail work usually found only in handmade costumes. Its soft material sang as its folds swished between her fingers.

  “I have taken in its every seam just so to make the perfect fit,” the young seamstress said proudly. “Madam will try this one on now?”

  A.J. had never been one to drool over clothes, but to refuse to try on this incredible dress would have denied every female cell in her body.

  “Yes,” she said, quickly stepping out of her clothes, unable to take her eyes off the beautiful blue dress in the young seamstress’s hands. When it was slipped over her head and fastened at the back, Grazielle produced a pair of matching satin shoes. A.J. stepped into them, not surprised that she was suddenly wearing silk stockings. She eagerly swung toward the mirrors to take a look.

  “Oh, madam looks beautiful,” Grazielle said. “Just like a fairy princess!” the seamstress squealed, clapping her hands.

  As A.J. stared at her reflection in the mirror, she took in a startled breath. Both Grazielle and the seamstress were right. The woman in the exquisite midnight blue dress staring back at her was beautiful, just like a fairy princess.

  The only trouble was, the woman staring back at her was not A.J.

  She was petite, with large hazel eyes and soft, short blond curls framing a heart-shaped face. A.J. had seen Patsy Harper’s picture only once. But she recognized her immediately.

  “So, here you are, spending my hard-earned money,” a male voice said suddenly from behind A.J. The instant she heard his voice, she saw his face materialize behind her in the mirror.

  The last time A.J. had seen Bruce Harper had been in the courtroom more than two weeks before, when he had taken the stand to testify. Then, both his cautious expression and copious crown of medium brown hair had reminded her of a furtive brown sparrow ready to flit away. Now, as he strutted into the dressing room wearing a red silk shirt and a smutty smile, he reminded her far more of a bantam rooster ready to crow.

  A.J. was disconcerted at the transformation as she watched him lean past his wife’s reflection to plant a kiss on her cheek. The brief brush of his dry lips felt unpleasant.

  “So how much is this blue rag my wife is wearing, sweetie?” Bruce asked the pretty young seamstress, flicking a finger across her cheek.

  A frown of distinct annoyance dug into A.J.’s forehead.

  Grazielle moved to Harper’s side and handed him the bill.

  Bruce burst into a bellow that filled the dressing room with unpleasantness. “I’m just taking my wife on a sea cruise, Grazielle. She’s not being presented at court!”

  A.J.’s annoyance grew. “I’ll pay for the dress out of my own money,” she heard herself say.

  “Your own money, Patsy?” Bruce asked the reflection of his wife. “What money? You don’t work. I’m the worker in this family.”

  “I take care of our home and our child,” A.J. said, knowing she sounded just as defensive and angry as she’d begun to feel.

  “Yeah, right, you take care of our home. Between watching your soaps and spending my money, you barely have time to dial up the pizza delivery place to get my evening meal on the table.”

  He paused to chuckle at what he obviously thought was a very witty observation.

  A.J.’s anger flared. Her hands balled at her sides. This man had no right to say these unkind and untrue things. How dare he mock her this way!

  Bruce snickered as he turned to the cute young seamstress and winked at her. “Still, it’s better than her cooking. At least with the pizza I’m not up all night battling indigestion.”

  Harper’s laughter crowed through the dressing room.

  A.J. stared at her mirror reflection, waves of fury flowing through her. The beautiful blue dress didn’t look quite so beautiful anymore. And neither did Patsy.

  “A.J.!”

  A.J. was suddenly blinded by the bright light from the lamp in her room at Fabulous Fantasies.

  She swung her head sideways. She saw Zane propped up beside her on the bed, both his mask and hers grasped in his hand. Then he faded away as the vivid images of the clothing boutique once again flashed before her eyes.

  “A.J.!” she heard Zane call again.

  But she also heard Bruce Harper’s crowing laughter echoing in her ears. Zane’s face reappeared and then once again faded into the vivid colors of the boutique. Patsy Harper’s angry image stared at her in the mirror. A.J. felt incredibly disoriented, as though she was in two places at once.

  “A.J., can you hear me?” Zane asked urgently.

  Her head throbbed, her pulse pounded as growing confusion and residual anger vied for attention. She fought her way through the maze of images and emotions and did her best to concentrate on Zane’s face and ignore Patsy’s. After a moment he seemed to come more clearly into focus.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “I ended the fantasy,” Zane said.

  She raised herself to her elbow and shook her head, trying to shake off the residual images. “How?”

  “By pulling off my mask. And then yours. I think it’s the only way to disconnect before a fantasy completes its course.”

  “I’m still getting sounds, images,” A.J. admitted.

  “I understand. So am I.”

  “You were in the fantasy? I didn’t see you.”

  “I didn’t see you, either. I thought I was watching Patsy Harper. I stayed out of sight, behind the drapery folds in the dressing room.”

  A.J. dropped back to the pillow and closed her eyes, trying to block out the images of the boutique, the echoes of that awful laughter still beating against her ears.

  “My head is like a kaleidoscope of images and sounds. You’re coming in clearer, but the other is still there. Clarise said a fantasy shouldn’t be stopped prematurely because it would be too disruptive. I think I’m getting a firsthand feeling for what she meant.”

  “I’m sorry, A.J. I know this is rough. But the emotions I was picking up from you were beginning to concern me.”

  A.J. opened her eyes in surprise and looked at him. She was relieved to find his image much clearer, the superimposed images of Patsy and the boutique rapidly fading. “You could sense what I was feeling?” she asked.

  “Quite clearly. Irritation, and then a growing anger. Why did you get so upset over Bruce Harper’s behavior?”

  “Well, it was atrocious behavior, you have to admit. He was openly flirting with that seamstress and putting down Patsy at every turn. Any wife would get upset over it.”

  “I agree, any wife would. But why did you?”

  With every passing second, the unwanted sounds and images and emotions associated with the episode in the boutique were passing away into memory, and A.J. was beginning to feel more like herself.

  And more like a fool.

  “I have to admit that’s a good question, Zane. Looking back on it now, it seems incredibly silly for me to have gotten so upset, doesn’t it? Why did I?”

  “That’s what I need you to tell me.”

  “I know when I entered the beauty mall, I thought I was me. I’m not generally impressed by clothes, but I must admit that bl
ue dress was sensational. I couldn’t wait to put it on to see how I—Wait a minute. If you were standing in the wings, you must have watched me get undressed!”

  He held up his hands. “Don’t shoot. I thought I was watching Patsy Harper. Matter of fact, I was. Let’s not get sidetracked by these unimportant things, A.J. We have to figure out what went on here. When did you know you weren’t you?”

  “When I looked in the mirror and saw Patsy Harper looking back at me.”

  “Had you ever seen Patsy before?”

  “Piper showed me pictures of both Patsy and Fran.”

  “When you recognized Patsy’s image, how did you feel?”

  “Shocked to see she wasn’t me.”

  “Then what?”

  “Then Bruce Harper barged into the dressing room, and it went downhill from there.”

  “Yes, I felt your strong reactions to the man.”

  “Is that when you knew I was me and not Patsy?”

  “Actually, I knew it a little earlier.”

  “When?”

  “That’s a little hard to explain. Like I said before, I kept in the wings because I thought I was watching Patsy. And then when you put on that blue dress and looked into the mirror, for just an instant I got this flash of you—not Patsy. A moment later was when I started to pick up your reactions to Bruce Harper.”

  “And they were strong, just like I really was Patsy. Zane, there can only be one explanation. When Patsy went through these program disks, she left images of herself and her reactions to the experiences she had when she lived these fantasies. I was picking up her feelings from them.”

  “That’s a rather mind-boggling assertion.”

  “Everything about this business of virtual reality is mind-boggling for me. But when I went through the sample VR program, Clarise admitted that the computer was monitoring my emotions. If it can monitor emotions, how far a technological leap would it be to actually record them?”

  “Well, a lie detector can monitor a person’s reactions and also make a record of them,” Zane reasoned. “I suppose it’s conceivable that Linbow could have found a way to record a user’s responses to a VR fantasy.”