LESLIE WHAT

COMPATIBILITY CLAUSE

Reality Rod's was a gymnasium-sized concrete box, its dark walls gray like
tire-packed snow. I stopped in, hoping to catch the Night Before Christmas
Warehouse Clearance. A salesman sporting a brown goatee asked if he could help
me.

"I'm interested in a discount reality," I said.

"Sorry," he said, "but our sale doesn't start until seven."

In times past I might have left without protest, but I sensed this was my last
chance. I had already blown most of our joint Keogh plan on a series of
surgeries, and wasn't about to give up now.

I took off my wool cloak and hung it over the chair-back beside the workstation
display. "I can't come back," I said, flipping on my power-voice. I accessed the
assertiveness program. "And I need a unit. Tonight."

He looked me over, perhaps awed by my newly enhanced physique: your basic
leaner, meaner me with added turbo-thrust, in all the right places.

"Maybe I could make one exception," he said.

I flipped off the power-voice. There was no point in mining what remained of my
reputation. "Thanks," I said, giving what I knew was a matronly grin.
"Appreciate the help."

"According to stats, most women are afraid of technology. I'd recommend the
MacOuterface Lifestyle System-38."

"Fine," I said. "So long as I don't need to read any manuals."

"Works intuitively. Women's strong point, I hear."

"Yes," I said, though what most people called intuition was just as often magic.

"Of course, its main selling feature is compatibility. You plug the link in
here." He pointed to where metal ports had been implanted in my temples.

I forgot to ask what those holes were for," I said.

His raised his upper lip, as if unsure whether to smile or sneer.

I slipped off my granny glasses and brought my fingertips to the port's cold
rim. "Technology. Never understood it."

"Funny the doctors didn't tell you."

"Oh, they might have, but I wasn't paying attention. Too much else on my mind."

"Thought your husband would explain it, later?" He took a step backward,
probably worried that he'd upset me.

"Something like it," I said.

"We sell a lot of these units to the wives," he said, nodding his head in
sympathy. He sat to open a file. "Didn't catch your first name."

"Mrs.," I said. I gave him my credit card, then left for home.

There was work to be done before I could link up. I ironed The Suit; set the VCR
to record Arsenio; left a message on the elves' com-line, reminding them to
complete their orders by midnight; programmed the oven to convect for thirty
minutes, then switch to microwave until the cheese melted. I opened a dark
Cabernet to let it breathe, and set the table.

I unpacked the computer, plugged the trodes into my temples, and linked. The
next thing I knew I was sitting in a small room in front of a shiny metal door
marked Enter Net. My legs were unnaturally bent in the lotus position.

"Greetings," said the humanoid tech projected onto the door. "I'm your
MacOuterface Lifestyle System-38." His white coat stopped mid-thigh and he stood
with his left hip thrust forward. He held a plastic comb in one hand, his chin
in the other, shears dangling from his pinkie. "What can we do with you, today?"
he asked.

"I'm not sure," I said. "It's just that my husband doesn't notice me anymore."

"Well, well, well," he said. "I think we can make you more presentable."

He scanned my face and wagged his index finger. "There's nothing to be done with
these wrinkles, but we could do something with the gray," he said.

I noticed my reflection in the metal door. Suddenly, green fluorescent lightning
bolts surged around my head.

"I was thinking more traditional," I said.

"I doubt traditional will cut it. How about this?" He gave me green horns,
tomato worms gored on the ends. "And this .... "He made my teeth jagged, gray as
boiled chicken bones, then turned my face into inside-out cellulite, for laughs.
"I think he'll notice you now. Anything else I can do you for?" he said.

I considered my options momentarily before blurting out, "I don't know how to
get inside the Net."

"No problemo," he said. "MacOuterface reads all systems. Virtually intuitive.
Only your hairdresser knows for sure."

"That's what they said at the store."

"Ready or not, here you come. Just say 'Glow' when you want to come out." He
held the door open and I entered.

I hadn't expected such a vast space, and I stood for a moment, looking around.
There were hundreds of men and boys sword-fighting on different levels of
reality, lions and tigers crouched in comers, rocket ships zipping above me.
There were three women dressed as princesses. I simply could not understand what
my husband saw here, or had this reality changed once I entered it, become a
tedious existence, like our marriage?

I saw my target then, the fat little man with the merry eyes and the white beard
made of clouds. He appeared as Merlin for the D&D game he'd come to role-play
with a friend who called himself NESSIE. They had played the game daily for the
past six months; it had reached the point where my husband could no longer
fulfill either his marital or contractual obligations.

"Honey," I said softly. When he didn't answer, I flipped on my assertiveness
program. I screamed, a bloodcurdling roar that sent shocks across the field.
Action stopped as my husband turned toward me.

"Who are you?" he asked. The sparkle in his eyes melted to fear. I loved him so
this way.

"Dear," I said in a wicked, throaty grunt. "Did you forget? We talked about
having a nice supper before you left for work."

His shoulders slumped. "That's right," he said. "Be there in a second."

I caught the look he gave NESSIE, caught NESSIE mouth back, "Wives."

"Just let me save my game," he said, "and I'll come right out."

"Fine, but I mean business." To make my point, I plucked a bird from the Net and
stuffed it into my mouth. I let the blood drool down my chin, and laughed,
snorting out red feathers through my nose.

"Glow," I said, and I was out of the Net. I pulled out the trodes and walked
into the dining room to wait.

He trudged in from the general direction of the workshop.

"Hi," he said. "What's for dinner?"

"Did you forget what day it was?"

"Sorry, dear. I just get so caught up in that game."

I pushed him down into his chair. At that moment I saw that I didn't give a hoot
about the children, or what they got for Christmas. What I craved was ultimate
power over my household. I poured us both dark wine and pushed his glass toward
him, spilling a few drops on the tablecloth. I sniffed the rich bouquet, swirled
the liquid around the rim, then watched the wine's red legs drip slowly down the
the crystal.

"To us," I said, and drank without waiting for his second.

"How was your day?"

"Fine," he said. He took a tiny sip of wine and wrinkled his face. It pleased me
that he didn't care for the strong nose of the Cabernet.

"You've managed to find your own reality, now," he said, his voice barely a
whisper.

"Now Santa," I answered. "Magic worked for most of time, but it's become such a
complicated world I felt like I needed technology to compete."