Mr. Real

by Carolyn Crane

  She studied his dark lashes, his pleasingly-formed face, lush lips over the strong line of his chin. Even with him sleeping as he was, she could imagine those lips breaking into a knowing smile at any second. And his cheekbones—she decided that the word for his cheekbones was understated—they were the opposite of model cheekbones where it was like here are my sculpted cheekbones over hollow cheeks! No, no—Sir Kendall had strong cheekbones over relaxed, kissable cheeks. His was a kind of handsomeness that would never have to struggle for attention; he would only have to twinkle a little, and you’d be instantly drawn to him.

  And now she was supposed to let him drink Denali? When you looked at it in a certain way, it was literally a matter of life and death.

  Or maybe Denali wouldn’t have an effect on him. Even Karen wasn’t sure. Not like this stuff’s on Wikipedia, she’d said, but it seemed like it would be true, that drinking Denali would trigger a chain of events where the next door he walked out of would be his last. That’s how it always was on TV—he drank Denali, walked out the door, and faded into the night.

  Alix wasn’t used to being in charge of things—as the baby of the family, there was always somebody to boss her and criticize her and stop her from blunders. It was the ultimate joke that she of all people ended up with a magical computer.

  She turned over quietly, so as not to wake him.

  Another weird thing was that Sir Kendall seemed to think he was on a case, working with the CIA or whatever. Could he really not tell the difference between a commercial and real life? He was a man now, but what had he been before she brought him to life? Did he come from a world of images? Was there really a George Frame at the CIA?

  Well, she could find that out, at least.

  She slid out of bed, grabbed her jeans from the floor, and searched the pockets for the card Sir Kendall had given her. Then she crept downstairs and outside to the carriage house. She dialed the number on the George Frame card.

  A recording: “The number you have dialed is not in service. Please check the number…” She hung up. Not in service. What was she supposed to make of that? Then she called Karen.

  “He’s still there?” Karen said. “This is so messed up, I can’t even believe it. This is you messing up! You give him his Denali. You have to let him complete his lifecycle. I thought from your text last night that he was gone.”

  “I don’t think he wants to go.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Karen said. “He has to go.”

  “Why? You aren’t here. You don’t know him.” She told Karen about their night. The way Sir Kendall had seemed to feel curiosity, pleasure. They’d had real sex, and he’d been inventive and wonderfully commanding. He’d seemed to enjoy the taste of beer and the feel of her leather chair.

  “That only means that every hour he’s here, you’re damaging him for his true home. Wherever he has to go back to, the leather chairs won’t feel as awesome and the beer won’t taste as good.”

  “Why does he have to go back?”

  “Because he’s a character, Alix.”

  “He’s alive now, and he wants to continue living. Isn’t that the definition of human? If he cut himself, he’d bleed. Doesn’t that count for anything? You should’ve seen the look on his face when he sensed I saved him last night. I think he thought the Denali was poisoned, and he was so grateful. It meant so much to him. He just wants to live.”

  “He made you feel good.”

  “Yes.”

  A long silence followed. Then Karen said, “Are you sure that’s not why you like having him around?”

  “That’s not why,” Alix snapped.

  “He is a character, Alix. Not a full human.”

  “So therefore he has to die? It’s not his fault how he is. Now that he’s here, doesn’t he deserve a chance to be happy instead of being automatically condemned for being less-than? Because I happen to know how that feels.”

  “This is not about you, Alix, and you’re in no way less-than. Think! You’re seeing him in terms of your self-esteem shit. He makes you feel good. All this less-than shit. These are selfish reasons to keep him.”

  She knew Karen had a point…but still! “What if it is a little selfish?” Alix said. “It still doesn’t make it right to kill him. Do you want to come over and give him Denali? And then when he walks out the door and begins to fade out, to see his panic, his bewilderment, and explain to him why he has to die?”

  “You see it as killing him. But you’re just sending him back to his home world, his storyline.”

  “A two-dimensional screen where nothing’s real,” Alix protested. “How is that not death?”

  “Because it’s his world.”

  It hurt Alix’s head to think about it. “But what about Pinocchio? Pinocchio used to be a puppet, and it was better for him to become alive, to be a real boy. Nobody said, let’s send him back to being a puppet.”

  “Are you seriously comparing Sir Kendall to Pinocchio?”

  “He is like Pinocchio!”

  Karen snorted. “He’s not a puppet, and he’s not a pet. He could be dangerous, Alix.”

  Alix recalled the way he’d grabbed her wrist after she broke the Denali bottle. She didn’t tell Karen about the gun. She knew to be suspicious of herself when she withheld information from Karen, but she didn’t want to think about that. “He’s not dangerous—he’s the Denali man! On the side of right. He’d be dangerous if he felt threatened, but isn’t that true of anybody?”

  Karen sniffed the way she did when she disagreed. “You’ve conjured up a fake spy as a fuckbuddy, and now you’re trying to think of ways to keep him on this plane of being, interfering with his natural course. And maybe even with our natural course. You’re the threat.”

  “No, you’re the threat,” Alix said.

  “No, you are.”

  A great gust of relief filled Alix. “You are,” she said. This was how they often found their way out of arguments—the ‘no, you are’ game. “I so wish you were here.”

  “I’m back in town tomorrow. I guess one more day can’t hurt.” Karen said. “I’m coming out there. We are gonna figure this out together. You and me.” She sighed. “I guess if he wants to continue to live and does things to keep himself alive, that is the definition of sentience. At least it is on Star Trek.”

  “See?”

  “Yeah. A TV show. Just be careful. Keep some Denali with you at all times.”

  “Wait, tomorrow’s Sunday. I’m bringing him to my parents’ anniversary party. You can meet us there. You’ll see what I’m talking about when you meet him.”

  “You’re bringing him to meet your parents?”

  “He’ll be excited to meet them.”

  “Will you put down a rug so he can curl up next to the fireplace?”

  “Shut up. It’ll be good for him to see how a family works.” Alix told her how he didn’t seem to know everyday things, and couldn’t name books, but had incredibly extensive spy knowledge. “I have to tell him about the danger of Denali sooner or later,” Alix said. “What it might do to him.”

  “Don’t tell him yet. Let me meet him, and we’ll figure it out together,” Karen said. “Okay?”

  When Alix got back into the kitchen, Sir Kendall was dressed and looking perfectly comfortable, even movie-star dapper, in his shirt, which hung open due to its buttonless state. He’d made a pot of tea. “I have a spot of tea every morning,” he informed her.

  “No coffee?”

  “One doesn’t drink coffee.”

  Alix snorted. “This one does.”

  After a leisurely breakfast, Alix showed him around the house and told him about the different projects she needed to complete. Maybe he could stay and help her run the place. Was that selfish? Was it treating him like a pet? Karen was usually right about things like that.

  Out in the carriage house she explained that there’d be room for three cars if all the junk was cleaned out, but the only thing that seemed to interest Sir Kendall was the do
g kennel behind the carriage house.

  “What have we here?” he said when he saw it.

  “My late aunt’s dog kennel,” Alix said. “I need to get rid of it. I would never keep Lindy in a kennel.”

  He wrapped his fingers around one of the smooth vertical bars and gave it a firm shake. It didn’t move. He toed the dirt around the base. “Large for a dog kennel.”

  Alix narrowed her eyes. He had a good point; the thing stood nine or ten feet tall. No dog would be that tall. “Right. Weird. More like a gorilla cage.”

  He gave her a look she couldn’t quite read. “Or a cage for people,” he said.

  Of course a spy would think that. She poked him in the ribs. “I guess somebody had better be on their best behavior, huh?” She laughed and turned and led him back to the house, instantly regretting the joke. She’d found it was bad to make jokes when you didn’t have a grasp of a situation.

  Up in the far bedroom, she showed him how she was stripping paint off the crown molding. “It’s really gratifying to work with your hands and be able to see what you’ve done.”

  He gave her a smoldering look that turned her belly warm. “I do rather enjoy working with my hands, that much is true,” he whispered, taking a few slow steps toward her, backing her up to the wall. He lifted the coffee cup from her hand and set it on the windowsill.

  “I don’t mean that kind of work,” she said as he pressed sweet, slow kisses up her neck.

  “I do,” he said.

  “What about the tour of the woods you wanted?” She pushed him away and waited, heart pounding. It was a little test. She was in control here…wasn’t she?

  He gave her a humorous gaze. “If the lady prefers to conduct the tour of the woods.”

  “The lady does,” she said. “That’s what I’d like right now.”

  “Then by all means,” he said. “It sounds splendid.”

  She smiled. He’d been the perfect gentleman so far; the Denali man through and through. Karen would see that when she met him.

  She excused herself and put on a yellow sundress and converse sneakers with striped socks. She offered him some of her larger, sportier clothes but he was content to wear his button-less shirt and nice slacks. Impractical for hiking, but he did look handsome.

  They set out through the woods to the ridge. He wanted to see every inch of the place, he said. She figured this was part of his spy thing, but maybe it would be healthy for him to be out in nature.

  The sun slanted through the trees as they went, and a light breeze rustled the leaves, making the shadows dance. The ground was muddy in places from an overnight rain. Sir Kendall seemed hyper-attuned to everything—sounds, the ground, the underbrush. He watched Lindy with extra-keen attention, wanting to investigate wherever she nosed.

  They finally reached the top of the ridge, with its breathtaking view of the Mississippi and the Wisconsin hills. Sir Kendall’s shirt flapped in the breeze, revealing his muscled chest.

  “I love to come up here,” she said. “I always feel like my problems are small when I’m up here.”

  “What problems, Alix?” He turned to her. “What problems seem small when you’re up here?”

  “You name it,” she said.

  He waited, looking at her with such warmth and kindness. It made her want to say more.

  “Everything is always harder than you think, that’s all. More complicated. Or everybody has opinions. Or you think you’re doing the right thing, but it turns out all wrong.”

  “Of course,” he said softly. “It’s hard to know the right thing. Much easier to stand by and judge.”

  “Exactly!” She felt the impulse to confide in him. How she messed things up more than her fair share, and always seemed to be disappointing or angering people. It had been bad enough with the house—sometimes she felt like, no matter how much woodwork she sanded, or how many books on plumbing she studied, she was still Crazy Alix, and now she’d gone and brought a man to life. She didn’t want to be selfish. She didn’t want to mess him up, too.

  Hardass Paul’s words came ringing back to her: Martial arts are for serious people, not for somebody who treats everything like a game.

  “Nobody’s perfect, you know? Things don’t always turn out as planned. But you just have to go with it. You make the best of it.”

  “Indeed!” Sir Kendall said, though she sensed he was struggling to understand her. Well, she was barely making sense to herself.

  “Never mind. I have news—my parents’ anniversary party is tomorrow night. You have to come with me. It’ll be fun to meet them.”

  He looked at her as though she’d said something quite mad. “Parents? A party?”

  “It’s what families do. You’ll enjoy yourself, Nick.” How much did he really know of life? She wanted badly to ask him, but how could she ask without insulting him? Do you know how families work, Sir Kendall?

  “A parents’ anniversary party.” He paused a beat, as if he was waiting for her to see the ridiculousness of the idea. “Bringing parents into the mix?”

  “Come on! A little road trip to Minneapolis. What d’ya say?”

  He seemed baffled by the idea. “We’ll see.” Then he pulled a phone from his pocket, pushed a few buttons, and frowned.

  A phone? He had a phone? Who the hell did Sir Kendall have to call? Had he tried George Frame of the CIA?

  He caught her staring. “What thoughts, my sweet?”

  “I didn’t know you had a phone.”

  Playfully he tilted his head. “Indeed I do.”

  Duh. Of course a spy would have a phone!

  “Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem to be working at the moment. Good lord, I’ve gotten signals from the bottom of the ocean and the top of the Matterhorn on this phone. Yet Malcolmsberg, Minnesota is dark territory?”

  “So you’ve had no calls?” she asked, feigning a light tone.

  He smiled and dropped it into his pocket.

  What did that mean?

  “You can use mine,” she offered. She’d be able to see who he called then. Who the hell would he call?

  “That’s quite all right.”

  But nothing surprised her so much as when they came out of the woods an hour later, via a path that took them to the front of the house, and came upon a red sports car.

  “I wonder who’s here,” she said.

  He seemed surprised. “Somebody’s here?”

  “The car. I don’t know that car.”

  “That’s no car, my dear. That’s an Alfa Romeo.”

  “It’s yours? You came with a car?”

  He squinted, amused. “Would you have preferred I parachute in? An airlift? Rope and helicopter perhaps?”

  “Of course not. Right.” She nodded stupidly. Nod nod nod. “Of course.” She didn’t get it. How had he driven there? Or did he show up with a car? There was a car in the background of a lot of the commercials. Maybe the car blinked in when he did. If it had been in the picture, it would make sense. It was probably in the background.

  He retrieved his suitcase from the trunk of his car. What did the Denali man keep in his suitcase?

  “There’d better not be any Denali in there,” she said.

  He smiled. “I assure you, there is not.”

  She climbed up the porch steps and held the front door for him. “I was thinking, if you want a place to set up a base of operations, one of my guest rooms is finished and ready. You could lay out your clothes and spy things there. Your own room.”

  “My spy things?” he asked.

  “No…well, you know.” She didn’t mean to insult him.

  He followed her up to the small room that overlooked the back area and the carriage house. It even had a small desk. He set his suitcase on the bed and opened it, revealing a laptop and a bundle of cash nestled in some clothes. He pulled out the laptop and closed the suitcase.

  A laptop.

  “Bet you don’t use your pet name as a password,” she joked.

  He turned
to her, looking slightly flushed from the hike and so handsome. “Do you?” He lowered his voice. “Will I type Lindy into your computer and gain access to all your secrets?”

  She stifled a smile. “I’ll never tell.”

  He took a step toward her. She took a step back and hit the desk. He took another step, and then he lifted her onto the desk, kissing her gently. He was warm and smelled of rosemary. He pulled away and traced a line down her neck. She felt sure he could feel her excited pulse drumming. Well, she was excited. They were having fun. What was the crime in that?

  He slipped a finger between buttons on the front of her dress. “It’s only a matter of time, you know.” He flicked open a button. His touch felt electric on her skin.

  “A matter of time ‘til what?” she whispered, hooking her hands over his belt, enjoying the feel of his lean, hard stomach against the backs of her fingers.

  “It’s only a matter of time until I know all your secrets.” He smiled his confident, suave smile. He seemed to enjoy himself most when they were doing this sexy spy banter. She couldn’t blame him—she enjoyed it, too. And, anyway, the spy thing provided him continuity with his true home, the Denali commercial, right?

  He undid another button, then another, and caressed her neck with his other hand. Lord help her, she wanted him. “All of your secrets.”

  She smiled happily. “We’ll see about that.”

  He pulled his gun from his pants back, reached around her, and set it with a deep clack on the desk behind her. “Oh!” The gun never failed to startle her. He’d had a gun that whole time?

  He threaded his fingers up through the back of her hair, pulled her to him, and kissed her with new force, his cock like steel against the cushion of her belly.

  “Mmm-hmm,” she said, melting into him.

  “I will know all your secrets,” he whispered, moving his lips to her ear, words warm and soft. “Even the ones you keep from yourself.”

  She snorted. “That’s a lot of secrets.”

  He unzipped the back of her dress and slid the straps over her shoulders, pushing the garment down and creating a little nest around where she sat. She pulled his shirt out of his pants.