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Copyright ©2008 by C.S Chatterly
First published in 2008, 2008
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Uniform Behaviour: Daring the Underworld
ISBN # 978-1-906328-70-2
©Copyright C.S Chatterly 2008
Cover Art by Lyn Taylor ©Copyright December 2007
Edited by Claire Siemaszkiewicz
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Warning: This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has been rated Total-e-burning.
Uniform Behaviour
DARING THE UNDERWORLD
C.S. Chatterly
Dedication
For my husband, Lee, and all those who want a little fire in their night.
Trademarks Acknowledgement
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmark mentioned in this work of fiction:
The Twilight Zone: Cayuga Productions
Chapter One
Lisa Portelli amiably waved at the last guest to leave the apartment, shut her door and walked back to the dining room. Remains of a birthday dinner and colourful gift wrap lay strewn about the expensive, antique cherry dining table that had once belonged to her grandmother. Turning twenty-nine wasn't the worst thing that could happen to a woman. Since there was only one other alternative, aging didn't bother her that much at all. She had a life most women would envy. She had a bank account augmented by not only her work as a New York City Police Department vice detective, but her grandmother's money and an old family name. Anyone would envy her except that most people didn't seem to understand a fat bankroll didn't necessarily solve problems. One of the few people to understand that was currently walking into the room carrying two cups of hot coffee and beckoning her to sit down and relax.
"Come on Lisa, let the mess go until later. We gotta talk,” Cathy Sullivan firmly declared.
"Uh oh."
Cathy raised one eyebrow as she sat at the table and waited for Lisa to scoot enough party debris aside so she could safely put the coffee cups down. “What's that supposed to mean?"
Lisa sat in the closest chair to Cathy, pulled her coffee mug closer, and took a sip before answering. “Whenever you say that, in that particular tone of voice, I've done something you think I need to be counselled about."
"What tone of voice?” Cathy innocently asked.
"You know. The Lisa's-been-a-bad-girl tone of voice. It's the same one my supervisor uses when he wants to rag on me."
Cathy laughed. “You've been working vice too long. You're paranoid."
"No, I'm not.” Lisa adamantly shook her head. “You want to make a point."
"All right, Miss Portelli. If you want me to get straight to the point, I will.” Cathy took a deep breath before continuing. “You know you and I have been friends since we graduated from academy."
"And?” Lisa prompted.
"You've blown me off when I've asked this before. But I'll ask again.” She sighed heavily. “Why is it that I never see you with the same man more than twice? And why the stuffed shirts lately?"
Lisa pretended to wince at the insult. “What's wrong? You didn't like Bradley Winthrop-Silsby the Fourth?"
Cathy simply stared at her.
Lisa couldn't help smiling. “Okay, so you think Brad is a loser.” She stopped for a moment. “You're right. He is."
Cathy frowned and leaned toward her. “All of the guys you've been dating for the last year are losers. I know that's not what you want to hear, and it's not even the nicest thing in the world a best friend can say, but it's true. You know it."
Lisa nodded. “Yeah, you're right. Some of the suits my parents try to hook me up with are dull as dirt. If I have to listen to one more guy explain stock options or brag about his Jaguar I'll puke."
"You used to date guys from your division. And I don't think any of them could be remotely described as boring or narcissistic,” Cathy reminded her.
"Yeah, but that wasn't serious. I was just messing around and they knew it. Nobody took any of that to heart, you know."
Cathy tapped her finger on the table top and continued staring at her friend.
"What's your point, Cathy? I know when I invited Brad to my party tonight that he wasn't the most scintillating company in the world. But my parents asked me to extend the invitation."
"They want you settled with someone who has money, don't they?"
Lisa shrugged. “They want me settled. Period."
"And that's not for you?"
Lisa shook her head. “I'm beginning to think it isn't. But why people think a woman has to have a man in her life perplexes me no end. Truth is, men are beginning to bore the hell out of me. The ones my folks introduce me to have a lot of money. And all those men want is to marry someone who has more dough or stock options than they do. They don't give a rat's butt about the woman they go after, so long as she's rolling in cash. As to the guys at work, nobody there takes anybody else seriously when we date. We can't and do our jobs. It's strictly fun and games among the single set and that's probably the way it should be. Police work and long-term romance don't mix."
"I don't think you and long-term romance mix,” Cathy observed.
Lisa grinned. “Maybe not. Maybe I'll end up as one of those elderly, moneyed spinsters who goes around adopting lots of cats and gets away with acting eccentric.” She laughed. “Maybe you'll find me living to a hundred and still single."
Cathy frowned. “You can do better than that. You can find a great guy."
"So says the lady who met her dream man. It's easy for you to judge when you've got a champ like Ian in your life."
"I wouldn't have him in my life if it weren't for you,” Cathy quickly returned. “If you hadn't set us up on that date at the bordello, we'd still be two lonely people drifting around, waiting for the right person."
Lisa leaned forward and patted her friend's arm. “You two really do love each other, don't you?"
"Damn straight,” Cathy firmly attested. “If he could have got off duty for the party, he'd have told you himself. And we'd both tell you again, for the hundredth time, how than
kful we are for playing that practical joke to set us up. Who'd have thought a blind date at a bordello would work?"
"Hey, do I know how to match-make or what?” Lisa leaned back in her chair and shot a superior smirk at Cathy. “I knew you two were made for each other. You just needed to be pushed in the right direction. Setting you up to meet the bordello was ingenious, if I do say so myself."
"So, if you're so good at match-making for others, why can't you find someone for yourself? Why date protozoa like that Brad?"
Lisa tried hard to suppress a laugh.
Undaunted, Cathy continued. “Honest to God, Lisa. He kept looking at himself in the foyer mirror like he couldn't get enough of his own reflection. And all he did was talk about himself and his assets all evening."
"His assets, if gossip is correct, aren't all that big. And I'm not talking just his monetary assets, either. You get my drift?"
Cathy smiled. “I get you. So, why date him? Why even invite him to your birthday party?"
Lisa sighed heavily and sipped her coffee again. “Like I said, my folks wanted me to. Brad is the son of one my old man's business partners."
"You need a decent, hardworking man, Lisa. Somebody who'll rattle your world. Not some damned corporate pencil pusher. That might be alright for some Park Avenue debutante, but not you."
"You got the last eligible, worthy man,” she teased. “Besides, I am one of those Park Avenue debutantes, remember?"
Cathy rolled her eyes in frustration. “You know what I mean. You're not like that. You party hard, but the guys in vice all say you're one of the best damned cops they've ever worked with. I've known since academy that you would be. And I also know you're deeper than the Brads of this world. You can do better."
Lisa slowly shook her head. “Okay, honey. You find a hero who isn't already taken or who isn't working in vice right alongside me and I'll try him on for size. Deal?"
Cathy pursed her lips. “You've been working too hard and settle for Brads because you've got no real contact with better men. I think you need a dose of your own medicine."
"What do you mean by a 'dose of my own medicine'?"
"Why don't you pay a visit to the bordello? It's been a while since you took some time off. You used to like visiting that place."
"Seen that. Done that, been there. Besides, the men there are working guys. There's nothing there I'd want to actually bring home to meet the folks. Even if such a thing were possible and it isn't. The rules don't allow that."
Cathy snorted. “I didn't mean for you to go there looking for Mr. Right, you idiot. I just meant that you could use the time to download. Maybe you could just go for a night, play around like you used to, and come back with a fresh perspective. Afterward, the men you meet and life in general might not be so stale."
"That you, of all people, would suggest such at thing is quite ironic. Folks used to think of you as Madame Prude, Cathy."
"Okay, so I've re-evaluated the merits of others going to the bordello. Especially after that night you set me up to meet Ian.” Cathy blew out a long breath. “Like I said, maybe going to the bordello for the night would do you some good. It seems like you're finding life tedious."
Lisa considered her comment for a moment before answering. “Tedious is a good word to describe my existence right now. Outside of work, there's not one single thing I'd call interesting except you, my friend. Not men, not movies, not shopping. Nothing. As to the suggestion that I visit the bordello ... it's dull, too. At least it is now. I've sampled its wares and there's nothing there I'd remotely call enticing anymore. The men are simpering little fools who know the women patrons have money, and they kiss their asses to get it. Very much like Brad and all the other men I've been around lately."
"Damn!"
"What?” Lisa asked.
"You are in a rut,” Cathy returned. “There was a time when I can remember life being nothing but one big party for you."
"The parties are old. The men are carbon copies of each other and I'm tired of playing around with most of them. They use me, I use them ... life just doesn't get much better.” Lisa sarcastically complained, then stared down into her empty coffee cup.
"Is there anything I can do?” Cathy quietly asked. “You know I'm only talking to you about all this because I care. You're not as shallow as you'd like people to think, Lisa."
Determined not to let her friend sink into the doldrums with her, Lisa smiled and shook her head. “Don't worry about me, honey. I'll get over it. Besides, this is my birthday. We're supposed to be celebrating, right?"
"Right,” Cathy agreed.
"So, let's go to that late movie like we planned and buy the most fattening cheesecake we can find afterward."
Cathy laughed. “You're on."
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Returning from the washroom, Lisa straightened the day's paperwork and reached for her lamp switch to turn it off. That's when she saw the large, flame-red envelope lying on the corner of her desk. Her name was engraved on it in flowing gold script. Glancing around the detective's desk room, she knew she was the last to leave. There was no one left to tell her how the envelope got on her desk. Its presence was a minor mystery since she'd only been in the washroom ten minutes.
She sat in her desk chair, picked up the envelope and turned it over. On the back, the words ‘For Your Eyes Only' were also engraved in the same, beautiful gold lettering. “Expensive stationary,” she murmured to herself.
Ignoring her instincts to open the envelope there, she quickly grabbed up her coat and stuffed it into the pocket. Then, she picked up her other belongings and headed for home. More important than satisfying her instincts about what looked like an invitation to another dreary gala or art exhibit, her body and brain craved the soothing relaxation of her large, free-standing whirlpool tub and the treat of an old movie before going to bed. Knowing her co-workers would think she was out partying as she used to, no one would call her Park Avenue apartment and bother her. And the message was one of a dozen she'd already received and ignored this month. She was used to receiving expensively engraved missives at both her apartment and at the police department because her parents were well-connected with her supervisors. They could easily wangle an invitation into the police department's mail system, and often did so when she purposely ignored phone messages left at her apartment or on her cell phone.
For some reason, her interest in playing with the many men who tried to haunt her life, whether at her parents’ request or not, wasn't on her agenda any longer. In fact, the entire New York social scene and some of its pretentious subscribers bored her like everything else lately.
When she finally got to her apartment, settled into the tub and had time to relax, she contemplated her current mood more thoroughly. She couldn't fathom why, all of a sudden, her social life had become one dull interlude after another. The men, the parties, the drinks and expensive clothes were no longer making her happy. She began to wonder if anything would.
After drying and slipping into her burgundy, terrycloth robe, Lisa stood in front of her bathroom mirror and considered her reflection quite seriously. Her blue-eyed gaze slid over her shoulder length, blonde hair and slender body. “What the hell is wrong with you, Portelli? Thousands of people would die to be where you are. Lots of money, great apartment, rich family, clothes, car, exciting job ... the works.” She pulled her hair up into a high ponytail, secured it with a fastener, and shot herself the finger. “Get over yourself. Poor little rich bitch!"
Having chastised herself for her mood, she walked out of the bathroom, made herself some hot chocolate and turned on the television. During a commercial, she got up to retrieve her coat from a chintz-covered chair where she'd thrown it, and hang the expensive garment in the hall closet. The red envelope she'd found on her desk fell from the pocket and onto the floor. Intent on throwing the offensive invitation into the kitchen trash, she quickly grabbed it up. But something stopped her.
It was strange that the envelope wa
s red. No socially conscious New York society mogul would ever send an invitation to any serious function using that fiery shade. Protocol was everything to the elite of her world.
"What the hell,” she muttered as she turned the invitation over and tore open the gummed seal. Inside, there was a matching card that immediately caught her attention. She slowly pulled the card from the envelope and held it in front of her. In elaborate gold cursive, the words on the card read like a mesmerising spell.
'Lisa, I invite you to a night in my humble abode where your every wish will be my command. I offer you the full hospitality of my underworld domain and my virile presence. If your life of late has been less than fulfilling, then the company you keep isn't meeting your needs. Your time would be better spent pursuing your heart's desire than wasted on those who seek your fortune above your sweet company. Come to me. It has been said that ‘it's better to reign in hell than to serve in heaven'. Though my domain could never be described hellish, let me prove how right John Milton was when he wrote those words. I can make the worst hell a heaven if it pleases you. Ever your humble servant, Pluto, Ruler of the Underworld'.
"Holy crap!” Lisa laughingly muttered and turned the engraved card over several times in an attempt find out who would send such a message. Digging into the envelope in which the card had been sent, she found a red appointment card with tomorrow's date engraved on it. The time for the appointment was set at six p.m. and the location was the Women's Pleasure Incorporated facility.
Having been immediately drawn into the message and beguiled by its content, she sighed in frustration when she found out the invitation had been sent from the bordello she used to frequent. Since the place was legal within the state and city of New York and she could afford such a luxury, no one had ever questioned her frequenting that establishment. Nor would the business have any qualms in sending her what now appeared to be an advertisement to draw her into visiting again.
She stood there fuming. To be fooled by the obvious ad made her angry until she realised that the contents of the message were very personal. Also, the message had been sent through the PD mail system. She re-read it and pondered who the sender might be. Who, at Women's Pleasure Incorporated, could possibly know about her current emotional predicament? The invitation could only have been sent by someone she knew intimately. Someone, besides her parents, who had access to the police department's office mail.
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