Undercover Sir

by Carolyn Faulkner

  Still, Ia spent her lunch hours—when not eating slash gossiping with her coworkers—pouring over the apartment for rent ads and dreaming. While she was waiting for a good opportunity, she was saving as much money as she could, eschewing new clothes and trips to the movies in favor of her dream.

  Someone she had spoken to about looking at a place had called home one day, though, and Daniel had answered it. He'd handed her the phone but hadn't moved once he did, standing there in the open area between the kitchen, dining room, and living room with his arms crossed over his chest, looking unhappy. Since the cord wasn't very long, Ia couldn't get very far away from him while she spoke, but then she straightened her back, knowing he was right there.

  Let him watch and listen. She had every right to move out, if that was what she wanted to do.

  "Mr. Cooper? Yes, this is Anna Maria Baldwin. Yes, I'm very interested. Tomorrow at nine sounds fine. Thank you very much. I'll see you then."

  She hung up the phone and tried to walk away, but his deep voice stopped her automatically in her tracks, even though she didn't want it to. "I didn't know you were planning on moving out."

  Forcing herself to turn around, she bravely met his eyes. "I'm just in the planning stages at the moment, but yes, I am."

  He took a breath and opened his mouth, as if he was going to say something, but thought better of it. Instead, he shoved his fists into his pockets. "I want to look at the place before you rent it."

  As much as she didn't want it to, that made sense to her. Unlike their friendly mechanic, she didn't know anyone else who might be able to evaluate the soundness of the apartment for her, and Daniel was very handy around the house. He would be able to tell her what might be wrong with the place, and he knew even more people than she did in the small town—business people—so he might well know the reputation of the person who was renting it, too, as well as knowing whether or not it was a reasonably safe part of town.

  She inclined her head. "All right. Can I go now?"

  "May I—" he corrected.

  But she interrupted, "May I go now?"

  "Yes, you may."

  Daniel had frowned after her for a good long time after she'd disappeared into her room before he grabbed the evening paper and sank down into his easy chair to watch the latest episode of The Milton Berle Show.

  That place hadn't worked out, and now, many long months later, she was still stuck here with her brother and his wife. She didn't mind Taffy so much, and even suspected that he spanked her, too, but that didn't bear thinking of, and it was of absolutely no comfort to her, anyway.

  Daniel had tried to talk to her—not about why she wanted to move out, which he thought might lead to an argument—but instead trying to emphasize the fact that she'd be wasting money.

  "Think of how much of your hard-earned dough you're saving by living here! Why would you want to waste your money like that when you don't have to? I don't understand it. You would have so much more to spend." He was reaching for something she might spend her money on. "Like filling up your hope chest or buying clothes and makeup or whatever."

  She'd laughed at that, but not in a humorous way. "If I had a hope chest, it would be old and dusty by now."

  He looked uncomfortable at being reminded that his little sister was an old maid. "Well, you never know."

  "Yes, I do, Daniel. I'm twenty-five, and I've never even been on a date."

  "Yes, you have! I fixed you up with…" He frowned. "…well, I forget his name."

  "Ernie Parker, whom we both know went out with me to try to score points with you toward a promotion. He barely looked at me the entire night. And his mother, with whom he lives, came with us to the movies and made us dinner at their house later. That does not count as a date."

  "Did he pay for the movie?" he asked, as if he'd found a loophole in her logic.

  "She paid for the movie, Daniel. You have to face facts—I have. Men don't have any interest in me. They never have, even when I was younger. I wear glasses, I'm bookish, and I won't act stupid just to make them like me, and I'm nothing special to look at whatsoever. Marriage and children just aren't in the cards for me, and that's okay." She swallowed hard at that lie but forced herself to continue with her timid little speech. "And this is your house—yours and Taffy's. You'll have kids one day, and what am I going to be then? The pathetic maiden aunt, still living with her brother and his wife? No, thank you; I need to find my own way."

  She had to give it to him. He looked appalled at what she'd just said. "We would never see you that way."

  "You don't have to. I'm doing it for you," she admitted, on the brink of tears and desperate not to cry in front of him, even though he'd never made her feel bad when she did.

  Daniel was at a loss for what to say. "Can I at least hug you?" he asked, arms already out to her as he took a step toward her—as if he'd never considered that she might refuse his request.

  Knowing that his genuine kindness would break her down into a pile of disagreeable fluids, Ia shook her head, then turned tail and literally ran away from him, down the hall to her room as fast as she could.

  And that was where she had spent the majority of her time until, one afternoon when she was holed up in her bedroom with yet another Barbara Cartland novel in her hand, and she heard a knock on her door.

  "He's gone. You can come out now," Taffy said, wandering back toward the living room as if she didn't care whether or not the younger woman followed her or not, which wasn't necessarily the truth. She liked Ia but didn't want to get between a brother and sister, so she let them work things out as much as possible. And she wasn't much interested in spending the time he was away on business alone in the house, either.

  At first, her friendship with Taffy was just due to the fact that they lived in the same house, and Daniel was their only common bond. But as they spent more and more time together, they found they liked a lot of the same things, and while the cat was gone, the mice played. Surprisingly, though, with all of their late-night chats and the booze that inevitably accompanied them, they had never discussed the fact that they had each spent time with his hand blistering their bottoms. That said a lot about how embarrassed they each were about that state of affairs, she assumed.

  When Ia appeared in the living room, her sister-in-law informed her, "He went on some big overseas trip—England? Ireland? Somewhere in that vicinity," she mused, wrinkling her nose as if having to think about the geography of it hurt her head. "He'll be gone for a couple of weeks. Wanna go get a pizza and some beer?"

  "I admire you, you know," Taffy said as they slipped into one of the few empty booths at Alfredo's Pizzeria fifteen minutes later.

  Ia snorted. "You do? Why? I haven't done anything whatsoever to deserve admiration."

  "Yes, you have. You're not waiting around to get married. You've got your degree, you've got a good job and a car and Daniel told me that you're even looking to move out. Good for you!"

  Ia couldn't decide whether it was actually good for her, or good for Taffy, but she gave her the benefit of the doubt. "Thank you. I-I'm not what men want, apparently, never had been, so I figured I should make my own way."

  And get out of a house where my brother feels he has the right to spank me, she thought but didn't say.

  But Taffy did. "Yeah, and living alone means that Daniel won't be enforcing a curfew, either." The older woman stared into Ia's eyes boldly "And spanking you when you break it, I mean."

  She knew that her complexion was an unbecoming shade of red, and her face was already unbecoming, and that knowledge just made her blush even harder. It was a vicious cycle.

  "Uh, no. He won't." Ia wasn't at all sure that she wanted to talk about this.

  But Taffy wasn't giving her the option. "I wish I could get him to lay off that stuff!" she moaned. "I mean, jeez. Most nights, I can barely sit in those damned wooden dining room chairs. I asked him if we could replace them, and he said no!"

  Ia shrugged. "So replace them yourself
You get an allowance, don't you?"

  Two beers were placed in front of them and they gave their usual order—a large pepperoni and sausage with extra cheese.

  Taffy took a swig of her beer. "Can you imagine what he'd do if he came home and they were gone—especially after I've already asked him to get rid of them? I'd never sit down again!"

  Ia had to laugh at that. "You're probably right about that. I withdraw my suggestion."

  It didn't go any further than that, but it was a nice icebreaker, too, something they'd been dancing around for too long. It drew them even closer to each other than they had been while he was gone. Having a sister-in-law whom she'd had to adapt to kind of gave Ia a bit of insight as to what it might be like to live with someone else, and it reinforced her feeling that she really didn't want to move in with someone who was a complete stranger.

  On Saturday night, they decided to treat themselves by going out to dinner and a movie. They debated about several of the films but ended up going to see "Jailhouse Rock" because Ia wanted to drool over Elvis, on whom she'd had a crush since the first time she'd heard Don't Be Cruel.

  She rhapsodized over him during dinner. Taffy thought he was all right but said that her husband was much better looking, and better built, too.

  Ia frowned at that, mostly because she wasn't wrong. Among the other many ways in which her brother had won the genetic lottery, were his all-American man good looks. She tried not to be resentful of him but, especially now, was failing badly.

  But Taffy's comment set her to thinking about what she liked in a man. Elvis was great but unattainable—not that any other man in her life had seemed attainable, but he was less so than most. She did like her brother's physique—tall, broad and muscular. She didn't give a hoot about hair color, although she didn't much go for redheads. She was not a fan of freckles or paleness, not that she'd be picky if a ginger asked her out. And she had to admit that, even though she'd commit a multitude of sins with him if he but asked her, in all honesty, Elvis' build wasn't what she preferred, either.

  Once they finished dinner, the two of them stopped at a small variety store for the best foods to console them in their loneliness, chips, ice cream, and chocolate—a handful of Sky bars for Taffy and Mallow Cups for Ia—and more beer, not that there wasn't a well-stocked bar at home.

  Once there, they got out of their prim dresses and into their robes, nightgowns and slippers, meeting in the big living room that separated their bedrooms.

  Taffy already had drinks poured for them, as well as a beer on a coaster next to her, and all the snacks had been placed on the coffee table in pretty bowls she'd gotten from someone as a wedding present. Even the candy bars were strewn artfully around the bowls, and there were big, fluffy throw pillows on the couch that didn't usually reside there. There was even a fan of small napkins available, so that it looked as if she was expecting to throw some kind of combination cocktail and slumber party.

  "You are such a good decorator," Ia complimented as she grabbed a candy bar and a handful of Cheetos.

  "Use a bowl," Taffy reprimanded, pointing at the cereal bowls she'd pressed into service. "I'm not having your orange powdered fingerprints all over my sofa."

  "Yes, ma'am," Ia teased while reaching for one.

  Taffy got up and turned on the TV, standing there thumbing through the guide while it warmed up enough to show a picture, asking, as she flipped the dial around, "Lawrence Welk or Gunsmoke?"

  "Gunsmoke, please."

  It wasn't either of their favorites, but it was always great to watch something that they didn't have to pay to see and could watch in their pajamas, so they settled back, snacking absently and drinking more avidly until it was over.

  "Your Hit Parade or The Joseph Cotton Show?" Taffy crossed to the TV again.

  Ia wrinkled her nose. "Neither."

  "Then let's play some music."

  "We can't. My player needs a new needle."

  Taffy gave her a somewhat fuzzy grin. "Then let's use the console! It's so much better than your player—we can stack some forty-fives and just dance and sing for a long time!"

  Ia's eyes grew wide. "But Daniel told me that I was never to touch that stereo when he wasn't here!"

  Her sister-in-law's eyes rolled. She got a lot braver when she was drunk—and Daniel wasn't there. "Yes, he said the same thing to me, too. But we're not children, and we're not going to break it. We're just going to listen to some music. You go get your case of forty-fives and I'll get mine, and we'll put them on."

  Considering that she wasn't any too sober, Ia thought that was a stupendous idea.

  And it was.

  It was an eclectic mix. Jailhouse Rock, Sentimental Journey, Come and Go with Me, It's Been a Long, Long, Time, and Wake Up, Little Susie were all sung—badly—and danced to even worse. At one point, the Blue Danube came on, and they waltzed together, giggling the whole time as an unlikely Ia took the lead.

  When it was done, Taffy was more than wobbly, and Ia wasn't far behind her.

  "Ya know, we have brownies left over and homemade hot fudge. We could make sundaes!" Taffy headed to the kitchen on that note, and Ia followed her—weaving a bit but able to make it there without incident—while the older woman already had a pot on the stove to heat up the hot fudge.

  Ia wasn't too drunk to notice that as Taffy became more and more relaxed, she became less and less fussy-neat. The evening had started out with her chiding Ia about napkins, but by the time they got to the sundaes, she'd just left the kitchen as it was while they inhaled their sundaes, without making the slightest motion toward cleaning it. There was hot chocolate on the fridge and the counter; the remainder of the ice cream was left melting on the counter and the dirty pan never made it to the sink to soak.

  And the living room was worse. Much worse, not that she seemed to care in the least.

  "I still wish there'd been whipped cream for this," she said later when they were so stuffed, they could barely move.

  Ia thought she was going to throw up, but Taffy was still going, refilling her drink every time she refilled her own, whether it needed it or not.

  "I don't know how you stay so slim when we eat like this."

  Taffy rose at that as if she'd issued a direct challenge. "We don't eat like this…" She motioned to the bags of chips that had spilled on the floor, the candy bar wrappers that were strewn everywhere, and the empty sundae bowls perched precariously on the end tables. "…very often. But I'll show you how I do it normally, as long as I can trust you to keep it a secret from your brother." Taffy gave Ia a somewhat threateningly speculative look that was expectant at the same time.

  It prompted Ia to respond mindlessly, "Of course, you can," without knowing what it was that she was agreeing to keep from Daniel.

  She returned from her bedroom with something Ia never thought she'd see in this house—a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

  "Oh my word, you smoke? How could you possibly? You know how much Daniel hates smoking!"

  "Don't I just!" Taffy shrugged. "I picked up the habit before I met him, when I was working as a secretary, because if you didn't smoke, you didn't get a break. I've cut down a lot—because I enjoy sitting—but I keep a pack for times like this, when he's gone." She offered the pack to Ia. "Want one?"

  Ia hesitated. If Daniel found out, he would spank her again—or even give her the belt—and she wasn't at all sure that the reward was worth the risk.

  But then, in her newfound spirit of independence, she decided to throw caution to the wind. "Yes, please."

  "Okay, but we can only do this outside. Never, ever, ever in the house. We have to be sure to collect the butts and flush them down the toilet and wash and clean the ashtray. And when we're done, we're going to take off our nightgowns and our panties and I'm going to wash them. You'd do well to wash your hair, too. That man has the nose of a bloodhound. He's not due home until next Friday, but I'm really paranoid about him finding out."

  For someone who was dr
unk enough to uncharacteristically allow a bomb to go off in her kitchen and living room, she was positively obsessive about the rules surrounding smoking when she knew her husband didn't want her to.

  And Ia absolutely understood—and subscribed to—that level of paranoia. Daniel's punishments were to be avoided at any and all costs, and nothing was going to be seen as too extreme in that pursuit.

  Ia nodded, saying, "I understand."

  Taffy stopped abruptly on their way out onto the deck that overlooked the backyard. "I know you do. Have you ever smoked before?"

  "No."

  "Not even in college?" She sounded dubious.

  "Uh-uh."

  "You really are a goody-two-shoes, aren't you?"

  Ia sighed. "Guilty as charged."

  "Well, who can blame you, I guess, with him raising you It's a wonder he didn't put you in a convent."

  "Might as well have."

  It turned out that she didn't like smoking, or it didn't like her. The more she tried to inhale, the worse her cough got, until she'd coughed so much, she thought she was going to be sick. So, she handed the rest of her half-smoked cigarette back to Taffy. "I don't want to waste it. I don't think smoking is for me." She grinned. "I'll just stick with liquor and bad boys."

  Taffy laughed at that. "Well, liquor, anyway. I'd be willing to bet you haven't even had a good boy!"

  Ia didn't laugh at that at all, and, to her credit, Taffy noticed.