Tesla's Stepdaughters

by Wesley Allison

  “Your turn to work the front of the building.”

  Andrews looked at his partner questioningly.

  “You know as well as I do; they’ve got to get used to you.”

  Taking a route through the eaves that bypassed most of the screaming fans, Andrews made his way to the front of the stadium and stopped to check the police presence at one security station after another. He could still hear the music plainly enough though separated by several walls, and he paused for a minute to listen when Love in China, one of the new songs came on. But that was also a signal that the concert would soon be over and a whole new set of security problems would emerge.

  He stepped to the front exit and stood along the edge of the barricade. Six police officers watched him carefully. Although none of them wore makeup, only one of them appeared to have purposefully made herself into the image of a man—a faux man. She had widened her eyebrows with eyebrow pencil and had drawn a thin, line mustache just above her upper lip. Andrews had always despised such mustaches on men, but thought it looked somewhat cute on her.

  “Eyes front,” ordered a voice. The six officers snapped to attention. Andrews turned to find a Chicago police captain. She was short and blond and was wearing a skirt and shoes that would have made doing police field work all but impossible.

  “Agent Andrews, I presume,” she said smiling. “I wanted you to know that we’ve identified the officer who… oh…oh…oh my. It is just like they say, isn’t it.”

  She paused and held onto the sawhorse-like leg of the barricade as her face flushed red with blood. “I wondered if I would feel it, since I have two children.”

  “You were saying,” he encouraged.

  “We have identified the officer who let the crazy fan past the safety area. She’s been sent back to her station, and will face suspension pending a review hearing.”

  “That was fast.”

  “It wasn’t hard to find out. Our officers are dedicated and professional for the most part. Nobody wants a stupid mistake to tarnish the reputation of the entire department.”

  “I’ll make a note of that in my report.”

  “I appreciate that,” she smiled. “Agent Andrews, do you have plans for dinner?”

  “Um, my partner and I have a working dinner planned.”

  “Oh.”

  “Threat assessments and such…”

  “Oh no. I understand. It was just, with you being new in town and all…”

  “Perhaps another time.”

  “Yes of course.”

  At that moment, the Ladybugs began Tesla’s Stepdaughters. Andrews went back the way that he had come. Every audience member seemed to be singing along as loudly as humanly possible. He made it almost to his original position at the edge of the stage when the song ended. The four musicians ran off stage and he directed them back toward the exit at the rear of the stadium, following in their wake. They passed through the back door and climbed into the waiting Hudson Commodore limousine. Agent Wright, who had been waiting with a crowd of Chicago PD, climbed in too and the steam-powered vehicle rolled forward, falling into line in the middle of a police motorcade.

  Andrews had to turn around to look at the driver and to see where they were going because he was in one of the three seats facing rearward. He felt a hand on his right thigh and turned to find it belonged to Penny Dreadful, seated on his right and staring nonchalantly out the window. Straight across from him was Ep!phanee. Her forehead was beaded with perspiration and a strand of blue hair was pasted across her cheek. Without a word she lifted up her high-heeled boot and rested it on the seat between his legs.

  Chapter Five: The Palmer House

  Early the next morning Andrews and Wright met in the Chicago Science Police field office. They sat down in a room with four local agents. Stacked on a conference table were five large cardboard boxes. Wright looked at each person seated in turn.

  “We have our work cut out for us this morning ladies. Inside these boxes are as many of the threatening letters, unsettling telegrams, and creepy missives that the Ladybugs have received in the past twelve months, as a group or individuals, as we could get a hold of. Lucky us. We get to go through and read them. I want them sorted by who they are targeting, the reason for the threat, their geographic origin, their likely source, and the threat level.”

  The team sorted through the files by placing each of the items into matrix created by Agent Wright. Sandwiches and coffee were brought in and they worked right through lunch and well past five o’clock in the evening. In the end, they had 342 individual threats to investigate.

  “All right,” said Wright. “The most important factor is threat level. We begin farming these individual items to the field offices based on their geographic origin, but we do so in order of threat level, starting with the most severe.”

  “That’s a lot of woman-power strung out all through the bureau, isn’t it?” asked Anna Finnegan, one of the local field agents.

  “Chicago was willing enough to spare the four of you. I’m sure that the other offices can spare a couple of agents to investigate someone living in their area. We’ll all meet back here first thing tomorrow.”

  “Agent Andrews…” two of the women started at once, and then looked at each other.

  “If you’re not doing anything for dinner…” one of them continued.

  “I’m sorry ladies, but my partner has a meeting,” said Wright. “I however, would be happy to escort any or all of you to dinner.”

  “I have a meeting?” Andrews leaned over and asked.

  “In the lobby.”

  The lobby of the Grace Coolidge international building, though Spartan, was large. It took a minute for Andrews to find his appointment waiting by feet of the statue of Justice. He almost didn’t recognize Ep!phanee. She was dressed in faded jeans and a Nehi Blue Cream Soda tee shirt. Her hair was tucked up under a black military cap.

  “Is somebody here with you?” he asked.

  “Nope. I ditched the cops back at the hotel. Buy me a hotdog.”

  “You shouldn’t be running around town without an escort.”

  “Well I have one now. Besides, I just want a hotdog. There’s a hotdog cart just down on the corner. I saw it on the cab ride over here.”

  She took him by the arm and led him to the glass enclosed front of the building, holding the door open for him. The hotdog vendor was stationed just where she had described, a chubby little woman with a striped shirt, a large stain covering most of the front.

  “Two dogs,” Ep!phanee ordered, then turned to Andrews. “What do you want on yours?”

  “I don’t know; whatever’s customary.”

  “Haven’t you ever had a hotdog before?”

  He shook his head. “German food’s not very popular in the enclaves.”

  “Hotdogs are as American as apple pie. All right. Bacon, beans, avocado, catsup, and mayonnaise. Do you want jalapenos?”

  “Yes please.”

  “So you don’t have street food in the enclaves?”

  “Sure. Tacos-- usually fish tacos, but sometimes grilled shrimp.”

  The vendor handed Piffy the hotdogs, already loaded with beans and avocado. Stepping to the end of the cart, she scooped on the jalapenos and then squirted on squiggly lines of red catsup and white mayonnaise. Handing one of the dogs to Andrews, she watched as he took a tentative bite. She then opened her mouth wide and shoved in about a third of hers.

  “Good huh?” she asked, her mouth full.

  He nodded and then took another bite. Ep!phanee began strolling down the sidewalk and even though she was moving slowly Andrews had to take a few quick steps to keep up. He was still eating his hotdog as they walked, being careful not to spill the condiments on his jacket. She finished first and dropped the little paper hotdog caddie in a trashcan beside the street.

  “I should get you back to the hotel.”

  “I’m staying in this hotel now.”

  Andrews looked skyward to find that they
were in front of the Palmer House. When he looked back down, Ep!phanee was already going through the revolving door. He stuffed the last bit of hotdog into his mouth and dropped the paper waste in a can beside the door, following her. The lobby was huge, with a tiled vaulted ceiling that looked like it belonged in a cathedral. Andrews felt self-conscious even walking on the rugs.

  “Why are you staying here?”

  “We have two more days in Chicago. I’ll go crazy if I’m cooped up with the girls the whole time.”

  “You have two entire suites at the American. And it’s under complete police protection.”

  “I’ve got my own suite here.” She twirled around a few times but kept on course for the elevator. “It’s the same one Ulysses S. Grant stayed in. He used to be on money, you know.”

  She skipped into the elevator and he followed. An attendant, a small woman in a tight red uniform, was waiting inside.

  “Twenty-fifth floor,” said Ep!phanee.

  The attendant nodded, and then turned the lever sending the car gliding swiftly upwards.

  “Ulysses S. Grant died in 1885,” said Andrews. “There weren’t any twenty-five story buildings in Chicago then.”

  “I think I feel his presence though.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  When the elevator came to a stop, the door opened and Ep!phanee skipped to a door at the end of the corridor. She produced a key, but said, “Maybe you should go inside first and make sure it’s safe.”

  Andrews entered and dutifully checked throughout, though as he expected, there was no danger present. In the meantime, the Ladybugs’ singer closed and locked the door. While he made a quick call to let her police protection unit know that she was safe, she sat down and opened a bottle of champagne that was chilling on ice next to the couch, pouring two glasses, and presenting one of them to him upon his return. The presidential suite was just the type of room in which he would have expected to find the famous rock star. There were two spacious bedrooms, each with their own large baths. The living room, in addition to a u-shaped white sectional sofa, had a fireplace, a full bar, and right in the middle of the room, a white grand piano.

  “I shouldn’t drink.”

  “It’s evening. You’re off. You have to have some time off, don’t you?”

  “I suppose.” He took the glass and held it up to the light.

  “Never had champagne before?”

  “I’ve never had any kind of alcoholic beverage. It’s prohibited in the enclaves.”

  “Try it.”

  He took a sip and swirled the bubbles around in his mouth. By the time it reached the back of his throat, it was nothing but fizz. He took another sip, swallowing it directly down.

  “Like it?”

  “Not really,” he said.

  She rose on one knee, sliding the other over his lap so that she was straddling him. Downing her glass in one quick swallow, she tossed it aside and then took his glass and drained it, tossing it after hers. Then she grabbed his face in both hands and pressed her lips on his. He was suddenly conscious of the fact that he had recently eaten jalapenos, but then so had she and as her tongue reached deep into his mouth he realized that she didn’t taste bad at all. He put one hand on the smooth skin of her shoulder and one on the smooth skin of her thigh. Then suddenly she was gone, dancing across the room. He watched as she moved with a dancer’s grace.

  Ep!phanee sat down at the grand piano and opened the keyboard lid. Her fingers made a quick flourish across the keys.

  “Are you ready to be serenaded?” she asked.

  “This is exactly like half a dozen of my dreams.”

  “Only half a dozen?” she said huskily, turning back to the keyboard and immediately playing the rolling piano intro that needed no introduction. Then she sang.

  Now we think it’s a pity,

  All our dreams have crawled away to die,

  Armies retreated and flags withdrawn,

  Lying in darkness waiting for dawn,

  Our strongest dreams are only envies.

  All we have are memories of dust.

  All we have are memories of dust.

  She turned after the first chorus to look at Andrews, winked and then finished the other three verses.

  Then she started into another song. It was completely unlike anything Andrews had ever heard before. Ep!phanee tickled the keys rather than playing them, and when she sang, the words seemed almost divorced from the music.

  It seems you don't want to see,

  What you are doing to me,

  My arms are waiting to caress you,

  And to my heart they long to press you, sweet heart.

  He was lost in the magic of her voice and the words seemed unimportant. When she finished, she turned around.

  He stood up and applauded, smiling. “That was nice. Is that a new song?”

  “That, my fine young man, is a very old song. They call that music Jazz and it’s one of the forerunners of Rock and Roll. It kind of disappeared along with the men. That was Billie Holiday—the last great jazz singer.” As she spoke, she moved catlike back across the room until she was next to him.

  “I’m sorry to say that I never heard of him.”

  “Her.”

  She stood up on her toes and pressed her mouth to his ear. When she spoke, her breath sent a shiver down his spine. Maybe it wasn’t just her breath. “Have you ever had sex with a woman?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “Then today really is a day of firsts,” she said, taking his hand and leading him to the bedroom.

  In the morning, Andrews opened his eyes to stare at the ceiling. He knew precisely where he was, but he didn’t remember having fallen asleep. He hadn’t imagined that it would be like this. He had learned all about sexual intercourse in school and he had made his monthly donations since he had turned eighteen, but it was still a surprise how much energy he had expended. It felt like a workout at the gym—a really, really good workout. The lights were all on and he turned to examine Ep!phanee, lying beside him. She was sleeping on her side. Her exposed back was completely covered by a large and very colorful tattoo of an underwater coral reef scene, complete with tropical fish, sea turtle, and a lobster. It made her white buttocks stand out all the more.

  After pulling the blanket up to cover her, he got up and turned off all the lights in the bedroom, and then walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower. While waiting for the water to heat up, he looked at himself in the mirror. He had somewhat more whisker shadow than would have been considered “five o’clock,” and he was used to shaving before showering. Unfortunately he didn’t have his razor with him and there wasn’t a complimentary one in the bathroom—only a tube of something called No-Hair, and it specifically said that it was not for use on the face. Thankfully the hotel did offer complimentary shampoo and ten minutes later Andrews was stepping out of the glass enclosed stall, feeling much fresher than he had.

  He was just getting ready to brush his teeth when he heard a noise coming from the other room. Leaning back to look out of the doorway, he could see that Ep!phanee was still lying right where he had left her. He stepped quickly over to the chair by the door where he had left most of his clothes. Lying on top of his jacket was his shoulder holster and the pistol it contained. He withdrew it and flipped on the power switch. He held it close to his chest, the grip in his right hand, and pressed the palm of his left over it to stifle the high-pitched whine.

  He could hear voices clearly from the living room now. Pivoting through the doorway, he brought up the pistol and took aim at two figures standing by the couch.

  “Freeze!”

  The two women, both clad in red uniforms stopped where they were. Between them was a rolling metal tray of food beneath covered dishes. One of the women had one of the silver covers lifted in the air and it stayed as frozen as the women did. Andrews pulled his pistol back, aiming it at the ceiling, while he flipped off the power switch. The women continued to stare, their mouths open,
obviously more surprised by the naked man than the weapon he carried.

  “Carry on then,” he said, ducking back into the bedroom and holstering his gun before looking for his underwear.

  “Is the living room safe?” asked Ep!phanee.

  “I take it you ordered some food?”

  “Woman does not live by hotdog alone, and I like a big breakfast. Why don’t you leave your clothes off?”

  “I think I’ll get dressed. You should feel free to stay naked though.”

  “Thank you. I will.” She walked over to him and kissed him hard on the mouth. Andrews finally understood Penny’s comment about going to see her jewelry. Ep!phanee had things pierced that Andrews had not believed could be pierced. When she turned and made her way through the door, he admired her catlike movements.

  When he was dressed, he joined her. The two waitresses had gone, leaving an appealing arrangement of breakfast. As he cut his steak, he couldn’t stop admiring the woman seated across from him. When she saw that he didn’t seem able to take his eyes away, she moved slightly to give him a better view.

  “Agent Andrews?”

  “Yes?”

  “Don’t you think it’s time I was able to call you something else?”

  “Hmm? Oh. My first name is John.”

  “John.” She rolled the sound around her mouth. “How unusual.”

  “And what do I get to call you—Theresa?”

  “God no! I’ve had everyone who ever called me that killed. My friends call me Piffy.”

  “I’m more than a friend now, aren’t I?”

  “More or less.”

  “I’m going to call you Fanny.”

  “That’s obscene,” she frowned.

  “No. Your fanny is just your butt, right?”

  She smiled and stood up. “Here, let me show you what it means. You see this lonely little clown fish tattoo?”