Fanchon's Book(38)

So it was more than "just a dream"-and how quickly I agreed with her! Even as she outlined her proposal, I had shimmering visions of what it would be like. My tender tyrant in a cozy apartment, living the role of the petted and pampered mistress, lounging in a negligee while I came every day and served her. Waited upon her, attended to her wants and whims, amused her if she got bored, caressed her when she turned amorous, yes, and I would even look the part-like a vivacious maid, perhaps, dressed in one of those outrageously sinful soubrette costumes: high heels, short skirt, tiny cap and apron (hmm, hadn't I once considered buying just such an outfit for her?), all of it for effect, more theatrical than practical. But there would be menial chores to perform, too, the dusting, the cleaning, the bed-making (if she ever got out of it long enough!) and I might rinse her undies and hosiery or do her hair and fingernails. Toenails too if she so ordered, although that would reduce me to the status of a body-slave, almost, and I'd have to wear thong sandals and a skimpy tunic-unless she fancied her slave naked. Oh, the times we could have! the wild and wicked revels, the crazy stunts and games, the hot sex; was there anything we wouldn't dare if we had a place of our own? The possibilities were as infinite as my darling little dreamer's imagination, and the prospect held me spellbound.

But I snapped out of my trance in a hurry. Now that Kristi's dream was my dream, something had to be done to make it come true. Couldn't we figure out a way to get the money?

One way was obvious. She mentioned it; I demurred emphatically-and she must have recognized that persuasion would be futile. Despite the simplicity and success of the surreptitious venture, I had no intention of filching any more secret information from Oliver's files. Not that I didn't give it some thought. But as a last resort, that was all, in case none of my other ideas worked out.

Oh yes, I did have ideas. But weak ones, hardly more than faint flashes; all through dinner they kept flitting around in my mind like errant fireflies, a confused tracery of ephemeral notions, maggoty concepts, all entailing some form of skullduggery-and all consequently worthless. Nevertheless, they gave me confidence. Something feasible was bound to turn up in my fertile brain; hadn't I always regarded myself as a creative person?

True, I hadn't shown much originality a few days ago. It was Kristi's idea, not mine, that had promoted our holiday. But the circumstances were different now, I felt strong, I had a justifiable incentive-and of even greater significance, I wasn't pressed for time. For such a long-term deal-and expensive, too-she wouldn't expect me to come up with some hasty hit-or-miss scheme.

Still, I might have to do a bit of temporizing. Even now she seemed glum, casting a desultory gaze at the resort bulletin that had come with the menu. At the moment, what I needed most was a mere figment, a glimmer, a ray of promise just bright enough to keep her from sulking.

Then, astoundingly, I had it!-more than a glimmer, more than a placating hope-and the impact knocked out the insidious fireflies and cleared my head. Creative person? Then why not create? Why not do the thing I did best?

"Eureka," I murmured.

"Huh?" She kept looking at the printed circular and spoke around a spoonful of dessert. "What did you say?"

"Nothing much." I grinned complacently, quite smug in my new-found omniscience. "Eureka. From the ancient Greek. Shouted by Archimedes upon the occasion of-"

"Fanchon, don't act so smart."

"Well, at least I didn't shout it. Now if you could just manage to tear your attention away from that hotel gossip sheet you're so interested in… "

"Uh-huh. But it's not gossip. Only announcements. Hey, they're having fireworks tonight. Can we go?"