NaNoWriMo 2005

Disclaimer: this is a completely unedited novel. Once I finished writing it, I... never went back. But I was a NaNo winner!

There I was, this is no shit, thought I was going to die.

I was staring across the table, my face brilliant red, and my mouth hanging open.  It couldn’t BE.  It just couldn’t.  There is no way the universe would be so cruel.  No way at all.

“Rebecca?” Jennifer asked me, her face puzzled.  “Are you okay?”

“Yes.” I squeaked, then hastened to correct myself.  “No, well...  you see...”

I cast my eyes downward, feeling sick inside.  How had I let this happen?  I knew better, I really did.  I wasn’t a girl who took chances, or went out on limbs – at my weight, I was afraid they’d break.  But I had this time, believing it would never amount to anything, believing in the vastness of...

“Excuse me,” I said as politely as I could, my voice shaking only slightly.  “I need to...uh, I’ll be right back”

I jumped up and practically ran to the restroom, my heart thumping madly in my chest.  Slow, deep breaths I told myself.  Easy, you can handle this.  The worst part is over.

I slumped onto the small bench right inside the door to the ladies’ room and rested my head against the wall.  Hot tears began gathering at the corners of my eyes as I took one deep, if a bit wobbly, breath after another. 

“I am a hollow reed.  Everything flows right through me.  I am calm and unaffected.  I am a hollow reed.” I chanted to myself, though quietly, in case anyone happened to be in the bathroom.  Not that I had any doubt that I was a certifiable nutcase, but no reason to broadcast that information, was there?

I sighed, and shifted in my seat.  I let my mind drift back to where it had all started.  That dark, dismal day eight months ago, when I thought my life was as bad as it could ever get. 

~~~

I was sitting at a tiny table in the quaint Internet cafe just down the street from my apartment.  Happily typing in my blog, searching the forums I frequented, and carrying on an on-line chat with my best friend, Jennifer.  I was so absorbed in doing these three things simultaneously that I almost didn’t notice when Brian walked in.  He always teased that he took third place in my life, behind my career and the Internet.  Looking back, I admit I was a little bit of an Internet junkie.  I mean, really, there is no reason to check your on-line writing community every hour.  Anything people post will be there for quite some time.  It’s just the thrill of seeing something new.  Yes, obsessive, I know, we’ve covered that.

He walked in and sat down in the chair opposite me, tilting down the lid of my laptop to look at me.  I suppressed a brief flash of annoyance at this, but clamed myself, telling my inner Internet junkie that this was the man I was madly in love with, that I was going to spend the rest of my days with, and that he should be granted my full attention.  Still, I couldn’t help but notice that when I pushed my coffee cup to the front of the laptop, I could see the screen reflected on it’s surface.  Jen was just typing something about Jeff doing... No, that couldn’t say...

“Rebecca!”  Brian’s voice made me jump.  I looked up guiltily.  “Have you heard a word I’ve said?”

The part of my brain that had been listening quietly in the background while my main attention had been on my computer leapt to my rescue. 
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I heard every word.  You said that you were tired of being ignored, that you found someone who really appreciates you during your last business trip to Rome, and that you’re breaking up with me and your company is transferring you to Rome so you can be with Cecilia and start up their new branch office.”  The words tumbled out of my mouth, even before I could process them.  I admit, perhaps it did sound a bit cold, but only because I didn’t realize what I was saying at the time.

“I see.”  He paused, a muscle working in his jaw.  “And you’re okay with this?”

By now my brain had processed the information, and was quickly chugging towards utter panic.  I was being dumped!  Oh my god, he was dumping me!  I was about to be ... dumped.  My brain fixated on the word, turning it over and over, repeating it until it lost all meaning.  Dump, dump, dump, dump, dump, dump...

“Rebecca!”  Brain’s sharp voice cut through my brain’s relentless repetition. 

I drew in a breath, surprised at how tight my throat had become.  Tears stung at the back of my eyes, but I mustered my self control and gazed back at him levelly. 

“Am I okay with this?  No, not really.  Have you been sleeping with her?  How long had this been going on?  And – is she the first, or just the first one worth leaving the country for?”  My tone was flat, dull, and lifeless.

“I... well... you and I... so...”  For the first time, Brian looked a bit shaken.  My eyes narrowed, and a welling of anger.  Being dumped was one thing, but this new suspicion was quite another.

“You’ve never been faithful to me, have you?  Heather and Jen were right, weren’t they?”

“Look, you know I had all of those business trips, and you never seemed that interested...  You and your damned Internet life.  You know, maybe if you’d pulled your head out of that laptop once in awhile and paid some attention to me, I wouldn’t have to have gone looking for it elsewhere.”  His voice rose, and the other patrons of the cafe were beginning to glance in our direction.  His eyes were gleaming with triumph at his logic.  “You never do anything fun or adventurous.  You’re boring.  Of course I needed to look outside of this relationship for a little bit of fun!”

I rolled my eyes.  “I cannot believe you’re saying that this is my fault.  I made you cheat on me?  That’s rationalizing at its very best, I tell you.  If you weren’t happy, if I wasn’t satisfying your obsessive need for attention, if I was so boring, perhaps you just should have broken up with me, instead of skulking around behind my back.”

“Well, I am now.”  He said simply.

“Hell with that, buddy.  You cheated on me, I’m breaking up with YOU.”  And with that, I stood up and snapped my laptop shut.  As I strode out of the cafe, I heard a smattering of applause from the other patrons who’d heard my parting remark.  That buoyed my feelings all the way home, and kept me from dissolving into tears until I had reached the privacy of my own living room.

Once there, I tossed my purse onto the entry table, dropped my coat on the floor, and collapsed onto the couch.  I stared blankly at the wall, not moving a muscle as tears slipped down my cheeks.  Oh, yes, it was all very cliché.  Poor, abandoned woman, sitting alone in her apartment, feeling sorry for herself.  The only reason I wasn’t pigging out on a gallon of Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough ice cream was that I was just too drained to even get up and walk over to the freezer.  Which was a whole 20 feet away.  So I sat there, staring at the wall, moping and feeling as if life could not get any worse.  Now, how I would love to go back to that day.  That moment, right there, is where it all started.  If I could just go back and change one thing – one thing - to stop or even alter the chain of events that were about to unfold, then I wouldn’t be in this awful predicament.

As the waterworks began to shut down, I started mulling over Brian’s words.  Boring, was I?  Okay, so I didn’t take as many chances as some of my friends.  I’d passed on the skydiving adventure, because I was afraid of heights.  I’d passed on the spring break trip to Mexico partly because I was broke, but, yes, also because of Chagas disease.  Heart parasites?  No thanks.  And I’d cancelled my reservation for the spelunking trip at the last moment to go out and photograph the birds, which I got some wonderful shots of, by the way.  Not to mention I am just a teeny bit claustrophobic.  But really, not everything has to be heart palpitation inducing to be enjoyable, does it?  I’d never heard any of my friends say I was boring.  But maybe they were just too polite to say it to my face?

I lunged for the phone and dialed Jen.  She answered, breathlessly, after three rings.  I cut her off before she even got the whole “hello” out.
“Am I boring?”  I blurted out, unceremoniously.

“Rebecca?  What’s wrong?” Jen asked cautiously.  “Is this about that white water rafting trip?  I understand about the family reunion, I was just pulling your leg about being chicken.”

Ah, I’d forgotten about that one.  Yes, there was a family reunion, but I’d been looking forward to using my vacation with my friends to get out of it – until I realized that they intended to hurl themselves down a tumultuous watery path on a little inflated rubber thing.  I’d rather listen to Uncle Monty wax poetic about his tomato garden than be dashed against sharp, pointy rocks.

“Um, no, not really.”  I paused, unwilling to even tell my best friend what had happened.  I took a deep breath, and just plunged in.  Like jumping into a cold pool, I figured I’d better do it all at once.  “Brian dumped me.  He’s been cheating on me, and said it was all my fault because I’m boring!”  I sniffed.

“Sweetheart, you’re not boring at all!  Being around you is fun – so what if you don’t want to do wild and crazy things, that doesn’t make you a boring person.  It just makes you... sane.  And the one who will wait on us hand and foot when we’re all in full body casts.”  She added, a grin in her voice.  “Want us to come over and cheer you up?  I can gather up Heather and Megan and we can have a girl’s night in.  Chocolate or Vanilla?”

“Chocolate, of course,” I responded, me spirits beginning to rise.

“Chocolate chip or sugar?”

“Chocolate chip.”

“Cherry, apple, or pecan?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, sit tight, we’ll be over in a little,” she chirped, and hung up the phone.

I slowly replaced the phone in the cradle, still not uncurling from my ball of misery.  Though my spirits no longer felt trampled into the ground, I wasn’t quite jumping for joy.  I sighed, finally mustering the strength to push myself up off the couch.  I went in and took a shower, dressed in my most comfortable set of pajamas, and sat back down on the couch to await the girls.

I couldn’t have sat there for more than 20 minutes before the doorbell rang.  I stood up to answer it, but before I even got there, the door swung open.

“Darling, you forgot to lock you door!”  Heather exclaimed.  “That is so unlike you!  This must be serious.  Jen didn’t give me the details, just told me to hightail it over here with some of Pillsbury’s best in a roll for a pick-me-up night.”  She surveyed the flannel pajama set I was wearing.

“I didn’t lock my door?  Oh my god – I was in the shower!  Think about what could have happened...  What if a serial killer just happened to be walking by, and randomly tried my door?  I could be dead right now!”  My knees started shaking, and I began to back towards the couch.

Heather looked at me, then gently took my arm and maneuvered me back to the couch and set me down.  I sighed, and tried to pull myself together.  I was overreacting, and I knew it.  But I couldn’t help it.  My nerves were on edge, my confidence shot, and my paranoia level critically high.  I lunged for the plastic bag on her arm and grabbed a roll of Pillsbury Refrigerated Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough, holding it like a drowning person holds on to a life preserver.  Heather looked at me sympathetically, and went to the kitchen to fetch a pair of kitchen shears and a spoon.  Prying the tube of sugary goodness from my hands, she efficiently snipped off the end and inserted the spoon, then handed it back to me.  I grabbed it and began shoveling spoonfuls of the sticky dough into my mouth just as the doorbell rang again.

I dimly noticed that Heather went to answer to door, but did not turn around to see who it was.  I heard hushed whispers, and the name “Brian” floated back, so I guessed it was Jen, telling Heather all the sordid details.

Jen walked into the living room, and plopped herself down on the couch beside me.  “Megan can’t be here until ten, they need her to pull a double shift.  But she sends her love, and says she’ll be over as soon as she can.  I got two pies and two gallons of ice cream,” she said, gesturing to the breakfast bar where two large grocery sacks sat, once beginning to turn a darker shade of brown where the condensation from the ice cream was seeping through.

I smiled wanly, trying to muster some enthusiasm.  After all, they had dropped everything to rush over here to comfort me.  And I didn’t want to be ungrateful.  So we puttered about, eating pie and ice cream and cookie dough, until Megan showed up.  Once she was ensconced in a chair with her food, I spilled the whole tale.  I’m proud to say I only broke down once, sobbing hysterically into Megan’s shoulder.

The funny things was, I wasn’t all that broken up about loosing Brian.  I mean, I know I thought I loved him, but honestly, he annoyed me more often than he made me laugh.  He was arrogant, condescending, and exceedingly vain.  It was a wonder he’d put up with having such a sub-standard girlfriend as myself for so long.  Goodness knows he would be happier with a plastic Barbie airhead who just nodded and told him how great he was.  Breaking up with him (I refused to think of it as “being dumped” any longer) was actually a bit of a relief.  And I know this sounds horribly cliché, but the problem wasn’t him – it was me.  I was worried that all those horrid things he’d said (and not just the part about me being boring during the break-up scene, there were other times, much nastier times) were really true and that no one else would want me.

“Rebecca?  Earth to Rebecca!”  Jen was leaning towards me.  “I’ve heard of woolgathering, but it looked like you were rounding up a whole flock of sheep!”

I smiled despite myself.  Jen was working on being witty, she was.  Mostly she ended up coming off a little corny, but that was part of her charm.  She was just the most positive person in the entire world, and she was always trying to life people’s spirits.  Sometimes to the extent that you wanted to strangle her, but her intentions were good.

“Oh, I was just thinking about my life.”  Groans all around. 

“Rebecca, you can’t let this get to you.  Just dust yourself off and start over,” Heather, the pragmatic one, said.  “It’s not even worth thinking about.  He’s an idiot.”

“But a lot of what he said is true,” I whined, “I am afraid to take chances.  Why do you think I stayed in a relationship with that insufferable bore for 3 years?  It may not have been a good relationship, but it was a comfortable one, and at least I knew what I had.  This... this ‘starting over’ is scary and unknown.  My confidence is shot.  My self-esteem is at an all-time low.  How can I even think about meeting new people?”

“What is it that really bothers you?”  Jen asked softly.

“Well...” I hesitated.  “I’m a bit on the plump side.  I’m not a risk-taker, not the life of the party.  I’m so average, I don’t think there’s any reason for anyone to take notice of me.”

“First, you look fine,” Heather reassured me.  “Sure, you’re not model thin, but you’re not a tub of lard, either.  You’re soft and feminine.”

I rolled my eyes and sighed.  I know she was trying to make me feel better, but I knew it was a load of hooey.  I was pudgy.

Megan looked at me with a critical eye.  “So what if you’re a bit fat?”  She said so bluntly I had to suppress a wince.  “Plenty of girls a lot fatter than you have happy relationships.  You just have to get over that insecurity.  That or diet and lose the weight.”

I cringed.  I knew she’d be the one to bring it up.  Yeah, if it really bothered me I’d work to lose the weight.  And if it wasn’t worth dieting, it must not bother me that much.  Yada, yada, yada. 

“Okay, fine,” I shot back, “But those other fat girls get guys because they have a personality.  They’re interesting people.  They go out and party like they own the world.  They are forces of nature.  I am bland vanilla ice cream in a lumpy package.  I’m the ugly, fat, plastic Barbie girl!”  The last bit of my tirade ended in a whimper as I choked back another sob.  My, I was being melodramatic!

“You’re a fascinating person, honey,” Jen consoled.  “Just look at the blogs you write.  They’re positively inspired!  And you have a huge following on L-J.  How can you say you’re boring?”

“That’s on-line,” I wailed, “Not real life!  No one knows me there.  And it’s not like I’m doing anything adventurous or scandalous, I’m just stating my opinion.  I’m still the same old boring me”

“But people like you,” persisted Jen.  “Isn’t that what you want?”

“No.”  I said, “I want to be un-boring.  Is that a word?  It is now.  I want to be exciting.  I want to be adventurous.  I want to do something completely out of character.”

“Why don’t you?”  Asked Heather.

“Do what?”  I replied, “Have a one-night stand?  Go jump off a bridge with a bungee cord tied around my feet?  Go hang gliding?  Shoplift?  What?”

“Nothing that extreme,” said Jen.

“No, baby steps, Rebecca, baby steps,” mused Megan.  “We just need to think of something...”

Her voice trailed off as her eyes landed on my laptop, still resting at an awkward angle on the entryway table.  She looked at me, then back at it.
“What are you thinking?” I asked her suspiciously.

“Something better than a one-night stand, but close...” she paused for dramatic effect.  “You’re going to have an anonymous on-line affair!”

“Ohhh, cyber-sex!”  Squealed Jen.  “How fun!”

I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.  She had to be joking, didn’t she?  There’s no way that I could possibly...

“Think about it,” said Heather, “She’s right.  This is wild, it’s crazy, but it’s also completely safe and anonymous.  No one will ever know it’s you.  It’ll be your own dirty little secret, right?  And it’ll give you the confidence you need to handle the “real world” as you say.”

“Okay, true, it would, but how do I even go about this?  Do I just e-mail people at random and say, ‘hey, wanna do my virtually?’ and hope someone responds?”  I gnawed on my bottom lip.

“No, here’s what you do.”  Piped up Megan, “Start a new LiveJournal account.  A new name, a new identity.  Don’t tell anyone who it is.  Not even us.”  She shot a meaningful glance at Jen, who had opened her mouth to speak.  “Don’t join any of the same communities.  Don’t friend the same people, and for god’s sake, don’t friend yourself.  Some of us would be able to figure it out, then, and that shoots the anonymous bit all to hell.”  She shot another glance at Jen, who had the grace to flush slightly.

“And then what?”  I asked, beginning to give the idea serious consideration.

“Well, then you start over.  Branch out, try to make new friends.  But not the kind you normally would.  Join the sex tips groups.  Join the erotic writing groups.  Start sharing your naughty dreams in your blog.  Trust me, with your talent for writing, I have no doubt the affair will find you.”

Minutes ticked by, and I was still no closer to an answer as my computer went into screensaver mode.  Watching the little flying pigs race randomly about the screen, I let my mind wander along a free association path.  Flying pigs.  Flying toasters.  Bread.  Music.  Bands.  Rubber.  Tires.  Cars.  Driving.  Force.  Power.  Play.  Sports.  Pathetic.  Me. 

Well, that turned out to be utterly useless.  Now I was nameless and depressed.  I sighed, and jiggled the mouse to stop the little flying pigs and returned to staring at the registration page.  Chances are whatever I picked would be taken, anyway.  I mean, how unique of a name does it have to be for someone not to have claimed it?  Perhaps randomness is the key.  I rifled through my enormously long list of bookmarked favorites and found my “random generator” sites.

Clicking one at random, I found generated a list of “exotic” names and my eye skimmed down the list until one caught my eye: Vesbraxion
It sounded a little risqué, but not unpronounceable.  So I decided to give it a whirl and see if it was taken.  And, wonder of wonders, it wasn’t.  I took this as a sign from the digital gods that I was to proceed with this wacky idea.  After successfully registering the name, I realized I needed to have some information on my “about me” page, and set about creating a personality.  That turned out to be harder than I expected.

I tried not to put any of “me” into this on-line persona, but I realized that if I didn’t, it would seem like what it was – an unreal, two-dimensional fake character that someone decided to create on the spur of the moment.  She wouldn’t be real.  And, for some reason, I at least wanted her to be believable.

I nabbed a pad of paper from my desk drawer and picked up a pencil from the cup sitting on the edge of the desk.  I gnawed thoughtfully on the rubber eraser as I stared at the blank sheet.  This was just like creating a character for a novel, except I had to be able to be the character.  So she had to be a little like me, but mostly, she had to be what I only wished I was.

Okay, basics.  Obviously, she’s a girl.  She should be about my age...  Well, they say you only have to get 45 people into a room for a 95% chance that two of them share a birthday, so I’m going to give her mine.  The less I have to remember as a lie, the better.  I’ll make her short, but not too short.  Slender but curvy (of course).  Long dark hair, slightly wavy.  Amine hair...  What I wouldn’t give to have that!

As I thought about these details, my pencil was sketching a picture on the pad.  I looked at the sheet and saw a very pretty, vivacious looking young girl.  With just a bit of an attitude.  Just a hint of something wicked and mischievous in her eye.  I wrote her name in looping script below her picture, and tacked the sheet up to my corkboard.  Starting on the sheet below, I began to list her pertinent details.

Family: Both parents still living, though divorced and both remarried, one brother and a half-sister.  This was close enough to the truth, only leaving out the stepsister I never talked to, and didn’t particularly like. 

Career: Here was a tough one.  This I’d have to lie about, because what sort of wild woman would be an actuary?  She needed a more thrilling job, but still one that took place in an office, so if I slipped and said something about office mates it wouldn’t be all over.  Advertising.  That was it.  She could be a graphic design person in an advertising office.  I even had some artistic ability, and was fabulous at editing photos on the computer, so I could fake that.

Relationships: I didn’t think she should ever have been married, or even in a long-term serious commitment.  I decided to make her commitment phobic, unable to form long lasting relationships because... because why?  It couldn’t be insecurity, or she’d just lapse back into being me.  I decided to just stick with the idea that she hadn’t met the right guy.  Why not?  I’d make her a little unrealistic, expecting her knight in shining armor to come galloping up and sweep her off her feet.  And since no man had ever met her lofty expectations, she was still single.  Having her come off as a bit of a snob was better that having her seem like a wuss.

Hopes/Dreams:  Well, obviously she wanted her night in shining armor, she wanted to eventually own an advertising business, and ... well, that was about it.  So she was a little shallow and self-centered.  Who didn’t want to be from time to time?

Beliefs:  Non-religious, but mainly Republican.  There was enough to throw anyone for a loop.  I decided she’s moniker herself a “Left-wing Republican.”  She strongly believed in lower taxes, but also thought that same-sex couples should reap the benefits of joint tax returns.  I decided there that her two best friends would be Jake and Mike, the homosexual activist couple.  And her other friend from work, Amy, could be ultra-religious.  They wouldn’t hang out as a group, of course, and she’s only really friends with Amy because she’s the only person in the office she can stand...

I started as I realized my scribbling had taken up the entire page.  I tore off that sheet and tacked it up next to the character drawing.  I gnawed on the eraser a little more, letting my eyes drift over the picture and the notes I’d just written.  What else should I say about her?

Friends: Okay, I’d covered that in my rambling.  I’d say she doesn’t have many close friends, other than Jake and Mike, the rest are just acquaintances.  So why is she starting an LJ?  An outlet for her frustration?  Too angsty.  A place to live out her fantasies?  Better.  Ah!  Her therapist said it would help her open up.  That’s close enough to the truth to feel comfortable, as Megan often acts like a self-appointed shrink.

Life:  Last detail – where does she live?  If she works in advertising, it can’t be a po-dunk town.  But I’m not sure I want to pick someplace I don’t know, just in case – wouldn’t want the details slipping me up.  I decided to leave her location undisclosed.  That way I could talk about things without worrying about getting a detail wrong – since no one would know exactly where I was talking about!  Perfect.  I’d created myself a fake personality.  Now I just had to write up an intro and pick some interests, and I was in business!

I tacked the second, half-full sheet of info I had scribbled next to the other two pages, and turned back to the computer.  I began to type a quick summary, not pausing to let my brain second-guess what I was writing.

Hello lovely people!

I suppose you’d like to know a little about me, wouldn’t you?  Well, I won’t give you all of the juicy details here, because to read my deepest, darkest thoughts you’ll have to friend me.  I’m leaving a lot of the posts open for public viewing, but those are only to give you a taste...  If you want to sample the entire menu, darlings, you’ll just have to convince me to put you on my friends list.  And I’m a bit discerning – not just everyone will be accepted.  For one, you must be over 18 years of age.  This journal is strictly rated X.  Not all entries, but enough that I have to keep out any under age persons.

I don’t friend people who use net speak or improper English.  I don’t friend people who are melodramatic or angsty.  I don’t friend people who take themselves too seriously.   I don’t friend people who use their journals to simple detail every boring aspect of their lives (and by this I don’t mean to imply that you can’t tell me what happened during your day – especially if it’s juicy gossip or anything naughty – but if you start by telling me the color socks you chose and only get more detailed as the day goes on... no thank you).

I do friend anyone who has a lively, upbeat personality.  Humor and the ability to laugh at yourself and those around you are paramount.  I do friend people who tell quirky stories, amusing anecdotes, and delve into strange and unusual trains of thought.  There is no such this as too weird.  I friend people who say obnoxiously nice things about me and my writing, because I am vain and enjoy the attention. 

So, if I seem interesting, and you think you’d like to get to know me a little better, leave me a comment and I’ll let you know.

I rubbed my eyes, staring at the screen at the words that had flowed from my fingertips.  It wasn’t half bad, for late-night rambling.  It would do for now.  I glanced at the clock.  Two a.m.  I blew out a sigh.  I was tired, but wasn’t sure I’d be able to sleep even if I tried.  I might as well stay up all night and get this finished off, and just suffer through the next day at work.  It’d been years since I’d pulled an all-nighter, but surely I wasn’t so old that I couldn’t handle it for one night!  Turning my attention back to the computer screen, I concentrated one more on Brax.  I smiled at the thought – I had already given myself a nickname.  I was beginning to like Brax, despite all of her various character flaws.

Okay, interests.  I randomly entered names of 14 television shows I liked, 16 bands I enjoyed listening two, and 11 authors I liked to read.  I added reading a writing to the list, as well as a few key words like erotica and sex.  I rounded it out with a few obscure words chosen at random.  Then I began randomly searching other journals, and added one interest from each of the next 20 English-speaking journals I pulled up.  There were some that the choices were very bizarre, others were more tame.  In each instance I chose whichever one I thought would best fit my character.  When I was done I had an interest list 75 items long, encompassing a broad range of topics.

I yawned.  Perhaps I was more tired than I thought.  I glanced at the clock again.  2:45. Rubbing my eyes some more, I forged on to the obligatory “partly friends only” post that would head my journal.  I needed a picture, first off.  I had an image of exactly what I wanted in my mind.  My mind’s eye could picture a woman, laying half on her side and half on her stomach, stretched out towards the viewer, holding a finger to her lips and winking.  She’s mostly naked, with just thin, wispy scarves coving the most critical parts of her anatomy.  Voluptuous and alluring, she would shriek of sensuality.

Jumping up, I grabbed my art supplies out of their storage bin and began sketching.  The first two drafts were utter failures, but by the third...  By the third I thought I had captured the essence of what I wanted.  I began fleshing out the drawing, adding details and color until I had my picture complete.  I sat back and smiled at it.  Perfect, or at least close enough.

Easing the kinks from my neck, I grimaced as I looked at the clock.  4 a.m.  I grabbed the paper, stuffed it into my scanner, and scanned the image into a digital format.  Then I opened it in my nifty photo imaging software, resized and color corrected it, added some text (“This journal is partly friends only.  Comment to be considered for addition so you can read the really interesting parts...”) and added it to a post-dated the journal entry, so it would be the first thing that anyone saw when they visited my page.

I considered writing the first entry then, but I was far to tired to think coherently, and decided that anything I would write would be gibberish and unworthy of posting.  The clock now read 5:45 am, so I jumped in the shower, got ready for work, and headed out the door.

~~~

Looking back, I’m honestly not sure how I survived the morning.  I evidently was too old to pull an all-nighter.  I dragged myself through the morning meetings, dozing off at my desk more than once.  Around noon my boss cornered me to tell me that I looked awful, and asked how I was feeling.  I’d like to say that I thought this was because she liked me and was truly concerned for my well-being, but honestly, she is just a complete disease-phobe and was terrified I had some weird bug that she might contract that would make her deathly ill.  I told her (honestly) that, yes, I was feeling a bit run down.

Before the sentence was even fully out of my mouth she had hustled me to the front door and was telling me not to come back until I was 100% better.  I felt only slightly guilty, but then, it wasn’t really even a lie, just an omission of some key facts.  In fact, if she had let me complete my sentence, I would have said “...but only because I was a complete and utter moron and stayed up all night.”

But they say you should never look a gift horse in the mouth, so I took the time off and went home.  I was feeling particularly drained, probably from a combination of stress, excessive sugar, and sleep deprivation.  I collapsed into bed and didn’t open my eyes again until 5:30 p.m. 
I awoke to the sound of my phone chirping noisily on the nightstand.  Damn, I thought, why didn’t I turn the ringer off?  I gazed blearily at the caller I.D. display, and recognizing Jen’s number, fumbled for the phone.

“Hello?’ I croaked.

“Rebecca?  Have you been asleep?  You sound awful.  I called you at work today, and on your cell phone, but you never answered.”

“I went home early.”  I yawned.  “Felt like crap.  And my cell phone’s in my purse in the living room.  There’s no way I would have heard it back here.  Sorry, was it important?”

“Oh, not really.  The girls and I were just worried about you, and I wanted to check in.  I mean, you seemed okay last night, but I thought I’d see if you thought any more about Megan’s plan.  I really think it would help you...”

I cute her off.  “Already in motion, that’s why I felt so awful today.  I stayed up all night setting it up.  I’m pretty much ready to go.”

“That’s good to hear,” she said, her tone giddy and high-pitched.  She giggled.  “You know, I decided to do it, too.  It just sounds like grand fun, being another person and all.”

“You did?  Really?”

“Yes I did, is that so surprising?”

“Honestly?”  I paused.  “Yes.”

“Well, I’m going to have a good time of it.  I made up a new me, a me that is completely different from me.  A me I wouldn’t even recognize as me, and I made her up!”

As usual, Jen’s dizzying logic was making my sleep-muddled head spin, and when the doorbell rang I muttered a quick thankful prayer to the sanity gods.  “That’s the door, gotta go.  Talk to you later.”

I set down the phone and shuffled to the door.  Who one earth could be here at this time of day, I wondered.  Rubbing my eyes, I opened the door as I stifled a yawn.

Standing in the doorway was a man I’d never seen before.  He was tall and good looking, but not in a classic, sleek “pretty” sense.  A little rugged, but still refined.  Nicely built, but not bulky.  Better than average, but not traffic-stopping.  If that term would apply to men, though I guess it just depends on who’s driving.

“Um, hello,” he said, his voice cool and amused.  And was that an English accent?  Oh my god, I was a sucker for an English accent.  “I just moved in across the hall, and wondered if you could help me out with something?”  His eyes roved over my mussed hair and my sleep-rumpled clothes.  “Unless I’ve caught you at a bad time.  I wouldn’t want to be a bother.”

I gaped at him.  My mouth opened, but no sound came out.  I realized I looked like a complete and utter idiot, but I was at a loss at to what to do about it.  My brain had become completely disconnected from my body.

“I’m Alex, by that way.  And you are?”  He said, looking quizzically at me.  He extended his hand and I automatically reached out to grasp it.
“Bec... Rebecca,” I managed to squeak out.  I gathered myself together.  He wasn’t the first good looking guy I’d ever seen, for goodness sake.  Brian had been much more handsome.  But, of course, Brian had also been pond scum.  I shook my head to clear it.  “I’m so sorry, I’ve been unwell today and just woke up.”  I managed a small smile.  “My brain isn’t quite functioning yet.”

He smiled, revealing slightly crooked teeth.  A flaw that somehow did not detract from his charm.  “I know the feeling.  I’m sorry you are ill.  But if I could just ask you a quick question...?”

“Shoot.”

“Who do I contact about the internet connection for this flat?  Is it something the ... ah, “super” handles, or is that something I need to take care of on my own?”

“Cable is provided, however, a cable modem is not.  So if you want high-speed you’ll have to call the cable company and have them hook you up.”

“Ah, I see.  I was a bit confused, and the man downstairs did not seen very forthcoming with any information.  He seemed a bit... grouchy.”

I smiled.  That was the understatement of the century.  Jerry, our building super, was the surliest man I knew.  Getting information out of him was like squeezing blood from a turnip.  The man had been in a bad mood the entire time I’d lived there.  But he was competent, and looked after us in his own peculiar way.  What more can you ask these days?

“The bad news is that it’ll probably take awhile for the cable people to get out here to hook you up.  They usually have a backlog of people waiting.”

I swear he turned pale at the sound of that.  He looked at me, his face a mask of horror.  “Weeks?  How am I supposed to function without an Internet connection for weeks?”

I grinned.  A man after my own heart.  “There are a few internet cafes down the street, so as long as you have a wireless card, you should be fine.  One is even open 24 hours a day.”

He sighed, still not looking happy.  “That’s still inconvenient.  I hate updating my blog in such a public place.  You never know who could be reading over your shoulder, and the whole point of the on-line community is its anonymity.  But, sacrifices must be made.  Thank you for your time, I do hope you get to feeling better.”  He smiled at me, and started to turn back to his apartment door.

“Wait!”  I said, the word slipping out of my mouth before my brain could catch it.

He turned and looked at me expectantly.  I bit my lip.  “Well, you know, I could, um, allow you on my wireless network, I mean, we’re just across the hall, it’d probably reach.”  I started babbling faster and faster, the words tripping over each other as they fell out of my mouth.  “Of course, for all I know you’re a hacker and this is a scheme to get an internet connection without anyone knowing who you are and before long the FBI will show up at my door, drag me away for interrogation, and then slap me in a loony bin when I tell the story of a hot English guy who swore he moved in across the hall and I extended my network to, only there was no record of him, and they think my mind’s cracked from all the...”  I trailed off, my brain finally registering what I had said.  I slapped a hand over my mouth in complete and utter horror.  My cheeks turned bright pink.

“Oh, no, he most definitely lives there.  Signed the lease today, year long.  I’ll vouch for you, lass.” 

My head swiveled around at the sound of Jerry’s voice coming from the top of the stairwell.  He winked at me, then ambled back down the way he’d come.  I hadn’t even noticed him there.  And I hadn’t thought the situation could get any more embarrassing.  I sighed, letting my eyes drift back to Alex as I felt my cheeks grow even hotter.

He was smiling at me.  For a long moment, neither of us spoke.  Then he looked down at his feet, shuffled a bit awkwardly, and said, “So, can I hook up to your network?”

I burst out laughing.

Of course I ended up letting him hook up to my internet connection.  And, as far as I know, he never used my connection to hack into any top secret government facilities.  As far as I know.

He came over later that evening with his laptop, and I got him set up on my network.  We chatted briefly, sharing a few inane childhood reminisces.  I completely blame that on the fact that VH1 was running an “I Love the 80s” marathon, which of course I got sucked into.  Though he grew up in England and had different childhood toys, icons, etc, we still found we had an awful lot in common.  It was a pleasant, if short, evening, and I was sorry to see it end – without so much as a friendly peck on the check, I might add.  I thought Europeans all did that?  Maybe it’s just the French.
Anyway, I did not see hide nor hair of him for the next week.  I spent all of my free time  - time that would normally be used obsessing over the evening and wondering what I did wrong and why he didn’t call – working on my blogs.  Now I had two to maintain, and it was actually more than double the work.  Partly because the one was completely made up, and it actually took a great deal of concentration and creativity to write my Brax posts.  Plus I had her commenting in communities all over the place, trying to drum up some friends.  So far I hadn’t written anything too hard core in her blog.  I was still trying to work my way up to that.  Instead, I let her take on a lot of the free association writing I used to do in my own blog – just a little more vamped up and over-the-top, if you know what I mean.  My own journal remained a humdrum reporting of reviews, news events, and fluffy daily musings.  Sure, everyone still commented and said they loved it, but I have to admit it was starting to look a little flat to me.  I was looking forward more and more to writing as Brax.  She could be wacky and outspoken, and none of her friends would look at her strangely the next day and say, “Are you sure you’re feeling all right?”

Even though I hadn’t started my prescribed on-line affair yet, by the end of that first week I was already feeling better.   Brax had brought in a few friends, though no one who seemed likely to engage in any on-line shenanigans.  In fact, it seemed to be her (um, my) strange and outspoken rants and musings that brought in the most interest.  People found her weirdness fun and interesting, instead of psychotic and scary.  She was quirky.  When I tried it, people discretely handed me the business cards of shrinks.  When she did it, people loved her.  Was this because the people were different, or does knowing someone beforehand, even on an insubstantial level, cause you to have preconceptions that you don’t want broken?
As I thought this, I realized that particular topic was exactly the kind of thing that Brax could wax poetic about and receive accolades, whilst me friends would look at me as if I’d grown a third head were I to post that.  And suddenly I began to wonder.  Was I really the boring one?  Was it just me?  Or was it that my groups of friend had just become so predictable that we were in a rut?  Even Brian would have fit into that group, as he was Jen’s boyfriend’s roommate for several years before we started dating.  Which was, of course, how we met.  I can’t believe I didn’t see him for the wanker he was then.  Live and learn, right?

Thinking about Brian was still slightly depressing, and I figured I had to take action.  It was Friday night and I had finished my blogging for the day.  The night was young, and I wanted to do something.  I reached for the phone, automatically starting to dial Jen’s number.  Then I stopped.  If I called her, we would end up going to the cafe, sipping lattes and complaining about our week at work.  She’s leave around 9 to go home and spend some time with Jack, and if I hung around for another hour, Megan would show up.  More lattes, a few hours complaining about why we were single while Heather and Jen had caught themselves hunks, and I’d come home and go to bed.   I could see the entire evening mapped out in detail.  But tonight I refused to be boring.  Tonight I was going to do something different.  But what?

Regardless of what I was going to do, I decided I would need a killer outfit in which to do it, so I might as well start getting dressed.  I wrenched open my closet and began sifting through my meager store of clothes.  I realized that I was woefully short of any trampy clothing,  After all, I’d never before had a reason to own any!  But now I found myself rummaging all the way to the back of my closet, looking for anything that wouldn’t look perfectly acceptable on a librarian.  I found one semi-short black skirt, as well as a slightly dressy top that wouldn’t scream “I am boring, ignore me” and set about doing my hair.  This ended up being even more of a chore than getting dressed.

Let me tell you a little something about my hair.  It’s mouse brown, thick, and lifeless.  There is not a stylist alive who could make it look sheik and glamorous.  And plenty have tried.  Sure, they can twist it up into buns and braids, or elegantly sculpt curls, but inevitably, 20 minutes later, it’s a wispy mess and looks like I’ve just woken up.  It refused to stay in any sort of style.  Which is probably why I am so fond of hats.  Now, hats are great for casual styles.  I have cute little pageboy hats to wear with jeans, floppy hats I wear with my shorts, baseball hats, and even fuzzy hats I wear in the winter.  But I was woefully short any type of hat I could wear while dressed to the eights (I felt I missed the mark by only a single digit – the outfit had turned out looking pretty good).

I ended up leaving my unruly mass of hair loose and slightly wavy, hoping for the sultry, wild, come-hither look.  Adding a little makeup and some simple jewelry, I stopped to survey the overall effect.  Not bad, I decided.  Not bad at all.  Now, where was I going to GO? 

I pondered this as I stuffed the bare essentials into a small evening bag.  There was the club two blocks down, or the bar around the corner.  I’d been to both before and would probably bump into someone I knew.  Whether this would be a good thing or a bad thing for my fledgling new personality, I wasn’t sure.  But if I went someplace new…  Someplace that no one knew me…  I could actually go as Brax.  I could take her for a test spin.  See how she’d hold up to public scrutiny.  It would be a good way to see if the character I created was really a whole person.  I scanned the sheets still tacked up next to my computer, even though I knew them by heart.  Taking a deep breath, I went out the front door.
And stopped dead at the sight of Brian standing in the hallway.  I gaped at him.

“Um, hello, Rebecca.”  He shuffled his feet slightly, looking at a point just over my left shoulder.

“What do you want?”  The question came out a little more curtly than I had intended.  Here I was, on my way to be someone new and exciting, and the very worst person to run into is standing here reminding me that I’m just boring old Rebecca.

“Can we talk?”
“Um, no, I’m rather busy at the moment,” I said haughtily.

“Are you going on a date?” He asked, smirking as if he already knew the answer was no.

Looking behind him I saw the door across the hall was open, and Alex was standing there, looking at us curiously.  He lifted an eyebrow questioningly.  I sent him what I hoped was a subtly pleading look. 

“Rebecca!  Are you ready?”  Alex suddenly asked, stepping forward, bless his beautiful English intuition.

Brian spun around and stared at Alex.  His eyes narrowed as he took in the impeccably dressed Englishman.

“Who are you?”  He asked suspiciously.

“He’s my date, Brian, and we are already running late, thanks to me,” I said quickly, stepping out into the hall and deftly locking the door behind me.  Alex also stepped out into the hallway and locked his door.  I felt very guilty about interrupting whatever it was he had been about to do, but I was desperate not to spend the evening being beaten into my old self by Brian.  My budding self-confidence was far too weak to handle such an assault.

Alex stepped forward, took me by the arm, and led me down the hallway, leaving a slack-jawed Brian in our wake.  We were both silent as we headed downstairs and out onto the sidewalk, where Alex hailed a cab. When a cab pulled up to the curb, he held the door open for me and I slid in, and was rather surprised when he slid in after me.  I looked at him questioningly, and he merely inclined his head toward the front of the apartment building, where I saw Brian standing in the front foyer watching us suspiciously.

“Oh, well, um, yes, I…” I said, trying desperately to form some sort of coherent sentence so he didn’t think he was stuck in a cab with some raving lunatic.  “I thank…  I want to thank you for rescuing me back there and all…”  I trailed off as he just stared at me, a half-smile on his face.  Why did he have to look so… bloody amused at the whole scenario?  I shifted uncomfortably in my seat.

“No problem.”  He smiled easily, as if this was a situation he encountered every day.  “Where are you taking me?”

“What do you mean?”  I asked stupidly.

“You asked me out, I accepted, and now I’m just curious as to where you’re taking me.”

“Oh, I didn’t, I mean, I thought…  you plans other…”  I turned bright red as the words jumbled over themselves in an attempt to escape my head.
Alex smiled at me again, Looking annoyingly amused at my discomfort.  “I’m just kidding, of course.  While I would love to spend the evening in your delightful company, I, unfortunately already have other plans.”  With this, he signaled to the cabby to stop, opened the door, and stepped out.  As he was about to close the door, he leaned back in and said, “and you’re welcome.  It was a pleasure rescuing you.”

He closed the door and the cabby looked back at me.  “Where to?”  He asked gruffly.

I gave him Jen’s address, suddenly unwilling to face an exciting evening.  All of my energy had been sapped.  I wasn’t sure if the encounter with Alex had been any better than an ordeal with Brian would have been.  Snotty bugger, I thought crossly.  Of course you have plans already.  What handsome, if a but annoying, Englishman wouldn’t have plans on a Friday night?  I sighed and sank back against the seat.  I wouldn’t think about it.
As we pulled up to Jen’s apartment building, I thought I saw a familiar figure striding down the street.  I peered into the darkness.  Brian!  What on earth was he doing here?  I couldn’t very well let him see me heading to Jen’s apartment all alone, my “date” having lasted less than 10 minutes. 

“Um, hold one, let me find me money.”  I said to the cabby.

“Need some light?’  He sent to flick on the dome light in the cab.

“NO!”  I yelled, startling him.  My eyes flicked to Brian, wandering up to Jen’s apartment.  “I, um…”

The cabby’s eyes followed mine, and I saw a hint of recognition in them as his gaze landed on Brian.  “Right then, whenever.”

Ah, the all knowing cabby.  This probably wasn’t even the strangest thing that had happened to him today, let alone this week.  Still, I made a show of rummaging around in my purse, keeping one eye glued to Brian.  I watched in amazement as he slowed and turned up the steps to Jen’s apartment building.  As he was walking up the steps, Jen opened the door, saw him and smiled.  I watched in amazement as she happily skipped down three steps, threw her arms around him, and gave him a big kiss. 

Okay, yes, I should have seen this coming.  It’s in every romantic comedy.  Girl meets boy, girl falls in love with boy, boy meets girl’s best friend and starts sleeping with her behind her back, boy dumps girl, and…?  And then what?  What do I do now?  I sat there, frozen, one hand still absentmindedly rummaging through my purse as the both turned and started down the steps to the sidewalk.  Brian spied the cab and made a motion towards the cabby.

“I’ve changed me mind,”  I squeaked.  “Go!”

The cabby didn’t even hesitate, just threw the cab into gear and took off.  I didn’t even watch to see what Brian’s reaction was to the cab inexplicably speeding off.  I closed my eyes and softy asked the cab driver to take me home.

I tipped the cab driver handsomely, as he asked not a single question about the events that had just transpired.  I know there was no way I would have been able to contain my curiosity, had our positions been switched. 

I dragged myself up the stairs and into my apartment.  Flopping down on the couch, I stared at the blank wall opposite me.  This was, annoyingly, becoming a habit.  I sighed and rubbed my eyes, which felt gritty and sore, as if I had just spent the last 8 hours in a smokey room. I looked uncomprehendingly at the black streaks that were left on my knuckles.  Ah, yes, mascara.  I so rarely wore makeup these days.   I had forgotten about not rubbing my eyes.  Ah, well, who cared if I looked like a raccoon?

Of course, as soon as those very words entered my head, the doorbell rang.  I stiffened.  Who in the hell could that be?  I crept quietly to the door and peered through the peephole. 

Standing outside my door was an old, stooped man in a dirty raincoat.  As I watched he nervously looked up and down the hallway several times.  Then reaching into the inside pocked of his coat and withdrew a long white envelope.  Bending over, he slid the envelope through the crack under my front door.  I hopped out of the way just in time to prevent it from hitting my foot.  When I looked back through the peephole, he was gone.  I started down at the envelope on my floor, unable to bring myself to touch it.

I nudged it with my toe.  The flap wasn’t sealed, and the contents shifted, giving me a glimpse of the stack of money inside.  I shrank back as if I had been shocked.  My mind reeled.  I knew the envelope wasn’t meant for me, but who was supposed to get it?  And what lengths would they go to to get it back?

These questions were still running around in my head as I barricaded myself into my bedroom.  I pushed the dressers against the door, and sat down on the bed.  I didn’t think I would be able to sleep, so I put in Monty Python and the Holy Grail and turned the volume up as far as I thought my neighbors would allow.  I made it as far as the killer rabbit before I nodded off.  I woke briefly when the DVD ended, and turned off the TV.  Next thing I know, it was Saturday morning, the weak sunlight filtering through my curtains.

I woke up, groggily rubbed my eyes, and realized with a rising horror that my bathroom was on the other side of my bedroom door.  I stared at the pile of furniture blocking my way and cringed.  It had seemed like such a good idea last night, but now, with a full bladder, I just felt silly and paranoid.  I sighed, and began the laborious task of moving the furniture back to its original position.  Then I made a mad dash to the bathroom.

Vowing never to be so stupid and paranoid again, I stumbled into the kitchen to start the coffee pot.  It wasn’t until the pot had brewed and I had poured myself a cup (two packages of Equal and a healthy dollop of creamer) that I glanced toward the envelope.  Or, rather, where the envelope had been last night. 

I raced over to the door.  It was still locked, the chain still firmly in place.  But the envelope was most definitely missing.  I stood there, rooted to the spot.  A chill went down my spine as I thought, just perhaps, I hadn’t been so freakishly paranoid last night, after all.

I kept to myself all Saturday, unwilling – or perhaps unable – to deal with any of my friends.  Jen called and left a chirpy message on my answering machine, asking if we were still on for Wednesday night.  We were supposed to go see the premiere of the new Vin Diesel movie, but for once, even the thought of a sweaty Vin half-clothed didn’t buoy my spirits.  I didn’t know what to do.  And the people I would normally turn to for help, well, this time they were the problem.  So where else could I get advice…

My eyes settled on the computer, sitting smugly on my desk, as if to say “I hold all the answers, my pretty.”  My mood brightened as I realized that even if I couldn’t reach out for answers, Brax – well, she could!  I hurried over to the computer and logged on.  I searched out all the communities that said they were geared toward relationship or love advice – and revenge - and joined the top five promising ones.  And in those, I posted my conundrum.

Hello everyone!

I just joined and I really hope you can help me out.  My boyfriend just dumped me, and the other day I saw him and my best friend kissing.  I’m going out on a limb here and assuming that this has been going on for quite some time – he admitted that he had been cheating on me, but claimed it was with various girls on business trips.  Which could still be true, but I get the impression he’s been sleeping with my friend the whole time, too.  They just had a rather easy vibe between them, not the kind of scene you see played out between new couples. 

They don’t know I saw them, so my question is this: what do I do now?  I’m not really terribly hurt, surprisingly, as I’m beginning to realize I was never in love with the guy – he was just convenient, and it was nice to have a “boyfriend.”  Trust me, I won’t make that mistake again!.  I’m a little peeved at my friend, and feel retribution is in order.  But, of course, I don’t want just to come out and accuse her and have a screaming match.  I was thinking something a little more subtle – devious.  Something to make her squirm.  But my brian just isn’t quite up to the task right now, and I need a little help.

Thanks!

Just before I was about to post, I realized that I had subconsciously written “Brian” instead of “brain.”  I hastily changed it, and posted the message to the five communities and the Brax journal.  Sitting back in my chair, I contemplated my computer screen.  I guess now was as good a time as any to update my own journal.  I searched the news sites, found a suitably mock-able story, and typed a quick, hopefully humorous, blurb on the importance of good editing before you proclaimed to the world that the “meat panties” might be tainted with E. Coli.

I slept in late on Sunday, still not sure what I was going to do about the whole debacle.  My life had gone from boring to soap opera in less than a week.  I wouldn’t have believed this could actually happen, and yet, here I was.  A cheating ex, a lying best friend, the obligatory hot sexy guy across the hall, and the mysterious envelope.  What else was missing?  As soon as I thought it, I knew it was a mistake.  The phone rang, and I knew – knew – who it was going to be.  Because I had just realized what was missing.  The dysfunctional family.  And it was my stepsister.

“Hello?” I sighed into the phone.

“Rebecca!” She crooned, overly nicely.  “Darling, you are still planning on making it to the party on Saturday, aren’t you?  You wouldn’t forget about your dear mother’s birthday?  Plus, you did promise to bring the cake.”

“Why would you think I had forgotten?” I asked, puzzled.  She may dislike me and think I’m a total boob, but I’d never forgotten anything, so why the sudden concern?  An uneasy feeling crept down my spine.  She only ever calls to ask for things, and to gloat.  Which one was it going to be?

“Well, I heard about your nasty, nasty breakup, and thought you might be a little out of sort, you know.  Poor thing, being dumped so publicly and humiliatingly!” 

I could hear the glee in her voice.  I suppressed a sigh and rolled my eyes.  “Oh, how did you hear that?”

“Dana was in the coffee shop, dear, she heard the whole sordid thing.  I can’t imagine what you’re going through.” 

I paused a moment.  Normally I dealt with Tabitha by simple not reacting to anything.  Silence, nodding, and a lot of noncommittal noises has served me, if not well, reasonably so.  But I was in no mood for this today.  I didn’t want to be walked all over by yet another person.  I thought for a moment, and decided on a course of action that would have shocked the me of last week.

“I’m sure you can’t image.  I am so elated that the relationship is over.  I mean, he was terrible in bed, and the gift giving really had dropped off over the last three months.  And I can put up with lousy sex as long as I’m being compensated by expensive trinkets, but if you’re not going to shower me in gifts, what’s the point?”  I paused.  There was silence on the other end.  “Besides, Jason,” I invented a name out of thin air, “is so hot, and it was getting so bothersome trying to sneak around and jump him without Brian finding out.  I mean, we could barely fit in a rendezvous four or five times a week, with our busy schedules, and that’s just not enough to satisfy a guy like Jason.  Just yesterday we stayed in bed the whole day and must’ve done it three times – plus all the foreplay, of course – and he’s still up for another go tonight.  He wants to try this new position…”

Tabitha cut my off shrilly, “You were cheating on Brian?”

I smiled to myself.  She was really shaken up, and this was fun.  Why hadn’t I tried this years before?  “Of course.  It wasn’t like he was satisfying me in bed – I had to get my pleasure elsewhere.  But Jason’s not exactly wealthy, so I still needed a Brian around for the gifts and expensive dinners.  And to keep my place in society, of course.  Jason’s not exactly… mainstream”  I let her fill in whatever horrifying description she wanted.  I could see her imagining Jason as a grimy punk rocker, complete with a blue mohawk.  I preferred to think of him as a clean-cut, slightly criminal looking guy who walked close to the line of the law.  Like someone who would break into a girl’s apartment and steal an envelope full of money, but leave her unharmed.  Tall, muscular, good looking in a dangerous way.  I shudder ran through me as I imagined what might have happened if I had been sleeping on the couch when “Jason” broke in.  He’d kneel down beside the edge of the couch, letting his fingers trail gently over my face and neck until I woke up.  He’d look deep into my eyes, and kiss me, softly at fist, then…

“Rebecca!  Are you still there?”  Tabitha’s voice cut into my daydream.  I jumped, then felt annoyed at being brought out of my revere. 

“Sorry,” I said smoothly.  “I was just remembering yesterday…” and I let out a big sigh.

“Ew.  I’ll let you go then.  See you on Saturday.”  And she hung up the phone.

I smiled and began dancing around the apartment.  I was jumping up and down yelling “I won!  I won!  I won the phone call!” when the doorbell rang.  I was so elated the I didn’t even feel embarrassed.  Until I opened the door.

Standing on the other side was a very well dressed Alex, grinning at me.  “And what phone call did you win?”  He asked gravely.

I was suddenly aware that I was still in my pajamas and hadn’t even brushed my hair.  And I was still a little flushed from my happiness at besting Tabitha, as well as that daydream…  I realized with a start that Alex looked just as I had pictured “Jason,” only with the added bonus of a yummy accent.  This embarrassed me further, even though I knew he couldn’t read my mind.  Unless he was a superhero.  With psychic abilities.

“Um, it was my stepsister.  She hates me, and just calls to make me feel bad.  But I won this round, even if I did have to lie.”  I said, my voice hardly shaking at all.

“Hmm, what lie did you have to tell?”  He asked.  And suddenly I wondered how long he’d been standing there, and how much you could hear out in the hall.

“You know, that really doesn’t matter.  What matters is that I won!”  And I gave him a brilliant smile and did a little dance.  The Snoopy celebration dance, to be exact, complete with the hummed music.  Hell, I was already completely embarrassed, might as well flow with it, right?

“Well, then, congratulations!  Anyway, I was just dropping by to tell you that the cable people came on Friday, and I am up and running.  I wanted to make sure that everything was in working order before I told you that you could cut me off.”  He smiled, “Thanks again for that.  You were a lifesaver!”

“Oh, it was nothing.”  I smiled back.  Then I just stood there, awkwardly, unsure of what to say.  I though about ‘hey, how about you step in for a quick tumble on the bed, you hot hunky Englishman’ but dismissed that as being just a tad too forward.

“You’ll always be a hero to me!”  He declared in an overly melodramatic tone of voice, and tacked on a theatrical bow for good measure.  With that, he straightened, gave me a little salute, turned on his heel, and walked off down the hallway.

I stood in the doorway, watching him leave.  I shook me head slightly, trying to clear it.  That man always left me just a little off balance.  I didn’t know quite what it was about him.  With a sigh, I went back into my apartment and sat down at my computer.  Not a lot was going on in the on-line world, but that wasn’t unusual for a Sunday.  I had gotten a few responses to my Brax revenge post, but they were all far too nasty, and at least three of the ideas were borderline illegal. 

I decided that the saying was true – revenge is a dish best served cold, so I would simply pretend, for now, that nothing was wrong.  That would leave my options open down the line.  In the meantime, I guess I would have to call her back and confirm for Wednesday.  I sighed, got up and dialed her number.  I did another little happy dance when her machine picked up, let a message saying I would meet her at 7 on Wednesday, and hung up the phone.

Monday morning came far too early – I had spent the majority of Sunday surfing the various LiveJournal communities, finding ones that would be good for Brax to post in.  I found a few, left some comments, and called it a weekend. 

As I arrived at work, the office seemed more abuzz than usual.  There was a low hum of whispered conversations all around.  Oh, god, I thought, don’t let this be about me.  The place was a huge rumor mill, and because of my stepsister’s phone call, I was in high paranoia mode.  But, as I found out three seconds after I sat down at my desk, there are far more interesting people at work than I.

“Did you hear?” Melissa hissed at me, her eyes darting back and forth to be sure no one was looking.

“Hear what?” I asked, puzzled. 

“I’ll take that as a no.  You would never believe…” she straightened as our manager walked down the aisle, “the reports are not good.  It seems there might be a glitch in the program, not major, but enough to throw off the long term predictions… anyway, Mary and Carl were caught on Friday.  Can you believe it?”

“Caught doing what?”  I asked, my mind imagining those two mousy people scurrying off with office supplies or some such nonsense.  Seriously, they might be the two most boring people you’d ever met.

“You didn’t know?”  Melissa asked, her eyes wide in surprise.

“Obviously not.”  I replied dryly.  “Otherwise I’d know what the hell you were talking about!  What on Earth could Mary and Carl have possibly done that would get everyone so worked up?”  I took a sip of my coffee.

“They were having sex in the supply closet,” she said, smirking.

I choked on my coffee.  Heads started to turn towards me as I coughed and gasped.  People smiled in my direction.  I’m guessing a lot of people had this reaction when they first heard the news.  I gaped at her.  “You must be joking.  Mary?  Carl?”

She grinned.  “Yup.  Evidently they are quite the wild couple.  Like the thrill of public places and all.”

I shuddered.  “Mary and Carl?  Oh, mental image I did not want.  And which supply closet?  I’m not sure I can handle going in there…”  I trailed off , my mind still simultaneously conjuring images of Mary and Carl locked in a carnal embrace and trying to block said images.

Suddenly I turned to Melissa.  “That is so not fair, you know?  How can those two be having a wildly exciting sex life while I…  Well, not so much.”

“I know,” she sighed.  “I had the same reaction.  I haven’t had a date in three months, and here these two are, screwing away under our very noses.  Evidently it’s been going on for quite some time.”

“So what will happen to them?  Were they fired?”  I asked, though I was fairly certain of the answer.  This is a pretty straight-laced, uptight business.

“Oh, no, they quit.  Funniest thing, that.  They were caught by the security guard, James – you know, the one whose brother makes movies?”

“Yeah, I always thought he just said that to get laid.  I never believed him.”

“Well, turns out it’s true. He just always failed to mention what type of movies he made.”  She nodded her head meaningfully.

“Porn?”  I guessed, though I thought I could now see where this was going.  I didn’t want to see it, and I hoped I was wrong, but this whole thing seemed to be leading to one conclusion.

“Uh-huh.”  She said.  “And, when he saw their, er, technique, he immediately called his brother and told him he had just the people he’d been looking for.  They went to his brother’s studio, gave a screen test, and are now in the movies.”

“Dare I ask what was so special about their technique?” I asked, unable to stop myself, but not really wanted the answer.

“Evidently it was very… funny.  And theatrical.  Goofy, even.”  She was grinning broadly.  I knew there was even more to this story.

I shut my eyes tight, warding off the mental images that were just getting worse and worse.  This was beyond belief.  I vowed to start keeping a diary, so I could sell it as a script for the next soap opera.

“I can tell there’s more by that shit-eating grin you’re wearing.  Out with it.”  I said grimly, trying to brace myself.

“Okay, the title of the movie is ‘Under the Big Top: Clowning Around.’  And they mean that.  Literally.”

“Clowning around?”  I said, puzzled.  She nodded encouragingly.  “Clowning… clowns… not…”  I stopped, my mind reeling from the sudden realization.  The coffee and doughnut from this morning did an uneasy flip in my stomach.  I’m not a prude, but even so, there are some things that just aren’t right.

“Clown porn?”  I asked quietly.  “You have got to be joking.  Please tell me you’re joking.  Clowns having … ewwww!”

“I wish I was!”  She said, “Bu honest to god, that’s what it is.  There’s a snippet of tape floating around here somewhere if you want to…”

“No!”  I almost shouted the word, cutting her off.  “You know, I think I’ve heard enough, thank you.”

She grinned and turned back to her work, chuckling.  I turned to my work, still creeped out by visions of Mary and Carl, if full clown face paint, panting and pawing at each other.  But, I thought brightly, at least Brax will have an interesting topic to write about this evening. 

And she did write about it that evening, not in graphic detail, but more of a piece on pornography in general.  Genres, film styles, etc.  It was a pretty good piece, though I had to admit my search engine was working overtime to gather the necessary information.  There’s a lot more to the porn industry than you would think.  I had gathered enough information for several articles, and decided that this week would be “Porn Expose” week in Brax’s journal. I figured I’d save the clown porn bit for Friday, leading up to - dare I use the pun – a climax.

I posted the first potion, then checked to see if there were any new responses to my conundrum with Jen.  There were a few, most of which were repetitions of what had already been said, and what I had already discarded as bad ideas.  But one reply caught my eye.

‘Voaughroth’ summed up a plan of slow, exacting revenge that would draw out for a good year.  Nothing obvious, nothing outright accusatory, and nothing (thank goodness) illegal.  But a subtle campaign of guilt warfare that was simply stunning.  I doubted I could carry out the plan to the perfection it was laid out for me on paper, but I could certainly pick up on some of the finer points.  The only drawback was that it required me to be devastated by the loss of Brian.  And I wondered if I’d blown that too severely with my little escape on Friday night.  Since I figured Brian had told Jen about it, I thought of a way to turn that situation around and use it…

Wednesday night found me standing outside the theater at 6:55, tissue in hand and eyes red and swollen.  Now, I’m not the sort of person that can cry at the drop of a hat, so this took some personal sacrifice, to the tune of rubbing my eyes while my hands were still coated with Tabasco.  Yes, it hurt, but I hoped the effect was worth it.

Jen showed up right on time, perky and punctual as ever.  She took one look at me and her face fell.

“Rebecca, darling, what’s the matter?”  She asked as we strolled into the theater.

“I just…” I took a long, deep, shuddering breath.  “I’m just still a little upset about the whole Brian thing.  I saw all these couples tonight, strolling arm in arm, and it just made me think about how I don’t have that anymore…”  I trailed off, snuffling.

“You’re better off without him, you know.  He wasn’t the one for you.”  She looked at me closely, “You do know that, don’t you?”

“I don’t know.  What if he was the one?  And now he doesn’t care at all…”

“I’m sure he still does, don’t be so hard on yourself!  And I’m positive he wasn’t the one for you.”  She said this with assurance.

“I even tried to make him jealous by pretending a meeting I had with a work colleague was a date.  Pathetic me, working on a Friday night.  He came by just as we were leaving, and I made like it was a hot date, but he didn’t seem to care…”  I watched her closely, and saw the shock in her eyes.

“He stopped by to see you on Friday?”  She tried to make her tone casual, but I could hear the tension in her voice.

“Yeah, probably just wanted a little bit of action, since the ‘girlfriend’ – that bitch – is in Rome.  He was always one to just drop by for a quickie.”  I said this mournfully, as if I was remembering all the pleasant times we had, and lamenting the loss.

Jen was still looking slightly shocked, though she was covering it well.  She chewed on her lip for a moment, before saying “Well, then, if that were the case, then he does still care about you, right?”

“Oh, no, that would just be sex.  I doubt Brian cares about anyone but himself, really.  But that’s, strangely enough, part of the attraction to him.  He’s the cool bad boy from high school, slightly grown up.  Still immature, but making a lot more money.”  We were in our seats now, talking in hushed tones before the movie started.  I gauged I had about 10 minutes before the previews started. 

I put that 10 minutes to good use, calling his “Rome girlfriend” every conceivable bad name, castigating her for sleeping with him when she knew he had a girlfriend because I was just certain she knew.  I railed on about how only the lowest skank would do such a thing, and watched as Jen squirmed more and more.  She looked positively blissful as the lights dimmed and the previews started.  I sank back in my chair, smiling in the darkness.

After the movie, Jen made her excuses and escaped quickly.  I was still buzzed from the adrenaline rush of making her squirm, and watching Vin on the big screen.  Oh, those muscles!  I felt impulsive and rash, but the common sense part of my brain won the battle and I headed home to get a decent night’s sleep before I had to get up and drag myself to work in the morning.

When I arrived home, I immediately went to my computer and checked my e-mail.  Nothing spectacular, unless I really thought I needed to increase my penis size.  In that case, there were three new miracle products guaranteed to do the trick.  Brax’s e-mail yielded a surprise.  Voaughroth had left an e-mail in my – um, her – personal journal:

Followed you home and friended you.  Am interested to see what (if anything) lies in your friend-locked entries.  What’s there publicly is very intriguing, but I’ m wondering: are you all a big tease, or will I see some real action if you friend me back?  Also, a thought for your porn expose week – ever thought about doing an article on cyber sex?  I could help you with that research, if you’d like.

I stared in surprise.  This had to be a joke.  One of my friends had found out my name and was playing a joke on me.  I surfed over to AK’s journal and read up on his – or her – bio.  Fairly generic stuff, surprisingly, but we had several common interests.  The journal entries were light and entertaining, not anything that would hint at someone who would have left such a message.  Suddenly I realized that I wasn’t logged in, and did so.  Then I saw the friend-locked entries.  These were very different from the public ones.  They were frank and open discussions of sex within the group of “friends,” everything from advice for first dates to keeping a long relationship exciting.  The most amazing thing was that the advice was really good.  Not like what you got at a lot of the communities, where people seemed to try to out-weird each other.  But an honest and open forum with some very knowledgeable members.  Suddenly I felt a little intimidated.  What did I know, really?  Was I even qualified to be in such a group?
I gnawed at my lower lip, uncertain of what to do.  I decided to be honest, and crafted a reply to AK.

Checked out your journal – very interesting stuff.  I have to wonder if you’re a group of psychologists, as you all give such good advice.  I’m afraid that, for now, you would be disappointed as I haven’t done a friends only entry – yet.  I’m working on detailing out a fantasy I had, but I can’t quite seem to get the right mix of emotions to make it as real as it felt.  Sadly, my fantasies are all I have at the moment, as I am not seeing anyone, so your offer of the exploration of anonymous on-line sex is very much appreciated.  That is what you were offering, was it not?  Let me know when and where, and I’ll be there.

I ended the message with my hands shaking.  I couldn’t believe I was going to actually do this.  My only hope was that AK wouldn’t have meant what I thought he – or she – meant.  Oh, my, I didn’t even know if it was a man or a woman!  I quickly went back through the journal entries, but could find no indication one way or another.  I bit my lip.  Was I not only about to become a cyber-slut, but a lesbian cyber-slut?

Thursday and Friday were nerve-wracking.  I heard nothing back from Voaughroth, and no new entries, public or friends locked, appeared.  I did honestly try to work on the fantasy (I decided to go with the one that had started in my head while I was on the phone with Tabitha), but writing erotica was so terribly difficult.  And it was completely embarrassing.  Every time I managed to get something written I would think, “Oh my god, what if my parents read this?” and would promptly throw it away.  Even though they probably never would, I couldn’t get myself past that mental block.

[Writer’s note: I don’t have Rebecca’s confidence that my parents will never read this.  Quite the opposite, they’ve said they will.  So, you’ll understand if some of the, um, sex bits, seem a little awkward.  I’d have a hard enough time writing them anonymously (as Rebecca does) let alone with my parents reading.  I’m already mortified this far!  And Mom, Dad, this really isn’t me at all.  Let’s just pretend that, k?]

By Friday afternoon I was a total wreck.  I was convinced I had completely misinterpreted AK’s comment, and even now they were mocking me.  Yes, paranoia rears its ugly head.  So when I got home and found a comment from Voaughroth waiting, I read it with trepidation.

Dear girl, that is exactly what I was suggesting.  A little cyber sex is just the thing in this day and age, and as long as you are of age and not in a relationship, who does it hurt?  I can assure you that I am, too, single and unattached, so there will be no mad woman trying to track you down for cyber seducing her man.  Respond with your AIM name and be online at 9pm, Eastern standard time.  I will see you then.

I took a deep breath.  Well, I wasn’t about to become a lesbian cyber slut, at least.  Just a garden variety cyber slut.  I realized that Brax did not have an AIM name, and hurriedly created one.  I reply with the name, and assured AK that I was indeed of age and very single, and would see him tonight.

I looked at the clock.  6 pm.  I took a quick shower, dressed in a skimpy, silky nightgown (I figured mood was important) and tried to eat some dinner.  My stomach was knotted so tightly I only managed a few bites of food, but I did drink a fair amount of wine.  I needed all of the relaxation I could get, if I was going to do this.

At 8:50 I sat down in front of the computer and clicked “Sign On.”  I sat there, nervous and waiting, until 8:58 (yes, it seemed like and eternity) when a window popped up inviting me to a chat room with Voaughroth.  I reached for the mouse and clicked the “Go Chat” button, my heart in my throat.  I wasn’t sure what I had gotten myself into, but I was sure I had to brazen it out, now.  I simply couldn’t give up on this new exciting world so quickly.  Besides, after all that daydreaming and working on the story, I decided I deserved to get a little action, even if it was virtual.

Voaughroth: And how are you this evening?
Vesbraxion: Fine, you?
Voaughroth: I’m doing well, especially now since you accepted my invitation.  I’ve been waiting for this all day.
Vesbraxion: Well, then, I must do my best not to disappoint, mustn’t I?
Voaughroth: I’m positive you won’t, dear. 
Vesbraxion: Hmm, I’m not sure I shouldn’t take you up on that bet.  My last boyfriend said I was boring.
Voaughroth: He must have been an idiot, since I can’t see how you could be.
Vesbraxion: His loss, he was lousy in bed anyway.  I think my acting skills have improved markedly in the three years I was faking my orgasms.
Voaughroth: Well, I hope you never fake it with me, though since I can’t actually see and feel you, I guess I’d never know.
Vesbraxion: Do you think men can really tell, then?
Voaughroth: If they care they can.
Vesbraxion: And I guess you’re going to tell me that you’re a man who never disappoints a woman?
Voaughroth: Not if I can help it.

And he didn’t.  I would give you the blow by blow details of the rest of our chat, but, well, I’m embarrassed to even think of the things I said, let alone repeat them.  Suffice to say that night on the computer was actually more stimulating than all three years with Brian, which I think was more of a statement of Brian’s prowess than to the fascinating world of cyber sex.  Still, I was giddy and happy the whole weekend, having made another assignation with Mr. Voaughroth for the following Friday.  We had not exchanged names, and somehow the complete anonymity had made it possible for me to say things like…  Oh, my.  I can’t even think it without turning red.

Saturday came and I did go to my father’s birthday party, but I was only partly there. The biting remarks my stepsister aimed at me went right past, as my mind was filled with thoughts of Voaughroth, my fantasy story, and what I was going to tell my friends about the whole on-line affair. I left after a few hours, giving my excuses (which Tabitha tsk-tsk-ed over, as if she didn’t believe that I wasn’t going home to cry my eyes out – I think she was still smarting that she hadn’t been able to upset me) and wishing everyone well.

I spent the remainder of that weekend working on my fantasy story.  I finally thought it was good enough to post, and with a deep breath and a calming glass of vodka, I did.

Dearest friends:

I realize I have been remiss in my duties of posting my glorious fantasy life here in explicit detail, as was promised in my intro.  I hope to rectify this with the following offering.  Sadly, this remains a fantasy, at least until the next time a gorgeous spy/thief decides to break into my house.  I’m currently accepting applications for the position…

I had decided, in light of the recent strange events, to sleep on the couch that evening.  I wanted to assure myself that the strange noises I had been hearing were, indeed, simply my imagination.  So I settled onto the sofa with a cozy quilt and a good book, intent on staying up the whole night.  Sadly, I drifted off around 2 am with the single lamp still burning and the book slipping from my fingers and onto the floor.

I awoke sometime later, to complete and utter darkness.  My heart stoped, then began to beat madly as I heard a soft rustling sound next to the couch.  I gasped as a warm hand reached out to stroke my cheek.  I would have screamed, I suppose, but all of the air had escaped my lungs and I was paralyzed, unable to draw another breath.  I heard a soft chuckle, and a low male voice said, “Don’t be afraid, I won’t hurt you.”

“How… how… who?” I stuttered in a squeaky voice.

“Shhhh,” he said, “Just lay back and relax.”

Relax?  I thought.  Every muscle in my body was a taut as a bow string.  And why was it so dark in here?  There wasn’t even any light seeping in from outside, and his figure was a mere shadow in the darkness.  I strained to make out any features, but could not.

His hands began to roam gently up and down my body, and I felt his breath warm against my cheek.  His lips caressed my neck, my shoulder, and trailed a moist, soft line down to my breast.  While I had been concentrating on his mouth, his hands had deftly unbuttoned my pajama top, leaving my chest bare to his hand and lips.  I gasped as he took first one nipple, then the other, into his mouth. 

“If you really want me to stop,” he said softly, “I will.”

Of course I want to you stop, I thought, you’re a complete stranger who broke into my house.  But all that escaped my lips was a soft sigh.
His hands moved down to my pajama bottoms, slowly pulling loose the drawstring.  In his hands, even this felt like a supremely sensual gesture.  I lifted my hips off of the couch to allow him to slide them off of me, along with my underwear.  I was now completely naked, laying in the couch under his soft, strong hands. 

I felt his breath upon my cheek once again.  Kiss me, I thought, turning my head to try to find his mouth.  But he moved his head to the side, dipping to trail more kisses along my neck.  I twisted slightly, my body crying out for something, anything to happen.  Suddenly, I felt him pull away.
I lay there, able to see the slight dark shadow of his form still kneeling by the side of the couch.  I wanted to reach out to him, but felt unable to move.  Then I felt the merest touch on the inside of my thigh, just above my knee.  His fingertips trailed gently up my leg, stopping just short of the place my body was screaming for him to lavish his attention upon.  I felt him lean down, and place a soft kiss on my hip bone.  My body jerked in surprise, but also from the jolt of desire that coursed through me.

He chuckled softly in the dark, his hand beginning to move slowly, stroking up and down the inside of my thigh, each time getting closer and closer.  I moaned, a low soft sound in my throat.  At that, he leaned down again and began kissing my stomach, his hand moving ever so much closer to the center of my desire.

“Please…” I choked out, not even sure what I was really pleading for.

“Please, leave you alone?” He asked, drawing back.

“No!” It came out as a hoarse shout.  I felt myself redden in the darkness.  “Please, don’t stop…”

“Then what do you want me to do?” He asked, his hand resuming its slow stroking motion.

“I want you,” I whispered.

“Want me to what?” He asked again.

“Dammit!”  I said, “Make love to me.  Now.”  I was beyond caring, beyond thought.  His hands and mouth had driven me crazy, and he hadn’t even touched me … yet.

“Not yet,” He said softly.

He shifted my legs and settled between them on the couch.  I felt his breath, warm, on the inside of my thigh.  Then his mouth covered me and his tongue…  Ah, that did things that made cry out, and then beg for more.

I reached down for him trying to grasp his arms and pull him up to me.  He backed away, sitting upright between my legs.

“Please…” I whispered again, “I need you…”

“Need me what?  I satisfied you, didn’t I?  OR was that just an act?”  I thought I heard a note of smugness in his voice, and I longed to tell him coolly that, yes, it had all been an act, and could he please get the hell out of my house now.  But my traitorous body wouldn’t let me.  I wanted more, I wanted him.

“No, I want you…” I gulped, almost unable to say the words.  They seemed so silly, so romance novel, but it was all I could think to say to get what I wanted.  No, what I needed.  “I want you inside me.  Please.”

I could feel the bastard smiling in the darkness, and I wished again that I could have sent him away.  But, despite the pleasure he had given me, I still felt hollow inside.  I heard a rustle of cloth, then a zipper, and suddenly his warm, muscular body was covering mine.  His face rested in the hollow of my neck as his slid into me, and I gasped.  As he started a slow, mesmerizing rhythm, I let my mind disconnect from my body.  No conscious thoughts interrupted the waves or pleasure rolling over my body, rising higher until they crested in the best orgasm of my life.  I lay under him, shocked, dimly aware that he, too, had stopped moving and lay in a heap on top of me.  I heard his breathing, deep and ragged, and felt a small measure of happiness that I had managed to unsettle him a bit, too. 

Suddenly, he moved off of me, and I sat up.  I heard the rustle of clothing and grabbed for the lamp.  I flicked the switch, and looked around in the sudden brightness.  The living room was empty. 

And that, dear readers, is my idea of a perfect man.  Strong, capable, mysterious, and blessedly absent except when pleasuring you!

I stared at the post, unable to believe I had written it.  I mean, it was complete and utter drek, but it was still fairly…  Well, it was about sex.  And prim and proper little Rebecca would never talk about sex, let alone even try to write a steamy fantasy.  As I sat there, stewing, I clicked absently on my favorite links with the mouse.  Finally, my courage deserted me and I went back to delete the post.  But to my surprise, there was already a response!

Isoldranya had written:

Wow, that was awesome.  Think I’ll have to make a booty call, now.  Though, if you could, perhaps, write a girl-girl scene?  You can include a guy, but the sensuality between two women, well written – especially with your flair – would be amazing.  I would love to read that.  Keep up the good work!

I sat back, shocked.  I didn’t know what to say.  I was mortified by writing a simple, normal sex scene – I wasn’t sure if I could delve into deeper waters quite yet.  But, maybe, if it wasn’t my idea…  I mean, if I was writing someone else’s fantasy, now, that wouldn’t be nearly as embarrassing.  For whatever reason, that seemed to make sense to me.  Like when you’re giving a speech – it’s a million times worse when it’s a speech you’ve written, rather than reciting something that you’ve memorized.  So, I thought, what the hell.  I’ll give it a try.

I responded to Isoldranya, asking for some specifics so I could craft a story for her, and signed off.  I headed to bed, hoping that the week would pass uneventfully and quickly so that I could just get to next Friday, and my appointment with Voaughroth.  Of course, it did not.  And the trouble started early Monday morning.

My phone rang at 5:30 am. This is not a time I think it is reasonable for any human being to be awake, unless you haven’t gone to bed yet. I sighed as I thought of the hour of sleep I now was going to be denied, and silently rained every curse I knew at the person at the other end of the line. I rolled over and picked up the phone.

“Rebecca, did I wake you? Of course I did, silly me. It’s really early and I’m really sorry but I need… oh, god, I need you…” The voice broke off in a hysterical sob. It sounded familiar, but I wasn’t sure.

“Jen?” I asked tentatively “Is that you?”

‘I thought I heard something that resembled a “uh-huh” at the other end of the lie, then another strangle of wailing caused me to hold the phone out away from my ear, least I go deaf.

“Hey, hey, calm down,” I said slowly, in what I hoped was a soothing voice. “You have to tell me what happened. Take it easy. Deep breaths. Now, what’s going on?”

I heard her hiccupping on the other end of the line. Then her voice, barely a whisper said, “Brian…”

“Okay, what about Brian?” I asked slowly. Surely she didn’t call me at 5:30 in the morning to break down and confess about the affair. I was going to be royally pissed if she interrupted a good night’s sleep over something I already knew. Besides which, I wasn’t done tormenting her over it.

“He’s…” I heard a snuffle, “he’s… dead…”

Suddenly I was wide awake.  “What?” I asked stupidly, hoping I had misheard her.

“He’s dead.” She said again, her voice flat and unemotional.  “He was killed last night.”

“Killed?  As in, murdered?”  My mind struggled to grasp this concept.  Surely it had been an auto accident or something like that.  Who would want to murder Brian?

“Yes.”  She said, her voice hushed and frightened. “And they think I did it.”

“Of course you didn’t” I said matter-of-factly.  I had known Jen for years and while I was still miffed about her sleeping with Brian, I didn’t believe she could kill anyone.  Being a slut and being a murderess were two very different things.

“I’m at the police station,”  She said. “They’re done questioning me – for now – and I need a ride home.  Is there any way you could come get me?”

I said that of course I could, hung up the phone and got ready.  I figured I would still have enough time to drop her off, get a cup of coffee, and still get to work on time.  Funny, it never occurred to me that this would be a valid excuse for being a little late.  “Sorry, boss, but I had to collect my friend from the police station where she was being held for questioning in the death of my ex-boyfriend and her long-time lover.”

I drove downtown to the police station and when I saw Jen, it gave me a start.  She looked haggard and exhausted, giant purple circles under her red-rimmed eyes.  She smiled faintly when she saw me.

“Thank you so much for coming to get me.” She said as she got into my car.

“No problem.  Want to stop and grab some coffee before I take you home?”  I asked.

“No, no coffee for me.  I just want to go home, shower, and sleep for a week.”

We drove in silence for a little while.  I watched her out of the corner of my eye while navigating surprisingly heavy early-morning traffic.  Where were all these people going this time in the morning?  I glanced at the dashboard clock and noted that it was already almost 7 am.  I would have to hustle if I wanted that cup of coffee from the little coffee shop next to our office building.  They were always jam-packed in the morning.

Finally she broke the silence.  “Funny, you haven’t asked me what happened.” She said, looking at me with suspicion.

“I figured you didn’t want to talk about it.”  I shot back, not quite believing the accusation I read in her tone.  “Fine.  What happened?”

She looked a bit taken aback.  “You don’t even seem upset.” She said. “How can you not care?”

“I do care, I’m just not terribly broken up about it.  After all, he did just dump me and..” I trailed off, realizing I was about to tell her I knew all about her affair.  I didn’t want to deal with her rationalizations about why it happened now.  There was enough going on in my life as it was.

“And what?” She asked.  She was gazing at me with an inscrutable look in her eyes.

“And, strangely, it’s the least traumatic thing that’s happened to me in the last few weeks.” I finished up.

“What else has happened?” She asked, an insistence in her tone that made me glance at her.  But her face was still impassive and unreadable.

“There’s been a major shake-up at work, and the whole on-line thing has been more draining that I thought it would be.”  I said, vaguely.

It was then I pulled up in front of her apartment building.  She looked at me once last time, opened the door, and got out of the car.  As she was walking up the steps to her apartment building, I rolled down the passenger side window and called out to her, “Call me in you need anything, okay?”

She turned, nodded, and continued up the stairs.  I watched her until she was inside the front doors, then pulled back out into traffic.  I arrived at the coffee shop with about 15 minutes until work, decided the coffee would be worth any admonishments I would receive for being a tiny bit late, and hurried inside.  The heady aroma of coffee and fresh baked pastries lifted my spirits.  I ordered a Mocha Cappuccino and a cranberry muffin, and was on my way, ducking inside the office door with 15 seconds to spare.  Still, the secretary gave me a “tsk-tsk” look as she glanced from me to the clock, and I fought a ridiculous urge to stick my tongue out at her.

I sat down at my desk and turned on my computer.  As I did so, I mulled over my mood.  I didn’t know what most people felt like after someone they knew had been murdered, but I guessed that euphoria was not one of the more common emotions.  I sighed, and tried to concentrate on the columns of numbers on my screen.

At 10:30 am the call I’d been expecting finally came.

“Ms. Anderson?” A gruff male asked after I answered the phone.

“Yes?” I responded politely.

“This is Detective McKinney.  I was wondering if you’d have time to talk about the death of Brian Johnson sometime?” He asked.

“Of course.  What would be convenient for you?”

“Well, anytime that you have at least an hour to spare.  And I’d like to get the preliminary interviews done as soon as possible.”

“How about lunch?” I asked, figuring I could squeeze a little more than an hour out of Margaret if I told her I had to talk to the police. 

Anything to get out of this place for awhile.  My euphoria of the morning had worn off, and now I was just tired.

“Uh, sure.  That’ll be great.”  The detective seemed a bit taken aback.  I wondered if it was because I wasn’t a hysterical mess, or that I had just asked him out to lunch.  I winced as I thought how that might have come across.

“I normally just eat my lunch in the little park across the street from the office.”  I said quickly.  You can meet me there and we can talk.”
“How about I meet you in the front lobby of your office?”  He asked, and continued in a rushed manner, “Because I don’t know what you look like, and if the park is busy, since it’s such a nice day…”

Shit, I thought.  I was hoping to nip off and grab a bag lunch before I saw him.  I hadn’t brought anything with me today – though I often did – and I had blurted that out because he had seemed so uncomfortable with the idea of going out to lunch.

“Um, okay, how about 11:45?”  I asked, figuring I could run over to the coffee shop and get a bagel before he got there.

“That sounds fine.  See you then.”  And he hung up.

I sat back, mulling over the conversation I’d just had.  If the looks Jen had been giving me were any indication, she may well have cast some suspicion on me in her initial interview.  I didn’t think she knew that I knew about the affair, but you never know.  I gnawed on my lip, trying to decide if I’d own up to the knowledge to the detective.  After all, would knowing make me more likely to kill him?  I rather thought that it would seem unlikely that I’d kill him and not her if I knew about the affair, but…  And there was that whole guilt trip I had thrown on Jen at the movie.  I cringed when I looked back at it.  That would look bad.  Real bad.  I finally decided that owning up to the entire ordeal would be the best thing to do.  It was so bloody hard to keep track of too many lies, after all.

At 11:30 I hustled over to the café to grab my bagel, cream cheese, and a bottle of lemonade.  I desperately wanted coffee, but enough of my brain was still functioning that I realized it would be a dead giveaway that I hadn’t brought my lunch, after all.  I promised myself a cup on the way back in.  As I re-entered the office, and older man in a decent, but not expensive suit was standing in the lobby.  I froze, and looked at the clock.  11:40.  He was early!  I studied him for a moment, deciding he was exactly what I had expected after talking to him on the phone.  A gentle father-like figure I could open up to.  I stepped forward, just as Alicia came out from the back.

“Dad!” She cried, racing forward to hug the man.  They left the office together, and I figured I had at least been right about one thing.  As I watched the door start to swing shut after their departure, it was suddenly caught and pulled back open.  In strode a man in jeans and a sweater.  I almost dropped my bagel on the ground.  He seemed to fill the little reception area.  He was tall, broad shouldered, and absolutely breath-taking.  In a very manly way, of course.  My heart sank as he looked at me and said, “Ms. Anderson?” In that deep, gravely tone I recognized from the phone.

“Yes.” I squeaked, my heart pounding.  How was I supposed to open up to this man?  How was I supposed to pour out my whole sordid tale when all I could think about was how good he’d look naked and tangled in my sheets?  And where in the world were all of these thoughts coming from?  Me, gentle and mild-mannered Rebecca had metamorphosed into a panting, slobbering, wanton ball of desire the second e had walked into the room.  I shook my head to clear it.  “Shall we?” I asked in what I hoped was a cool tone, indicating the door.

He smiled and held it open for me.  The perfect gentleman, I thought.  Probably married.  I glanced at his hand.  No ring, but that didn’t mean anything.  Maybe he was just one of those guys that didn’t wear them.  I followed him out into the cool fall afternoon, trying to get a grip on my rampaging hormones.  We settle in the park, and as I munched on my bagel he filled me in on some of the details.

Evidently Jen and Brian had arrived at Brian’s house at about 11:00 pm on Sunday night.  Upon entering the residence, Brian had flicked on the lights and caught sight of an intruder.  He had pushed Jen back out the door, closed it, and she had then heard a gunshot.  She ran to the neighbor’s house, pounded on the door and pleaded with them to call 911.  When the police arrived, they found no sign of the intruder, and Brian was dead in the living room of a single gunshot to the head. There didn’t appear to have been a struggle.

“So,” I said when he had finished the summary, “you think he knew whoever shot him?”

“Very astute of you.”  He said giving me a level look.

“And I, as the jilted ex-girlfriend, and of course, a perfect suspect.”  I said, returning his level gaze.

“Um, yes, actually.  You are one of the people atop our suspect list.”  He said, dropping his gaze to the ground, almost as if embarrassed to have been called on this point.

“I understand.”  I said calmly, though my heart was racing.  “Unfortunately, I’m not exactly able to give an iron-clad alibi for last night.  I was at home, on the computer, until about 10.  Then I got ready for and went to bed.”

“Oh,” was all he said in return.

“Will there be anything else?” I asked, starting to rise.

He gabbed my arm to pull me back down onto the bench and I felt a jolt go through me.  All of the wanton thoughts I had managed to suppress came flooding back.  I felt my face flush slightly.  When he saw this, his mistook it for anger at being grabbed and dropped his hand from my arm.  I slowly sat back down.

“I’m sorry,” he said slowly, “just a few more questions.”

I inclined my head slightly as a gesture for him to continue. 

“You don’t seem very broken up about his death,” he said.  “May I ask why?”

“Well, Detective McKinney,” I started, but he interrupted me. 

“Call me Alan,” he said, “And may I call you Rebecca?”

“Sure, okay then, Alan, it’s like this…” and I poured out a condensed version of events about my relationship with Brian.  The fact that we had never been that close, that he had cheated on me (I did leave out that I knew who it was with) and that I had found myself somewhat uncaring about the break-up after the initial bout of hysterical crying.  I told him I was undergoing internet therapy, and that I was feeling pretty good about myself, and relieved that the whole crappy relationship was over.

“Internet therapy?” He asked, puzzled.

“Yeah,” I said, beginning to warm to the topic.  “I’m a pretty repressed and boring person, evidently, so my friends came up with the idea of me being able to let it all hang out, so to speak, on-line.  You know about LiveJournal?” I asked.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I blog there too.  I guess it is therapy, being able to talk about the work pressures and stuff anonymously.”

I smiled at him.  “Exactly.  So I’ve adopted a new, flamboyant personality, and am quite enjoying it.”  I stopped as I realized that this didn’t entirely make up for my lack of emotion over Brian’s death.  My lack of motive, perhaps, but I should feel something.  I cocked my head to one side and gave him a speculative look.

“I should be more upset by this, though, shouldn’t I?”  I asked.

“Well, different people deal with death in different ways, Ms… Rebecca.  It could be that you’re still in shock, or…” he trailed of.

“It could be that I’m an unfeeling bitch that just really doesn’t care?” I asked sweetly.

He grimaced, and sighed.  “Yes, it could be that.”

“Detective McKinney!  Did you just call me a heartless bitch?”  I asked in mock outrage, smiling at him.

Luckily, he did seem to know I was kidding, and smiled back at me.  Oh my god, the man was even more handsome when he gave you a full smile.  I felt the warmth spread through my body like warm honey.  Oh, what I would give to have that man naked and covered in honey.  I flushed again, as the images raced through my mind.  I caught myself just before I moaned out loud.

“Rebecca, are you alright?” He asked, looking at my flushed face with concern.

“Yes.  No.  Well…” I took a deep breath.  “Is there any way I can get another detective to do my interviewing?”

He looked taken aback, “I’m sorry, I really wasn’t calling you… I mean, if I’ve offended you…”  He stuttered, looking concerned.

“It’s not that!”  I rushed to reassure him.  I knew the types of accusations the police got when questioning suspects.  “You’ve been fine.  A perfect, professional gentleman.  It’s me, really, I…”  I looked at him hopelessly.  How was I going to talk myself out of this one?

“What about you?” he asked, puzzled.

I sighed, took a deep breath, and just blurted it out.  “How can I keep my mind on a murder while talking to you?  All I can imagine is how you look naked!  You’re too good-looking to be a detective.  I expected an older father figure I could open up to, who would be wise but aloof, and you…”  I trailed off miserably, casting my eyes downward.

He didn’t burst out laughing, as I was afraid he would.  Instead, he sat quietly regarding me for a moment.  “I think that’s the nicest compliment anyone’s paid me in a long time.  I can see what the Captain can do.”  He stood, and I stood as well, still not looking at him.  He put his hand under my chin and lifted my face to meet his gaze.  I stopped breathing.

“You take care, Rebecca.  I’ll talk to you later.”  And with that, he dropped his hand, and walked back towards the street, never once turning around.  I sat down on the bench and burst into tears.

When I got back to work, eyes only slightly red and swollen, I sat down at my desk and contemplated my computer screen miserably.  What had gotten into me?  I felt like Jim Carrey’s character in Liar, Liar.  I couldn’t have just told a lie, or better yet, just kept my mouth shut.  I suddenly felt gripped by a desire to watch that movie.  It was funny, and apropos, and I thought it just might lift my spirits.  On the way home, I stopped by the video store to rent a copy.

I was just about to settle into the movie with a big tub of popcorn when it occurred to me that perhaps I should call Jen and check up on her.  I also didn’t know if either Megan or Heather had been apprised of  the situation, and thought I should call them, as well.  I called Megan, then Heather, giving them a brief recap of the situation (omitting, of course, my foot in mouth scene with the detective).  Then I called Jen.

She seemed surprisingly upbeat, and I was reminded of my euphoric mood of this morning.  She brushed away questions of whether she was okay, and asked me what I was going to be at Megan’s costume ball this Wednesday.  I groaned.

“I forgot all about that.” I lamented. “What on earth can I put together in such a short amount of time?”

“Well,” Jen said, all the perkiness back in her voice, “you could always wear on of your renaissance costumes.  I know you have a few from the play you were in back in college, and all you need is one of those feathery masks.”

“It’s a mask ball, too.  I had forgotten.”  I sighed.  “Yes, I suppose that will have to do. But how trite and unoriginal.  I’m sure there will be tons of girls dressed like that.  With all the RenFests popping up all over the place, the medieval costumes are all the rage.  Wanna place a wager on how many pirates that have Johnny Depp eyeliner there will be?”

She chuckled.  “But it’s something you have, so you don’t have to stress over it.”  She paused. “Do you have more than one?  I don’t have anything, and…”

“Of course!  I think I have three.”  I thought back to the play, “the red and gold one, the green one, and there was a silvery one.”

“Oooh, silver, please!”  She said.

“No problem.  I’ll bring it by tomorrow.  Are you sure you’re okay?”  I asked again.

“Fine, fine.  Sorry I was in such a state this morning.  I didn’t sleep at all last night with the questioning, so…  I really didn’t mean anything…”

“It’s fine, I understand.”  I cut her off.  We said goodbye, and I went to my closet to try to unearth the dresses.  Once I delved into the store of old costumes, I found I had not one, but two silvery dresses.  One had faintly bluish accents, the other, a violet hue.  I decided to wear the violet one myself, and loan Jen the bluish one.  I laid the gowns out in the living room and went back to my movie.

Tuesday and Wednesday passed uneventfully.  I didn’t hear anything back from the police department, and though I wondered about the state of the investigation, I dared not call and talk to Alan.  Even the thought of him made me warm inside.  Wednesday I dropped the gown off at Jen’s on the way home, and went back to my apartment to get ready.

I arrived at Megan’s party fashionably late, and noted that there were, indeed, a huge number of Renaissance maidens, pirates, and knights in attendance.  All were wearing masks.  I recognized my dress, thought there were several silver ones, and assumed it was Jen in it, though I couldn’t be sure.  I marveled at how a tiny little mask really could change one’s appearance.

I decided to not go over and greet Jen, I was enjoying the anonymity the masked ball gave me.  I was enjoying myself thoroughly when I heard a man’s whisper in my ear.

“Darling Rebecca,” he said, his voice pitche