The Mercer Treatment

The restaurant was far fancier than anything Evan was used to. From the moment Debbie pulled the green sedan to the curb, he had the distinct feeling that he had wandered into somewhere he wasn't supposed to be. The building itself looked like something out of a movie, all polished stone, enormous windows, brass fixtures and carefully arranged planters flanking the entrance. Through the glass, he could see chandeliers hanging from a high ceiling and waiters moving between tables dressed in clothes that probably cost more than his entire wardrobe.

A small sign beside the entrance had made the dress code very clear.

No denim.

Jackets required.

Ties expected.

Evan was wearing jeans and a T-shirt. He glanced down at himself, then at Debbie, who looked completely at home in her fitted dress, then at his former stepmother standing behind them collared and leashed, and finally back toward the entrance.

"Are you sure this is the right place?" he asked.

Debbie laughed.

"Of course it is. Why?"

"I don't exactly meet the dress code."

"Don't be silly."

Apparently, that settled the matter. They walked through the front doors, with Stacy following behind them, her leash trailing from Evan's hand. Every step they took, he braced himself for somebody to stop them. Nobody did. In fact, the opposite happened. The hostess looked up from her reservation book, saw Evan, and immediately broke into a smile.

"Oh my."

Evan slowed. The woman stared at him for a moment before glancing down at the book again.

"I had seen your name, but I thought it must have been a mistake. Welcome, Mr. Mercer."

"Mr. Mercer?" came another voice.

Evan turned. A gorgeous middle-aged woman in a black cocktail dress had risen from one of the waiting-area chairs. Her companion, an older man in an immaculate suit, remained seated beside her.

"Evan Mercer is here?"

"Darlene, dear," the man said patiently, "please sit down. I'm sure someone like him doesn't want to be hounded everywhere he goes."

"Oh, hush, Harold," the woman, Darlene, said as she frowned at her date before turning her attention back to Evan. "It's not every day you get an opportunity to meet a man like this."

She fluffed up her breasts, then smoothed a hand over the front of her dress and smiled.

"How do I look?"

"I'm not really sure how comfortable I feel with..." her date said quietly.

"Oh, never mind," she snapped, waving away whatever objection he had been trying to formulate, and started toward them.

"If you would, sir." A server had appeared beside Evan, apparently without making a sound. "We have your table ready. Private room, just as you requested."

"My request?"

"Of course, Mr. Mercer."

Before Evan could ask what exactly he had requested, the server was already leading them deeper into the restaurant, leaving the drama of Darlene and Harold behind them.

The dining room seemed to stretch endlessly around them. Dark wood panels covered the walls, broken by enormous mirrors framed in gold. Soft lighting came from chandeliers overhead, while smaller lamps glowed on every table. White tablecloths covered the tables, each one set with enough silverware to make Evan wonder which fork he was supposed to use for what.

Everything smelled expensive. Fresh bread. Butter. Roasted meat. Wine. People talked in low voices, their conversations blending into a pleasant murmur beneath the soft music playing somewhere overhead. And nobody seemed remotely concerned that Evan was walking through the middle of it in jeans and a T-shirt.

Nobody questioned Stacy, either. Nobody stared at the leash or the collar. To the other patrons, all was as it should be, just a couple coming out for dinner bringing their property with them.

He kept expecting somebody to point at him and say, "Sir, you can't come in here dressed like that." or "Sir, whatever your intimate proclivities are at home, we would please ask you to leave them there."

Instead, servers smiled at him. Guests nodded respectfully. One man actually stood as Evan passed. It made no sense. The three of them belonged here. Apparently, everyone knew that except Evan.

"I've always wanted to eat here," Debbie gushed as the server opened the door to their private dining room. "Thank you so much, babe. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me."

Evan barely had time to respond before Debbie leaned in and kissed him. The surprise lasted only a moment. Evan was nineteen years old. He wasn't some extraordinary specimen of humanity. He wasn't immune to the effects of a beautiful woman kissing him simply because reality had decided that he was apparently the most desirable man on Earth.

Debbie knew what she was doing, too. Her hands settled against him with comfortable familiarity, and Evan found himself enjoying the kiss despite the confusion running through his head.

Still, the leather leash in his hand kept him from completely losing himself in the moment. It wasn't just that he was kissing this beautiful woman in the private room of a fancy restaurant. He was kissing this beautiful woman in the private room of a fancy restaurant while Stacy stood behind him, watching, while he held her leash.

And Debbie wasn't a stranger, either. Stacy seemed to know Debbie. At least the Debbie that had existed before reality had rewritten itself. Whatever this new world had decided their relationship was supposed to be, Stacy might be the only person who could help him navigate it.

What Evan needed was a few minutes alone with her. Unfortunately, Debbie seemed to have other plans. The server quietly closed the door behind them, leaving the three of them in the private room. Evan finally managed to pull away from Debbie's lips.

"Well," he said, slightly breathless, one hand resting on the back of a chair.

Debbie smiled.

"Happy anniversary, lover." She moved around the table and sat down. "Consider that a down payment on the rest of the evening."

He swallowed hard, pulled out a chair and sat. Then he looked toward Stacy, still standing beside the table, her face a storm of tightly held fury.

At the table there were only two chairs. Uncertainly, he looked at Debbie.

"Where should Stacy..."

"Same as always, babe," Debbie said as she looked at the menu. "They usually put a mat or a cushion under the table. I'm sure your girl will be perfectly comfortable."

Evan looked up at Stacy, then lifted the table cloth enough to see, and sure enough there was a small dog bed at his feet, right where Debbie had predicted.

"Stacy," he said meekly, lifting up the table cloth further, "I'm sorry. They don't have a chair for you."

Stacy let out a deep, frustrated sigh, but no complaints followed as she climbed down under the table, being careful not to let her dress ride up too high.

"You're too nice to her," Debbie said, still reading the menu. "If you're not careful, you'll spoil her."

Then she reached across the table and placed her hand over his.

"But tonight's not about your girl. It's about us. So," she said brightly, "what are you having?"

"I haven't decided."

"You always get the steak."

"I do?"

"You do."

Debbie said it with such certainty that Evan didn't bother arguing. The prices on the menu were astronomical, but somehow he suspected money wasn't going to be much of a concern in this reality. Everything else seemed to be bending itself around him, so why wouldn't money do the same? Some of the dishes had names he couldn't pronounce, and others contained ingredients he wasn't entirely certain were food. Steak, at least, was familiar.

"Then I guess I'll have the steak."

"Good choice." Debbie squeezed his hand. "You know, I still can't believe I'm with you."

Evan looked up.

"What?"

"Sometimes I think about how ridiculous it is." She laughed. "My friends still can't believe it. My mother definitely can't believe it. My mother actually asked if I'd mind if she had a turn with you, and my sister asked the same thing if I was ever out of town."

Evan nearly choked.

"They what?"

Debbie burst out laughing.

"I'm serious!" She seemed delighted by his reaction. "My mother even said that if I ever got tired of you, she wanted first refusal."

Evan stared at her.

"That's..."

"Crazy?"

"Yeah."

"Not really," Debbie said, blushing. "You know how women are around you. You're Evan Mercer, for God's sake."

Evan's jaw dropped.

"My dad didn't even object. He just said he understood," Debbie said, delighted at Evan's reaction. "I heard him tell my mother that he wished he was a woman so he could take a run at you, too."

Evan sat back. What the hell was happening? Who was he in this reality? Why did everyone seem to think he was some kind of prize? And why, apparently, did everyone in Debbie's family want a chance at him? And was it only Debbie's family? That woman at the front door seemed very interested, and he'd never seen her before. The questions spiralled through his head until something beneath the table brought his attention back to the room.

Stacy.

Evan shifted the table cloth and looked down at her. Her head was resting against his knees. The sight should have seemed strange. Instead, something about it felt completely natural. Without really thinking about it, he reached down and rested his hand gently against her hair. The simple contact calmed him. For the first time since they'd arrived at the restaurant, Evan felt as though he could actually breathe normally.

This wasn't the intense rush of arousal that he'd almost gotten used to when touching Stacy, this was something different. His hand rested on her head, her face against his lap, and Evan felt relaxed, as though touching her were a soothing, almost therapeutic experience.

He picked up the menu, then glanced back down toward Stacy. What was she supposed to eat? Would he be allowed to order something for her? Would she even be expected to eat with them? The menu offered no guidance whatsoever on how to handle a woman who had somehow ended up travelling with him on a leash.

"Evan?"

He looked up. Debbie was watching him.

"Hmm?"

"I asked how school went today," she said.

"Oh." School. Right. "I didn't actually make it."

"Why not?" Debbie frowned slightly.

"Stacy and I had some things to catch up on at home," he said, a version of the truth that sounded plausible. "You know, paperwork, stuff like that. Then I fell asleep."

"Yes, that happens," Debbie said as she took another sip of her drink. "Although I don't understand why that university doesn't just give you whatever degree you want."

Evan blinked.

"What?"

"You've obviously already learned everything they have to teach you."

"I'm sure that's not true."

"Evan, be realistic," Her fingers closed around his hand again as she spoke with great patience. "You're smarter than anyone there. They probably want to keep you there as long as possible so the professors can learn something from you."

"Learn from me?"

Debbie laughed.

"You're adorable when you're modest."

"I'm not trying to be modest."

"Of course you are. It's not every day the smartest, most handsome, most wonderful man in the world enrols in your class. Those professors should consider themselves lucky."

Evan stared at her. She said each and every insane assertion as though the matter weren't even worth discussing.

"Imagine what it does for their enrolment when people find out you're there."

Before Evan could think of a response, the door opened. The server returned carrying a bottle of wine.

"Sir, madam."

He placed the bottle carefully on the table.

"Since it is our great privilege to host you this evening, I've taken the liberty of bringing you our finest bottle. Our chef has also prepared a special selection of dishes in your honour. Free of charge, of course. I hope you don't mind."

Evan stared. Debbie looked delighted.

"We don't mind at all." She gestured toward the bottle. "It's our anniversary, after all."

"Anniversary?" The server's expression brightened. "Then this is an especially important occasion. You have chosen to spend such a celebration with us. We shall spare no expense." He gave a small bow. "If you'll excuse me, I must return to the kitchen."

The door closed behind him. Silence settled over the room. Well, almost silence. Evan could still hear the faint sounds of the restaurant beyond the walls. And he could still feel Stacy's head resting against his knees. This was officially the strangest date he'd ever been on.

He looked across the table at Debbie, who was smiling at him like they had been together for years. Then he glanced down at Stacy, the woman he actually had known for years. Nothing in this new world made sense, and yet he seemed to be the only one who had a problem with it.

Unconsciously, he returned his hand to the top of Stacy's head, softly stroking her blonde hair. Instantly, the soothing calm he'd experienced earlier returned.

The world might be upside down, the rules completely unknown, but at least he'd found a way to stay calm. Maybe, he thought, if he gave it enough time the evening would eventually start making sense.

He wasn't holding his breath.