VirtualDesire by Ann Lawrence Page A

surreptitiously wiped her eyes. “Thanks for the offer, Mrs.
Hill. But I’m really not in the market for a husband. I’m quite happy by
myself.”
    “Nonsense. Look at your sister. Two boys and a third on the
way.”
    A third on the way. She hadn’t known Pam was expecting.
“I’ve got to go, Mrs. Hill.” For a moment the room spun, and she felt the full
effects of her cups of spiked punch.
    “Oh, stand still,” a woman of almost six feet cried. She
aimed a camera at Gwen and fired off a few shots. The chief photographer for Video
Game magazine, Liz Williams, bore down on Gwen like a Tolemac army
besieging a fortress. Liz was instrumental in obtaining coverage for Gwen’s
ball each year.
    “Hi, Liz.” Gwen welcomed the interruption. Mrs. Hill walked
away. “I’m so glad you could make it.”
    “I wouldn’t miss it! I get to dress up like a medieval
princess and take pictures of devastatingly gorgeous men. I’ve got at least two
rolls of him!” The photographer jerked her thumb in Vad’s direction. Behind her
stood a small man who was scribbling on a notepad. As diminutive as he was, he
would be the one to translate the event into words. Gwen gave him a warm smile.
    Liz spoke in exclamations all the time and at the top of her
lungs. Her yellow costume clashed badly with a purple tote bag bulging with
lenses and film.
    “Do you have everything you need?” Gwen asked. Video
Game’s feature on her ball last year had meant thousands of dollars in
mail-order business for Virtual Heaven.
    Liz leaned near, her breath a blast of spiked punch. “No!”
she shouted in Gwen’s ear. “I want that warrior! And maybe that evil-looking
dark guy standing next to him. He’d make a tasty appetizer!”
    Gwen followed the direction Liz pointed and saw Neil talking
to Vad. The contrast in the men’s hair color and garb was striking. They did
look inviting together—edible, even.
    Neil caught her eye and winked.
    Whoa. I must be drunk , Gwen thought. Neil never
winks. Never.
    “What a pair of great asses!” Liz gushed. “Do you think a
man’s penis size is in direct proportion to his height?” Liz’s reporter flushed
red across his balding forehead.
    “Liz! Lower your voice.” Luckily the classical music, surely
something Neil had picked, soared into a crescendo and drowned her words. Gwen
fanned herself with a program.
    To distract Liz, Gwen guided her around the perimeter of the
room, past the refreshment tables, the only non-Tolemac spot in the room.
Modern buffet servers were filled with hot and cold foods and mountains of
saltwater taffy and bowls of caramel-covered popcorn.
    “Do you think that guy who builds the hardware for the Tolemac
Wars game—what’s his name…?”
    “Gary Morfran, the hardware genius?”
    “Yeah, that’s him. Do you think he’ll be making any changes
to the virtual reality gear this year? I’d really like to interview him,” Liz
said.
    “I don’t know. I’d personally like him to make the headset
lighter. Mrs. Hill’s always complaining.”
    “And where’d you learn to make such fabulous costumes?” Liz
asked as she peeled a lemon taffy and crammed it into her mouth. Her next
remarks were lost in garbled-candy exclamations. Something about icicles and
ribbons.
    “I majored in textile arts in college, and I’ve been
painting fabric ever since. Usually I make quilted bags or vests, but this time
I went all out and did a whole dress. It’s silk. Seven shades of white and
silver painted on—”
    “Stand in front of that fake snowdrift,” Liz interrupted
her. “The lights overhead make you sparkle.” She fluttered her hands through
the silver ribbons on Gwen’s sleeves. “In fact, let’s open a door, blow some
wind through here.”
    “No! Liz, no.” But it was too late. In a burst of salty,
watery wind, Liz tore open a door. All Gwen’s snowdrifts lifted, swirled, and
gusted into the air. “Shit.”
    “Now that was far from ladylike,” Neil said, and