"Bobby! Dude! Wake up!"
Bobby cracked one eye open. "This better be good, bro. You just yanked me out of a most excellent dream."
Eddie's voice was an urgent whisper. "Dude, you are not gonna believe what's happening on the living room couch right now."
Something inside him went tight. "What, Sarah bring a friend home?" As he said it, he rejected the idea; even Eddie wouldn't be callous enough to drop that on him like this, asleep and unprepared. Besides, his friend's attitude seemed all wrong; if Sarah were making out with another girl in the living room, he'd be a lot more interested and a lot less … apprehensive, worried?
"No – It's your dad … and Anna!"
He closed his eye and settled down to sleep again. "Relax, man. You know how thick those two are. They got secrets we'll never know. They probably put their heads together and hatch plots every night."
"Dude, am I stupid? She's in his lap!"
That brought both eyes open. "Word?"
"Word. Knees on his hips. All wrapped around each other, playin' slobber hockey. The countdown to thread shed has begun."
"Well. How 'bout that." He closed his eyes.
"Dude, don't you get it? He's making out with Anna!"
"Good for them. Maybe she can get him to loosen up a little, make a human being out of him. Lemme go back to sleep." And he drifted off, with a sketch of a smile at the corner of his mouth. Dad and Anna. Secret Agent and Stepford Wife. Alias meets Battlestar Galactica. Is there a more unlikely pair in this freakin house? If they can come together …
A most excellent dream, about a beautiful dark-haired girl.
-0-
Even for six A.M., Lynch thought, the kitchen was unusually quiet. As he stepped through the doorway, he saw Anna working at the counter, her back to the door. On the table, at his usual place, was a place setting with a big mug of coffee and a toasted bagel, with cream cheese and jelly in small containers on the side; she knew he ate light when traveling.
His first impulse was to go to her, not the table; but that careful, almost formal, setting gave him pause. He studied the precise arrangement of utensils arrayed alongside the small plate; the steam rising from the coffee and bagel, both obviously placed there moments before he arrived, giving her just enough time to return to the counter. She was putting dishes away, moving slowly, with exaggerated care, as if a twitch or a misstep would shatter them in her hands. She never glanced at him. He sat down and took a sip of the coffee. Perfect, as always.
"Good morning, Anna."
"Good morning." Not 'Jack' or 'John' or even 'Sir.' This is not the morning after I was expecting. What's going on in her head?
He plunged in. "You seem awfully quiet this morning." He took another sip, a big one. Was he nervous?
Her back still turned, she said, "Post-coital depression, maybe."
"Hkkkt!" Coffee shot out his nose; instantly she was at his side with a pair of cloths, wiping his shirt with one and the table with the other. "Oops. Good thing you take your coffee black, Johnny Cash. If you don't have time to change, the stain will match your shirt."
She paused. Suddenly, he was acutely aware of her hand, pressed against his chest through two layers of damp cloth. She removed it, and began to turn away. He caught her wrist. He was certain she could break his grip, or could have eluded his grasp in the first place; nevertheless, she stopped as if trapped.
"You're trembling."
"I'm just … having a little motor control problem this morning." She seemed embarrassed. "A prioritizing glitch in my reflex subroutines."
"Huh?"
"It's a sort of decision loop. My motion controller doesn't know what I want to do most – avoid you or, or throw myself in your arms. So, it's trying to orchestrate both choices at once, several times a second." She gently tugged her wrist out of his grip. "I'm sure the conflict will resolve itself after, after you leave." She stood, waiting.
God, she looks like a little kid. How am I going to explain this to her?
He pushed the soaked place setting away, disordering the neat arrangement. "Anna, I know I promised you a … 'performance evaluation' this morning. But, to give you a fair and complete answer, I have to ask you first: what was your impression? What was it like for you?"
She was silent for so long, he almost asked again. How long is ten seconds to someone who thinks at computer speeds? Finally, she said, "It wasn't what I expected."
"Come again? I thought you didn't have any preconceptions about this – in fact, it was your biggest worry."
She seemed to be struggling to express herself. "I guess I did, after all. I thought, at least, unless something fundamentally wrong between us came up, something we'd both be aware of right away, I was sure how things would go. I'd be giving you pleasure, proving myself to you, and you'd be stopping me if I made a misstep, guiding me, and I'd get pleasure, sure, the same way you always make me happy, by making you happy - " She caught herself. "I'm babbling. That decision loop must be getting worse."
"What else? Tell it all, Anna."
"Well, you were right, to insist that we wait until morning. I wasn't thinking too clearly at all, during. But afterwards, I started playing it all back, and I think I understand what happened, even if I can't seem to find words to describe it. I see now, why I never found what I was looking for in books.
"I guess you must have seen it was hopeless at the very beginning, Jack. You didn't try to tell me anything. Instead, you gave me a … a bittersweet sort of gift I'll always treasure. You showed me what a man could do for a woman, instead. The way we moved together, the way you made me feel … it was like we could read each other's minds, like we were the same person, almost. And the wealth of sensations, the feel of you, the touch of you … I felt as if I were approaching an overload of some sort. I had to perform a partial shutdown to deal with it." Her eyes filled with tears. She wiped at them, clumsily. "I'm so sorry, Jack. I tried, I know you had pleasure last night – I'm not wrong about that, surely? … but I know I got better than I gave."
He pushed his chair back from the table. "Well, you're right, Anna," he said thoughtfully. "This has got to be about the worst case of post-coital depression I've ever heard of. I hope you're not going to be like this every morning after."
Her face twitched. "Every -"
"I had to ask you first," he said gravely, "because what you described is exactly the way you made me feel. Except for the 'overload' and 'partial shutdown' part; that sounds like 'orgasm' to me, but 'if it looks like a duck …'
"B-but, Jack, that doesn't add up …"
"Nope. I told you the man-woman thing wouldn't." He twitched a smile. "Think of it as a sort of special relativity. Little one, I didn't tell you anything because I didn't need to; guess love taught you what intellect couldn't. But that's the way it is between a man and a woman … when it's perfect."
She whispered, "Perfect?"
"It doesn't happen all that often, not even between married couples. It may never happen between us again. But doing it even once cements your membership in the Girls Club, sweetheart. I might even rate you as a suprmph - phmm … heymm … Anmm – lemme breathe, girl!"
She shifted in his lap slightly and pulled her face back, about half an inch. "My software conflict seems to be all better now."
"Obviously." She was sitting sideways in his lap; one of his arms cradled her bottom, the other lay across her thighs, providing her a secure seat. He stroked her thigh with a thumb. "As I was saying, a superbly gifted amateur."
"So, I might improve with practice?"
"If you improve on last night, you might be in the market for a new boyfriend. I'm not sure I'd live through the night."
"Oh, pooh. I happen to know you're in great shape. That reminds me," she said, standing up and clearing the dishes. "Are you going to make it to your annual physical today? This is your third reschedule." She popped another bagel in the toaster and brought the coffee pot to the table, refilling his mug.
"Um, what time? And where? I really don't want to leave any records in a doctor's office."
"Between three and four this afternoon, here in town. I'll make sure you have the address before you leave. The records aspect is taken care of, trust me. So is payment. All you have to do is show up, 'Mister Lane'."
"Okay, so long as it doesn't take more than ninety minutes."
"That's between you and the doctor, dear."
"You know, I don't recall having done a checkup before."
"That's because it's your first annual checkup. I never did get you to the doctor last year. You've got a young girlfriend now; you've got to take care of your health." The bagel popped up; she glided to the counter and brought it back to the table. "I can't save you from a bullet when you're halfway across the world, but I will keep you from dying of prostate cancer, even if I have to hold you down and perform the exam myself."
"Some men might enjoy that. By the way, where did you go last night? When I go to bed with a woman, I expect to wake up with her." Even though I couldn't have slept for an hour.
"That would have been nice; you looked so cute, drooling on your pillow. But how soon do you want to blow our cover, lover? The kids respect curfew, but you never established a lights-out policy. About four nights out of seven, between two and five A.M., at least one of those kids is up and about. I couldn't afford to get caught coming out of your room to fix breakfast, in clothes I wore the night before. "
He sipped from his mug. "You don't think much of our chances, do you?"
"Remember when they first came here, and we tried to keep them from knowing I was anything but hired help? I figure the odds at no better than fifty-fifty for a week, decreasing to near zero within a month. Likeliest person to figure it out is Sarah; she's the most sensitive to body language and personal relationships. Likeliest to actually catch us in a situation we can't explain away is about even between Eddie and Roxanne; they keep the most irregular hours."
"All right, figure we won't keep the lid on for more than a few days. Is that estimate based on the assumption that I'll be home every night?" He looked down at his plate. The bagel was gone; he didn't remember touching it. Hell of an appetite you've suddenly developed, buddy.
She reached over him to take the plate away, running the fingers of her other hand through his hair. "A girl can dream, can't she?"
"Well, tonight I will be – at least if I'm home by eleven. Otherwise not. Anna, I don't want the kids just stumbling onto this; I want to handle the situation before it comes up. You know them better than I do, even Bobby. What do you think we should do?"
She paused, then sat at the table – in a seat, he noted, where they could both watch the doorway – and said, "Well, first of all, I don't think we should make some big announcement. Act as if it's no big thing, and thereby plant the assumption that they should, too. We don't want to break the news to them one at a time, though – too likely one of them will leak it to the others. I think the most natural way would be for you to tell the boys together, and I'll tell the girls."
"Okay, good." I wasn't looking forward to telling the girls about this. "Trouble is, I can't just 'drop in' on the boys for a little chat; it'd be an obvious maneuver."
"You used to spar with Eddie every week. It's been a while; he'd probably jump at the offer. Maybe you could invite Bobby to referee?"
"Sure, maybe he could call an ambulance for me, while Eddie catches his breath." Eddie Chang was tournament-class proficient in three martial arts styles, and fast as a mongoose before he manifested; only Lynch's real-world hand-to-hand experience and Genactive reflexes had allowed him to keep his head on his shoulders during those matches.
"Oh, Jack, he's never knocked you down – not that he doesn't try, every time – and you've put his shoulders to the mat three times that I know of. It's comical, the way he tries to figure out how to beat an opponent who doesn't play by the rules."
"Okay, tomorrow or possibly the next day. What about you? How will you get the girls together in one place long enough to talk to them?"
She stood up, bending over him to glance into his coffee cup; less than in inch of liquid remained. He inhaled, slowly but deeply, straining for some scent he could identify with her. Hints of bath soap, shampoo, cleaning products … it would have to do, he supposed. The rest of the package was so fine, how could he complain that his girlfriend had no smell?
She gave him a quick kiss. "We'll go shopping, of course. I need a ton of girl stuff. Starting with some perfume." She gave his nose a quick squeeze. "Got a preference?"
"Uh, no. The store where you got that dress you wore last night … does it sell perfume?"
"Think so. Buy it there?" She moved back to the sink, rinsing the dishrag she'd used to mop the table.
"Only if you can talk to the sales girl who sold you that dress; she knows her girl stuff. Don't stop buying until the car is full. And make sure payment comes out of my account."
She looked amused. "Man of mine, I have my own money."
It would have been callous and unfair to reply that her chief source of income was the wages he paid her; she earned every dime, regardless of where it came from. Instead, he said, "You'll have plenty of chances to spend it, I'm sure. Just this once, though, let me feel like I'm pampering you. Let me fill your closet."
Likewise, he would never tell her that, when he woke that morning and found her gone, he had gone looking for her in her own room, entering it for the first time since she had moved in. To him, it had looked as sparse and impersonal as a hotel room occupied by a weekend guest: no personal touches, drawers only part full, less than a third of the rods in the closet hung with clothing, two pairs of shoes – not including the hunting boots way in the back, which she never wore. She had lived two years under his roof, working tirelessly for the comfort and happiness of six other people, and everything she owned would fit in a footlocker.
You're worth a lot more to me than a paycheck, Anna. You always were. It's past time I started letting you know.
"All right," she said, "let's make sure we've both got your itinerary. When are you leaving this morning?"
He glanced at his watch. Have I really been in the kitchen for just thirteen minutes? Amazing, how little time it takes to stand your life on its ear. "I have to be out the door by six-thirty to catch my plane. That gives me just enough time for a fresh shirt – and a husbandly kiss."
"Best do it before you leave the kitchen, the kids will start stirring any minute. Okay, let's see: out the door by six-thirty; spy games until your doctor's appointment at three; five-thirty, more cloak-and-dagger I presume; home by eleven, and by eleven-thirty I'll be screwing your brains out."
"Hkkkt!"
She turned to him, eyebrow lifted, dishrag in hand. "I thought you were done with that coffee."
-0-
After Jack left, the kitchen started getting busy. Eddie was the next person to enter her tiled little lair, and she saw instantly that something was wrong.
"Eddie, you look terrible," she said, taking in the puffy eyes and subdued manner. A quick infrared scan showed normal body temp; nevertheless, she pressed her hand to his forehead as a gesture of concern. "Are you sick? Do you need to stay home from school?" In two years, she had never seen Jack or the kids come down with anything; her only observation of human sickness came from strangers and acquaintances. Bugs didn't have much chance against Genactive immune systems.
"I'll be alright, Anna," he said, giving her a strange look that set off an alert in her threat discrimination software.
Chance of discovery: four percent plus-minus two.
"I didn't get any sleep last night," he added.
Seven percent plus-minus two.
"Semester exams are coming up, Eddie. Photographic memory aside, you'll need your rest to do your best. What would you like for breakfast?"
"Um, not hungry, thanks."
"Well, you're not getting out of here without a glass of juice, at least, and a vitamin pill." Eddie, you're always hungry, and even if you're not, then why are you here? Fifteen percent plus-minus three.
He sat down heavily. "Okay, sure. So … how you feelin' this morning?"
Twenty-eight percent plus-minus three. Eddie, you have never asked me that question, even when you thought I was flesh-and-blood. She smiled. "Never better, Eddie. Got a song in my heart." She poured a glass of orange juice and removed a bottle of multivitamins from the cabinet, shaking a pill out of it into her palm.
"Gettin' along with the L-man okay?" He asked the question with careful disinterest, but she noted a slight elevation of his heart rate.
Forty-seven percent plus-minus three; even odds. All right, let's go fishing for some confirmation.
"Better every day. This morning, he paid me quite a compliment."
"Really." The tone of voice and the glance he gave her said it all.
Bingo. Ninety-eight percent plus-minus one. Close enough.
"Yes. He asked my advice on a personal matter; turns out my advice wasn't very good." She set the glass on the table in front of him and held the pill in her open palm. When he reached for it, she closed her hand on his fingers. "Edmund Chang, stop dancing around and tell me what's on your mind."
He took a deep breath, let it out. "I saw you and Mister Lynch last night. In the living room."
So much for probability analysis. Looks like our little secret was out before we got to the bedroom. Sorry, Jack. She nodded. "And?"
She had never seen any man but Jack look so grave. "Anna … did you … I mean … did he order you?"
From her point of view, his question caused a sudden shift in her predictive programming: a hundred assumptions were discarded while she reevaluated known data and searched for new data from Eddie. All her attention focused on this miserable boy, to the exclusion of almost all other external stimuli. Her processor shunted progressively larger blocks of resources to analysis of his posture, voice, and recent actions. After almost a thousand milliseconds, the demand reached her motion controller, causing a momentary interruption. At that point, she canceled further inquiry and restored her resource allocation to default settings.
From Eddie's point of view, she stopped for a second, still gripping his fingers, and stared at him, completely taken back. It amounted to exactly the same thing.
"Oh, Eddie," she said. "How could you think such a thing about him? He would never … Eddie, were you worried for me?" She let go of his hand and planted a kiss on top of his head. "That is so sweet. But I'm not a robot from a sci-fi movie; I don't have to follow orders, and he wouldn't treat me like that. Last night was all my idea; he was jumpy as a mouse about it. I had to cry on him just to get him to kiss me, and when we went to bed –"
"Whoa, TMI, time out!" The relief seemed to come all the way up from his toes, it was so complete. The boisterous kid was back; it was as if the concerned young man from a moment before had never existed. "That's girlfriend gossip."
She grinned. "Hungry now?"
"Well, maybe some toast. With jelly. And a couple eggs."
"And six sausage links? Some cereal to get you started?" The bowl, spoon, milk and box were in front of him before she finished speaking. She mussed his hair on the way back to the counter, and he grinned like an idiot.
She stopped, skillet in one hand and eggs in the other, and let out a laugh. "Oh, my. You remember that 'personal advice' I told you about? Mister Lynch wanted to tell you boys about us; I suggested he do it during a sparring match. I suddenly imagined you two on the mat, and you asking him that question."
He dropped his spoon. "Not hungry."
"Oh, pooh. I bet you could outrun him if you really wanted to. By the way … this has got to stay just between us for a day or so, until we can break it gently to everybody."
"Uh huh."
"I mean it, Eddie. Not even Roxanne." She heard his heart speed up. "Eddie," she said, in a conspirator's voice, "let's make a deal. You don't tell anybody about me and Jack … and I'll continue to keep quiet about your aptitude tests coming in as high as Caitlin's."
The alarm on his face was comical. "No way! I saw the scores!"
"So did I. I'm talking about your real scores, after I recalculated them to compensate for all the questions you threw. Once I started looking, it was obvious: you shouldn't have flubbed the easy questions in the same section where you aced the hard ones. Guess you got bored with thinking up wrong answers." She dropped sausage into the hot skillet and cracked eggs into a cup. "So you'll keep your mouth shut, or you'll spend the rest of your adolescence listening to every girl in this house lecturing you on your 'wasted potential'."
"Anna … I already told someone." He looked unhappy.
"What – who?" Please, not Caitlin, she needs special handling …
"Bobby, last night."
Jack's son. Almost as bad, maybe. "Did he say anything?"
"Yeah. He said, 'good for them.'"
"Oh. That's good, isn't it? He wasn't being sarcastic?"
"No, he meant it. And one other thing. He said he hoped you could make his dad … more human."
She kissed the top of his head again, leaning over to put her arms around his neck. "Okay, the deal stands. Just don't talk to anybody else about it for forty-eight hours." Well, that lets Jack off the hook. I just need to talk to the girls before Eddie explodes.
"Hey," said Bobby, eyebrows raised as he entered the kitchen, "am I interrupting anything?"
Anna let go of Eddie and wrapped her arms around Bobby. "Thank you, Bobby. For understanding about your dad and me."
"I don't know if I do understand. But it's your business, not mine." He, returned the embrace, smiling. "The meals stop coming on time cuz you're necking with your boyfriend, that's my business."
She lingered in his embrace, feeling his living heartbeat, feeling her pulse change pace to match it. He feels so much like his dad, holding me like this; it's wonderful. The girl who wins his heart will win real treasure. "You look so much like your dad, when you smile like that."
Instantly, the smile disappeared. "When does Dad ever smile?"
"You've got to look in the eyes, Bobby. The smile's in there."
"Yeah." He slipped out of her arms, retrieving a cereal bowl from the cupboard. "So, who's going to tell the girls?"
She beat half-and-half into the eggs as she turned over the sausage. "Me. Tonight, after school. If that doesn't work out, tomorrow night for sure. Can you keep a lid on it until then?"
He sat down and exchanged a look with Eddie as he reached for the cereal. "Shouldn't be a problem. Right, bro?"
"Absolutely." Eddie slid the milk container over to Bobby. "Like, discretion is our middle name."
