How to Tell a Lie (2 page)

Aeiou
: I’m waiting.

Notmyrealname
: Okay, okay. What am I going to see out there?

Aeiou
: Me. Across the quad, Dillon Hall. Look on the third floor, fourth window from your right.

She saw no response, and after a moment she leaned out the window she had opened a few seconds earlier in preparation. Across the grassy quadrangle next to her building she could just make out a sandy head and a blue-clad pair of shoulders poking past a window frame. The setting sun glinted off glasses and highlighted the side of the arm that was lifted in a hesitant wave. As she watched, the figure pointed down, gesturing toward the center of the quadrangle. Allison thought for a moment then made an “okay” circle with forefinger and thumb, hoping he could see it. Then she pulled back and stared at her computer screen before jumping from her chair and racing to the door.

All the way down the stairs and out to the quadrangle, she wavered between rushing in anticipation and stopping short in panic. She had “known”
Notmyrealname
for at least two months online, taking notes on his very circumspect and always truthful-seeming comments. Now she wasn’t sure how she felt about meeting him in person. He seemed nice and certainly had a sense of humor. But she knew that nice in chat and nice in person could be two very different things.

In any case, Allison was not looking for a nice man, or indeed any man just now. She had been badly shaken by James, her last effort at a relationship, and she thought the last thing she needed was another involvement. Especially with an academic, a colleague.

But he called her princess of the vowels, he made her laugh and he wanted her to meet his friends—which was more than James had done. True, these were mostly online friends, and he had made the offer before he knew she was sitting in an office less than fifty yards away from him. But still, it was something. A kinship of sorts, maybe. Allison wasn’t sure.

She was even less sure when she saw the same sandy head and oxford blue shirt, interrupted from progressing toward her across the oblong of grass by a gaggle of female students who all seemed to have vitally important questions for Professor Brantley. One of the girls was almost giggling with nerves, and as Allison approached she could see why the girl might feel that way.

A harmless economics professor he might be, but Seth Brantley was also six feet or more of nicely toned man, with broad shoulders and trim hips that gave a certain edgy flair to his conservative button-down and khakis. Or perhaps, Allison admitted to herself, that was just her libido talking. It talked a little louder when he glanced her way, and it fairly shouted when he gave her a cockeyed smile, raising one amused eyebrow and shrugging almost imperceptibly as if to say, “Groupies. What’s a guy to do?”

It was then that Allison realized she had left her reading glasses on. A quick check to the head confirmed that, as usual, she also had a pen stuck through the messy bun on top of her head. She could only hope the pen was a plain black one, which her nearly black hair would hide much more adequately than something blue, red or—she flinched at the distinct possibility—fluorescent pink with a feathery bobble-headed flamingo on the end.

The girls, or rather young women, were older close up than they had appeared at a distance. They were graduate students, Allison guessed, which made sense as there would probably be more graduate students than undergrads studying economics. And only one of the girls appeared to actually be questioning the handsome professor; the other two were hangers-on, who perhaps recognized him or took a course with him but were primarily waiting for their friend to finish speaking. They didn’t look as though they minded taking in the scenery while they waited, though.

When the two girlfriends caught sight of Allison, waiting a few yards away with her arms folded cautiously across her chest, they nudged their cohort and began clearing their throats rather pointedly. After a few pokes, the girl finally took the hint and turned around to spot Allison, who waved politely and smiled.

“Ladies,” Seth said smoothly, “I was actually heading this way for a consultation with my colleague from the psychology department, so you’ll have to excuse me. Sarah, just email me your draft, and I’ll take a look at it for you and get you some notes next week some time, all right? Professor, sorry to keep you waiting. Shall we?” He nodded cordially and led the way back toward Dillon Hall, where Allison
officed
, leaving her to follow at his elbow until they were out of earshot of the students.

“Now,” said Seth, stopping near an oak tree and leaning against it nonchalantly, all the while scanning the grounds for encroaching youngsters. “You have me at a disadvantage, Doctor. You know who I am, but all I know from the location of your office is that you’re either
Alfreda
Morgenstern, Mary
Gowan
McGillicuddy
or Allison Moore. Or possibly Robert
Adelston
, but I don’t think you look like a Robert.”

“Allison Moore,” she said. “I won’t shake hands, it would shatter the fiction you’ve created to shake off your
fangirls
.”

“Fair enough.” He was smiling again, that same slightly crooked smile that made Allison’s heart thump in her chest. She noticed he didn’t deny he had
fangirls
. “First things first, I guess. I was going to ask you about your research and why you get to spend your days playing massively multiplayer online role-playing games, but I really think I have to go with asking you what’s up with the flamingo?”

“It’s a pen!” she retorted a bit defensively. Her hand went up to her bun automatically and she snatched the flamingo pen down. She regretted the move instantly as she had nowhere else to put the pen, and after a second she stuck it back into her hair. “I wasn’t dressing to impress, I just came down here as is, you know? And I might ask you the same question about playing games all day. You’re on every afternoon too.”

“It’s part of my research.”

“Mine too.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes.”

They stared at each other, until the moment grew a little too intense and they both glanced away at the same time. Seth, whose arms had been crossed in a mirror of Allison’s posture, unfolded one wrist enough to look at his watch.

“Okay, it’s pretty obvious the universe wants us to have some Indian food together right about now. It’ll be neutral territory, all right? We can answer each other’s burning questions over some sag
paneer
.”

“
Daal
makhni
.”

“Have you tried the sag
paneer
?”

“Well…no, not at this place.”

“There you have it. Shall we?”

Allison hesitated before nodding. She wanted the food, she wanted the conversation, she wanted her curiosity about this sudden change in events satisfied. But she also wanted to be back in her office, following her usual routine and enjoying a little harmless flirting in the environment she viewed as a safe zone, the online forum where only words, never actions, could be considered. Where any unpleasantness could be ended by a simple keystroke and an abrupt exit explained away the next day as a lost network connection.

* * * * *

Seth stuck his hands in his pockets, jingling his keys, as they walked the four blocks to the restaurant. It wasn’t as crowded as it would be an hour or so later, when the four-to-seven-thirty class block ended and students poured off the campus and into the neighborhood looking for food and friends.

At just before six-thirty on a Friday night, however, the drag was still relatively free of frat boys, and Khyber was never a prime hangout for Greeks in any case. The darkened room, the air dry and cool after the unseasonable heat and humidity of the September afternoon, was as welcoming to the pair of academics as the hostess who seated them. They were led to Allison’s favorite table, as it happened, just below a large woodcarving of elephants in a jungle. She thought the piece was actually Thai, not Indian, but she liked it just the same. It occupied a space some four feet by six on the wall over the table, and the dark, warm tones of the wood were somehow varied enough to make the scene feel real. Allison always felt as though she could walk into the carving, and sometimes wished she actually could.

“I’ve seen you here before,” Seth remarked. “I just realized. You sit at this table a lot, don’t you?” At her startled nod, he continued. “I always sit over in that alcove. You wouldn’t be able to see me too well over there because of the plant in the way. But I can see this table from there.”

“I see.” She looked where he was pointing, to a booth in a niche in the corner of the restaurant. Indeed, a large potted palm obscured the view of the already-dark table, but it was easy to see he would have a clear view of the rest of the room, including her table, which was more centrally located and directly under a light. “I feel a little bit spied on. I mean, you recognize me, I don’t recognize you…”

“I really didn’t, until just now.”

“Okay, in that case, good to know I’m so noticeable,” she said wryly, picking up her menu and examining it as though it was the Rosetta stone and she was an archeologist on a mission.

“I noticed. I just assumed you were a student.” Seth was engaged in his own fervent pursuit of knowledge from the menu. The light shone off his glasses, partially obscuring his eyes. Allison found herself wondering what color they were.

“And now that you know I’m not?”

“And that you play computer games? And can write a coherent sentence? And get my jokes? And are not afraid to walk around in public with a flamingo in your hair?”

“Yes, well. All that too, I guess.”

He smiled broadly. “You’re looking better all the time.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“But the downside is I suspect I’ve just screwed up some of your research, haven’t I?”

She contemplated him suspiciously. “How could you know that?”

“I know how much time you’ve spent talking to me in chat. You’re gaming during school hours. And if you’re Allison Moore, then your research involves text cues to veracity in casual written interaction on the internet, specifically in real-time discussions. I’m guessing your next paper is going to focus on in-game chat.”

“You’ve read my work?” She was stunned. It always stunned her to find out anybody read her work, even though she knew some people must.

“It involves the internet and relates to organizational psychology, which is an area that comes into play in
my
work, so yes. Well…specifically, you’ve written a few things that speculated about levels of language formality as a cue to lying in chat rooms, and the difficulty in finding a way to control for education and age in an anonymous, non-random sampling. I was really looking for something else, but I came across that and read those two papers. Never know when the information might come in handy.”

“Let me guess. You’re doing something with online economies, or maybe guild organizational dynamics, and you’re using that game as a test case?” Allison asked.

“Very good. Actually it started as org dynamics, but now it’s the pure economics part. I was a consultant on the game when they were developing it. Developing the online version, at least. Not the original role-playing game from the eighties. Now I have some running experiments, and two of those younger guild members we were talking about are research assistants of mine.”

“Are they playing to earn gold for you?”

“You’d better believe it. For the guild, anyway. But they do all right for themselves too. One of them is actually from the IT department. I needed someone to help me control for issues in the research that arose from the way the game itself is coded, so we could gather information in a standardized way from more than just this one game. He’s also done some security testing for the company on the side. He’s working for them now on a hack that could potentially circumvent some of the account safeguards. Probing for back doors that need closing, essentially. And the other kid… I’m sorry, this is probably insanely boring.”

“No, no,” Allison protested. “I’m right there with you. I’m assuming his goal is to improve security to prevent people from hacking into accounts?”

Seth chuckled. “Well, that’s what he claims, anyway. The other kid is just working on gold farming practically nonstop with a few different characters, seeing what the limits of the economy are in practice. I have to make him stop to sleep and eat, otherwise he’d play all the time. Ironically he wasn’t ever a gamer before graduate school. He was a frat boy, just wanted an MBA like his buddies, but then got into economics and decided to switch to that. When he decided to work on this project, he used to tease the nerds. He thought he’d be immune to the lure of the game. But of course it’s addictive, which I’m sure you’ve had a chance to observe.”

“The usual, please.” Allison handed her menu to the waitress, who nodded and looked expectantly at Seth.

“The usual,” he echoed.

In the lull that followed, the gentle sitar music and accompanying clinks of cutlery filled the space between them with comforting familiarity. Seth took his glasses off and rubbed at the bridge of his nose with his fingers. Allison toyed with her napkin, attempting to fold it into an origami crane but failing due to the floppiness of the fabric.

“So yes,” she finally ventured, “this is going to affect my research a bit. Assuming you were telling the truth as much as I now suspect you were. Even if it were just knowing who you were, without meeting you. You’re now officially an outlier, statistically. And by the way, based on the indicators I’m developing, you tell the truth online much more than the average user in the game.”

“I always tell the truth,” Seth asserted, but immediately qualified his statement. “Well, I mean, I tell white lies of omission about things like whether I think my mother’s new haircut looks nice, or whether I like the casserole at a friend’s house, stuff like that. But I don’t actively lie, or at least I make a conscious effort to tell the truth. It’s kind of an ongoing sociological experiment. Well, and also I have a philosophical and economic objection to lying. It’s rarely efficient in the long term.”