Persuasive Lips

by Sherry Silver

  They fell asleep, contented and sweaty.

  * * *

  Della dreamed of spaghetti. Spaghetti and meatballs in sauce simmered all day by her landlady, Mrs. Grogan. Just as she was twirling the long noodles around the tines of her silver fork, those pesky skinny girls that lived across the hall came in and stole her plate. Before she could protest, she awoke.

  Grumbling, Della opened her eyes. She wasn’t in her twin bed at the boarding house on Nichols Avenue. She was lying on something hard. And something hard was pressed against the small of her back. She scanned thorough the darkness, up to the oil lamps flickering on a mantel. Oh yes. She remembered where she was. And who that thing pressed into her back belonged to. She resisted rolling over and kissing him. The fairy tale would end and he’d kick her out. It had to be a fairy tale, didn’t it? A dream of some sort? She’d blink and find out she’d just fallen asleep on the job at her typewriter again.

  Might as well get it over with. She blinked once, twice, then thrice and she was still in the little dark room at the top of the Masonic temple.

  Della gazed around. Beer. Red shoes. His pants. Her bra and ruined stockings. Darn him, he burned my underpants. How was she to get back to DC with no underpants on? Well, her dress was long enough, she’d just have to be mindful and keep her legs together when she rode the streetcar. Boy did she have a story to tell Shirley and Orpha and that new girl Chloe. No, she couldn’t tell them. They’d spread rumors she was tawdry. They’d think low of her. But they always bragged about their escapades. Especially that Shirley, she’d done everyone. The mailman, the garbage men, and now she was bragging she was doing the director of personnel at the Bureau of Engraving and Printing. Myron. Della chuckled. He must be a real looker with a name like that. He was Mrs. Grogan’s stepbrother.

  Agent Jones jerked and rustled behind her. He pulled her closer and nuzzled her neck. “Good morning, my love.”

  “No, it can’t be morning! You mean I didn’t go to work yesterday? What time is it? Do you have a watch? Yes, I know you do, I was studying your arms last night....morning...a few minutes ago?” She flipped over and grabbed his wrist, twisting it around in the dim light. “Ten thirty! But is it today or yesterday?”

  He grunted and pulled his arm back. “Relax. I’m sure it’s still today. I mean we only dozed off. Look, the embers are still glowing.”

  She exhaled as she studied the charred wood. He kissed her and placed her hand on his erection. “My embers are still glowing for you.”

  She kissed him as she traced the contours of his phallus.

  He touched her sweet spot and it gushed with desire.

  Ashley positioned his woman, centering her bottom on his jacket. She offered her hands to him. He kissed her fingers then took both wrists in one hand, pulling her arms over her head. He held her wrists as he kissed her. He gently eased himself inside her.

  She squirmed awkwardly a moment, then her hips fell into rhythm with his thrusts. He used his free hand to stimulate her clitoris. She screamed into his mouth as he tried to silence her pleasure. Satisfied she was done, he let go of her wrists and concentrated on his own enjoyment. She ran her fingers along his hips, sending him into ecstasy. He quietly grunted and went limp.

  She patted his shoulders. “You get heavy when you stop moving.”

  “So you tell me. Sorry.” He rolled off of her and said, “We need to get dressed and get out of here.” He found his clothes and quickly donned them. She wriggled into her bra and buttoned her dress. As she slipped her blue shoes on her bare feet, she asked, “So is the coast clear? I really need to run home and bathe. I’m due at work by three.”

  Agent Jones asked, “Why do you really want to join the O.S.S.? Do you think it will be all danger and adrenaline?”

  “Of course not. I mean, I know most days it’s all very hum drum. I’ll be working in a cramped old windowless office somewhere, trying to fend off a headache as the boss turns the screws on me to crack the code. But occasionally I’ll make money drops and document exchanges. You know, say the secret catch phrase and wait to see if the turncoat operative returns it correctly.”

  “I should have gone into the O.S.S. myself.”

  “Why don’t you apply for a transfer?”

  “Body guarding the President and his wife are the pinnacle of my job aspirations.”

  “You are so boring, Agent Jones.”

  “Hey, now that is not nice. I tried very hard to give you a preview of a spy’s life.”

  “Why?”

  “To get it out of your system so you can focus on life. Mundane, routine life. And get a life. A social life. A red hot social life.”

  “Do you mean to tell me...no wait, let me guess. There are no bad guys after us. That was just another one of your friends? Driving that car? Was it another lady agent? Should I be jealous?” Della sniffled.

  “Sorry if it disappoints you, my dear. Don’t go getting watery on me. I did it because I love you.” He brushed the hair back from her shoulders.

  She wiped a stubborn tear. A tear of hurt for being tricked but it was mixed with flattery that he’d go to such extremes to entertain her. “How did you get use of this room?”

  “I’m a master Freemason. It has its perks.”

  “So that’s what the Mason’s do up here? After they’re initiated next door, they kidnap a woman and bring her up here for wild fornication?”

  “Sure. Why not?”

  Della was disappointed, and hurt. Here she’d fallen for the whole bit. “I’ll never get that job. I’m way too gullible. What was I thinking?”

  “Do you really want the job?”

  “Of course I do. I’ve wanted it since I was a little girl stuck in school. I didn’t belong there you know. I was way too mature. It was sheer drudgery sitting there listening to all the nuns had to say, doing the rote work and being a quiet little good girl.”

  “If only the good sisters could see you now. My, what a fine young lady they brought up.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Now you don’t mean that, Miss Davis.”

  “Just get me out of here. I have to go home and bathe and get dressed and I need to eat.” I can’t believe I’ve laid out all night, having a wild encounter with a coworker. One who said he loved me. That I love to. Oh why did we go and ruin it? Our flirting was so fun. Things will never be the same between us now, they can’t be.

  “No time for that yet. We need to ride the train back and secure it.”

  “Remember, I know the game is over. It’s not my job to fool with the stupid train. And no way am I interested in any more of your shenanigans.”

  “Fine, you can sit in the boardroom.”

  “You can. I’m not getting on that train. Wait. Where are the documents?”

  “Still in the compartment.”

  “You did that on purpose, didn’t you? You left them on the train, while you packed up everything else. Just to make sure I’d get back on. Well all right, I will. I have to collect those papers and give them to the courier tonight. But you are not having your way with me again.”

  “Until you change your mind...”

  “I won’t. I am a good girl. That never happened. Your word against mine and of course with my reputation, I will be the one they believe and you’d better not tell a soul.”

  “I would never do a thing to stain your reputation Miss Davis. As you wish.”

  * * *

  They rode the train back to the basement of the Bureau of Engraving and Printing. Miss Davis collected the documents and stepped off the locomotive. Agent Jones followed her. He offered his arm.

  “Which way are you going?” she asked.

  “Through the labyrinth. Allow me.” He again offered his arm.

  She rolled her eyes and marched over to the wall in the Bureau of Engraving and Printing and shoved a door open. She pulled it shut behind her and made her way through the bowels of the federal building, past overhanging pipes and up a stairwell. She arrived in
a darkened corridor. Peeking in a door window, she made out pallets of uncut hundred dollar bills. This was a work day. Why was everything dimly lit and shut down?

  Stopping to fantasize, she looked both ways and saw that she was still alone. She tried to turn the knob. It did.

  She stepped into the room and walked over to the money. Miss Davis fluttered some of the paper edges in the stack between her thumb and finger. Oh the smell of money. There must be a million dollars here. Wonder if they’d notice if she borrowed just one measly sheet? It would look so good on her wall. Della smiled. Of course she would never do such a thing. She sighed and turned to leave. The light switched on. Busted.

  Della thought, plausible denial, plausible denial. What could her excuse be for being here? She’d escaped from a kidnapper and was on her way back to the White House? She couldn’t get Agent Jones in trouble. He might stop bringing her hamburgers. Besides everyone was in on the stunt. The President, the Hitchcocks, her housemate Chloe Lambert and whoever was driving that car. And whoever patched her up. The White House doctor? Maybe one of her other housemates, the nursing students? Della felt so ashamed.

  An odd fragrance filled the room. Kind of reminded her of Christmas Eve mass. Frankincense and myrrh?

  “The camel spits at midnight,” said a foreign feminine voice. Della turned to see a beautiful exotic woman. Dark hair, kohl makeup around her eyes, ruby lips and an exquisite figure clad in lavender silk.

  “Big Bruno will kiss you next.” Della replied.

  “Good. You have something for me?”

  Della giggled.

  “Give me the documents,” she demanded.

  This was crazy. Another one of Ashley’s dumb spy games. He thought of everything. The son of a gun. “Fine, take them. Who shall I say was calling?”

  “They call me the Thousand Dollar Pharaoh. If you’re ever in Cairo, look me up. A girl like you could have a lot of fun with my him-em.”

  “Him-em?”

  “Male harem.”

  Della busted out laughing as she left the room and made her way to the street. She didn’t have any money or streetcar tokens, so she ended up walking home. And what a long walk it was.

  * * *

  Della carried her shoes the last three blocks. The site of the yellow painted Victorian house in the middle of Nichols Avenue welcomed her like a cool set of sheets under a ceiling fan. If only there were time to sleep for a month. She stopped at the mailbox and pulled out three letters. One to Mrs. Dolly Grogan, from the telephone company. One to Miss Chloe Lambert, from her mother in North Carolina. And one to Miss Della Davis, from the United States Government. Her stomach churned. They wouldn’t be sending me notice I’d been rejected for the promotion. She didn’t get one last time. It had to mean...or else it could be something totally unrelated. Like she’d been drafted or the I.R.S. was auditing her. She climbed the steps to the porch, opened the screen door and stumbled in, letting it bang shut. She dropped her shoes and kicked them under the foyer bench.

  “I’ve told ya a hundred times to close the door gently, don’t ya know,” Mrs. Grogan said, as she stepped out of the kitchen, a potato and a small knife in her chubby hand. “Sakes alive, Della. You look as though you’ve been ridden hard and put up wet. Where have ya been all night?”

  Mrs. Grogan had used that cliché many times, she was referring to a horse, not illicit sex. If only she knew how right she was.

  “I’ve brought the mail in.”

  “Thanks, darlin’. Just place it on the table there, my hands are wet with spud starch.”

  “Who else is home?”

  “Chloe is napping. Shirley and Orpha are at nursing school. Now, ya haven’t answered my question, where have ya been all night?”

  She had to tell somebody, and Mrs. Grogan was the dearest friend she had. She mothered her girls at the boarding house.

  The landlady plopped herself onto a chair with a groan and commenced peeling the potato. “There’s lemonade in the Frigidaire.”

  A drink. Yes, she was so thirsty. “Thanks. Would you like some?”

  “That’d be sweet, darlin’.”

  Della a dropped the mail on the kitchen table and filled two canning jars with lemonade. She set one near Mrs. Grogan and guzzled half of the other before sitting across from her in a ladder backed chair.

  “I didn’t mean to worry you. I would have called if I had been near a phone. You know how badly I want to get into the O.S.S. like Julia?”

  “You and her were close. I got a postcard from her ‘tother day. From Australia. A kangaroo. I placed it out on the table by the divan.”

  “Anyhow, there’s this guy at work. Ashley Jones. He comes two or three times a week and brings me hamburgers from the Tiny Tavern.”

  “Best around.” Mrs. Grogan quartered the potato as it dropped into the pan of water.

  “Anyhow last night, he arranged this elaborate spy game. I fell for it. Then I felt like a fool when I finally figured out this morning that I’d been had. But by then it was too late.”

  “Too late for what?”

  Too late to save myself for my future husband. Too late not to crave a man for the rest of my life. “Too late not to fall in love with an incorrigible rogue. Too late to keep my intellectual persona. Too late to stay focused on my career.”

  “Now, don’t ya go on like that darlin’. Fallin’ in love outweighs any other dreams in this here life. And of course ya can have your career. You’re doin’ well with your secretarial job. Married ladies can stay workin’ these days until the stork announces he’s come to call.”

  Della’s eyes grew big. Married? Stork? No way. Un-unh. She eyed the government letter and dropped her hastily peeled potato into the pan. Water plopped up at her. She rinsed her hands at the sink and dried them. As she picked up the letter and ripped it open, Mrs. Grogan hummed.

  “I got it! I got the promotion! I leave...immediately!”

  * * *

  Three months later, inside the great pyramid of Giza in Cairo, Egypt, United States Office of Strategic Services Agent Della Davis smoothed her orange silk dress as she checked her kohl eyeliner in the mirror of her compact. She felt silly, wanting to look her best, well better than that gorgeous Egyptian woman she was passing the documents to. Della had been shocked to discover the incident in the Bureau of Engraving and Printing had been a real mission, and now here she was making another tricky connection with the Thousand Dollar Pharaoh.

  What if she invites me to come to her him-em? The thought both terrified and intrigued her all at once. Memories of Secret Service Agent Ashley Jones flooded her brain and body. She closed her eyes. She could almost smell his aftershave and Ivory soap, almost could feel his presence.

  Della shook her head. She didn’t even get to say goodbye to him. To thank him. It was awkward, they had exchanged I love yous and had never seen each other again. Oh well. Such was the life of a secret agent. She smiled big and hugged herself, holding in a jubilant squeal. Dreams did come true.

  “American money smells like camel droppings,” said a familiar feminine voice.

  Della opened her eyes and turned to meet the Egyptian operative. She was as gorgeous as always. “Big Ben tolls for Cleopatra.”

  “You are looking ravishing. The change in latitude becomes you,” said the Thousand Dollar Pharaoh.

  Della beamed. She handed a carpet bag to her. The operative snatched it, peeked inside to see the currency and said, “Come, I have a special treat for you.” She reached for Della’s arm and escorted her through the zig zaging corridor inside the pyramid. They stopped at a door. The exotic one slammed her fist against it twice, then three more times. It opened.

  Della felt heat whoosh over her and the heady scent of incense coming from a hippopotamus pot smoking in the center of the tomb. Pallets of green and gold silk lined the candle lit room. Pillows were strewn on the earthen floor. A low table held an elaborate cut glass decanter and two snifters.

  “Enjoy.” The Thousand
Dollar Pharaoh left the room.

  Della nervously eyed the sheik as he lowered a board across the door. He was dressed in a dishdash, the long caftan-like shirt over pants, sandals and a scarf was wrapped around his hair and covered his face. Only his eyes were exposed. Blue eyes.

  As she swallowed hard and then sashayed across the tomb, her mind began reeling. Was it the surreal situation? Was she really in a pyramid about to be pleasured by the Sheik of Arabique or however the song went? Would she allow him? The scent from the incense pot registered in her brain. She’d been trained about drugs the first week on the job. Cannabis. Marijuana. She mustn’t let it cloud her thoughts.

  Della stopped abruptly and turned toward the hippo pot, inhaling deeply. What the heck. She just wanted to chat with him and see what information she could tease from him as she would flirt. They’d taught her flirting during week two. Practicing on the other girls wasn’t very realistic, but it was the best training they had. Would it work on a real man? Could Della be a woman for her country? Week three of training was Jujitsu. She could take care of herself if he got out of hand.

  He stepped up behind her and ran his moistened finger from her hairline to her jaw. She quivered.

  He spun her around. As she looked into his impossibly blue eyes, she nearly fainted, but he caught her as her knees gave out. He lay her on the green silk. The room began to spin. She ripped the scarf from his face. The chamber and time came crashing into focus.

  He offered her a glass of wine. She accepted and took a big gulp. “I have employment papers, a badge and training. I know I am really on a mission for the O.S.S. this time. Just what are you doing here, U. S. Secret Service Agent Ashley Jones?”

  He kissed her hard, his rabid lips nearly suffocating her as all of their passion past resurfaced. She pushed him away and breathed deeply, smiling.

  “I transferred to the Secret Service counterfeit division. I’m here undercover,” he said.

  “Should I really believe you or is this another fairy tale?”

  He took her glass and set it on the table. “Part of the mission. Play acting. Right into her own game.”