Shipping Sharon

by Daisy Dexter Dobbs

  "Well, howdy there, big fella," Sharon said, her eyelashes all a flutter. "You're not so hard on the eyes yourself," she said, planting her hands on her hips and thrusting her little chest forward. Sharon was immediately taken by the tall, handsome Texan in the costly Stetson, expensive duds and mega-bucks cowboy boots. She looked down at the card in her hand. "Wilson Jasper, hmmm? Who was it that referred you to me, Mr. Jasper?"

  Big Willy doffed his Stetson. "Name's Big Willy, ma'am," he said with a wink, and Sharon's eyes flashed with interest. He stroked his jawline and shook his head slowly. "Can't rightly say as how I remember his name, ma'am. A man in my position deals with so many important people on a daily basis, it's hard to remember one from another."

  "Of course." Sharon nodded. "I understand completely."

  The door behind them opened and a couple came in. After exchanging a few words, the receptionist showed the trench coat garbed pair to one of the wall-of windows offices that lined the real estate office's interior.

  "Did you see that?" Norman whispered. "What'd I tell you? She's already drooling all over Wilson."

  Maisy lowered her dark glasses just enough to peer over the frames. "I've gotta hand it to you, Norman," she said softly, "you were right on target with this one." She gazed quickly around the room and breathed in a sharp exclamation. Tugging on the sleeve of Norman's trench coat, she said, "Norman, look--up there on the shelf."

  Norman looked up to see a row of wine bottles from Keller's Cellars. "Good luck . . . best wishes . . . much happiness . . ." he said, reading from the labels. "All the labels are personalized. Must be names of buyers and their new addresses."

  "Yeah, they're sales gifts. Keller told me about it that day we went on the picnic."

  "Clever idea. I'd like to look into something personalized like that for Persimmon's clients."

  "Shhh," Maisy said, putting her finger to her lips. "They're coming this way."

  Sharon led Big Willy to the office right next to the one in which Norman and Maisy were seated. "You just take a seat there cowboy and get comfy while I get you that cup of coffee," Sharon cooed. "That was four sugars, and no cream--black as a spear chucker's heinie, right?" She winked and gave a little laugh.

  "Yup, you got it, lil' lady."

  "Eeew, they're absolutely made for each other," Maisy whispered.

  "Hate to say I told you so." Winking, Norman reveled in a smug smile.

  An eager looking man entered the office and extended his hand to Norman. "I'm Joe Fletcher, I understand you and the Missus are in the market for a new house."

  Norman cleared his throat. "Yes, we'd like to take a look through some of your listings," he said in an indeterminate accent, his voice a full octave lower than normal. He ignored Maisy's questioning expression.

  "Certainly. Just let me get a little bit of information from you," the salesman said as he positioned himself behind the computer. "Your name?"

  "Eh . . . Boris," Norman said, and Maisy shot him an astonished look. "Boris and Natasha Smith." Norman shrugged and Maisy rolled her eyes as the salesman input the information, eyeing them skeptically.

  "Do you currently have a house to sell?"

  "No," Maisy answered, mimicking Norman's deep voice and nondescript accent. "We just arrived . . . from Yugoslavia." She noticed Sharon coming back into the next room with Big Willy's coffee. "Please, leave now and let us look at your books for a while." Her voice was bold and authoritative as she pulled the stack of multiple listing books towards her. With a dubious look, the salesman shrugged and complied, saying that he'd check on them later.

  "Boris and Natasha?" she said, whapping Norman in the arm as soon as the salesman left the room.

  Norman shrugged. "That's all I could think of--that's why I added the Smith--to make it sound more ordinary."

  "Oh yeah," Maisy said, "that really worked."

  "Shhh, listen, they're talking."

  "So what type of business are you in, Big Willy?" Sharon said, sitting in the chair across from Willy, crossing her legs and allowing her dress to creep up far enough to thoroughly tantalize the horny Texan.

  "Whew." Removing his Stetson, Big Willy fanned himself. "Little of this and a little of that," he said, never taking his eyes from Sharon's gams. "Oil, elevators, cattle, real estate--you name it, I've had a stake in it one time or another." He looked slowly from her legs to her chest to her face and broadcast a wide, lazy smile as he watched her lick her lips and twist her index finger through her hair. "Right now, I need to sell off my investment properties here in Schaumburg because I'm movin' to Saudi Arabia for a while on business."

  "Saudi Arabia?" Sharon said, leaning forward. "Ooh, Sheiks and magic lamps and Rudolph Valentino--how exciting."

  "Rudolph Valentino?" Maisy whispered, slanting Norman an incredulous look. "She's not only a slut, she's a dopey slut."

  "Who cares," Norman said, "as long as we manage to ship the dopey slut off across the ocean." Maisy nodded and returned her attention to Sharon and Big Willy.

  "Yup," Big Willy said, "It's gonna be mighty lonely out there in that great big ramblin' palace they're settin' me up in."

  "Palace?" Sharon's ears perked. "You're going to be living in a palace?"

  "Uh-huh. One of them rich A-rab fellas I do business with is giftin' me with one of his sprawlin' palaces--complete with servants and all the usual amenities. They tell me it looks like somethin' right out of the movies."

  "Is that so?" A hungry look in her eyes, Sharon sat forward. "Will, uh, your wife be making the move with you?"

  "No ma'am. I'm not married. I'm sorry to say it's just gonna be me all by my lonesome."

  Sharon looked at her watch. "What do you say we finish this talk over drinks and dinner, Big Willy." She touched his knee discreetly as she rose from her chair. "I'd like to hear everything about you and your trip--and that palace," she arched an eyebrow, "and then we can iron out all the details on the marketing of your investment properties. After that, we can head on back to my place for a little . . . dessert, if you like." Her voice was low and husky as she slowly licked her lips.

  Big Willy rose from his chair. "Why I'd like that right fine, ma'am." Tipping his Stetson, his gaze trailed over Sharon's body. "It'd be my honor and privilege to sample some of your, uh, dessert." He winked.

  "Yes!" Norman said, yanking his fist in towards the side of his chest. His boisterous yes was so loud that Sharon and Big Willy turned to see what was going on. Pulling his fedora down over his eye, Norman lifted the collar of his trench coat, cupping it around his face.

  "Careful, you big lunkhead," Maisy whispered. "You almost gave us away on that one."

  "I know. I'm sorry, I couldn't help it," Norman said. "Did you hear that, Maisy? Sharon's panting over Wilson and his millions and he's hot for that much-used little body of hers. Don'tcha just love it?"

  "Norman, if this scheme of yours actually works, I promise, I'll cancel all the contracts I put out on your life."

  "You better hold me back, Maisy, because, I swear to God, I could just jump up and do the dance of joy right here and now."

  Maisy's hand flew to Norman's shoulder to keep him from rising. "What, are you insane? Sit still until they're out of here. Oh my gosh, duck, they're coming." She and Norman buried their faces in a pair of multiple listing books as Big Willy and Sharon ambled past the office they sat in, out the door, and into his big, stretch limo in the parking lot.

  "Okay, we're clear," Norman said, "let's blow this place." He and Maisy scrambled to get out of their seats. "But first . . ." Norman proceeded to indulge in a joyful little jig, only to have their salesman, Joe Fletcher, who must have been keeping an eagle-eye on them, interrupt.

  "Uh, would that merry little step indicate that you may have found a house to your liking, Mr. Smith?" The grinning salesman stood with his arm resting on the opposite side of the doorjamb, blocking their immediate exit.

  "Uh, no, not yet," a startled Norman said in his deep accent. "I was . . . I
was just performing the traditional Yugoslavian House Hunting Dance to increase our chances of finding something soon." Maisy dropped her head and groaned.

  "I see," the salesman said, eyeing the pair doubtfully. "Well, if you'll allow me to get a little bit of information from you, I'm certain I can help you narrow your search--and then, you and Mrs. Smith can perform the Yugoslavian New Home Dance--if there is such a thing." He cleared his throat and smiled.

  Maisy yanked frantically at the elbow of Norman's overcoat and pointed. Norman looked up to see Keller Chaney walking into the real estate office. "Whoa! We'll be in touch--gotta go now." The salesman eyed Norman curiously as his accent slipped and his voice raised an octave.

  Keller placed a large carton on the receptionist's desk and stood there chatting for a few minutes. He looked over towards Norman and Maisy and waved. Maisy felt her heart lurch out of her throat and fall clear across the floor somewhere. She'd just have to come back and find it later because right now, she had to get out of there.

  She leaned in close to Norman and whispered, "He recognized us. What the hell are we going to do?" She knew she should be running for the back door, but the sight of Keller in tight, faded blue jeans, a flannel shirt and brown, leather bomber jacket was just too delicious a sight to pass up. She'd never seen him in anything but a suit and tie so far--except in her dreams, of course--not that he didn't look positively scrumptious all dressed up, but there's just something special about a gorgeous hunk of man outfitted in tight denim. She sighed.

  Their salesman, Joe Fletcher, returned Keller's wave. "Hey, Keller, good to see you."

  "Stay cool," Norman said out of the side of his mouth. "He wasn't waving at us. We're safe."

  As Keller walked towards them, Norman and Maisy clutched each other and muffled a joint, "oh shit." Keller extended his hand to the salesman who pumped it enthusiastically.

  "I was in the area, so I thought I'd drop off this week's wine order myself," Keller said. "Your clients happy with their personalized bottles of wine, Joe?" Glancing at Norman and Maisy, Keller offered a polite nod, then, furrowing his brow, eyed the pair a second time as they worked to shield themselves from his curious gaze.

  "You bet," the salesman said. "Great success. Oh, I'm sorry. Keller, this is Mr. and Mrs. Smith--Boris and Natasha Smith," the salesman said, with a distinct curling of his lip. "Mr. Chaney owns the Keller's Cellars winery out in Naperville. He supplies us with our most popular, personalized gifts for clients, like yourselves."

  Norman stuck out his hand. "How do you do," he said in his deep, strangled accent, as he kept his head low.

  "Pleasure . . . Boris," Keller said, smiling. "And nice to meet you, uh . . . Natasha," he said, bending to get a better look at the woman with the long, black hair and oversized dark glasses, but she raised the collar of her trench coat and dipped her head, avoiding his scrutiny.

  "Pleasure," Maisy said, in her best affected Yugoslavian accent. Keller's presence overwhelmed her senses. She would have liked nothing more than to take the three or four steps necessary to press herself against him and cover his mouth with her heavily crimsoned lips, wildly running her ruby-nailed hands over his torso and that great looking butt of his. It would be easy--he'd have no idea who she was. She'd just be some anonymous, sex-crazed, Yugoslavian woman in a black wig and dark glasses who was compelled to do a little groping, tasting, and experimenting with the denim-clad hunk. Mazel Lynn, you are definitely losing it. She shook her head.

  "You just missed your sister by a couple of minutes," the salesman said.

  "Yeah, that's what I hear." Keller shrugged. "No big deal. I didn't come here to see her anyway." He smiled and extended his hand. "Take care, Joe."

  "You too, Keller."

  Before turning to leave, Keller said, "Nice meeting you . . . Boris and Natasha." Tugging their collars up and hunching, Norman and Maisy mumbled and nodded in return and then breathed audible sighs of relief as Keller finally retreated.

  The salesman handed Norman and Maisy one of his cards. "Just give me a call any time and I'll be happy to do whatever I can to help you find a house."

  Norman nodded and pumped the salesman's hand. Grabbing Maisy by the wrist, he stealthily crept towards the main door. "I don't see Keller's limo out there, do you?"

  Maisy craned her neck to scan the parking lot. "Uh-uh."

  "Okay, looks like the coast is clear," Norman whispered. "Let's make a run for it." He pushed the door open and the pair raced towards Norman's Cadillac.

  "Jumpin' jujubees," Maisy said. "That was way too close for comfort."

  "I know, I know--but we made it." He unlocked the car, but before they could get in, they heard another car door slam and saw Keller walking towards them.

  "Oh God, oh God, oh God," Maisy said, struggling to open the passenger side door.

  "Get in the damn car," Norman said, opening the driver's side door.

  Maisy pushed, pulled and yanked, but the door didn't open. "You didn't unlock my door, you big jerk," she said, banging on the window. By the time Norman unlocked it, it was too late. Keller stood before her, smirking, with his arms folded across his chest. "Oh shit," she mumbled under her breath as she looked down and pulled the long strands of black hair in front of her face.

  Keller looked through the windshield and crooked his little finger, motioning for Norman to get out of the car. Once Norman was standing, Keller nodded and smiled. "Well, fancy running into you again . . . Boris and Natasha." Folding his arms across his chest, he planted his tongue in his cheek as he gave the squirrelly pair a once-over.

  Norman cleared his throat and nodded. "What can I do for you, Mr. Chaney?" He still maintained his deep accent, in the hopes that Keller hadn't found them out.

  Keller shook his head and laughed. "You can tell me what in the hell you two characters are up to and what exactly is going on around here, that's what." Picking something off Norman's overcoat, Keller handed it to him. "Lose something, Boris?"

  As Norman looked down at the article Keller handed him, he let loose with a volley of nervous, staccato laughter, and Maisy knew they were dead. Rolling her eyes, she tsked and glanced over at her partner in crime, cringing when she saw that Norman had lost half his fake mustache and Keller had just returned it. Maisy searched in vain for a crack in the asphalt big enough to sink into.

  "And you," Keller said, wagging a finger as he stepped close to Maisy.

  Cloaking herself against his gaze, Maisy valiantly answered in her deep accent. "Vhat do you vhant, Mr. Chaney?"

  "Playtime's over, Sarah Bernhardt," he said, snatching the wig from Maisy's head with one hand and removing her dark glasses with the other. Holding the long, dangly black mass at arm's length, Keller laughed and shook his head. "I know there's got to be a good explanation for this."

  With a sheepish grin, Maisy shrugged. "Not necessarily."

  "Did you know right away?" Norman said, peeling off the other half of his mustache and removing his dark glasses and forty's style fedora.

  "Not right off the bat," Keller said, "but I had a pretty strong hunch something was going on. I don't run into too many people named Boris and Natasha on my journeys." As he laughed, Maisy cringed and buried her head in her hands. "The peach colored Cadillac with the distinctive vanity plates was kind of a dead give away though." He sidled up to the front of Norman's car, pointed to the license plate that read, PERSIMN, and laughed again. "Not too easy to be incognito riding around in that, Norman." Keller winked.

  Maisy shot Norman a lethal look as he hit the palm of his hand against his head and groaned. "Trust me, you said," Maisy mumbled to Norman. "I should have known better." She heaved a sigh and shook her head as she grabbed her wig back from Keller's grasp.

  "Believe it or not, Keller, there really is a perfectly logical explanation for all of this," Norman said, nervously licking his lips.

  "Oh, I'm quite sure there is," Keller said, smirking. "And I'd love to hear all about it."

  "Gee, and I
wish I had the time to tell you," Norman said, glancing at his watch, "but I've got the cruise rep from Royal Caribbean coming in to meet with me, so I've got to be off." He flashed a smile as he opened his car door and scooted inside.

  "Right, I forgot all about that," Maisy said, scrambling to open the passenger side door. The distinct click of the door lock from inside the car made her eyes grow wide. "Norman? What in the hell do you think you're doing? Let me in." She jiggled the door handle and knocked against the glass.

  Letting his window down just enough to be heard, Norman said, "Maisy, you can't come into the office looking like that. Your hair looks atrocious."

  Maisy's hand whipped up to her head and she felt all the hair clips pinning her hair on top of her head so the wig would fit smoothly. She bent to see her reflection in the door's window and winced. She couldn't believe it. Here she was, standing in front of Keller Chaney, looking like a red-lipped, half-crazed, flat-headed geek. Ripping the clips from her hair, she said, "You can't just leave me here like this, Norman. Open this door and let me in. You can drop me off at home."

  "Sorry, sweetie, but I just don't have the time." He started the car and allowed it to creep forward.

  "Norman, what are you talking about? I only live two miles from here. And besides, you picked me up this morning. How am I supposed to get home without my car?"

  "In that case, I'm sure Keller won't mind dropping you off at home, would you, Keller?"

  Maisy's jaw dropped and she resumed her banging on the car window. "Don't you do this to me, Norman Stanley. I mean it--I'm warning you."