Part 3 (1/2)

I got out. With my weight out of the front seat, the right side of the Cadillac bounded up a little, lifting the edge of the door from the curb; but when Julie slid over to pull the door closed it sank down again. Cursing, she tried to scoot her b.u.t.t as far to the left as possible without letting go of the door handle.

”Maybe I should do this,” I said.

”I've got it!” Julie snapped. With a last curse, she gave up the delicate approach and yanked the door shut, sc.r.a.ping off another layer of paint. There was a loud click as she slapped the door b.u.t.ton down.

”Good night!” I called to her. ”Thanks for inviting me out!” If she said good night back I didn't hear it; as I bent down to the pa.s.senger window to wave good-bye, Julie revved the Cadillac's engine and pulled away. Just up the street she hit a pothole, generating another huge shower of sparks; this time it sounded like something had actually fallen off the car's undercarriage, but Julie never even slowed down.

I woke up the next morning with a splitting headache. A present from Adam: though he'd taken half the drunk, he left me the whole hangover. It felt like the house was on fire.

To make things worse, my father was angry with me: ”You shouldn't have given Adam the body.”

”Well I wouldn't have,” I said, ”if I'd known he was going to behave that way.”

”How he behaved is beside the point. Running the body is supposed to be your job.”

”But Julie asked to speak to Adam!”

”And that's why you gave up control? Because Julie asked you to?”

”Well. . .”

”Well?” my father demanded.

”I was confused. . . I didn't really understand what Julie wanted, and Adam said he did, so --”

”No,” my father said. ”That's no good, Andrew. You're in charge of the body -- but you won't stay in charge if you give Adam the idea he can come out whenever you're confused. From now on, when we're out in public, I don't want you giving up the body for any reason other than a life-and-death emergency. Understood?”

”Understood,” I said. ”But. . .”

”Andrew -- ”

”But what if somebody asks to speak to Adam, and I'm not confused about it, but I just don't want to be rude? What do I do then?”

”If somebody needs to speak to Adam, you come talk to me about it first. And then I'll make sure Adam behaves.”

He decided not to punish me, figuring the hangover was punishment enough. The hangover, and also the consequences of my mistake -- once my head started to clear, it dawned on me that Julie and I hadn't exchanged phone numbers, so I had no way of getting in touch with her. She did know my address, and for a few days I held out hope that she might drop by, but after a week with no visit I reluctantly concluded that Adam had scared her off.

Then about a week after that I was walking on Bridge Street when some tourists stopped to ask me for directions. They were French Canadians who didn't speak English very well, and I ended up calling Aunt Sam out to the pulpit to help translate. It was a laborious process -- Aunt Sam would tell me what the tourists had said, and I would tell her what I wanted to say back, and she would give me the French, and I would try to repeat it out loud. After the tourists finally drove off, I turned and found Julie Sivik standing beside me, smiling and shaking her head.

”Amazing,” she said. ”Like watching someone receive a satellite transmission. So who's the French-speaker in the family? Your cousin Adam again?”

”No,” I said, ”my Aunt Samantha -- really she's my cousin too, but we call her Aunt Sam because she's older.” I went on: ”Adam's still being punished for what he did in the bar.”

”Punished? How?”

”Well, for a while after he drank the beer he wouldn't come out of his room, so my father locked him in for three days. He's got the run of the house again now, but he still can't come out on the pulpit for another week.”

”Sounds pretty harsh,” Julie said, but there was an undertone of approval in her voice.

”What Adam did to you was very rude,” I said. ”And I was wrong too, to just let him out without warning you.”

”Yeah, well, I was kind of freaked out by that,” Julie admitted. ”I was also p.i.s.sed about the car. .

”I'd be happy to pay for repainting the door,” I offered.

”Nah, it's no big deal. . . The paint job wasn't so great to begin with, to be honest.”

”No, really, let me pay for it. . . Or at least, let me pay you back, once I start my new job.”

”New job?” Julie said. ”That's right, I heard you were looking for work.”

”Heard from who?”

”Your old boss. I was out at Bit Warehouse the other day and I asked for you, but the manager told me you'd quit.”

”You asked for me? Really?”

”Yeah, well. . . once I calmed down, I felt kind of bad about just dumping you in front of your place that night. I had to pick up some things at the Warehouse anyway, so I thought I'd see how you were. But you were gone. So what's the new job?”

”I haven't actually found one yet,” I said. ”I'm having a little problem with references.”

Julie nodded. ”Yeah, the guy I talked to at the Warehouse mentioned something about a drug problem.” She raised an eyebrow. ”Adam again?”

”Not exactly. . . It's kind of a long story.”

”Another 'complicated truth'?” Julie grinned. ”What kind of work are you looking for?”

I shrugged. ”Anything, really. As long as it's something I can learn on the job.”

”Any objections to working with computers again?”

”No. . . except that I still don't know that much about them. Why?”

”Just a thought,” Julie said. ”My lease starts today -- my commercial lease, the one for the business I'm starting? -- and I was actually just on my way down to check the place out. I could use an extra pair of hands while I'm setting things up. . . and who knows, there might even be a long-term position in it for you.”

”I don't see how,” I said. ”I mean, I'll be happy to help you get your office set up, but I honestly don't know anything about virtual reality.”

”Oh, but you do, though. You know more about it than anyone I've ever met.”

”I don't know anything about it!” I protested. ”I don't even know what it is. You never told me.”

”Put it this way: it's a lot like what you've got in your head.”

”You mean it's like the house? But that can't be right. The house isn't real.”

”Well, neither is virtual reality.”