VirtualDesire by Ann Lawrence

dance
floor. Her gaze went to Vad again. She swayed and hummed to the music—a Celtic
piece, mournful and somehow alluring. “Vad hasn’t danced yet, has he?”
    Neil shook his head. “Somehow he doesn’t look like the
dancing kind.” He took her glass of punch and sniffed it. “How many cups of
this have you had?”
    “It’s great, isn’t it? Who made it? There’s this spicy hint
of—”
    “It’s spiked. Or it was,” he said. “I took care of it, but
some wicked warrior added a little extra ingredient.”
    “Oops. I hope we don’t get arrested.” A giggle bubbled in
her throat. “Imagine R. Walter storming in here and arresting us for spiked
mead or ale or whatever we’re pretending it is.”
    “Yeah, well, Ocean City is dry—and R. Walter will never
believe you didn’t know the punch was spiked. Now, how many cups have you had?
You’re grinning like a fool.”
    “I only had maybe four…maybe eight cups.”
    “You’ll feel great in the morning!” He shook his head and
stalked off with her cup.
    Mrs. Hill took his place. Her long blonde wig and two silver
arm rings proclaimed her a Tolemac free woman of rank. “Vad is such a doll,
isn’t he?” she chirped.
    “Yep.” Gwen smiled. Mrs. Hill’s cheeks were flushed a hectic
red.
    “I don’t think he’s used to giving autographs, though.”
    “No.”
    “He gave me the most wonderful recipe for hart stew.”
    Gwen coughed. “He gave you a recipe? That’s a new one.”
    “Oh, yes, although he was a bit sheepish about it. Cooking
is women’s work in Tolemac, you know. Of course, he told me quite sternly that
one should never take the meat of the white hart.” Mrs. Hill’s voice was a
grave imitation of Vad’s.
    “Oh, of course not, not the white hart.”
    “Strange, he’s never heard of turmeric. I used to make quite
a venison stew myself when Kurt, my husband, hunted, and I always used a touch
of turmeric. By the way, your costume is gorgeous! You’re the ice woman, aren’t
you?”
    “Yes, do you really like it?” Gwen felt inordinately
pleased. She’d spent hours on the costume. For once, she felt almost beautiful
in the billowy layers of silk.
    Mrs. Hill nodded approval. “I love it. I never quite
understood the ice woman’s role in the game. She’s just a suggestion, a swirl
of snow and ice. Somehow you’ve made her into a living, breathing entity.” She
adjusted one of the many jagged layers of Gwen’s gown. “And how’s Neil doing?
Is his mother still recovering from her accident?”
    “Yes,” Gwen said. She was not going to discuss Neil’s mother
with Mrs. Hill. Everyone in Ocean City knew Mrs. Scott had driven into a bridge
abutment of the Garden State Parkway and had had a blood alcohol level way over
the legal limit. Unfortunately it wasn’t her first DWI.
    “I know she’s had skin grafts and God knows what done, poor woman.”
    His mother’s history of problems had made Neil quit graduate
school and return to Ocean City in the first place—this latest tragedy merely
meant he was home indefinitely. Neil always turned the conversation when it
veered toward his widowed mother and her accident. What a pair they made—both
unable to deal with their family problems.
    “And remind me to introduce you to that Gulap over there,”
Mrs. Hill said sotto voce. “He’s single and making a very good living.”
    Gwen groaned. The man Mrs. Hill indicated, dressed as a
leopard-like Tolemac creature, was three times Gwen’s size—around the middle.
    “It’s time you married again, you know. Time for some
babies!”
    Tears filled Gwen’s eyes. What chance had she of having her
own children? She needed a husband for that. She needed to fall in love before
she could have a husband, and she never wanted to take a chance on love again.
    She’d loved twice. R. Walter had defected with her sister,
and Bob… She didn’t want to think about Bob. It’s just the punch making me maudlin ,
she decided, and