We were in repose. Pierre sat on the edge of the couch as I reclined. He looked at me in his most surreptitiously worshipful manner and whispered, "How was your day, my darling?" He was a brawny diplomat from Paris with a PhD in astrophysics and 27 vital secrets: Dr. Rabnud.
I stretched my arms, catlike, whispering, "Terrible. I was tortured, tortured." I being the shapely, alluring, and sometimes brilliant undercover international superspy, Mae Wong.
Pierre thought I was an ordinary lingerie model. He cooed, "Ohh, doll, it's hell out there, isn't it? Let's just unwind, why don't we?" and reached to pull my cowgirl boots off. He struggled with them a minute or two, finally accomplished the task and dropped them behind the couch, pulled my dirty socks off and threw them after the boots, started massaging my feet while I closed my eyes and relaxed. Hot cool jazz was smoldering on the stereo.
We both tensed at a noise outside the door. Had they tracked us down already? There seemed to be no sanctuary for a pair such as us.
The door handle rattled. The feeble lock would not hold them out for long; we both knew how determined Mater Hari could be. "I fear our respite may be drawing to a close, my darling," Pierre whispered, his words a faint summer breeze.
The door opened. "So you are in here." It was a voice I knew well. "Pete, it's time you were going home. Mavis, come on, we need to put some more foot powder on your fungal infection."
I did not care for the way Pierre wiped his hands on his jeans. Way to blow a fantasy, mom.
Opening: Alice Melville.....Continuation: Anonymous