All the World's a Stage

"Maybe that's part of the horror of the book," she said. "Thinking about why these men were so driven or blind by the need for complete control that they were willing to forego billions of dollars and live their whole lives on the verge of discovery for multiple murders. Just to have total control."

There was a motion at the other doorway from the kitchen, the one into the dining room, and Liz appeared. "Well, some men ... oh my."

"Hey Liz," Toby idly acknowledged her, but then turned back and continued what he wanted to say to Lauren before he lost his train of thought. "I mean, I guess, but I wouldn't call myself having complete control if I'm one discovery away from the death penalty. At the very least, I'd consider myself equally close to complete control being a billionaire and innocent of murder. But maybe also, and now maybe this is just me, I'd never want to keep that tech a secret. I'd want the recognition for it, and also I'd get to play around with it all day and call it product development. Like, that's the dream. All that stuff I was reading back over there, mind-machine interfaces, nanotechnology, maybe biohacking, I don't read that because I want to read about what other people are doing, I want to be in on that myself someday."

She smiled at him. "I really believe you will be."

He blushed, though nowhere near as much as when he had accidentally gotten a double handful of her breasts a few minutes earlier.

"Um," said Liz. "Am I awkwardly interrupting anything? Because I feel like I'm awkwardly interrupting anything, but I also feel like I'm the only one who feels like I'm awkwardly interrupting anything."

"What?" said Toby, shaking his head to refocus. "Oh, no, you're fine, I'm just rambling about plot holes in the original book. Though the community theater group isn't really following the book anyway, like those shoes of Lauren's are just extra."

"Agreed on that point," Liz agreed. If anything, it sounded like she was having trouble finding her words, which was a very strange sensation for Toby. Not like her. Hopefully no one had murdered her and replaced her with an android in the last hour.

"You all right, Liz?" he asked.

"I mean, not as all right as you seem to be, but I'm good!"

"Me? What?"

"What do you mean 'what?!'"

"I mean, yeah, I'm good, too. Any day I get to hang out in the library and have real conversations about tech and literature is a good one."

She fixed him with a stare that he was more used to seeing. "Real conversations."

She was starting to annoy him now, though this wasn't the first time he had heard that tone from her over the years. Lauren, meanwhile, hadn't said a word, and was giving Liz another Girl Telepathy look, though this one was out of the corner of her eyes, while she continued to smile at him.

"Talking about character motivations and setting consistency. Like, the character motivations didn't really fit, but they had to be what they were for the horror-suspense setting, or to make the social point or commentary that the author wanted to make in 1972. So because the author's real priority was something else, internal logical consistency took something of a backseat."

"Right. In not even remotely related topics, where are the locks for her back and shoes?"

"Oh, I've got them." He checked his pocket to make sure they hadn't slipped out. They were still there. si"And that topic is actually related. This is her costume for the last scene in the play, the suit that Ed got Charmaine that she wouldn't wear before her Stepford transformation. They're going to show this instead of the tearing up the tennis court, they can't do that on stage. She was just showing it to me. Well, and practicing with it a little." The memory of her leaning forward, his hands on her breasts, her lips on his, swirled back to the forefront of his mind.

"She has a rubber catsuit locked on her body and ballet heels locked on her feet, and you have the keys."

"Is that what those are called?" he asked Lauren.

She nodded. "They are, Sir." The smile on her face conveyed the distinct impression that she was about to break out laughing.

"And we're at Sir already," Liz observed.

"That's just how her character talks," he said.

"Her character voice sounds kinda sorta exactly like her real voice."

He thought back a few seconds, and realized that he had been focused enough on Lauren's smile and trying to read whether she was mocking him or not, worried that she might be, that he had missed that this was the first time she had called him Sir in her normal voice.

"Well, until just there," he fizzled.

"Anyway, does this mean you're done in the library for a bit? I had a few books I wanted to read but didn't want to bother you in there."

"You're good, I think we'll be in here for a bit. Her feet need a rest."

"I bet they do. You two have fun." She had opened the refrigerator and grabbed herself a leftover slice of cold pizza, threw it onto a paper plate, and slipped past Toby and Lauren out of the room.

Toby looked at the door for a while after she left and back to Lauren. "Well, that was a little odd," he said.

"She acting a little unusual today?" Lauren asked. Her smile was angelic.

"Kinda, yeah. Whatever. You hungry? I think Liz actually just took the last of the leftover pizza. But I could make us something. Or even order."

"I'm up for whatever you have an appetite for."

"Let me check. This is the joke in our house, you know. We have this huge double-door refrigerator, even made to look like part of the cabinets around it ..."

"And there's never anything in it?"

"Seriously."

"So you're saying you need a Stepford wife to keep it stocked?"

He laughed as he opened the fridge. "Or a Fresh N Lean subscription. Actually, I've seen way worse than this. We've got eggs, and a sausage, and at least a couple of veggies. I'm making omelets. I don't care if it's basically dinnertime. Sound good?"

"Sausage on some eggs sounds delightful," she replied, swiveling her stunningly elongated legs around the corner of the island so she could keep him in view. "Oh, and the veggies, too. Also, cool if I just grab this?" There was a small fruit bowl on the island, with at least a few options in it. She grabbed an apple.

"Take it," he said. "It's only a Gala apple anyway."

"I gather I'm not competing with you for it?"

"God made apples in a strict hierarchy. Fuji, then Honeycrisp, then everything else, then Granny Smith."

"You're missing out. Someone has to get you to expand your horizons." She leaned over, supporting herself with just her core muscles again, to wash the apple in the sink in the island. The lights in the kitchen were brighter and whiter than those in the library, and the shimmering effect on her red latex second skin was even more pronounced here.

"That's what books are for. Infinite horizons."

"You know some infinite sets are still larger than others."

"Well aware!" he laughed. So refreshing to have a fellow native speaker of my language around. He found his dedicated omelet pan, a separate small skillet for browning the sausage, and set to work. The kitchen was soon full of the smell of fried eggs, meat, and vegetables.

"You want to eat in here or out on the patio? Nice day out."

She smiled. "Love the thought, but I'm not quite ready to try these things on flagstones." She drew her dangling legs around in a quick, tight circle, calling his attention back to the glossy black footwear, not that his attention had ever fully detached from it.

"Here works, then," he said. "Ketchup? Sriracha?"

"Ooh, sriracha."

"You always were more adventurous than me," he said as he handed her the sriracha bottle and took his ketchup. He handed her her omelet and got to work on his own.

"I don't think you're completely anti-adventure. Has today been an adventure for you so far? Are you anti-that?"

"Oh, it has," man, has it ever, "and I'm not anti-that at all. But that doesn't mean I'm ready for anything but Fuji apples or anything but ketchup on omelets."

She nodded sagely. "I wouldn't want to push you totally out of your comfort zone."

"I appreciate that."

Lauren now simply waited and watched him work, which he appreciated. Trying to concentrate simultaneously on an open flame and a conversation and Lauren's outfit had been dangerous. Soon enough, his own was ready, too. He ate standing, and Lauren ate sitting on the island.

"Mm, well done, that hit the spot. Thank you, Sir."

"Staple crop in this house. And you really don't need to call me that out of character."

"I kinda like it. Do you?"

"I mean, sure, but it's kind of odd to think of you walking around Boston or even just Emerson talking like that in 2024."

She smiled. "I promise I'll just do it here, then."

"Oh. OK. Good. I like that better."

"Me too, Sir."

It still sounded odd coming from her mouth out-of-character, even more than it had in-character, but he wasn't about to tell Lauren that she sounded odd, anyway. He decided he could just get used to it. It already sounded less odd than it had the first time. Maybe getting used to it wouldn't take all that long.

They finished their omelets. "Still hungry? Ready to go back to the library?"

She stretched languidly, arching her back. He had seen her do that a hundred times, but the tightness, gleam, and lift of the latex covering her made for a very different visual effect than usual. "I think I'm ready to go back to your lair, Sir. Want to take a little more to drink when we go? There's probably only enough for one Pimm's Cup left."

He nodded. That sounded like an excellent idea. "Tell you what, I know we have sweet vermouth and Campari because you made a Negroni for Liz earlier." He was moving to the liquor cabinet recessed in a corner of the kitchen as he talked, and found them exactly where Lauren would have left them earlier. "And aha. Here. We've got an Elijah Craig small batch. You like Boulevardiers? They're like a Negroni but ..."

"I know what they are."

Of course she knows what they are. Minus five friend points for mansplaining, Tobias.

"... and that sounds wonderful," she finished.

He got the bottles out of the cabinet, along with a couple of glasses and stirring rods.

"Actually, before you do all that, you're going to need to help me down from here. I can't land in these things."

There was a scary thought, now that he thought of it. That was an ankle injury waiting to happen. "Right," he said, and came over to just in front of her. She met his eyes and smiled.

"I'm going to turn around and go backwards. I can mostly lower myself with my hands, you just hold on for extra support. Slow and steady does it."

He thought about that. And while this was all new to him, he still didn't like it. Still too straight a descent. Any slip and they were back in ankle-injury territory. "Hang on," he said. "Maybe a better idea. See what you think."

He went to the far side of the island and grabbed an adjustable stool from the breakfast bar. He brought that around to the lower part of the island where Lauren sat. At the stool's maximum height, it almost reached the counter level on this side. He raised it to that height, then put his arms under Lauren's knees and behind her shoulders. "This OK?" he asked.

She nodded. "Good idea, Sir. Countdown?"

He nodded back. "And three, two, one ..." he lifted. She felt good in his arms, and he liked the liquid feel of the exotic material she was wearing. He was suddenly a little disappointed in himself for setting it up so he was only holding her long enough to move a couple of feet. But he set her down on the breakfast bar stool, then lowered it until she was able to set her feet on the floor in those impossible heels.

"Going down," she announced dramatically as he lowered her. He laughed and offered both hands to help her up, which she accepted.

"Let's just walk back to the library," he said. "I'll come back for the drinks."

She nodded and started off.

Chapter 7: Reprise

Her feet were not exactly rested, since they had still been held en pointe this entire time, but the rest of her legs were, and she was able to walk, though a little more slowly and without quite the same grace as the first time. Toby still couldn't take his eyes off her, and not just because he was a little more worried she was going to fall. It was hard to look away from the swaying locks on her back, or the motion of her legs and hips.

They reached the library again without any unanticipated gravitational incidents, and Toby went to help Lauren back down onto the chaise lounge. A book was lying there that hadn't been before, with a tasseled bookmark.

"Huh," he said.

"What?" she asked, though she was still in front of him and had seen the book, too.

"That's Liz' old astronomy textbook from NYU. I even remember sneaking peeks at it when she was home from college and we were in middle school."

"Remember we all used to go to Coit Observatory together? It's practically up the street."

He nodded and smiled. Those were good memories. "We should do that again. Only almost the whole group is gone now. Bunch in New York, one in Providence, one in Philly, at least two in DC."

"Might have to be just us, then."

"I'm up for it."

She smiled. "Looking forward to it already, Sir."

"I'll go get the drinks," he said, and headed back to the kitchen. When he returned, Lauren was sprawled belly-down on the chaise, her legs bent up and back with the sky-scraping heels of her shoes pointed up and behind her. She was reading the astronomy textbook Liz had apparently left. Lauren smiled as he entered, but said nothing. Toby put the bottles he was carrying on the silver platter that Lauren had brought earlier, which still had a decent amount of room on it, and began mixing. "What're you reading?" he asked. "Is that what Liz had bookmarked?"

Lauren nodded. "It's about black holes and neutron stars. A debate or contradiction. Which one is really the most dense object in the universe."

Toby nodded. "I get it. If you measure the physical size of a black hole by its singularity, it breaks normal physics equations because you're dividing by zero, so the density is infinite. But if you measure the black hole by its Schwarzschild radius, then larger black holes actually become less dense because the radius expands with its mass, which then increases the volume by even more—proportional to the cube of the radius. So supermassive black holes have such enormous Schwarzchild radii that if you call that the real size of the black hole, the sphere within the event horizon, it can even be lower density than water."

"So I recall."

"Yeah, you did astronomy club, too. You'd have heard all that from Mr. Fineman years ago. What's Liz' deal? She knew you were in astronomy club with me. Heck, we had afterparties for some of those Coit visits here."

She shrugged. "Beats me."

Toby had finished mixing and was now approaching and looking over Lauren's latex-wrapped shoulder. His eyes were at first drawn to the locks on her back, but he caught a glimpse of the book itself. Liz had apparently highlighted the section heading: The densest object in the known universe? She'd added a question mark of her own in highlighter in the margins. Toby shrugged. Whatever. "Boulevardier's ready," he announced.

"Ooh, yay!" she carefully swung her legs down to the floor and leveraged herself to a sitting position. Toby actually had to step back to avoid a possible slash from those heels, moving in the dim light of the library like gleaming black scythes. "Sorry, Sir!" she said when she realized what she'd almost done.

"And here I was worried about those things injuring you. Maybe they're just dangerous all around."

"Eh, I just need more practice."

"That's true, I never even asked, how much more time until opening night do you have?" He handed her her Boulevardier.

"A little over a month."

"You'll have it down," he confidently predicted.

She smiled. "I certainly hope so."

"Not a doubt in my mind. You're way on your way already. To personal growth," he said, holding up his glass.

Her smile broadened and her eyes sparked. "To personal growth indeed," she said.

He backed up once again to his chair, again afraid that if he turned or blinked, this would all turn out to have been just his overactive imagination. Still, his book was calling him, and he was now comfortably fed and ready to sit for a bit again and enjoy his own drink. He had been pacing himself, but this was now his third of the day after the two Pimm's Cups. And there was still enough left in the decanter she had brought earlier for another one of those, and the jury was out on whether he'd go for that, too.

She noticed him backing up to his chair rather than turning to get there. "Enjoying the view, Sir?"

He blushed. "I told you, I'm still not on Team Ed. Bad business sense and plain bad guy. But I get why he liked this look on Charmaine. And now more than that, too."

"More than that?"

"In the kitchen. When I helped you onto that stool, lifted you for a moment. I liked the feel of that on you, too, not just the look."

The sparkle in her eyes brightened, and her grin became a little mischievous. "You felt me before that, too."

His blush deepened until it was again the color of her suit at that memory. "That was a total accident! And I wasn't thinking at all! Sorry again!" That memory threatened to cut off his windpipe, and his voice had risen two or three notes in pitch. "The kitchen was more normal." Except that it wasn't normal. Not even close. Just not compared to what happened in here.

"Oh yeah?" she said, and her grin had lost none of his mischievous spark. "I get what you're saying. About the feel, not just the look." She ran her hands slowly along her curves. "Actually, that could be really helpful." She set down her book. "I was mostly thinking of the visual element for the audience. It's harder to convey the tactile allure, since the audience can only watch and ... and listen. Right. I can try. I need to suggest the tactile sense with only sight and sound."

"What's your plan?"

"Let's run that last scene again," she said, putting her feet on the floor. "This time we'll work in more touch. And I'll suggest the feel with my voice."

"Um ... sure, OK," he said, suddenly nervous about what she had planned. This hadn't really been the direction he had been going. And the last time had ended in near cardiac arrest for him.

She turned and used the one arm of the chaise to leverage herself to her feet. "Remember to catch me as I lean," she said.

He nodded wordlessly, his mouth dry. The last time, he had been holding a book as she approached, but that distraction had been part of how he ended up in the most awkward moment of his summer. This time, he gave her as much of his full attention as he could focus in one spot as she first stretched in her second skin, then began her smooth, slow, sauntering catwalk towards him. Her eyes went vacant and eerily bright again. The sun was all the way down now, so there was no light from the skylight. Only two lamps cast light in the cavernous room now, and it was like they both focused what little illumination they had to offer on Charmaine. Lauren. The woman in the patent ballet heels and scarlet latex bodysuit standing before him and leaning down towards him.

Despite giving her his full attention, his full attention was sufficiently hypnotized that he forgot what he was supposed to be doing and raised his hands a little late as she leaned. Something seemed to give out in her core muscles as she leaned. He had been clearly aiming his rising hands for her shoulders, but her sudden partial collapse landed her breasts right in his hands again.