Undercover Sir. Carolyn Faulkner
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use the console! It's so much better than your player—we can stack some forty-fives and just dance and sing for a long time!"
Ia's eyes grew wide. "But Daniel told me that I was never to touch that stereo when he wasn't here!"
Her sister-in-law's eyes rolled. She got a lot braver when she was drunk—and Daniel wasn't there. "Yes, he said the same thing to me, too. But we're not children, and we're not going to break it. We're just going to listen to some music. You go get your case of forty-fives and I'll get mine, and we'll put them on."
Considering that she wasn't any too sober, Ia thought that was a stupendous idea.
And it was.
It was an eclectic mix. Jailhouse Rock, Sentimental Journey, Come and Go with Me, It's Been a Long, Long, Time, and Wake Up, Little Susie were all sung—badly—and danced to even worse. At one point, the Blue Danube came on, and they waltzed together, giggling the whole time as an unlikely Ia took the lead.
When it was done, Taffy was more than wobbly, and Ia wasn't far behind her.
"Ya know, we have brownies left over and homemade hot fudge. We could make sundaes!" Taffy headed to the kitchen on that note, and Ia followed her—weaving a bit but able to make it there without incident—while the older woman already had a pot on the stove to heat up the hot fudge.
Ia wasn't too drunk to notice that as Taffy became more and more relaxed, she became less and less fussy-neat. The evening had started out with her chiding Ia about napkins, but by the time they got to the sundaes, she'd just left the kitchen as it was while they inhaled their sundaes, without making the slightest motion toward cleaning it. There was hot chocolate on the fridge and the counter; the remainder of the ice cream was left melting on the counter and the dirty pan never made it to the sink to soak.
And the living room was worse. Much worse, not that she seemed to care in the least.
"I still wish there'd been whipped cream for this," she said later when they were so stuffed, they could barely move.
Ia thought she was going to throw up, but Taffy was still going, refilling her drink every time she refilled her own, whether it needed it or not.
"I don't know how you stay so slim when we eat like this."
Taffy rose at that as if she'd issued a direct challenge. "We don't eat like this…" She motioned to the bags of chips that had spilled on the floor, the candy bar wrappers that were strewn everywhere, and the empty sundae bowls perched precariously on the end tables. "…very often. But I'll show you how I do it normally, as long as I can trust you to keep it a secret from your brother." Taffy gave Ia a somewhat threateningly speculative look that was expectant at the same time.
It prompted Ia to respond mindlessly, "Of course, you can," without knowing what it was that she was agreeing to keep from Daniel.
She returned from her bedroom with something Ia never thought she'd see in this house—a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.
"Oh my word, you smoke? How could you possibly? You know how much Daniel hates smoking!"
"Don't I just!" Taffy shrugged. "I picked up the habit before I met him, when I was working as a secretary, because if you didn't smoke, you didn't get a break. I've cut down a lot—because I enjoy sitting—but I keep a pack for times like this, when he's gone." She offered the pack to Ia. "Want one?"
Ia hesitated. If Daniel found out, he would spank her again—or even give her the belt—and she wasn't at all sure that the reward was worth the risk.
But then, in her newfound spirit of independence, she decided to throw caution to the wind. "Yes, please."
"Okay, but we can only do this outside. Never, ever, ever in the house. We have to be sure to collect the butts and flush them down the toilet and wash and clean the ashtray. And when we're done, we're going to take off our nightgowns and our panties and I'm going to wash them. You'd do well to wash your hair, too. That man has the nose of a bloodhound. He's not due home until next Friday, but I'm really paranoid about him finding out."
For someone who was drunk enough to uncharacteristically allow a bomb to go off in her kitchen and living room, she was positively obsessive about the rules surrounding smoking when she knew her husband didn't want her to.
And Ia absolutely understood—and subscribed to—that level of paranoia. Daniel's punishments were to be avoided at any and all costs, and nothing was going to be seen as too extreme in that pursuit.
Ia nodded, saying, "I understand."
Taffy stopped abruptly on their way out onto the deck that overlooked the backyard. "I know you do. Have you ever smoked before?"
"No."
"Not even in college?" She sounded dubious.
"Uh-uh."
"You really are a goody-two-shoes, aren't you?"
Ia sighed. "Guilty as charged."
"Well, who can blame you, I guess, with him raising you It's a wonder he didn't put you in a convent."
"Might as well have."
It turned out that she didn't like smoking, or it didn't like her. The more she tried to inhale, the worse her cough got, until she'd coughed so much, she thought she was going to be sick. So, she handed the rest of her half-smoked cigarette back to Taffy. "I don't want to waste it. I don't think smoking is for me." She grinned. "I'll just stick with liquor and bad boys."
Taffy laughed at that. "Well, liquor, anyway. I'd be willing to bet you haven't even had a good boy!"
Ia didn't laugh at that at all, and, to her credit, Taffy noticed.
"Oh dear, I'm sorry! I didn't mean for that to sound…well, you know, mean."
"I know, I know," Ia reassured her automatically, really trying not to think about what she'd said, or she was going to burst into tears.
But Taffy saved the day by stubbing out her cigarette and guiding Ia back into the living room, where she produced a game that turned out to be absolutely hilarious when played drunk—Life. When they were supposed to go to Millionaire Acres, they started over instead, so they never really finished the game and declared a winner. Instead, each of them ended up literally having a carful of children trailing them around the board, and they had both been most of the possible careers—although Taffy kept saying that she didn't want one, but she did it for the money.
Surprisingly, drunk Mystery Date was even better, but they didn't finish that one, either. By then, they were getting sleepy.
Taffy did manage to ask Ia which one of the men—as she cheated and looked through the pictures of the possible dates—was her type.
Ia colored. "I'm not sure."
"Well, the the first thing you need to decide is what kind of man you want. Then you know who to set your sights on!"
She said it as if that was all Ia would need to do to have hordes of men knocking down the door to date her.
Her sister-in-law was determined to help her, but by that point, it was the middle of the night, and they were hammered. Taffy fell asleep with her cigarettes in her hand, having intended to go out and smoke one last one before retiring. Ia passed out on the couch with her slippers actually on it, which was a testament to just how polluted Taffy was, or she would have been screaming bloody murder at her to get her feet off the couch.
Chapter 2
"What in hell is going on here?" The demand was issued by someone who sounded extremely angry.
"Stop yelling!" Taffy, who, when she lifted her head off the coffee table had at least one little plastic car and several peg people of various sexes affixed to her cheek, whined.
"Yeah. Pipe down!" Ia added, turning over on the couch to present whoever the rude person was with her back.