Undercover Sir. Carolyn Faulkner
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in the cards for me, and that's okay." She swallowed hard at that lie but forced herself to continue with her timid little speech. "And this is your house—yours and Taffy's. You'll have kids one day, and what am I going to be then? The pathetic maiden aunt, still living with her brother and his wife? No, thank you; I need to find my own way."
She had to give it to him. He looked appalled at what she'd just said. "We would never see you that way."
"You don't have to. I'm doing it for you," she admitted, on the brink of tears and desperate not to cry in front of him, even though he'd never made her feel bad when she did.
Daniel was at a loss for what to say. "Can I at least hug you?" he asked, arms already out to her as he took a step toward her—as if he'd never considered that she might refuse his request.
Knowing that his genuine kindness would break her down into a pile of disagreeable fluids, Ia shook her head, then turned tail and literally ran away from him, down the hall to her room as fast as she could.
And that was where she had spent the majority of her time until, one afternoon when she was holed up in her bedroom with yet another Barbara Cartland novel in her hand, and she heard a knock on her door.
"He's gone. You can come out now," Taffy said, wandering back toward the living room as if she didn't care whether or not the younger woman followed her or not, which wasn't necessarily the truth. She liked Ia but didn't want to get between a brother and sister, so she let them work things out as much as possible. And she wasn't much interested in spending the time he was away on business alone in the house, either.
At first, her friendship with Taffy was just due to the fact that they lived in the same house, and Daniel was their only common bond. But as they spent more and more time together, they found they liked a lot of the same things, and while the cat was gone, the mice played. Surprisingly, though, with all of their late-night chats and the booze that inevitably accompanied them, they had never discussed the fact that they had each spent time with his hand blistering their bottoms. That said a lot about how embarrassed they each were about that state of affairs, she assumed.
When Ia appeared in the living room, her sister-in-law informed her, "He went on some big overseas trip—England? Ireland? Somewhere in that vicinity," she mused, wrinkling her nose as if having to think about the geography of it hurt her head. "He'll be gone for a couple of weeks. Wanna go get a pizza and some beer?"
"I admire you, you know," Taffy said as they slipped into one of the few empty booths at Alfredo's Pizzeria fifteen minutes later.
Ia snorted. "You do? Why? I haven't done anything whatsoever to deserve admiration."
"Yes, you have. You're not waiting around to get married. You've got your degree, you've got a good job and a car and Daniel told me that you're even looking to move out. Good for you!"
Ia couldn't decide whether it was actually good for her, or good for Taffy, but she gave her the benefit of the doubt. "Thank you. I-I'm not what men want, apparently, never had been, so I figured I should make my own way."
And get out of a house where my brother feels he has the right to spank me, she thought but didn't say.
But Taffy did. "Yeah, and living alone means that Daniel won't be enforcing a curfew, either." The older woman stared into Ia's eyes boldly "And spanking you when you break it, I mean."
She knew that her complexion was an unbecoming shade of red, and her face was already unbecoming, and that knowledge just made her blush even harder. It was a vicious cycle.
"Uh, no. He won't." Ia wasn't at all sure that she wanted to talk about this.
But Taffy wasn't giving her the option. "I wish I could get him to lay off that stuff!" she moaned. "I mean, jeez. Most nights, I can barely sit in those damned wooden dining room chairs. I asked him if we could replace them, and he said no!"
Ia shrugged. "So replace them yourself You get an allowance, don't you?"
Two beers were placed in front of them and they gave their usual order—a large pepperoni and sausage with extra cheese.
Taffy took a swig of her beer. "Can you imagine what he'd do if he came home and they were gone—especially after I've already asked him to get rid of them? I'd never sit down again!"
Ia had to laugh at that. "You're probably right about that. I withdraw my suggestion."
It didn't go any further than that, but it was a nice icebreaker, too, something they'd been dancing around for too long. It drew them even closer to each other than they had been while he was gone. Having a sister-in-law whom she'd had to adapt to kind of gave Ia a bit of insight as to what it might be like to live with someone else, and it reinforced her feeling that she really didn't want to move in with someone who was a complete stranger.
On Saturday night, they decided to treat themselves by going out to dinner and a movie. They debated about several of the films but ended up going to see "Jailhouse Rock" because Ia wanted to drool over Elvis, on whom she'd had a crush since the first time she'd heard Don't Be Cruel.
She rhapsodized over him during dinner. Taffy thought he was all right but said that her husband was much better looking, and better built, too.
Ia frowned at that, mostly because she wasn't wrong. Among the other many ways in which her brother had won the genetic lottery, were his all-American man good looks. She tried not to be resentful of him but, especially now, was failing badly.
But Taffy's comment set her to thinking about what she liked in a man. Elvis was great but unattainable—not that any other man in her life had seemed attainable, but he was less so than most. She did like her brother's physique—tall, broad and muscular. She didn't give a hoot about hair color, although she didn't much go for redheads. She was not a fan of freckles or paleness, not that she'd be picky if a ginger asked her out. And she had to admit that, even though she'd commit a multitude of sins with him if he but asked her, in all honesty, Elvis' build wasn't what she preferred, either.
Once they finished dinner, the two of them stopped at a small variety store for the best foods to console them in their loneliness, chips, ice cream, and chocolate—a handful of Sky bars for Taffy and Mallow Cups for Ia—and more beer, not that there wasn't a well-stocked bar at home.
Once there, they got out of their prim dresses and into their robes, nightgowns and slippers, meeting in the big living room that separated their bedrooms.
Taffy already had drinks poured for them, as well as a beer on a coaster next to her, and all the snacks had been placed on the coffee table in pretty bowls she'd gotten from someone as a wedding present. Even the candy bars were strewn artfully around the bowls, and there were big, fluffy throw pillows on the couch that didn't usually reside there. There was even a fan of small napkins available, so that it looked as if she was expecting to throw some kind of combination cocktail and slumber party.
"You are such a good decorator," Ia complimented as she grabbed a candy bar and a handful of Cheetos.
"Use a bowl," Taffy reprimanded, pointing at the cereal bowls she'd pressed into service. "I'm not having your orange powdered fingerprints all over my sofa."
"Yes, ma'am," Ia teased while reaching for one.
Taffy got up and turned on the TV, standing there thumbing through the guide while it warmed up enough to show a picture, asking, as she flipped the dial around, "Lawrence Welk or Gunsmoke?"
"Gunsmoke, please."
It wasn't either of their favorites, but it was always great to watch something that they didn't have to pay to see and could watch in their pajamas, so they settled back, snacking absently and drinking more avidly until it was over.
"Your Hit Parade or The Joseph Cotton Show?" Taffy crossed to the TV again.
Ia wrinkled her nose. "Neither."
"Then let's play some music."
"We can't. My player needs a new needle."
Taffy