by Berinn Rae
“And your emotional state at the time,” Alex added.
“That’s creepy — you two knowing just about everything about me,” JJ admitted.
“No creepier than you knowing all about us,” Alex said.
“You’ve got a point there.” JJ took another bite of her breakfast sandwich. Mutual creepiness. Now there’s an emotion to build a lasting relationship on. “But I’m still lost how you guys got here. Did you follow a trail through the woods; did you jump into a black hole?”
Blake placed his cup on the tray. “That puzzled me too,” he said. His usually light British accent grew more pronounced adding to the seriousness of his tone. “It was an idea we came up with, talked about, and agreed on. And then before we realized it, our environment had changed. There seemed to be no rational explanation. But last night, when I couldn’t sleep, I read some of the books in your library. I believe the explanation is easier than any of us imagined. According to what I read, everything in the real world — your world, JJ — begins with a thought. You know what Emerson said, ‘The ancestor of every action is a thought.’ Smart man, especially for his time. He was a student of — ”
“Focus, honey!” Alex encouraged. She put her fork down, placed her two hands about four inches apart from each other, as if she were creating some type of path, wagging her hands at him while urging him. “Stay the course.”
“Anyway, to become part of your book originally,” he continued, “we had to have been a creation of your thoughts first. Now all this makes sense. What really intrigued me last night, though, was the comment by quite of few of the different writers that the universe cannot tell the difference between action based solely on thought or imagination, if you will … and action based on hardcore facts.”
JJ stared at him, her home fries still on her fork. Alex looked forlorn.
“It’s simple. Take the studies performed quite a while ago with basketball players,” he explained. “They told one group not to practice. Then they took a second group and instructed them to practice playing basketball in their minds. They were told to imagine every detail, from the precise jump they used to dunk the ball, to the faces of the other players. ‘Make it real,’ they were told. And do you know what happened?”
The two women glanced at one another and then back at Blake as they shook their heads. “What happened?” they asked, practically in unison.
“The second group actually played a better game than the group that did nothing.”
Alex still shook her head in confusion. “What do basketball players have to do with us? I’m not planning on playing basketball. Don’t even try to get me on a court!”
“Don’t you get it?” he prodded. “If you think about something long enough and believe hard enough that something — or in our case two ‘someones’ — are real, they become real.”
She looked disappointed. “That’s totally ridiculous.”
JJ said nothing. She got up, gathered the paper her breakfast sandwich had been wrapped in, picked up her coffee cup and headed for the kitchen. “I’m going to work. If you guys need something, let me know. I’ll be in the office. Otherwise make yourselves at home.”
“You’ll be working all day, won’t you?” Alex asked.
“That’s the game plan. Except for the quick run to buy some groceries.”
“Would you let us make you supper tonight? I’m sure between the two of us we can make something that’s worth eating. It’ll be a way of showing you we appreciate your hospitality.”
JJ nodded smiling, “Why, thank you! How sweet.” She closed the office door and the smile slowly left her face.
What could possibly go wrong?
Chapter 8
“Fire! Fire!”
Blake pummeled JJ’s office door, practically breaking it down. “Save yourself first. No heroes, please! Women and children first!” Blake flailed his hands, moving his arms in syncopated rhythm with his unruly hair.
Jumping up in a panicked state, JJ sprinted toward the door just as he pushed it open. She collided with him and they both fell to their butts.
“Fire! Fire!” he continued to yell, trancelike.
“Okay! I get it!” She scrambled to her feet, leaving Blake struggling to stand. She practically trampled him in her beeline to the kitchen. He followed her as best he could.
Flames fanned out of the oven. “What’s in there?”
“Pizza.”
JJ opened the door beneath the sink, took the home fire extinguisher off the nail, and sprayed for the short period the device allowed. Thankfully it was enough. The flames disappeared, and the chemicals now poisoned the air. She turned the oven off.
Taking a towel from a drawer under the counter, she slowly approached the oven, tentatively feeling its handle. Cool enough to touch with the towel, she decided. She opened the oven door.
It was hard to tell what was left of the pizza at first, but as she pulled it out, she realized it had been placed on the rack without being taken from the wrapper. Plastic had melted on the rack, the box, once green and red, was now curled and shades of burnt cardboard.
“What a bloody shame!” Blake said.
She shot him a dirty look and quickly surveyed the kitchen for the extent of the damage. “Where’s Alex?”
Blake’s eyes widened. His mouth slowly formed an O and he headed for the back door. He looked out past the small porch, over its wooden railing. JJ followed him.
There sat Alex, not six feet from the porch. Her hair, which had been in a lightly pulled ponytail, was now strewn around her face that now displayed a hurt and confused look. Nearly in tears she stared at the two of them.
“What happened?” JJ asked, pushing Blake aside. “He picked me up from the kitchen and threw me over the railing!”
• • •
“Who else wants a ham, pineapple, and ground beef slice of pizza?” Blake asked opening the pizza box sitting on the coffee table. The women looked at each other in amazement. He was working on pizza piece number four.
“No, thank you, sweetheart. But I will take another of the chicken, onion, and green pepper, if you would, please.” Alex handed him her paper plate.
JJ looked at the two with a hint of satisfaction. There was some sort of pleasure knowing that these two individuals (could she call them that?) were of her very own creation.
“How about you, JJ? Another piece of pizza?”
Not to be outdone, Blake offered his pineapple variety again. “I don’t think I can handle pineapple and ground beef on a pizza together. But I’d love another piece of the chicken.”
“Humph!” Blake tried to perform his best “I’m insulted” routine, but it was no use. He couldn’t keep it up very long. “You know, you are a good sport for not giving me bloody hell about the kitchen,” he said.
After the pizza boxes were packed away, the trio settled into the living room to watch some television. Recalling that they hadn’t slept much last night, JJ reminded the pair that she had already fixed up the second bedroom for them.
They looked at each other. Even though it wasn’t very late, they looked exhausted. It probably wasn’t easy jumping through that imaginary portal, especially since they hadn’t gotten much chance to rest the previous night.
JJ bid them goodnight as they retired to the bedroom. But she wasn’t tired yet. She sat flipping through the television channels. With the pair out of sight, she gave her situation a little more thought. She had actually begun to accept that those two were “real” and were, indeed, guests in her house for the moment. What are the possible alternatives? Could I be — ?
Alex’s shrill squealing abruptly brought the novelist back to the moment and on her feet.
“And don’t come back!”
Rushing to see what was wrong, JJ nearly collided with Blake, who was clad only in his boxer shorts, carrying a blanket and a pillow. They both screamed when seeing the other.
“What happened in there?”
“Apparently,
we’re not far enough along in our relationship to be in the same bed at the same time nearly naked. Mind if I use the couch in your study, again?”
JJ just shook her head.
He held up the sleeping necessities as if to say, “Would you look at this?” and then took several calming breaths. Then he softly said, “She let me have a pillow and blanket before she kicked me out.” He paused. A smile crept over his face. “Evidently she does love me.”
Chapter 9
She furtively glanced his way, thinking he wasn’t watching her. His dark, deep eyes quickly found hers. That stare penetrated her soul. In that moment she knew what happened in the past didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was her realization she could live in this moment and love him — with every fiber of her being. And she was willing to accept the consequences of that serious decision.
JJ nodded her approval. In fact, no section of any of her books had ever made her so excited. “This is a test,” she muttered to herself. “This is only a test. Should this be a real–life romance situation, hero and heroine would be rushing toward each other in slow motion.”
Would this get Alex and Blake together in the same bedroom at the same time so the three of them (JJ included!) could finally get a decent night’s sleep? We’ll soon find out, JJ thought as she hit the computer’s save button.
Just then the door to her home office flew open. Alex was breathless. And there was a glow about her. “I’ve got it! I’ve got it!” she shrieked over and over and again. “I’ve had an epiphany. The past and the future don’t matter. What matters is right here … right now! And I don’t want to pass up another moment with him! He’s my sole reason for living!”
She threw herself on the couch. JJ worried the experiment was working well — maybe too well.
Blake ran in next. “Aha!” he said, and in a twitch of an index finger he conveyed the power of his own personal revelation. The pair looked each other in the eyes as if playing a romantic game of dare. Neither lowered their gaze. Neither had to verbally express their thoughts.
The author grew increasingly uncomfortable watching her scene unfold like a piece of theatrical drama. “I think it’s time for me to run some errands; I’ll be back.” She shut the computer down.
The pair failed to unlock their gaze. JJ added, “Maybe I’ll grab a bite to eat, too. And … well, don’t worry about me. I may be awhile.” She picked up her messenger bag from beneath her desk, plucked a book from the shelf, and began to ease out of the office.
“A long while,” she added. She scrambled out of the house as quickly as possible.
• • •
Food and good coffee! That’s what every decent romance writer wants after writing the ultimate love scene. (Well, maybe a little bit more, but food and good coffee would do.) In the town of Bell Wyck, Ohio, that only meant one place: The Physics Café. The Physics Café was the place to go for everything from beer to cappuccino to appetizers to steak.
Once a regular customer, JJ realized she hadn’t frequented her favorite place as often as she should. Originally, she had gone in on a lark, intrigued by the name, and soon became hooked. She stopped for coffee nearly daily, not only for the much-needed caffeine spike, but to see what type of characters were hanging out as well.
Three physics geeks (that was the only way to describe them) had opened the café several years before, mostly on a dare. They complained one day (so legend had it) that they were tired of glamorously themed restaurants. Anyone could make money in a restaurant like Planet Hollywood and Hard Rock Café, they said. But it would take a bit of business acumen to make money from an eatery where the glamorous celebrities were all physicists, like Einstein, Max Planck, or Niels Bohr. A group of businessmen overheard their conversation, challenged them, and even offered to back them financially. And so the Physics Café was born.
JJ placed her order. The Philadelphia Experiment Cheesesteak. As the menu described it, the sandwich was “a classic Philly cheesesteak with a twist. The sautéed onions on this sandwich are treated by our very own de-particlizer. If your sandwich is missing the onions, the cloaking experiment worked! And you’ll receive a free cappuccino if your onions reappear while you’re eating your meal.”
She also ordered a White Chocolate Dark Matter Cappuccino.
“What size?” the barista asked. “Dwarf, nova, or supernova?”
“Dwarf,” she answered, looking around the coffee shop. She didn’t realize it would be so busy. The barista handed her the receipt, speaking in an I’ve–done–this–a–thousand–times–before monotone. “Your element is 26Fe. When we call it your food is ready.”
JJ had been given the periodical table number for iron. She wondered if the server even knew what the numbers meant.
She went in search of a seat. All four booths along the left side of the café were taken, the tables in the front of the coffee shop were filled with students staring at their laptops, every so often nudging their neighbor to look at their screen, or gathering information from a textbook.
She finally found an empty seat at the laptop counter. It wasn’t the most glamorous seat or the most comfortable, but the counter was built against a short, freestanding wall and provided plenty of electrical outlets.
She carefully eased herself between two male customers, both concentrating on an internet search to life’s most difficult question no doubt: What celebrity made an ass of himself today?
JJ opened her book first. It dealt with President Warren G. Harding’s death. Some conspiracy theorists claimed he didn’t die of accidental food poisoning as official history records stated.
She took a small spiral notebook and a pen out of her bag and laid them next to the book. It was her custom to record ideas, conversations or snippets of scenes she thought she would be able to use in her books. It had taken her several years to develop this habit. One too many creative moments slipped from her memory. For a writer each of these episodes of lost inspiration was painful.
She leafed through the book, wondering how the author viewed Harding’s death. She chuckled. The academician in her never really disappeared. Oh well.
As she was just settling in with her book and cappuccino, she heard her element called. She tried to get up as gently as possible without disturbing the two persons on either side of her. Having retrieved her food, she once again tried to settle into the fairly tight quarters. In the process, though, she bumped the gentleman sitting to her right. “Excuse me,” she said automatically. That was when she really looked at him. And almost screamed in horror. Please, she pleaded to the forces in the universe responsible for the galactic seating arrangement, this can’t be happening to me. Not here. Not now. But it was. It was him — with a capital H! Again!
Their eyes locked, and she felt a cold shiver sear down her spine. It was evident he recognized her. But would he say anything? And did she really want to talk to him?
She forced a smile and quickly stuck her head back into the book. But it was too late. Her body was beginning to go limp with uninvited sexual attraction. Damn that love scene. This reaction to good-looking men was an occupational hazard for romance writers.
Could it really be that her fictional friends saw something she was too blind to see? She pushed that idea from her head. That was just stupid. Of course not!
Suddenly, she could hear his words. Calm yourself, she said silently. Just calm yourself. Good looking. Check! Sexual attraction. Check. Can you build a lasting relationship on that alone? Of course not. Would she like to give it a try? Check … er … No! No. That’s the proper answer to that. No!
“I see you got the Philly Experiment,” Kenn said. JJ nodded silently, not trusting her voice. Why? Was she afraid she’d act on her urges? Nonsense!
“I’m glad to see,” she finally mustered up the courage to say something, “that the onions are there! I’m not quite sure how I would react if they were to pop on the sandwich midway through my eating it.”
“Free cappuccino,
though,” Kenn said casually. “That has to count for something?”
“True.” She took a bite of the sandwich and forced herself to read. She feared if she kept talking she would commit herself to some type of “date” that she wouldn’t ordinarily agree to. She’d like to think she was still “under the influence” of romance novelist’s idealism. Nothing more.
Just as she was getting out her highlighting pens and stick ’em notes for page references, Kenn continued the conversation (damn him!). He noticed the book she was reading. “This book looked interesting. I never dealt much with Harding, but I find him and his Teapot Dome Scandal pretty fascinating.” She didn’t dare tell him what she was really researching. He would undoubtedly have the same response many of her former colleagues had when the word “conspiracy” was mentioned.
“You know, there’s a conspiracy theory floating around the Internet that Harding didn’t die of accidental food poisoning,” Kenn began.
“Many believe,” JJ said, “that his wife actually poisoned him.”
“So you’ve heard them, too. They’re absolutely absurd.”
Why do people have to be so smug in their opinions? JJ thought. They voice an opinion as if it’s fact. She just shook her head, while deciding how to respond. She worked extra hard at keeping an outward composure. But inwardly she was furious. After all, who was he to declare a theory absurd? Instead of lashing out in anger, JJ merely smiled, commenting, “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. And Mrs. Harding, from what I’ve read, felt scorned. After all, Harding was reported to be quite the womanizer.”
“But would she really kill her husband because he was a philanderer?”
“Let me play devil’s advocate a moment,” JJ suggested. Kenn nodded. “Let’s say she didn’t kill him because of that, but because she was fearful he would soon be implicated in the web of corruption that was surrounding his administration. Is that a motive for murder?”
