“It’s not like he’s a rock star,” Justine said, laughing.
“He’s more than that,” Troy said. “He’s a legend.” Seeing her reaction, he said, “No, seriously. Cult-figure level.”
Justine gave him a skeptical glance. “I thought there were a lot of people who did what Jason does.”
The remark was received as near-blasphemy, with all three of them hastening to enlighten her. Yes, there were thousands of great game directors and developers, but Jason did epic RPGs—role-playing games—better than anyone else in the business. He had taken them to a level so far beyond what others were doing that, at the moment, he didn’t really have a peer. His work was often cited as an example of video games as an art form, offering up worlds so compelling that anyone who played an Inari game was helplessly pulled into its sad, sinister beauty.
Although Inari games had earned a reputation for technical wizardry, like the stunning realism of water effects or the details of character’s faces, the true magic was in the way the games created emotional connections.
“Inari always puts you through the wringer,” Marlie said. “Skyrebels made everyone cry like a baby at the end.”
“I didn’t,” Ross said.
“Oh, come on,” Marlie said. “When the guy fatally wounds the dragon and he realizes it’s his wife?”
“And she takes off to go die somewhere alone,” Troy added. “You felt nothing, Ross? Really?”
“I may have misted up for a second,” Ross admitted.
“He sobbed until he was dehydrated,” Marlie told Justine.
As Jason returned with a glass of wine for Justine and a cocktail for Marlie, Justine told him, “I may have to try one of your games. They were just telling me how amazing your work is.”
“The credit goes to my group at Inari—they’re the best at what they do.”
A new voice entered the conversation as a pair of young men approached them. “How come you only say that stuff behind our backs?”
“Too much praise is demotivating,” Jason replied, reaching out to shake hands. He introduced them as Inari game designers who had been part of a panel discussion earlier in the day. Grinning, they proceeded to inform him that so far, a demotivating level of praise was not something they or anyone else at Inari had experienced.
Noticing that one of the other hosts was gesturing for him to come to the other side of the room, Jason slid his hand beneath Justine’s elbow. “The mayor and the port commissioner just arrived,” he said in an undertone. “Would you go with me to meet them?”
She smiled at him. “Of course.”
Jason spoke to the group around them. “If you’ll excuse us, Justine and I have to go mingle.”
“You’re not going to spend the entire evening with us?” Troy asked, looking mildly perplexed.
Jason grinned. “It was nice meeting you. Good luck on the launch next month.”
But just as he began to turn away with Justine, Marlie asked bashfully, “One quick thing … Jason … is there any way I could get a picture with you? I’ve got my camera phone right here, and it would only take a second.”
Jason looked apologetic. “Sorry, but I avoid having my picture taken like the plague.”
Marlie covered up her disappointment with a smile. “I figured as much. Thought I’d give it a shot anyway.”
One of the Inari designers said slyly, “We have a theory about Jason’s camera phobia. He secretly fears it’s going to steal his soul.”
Jason glanced at Justine, a flicker of private amusement in his eyes.
“One more thing,” Marlie said. “After the cocktail party, a bunch of us are going to one of the events downstairs. Feel free to come with us if you’d like.”
“Which event?” Justine asked.
“The Miss Klingon Beauty Pageant.”
“I used to watch Star Trek!” Justine exclaimed, pleased to encounter a subject she actually knew something about.
“It’s a great pageant,” Ross said. “During the talent portion, last year’s winner did baton-twirling with a Klingon pain stick. But what really put her over the top was the evening gown competition, when she threatened the entire audience with blunt-force trauma.”
“That sounds fun,” Justine said, laughing. She glanced at Jason. “Should we go see it?”
“I would rather be beaten with the pain stick.”
“We could stand at the back of the room,” she wheedled. “No one will see you.”
“I’m more worried about what I’ll see,” Jason said. But as he looked at Justine, he smiled ruefully and murmured, “How can I say no to you?”
* * *
After the cocktail party, they took an elevator to the banquet and conference rooms. The doors slid open to reveal a festivallike chaos in which it seemed that anything and everything was allowed. Nearly everyone was dressed in costume: Romulans, robots, Storm Troopers, warriors from Mortal Kombat and Assassin’s Creed, even a pack of dogs dressed as the canine corps of Starfleet.
Keeping Justine’s hand firmly in his, Jason pulled her through the packed crowd. The noise approximated the decibel level of an airplane runway. One of the common areas was especially tumultuous: It appeared that someone in a Jabba the Hutt costume had gotten stuck in the men’s-room doorway, and bystanders were trying to pull him out.
Someone solved the dilemma by poking holes in the Jabba costume with a curved saber. The crowd was highly entertained by the flatulent deflation. When the costume had shrunk sufficiently, volunteers worked together to pull the man out of acres of latex and fabric. They all cheered as he was finally freed. “Let’s all hug,” one of the rescuers exclaimed to the others. “Can we hug?”
Giggling at the shenanigans, Justine glanced up at Jason. “This is fun.”
“It’s insane.”
“Yes. I feel almost normal by contrast.”
Jason put his arms around her, holding her protectively in the jostling crowd. It felt as if they were a still, small island in a turbulent sea. “You know,” he told her, “there are better things to aspire to than being normal.”
“Like what?”
Bending his head, he murmured near her ear. “Being exactly who you are.”
“That’s too easy.”
He laughed quietly and amended, “Being exactly who you are and loving it.”
“That’s too hard.” She reached up and curved her hand against the lean side of his face, the hard edge of his jaw. A wave of tenderness came over her, and in that moment all she wanted was to be alone with him. “Hey,” she said softly, “what do you say we skip the beauty pageant and go back to the Del?”
“Are you sure? The ballroom is right over there.”
“I’m sure. My feet are starting to hurt. And it’s too noisy down here. Besides … if you’ve seen one Klingon interpretive dance, you’ve seen them all.”
* * *
Justine awakened the next morning suffused with the kind of contentment that could only have come from two days of great food, sex, and sleep.
Unfortunately Jason didn’t share her mood. He was preoccupied, brooding over something he apparently had no intention of discussing.
Last night in bed, she had been aware of him lying awake beside her, even though he’d been completely still.
“Would a nightcap help?” she had asked in the darkness. “I’m sure there’s some vodka in the minibar.”
“No, I’m okay.”
“If you want to read or watch TV—whatever you usually do on sleepless nights—that’s fine with me.”
Jason had refused.
After a couple of minutes of taut silence, Justine had said, “I can feel you worrying. Can you just give me a hint? If there’s anything I’ve said or done—”
“No, it’s nothing like that.” He had turned to his side to face her, his hand settling on the curve of her hip. “A work-related issue. Too technical to explain. I can handle it.”
She moved closer to him, rising to her knees. “Do you need a distraction?”
“Maybe.” His breath quickened as he felt the cool streamers of her hair trail over his skin. “Got any ideas?”
“Just one.” She pressed him to his back and moved over him, prowling along his body. He lay beneath her, going taut in every muscle. Her mouth touched him here and there, as if she were adorning him with kisses. His hands went to her hair, playing gently.
She mounted him and lowered herself carefully, moaning at the delicious full invasion, riding slowly. He matched her rhythm until they were moving in fluid undulations like some protean creature, a tide of sensation buoying them upward in fresh swells. It was all that mattered, this pouring of heat into heat, love into love.
* * *
“Despite my best efforts,” Justine said the next morning as they drank coffee in the kitchen, “you’re still preoccupied.”
Jason was scowling down at his cell phone, his fingers tapping swiftly at the touchscreen. “My phone keeps automatically switching time zones and dates. I’ve tried to reset it manually, but the fix only lasts a few seconds. I’m about to put it in the microwave and kill it.”
Justine reached for her handbag on the counter and pulled out her phone. Glancing at the touchscreen, she said in bemusement, “According to my phone, we’re in Beijing and it’s eight o’clock at night. What’s going on? The bedroom clock and now this. I wonder if—”
“Coincidence,” Jason said brusquely. “The bedroom clock went out because of a power outage.”
“What about the cell phones?”
“They probably received rolling software updates that screwed with data connectivity.” Jason slid his phone back into his pocket. “Is your bag packed? We have to leave in a couple of minutes.”
“You want to get rid of me?” Justine asked lightly, dropping her phone into her handbag.
“No, I want you to arrive at the airport with plenty of time to make it through security.”
A bellman arrived to take their bags to the rental car in front of the hotel. While he and Jason went through the obligatory how-was-your-stay conversation, Justine looked through the cottage to make certain she hadn’t left anything behind. She picked up the briefcase that contained the Triodecad and followed Jason outside.
“Do you think we’ll ever come back?” she asked wistfully, taking a last look at Coronado Beach.
“If you want to.” Jason took the briefcase from her and held her hand as they walked back to the hotel. “But I thought you didn’t like to travel.”
“I can be flexible. If you’re willing to visit the island, I’ll reciprocate by going to San Francisco or any other place you want. Both people need to make some effort in a long-distance relationship.” She paused. “That’s what this is, right?… A real relationship?”
“What else would it be?”
“Well, it could be one of those fuzzy relationships that looks and feels like a real one, except you’re never sure if you can keep a toothbrush at his place. And you never say the word ‘relationship,’ you only refer to it as ‘this thing that we’re doing.’ And you can’t talk about being exclusive, even if you secretly want to.”
“There’s nothing fuzzy about this relationship,” he said. “‘Yes’ to the toothbrush, ‘no’ to seeing other people.”
Her hand tightened on his. He could be so straightforward at times. But there was still so much about him that was mysterious, guarded, complex.
“I woke up this morning thinking about something the Valiant Interactive guys were saying last night,” she said. “They told me about the ending of one of your games, when a man wounds a dragon and then he finds out it was his wife, and the dragon flies away to die alone.”
“Yes.”
“That’s so dark. Why does she have to die at the end?”
“She doesn’t have to die. There’s a secret level to the game. Some players stumble upon it, and others have heard rumors but don’t know how to access it. But if you can manage to get to that level, the man has another chance to find his wife and save her.”
“What’s the secret to accessing the level?”
“During the time it takes to play through the game, you have to make thousands of choices about how your character lives, fights, works, sacrifices for others. You’re faced with opportunities to take the easy way out, or stick to your principles. At the end, if most of your choices have been moral, the last level unlocks itself.”
“So your character has to be perfect throughout the whole game?”
“He doesn’t have to be perfect. Just good enough. He has to learn from his mistakes and put other people’s interests before his own.”
“But why is there a secret level? Why not tell people about it up front, and give them an incentive to make the right choices?”
He smiled slightly. “Because I like the idea that sometimes in life—or in fantasy—you get rewarded for doing the right thing.”
Twenty-four
“… we’ve replaced all the batteries in the clocks, and checked the electrical circuits,” Justine was saying, “and everything is still screwed up.”
“I’m sorry, honey,” Jason said into the phone, pacing as they talked. “I know you must be frustrated as hell.”
“I think there might be a supernatural cause for this.”
Jason stopped walking. “Like what?” he asked, keeping his voice casual.
“I’m not sure. I’m wondering if the inn could be haunted. It’s a historic building. Maybe we’re harboring a clock-hating ghost or something.”
“You should ask Rosemary and Sage about it.”
“Yes. I’m going to visit them soon, and I’ll mention it to them. How is your work going? Did you fix the problem you were worried about?”
“I think it’ll be resolved by tonight.”
“Oh, good. Maybe you can come to the San Juans this weekend.”
“I hope so.”
“Do you miss me?” Justine asked.
“No,” he said, “I spend all day not allowing myself to miss you. I don’t let myself think about marshmallow-flavored kisses, or how soft the spaces between your toes are, or how I want to talk to you until we’ve used up all the oxygen in the room. And I especially don’t dwell on the fact that wherever I am, there’s always an empty place beside me that’s exactly your shape and size.”