The Housewife Assassin's Hostage Hosting Tips

by Josie Brown

  “So happy we were able to accommodate them,” I murmur. “By the way, how did you get ahold of Jeff?”

  “He’d walked up eighteen stories on the fire exit, in order to get to your suite. When his security key let him into the concierge level, voilà! We had our perfect hostage,” she sneers. “The fact that he’s your son made it that much sweeter.”

  The thwack-thwack-thwack of a helicopter’s propellers is faint, but getting louder. “Auf wiedersehen, meine liebster! So sad I can’t take you with me, but you know how it is–we must keep up appearances.” Walther pecks her on the cheek. “I’ll see you back in Berlin.”

  Tatyana blows him an air kiss as he strolls through the elevator platform back to his suite, then jabs her gun into my back. “Walk with me. I’m using you as my human shield”–she shrugs–“for as long as you’re needed. But better you than Jack or Jeff, eh, mama?”

  She doesn’t push me toward the concierge elevator. Instead, she shoves me in front of my penthouse’s private elevator and inserts a security card. “I held on to your son’s card,” she explains. “He’s such a sweet, polite boy! Gave it right to ‘the maid’ when I asked for it.” She fakes a sigh. “I’m happy my scars didn’t scare him. Aren’t you glad I didn’t tell him that your loving Jack gave them to me?”

  No bell rings when the elevator door opens. I know this is because there is no car.

  But not Tatyana.

  Before she has a chance to realize it, I shove her into darkness.

  Instinctively, she grabs onto the only thing she can–me.

  I try to push her off, but she has momentum on her side. Together we fall.

  When I was hanging off the side of the building, I summoned my favorite memories of my family, and said my prayers.

  This time, however, I do some math. An average floor is about ten feet. We’re falling from the nineteenth floor. Since velocity is about thirty-two feet per second, I’ve only got five, maybe six seconds, to survive this fall.

  You see? This is why you need to help your kids with their math problems–you’ll learn something too.

  It helps that Tatyana fell first. I stay vertical, then I lift my knees together and let loose with a kick that should keep her below me.

  Next, I lunge toward a corner and grapple at anything on the walls that can break my fall, like the elevator cables that hang loosely on all sides. The oil on them makes this a slippery task, but I’m able to grasp one. Instinctively, I wrap a leg around it too–

  Which is a good thing because my hand loses its grip–

  And I find myself hanging upside down, about twenty feet from the bottom of the shaft.

  You see? It pays to go to clown camp with your son’s scout troop. You may learn something too.

  I’m in a better position than Tatyana, who looks like a broken rag doll. Her head sits in a halo of blood. She died with her eyes wide open, and her mouth frozen in a scream.

  In fact, it was her long echoing scream that summoned Jack. With the help of Abu and Dominic, he has pried open the lobby level doors of Elevator A.

  He sees Tatyana first, below him at the base of the shaft on the garage level. When he doesn’t see me, he looks skyward.

  I wave.

  Then I unfurl my leg so that I can drop into his arms.

  I wish I could stay there forever, but I can’t. “Walther was in on it,” I tell him.

  Jack makes the call that will ensure that Walther never makes it outside the confines of U.S. airspace. The closest he’ll get to Germany is a black site in Poland.

  I’ll request a visit, every now and then. After what he did to Jeff, I’ll enjoy making him cry.

  Chapter 22

  And a Good Time Was Had by All!

  All hostesses are anxious to learn if their parties were enjoyed by their guests. Well, guess what? You’ll know instantly if:

  1: Everyone is talking about something that happened there. Except, perhaps an altar sacrifice. Save that for a more select group–say, your weekend Wiccan coven.

  2: No one runs out of the house screaming and on fire. Terror is never great for word of mouth.

  3: Everyone wants to come back for your next event. Giving out one-hundred-dollar gift cards as party favors truly works!

  Bonnie Ramsey, the family counselor, smiles broadly and shakes everyone’s hand as Mary, Jeff, Trisha, Jack, Evan, and I file into her large, homey living room. There is no standing at attention. “Sit anywhere you like,” she insists. “And please, call me Bonnie.”

  Evan and Mary look around warily before deciding on the two easy chairs flanking the open-hearth fireplace. Trisha plops down next to Bonnie’s dog–an old Labrador named Louis–and pets it gently before hugging the old boy’s neck too.

  Jack sits on one side of the large settee. I take the other. Jeff burrows between us. He clasps our hands, but holds them down, next to his thighs. He wants us to see him as strong again, but he still has that post-traumatic stress twilight where he realizes he’s safe, but he doubts what he sees with his own eyes.

  Everyone is the enemy.

  Yes, I’ve been there. I feel for him. I want him to trust again.

  It’s why we’re here.

  Bonnie explains that the one rule is that there are no rules. “No one should be afraid to speak their mind. You can cry or laugh. You can blame and accuse. That way, those who are the catalysts of your feelings can respond to you, and the dialogue you so strongly need will begin.”

  My children have borne the brunt of my actions. From what I know of Evan’s life, I played a bigger part in it than I could have imagined.

  I expect a tsunami of pain to come my way, and I brace myself for it.

  Thank God I have Jack to hold onto.

  It takes a while for Bonnie to get my children to open up. No one is surprised that Trisha is first, least of all me.

  “Mary is mad at Mommy because of our other daddy. But I didn’t like him, so I’m glad he’s gone.” Trisha’s pronouncement is made with her eyes firmly on the dog, because she doesn’t know if her words will hurt Mary, Jeff, or me. “Other people have two daddies, and they don’t mind it at all. But our other daddy made Mommy angry. I didn’t like that.”

  “Maybe you would have, if you’d gotten the chance to know him better,” Mary points out. “You had already made up your mind because of”–she looks over at the couch–“Jack.”

  “He ran away from us, remember?” Jeff speaks so softly that everyone leans in. “He hurt people! And now we have to live with that. People hate us because of the things he did! They want to…to hurt us.”

  Mary can’t argue with that, since she’s experienced it herself. She scowls as she slumps down in her chair.

  “Hey, at least your mother didn’t kill your father,” Evan offers.

  Mary’s head swings around. It’s the only time I’ve seen her angry with Evan. She opens her mouth to say something, but holds herself back. Instead, she forces herself to turn her head away again.

  Evan is so caught up in his own pain that he is oblivious to hers. “My father loved my mother, but it wasn’t enough for her! He just wanted to get away from her lies–and I did, too. I was glad he was going to divorce her! At least that way, he’d have had the option of never seeing her again.” He stops because he’s choking on his sobs. “But she’s my mother! Despite having taken him from me, as long as she’s alive, I’ll have her in my life.”

  Mary’s frown softens. She reaches out in order to put her hand over his. “Somewhere along the way, my father must have quit loving my mother,” she murmurs. “Why else would he have left her…and the rest of us?”

  Hearing her say this is the crack in my emotional dam. I let my head drop to my chest so that I can cry.

  Jeff turns and hugs me. “Don’t cry, Mom, please! We don’t miss him, really! We miss the idea of him. And you did, too. But eventually, you did the right thing. You learned to love someone who will always love us, too, and be there for us.” He grasps Jack’
s hand again.

  Jack squeezes it tight.

  Mary goes over and takes hold of Jack’s other hand. He looks up at her. His eyes glimmer with dampness. Her tears fall into her long hair as she smiles down at him.

  Trisha is as transfixed at the tableau in front of her as I am.

  But it doesn’t last forever. Mary asks, “Mom, did you mean it when you said you’re quitting?”

  Jeff’s damp smile fades. “Don’t,” he implores me. “Then who will protect us?”

  “I will,” I swear to him. “And so will Jack–always!”

  “No! …I mean, I know that. What I’m trying to say is”–he takes a deep breath before he continues–“if you quit your job, they’ll always be out there. They’ll always be able to do this–not just to us, but to everyone! We can’t be scared of them–or they win.”

  Jeff is no longer crying.

  Jeff is no longer afraid.

  My Jeff is back.

  Mary is nodding. Despite their sibling squabbles and teasing, they’ve always shared an unbreakable bond. Jeff’s death would have shattered his sister. Instead, the harsh reality of his abduction brings a sharp clarity to the bittersweet blur of her childhood memories of Carl.

  The love she had for her father cannot negate his bad deeds.

  She bends over me to give me a kiss on my forehead. Finally, she forgives me for the role I played–the role I had to play–in Carl’s death.

  I had expected our session with Bonnie to go on all afternoon, but the way she rises, I realize that she agrees with me that we’ve accomplished what we set out to do today:

  My family will heal.

  As we walk out, Trisha asks if we can take Louis with us.

  I shake my head no. “Bonnie has given us so much already.” I give her a hug.

  Chapter 23

  Thank-You Notes

  After attending a party, most guests send thank-you notes. However, if you don’t receive them, here’s why:

  Reason One: The note got lost in the mail. That being said, let the appreciative guest know as soon as possible. If (quelle horreur!) he or she admits to not having sent one, refer to Reason Two.

  Reason Two: The guest is not at all well mannered. If this is the case, cross him or her off your next invitation list! If you want to be around baboons, you know the way to the local zoo.

  Reason Three: The guest had a lousy time. Not that you’d know it by the way he gobbled down your canapés, swilled your liquor, and tried on your best pair of Louboutins. (You know this, because you have a videocam in your closet.)

  If this is the case, feel free to excommunicate him as a friend. Tell him he can have the Louboutins, too, now that he’s stretched them out. He will also have to buy you a new pair. Otherwise, he’ll be the latest sensation on YouTube when others realize he does a mean rumba in five-inch pointy stilettos.

  The memorial service for Mara Portnoy takes place at sunrise, on Acme’s rooftop. Not everyone in the organization knew her. Still, all of Acme has turned out for it.

  Her name has been carved in the wall next to that of the love of her life, Kiril.

  Those who shared missions with her speak out about her bravery, her sense of humor, and her love of life.

  In Jack’s case, his anecdote is one of levity. I join the others gathered here in wiping away tears of sorrow as we roar with laughter about the rainstorm in Prague and its bloody aftermath.

  The tears flow again when it’s my turn. I keep my voice level as I describe her selfless act in saving Jeff. Then I read the note my son wrote her, in which he describes his sadness at facing death without getting to say goodbye to those he loved, and his resignation when he saw the bullet coming his way, and how Mara’s arms around him felt like angel’s wings.

  When I can no longer speak because the memory has become a hard knot in my throat, I place Jeff’s heartfelt note beside her urn.

  Mara will not be alone in her vault deep within the Wall. Jack had hoped to surprise her with the deed that would help right the wrong he did to her. Sometime last week he’d contacted Nikolay Krastevich, the Bulgarian covert operative Jack had charged with disposing of Kiril’s body. Nikolay tracked down her lover’s cremated remains, which had been interred in a Bulgarian mausoleum.

  Kiril’s ashes now share Mara’s urn.

  Together they will rest in peace for eternity.

  Ryan is keen to meet me for lunch. I suggest a little café near his office, one we both know well from way back when I was young and innocent and nudging him for news on Carl’s killers when my husband was supposedly dead.

  It was also where he nudged me to consider joining Acme.

  I wonder how he’ll feel this time, as I prod him to consider my doing so once again.

  I wait until he settles into a three-inch-thick corned beef sandwich on rye. It’s only because his mouth is full that I’m able to make my case so fully. I point out that the world’s terrorist organizations are getting more sophisticated, and that they’re getting better funded–to that extent, thanks to the Quorum, whose players I know well.

  Worse yet, they’re getting closer.

  “I know you’ve had your issues with me in the past,” I concede. “But we both know my skill set is as good as you’ll find anywhere, and my track record speaks for itself–”

  He gulps down the food in his mouth. “Let me get this straight–are you saying you want to come out of retirement?”

  “Yes. Exactly. And I hope you feel I’m not being presumptuous to–”

  “Presumptuous? Who …you?” He’s laughing so hard that he begins to choke on his corned beef.

  His face is so red that I stand up and jerk him under the arms with the Heimlich maneuver.

  “You saved my life,” he gasps.

  “Only because I can’t have everyone snickering over my killing another Acme agent,” I sniff. “To your credit, you didn’t place a bet in the office’s black widow trainer pool.”

  His mouth opens, then shuts quickly. We both know the truth: he won the damn pool. He was the only one who felt certain that Tally would show, God rest her soul.

  He picks up the check. “What took you so long to call?”

  For that, he’s earned a kiss on his bald spot.

  I’m in my car heading home when I get a call. Caller ID shows that it’s Penelope, and it’s marked urgent. Knowing her, she’ll just keep calling if I don’t take it now, so I hit the speaker. “What is it now, Penelope?”

  “I’ve got wonderful news, Donna!”

  “Do tell.”

  “Despite the fire you started, the Hotel Savoy has decided not to sue the PTA after all.”

  “Nice to know,” I exclaim. “And by the way, as for the fire, you started it. The proof is in the security feed. Don’t you just love all those tiny little cameras?”

  Penelope is quiet as that realization sinks in. “Hmm. You don’t think a picture of me, practically naked and on fire, will end up online, do you?”

  “Depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On how I feel about what you’re about to say next.”

  She chuckles as if I’m kidding. Little does she know I’ve already hacked the Savoy’s security feed and downloaded the footage. Whenever I get low, I’ll play it just for tickles and giggles. If–oopsy!–I hit a button that loads it onto FunnyOrDie.com, well, hey, accidents do happen.

  “Because of the fire, Henry has agreed to refund all of the room fees. Between what we save there, and what we made on ticket sales, and what we’ll make on sales of the bottles of liquor, the dance will have its biggest profit ever! I’m very proud right now.”

  “Well, thank you.”

  “What? ...Oh, you thought I meant you.” I can imagine her shrugging at the thought. “In any case, today is your lucky day! The PTA steering committee took a vote and has decided to make your position as the prom committee chairperson a permanent one. What do you think of that?”

  My response is a dial tone. I’ve
got bigger fish to flambé.

  As Trisha puts it, “I love, love, love my flower girl dress for Emma and Arnie’s wedding!”

  Of course, she would, since Emma instructed her to pick out any frock she wanted for her petal-strewing stroll down the lawn in front of Los Angeles’ Griffith Observatory.

  Her original choice was the Snow Queen Elsa’s costume from Frozen. Noting my grimace, Trisha’s new crush, Evan, made it a point to tell her how awesomely gorgeous she looked in the dress I’d suggested to her: the dusty lilac Zunie glittered tulle dress with a wide satin sash and a bow at the waist.

  I blew him a kiss for that.

  My own dress was chosen by the bride, who declared, “I want you to cut loose at my wedding! No elegant sheath and pearls! Something fun!”

  I groaned. “We already had our ‘fun’–last night at your bachelorette party, remember? I’ve got the tattoo to prove it.”

  “I’m sure Jack appreciated it,” she exclaimed with a knowing wink.

  My blush told her she guessed right. Hey, what man wouldn’t appreciate a heart with his name on it, on his beloved’s right butt cheek?

  It hurt like hell. My consolation is that he kissed it–among other things–to make it better.

  So, here I am, in a sleeveless ice blue Oscar de la Renta mini-dress overlaid with tea-length floral tulle, and making my way down the path in front of the crystal ball-topped obelisk known as the Astronomers Monument, toward a very nervous Arnie and his best man, Jack.

  Emma follows, escorted by Ryan. Her dress has the Goth edginess I’d expect: a white body-hugging below-the-knee sheath–really a pencil skirt and crop top with sleeveless cut-ins and a rounded neckline, held together by a sheer mesh overlay. Her white pillbox hat has a tiny veil. White elbow-length gloves complete her ensemble.

  Aunt Phyllis is in the front row, along with Jeff, Evan, and Mary. She holds Nicky, who squirms and coos. His onesie resembles a tiny tuxedo.