Mr. Real

by Carolyn Crane

  “Suit yourself,” Sir Kendall replied.

  Alix snorted. “Don’t worry, he will.” She pointed out notable locals, such as the mayor, who dined with his family in the corner. She related a number of townie anecdotes; she seemed to want to monopolize the conversation. Paul practically inhaled his beer and ordered another when the waitress came back to deliver their frog’s legs and take their dinner orders. Once she left, he went for the complimentary pickle and olive plate.

  “Really, you are joking,” Sir Kendall said.

  Paul looked up, face flushed. “What?” The word came out hot. Good God, it was as if the very sound of his voice set his clone off.

  “One never shakes out his napkin before placing it in one’s lap; you are to unfold it. And you don’t eat right out of a common dish, you transfer the contents you desire to your side plate.”

  Paul finished munching his pickle, washed it down with beer, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Then he turned his eyes squarely to Sir Kendall, like a pair of lasers locking onto a target.

  With flat-out hate.

  A tense silence bore down on the table.

  “Wow! This is so fun,” Alix said.

  More silence.

  Casually, Sir Kendall lifted his Denali and sipped, relishing the emotions rolling off the clone. “Word to the wise, old chap,” he said. “The outside one’s your salad fork. I don’t see how you’ll ever replace me convincingly.”

  Alix smiled over at Paul. “Doesn’t know his salad fork. Sad Puma!” Again she planted her fists on her hips. “Puma’s only four years old.”

  She was always playing at something, this girl.

  Dimples deepened in Alix’s cheeks as Paul eyed her. Then she looked down; a clumsy attempt to hide how she sparkled for him.

  How had he not seen it before?

  She loved the man. This clone.

  It was possible she didn’t realize it herself, but Sir Kendall knew women. He glanced at Paul. Did it go both ways? How could it be?

  The waitress came and passed around salads.

  Sir Kendall slid a hand around Alix’s shoulder, traced circles with his fingertips on her bare skin, eyeing Paul. “What do you think of our girl’s outfit?”

  Clone Paul shrugged and cut a tomato in half.

  “Oh, don’t give me that. Surely you’re impressed.”

  Paul shot him a dark look. “There’s no end to you, is there?”

  “Christ, you guys,” Alix said, removing his hand from her shoulder. “I’m the one who said this was a bad idea. But now that we’re here at the restaurant, maybe let’s try and not act like freaks. Pass the salt, would you?”

  Paul passed the salt, and Alix salted her salad profusely. Nervous. She wasn’t typically a big salter.

  She said, “You guys are going to be so mad you didn’t order the duck. I’ll let you taste mine if you goddamn behave.”

  “You’re not even impressed with the necklace?” Sir Kendall continued. “That’s a king’s ransom in rubies she’s wearing there.”

  “No, it’s not.” She stabbed a cucumber. “It’s expensive, but not a king’s ransom.”

  “What do you think, clone?”

  “The lady says it’s not,” Paul said.

  “My dear sir, you must never take a lady’s word for her age or the quality of her jewels. If you’re ever to take my place, you must remember that.” He turned to Alix. “And you, my pet, are either lying or greatly deceived.” He reached over to touch the necklace—and her. He did it for Paul’s benefit, but a chill came over him as he fingered the piece, turning the center stone from side to side. The rubies were far more exquisite than he’d thought at first glance, quite possibly the most exquisite gems he’d ever seen. “Great rubies have a certain mild brilliance, a velvety quality of light. What you have here is the finest collection of stones I’ve seen inside or outside of a palace—or a museum, for that matter. The minuteness of the inclusions, bright scattering, the florescence, and the stones matched as they are? My god, that’s easily ten million dollars draped around your neck, my dear. Possibly twenty,” he added.

  He dropped the necklace and found her staring at him, stunned. Had she honestly thought the piece cheap? She placed her hand at her throat. “This is a ninety-thousand dollar necklace.”

  Sir Kendall laughed. “I’d put the center stone alone up there with the Mandalay Ruby. In a heartbeat.” In this he was perfectly frank—he’d seen rubies that size, but not that quality. It seemed impossible that they’d exist without being known. “Wherever did you come by it?”

  “Um…a gift. In a way.”

  From Hyko? No, this was beyond Hyko. These rubies…they were impossible.

  “I suppose it’s all quite subjective,” she said. “With gems.”

  She couldn’t be more wrong. “Care for a fresh drink, my dear?”

  “Sure,” she said.

  “I’ll take a beer,” Paul said.

  Sir Kendall excused himself and strolled across the restaurant to the bar. He needed another Denali—a double—and he didn’t want to wait for Tall Hair.

  Up at the bar, he slid his hands over the heavily varnished wood, waiting for the bartender, who was busy at the other end.

  Near priceless rubies on this trashy girl, his face on an American brawler, the lawn statues, the deadly attacks that never materialized, the chaos of meaningless details. And what history were these two concealing? He’d find out.

  If Paul wasn’t so badly beaten up, Sir Kendall could impersonate him with Alix, or the clone’s fighter friend, Tonio. He could kill the clone and penetrate Hyko’s organization. The idea of killing Paul bothered him, but that was just more reason to do it.

  It would feel good to get rid of Paul—like pulling an aching tooth.

  He looked across the restaurant at them, cultivating his old detachment until he could see them as merely useful. Sources of information.

  But the clone was healing so slowly! Sir Kendall had never seen a face heal so slowly. The fight had taken place over a day ago, after all. The rare times when Sir Kendall’s wounds didn’t heal straightaway, he would utilize the healing ointment from his medical kit, typically applied to his face by kind barmaids or pretty nurses. Such ministrations worked wonders when he needed to look presentable. Didn’t Paul have ointment he could use?

  Everybody had ointment.

  Then again, his rules and assumptions hadn’t been panning out lately.

  He could offer his own ointment to Paul. Then they could look identical again.

  He found himself thinking about what Alix’s friend Karen had said to him, about theories and the earth’s rotation. He wished he could talk with her some more about that. She was beautiful, the kind of woman most men would miss. And the only person in this place who seemed to speak his language. What she’d said to him suggesting that everything was situational, it was interesting.

  There was a key in that, too.

  The bartender delivered his Denali. He sipped. It was just the thing. Well, that’s one fact that hadn’t changed.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  “This is fun. I’m so not glad you came.” Alix pulled a circular powder thing and lipstick from her small purse. The powder thing had a name, but Paul couldn’t think of it. He could barely think at all.

  The many physical beatings he’d taken in his life—as a boy, and later, as a fighter—were nothing compared to the pain he associated with Sir Kendall. The pain of Sir Kendall ate at him from the inside. Sometimes he thought it might consume him.

  But he couldn’t let them dine alone.

  “Even clones have to eat.” He ripped open another pack of crackers. What would they be talking about if he wasn’t here? Would this be a romantic dinner?

  She glared at him, then looked into the little mirror. Lord, she was hot. It was more than her looks, it was the way she sat. The bright energy behind her stupid jokes about his clone age. The way she thought everything was funny—and hid it badly.
It was the way she put on lipstick now, drawing the pink knob slowly over her lips, tracing the path he’d very much like to drag his lips around. And no, he didn’t know about fashion or jewels like Sir Kendall did, but he had plenty of thoughts about Alix’s outfit—specifically that it was full of personality, just like her. And even more, the lush curves underneath, the tantalizing tightness of the fabric around her breasts and what her skin would feel like, how her body would feel against his, the taste of those glossy pink lips.

  “Just innocently hungry.” She snapped the little mirror closed. “Really, why would you say yes? What do you goddamn want?”

  “To make sure he doesn’t step out of line.”

  “All he wants to do is play the spy and write his spy emails and drink Denali. You need to cut him a break.”

  “He sends emails? To who?”

  “Who cares? It’s the Internet.” She shoved her makeup back into her purse. “Seriously, Paul. You have an irrational thing about him and it freaks me out. The way you look at him, I can tell you want to attack him.”

  “But I didn’t, did I?”

  “Not today.”

  “Alix, your aunt sent those guys back. You have to ask yourself—why? And the necklace you ordered from the magic computer—suddenly they’re super-gems? The best freaking rubies on the planet?”

  She fingered the jewels. “He likes my necklace. Clearly in league with the devil.”

  He felt the frustration bubble up. “I know you were surprised. I could tell. And I think it’s a very bad sign that suddenly even he is shocked at their quality. Think about it. He heals as fast as a vampire. He knows about all kinds of things. And, his fighting skills match the skills of—not to boast, but let’s face it—an elite champion.”

  “Not to boast,” she put in.

  “He has super healing and super fighting. The world is like an ecosystem. When you introduce a superior predator, things go wrong, fast.”

  “It’s not a crime to be superior. To be stronger. You know who thinks that? The assholes who killed King Kong.”

  “This isn’t King Kong.”

  She snorted. “You’re stronger than me. Maybe I should kill you. Or, I know.” She held up a finger. “How about if you judge the man by his actions instead of what you worry he might do? Have you actually seen him do something wrong?”

  “Uh, he handcuffed you and—”

  “I explained that! But of course I’m so stupid you have to define everything for me. Please teach me, Paul, because I’m an idiot. I’m so stupid I don’t know what anything is and I don’t like the right things.”

  “You didn’t like it.”

  “Thanks for that clarification.”

  “What? You want to tell me you did?”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Well, maybe he needs a little work on his technique.”

  “A little work on his technique? Like the part where you screamed for him to stop and he didn’t?”

  “Guess you had to be there.”

  “I know what it is when a woman screams. God, think for a second, Alix, think!”

  She glared at him—white hot hate. In a hoarse whisper she said, “I am thinking. Don’t you dare treat me like an imbecile.”

  He saw it then. He’d gone too far. “I’m sorry,” Paul raised his hands. “I’m sorry. It’s a hot button for me. People made helpless against their will.”

  Her gaze softened. “Why, Paul?”

  He looked down. “It just does.”

  “Well, it wasn’t exactly against my will. I wanted it to be like that.”

  Paul swallowed. Of course. He could barely imagine it.

  Except he could.

  He forced himself to open another pack of crackers, concentrated on the crackers.

  If it had been him, he would’ve taken it as a sacred responsibility that Alix would’ve even considered allowing him that kind of power. It would be like her saying, I trust and accept everything in you. For her to want and trust him like that, to accept him so completely, it would be a gift of a magnitude he could barely imagine. A gift he certainly didn’t deserve.

  It would be a gift like love.

  That was what she’d given to Sir Kendall. That suave, empty monster. How could she have given him that? How could she have brought him to life? Paul hated her for bringing him to life.

  But there was a part of her that was really ordering him—Paul—he felt sure of it. From day one, they’d had such a fierce connection. It wasn’t just random she’d hooked into Sir Kendall. It had to be a little bit about him.

  Except she’d brought Sir Kendall to life instead. It was careless. It was flattering and careless and thrilling and enraging all at once.

  Why? Why had she gone for the shallow caricature? A man who, as far as she knew, ran no deeper than an extra from central casting? Didn’t she know how gorgeous she was? Didn’t she see how much more deserved? Didn’t she know a real man could love her?

  Was it fear? A self-esteem thing?

  Something hit his face. “Hey.”

  Alix. She’d thrown a cracker wrapper at him, and now she was smiling at him from across the table. “Where’d you go? I said it’s okay. I have a hot button for being seen as an irresponsible imbecile. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Dimples. Mock-angry eyes. “Okay.”

  It was amazing, the way emotions blew through her. She trod so lightly on the earth. Like a fairy. In pink hair. She was beautiful.

  Just then the waitress arrived and set the entrees on front of them, and Sir Kendall strolled up and stopped behind Alix’s chair with a smile for Paul.

  Paul clenched his teeth as Sir Kendall set his hands possessively upon Alix’s bare shoulders. He kissed her cheek, watching Paul all the while.

  Alix pointed at his empty seat. “Dude! Dinner is served.”

  Sir Kendall smiled smugly.

  At him.

  He knew. He knew how much Paul hated him, how he felt about Alix—no doubt Sir Kendall had suspected it for some time. Sir Kendall, expert needler, expert killer.

  He was a predator of the first degree, and Alix refused to see it. The more Paul pushed her to see it, the more she refused.

  And if he hadn’t acted so crazy around Sir Kendall, she might trust him more.

  Paul took up his knife and fork and began sawing, seething, needing to do something other than wipe the smug smile off Sir Kendall’s face with his fists. Be sane, be civil, he told himself, that’s how you help her.

  It went against everything in him.

  He’d always addressed problems through strength. Tough it out. Ignore the pain. A handy skill he’d developed due to all those years of his stepbrothers torturing him like they tortured bugs and small animals, though Paul’s torture carried less deadly results. Sometimes that had seemed like a kindness, that they let him live. Other times it had not seemed like a kindness at all. In the end, it had made him nearly unstoppable as a fighter. Impervious to pain.

  And now this. A new pain. A pain he couldn’t ignore.

  The pain of Alix in danger. And helping her only made it worse.

  And she’d ordered the man! He needed to not be mad about that. God, the whole thing was crazy-making.

  He sawed and sawed. Then he looked up, found them both staring. Sir Kendall had taken his seat.

  “What do you know, they got it right,” Paul said to no one in particular. “Medium rare.” Could they see it? The raging sea inside him? He needed to present a sane front to Alix.

  The waitress delivered the new drinks that Sir Kendall had ordered for them at the bar. Sir Kendall put his hand on Alix’s arm again, touching her on purpose.

  Paul tried not to imagine them together, but suddenly he couldn’t stop. Sir Kendall would be a strategic, dispassionate lover, all cold technique. The ultimate ladies man. Maybe even supernatural. He’d manipulate her, he’d make her come over and over.

  And it would mean nothing. He would kill her just as easily.

  “Pe
nny for your thoughts, old chap.”

  Old chap.

  Paul looked him straight in the eye. Sir Kendall knew damn well what he was thinking.

  But Paul was getting his focus back. He could do this. He could do it. He let the calm spread over him. Let Sir Kendall see that he was back in control. “It’ll cost you,” Paul said, allowing the pause to stand a beat too long, “far more than a penny.”

  Sir Kendall smiled uncertainly. “Perhaps.”

  Paul let the silence stand.

  “Ho-kay,” Alix said. “So lovely to see that’s been established.” She turned to Sir Kendall and asked him a question about British food, began to chat about different types of cuisine. She seemed interested in hearing him describe past dining experiences.

  Paul mashed butter into his baked potato. Sane front. Sane front.

  Drycleaner Norm Feldman stopped by, just as they were finishing up dessert. “Together at last,” Norm said. “You could’ve knocked me over with a feather.” The three of them laughed merrily about the button-less shirt. Paul sipped his decaf with perfect civility.

  And then came the trip home, with warm, supple, sweet, slightly tipsy Alix on his lap, soft thighs pressing down against his, and, most overwhelming of all, he could smell her. Something flowery, but not too sweet. Sometimes, when Sir Kendall took a corner, his lips came within millimeters of her shoulder, and he would close his eyes, enjoying her warmth.

  How could he protect her when she was on this crazy mission to help Sir Kendall?

  She needed something better than strength from him. He needed to step up in some new way. He thought about what her mother had said, about finding common ground.

  Then his mind drifted back, as it so often did, to Master Veecha, a talk they’d had back when Paul’s greatest opponent was Barton, a vicious fighter who showboated after every win. And beat Paul in every fight. God, Paul hated Barton.

  He could remember lying exhausted on the mat in an empty warehouse after yet another loss to Barton. Master Veecha standing over him, lighting a cigarette. For being old and wise, Veecha was a wild man who drove fast and smoked and drank too much.