The O’Hara Affair (24 page)

But at least Dave had made her laugh. There wasn’t anything very funny about the some of the sites she clicked on now. Second Life was awash with sex, from regular liaisons to orgies, from lovemaking in the clouds to bestiality. Fleur had simply been tiptoeing on top of the iceberg.

She went to Bethany’s Facebook page. There was a picture there, of her avatar. Poppet looked a little like the real-life Bethany – shy-eyed, ingenuous, unsophisticated, and very beautiful. She wondered if Poppet were active now, in Second Life. It could be easy to find out. Bethany had told her that she and Hero met up at the Globe Theatre. Fleur searched, clicked, and teleported.

She was there – sitting on a cushion facing the stage! And so was he. He turned to her as she landed and rezzed in ungainly fashion, and then said
Hello, Flirty. Welcome.

Thank you,
said Flirty.

Poppet said nothing. She was clearly miffed that someone had come barging in on her tryst. And, actually, she was right to be miffed, because that’s exactly what Fleur had done.
Merde!
She was behaving like a nosy neighbour in Second Life, as well as in real life. Who did she think she was, busybodying around like this? Was she going through some midlife crisis, obsessed as she seemed to be with Bethany and her virtual amour? Was she missing Daisy so badly that she needed a surrogate? Really, what Bethany got up to was none of her affair. If the girl did have virtual sex with this Hero, what business was it of Fleur’s? It wasn’t as if Bethany was going to contract an STD or lose her real-life virginity or get pregnant. She should leave them to it.

Why don’t you join us?
asked Hero.
We were talking about films. Poppet’s an actress in Real Life.

I’m only an extra,
protested Poppet.

Oh? What are you working on?
Flirty asked.

A film called
The O’Hara Affair
. It’s being shot in Coolnamara on the west coast of Ireland.

Silly girl, thought Fleur. That’s a bit location specific.

What’s it about? said Flirty, feeling a tad duplicitous. She knew damned well what the film was about, because she’d read the script.

It’s about Scarlett O’Hara’s Irish family.

Come and sit down
, invited Hero.

Fleur could hardly say,
No
, and leave. She’d learned enough about Second Life to know that good manners here were as important as they were in real life. She pressed the key to activate her avatar, and moved over to where Poppet and
Hero were sitting, feeling self-conscious. For some reason the leather skirt in her inventory of outfits had attached itself to her, and she didn’t know how to take it off. The combination of leather skirt over combat trousers and hardcore boots was bizarre, to say the least. No one would ever dream that in real life, Flirty LittleBoots was the owner of an exclusive boutique.

That’s an interesting combo you’re wearing – LOL
, remarked Hero.

LOL
, echoed Poppet.

I know,
said Flirty.
I don’t know how to get rid of it.

Sorry for laughing
, said Poppet,
but it really does mark you out as a newbie. You should teleport to a store and find some free stuff
.

I already have free stuff in my inventory. Sparkly shoes and leather gear.

Dodgy
, said Hero.

There’s a great store called aDiva Couture
, Poppet told her.
It does beautiful designer gowns. I can’t afford them – that’s why I’m in a generic girl-next-door outfit.

I think you look adorable just as you are
, Hero told her, and Poppet gave him a coy look.

What brings you here, to the Globe, Flirty?
Hero asked.

I’m passionate about theatre,
lied Flirty.

Not many people come here, when there isn’t a show on
, said Poppet.

They do shows?

Yes. I could have auditioned for a part in
Twelfth Night
last week.

Maybe you should try out, Flirty
, suggested Hero.

I’m not an actress.

I have a friend called Flirty in Real Life
, said Poppet.

Yikes!
You do?

Well, on Facebook.

Oh, God. Fleur was out of her depth here. There were too many strands to this virtual imbroglio, too much potential for things to spiral out of control.

Where are you from in RL?
asked Hero.

Sydney, Australia.

What time is it there?

Fleur hadn’t a clue.
Dunno,
she typed.

All you need to do is check on your screen
, he pointed out.

Yikes, again. What time
was
it in Sydney, Australia? Were they twelve hours behind, or twelve hours ahead? There was nothing else for it. Fleur clicked on Teleport.

Well, she’d made a right mess of that! She’d blown her cover spectacularly. If she were to be even remotely plausible on Second Life, she’d have to be a little savvier. Maybe she should get rid of her generic clothing, for a start. She’d pay a visit to aDiva Couture, and have a look around.

aDiva Couture was a vast parquet-floored showroom displaying representations of elegant models posing in evening wear. Fleur was spoilt for choice. She could dress as a slave girl in a harem, or as a disco diva, or as a forties femme fatale. She could be pretty in pink or slinky in a LBD. In the end, she chose a gown modelled by a Victoria Beckham lookalike that cost her six hundred Linden dollars, cheap at the real-life price of around three US dollars. It was not unlike the one worn by Scarlett O’Hara in
Gone with the Wind
, the one she wore when Rhett carried her upstairs to bed and ravished her.

Fleur felt more comfortable in her virtual skin, now that she was dressed in something stylish. Maybe she should
register under a new name, too, and modify her appearance – get rid of the blue hair. Flirty LittleBoots had made such an ass of herself that she could do with a complete makeover. She could call herself Scarlett Something-or-other, adopt a more sophisticated persona.

She went shopping in a virtual plaza. In Platinum World, she helped herself to a golden glow and Rita Hayworth hair. In Flirts’ Nails (
Sassy, Sexy and Sensual
) she got herself a manicure. In French Elegance she bought a pair of Louboutin lookalikes and some glittering emerald jewellery. Leaning back, she scrutinized herself. She looked sensational; she was good to go. Glad to have re-established her sartorial nous, Fleur logged off as Flirty LittleBoots and reinvented herself as ScarlettO’Hara Sahara. If Bethany were in danger of being seduced by some manipulative predator, her virtual agony aunt would be there in Second Life to help her.

Corban was back from London. He had a present for Fleur, he told her on the phone from Dublin, but he wouldn’t be able to see her next weekend. He’d try to fly down for the weekend after next.

‘But your car’s here!’ she protested. ‘How are you going to manage without it?’

‘I have a runabout Lexus convertible in town.’

Doh. Of course he had. ‘Maybe I should get the train up there?’ she suggested.

‘I’m going to be too busy, sweetheart.’

Fleur made a moue. Two weekends in a row! The movie would be wrapping next month, too, which meant that Corban would have fewer reasons to come to Lissamore. But she wasn’t about to start putting pressure on him.

‘Remember I was hoping to have a guided tour around the movie set before it wraps,’ she said.

‘I’ll get one of the ADs on your case.’

‘And it’s all right for Dervla to come too?’

‘Sure. So, what have you been up to while I’ve been away, sweetheart?’

Fleur wasn’t sure she wanted to tell him. She’d read an article about how some people considered Second Life to be a Land of Losers, while others thought it had the potential
to change the world. And then she recalled Corban’s penchant for role-playing. He might find the idea of Second Life quite a turn-on. It would mean that – once they worked out how to do it – they’d be able to have virtual sex any time he was away globetrotting. Better than phone sex.

‘I’ve become a member of Second Life,’ she told him.

‘Shit. Hang on a sec, Fleur. My BlackBerry needs me. I’ll call you back.’

‘OK.’

While she waited for Corban to call back, Fleur reached for her binoculars – or rather, Dervla’s binoculars. There was little Bethany, walking along the street in a cotton frock, looking absurdly like her SL avatar. She was lost in thought, dreaming perhaps of her virtual companion. What weird parallel worlds they inhabited! If Fleur had managed to activate more than one avatar, how many other people might have done the same? She guessed there could be places on Second Life crowded with avatars, all of whom were aspects of just one individual. You could be a queen in your own court, a sultan in your own harem, the ringmaster of your own circus.

The phone rang.

‘Sorry about that,’ said Corban. ‘What were we talking about?’

‘I was telling you about Second Life.’

‘What’s that?’

Fleur explained.

‘So it’s kind of virtual role-play?’

‘Yes. You can even make out on there, Monsieur O’Hara.’

‘I trust you’ve refrained, Madame O’Farrell?’

‘Of course I have,’ she lied, remembering her clumsy rumpy-pumpy with Dave in the lap-dancing club.

‘Good. I don’t want to be upstaged by a virtual – what did you call them again?’

‘Avatars.’

‘What have you called yourself?’

Fleur was just about to say Scarlett O’Hara, when she felt a rush of mortification. If she told Corban that she was using his surname on Second Life, might he interpret it as some kind of coded invitation to become man and wife in Real Life? She decided to call herself by her old name instead.

‘My virtual name,’ she said, ‘is Flirty LittleBoots.’

There was silence on the other end of the line.

‘Corban? Are you still there?’

‘Yes.’

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Don’t you think that Flirty LittleBoots is a rather provocative handle, Fleur? You could attract a lot of unwanted interest.’

‘Oh, Corban – don’t worry! Half the avatars on Second Life are called things way more provocative than that. And you should see what some of them go around dolled up in.’

‘Hmm. Maybe I
should
take a look. How complicated is it to register?’

‘It’s surprisingly simple.’

‘And would I be able to locate this Flirty LittleBoots and befriend her?’

‘I guess so. I’m just a newbie still – I’m not quite sure how things work.’

‘So what kind of a get-up does Flirty LittleBoots wear? A French maid’s outfit?’ There was a smile in his voice. ‘You know I’ve always wanted to see you in one of those.’

‘I could get one. They’ve all kinds of outfits for sale. Unfortunately, right now Flirty’s made a big sartorial gaffe. She’s somewhere out there in the ether sporting a leather skirt over combat trousers.’

Corban laughed. ‘Most un-you.’

She wondered whether she should tell him that she’d met Bethany in a virtual world, and then decided against it. There
was only so much explaining a gal could do, and since Corban could hardly handle his own Facebook, he certainly wouldn’t be able to get his head around SL. Picking up the binoculars again she watched Bethany come out of Ryan’s corner shop with an ice cream.

‘I’ve become such a nosy neighbour since I acquired Dervla’s binoculars,’ she said.

‘You have binoculars?’

‘Yes. Well they’re Dervla’s. I’ll get them back to her next time we meet up.’

‘When you go on your visit to the set.’

‘Yes.’

‘In that case, I’ll organize that excursion asap.’

‘There’s no hurry, lover. I rather enjoy spying on people.’

‘Who are you looking at now?’

‘That little Bethany. The one you found work for on the film.’

‘Oh? What’s she doing?’

‘She’s sitting on the sea wall, licking an ice cream and swinging her legs. I wish she’d find herself a boyfriend.’

‘What makes you think she wants a boyfriend?’

‘She told me that time when I dressed up as Madame Tiresia for the fortune-telling gig. I’m so glad you were able to get her that job, Corban. She’s a very lonely girl. She’s living all on her own in that holiday cottage down in Díseart.’

‘How do you know?’

How did she know? She was hardly going to confess to Corban that she’d been having IM conversations with a new Facebook friend who was young enough to be her daughter.

‘Río told me,’ she said.

Another lie! She’d been telling Corban rather a lot of lies recently. She’d better cut herself some slack, or the mendacious web she’d woven could become too intricate to maintain.
No more lies, Fleur, she told herself sternly. And no more spying on the village, either.

She was just about to set the binoculars down on the table when Bethany turned and looked directly at her.
Merde!
Fleur dropped the binocs as if they were hot stones. How uncool to be caught out spying! In the past, women had been put in ducking stools for being nosy parkers and village gossips. She’d better watch her step, or people might start crossing the road when they saw her coming.

‘Río, the set-dresser? Another friend of yours I’ve yet to meet.’

‘She’s coming for dinner this evening, with Shane.’

‘Shane Byrne?’

‘Yes. They used to be an item, way back. They have a grown-up son together.’

‘Oh, yes. I remember he mentioned a son, that time we had lunch together. He’s a scuba-diving instructor, yeah?’

‘Yeah. And now I think of it, perfect boyfriend material for little Bethany.’

‘Don’t you think you should leave this Bethany to her own devices, Fleur? You’ve already done her a big favour by getting her a job.’