The Spy Who Kissed Me

by Pauline Baird Jones

  “So, where are your mother and grandmother?”

  “There was this shoe sale.”

  I didn’t need further explanation. My mother and my sister suffer from Imelda Marcos Syndrome, an incurable addiction to shoes.

  “And they left you in charge of the asylum?”

  She looked sulky. “Yes.”

  I turned Joelle’s and Justice’s heads so she could see the ragged stumps of hair. “Perhaps you can tell me what happened to the braids that used to be right here?”

  “Ar, I like it,” Dom said. Addison gave a big woof, but it was hard to tell if he approved or disapproved.

  Candice, who knew she was in serious trouble, gave a high-pitched shriek that I was sure broke some glasses in the cupboard behind us. I could have pursued the inquiry, but it had all the hallmarks of a Teaching Moment. I didn’t have to do those anymore.

  “I guess I’d better run them through Supercuts.”

  “Good. We can hit the video store,” Candice, of the notoriously short attention span, said.

  “By all means, let me reward your irresponsible behavior.” I know that sarcasm is wasted on teenagers. I just like making futile comments that fall on deaf ears. I looked uncertainly at Kel. Now that he’d checked my license to pack a glue gun, why was he still here?

  “I’m game if you are.” He gave the braid stumps a friendly pat. The twins preened.

  “You’re sure you don’t have to save the world or something?”

  “Only from nine to five. I’m on my own time now.”

  I smiled clear down to my toes. If I had to go out in public with small children and a teenager it was nice to be in the care of a highly trained, professional government agent.

  * * * *

  Since my mother and Rosemary took her van, we had to decide whether to stuff six people into my Honda or his Porsche. Naturally the kids wanted to go in the Porsche.

  “It’s too small,” I said, not without regret. It would be great to zip along in a Porsche with a spy at the wheel.

  “Simone’s mother says men buy cars as phallic symbols,” Candice said.

  I choked back a laugh, but had to look at Kel. He grinned.

  “It’s small, but it has plenty of power under the hood.”

  “What’s a phallic?” Joelle asked.

  It was my turn to grin. “Man’s best friend.”

  Justine frowned. “It’s a dog?”

  Kel choked.

  “In your dad’s case it is,” I said.

  Kel told the body guards to stay put, then we all squeezed into the Porsche and took off. It was a rare privilege watching a government operative handle, with varying degrees of success, three children and a teenager. When we finally arrived back home, I had a feeling some nice, cold-blooded terrorists or some KGB agents would have looked pretty good to him.

  The brood straggled into the house, leaving us standing by the Porsche. Whatever doubts I might have had about him were gone. If he was going to kill me, he would have done it during the outing and saved himself from teenage angst. And I might have thanked him, I admitted, barely repressing a shudder at the memory of what we’d endured at Chuck E.’s Pizza. There ought to be laws against fuzzy, semi-animated singing creatures.

  “That was interesting,” Kel said. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat and shrugged his shoulders, as if to adjust the fit. I realized I’d seen him do it before, usually when our talks turned personal. That was interesting.

  It made my breath catch just looking at him. There was a warm feeling of rightness about the ordinary things I’d done with him. He’d injected something into my life I didn’t want to feel. Something I didn’t want to miss when the spy went back to saving the world and I went back to drawing my stupid roach.

  “I’d ask you in,” I said, “but it would be cruel and inhumane.”

  “Why?” He stepped closer, drawing his hands out of his pockets and putting them on my hips, urging me closer. It didn’t take much urging, though I did allow myself one nervous look back at the house.

  “My mother.”

  “Oh.” A wealth of understanding in the single syllable.

  “She’s probably watching us out the window right now.”

  His face lit with a smile that was slow and potent. “Then we ought to give her something to see.”

  If we gave her something to see, it would give her lots to say, but even knowing I was in for a grilling and a lecture, I didn’t hold back.

  I was getting used to his taste and the shape of his mouth. I was learning to read how I made him feel, to sense my own power. Heady stuff for my mother’s daughter. I ran my hands over his chest to rev his motor. He was right. There was a lot under his hood.

  I was humming when he drove away. The best part? My mother wasn’t watching. She was still trying on shoes with Rosemary.

  There is a God.

  I gave thanks as I went upstairs to my room.

  FIFTEEN

  The blinking light on my answering machine had a peculiar insistence that dug through my pleasure. Reluctantly I re-wound the tape and pushed play.

  “Isabel, Muir here—” I punched up the next message. This one was from Reverend Hilliard, reverently informing me of the time and place for Mrs. Carter’s funeral tomorrow. The last message was from the guys.

  “Yo, Stanley! Jerome here. Wanted to clue you in on tonight’s happening at the Rad. It’s Dirty Dancing night, so wear something hot, okay? We’ll be out front at ten-three-o to collect you in Drum’s truck.”

  A truck. Three young men. And the CIA watchdogs. Sounded like the title of a movie. A disaster flick.

  * * * *

  After almost getting killed it shouldn’t have felt reasonable to don black leggings with lace at the ankles and an electric red silk top for a date with three young men, but it did. I felt, not Isabel-ish but not Stan-ish either, as I unbraided and brushed my waist length hair until it crackled like the pit of my stomach during Kel’s kisses. Once the tangles were out, I piled it into a decorative wad on the crown of my head.

  Perhaps this was how Rosemary felt? And why she was able to be all she could be, when she wanted to. I felt alive again, filled with an anticipation I hadn’t felt since high school graduation, as if my life, and maybe even the world, was just waiting for me to jump in and experience it.

  I attached dangly gold earrings from New Orleans to my lobes, traced red around my mouth and pursed. I was ready to smile, flirt, dance and get kissed.

  I just hoped the guys were ready for me.

  I was watching for them when they came. I didn’t want them honking and alerting the neighborhood or my mother. The suits looked a bit startled when I climbed into Drum’s beat-up pick-up truck. Since it wasn’t a stretch cab, I sat on Tommy’s lap and shifted for Drum. With each passing minute I got younger. By the time we arrived at the Radical, I was eighteen.

  I swept into the club surrounded by boys. It was the kind of place you could. Surprisingly upscale with lots of neon. And lots of boys and girls. The dance floor had the obligatory glitter ball hanging over it. On all four walls, giant screens were angled for viewing music videos, though this evening they featured scenes from the movie, Dirty Dancing. At any other time it might have been unnerving to have Patrick Swayze’s hips coming at me from four different directions, but not tonight.

  Tonight, I had no nerves.

  In a dark corner was the bar. Against the back wall, surrounded by brilliant, white lights was the final service provided by the club: a small stage on which patrons can make the unnatural progression from spectator to drunk to lip-synch performer. The whole room was bathed in a pinkish glow with tracks of red neon lighting cutting through a smoky haze that must have been artificially induced since smoking was prohibited. My suits looked as much at home as Jesse Jackson would at a Klan meeting.

  I felt young, but did my hips know it? The music swept over me and my hips twitched, then went for it.

  I still had it.

&
nbsp; The flickering lights, swaying bodies and sensual sound weren’t “oldies” to me but a magic carpet of sound sweeping me back to a time when I didn’t just feel brand new, I was brand new. Only this time I wasn’t adorning the wall. I was with three, count ’em, three totally rad, totally virile young men.

  It wasn’t as fun as locking lips with Kel, but not much would be. Though their obvious delight in my company as I adapted my body to the sexy, swaying “dirty dancing” came very close. In between dances they plied me with Cokes and “hip” talk. When all that liquid moved lower and signaled a need to exit, I heeded that signal, excused myself and went hunting the ladies room.

  That’s when I got the first chink in my armor. The girls were children playing dress up and talking about actors and singers I’d never heard of. No mention of the war. They probably hadn’t noticed it. Not even scud studs penetrated their self absorption. Their wondering eyes did pierce my calm like the Desert Storm smart bombs were piercing concrete. I kept my chin up, but felt weary trying to come back. Feeling young wasn’t the same as being young.

  It was time to go home and collect my kiss.

  I caught a wave of young things heading out the door and let them sweep me back down the narrow hall to the main room. A counter surge peeled me off that group. I swam up stream, tripped on some steps, climbed them to break free of the current. Someone grabbed me from behind and dragged me backwards up the rest of the stairs. For a moment, I hoped it was Kel. A very short moment.

  “Don’t be shy now, darling!” A brash voice assaulted my ears. It was the lip-synching MC and he’d mistaken me for a drunk in search of time in the spotlight.

  “No.” I protested and started to struggle. This was not a spot I wished to inhabit.

  “We got ourselves a live one, people!” he shouted into the mike, while somehow managing to keep a death grip on me. Someone turned the lights up to a white hot brilliance that turned the areas around the stage black. I blinked in the glare and tried to shake my head. I wasn’t a live one. I was an almost dead one.

  “Let’s give a Rad Welcome to the gal with Hungry Eyes!”

  The crowd cheered gustily. He looked at me.

  “You know the drill, honey?”

  “I don’t…”

  “All you gotta do is read, sweet thing. If you can’t sing, they won’t remember it tomorrow. Give a big smile and show some skin if you got it. If you don’t, show some anyway.”

  Before I could object, he gave me a pat on the butt and trotted off the stage, leaving me alone in a circle of light. Over cheers and catcalls I heard the intro for my impromptu and involuntary performance beginning somewhere outside the lights. The only way off this stage now was to sing. I squinted at the TelePrompter, coming in as smooth as chocolate on cue. It was easy. I’d had hungry eyes since laying them on Kel. My voice responded with nary a quiver and I relaxed a little. It wasn’t that much different from singing in church, only with whistles and cat calls.

  With more confidence, I gave a wiggle of my hips. That launched a round of cheers. Cool. Their approval and the music wrapped around my heart like silk ribbon and soft velvet, trimmed with hearts and flowers. It seemed right to sing a love song when I was falling in lust with Kel, so I gave it all my lungs got and then some.

  “That was great!” the MC interrupted my bows and shoved me towards the edge of the stage. He already had his next victim.

  Hands reached up to help me down.

  “Thank you!” I jumped, staggered. The hands gripped hard. I looked up to protest and found myself nose to nose with the round-headed man.

  I opened my mouth to scream, but he covered my mouth with a meaty fist and shoved my face into a beefy, polyester shoulder. It smelled so strongly of cheap cologne and garlic that I gagged. He dragged me. I dragged my heels. It didn’t stop him. I got my feet hooked on an opening for a few seconds, but it cost me my shoes and some skin and didn’t slow him down enough. A door slammed and we were outside. He gave me a shove that sent me reeling across the alley into a brick wall. I slid down it into a pile of trash.

  “You’ve made things hard, bitch. I oughta make it hard back, but I don’t have no time.”

  Massacre the language, then me. I pushed my failed do off my face and tried to think. Run. Get him talking, do something.

  He pulled a pistol from beneath his polyester jacket and pointed it at me with a rock-steady hand. He didn’t look inclined to talk. Feathery snowflakes drifted down. I stared up the barrel of his gun. Only time to pray. Maybe not even that. His fat finger began to squeeze the trigger—

  I braced for impact.

  Round head should have.

  Someone full body tackled him. They both went down. The dark muzzle of round head’s gun flared, than they vanished into the shadows with the two men. Something plucked against my arm before splintering into the wall behind me.

  Like a distant “Ode to Joy” the wail of approaching sirens mixed with grunts, blows, and crashes. The two men rolled in garbage, moving in and out of my view. One time I saw them with their four hands locked around the gun.

  The gun was pointed at me.

  Then it turned towards the man on the bottom.

  Kel.

  His face was contorted almost beyond recognition as he fought for his life and mine. It occurred to me that I should help. My glue gun had been returned to my sister, but a two-by-four was at hand. I grabbed it and crawled toward them.

  The gun was inches from Kel’s straining face. I closed my eyes and swung. The wood bounced off the round-headed man’s elbow. The gun went flying, discharging as it flew. I think I felt the wind of the bullet as it whizzed by my ear.

  With a heave, Kel rolled on top and slammed the round- headed man against the pavement. Then he slugged him.

  “That’s for Elspeth Carter,” he grunted, “and that’s for Bel.” Another bone crunching slug, then they rolled out of sight again, knocking over a pile of boxes and debris. More grunts and blows, then Kel staggered out into the murky light, a dark stain forming on his shirt where his wound was. He rubbed more blood from his mouth. A box sailed out of the shadows after him. He ducked, pulled his gun.

  “It’s over. Give it up.” The round-headed man threw a garbage can, then burst from the shadows, running down the alley away from us. Kel dropped to one knee and loosed a flurry of shots after him.

  “The next one’s in your back.” His voice was hard and unfamiliar. A police car screeched to a stop, the lights tracing across the ground in front of me.

  The round-headed man paused. It looked like his hands were going up, but the cops didn’t agree. Shots thudded home in round head’s tacky Western-cut shirt. He stiffened, then slumped to the ground.

  Figures streamed past, the white “POLICE” on their jackets the only sharp detail in the murky light. Guns ready, they approached the still figure. One man knelt and pressed his fingers to his neck, then shook his head and put away his gun.

  Kel stowed his weapon, his movements stiff. He turned towards me.

  “You all right?” His grin was crooked, his breathing labored. He held out his hands to me. My arms felt heavy, my body shaky as adrenaline faded away.

  “We’ve got to stop meeting like this.” I tried to match his light tone. I’d seen a lot of stars wheeling past my eyes the past two days, but these stars were on the bitchy side. Hot pokers of pain stabbed into my shoulder. I couldn’t hold back a moan.

  “Bel?”

  I swayed. His grip on my hands tightened. One shifted to my waist, offering support.

  “Are you hurt?”

  I looked at my hand. Something was wrong with it. It wouldn’t do anything and it had red, warm stuff all over it.

  Blood.

  “You’re bleeding,” I muttered. My head fell back on his shoulder. His face wavered in front of me, like a pendulum.

  “That’s not my blood,” I heard Kel say.

  Dark slammed in like the death I’d expected. For a brief instant I felt the roug
h texture of his coat against my face. It smelled like garbage.

  SIXTEEN

  Consciousness returned in pieces, until finally a female face came into focus. One I didn’t recognize.

  “Who are you?”

  “So, you’re back with us, are you?”

  No, my brain said. My mouth didn’t echo it. Memory returned the way consciousness had, in bits and pieces.

  “I got shot.”

  “Yep. And you’re suffering from shock. I’ve got you hooked up to an IV and you should start feeling better soon.”

  “How is she?” I heard Kel ask.

  “Why don’t you ask her, she’s awake.”

  She disappeared and Kel took her place. It was a big improvement. I waved my hand around until he grabbed it.

  “How do you feel?”

  “You should know,” I said.

  He grinned.

  “You both need to take it easy,” put in the EMT. “We’ll be transporting you to the hospital soon.”

  “No!” I tried to sit up. Kel and a lack of coordination stopped me.

  “Don’t get all stirred up. You’ll start bleeding again.” He looked over his shoulder at the EMT. “I’ll have to pass on the ambulance ride, doc, but Miss Stanley will be going.”

  “I didn’t make you go in the hospital.”

  “You want me to take you to the dog doc?”

  “I want to go home.” I shifted my arm and had to hold back a gasp of pain. “It’s not bad. Really.”

  “Right.” Kel looked at the EMT. “How bad is she?”

  “Not bad, it’s just a scratch, but…”

  “There, you see? Unhook me please?”

  She looked disapproving, but did as I asked.

  “You can’t drive—”

  “I’ll be taking her home.” Kel jumped down from the ambulance and then helped me down. We stopped in the shadow space between the ambulance and a building. There was an illusion of privacy, of separation from the activity around the motionless body of the round headed man.