by MJ Rodgers
She sipped her coffee. It was a bit on the bitter side, but at least it was hot and, she hoped, full of caffeine.
“You two started dating after meeting at the park, didn’t you?” A.J. asked.
“Until she knew she had me hooked,” Ken said in a tone that matched the bitterness of the coffee. “Then she stopped returning my calls. When I found out she was coming to the park this weekend, I bribed the ticket agent a bundle to be here with her. And what good does it do me? She makes a play for this Cranston guy. Ain’t love grand?”
The sarcasm in Ken’s tone fed A.J.’s inspiration.
“Yeah, I know what you mean. Having it happen in real life is bad enough. But you’d think in a fantasy, a guy would stick with you.”
She felt Ken’s eyes immediately switching to her face. She sighed deeply and hung her head, conveying what she judged would be the appropriate discomfort level following such an admission.
“You mean in your fantasy session last night the guy took a hike?” Ken asked, clearly surprised.
A.J. nodded solemnly.
Ken’s forehead sported a frown. “That’s not supposed to happen. Fantasies are always supposed to be pleasurable.”
“Have yours always been?” A.J. asked, looking at him so she could read his face as well as his words.
“Absolutely.”
His voice had remained steady and his eyes had met hers for the brief instant of his response. He even nodded to add further emphasis. But with his full beard, it was very hard to get a good impression of the set of his mouth—and mouths could say so much.
“Never even the smallest complaint?” she pressed.
“If I had one, believe me, I’d have raised hell,” he said. “You’ve paid your money. You deserve to get what you paid for. Don’t be a Milquetoast. Scream a little.”
“ZANE, I DON’T understand this. Bix Nelson says Ken has had a bad VR experience. But Ken denies he had anything of the sort.”
Zane finished stuffing the second towel into the overhead vent and plopped down beside A.J. on the bed in her room. “One has to be lying.”
“Why would either lie?”
“Next break, why don’t you corner Babs Nelson and see what she remembers.”
“All right, but I’m becoming less and less convinced about negative attitudes making a difference in a fantasy. I’ve talked with a dozen other attendees and several repeaters this morning, and despite what skepticism they may have had about virtual reality, none of them are anything but positive about it now.”
“That was the response I received, too. Still, we’re going to try to go into this fantasy without any preconceived notions or expectations, right?”
“Right.”
He picked up the second disk. “Ready?”
He watched her take a deep breath and steel herself, just like a warrior preparing for battle. It struck him that she was right. This was a battle, the hardest kind of battle. The battle for truth.
She was brave and bold and he was beginning to realize that those traits were at the very core of what made her so uniquely beautiful. There were a lot of other very personal fantasies he’d like to be sharing with her now.
“Ready,” she said, putting on the mask.
But Zane knew that she wasn’t ready for what he had in mind. He slipped the disk into the port in the headboard and lay down, fitting the mask over his eyes and ears and trying to forget the luscious body he was lying beside.
When the darkness lifted, he was listening to a live orchestra playing a Strauss waltz in a shipboard ballroom decorated with opulent elegance and grace.
Zane looked down to see he was in a tuxedo. The women were in formal wear, most standing on the sidelines, a few with partners whirling them to the music.
He recognized one of the dresses immediately as it danced by. It was an elegant, floor-length midnight blue gown. The woman wearing it was Patsy Harper.
A.J.?
No sooner had the question entered his thoughts than Patsy’s head turned in his direction. As his eyes met hers across the dance floor, he experienced that undeniable certainty of recognition he had received in their first shared fantasy. Yes, it was A.J. He also knew she had recognized him.
Her dancing partner wasn’t Bruce Harper. The man was at least three decades older, with a neatly combed head of white hair and a rather large mustache to match. He wore the insignia of the ship’s captain on his uniform.
Zane carefully scrutinized the faces of the other passengers on board the luxury liner. Besides Patsy, Zane recognized no one.
But he did recognize that this fantasy was an extension of the last. Patsy had gone shopping for the clothes she would wear for a romantic ocean voyage. And now she was in one of the dresses she had chosen for the trip.
The waltz ended and the orchestra started to play a ballad. Many of the couples standing on the sidelines during the waltz now took the floor, obviously more comfortable with contemporary steps. Another ship’s officer stepped up to claim Patsy’s hand. For the next several dances, she was whirled around the floor by several different men, all obviously eager to be her partner.
Zane kept an eye on her and the crowd, trying not to anticipate. It wasn’t easy. The situation was a little too familiar. Was he seeing it because it was happening or because his imagination had put it there? He doubted whether he was going to be objective at all about this fantasy. Interpreting this one was definitely going to be up to A.J.
It was getting harder to keep her in sight. Couples kept crowding in from adjoining rooms. There was a sense of growing anticipation in the air.
Gradually the music began to fade, the dancing stopped and the captain walked to the microphone in front of the orchestra.
He raised his hands for quiet. The room obediently hushed.
“Ladies and gentlemen. It is now time to announce the winner of this cruise’s charity drawing. But first I want to thank you all for your generous purchase of our very expensive tickets!”
A polite chuckle sounded around the room.
“And now I have the great pleasure of introducing Mr. Clive Smythe, here from Lloyds of London. Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Smythe.”
The captain beckoned to a short, neat-looking man with a pencil-thin black mustache. He held a blue velvet jewelry box. When he opened it, Zane got a glimpse of sapphire and fire opals set in a gleaming gold necklace. An audible ahh rose from the throng.
When the blue velvet lid was closed again, a table was rolled forward. On it sat an enormous crystal bowl full of tiny folded tickets. By now the room was so full of people, the walls seemed to be bulging from the sheer force of their bulk.
A hush fell over the crowd as Mr. Smythe allowed himself to be blindfolded. He stood in front of the crystal bowl. His hand dove inside and came up with a single folded ticket. When the blindfold was removed, he handed the ticket to the captain.
“And the winner of this beautiful necklace is Mrs. Patsy Harper of Seattle, Washington,” the Captain announced.
An enthusiastic clapping immediately began.
Zane watched as two of the ship’s officers led her forward. Mr. Smythe from Lloyds of London lifted the necklace out of its velvet box and placed it around Patsy’s neck. The sapphires picked up the deep blue of her dress. The opals danced like fire around her throat. The crowd continued to clap appreciatively.
At that moment, Zane saw Bruce Harper stepping out of the crowd. His tie was askew, he had a full drink in his hand and he was swaying visibly.
All conversation and movement in the room instantly stilled.
“My money bought the ticket,” he yelled, his voice slurred. “You should be putting that necklace on me!”
His ensuing raucous laughter screeched through the room.
Bruce swayed as he made his way toward his wife. He burped loudly, fell against her and crashed them both to the floor.
Zane fought to get to A.J.’s side as he felt her surging anger reach him, but it was rough going. Eve
ryone seemed to have stepped forward at once to crowd around the fallen couple.
When he finally managed to push his way through, he saw her pinned beneath Bruce’s drunken weight, the spilled drink having made an incredible mess of her dress and hair. The beautiful sapphire and fire opal necklace that had looked so perfect around her throat was broken, the jewels strewn all over the floor.
Bruce Harper’s drinking glass had shattered. A pyramid-shaped shard of broken glass had pierced A.J.’s right arm. Blood was spilling out of the wound, pooling crimson on the floor.
Zane focused all his attention on his right hand and willed it to pull off his mask.
The abruptness of his disengagement from the VR fantasy was once again incredibly disruptive. The flashes of the ballroom, the couple lying on the floor, the blood leaking out of A.J.’s wound, all were interspersed over the plainness of the white ceiling and walls of the guest room at Fabulous Fantasies.
Zane was torn between the two worlds, in both, in neither. He forced himself to ignore the brightly lit one with the colors and textures in favor of the plain and drab one he had to keep telling himself was the real reality. He rolled over and snatched away A.J.’s mask.
“A.J.!”
She didn’t answer.
He called her name over and over again. The minutes ticked by and still she did not answer. She didn’t even blink. She just stared at the ceiling, her jaw clenched, blue murder in her eyes.
Chapter Eleven
A.J. sat on the bed and took a long, cooling drink of water. It had been fifteen minutes since Zane had ended the fantasy, and still she was shaking.
“Can you talk about it now?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Tell me everything. From the first moment. Everything.”
She took a deep breath and began.
“I was on board an ocean liner, dancing to a waltz in a beautiful ballroom with the captain of the ship. I wore that blue gown I tried on in the boutique. The captain was charming. I remember thinking that it was strange I knew the steps so well because I had never waltzed before. Then I wondered if you were around, and I looked over and there you were standing on the sidelines.”
“I looked like myself?”
“Exactly. You were wearing a black tux. We exchanged glances as I danced by. I realize I must have looked like Patsy. Did you know it was me?”
“Yes. Go on.”
“The music kept changing. All these men kept lining up to be my partner. I was clearly the main attraction. It was amusing, fun. I haven’t been dancing in ages.”
“Everything positive so far?”
“Very. Anyway, the music stopped and short, dapper Mr. Smythe from Lloyds of London brought in this spectacular necklace, which I won in a charity drawing. Or, I suppose I should say, Patsy won since it was her name they announced. They put it around my neck. Everyone clapped.”
A.J. stopped.
“And then?” Zane prompted.
“And then a very drunk Bruce yelled something nasty, swayed toward me, belched in my face and passed out on top of me, pinning me to the floor. The alcohol in his spilled drink drenched my face and stung my eyes. But what really hurt was the broken shard of his drinking glass that stabbed me in the arm.”
A.J. absently rubbed the site of the wound in her right arm.
“Why are you doing that?” Zane asked.
“Doing what?”
“Rubbing your wound, your real wound.”
She dropped her hand, shrugged. “It’s still a little sensitive from last night, I think. Or maybe from the glass shard in the fantasy. I don’t know.”
A.J. watched as Zane got off the bed and started to pace around the room, his expression implacable, his movements smooth and powerfully effortless. Yet the very fact that he was pacing told her something was bothering him.
“Okay, Zane. So, what do you think? Is it Patsy’s fantasies I’m reliving, or is it all in my mind?”
He walked to the small closet, reached into the jacket he had left hanging there and pulled some folded papers out of an inside pocket. He returned to the bed and handed them to her. “You tell me,” he said.
A.J. unfolded the papers, began to read. It took a moment before she realized what she held. Her eyes went to his face.
“This is a confidential discussion between Patsy Harper and her attorney. Where did you get it?”
“You’re looking another gift horse in the mouth,” Zane said, with just a smidgen of irony in his tone this time. “Read it.”
A.J. skimmed the first few pages. Then she stopped at a particular question from Patsy’s attorney. And Patsy’s answer.
She proceeded to read it aloud.
“Mrs. Harper, you say your husband is emotionally abusive to you. What do you mean by that?”
“He’s always putting down my role as a homemaker. When I married Bruce, I had a job, but he insisted I quit it when our daughter was born. I did because I wanted to make a home for us all, but now he tells people that all I do is watch soap operas and spend his money. He makes fun of my cooking. And all in front of other people.”
A.J. stopped reading and looked at Zane.
“That sounds familiar, like the conversation in the clothing boutique on the first disk.”
He nodded. “Read on.”
A.J. skipped through a few more pages before she once again read out loud.
“Who were these women your husband played around with, Mrs. Harper?”
“He flirts with salesgirls, right in front of me.”
“Were there any specific affairs?”
“Many. I’ll never forget the first one. We were on this cruise. I was having such a wonderful time dancing. Bruce said he had something to attend to in the cabin and he’d join me later. Late in the evening, he swayed into the ballroom drunk. He passed out, knocked me to the floor, ruined my clothes, even broke my beautiful new necklace. I was mortified. When the officers rolled his unconscious body off me, I fled to our stateroom. That’s when I found the naked redhead passed out on our bed.”
“Naked redhead?”
“She was what he had been attending to earlier in our cabin.”
A.J. put down the notes.
“I suppose I would have found the redhead if you had let the fantasy continue. Although I’m having difficulty believing I could have gotten any angrier at him than I already was.”
“Do you still feel angry?”
“No, it’s gone now. But when I was lying on the floor with Harper on top of me and that glass sticking into my wound, I have to tell you I had completely forgotten I was in a fantasy. Or that I wasn’t Patsy. Everything felt so damn real.”
“Perhaps the cumulative effects of going into VR fantasies is what is making them seem more real each time. I really should have ended this one sooner.”
“What do you do that allows you to end them prematurely?”
“Before I put on the mask, I suspend my right arm over the side of the fiber-optic bed. By keeping it disengaged from the sensors feeding the program, I keep a part of myself disengaged.”
“That’s rather clever. How did you think to do that?”
“Brilliance.”
That brought a smile to her face. He was very glad to see it. He had been feeling more than uncomfortable with what she had just had to go through.
“The truth is, one of my female operatives visited the park a few weeks ago,” Zane admitted. “When I debriefed her afterward, she mentioned the compelling nature of the fantasies. She said that even if she had wanted to end one prematurely, which she had no desire to do, she wouldn’t have known how to go about it.”
“I see. So you came to the park prepared to try out the right-arm method. And it’s working.”
“There is one problem with it, however. Throughout each fantasy, I feel like a one-armed man.”
“You mean you have no sensation in your right arm?”
“It isn’t in contact with the fiber-optic leads, so it doesn�
�t connect into the computer’s VR world. Not being able to use it is why I had so much difficulty getting through the crowd that had gathered around you.”
“You realize that the similarities between these fantasies and Patsy’s conversations with her attorney prove we really are going through Patsy Harper’s disks. I had no previous knowledge of their ocean cruise. I couldn’t have anticipated that scenario. Patsy must have relived some of the traumatic experiences that broke up her marriage when she came here. The feelings I’m getting are what she felt.”
“So it would seem. Still, there are a couple of inconsistencies that are bothering me.”
“Like?”
“When these papers delineating the discussions between Patsy and her attorney came into my hands, I did some checking. Patsy and Bruce Harper did take a cruise about four years ago—a two-day trip around the San Juan islands and the Strait of Juan de Fuca. They’ve never been on an ocean liner.”
“Are you saying that incident in the ballroom never happened between them? That it truly was Patsy’s fantasy?”
“Maybe the fantasy parts were her glamorization of the setting. Putting it on a luxury liner. Seeing herself in that beautiful ball gown. Dancing with the captain and the rest of the very attentive men. Being the center of attention. Winning a fabulous necklace.”
“And then Bruce arrived on the scene, and some of the things that actually happened on the real cruise intruded to ruin the fantasy for her,” A.J. said. “Just as his appearance at the boutique ruined that shopping experience for her, too.”
“So it would seem.”
“And that’s why Linbow has lied about reusing these disks. He was afraid that if people discovered their fantasies were being recorded, along with their intimate reactions to them, they would stop coming to the park.”
“That could be what’s going on in his mind, all right.”
“Could be? You have another explanation?”
“Just a very bothersome question.”
“Which is?”
“If we just relived a reenactment of Patsy’s fantasy voyage, coupled with the remembrance of Bruce’s behavior on the real sea trip, why did you get cut in the arm by that piece of broken glass?”
