Mortal Fear

HARPER> No.

ELEANOR RIGBY> Well, then?

HARPER> You must keep what I am about to tell you absolutely between us.

ELEANOR RIGBY> My lips are sealed. And if you make a horrid male pun I shall disconnect.

HARPER> You’re in danger, Eleanor.

She doesn’t respond for several beats.

ELEANOR RIGBY> What kind of danger?

HARPER> Physical danger. There’s been

I am typing, but suddenly nothing is going through to Eleanor. I stare at the screen in puzzlement until this message appears in large block letters:

SHAME ON YOU, SNITCH

My puzzlement turns to fury. This message can only be from Miles, and its sudden insertion into my private chat with Eleanor tells me something that makes my blood boil. Miles has the ability to read my private communications whenever he pleases. I blink as further characters appear.

SORRY TO INTRUDE

BUT WE CAN’T HAVE YOU

SCARING THE PAYING CUSTOMERS

LOOSE CANNON AND ALL THAT

PLEASE FIND SOME OTHER WAY TO GET ELEANOR

OFF THE NET

IF YOU MUST

CIAO

The next words that appear are:

ELEANOR RIGBY> What just happened?

She must not have seen Miles’s message. I type:

HARPER> A glitch in my modem.

What now? Do I ignore Miles? Go ahead and warn Eleanor and a few others? My anger says yes. But what will be the result? A network-wide panic, probably. Eleanor and I are very close, but she has a writer’s imagination and love of drama. Could she really keep secret the possibility that there is a murderer stalking the female clients of EROS?

ELEANOR RIGBY> You said I was in danger. Physical danger. What were you talking about?

HARPER> You misunderstood. That was the start of a fantasy file I wrote for you this morning. It was sort of a Mata Hari thing, spies and sex, with you in the lead role.

ELEANOR RIGBY> Well, if that’s the case, send it through!

HARPER> My modem’s on the blink. Pretty embarrassing for the sysop, isn’t it? I’ll have it fixed by tomorrow. I’ll put the file through then. Sorry to interrupt you for nothing.

ELEANOR RIGBY> Wait, Harper. I hate to confess this, but knowing you don’t need me right now makes me need you. Could you possibly conjure up some stimulating prose for a lonely 30-year-old spinster with an itch?

HARPER> You mean realtime?

ELEANOR RIGBY> Yes.

HARPER> Unusual for you. How stimulating?

ELEANOR RIGBY> My sister is at a film with her one friend. I have the house all to my selfish self. Please make it hot enough for an online conclusion; i.e. once we get to the good stuff, please don’t stop until I signal with a shriek of ecstasy.

I pause, trying to rein in my thoughts. I honestly don’t feel like this tonight. Especially after Drewe and I had our actual-reality interlude in the Explorer. But Eleanor has done me this favor many nights.

HARPER> Romantic or dangerous?

ELEANOR RIGBY> Romantic _and_ dangerous.

HARPER> All right. We are finally meeting face to face. Seeing each other for the first time.

ELEANOR RIGBY> Where?

HARPER> The Peabody Hotel. Memphis, Tennessee. We’re in the lobby, a huge open room with a bar and a grand piano and ducks and tons of atmosphere.

ELEANOR RIGBY> _Ducks_?

HARPER> Symbol of the hotel. Trust me.

ELEANOR RIGBY> Oh, I do.

HARPER> I’m not as handsome as you have imagined me, but you aren’t disappointed. I have a certain power over you that you didn’t expect. You want to please me, and this makes you a little angry. You understand?

ELEANOR RIGBY> Perfectly. What do you think of me?

HARPER> Mercy fuck.

ELEANOR RIGBY> Harper!

HARPER> Sorry. ;) You’re more beautiful than I imagined. Your body-double’s body was a given, but your symmetry still surprises me. Petite, and your face more feminine than I could envision.

ELEANOR RIGBY> Feminine how?

HARPER> The blend of curve and angle. Softs and hards. Cheek and jaw. Defined brows, nebulous eyes. Dusk is falling on the Memphis streets, over the river. Yellow lamps come up inside and light you like a painter’s hand.

ELEANOR RIGBY> What am I wearing?