Copyright (c) 1994
  
                      "IF WE BUILD IT ..."  
                    A Ruby Begonia Adventure 
  
     "Yo, Michael! Where are ya?"  A familiar voice drifted  
through the mist as the man in the grey leather jacket stood on 
his rocky promontory, staring out into the gloom.  
     Ruby tripped into the clearing a moment later, miniskirt  
slightly askew. "Whatcha doin' here?" she asked. "I tried your  
office first, but ya weren't there."  
     The man on the cliff turned, trademark half-smile playing  
about his lips. "My real-life alter-ego has been hip-deep in the 
same project for six weeks; he needed a break, which means I have 
to take one, too. What's up?"  
     "Ah need a place," Ruby said. "Ah've kinda been floatin'  
around lately, and ah need a regular roost. Any ideas?"  
     Michael Hahn stroked his nose with a forefinger, stared off 
into the mist. "Shouldn't be a problem. After all, we're  
virtual. Follow me."  
                               *** 
     The man in the grey leather jacket and the woman in the  
silver leather miniskirt walked along in the mist. Ruby stopped 
suddenly, chuckling as she looked down. "Where are we, anyway?  
Looks like a yellow brick road."  
     "It's an artifact of the real guy's sense of humor. He  
makes some of the weirdest connections at times . . . Anyway,  
here we are."  He waved toward the dissolving mist. A virtual  
street came into view, lined with virtual places.  
     They walked past Kent's Place, its doors and windows boarded
up. The diner down the street was dark and silent. Past an empty
lot was Ruby's on the Half Shell--music played loudly, but there
didn't seem to be anyone there.  
     At the end of the street was an abandoned truck stop. The  
flashing sign out front read, "Phil 'er Up". Ruby looked puzzled,
but Michael waved her toward the doors. "I think this is just  
what you're looking for; a little work, and it should fill the  
bill nicely."  
     "Phil 'er Up? Ah don' think so, hon." Ruby frowned, but  
you could see the wheels spinning behind her eyes. Michael was a
little square, but he hadn't steered her wrong yet.  
     "Dellbert?!" Michael raised his voice toward the wall of  
mist.  
     "Yeah, boss?" came the reply in from no place in particular. 
     "Let's adjust the sign, shall we?"  He smiled at Ruby's  
puzzled expression. "Dellbert is the real guy's laptop. He's the
deus ex computa in my neck of the virtual woods. Watch this."  
     The sign out front flickered, shimmered, and began to  
reshape itself. It pulled up out of the ground, sailed up to the
roof of the abandoned truck stop. The neon tubing shifted,  
flexed, flared. When the two watching virtual folk could see it 
again, it spelled out, "Come Up and See Ruby". "Better?" Michael
asked.  
     "Neat trick, hon. What's next?"  Ruby was smiling now.  
     They walked through the front doors. There were a few  
turned-over tables, lots of cobwebs, and the walls were covered 
with velvet paintings of Elvis. Big paintings, small  
paintings--there was even a four-foot plaster bust of Elvis in the
corner. The counter was dusty, there was a broken jukebox in the
corner, and an elderly cash register lay on its side near the  
front door.  
     "Dellbert," Michael said to the air, "let's give this place
a different look." Ruby cocked an eyebrow, then snorted as the  
paintings started to vibrate. They twitched, they shook, they  
quivered. Slowly, one by one, each Elvis became a Ruby. Ruby  
astride a pink Harley, Ruby atop a bar, Ruby with a microphone. 
The bust became a mannequin with fishnet hose, a leather  
miniskirt, and a spandex halter-top.  
     Ruby laughed out loud. "Nice, hon. What about the rest of this
stuff?"  
     "Hey, I figured you'd want some of the fun for yourself.  
Talk to the Freemans--I'm sure you can get them to bankroll a 
little remodelling. I'll bet the pompous old, uh, I mean, Dave 
would probably be willing to man the grill. Whaddya think?"  
     "Yeah, ah like it. Ah could give this some of my own  
special cas, uh, kha, uh . . ."  
     "Cachet?"  
     "Right. Like that. Only one problem with this whole  
deal--ah don't like the neighborhood."  
     Michael grinned. "Piece o' cake. Look outside." The  
virtual street now looked remarkably like the north side of  
Jacksonville, Florida.  
     Ruby's attention had wandered to the jukebox in the corner.
She walked toward it, dragged a red-tipped finger through the dust
coating its dome, then smacked it. It glowed, a platter moved off
the stack, and "Devil with a Blue Dress On" boomed out of the 
speakers. "Okay, sugah, ah'm sold."  
                               *** 
     The man in the grey leather jacket left Ruby wandering  
around the truck stop, muttering to herself about menus, hats, and
what sounded like "karmel-nana pie". He walked back into the  
mist, whistling softly to himself.