Cowgirl Thrillers

by Barbara Neville

Proxima Pi is the nearest Centrist outpost to the Rock. On the Rock, we live a free and easy life. On Pi, they got rules. On top of their other rules. Then there’s the regulations. Stop me now or I’ll make a speech.

  Sky pipes up over the loudspeaker, “All ashore that’s going ashore.”

  “Whew, we got our clothes back on just in time,” I say, as Wolf and I exit the restroom. Wolf was helping me calm my nerves.

  “You new to the thousand mile high club, Wolf?” I ask.

  “Mm-hm.” His eyes twinkle.

  We troop into the shuttle. Seven is a crowd for the shuttle.

  Anyhow, on Pi things are different. We gotta toe the line, which ain’t easy if yore not used to it. Now, I grew up on one of the Dinosaur Planets, Triassic. Whole continent full of farmers and ranchers, just the one small town, Frontier. Not a lot of rules. We raised our herds, got to town to deliver our calves and crops once, maybe twice, a year. Pretty much like the Rock. My cowboying partner, Michael, is another Dino planet guy.

  And the Chaser family, or is it the Mullens family? Anyhow, being Lone Wolf, Spud, Painter, Kiwaku and their mom Coati Chaser, they all grew up on the Rock. I guess. Been there many years in any case. Suppose they hail from elsewhere originally. Everyone does, not a question often asked as some of us, like me and Michael, have warrants. Whether we deserve them or not. It is not considered polite to ask folks their life history hereabouts.

  Sir Jacob and Lady Beverly, well, his Lordship Sir Jacob was on the Rock’s terraforming crew and settled here thereafter, a stowaway on a planet. I got no idea exactly where he and his mom hail from before. One of the Brit planets, must be, they talk like Brits. More refined than us. Although, I have known folks to learn a Brit accent as a way to hide their true origins. Kind of hoping they know more than I do about life on Pi. Someone needs to know what the hell we are doing.

  Too late to ask now, shuttle just set down. Sir Jacob opens the hatch and we step outside to nothing. Just brush and trees, I can’t see any buildings at all.

  “What the fuck? This ain’t so bad,” I say. “I don’t see no city.”

  ‘Whoosh.’

  Sky takes off in the shuttle, headed back to the S.S. Cosmic. We are afoot and alone.

  “I heard Pi was a big overpopulated station, never thought there’d be bush. Hope someone knows what we are doin’,” I say.

  Wolf looks over and says, “Not worry Annie, Wolf here.”

  “And how does a country Injin like you know anything about here?”

  Lady Beverly shushes us and says, “Children, we are just over the hill from town. Please stay quiet.”

  “Yes’m,” says Wolf and takes off his shoes. I wonder why.

  We all walk up over a small hill, maybe a quarter mile in all and shazam, we’re in town.

  “That area is a big wilderness park. They are popular in this quadrant. It is a capital place to land discreetly,” says Sir Jacob.

  “Sho’ nuff,” I say in Mose speak.

  Soon, a car appears. It stops beside us and the doors open. There is no one inside, not even a driver.

  “Holy cow, how did that happen?” i ask.

  “Sir Jacob magic,” says Wolf.

  “You been here before, Wolf?” I ask.

  “Un-uh.”

  “It is not magic, I sent for the vehicle,” says Sir Jacob. “We shall go to the house and relax a while. Eat a meal. Then we will help Lady Beverly go check on her son, Spud.”

  “Were he actually my son, he would absolutely not be named after a potato,” says her Ladyship.

  “Oh, he is Walter in fact. Spud is a nickname,” I say.

  “Praise the gods, I had forgotten. Walter Mullens is much better,” says Lady Beverly. “Annie, I will need you, Wolf, Michael and Kiwaku with me in case of trouble. Let us get you dressed properly. Kiwaku, you will be Kit today, Spud’s sister as always. The truth is easier to remember. We will present a united family front. Annie, you will be the quiet one, say nothing and follow my cues.”

  “Yes. Listen to Mama. She is experienced at reading people and getting what she wants from them. Follow her lead and trust her instincts,” says Sir Jacob.

  “Sir Jacob and Lady Beverly know this world. We do not. We listen,” says Wolf.

  Lady Beverly wags a finger and says, “Uh uh uh, he is Lord Jacob while we are here on Pi. That is the proper title. Sir is only proper for those who have been knighted by the Queen.”

  “Ah,” says Lord Jacob dreamily, “if only we could find the Queen, or a King even. I like being Sir Jacob. Knights in shining armor, what?”

  “We must get into our roles. Let us begin,” says Lady Beverly.

  “Yes, your Ladyship,” I say and curtsy.

  “Wait, mama. Walter is a Mullens, you are a Bridbury,” says Lord Jacob.

  “Quite. This is not my first deception. ‘Nephew’, I will say, in case passcards are needed,” says Lady Beverly.

  “Not worry Annie, Lady Beverly pull wool over everyone’s eyes. She have the touch,” says Wolf.

  The car slows and pulls up outside the formerly fancy, but now quite rusty, gates of a large estate. There are huge trees on the grounds and a tall, solid wall with broken glass shards embedded in the top.

  We all dismount from the vehicle, still alive. Sounds silly when I say it, I know, but I lost my trust in land vehicles after the wreck. Thing went crazy on us. Anymore, I want to kiss the ground every time I disembark.

  I look around. Between the high wall, the hedge and huge trees, I can’t see any buildings.

  “Holy shit,” I say as I drop and roll. My pistol is in my hand. I shoot three of the buzzing monsters before I realize that Wolf is talking to me.

  “Yore shooting the mail, Annie,” he is saying.

  “What?”

  “The mail drones, you must not kill them, Annie. It is a federal offense. Holster your weapon immediately,” says Lord Jacob.

  “Did you just fall off the turnip truck, young lady?” asks Michael.

  I look up at them. Everyone is laughing.

  “Oh,” I say and put away my gun. “Sorry, Triassic flashback. I thought they was velociraptors.”

  Sir, um, Lord Jacob unlocks the gate and we all head up the drive, which has several large bomb craters in it. A large bombed out ruin of a mansion sits atop a rise in front of us. The walls are half fallen in, there is debris everywhere.

  As I step off the drive to go around one of the bomb craters, Wolf says, “Look, Annie.” I turn just as he, having jumped, is dropping toward the crater.

  “Watch out!” I say.

  He lands not in the hole, but at ground level. He grins and says, “Illusion, Annie.”

  “I hired a fabulous, inventive artist,” adds Lord Jacob. “From outside the gates, especially, one cannot tell that ‘tis but a painting.”

  As we get to the far side, Wolf has me look back. From this angle, if one looks carefully, one can see that the craters are two dimensional paintings. The undamaged drive curves around behind a small hill to the ruin of what must have once been a second grand and stately manor house. It is also in grievous disrepair.

  I am still eying the skies. “You sure they ain’t no dinos about?”

  “No, to my knowledge no dinosaurs have been reported on Proxima Pi. Ever, Annie,” says Lord Jacob.

  “I got a bad feelin’. Civilization makes me nervous.”

  “Easy girl, cálmate,” Michael says and gives me an abrazo, an arm squeeze around my shoulders. “We will watch out for you.”

  “Wolf cover Annie back. Watch for dinosaurs. Hell, Wolf never seen one. What they look like?” asks Wolf. Then he smiles.

  “Oh yeah, you’ll be a great help, Wolf,” I say.

  “Not worry. Wolf shoot first ask questions later, not want Annie upset. Wolf still in charge of protecting Annie for Spud.”

  “Wolf,” says Lord Jacob. “Not shooting, barring extreme emergencies, is a prerequisite for survival on Proxima Pi. They hang troublemakers
here.”

  “Yes,” says Lady Beverly. “This is not the Rock. Indeed, rules do abound.”

  “See?” I say to Michael. “I never been here and I knew. ‘Rules abound.’ Just like all the big city planets everywhere. I told ya.”

  Michael chuckles and says, “Whatever you say, sweetie.”

  Lord Jacob leads us around the back of the ruined mansion to a listing door. He holds his palm against a wall which, amazingly, unlocks the door. He pulls it easily aside and we step into a stately manor.

  “Wow, you are magic,” I say, in awe.

  “Yes, we did a bit of mural work on the outside of the building also to enhance the appearance of ruination. Thus, we have a quite comfortable hideout right in plain sight,” says his Lordship.

  “Off the grid also,” adds her Ladyship.

  “True, no city utility use to give us away.”

  “But the car can be traced?” asks Michael.

  “No, we maintain a remote garage,” says Lord Jacob. “It has taken itself there, round the back and out of sight down a curving forest roadway. The garage is built into the hillside. The car is available at a few minutes’ notice.”

  We three females head upstairs to a fancy bedroom with chairs, couches, a mini bar and tables full of them clever shiny things.

  “These are fine and fancy little sculptures. You seem to have ‘em on all the tables in every room,” I say. “You must of been collectin’ fer years.”

  “Those, my dear, are knick knacks,” Lady Beverly informs me. “They make one’s home pleasant and restful to the eye.”

  “Aha.” I think, what strange useless things rich folks collect.

  Lady Beverly proceeds to get Kit and I all duded up. She hands each of us a bundle of clothes and we go behind screens to change. I am civilized enough to have heard that there are folks with bodies so ugly they don’t undress in front of others. Not even when they get hot or excited. So, I don’t have to embarrass myself by asking about the screens.

  I lay the bundle of things down on a chair. I mean I was expecting a dress, but there is a whole batch of stuff on top of that. After sorting through and organizing it by layer, I get dressed up.

  Finally, I am completely citified. Garters, nylons, high heels, jewels. And, holy cats, the dresses! Full and flouncy they are! After admiring my getup in the mirror fer a while, I walk out from behind the screen and twirl fer Lady Bev and Kit.

  “Whooee, I look a treat, right?” I ask, looking proudly at them.

  Kit is holding a hand over her mouth and her shoulders are shaking.

  Lady Beverly has her mouth open.

  “Oh, is my hem not straight?” I ask. Hey, I’ve worn a dress at least twice before.

  “That is the least of your worries, young lady,” says Lady Beverly. “Might I suggest a few simple adjustments?”

  Kit, I notice, has fallen back on the couch in some sort of seizure.

  “Is she okay, your Ladyship?” I ask, pointing at Kit.

  “Oh, my dear, she is only laughing. Come, you need a lesson in garment etiquette. Kit, you must contain yourself and help me.”

  Kit sits up and contains her giggles, saying, “Sorry, I did almost the same my first try at being a lady.”

  “You did,” says her Ladyship, and smiles fondly. “One misses out on the finer things in life out in the provinces. I remember the occasion vividly.”

  Kit starts giggling again.

  Lady Beverly looks me up and down and says, “Firstly, these small items which you have somehow managed to strap over your dress are in fact called undergarments. This is because they go under, in the very first layer against the skin.

  “The second layer is this shiny, lacy item.” Her Ladyship is lifting and looking at my garments. What I thought was my fine arrangement.

  “I put the dress on, then added the shiny bright colored little adornments next,” I say. “What’s the point of havin’ things on that no one can see? It just adds weight.”

  Lady Beverly laughs, and says, “You may have a point my dear, but most people consider modesty important. I’ve no idea how you managed, but you have everything in the exact reverse order. This is the slip, which goes over the undergarments and under the dress. Go back behind the screen. Oh dear, Kit, go help her, we haven’t all day.”

  I disrobe completely, all the way back to my birthday suit. Kit hands me one item at a time. I still can’t make hide nor hair of ‘em, so Kit helps strap me in.

  Good golly, that’s a lot of shit, er, stuff. I am hot and sweaty by the time Kit gets it all hung on me. I am soon feeling itchy and scratchy, too.

  Not to mention the female unmentionables, which I myself had never tried before. You tried them? The top ones are tight and pinchy. The bottoms? Them thongs ride right up yore crack. Like I said before, nobody can see them. But, Kit tells me, they gotta match yore outfit anyway.

  And, whew, perfume. It smells, but not too horrible bad. Then, they apply five pounds of makeup to my face. Am I that ugly?

  Little Kit is a beautiful thirteen. I am an awkward, way awkward, twenty-one. Dresses, heels, makeup? Not my thing. I feel like a klutz and a fraud. I keep falling over the skinny spike heels, nothing at all like a fat cowboy heel and way taller. However, what with the addition of wigs and big hats, our faces are hard to see. We surely don’t look like our simple country selves.

  After a lot of adjustments and complaints, okay mostly on my part, we troop outside to go into town.

  “Flounce, ladies,” says Lady Beverly. “You look like storm troopers, not ladies.”

  “Huh?” I ask as I trip over my own high-heeled feet, again.

  “Good gracious, must we have a lesson in feminine ways and wiles?” asks her Ladyship. “One never says ‘huh’.”

  “Yes, your Ladyship, I apologize. I can do bettah.” I am suspicious that a Brit accent might be a problem for this cowgirl.

  “Fortunately, Kit has had diction, elocution and model training. Thanks to myself, of course. Emulate us. And, remember, in your case, silence is golden.”

  “I’m thinkin’.”

  Lady Beverly, ever the lady, stifles a groan, but can’t resist an eye roll.

  We turn around as the front door opens behind us. Out walk two fabulous ladies, one of whom looks out of sorts.

  “Wonderful morning, ladies,” says a fabulous Michael, flipping a wrist. “I am Michelle. Easy enough to remember, yes?” He, or she, preens.

  The other ‘lady’ is tugging at her waistline, and then she moves to swipe a hand across her face.

  “Willa! You will ruin your makeup,” says her Ladyship. “You have but to relax, young lady, all will be well.”

  “Arrrgh,” says Wolf/Willa.

  I about fall off my heels laughing.

  Kit pipes up, “Sister Willa, you are adorable. But you must not squirm or grumble.”

  “Little sister,” asks ‘Willa’, “how you learn to talk like that?”

  “As I was saying, before you arrived,” says Lady Beverly, “I give fabulous lessons in ladylike behavior. You should join us next time.

  Wolf looks like a thunderstorm about to shoot out a tornado. Unlikely to join a class in ladylike behavior, ever.

  “Come now, everyone line up. Shoulders back, ladies, show off your chests.”

  We all limp into line and try to look like females, at least, if not of the actual high class Brit nobility sort.

  “Try harder. Please.”

  Lady Beverly walks over and poses us. She goes behind us and pulls on shoulders, fluffs hair, and fixes hats. Kit helps by straightening our skirts and smoothing our nylons.

  “Nice legs Willa and Michelle, and those tits!” I say, unable to resist teasing my buddies. “Where’s Lord Jacob, he would be a pretty lady. And have the right accent.”

  “You implyin’ that I ain’t purty?” asks Wolf, er, Willa.

  “Pfft,” I say.

  “Willa, you should speak in a falsetto. Otherwise you will never pa
ss,” says Lady Beverly.

  “Okay, Auntie, I will attempt such,” he says.

  “And only speak if absolutely necessary, and talk hoarsely. I can explain that you have laryngitis, if needed.”

  Willa croaks out a few reasonably female falsetto words.

  “You also, Annie. A lady must never sound like a ruffian.”

  “But, I am a girl,” I say in protest.

  “Sorry, you are a bit of a manly macho sounding sort. A gentrified lady is best a bit shrill rather than even a touch masculine. Accent the higher notes. Act like Michelle here. She is the best woman of the bunch.”

  Michael/Michelle curtsies and grins.

  “Be sure to wave your hand always palm outward,” says Michelle.

  She demonstrates with her patented wrist flip.

  Lady Beverly nods, saying, “Men show the backs of their hands to others, women their palms. Either look demure and stare at the ground or flirt outrageously. We want to be remembered for our presence, not our faces.”

  We all flounce around a bit more, trying our damndest to be highborn fashion floozies.

  “Good gad, this is difficult,” I say.

  “Yes, that is correct, high toned words, flashing wrist, tossing hair,” says her Ladyship. “We may, some of us, survive the day.

  That is sobering. This is not play acting.

  “Remember everyone, names. Use your girlish voices, ladies. Now, say your name down the line.”

  “Kit.”

  “Annie.”

  “No, my dear, you shall be Anna.”

  “Anna.”

  “Michelle,” says Michael.

  “Willa,” Wolf croaks.

  “Fabulous, my dears. Just in time. Our carriage awaits.”

  The car has driven up and stopped beside us. How in the hell does that work? Oh, I mean ‘Whatever guides these unpeopled vehicles?’

  Okay, I will likely come off as the hick that I am. Hopefully I won’t get the rest killed if I fuck up.

  “Shit, Willa if you can sound highborn,” I say, “it oughta be easy for me.”

  “Anna,” admonishes her Ladyship, “mind your language, a lady never uses expletives in public. Stay in character from now forward. We shall see how things proceed. I fhtings get sticky it may be necessary for some or all of you to create a distraction.”

  “Yes, your Ladyship. My apologies,” I say.

  “I thought Willa would be my biggest problem, oh dear.” Lady Beverly shakes her head in frustration.

  As we talk, the car has been driving down the road. Seriously, there are no reins, no steering mechanism at all, nothing but a button. We just sit and trust the fucking, oh, crap, no, yeesh. Might as well get out the soap right now. I can’t even think without cussing. Do the Brits have special refined expletives for the highborn to use?

  The road becomes so crowded that we our forward progress is slowed. After a while things speed back up. Cars are careening everywhere, cutting others off in a giant game of chicken. On a parallel road, I see two cars collide and forty other seem to crash into them. I get nervous about this, so look up through the glass roof.

  We are moving into thicker and taller buildings. They loom over us, casting shadows on the roof window, whatever it is called. Oh, skylight. I do know a thing or two about town.

  “Ohhhh,” I say and wrap my hands around my head.

  “What is wrong, Anna?” asks Willa.

  “They are closing in on us, tipping over,” I say. “What if there is an earthquake?”

  “Willa will save Anna. Do not worry.”

  “You have been to a city before?” I ask.

  “No. Willa stronger then things. Do not lose faith Anna. Spud, er, Walter needs us to help him. Nothing matters but saving brother,” says Willa. “Be here now for mission. Besides, no one else worried. Trust Lady Beverly.”

  “Thank you Willa,” says the Lady. “Your voice is improving also. If you must speak, try to use complete sentences.”

  “My dress is uncomfortable to no end,” says Willa. “My stockings itch. My shoes pinch. The pain makes my voice shrill.”

  We laugh.

  “Now you realize what we civilized ladies put ourselves through in order to catch a deserving husband.”

  “Yes. I do. It is pure torture,” I say. “Not at all worth it. I do believe I’ll remain a cowhand.”

  They giggle at this.

  We finally arrive at a large ugly stone building. It seems to float above a parking area full of smaller and even goofier looking cars. The five of us creep and unfold our way out of our ‘big’ vehicle.

  “These little cars look too small for even two folks, er, persons,” I say.

  “Oh, sweetheart, you are nearly twice the size of a regular person,” says Michelle.

  I stand up to my full height, shoulders back and say, “You sayin’ I’m fat?”

  “Language, my dear,” says Lady Beverly. “You must appear to belong here. Never stand out.”

  “No, obviously you are not overweight. Freakishly tall is what I am saying, love,” says Michelle.

  “Yeah, freakishly tall persons never stand out.” Wolf is six four and I am, a short by comparison, six foot two. Of course, now, we have added four-inch heels to that.

  “You, my dear, and the fabulous and haughty Willa are simply fashion models,” says Michelle. “And quite beautiful ones. Now, everyone, stand up straight and walk with gay pride.”

  We walk into the building like just what we appear to be, long tall leggy and gi-irls! Lady Beverly is in the lead. Not a tall lady, but with the royal presence of a duchess, even a queen.

  She leads us over toward a high counter. The man behind the counter is on the phone. He is wearing a shabby citified suit, wrinkly and gross. He waves and gestures us to some chairs.

  Her Ladyship struts right up to the counter. She waves an arm as though she owns the place.

  Michelle nods to the man and says, “Young man. May I present…”

  The man keeps talking into his phone, “Yes, it was a great game, those Northerners kicked butt. Did you see that…”

  Michelle reaches across the counter and runs a hand down phone guys arm, and somehow the phone is in her hand. Before the guy has a chance to protest, she hangs up the phone and starts talking.

  “Young man,” she says and primps. “May I present the Dowager Empress Rackingham of the planet Quintania.”

  We all stand two steps behind her Ladyship and try to look fetching and entitled.

  “She has come to secure her nephew.”

  “Kind sir,” says Lady Beverly, haughtily. “There has been a mistake. My nephew has been falsely detained. He has done no wrong. He will be released at once.”

  “Lady,” says the counter guy. “There is a line. Take a number. These other people are ahead of you.”

  I notice ‘Willa’ heading off down a hallway. The counter guy starts to turn his head that way.

  I shriek and faint, falling gracefully to the floor, to distract him.

  “Oh my goodness,” says Lady Beverly. “The future Empress. Quick, call our medicbot. Michelle, where is our solicitor? Whatever do I smell in the air? She has allergies. There may be a need for legal action here.”

  Counter guy looks nervous.

  Lord Jacob sweeps grandly into the room dressed like a fine and fancy Brit Lord. He rushes straight to Lady Beverly, ignoring me completely.

  “Lady Barbara. You rang?” he asks, improvising a pseudonym. Oops. We had forgotten to.

  Kit and Michelle are helping me to my feet.

  Lord Jacob says, “We will need photos and statements from everyone, no one can leave.”

  He looks over at the counterman and says, “Unless you would like to apologize to her Ladyship.”

  He moves closer and adds in an undertone. “Have you dealt with Royals? One never makes an Empress wait. It is just not done. Let her in man, or she will gather the entire legal team. At that point, there is no going back. International
diplomatic incident. Settlement in the millions. For you, a lost job. Now is the time for a quick decision.”

  “Oh, oh, um I’m sorry your, um, majesty?” he says, reddening and looking quizzically at Lord Jacob.

  “Your Ladyship.”

  ‘Um, your Ladyship, my sincere apologies,” he stammers. “Who is your nephew?”

  ‘You don’t know?” Lady Beverly asks, straightening her shoulders and looking down her nose.

  “Sorry, your Ladyship, I am new here.”

  “Hmph.”

  “Yes, yes, let us in to see him,” says Lord Jacob.

  “Oh no, you have to wait for an escort.”

  “Did I just hear you say ‘wait’ to her Ladyship and the royal entourage?”

  Kit is now sobbing loudly into a handkerchief. Michelle and I, having recovered and gotten bored, are rearranging the waiting room chairs.

  Kit suddenly yells, “This way.”

  She runs off down a hallway opposite where Willa disappeared. We are some big ass, overgrown, noisy, spoiled royal adult children.

  Counter guy looks around at us. He says, wide eyed, “Oh, uh, no.”

  “No matter, I am an officer of the court. I will accompany them. Just point us in the correct direction.”

  Counter guy is ready to be rid of us yesterday at this point. “But I must know your nephew’s name.”

  Lady Beverly falls on the floor and starts jerking around and babbling.

  Lord Jacob bends over her and exclaims, “Oh, another fit.” He looks over at the counter guy. “They run in the family, so tragic. Here, come help. I can’t handle her alone. She mustn’t swallow her tongue.”

  Counter guy looks sick.

  During the excitement, we ‘kids’ all head quietly down the same hall where Willa had gone earlier.

  “Crikey,” I hear Lord Jacob say after we round the first bend.

  When we get to the end of the hall, Willa is knocking on the last door. She motions us over. We get to the door, which is locked. Michelle uses a hairpin and, in a flash, we are in.

  Spud/Walter is there handcuffed to a table. He is an unbelievably handsome hunk of a man. Broad at the shoulders and narrow at the hips. He has straight blonde hair, which he parts on the side, thick bangs hang down to his eyebrows. His eyes are frost blue with royal blue flecks. He is wearing a ‘been at the Sheriff’s Convention’ blue plaid Western shirt with shiny pearl snaps and dark blue jeans. His belt is hand tooled. The ornate buckle is made of sparkling silver and copper. His alligator boots are shined within an inch of their life.

  He is my honey. Still can’t believe it.

  Michelle, who wishes Walter was gay, takes her hairpin over and gets to work releasing him.

  “Hey girls, you all look lovely,” Walter says smiling suggestively.

  “They said you were a witness,” I say, “not a prisoner.”

  “This is how they define not a prisoner on Pi,” he says. “I just said I needed to get back to the Rock to work, and would return to testify. Maybe I punched a law guy or two after they said no.”

  “Not surprising,” I say.

  “Okay,” Walter says, looking around. “High ceiling, no windows. How do we get out?”

  “I thought you were the plan guy,” I say.

  “No, I am a mere helpless rescuee.”

  “Give me your shoes, brother,” says Willa, taking over. “I hide in vent up there, spy. We build a stack.”

  Kit is undoing a roll of rope she has wrapped around her body under the dress. Michelle pulls carabiners and pulleys out from somewhere in her full skirt. Willa undresses. He hands his dress, wig and high heels to Spud. Underneath, Wolf is sporting coveralls. He unrolls the legs and pulls the sleeves down. Walter rolls up his pants and dons Wolf’s dress and things. Soon Walter is a girl, the new improved Willa. Michelle does a quick skin darkening makeup job on him. Or is it her?

  I shove the rest of his boy clothes into my oversized purse.

  Barefoot and all cross-dressed up, Spud/Willa stands under the vent. Wolf boosts Michelle up onto Willa’s shoulders.

  “No looking up my skirt,” Michelle jokes.

  “Never, ever want to see what’s up there,” says Spud/Willa, groaning for effect.

  We laugh.

  Wolf helps Kit climb up to Michelle’s shoulders. She reaches up, opens the vent, pulls herself up and in. After a bit, she comes out with the rope ends. She and Michelle climb down. I wrap a rope around Wolf’s shoulders and create an impromptu harness, joining the ends with a water knot. Then, I clip the dangling rope into the harness and we hoist him into the vent.

  “Be easier if you were smaller, bud. We could hoist you up on our shoulders like Kit,” I say.

  Now, I know that we are in a hurry, there is danger and concentration is paramount and all. But all this clothes changin’ and ‘not’ lookin’ up skirts and gymnast climbin’. Dayum. Walter, Wolf and Michael, too. Skirts or tight coveralls, with muscles bulging, not too shabby. Three sexy studs in action. And only one is gay.

  “Um, oh. Wait.” I snap back to reality, pull a clipboard out from under my blouse and toss it up to Wolf. He catches it on the fly, winks and puts the vent cover back in place.

  We all pull our big hats on over our wigs. The new Willa tucks all his blond hair out of sight under a black wig that matches Wolf, um, the original Willa’s hair. We adjust each other’s hats and pull the wide brims low over our eyes once again.

  “You look nice with a deep, dark tan and heels,” I say to Spud, now Willa, as we sashay down the hall and out of the building.

  Fortunately, counter guy is busy with a long line of customers. The same number of us walk out as walked in earlier.

  “Remind someone to go back for Wolf,” I say.

  “You sure we need him?” asks Willa as ‘she’ grins at me with bright red lips from under her hat brim.

  Lord Jacob and her Ladyship await us with the car at the curb.

  After we all get safely in the car and down the road a bit, Willa leans over and gives me a big smooch.

  “Oh darlin’,” she says. “You, I have missed.”

  9 Island