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Very silly. Very immature. But get a clever respondent on the line, someone who had the touch, so to speak, and it wasn’t a bad way to top off the evening before brushing the teeth and giving a quick run of the cold cream.
And sometimes, of course, she took it offline.
NIKKI HAD CHECKED OUT some of the so-called Marshall Fox sites. She never for a minute felt that she was actually in touch with the real Marshall Fox, but still, it was fun. Some of the pretenders were exceedingly creative and fu
One morning she had been online with two of the fakers. One of the fakers was far superior to the other. He had the stuff. He wasn’t quite as clever as the real Marshall Fox, but come on, that guy had a whole bank of writers feeding him lines. But this guy was doing all right. He was pretty fu
The other one? She wished he’d go away. She wondered if he might not be a twelve-year-old kid just getting his rocks off. Her friend Tina actually enjoyed fooling around with young boys online, but Nikki thought it was creepy. She wasn’t into that kind of thing. This guy had just sent her a typo-ridden posting including a long-winded joke that Nikki had already read online the week before. It was about a talking dog and a beauty pageant contestant and…it was stupid. She wished the other fake Marshall Fox would send something. It had been ten minutes since he had sent her anything. He’d probably gotten offline. That’s where I should be, Nikki told herself. Her elbow hit the mouse as she twisted in her chair to see if dawn’s early light was begi
Nikki sca
Dogs know when I have just had sex.
What the hell. She hit send. A minute later, a message appeared on her screen. It wasn’t from the kid, or whatever he was. It was from the other fake Marshall Fox. The good one. Nikki realized what she must have done. When her elbow hit the mouse, she must have clicked back to the other guy’s last message.
Lucky dogs.
She typed, I’m glad you think so.
The screen was still for nearly a minute. Nikki thought maybe she had lost him. Then:
I want to be a lucky dog.
Nikki giggled out loud as she typed back: The lucky dog who knows I have just had sex or the lucky dog who just had it with me? Oh God. I’ve got to stop this and get some sleep. She hit send.
The answer came back immediately.
Both.
THE CYBER-FLIRTATION HAD gone on for close to two months. He adopted a new identity, just for her. Lucky Dog. For him, Nikki dropped Love Bar and countered with Bitch. He wrote back that she was clever.
Why, I bet you can even do tricks.
He also preferred four in the morning for his online dalliances. He wrote that he was always awake at that hour and enjoyed corresponding with her while the rest of the world slept. Nikki deduced from the comment that he must be located somewhere on the East Coast. When she put the question to him, he responded: I’m Marshall Fox, remember? Where else would I be writing from?
Right. Of course.
They got into a rhythm. At four on the nose, Nikki would shoot out a one-word command.
Speak.
Within seconds came the response.
Woof.
And off they went. Lucky Dog was a riot. So long as they were just bantering back and forth, he kept his postings short. He knew how to make her laugh. He was quick. He picked up on little things she’d mentioned and shot them back to her with his particular skew. They could have been talking in a bar. More than once she found herself wishing that they were.
He was good. It was almost creepy how good he was, almost as if he were crouched behind her as she sat at her computer, whispering into her ear, deftly guiding her hands, guiding her thoughts. Sometimes that was precisely what he wrote:
I’m there with you. I’m in the kitchen at the moment, fetching a glass of warm water. Hang tight, I’ll be right back in. I want to hold it up against your neck.
And a few seconds later:
Okay, I’m back. You can feel it, can’t you? It’s not too hot, just a little warm, right? Good. Why don’t you take my other hand and give that lovely breast of yours a soft touch. You know where. That place we both like.
And damned if she couldn’t feel it. The slight warmth on the back of her neck, almost like a breath. And somebody’s fingers ru
SHE WANTED TO meet him. Yes, it was probably a stupid idea. It would probably ruin everything, but what the hell? She wanted it. Maybe it could be fun. God forbid, maybe it could be cataclysmic.
She broached the subject.
Does Lucky Dog want to come out and play?
It had been a frustrating evening. Nikki and Tina had gone clubbing and ended up in an argument. Over a boy, no less. A hard-bodied Honduran named Victor. They met him at the Vault. Correction. Nikki met him at the Vault. The two were already on the dance floor when Tina came back into the club. She’d gone outside to make a phone call. Victor was hot. Awesome moves, he had Nikki spi
Lucky Dog didn’t respond for nearly five minutes. Great, Nikki thought. Three strikes and I’m out, now I’ve chased him away. She was just about to send a follow-up telling him she hadn’t meant it, when up popped his response:
Do I have this right? You want to take me out for a walk?
Her heart skipped its next beat. She typed: Only if you promise to heel.
A minute later: Pull hard enough on the leash, baby, I’ll do whatever you want.
Nikki stared at the screen for a long minute. The cursor blinked urgently. He was waiting. She tried to imagine him, but no image came to mind. She had never put even a fantasy face on Lucky Dog. He was a cipher, something strictly in the ether. If she shut down her computer right now, she could keep it that way. They could still play online. They could keep doing their silly things to each other. His hands could still get to her only via her hands. She could remain in complete control. In her darkened apartment. Alone.
She thought of Tina and Victor. The cute bartender and his girlfriend. She ran a hand across her flat, firm tummy.
Well, screw this.
She typed: Your town or mine?
Lucky Dog responded: I’m already here, sweetheart.
In New York?
That’s a fact.
Get out. I don’t believe you.
Would you like me to prove it?
Yes. Prove it.
A minute passed, and then he wrote back, asking what part of the city she lived in.
Tribeca.
What time do you leave for work in the morning?
Around ten.
Perfect. E-mail me right before you leave. I’ll tell you what to do.