The Housewife Assassin's Terrorist TV Guide

by Josie Brown

  Jack contemplates my question for a moment. “Maybe not, since it sets a bad example for students. Maybe you can get to his office early enough that you don’t have to see him at all.”

  “Jack Craig, move to the head of the class!” I kiss Jack firmly on the lips. “Thank goodness no roleplaying today!”

  “No slutty student role play?” Jack mutters. “Darn it! I should have kept my mouth shut.”

  “No, sorry. I’m sticking to jeans, a T-shirt, and a hoodie, just like every other co-ed.”

  Still, here’s hoping I don’t get recognized by any of Gerald’s students. After last night’s show, the last thing I need is to validate any rumors that I’m Ariel’s housewife whore.

  That role honestly belongs to Cassandra, even if neither Ariel nor Gerald realizes this—yet.

  As planned, I arrive at Gerald Farnham’s office on the third floor of Hilldale State University’s Law School building just as he starts his ten-thirty class. He has no secretary, and it only takes me a minute to pick the lock on his office door. His class runs fifty-five minutes, so I should have plenty of time before he walks back in.

  Frankly, his office is a dump. The only difference between it and a supply closet is that it has a window: now open, thank goodness, since the room doesn’t appear to be air-conditioned. A two-foot wide ledge hangs a few feet beneath it.

  It doesn’t look out on much: an alley filled with dumpsters. They contain the remnants of lunches tossed into the student center’s trash cans. And in this heat, boy do they stink!

  The office is so small that it barely has room for his cracked leather chair and aging oak desk. Crowding it, even more, are two file cabinets topped with all manner of books that almost reach the ceiling. A couple of guest chairs are crammed in front of the desk.

  Disappointingly, his computer isn’t here. However, I do find his cell phone in the top left drawer. Bingo! I insert the scanner into the phone.

  It doesn’t take long before I hear the buzz. I’ve just disconnected the devices when I hear voices:

  They are speaking an Arabic dialect.

  One of the voices belongs to Gerald.

  I toss the phone back into the drawer and shut it.

  “Donna! Out the window!” Arnie shouts.

  I crouch on the ledge and pray that Gerald and his friend don’t look out.

  “I’m taping the conversation so that Acme can translate it later,” Arnie informs me.

  “Just dandy. And what are you doing to get me off this ledge?” I mutter.

  “Don’t worry, the cavalry is on its way,” he replies. “Whoa, they’re now speaking in English! Hey, see if you can get closer to the window. I’ve pumped up the volume all I can.”

  I sigh, but rise to my knees and inch closer to the window:

  "—the minister. I’m sure you understand that nothing has changed, as far as he is concerned.”

  The man speaks with a slight Middle-Eastern accent. From what I can tell, he’s sucking on a cigarette. So much for adhering to the school’s no-smoking policy.

  “However,” the man continues, “if you’re willing to follow through with the minister’s request—”

  “No! I’m sorry, but…” Gerald’s words stutter to a halt. “Look, I told you: it was all a mistake! I’ve made amends already! You know I have. As far as this very last thing you want—I…I just can’t! Please, you must understand what it would do to my family—!”

  “Mr. Farnham, don’t misunderstand me. You will follow through on our wishes. Your life depends on it—and that of your family.”

  I hear the man’s footsteps coming closer. Is he looking out the window? Does he see me?

  Apparently not. He walked my way to flick out his cigarette butt—

  Onto my back!

  I smell it before I feel it as it burns through my hoodie and T-shirt before singeing my skin.

  I leap off the ledge—

  And into the dumpster.

  As I lie on a soft spongy bed of rancid spaghetti, salad, and sandwiches, I try to think of a way this might be worse.

  Nah, I can’t think of anything.

  Well, then there you go.

  I stay still enough to see if I’ll sink any further into this muck. When it looks as if I’m as low as I can go, I'll find a way to climb out of this crap.

  It’s the story of my life.

  “Sorry it took me so long to get to you,” Abu apologizes. “I had to slip out when Lucy wasn’t looking.”

  I sigh. “Frankly, it was kind of you to let me into your car. I know this stench won’t be easy to get rid of. I hope it doesn’t affect your Uber driver rating too much.”

  “Nah, don’t worry about it. I’m thinking of giving up the gig. All I need is another forty hours behind the camera and I can join the union.” Abu smiles proudly.

  “Gee, well, congratulations! But that doesn’t mean you’re leaving Acme, does it?”

  “Heck no. Unless Scorsese calls. Or Spielberg. Or Tarantino. And, okay, yeah, David Yates—”

  Seeing my shock, he laughs. “Donna, don’t worry. There is no greater thrill than working at Acme. We both know it.” He looks at me sideways. “Isn’t that why you came back after your attempt at retirement?”

  I laugh. “What retirement? It was a week off, tops.” I stick my finger through the burn hole in my hoodie. “Hey, do you think Ryan will reimburse me for this?”

  “You can ask him yourself. I’m taking you there now.”

  “Smelling like this?” I shake my head adamantly. “Oh, no, you don’t!”

  “Donna, POTUS is in town. In fact, he’s meeting with Ryan now, and there’s no time for a detour.”

  I slump into the seat.

  Well, if anything will break Lee Chiffray’s schoolboy crush on me, smelling like a pile of week-old garbage should do it.

  Ryan raises his nose in the air. “What’s that smell?”

  No hello. No “Glad you survived a two-story fall”—nothing.

  Slowly, I raise my hand; the one that isn’t smeared with peanut butter and jelly.

  Ryan rolls his eyes.

  Emma, Arnie, Abu, and Dominic seem to be holding their collective breath. On the plus side, this keeps them from outright laughing.

  As for Lee, he hides his grin behind the Acme report of our mission thus far.

  “Where’s Jack?” Ryan barks.

  “Um…Mr. Chow.” I shrug. “Taking a meeting. Studio suits. For, um…a spin-off.”

  Ryan frowns.

  Lee’s smile widens.

  “The president’s time is tight. We’ll just have to start without him,” Ryan growls. He taps his iPad screen.

  We now see headshots of all the Housewives and their husbands on the conference room monitor. Ryan says, “To recap: we firmly believe that ISIS has indeed infiltrated Hot Housewives of Hilldale. In fact, on the first night of the show, Acme intercepted texts from a known terrorist cell to a cell phone on the set. We’re now going through a process of elimination. So far, all of the show’s crewmembers’ cell phones and computers have been scanned, the text and email data vetted, and the devices cleared. The same process is taking place for the contestants.”

  As Ryan taps a photo of a male contestant, the picture lights up. “Thus far, Donna has secured access to the phones of the following male suspects: Franklin Powell, James Garrett, Roger Pembroke, and Gerald Farnham.”

  Lee nods. “Other than Donna and Jack, there are five couples in the show. Who’s missing?”

  “That would be Peter and Penelope Bing,” Emma responds.

  Lee winces. “I’m all too familiar with them. Frankly, I’d be surprised if they turned out to be our targets—”

  “Agreed, sir.” I’ll say anything to get them off my plate if not out of my life.

  Lee glances over at me. “As I was saying, in any event, they may be pawns on some level, so let’s keep them in play.”

  I nod. Well now, there’s the cherry on the cake of my day.

&n
bsp; “Emma secured the phones of these female suspects while they were in surgery.” He taps each picture. “In order, they are Penelope, Patty Garrett, and Cassandra Farnham. The last woman is Sienna Woodruff. She is Roger Pembroke’s fiancée. Their cell phones were also vetted and cleared.”

  “One woman is missing,” Lee points out.

  “Yes, that would be Dr. Powell’s wife, Ariel,” Emma replies. “Last night, they took themselves out of the running. She found it too stressful.”

  “Despite her husband’s efforts to secure viewer votes and funding for his cause?” Lee’s wariness comes through in the tone of his voice. “That’s certainly an interesting turn of events. Well, I guess he accomplished his goal.”

  Lee now leans in. His focus is Sienna’s photo. “I’ve met her. She accompanied Pembroke to a recent White House dinner. Apparently, Babette reads his thrillers.” He shrugs. “What did your reconnaissance show on him?”

  It’s my turn to wince. “At the time I infiltrated their home, Roger was gone, along with his cell phone. And apparently, he doesn’t use a computer.” It’s time for a positive spin. “However, we were able to scan an iPad in the house. We believe it belongs to Sienna.”

  Lee’s eyes narrow. “Why hers? If he doesn’t have a computer and needs one to write, wouldn’t it logically belong to him?”

  “He uses a vintage Underwood, and…” I blush. “I found the iPad in her lingerie drawer.”

  “I see.” Lee winks at me.

  “Our TECHINT team is trying to break the iPad’s encryption as we speak,” Arnie adds. “Unlike Dr. Frankenstein’s computer and the other contestants’ cell phones we’ve scanned, it has unique security software.”

  “‘Dr. Frankenstein’?” Lee frowns at the nickname.

  “Well, um, yeah!” Now that Arnie is in the hot seat, he sits straight up. “By that I mean Dominic called him Dr. Frank on the air, and then Donna added the ‘—enstein.’” He chuckles in the hope that the others will too.

  No one bites.

  Ryan’s scowl deepens.

  Lee frowns. “In other words, Acme has come up empty.”

  Arnie gulps. “For now. We’re still assessing Gerald’s cell phone, and will soon hack Sienna’s iPad—”

  Lee waves him into silence. “Then get on it. Don’t let me keep you.” He rises.

  So do the rest of us. As we stream out of the room, Lee says, “Donna, I’m on my way into Hilldale. Would you like a lift?”

  I stop in my tracks. I think before turning around. “Sir, if you’re talking about the presidential limo, you may have to fumigate it afterward.” I can just imagine what Babette would think. The last thing she needs is a reminder that I’m still in Lee’s life.

  Lee laughs. “We’ll go in one of the decoys.” He shakes Ryan’s hand. “We’ll talk later.”

  He escorts me out the door.

  As we walk out, his Secret Service detail sniffs the air, but say nothing.

  “So, when I tune in tonight, what should I expect?” To Lee’s credit, he’s not hugging the door on his side of the decoy SUV. I’m sure he sorely wishes he could roll down the window.

  I’ve got to make it up to him somehow—only not in the way he’d like. He’s gotten the message: I’m a one-man woman.

  “The Housewives who had surgery will be treated to videos of their fans’ reactions to their new physiques.”

  “Thrilling,” Lee mutters.

  “And in the second hour, the Housewives will have a book swap. I’m reading from Pride and Prejudice.”

  Lee pretends to snore.

  I smack his arm. “Not funny,” I warn him. “By the way, what brings you back to Hilldale?”

  “Babette insists on having the baby in her own bed. She doesn’t want photos taken surreptitiously in the hospital.”

  Knowing how the Housewives were treated, I can’t say I blame her.

  “You know that you’re the biggest target a terrorist cell could ask for.”

  He nods. This time, though, he’s not smiling.

  “Don’t worry. I plan on staying out of its way.” His hand reaches out for mine. “Does that mean I have to stay out of your way too?”

  “At least until we’ve got a suspect in custody.” It’s a reasonable excuse.

  He squeezes my hand. “Are you talking for you, or for Jack?”

  “For both of us.” I turn to face him. “Lee, you’re a dear sweet friend. I’d hate to lose you.”

  “I feel the same way about you.” He opens my palm to stroke my fingers. “I don’t like the thought of you so close to some bomber—”

  “You forget—this is my job.”

  “Donna, I’d never forgive myself if I lost you!”

  The decoy vehicle takes a sharp turn as it enters the wide street leading to Hilldale’s guarded gate.

  I pull my hand away, but he holds tight. “Donna, please—”

  “Lee, don’t! Babette…she’s delivering a child any day now.”

  “Not my child!” I feel his thumb pressing on the center of my wrist. “You and I—we both know that.”

  I nod bleakly. “But we also know that you love her—and I love Jack.”

  Still, Lee doesn’t let go of my hand. Instead, he kisses it.

  When I stroke his cheek, his other hand stills my palm. I guess it’s his way of showing that he doesn’t want my sympathy.

  I pray he’ll still accept my friendship.

  The SUV screeches to a halt.

  I look out the window. We are parked in front of my house.

  Jack’s car is in the garage. Worse yet, he’s sitting on the front porch, reading the latest issue of the Hilldale Signal.

  Yes, he glances up when we stop.

  And yes, his perpetual grin fades when he sees us, and our entourage.

  Finally, Lee allows me to pull away, but not without fair warning: “I’ll always have your back.”

  “I know,” I whisper, as I open my door.

  Jack is certainly surprised when I get out of one of the SUVs as opposed to one of the many limousines.

  My disheveled appearance also surprises him.

  He waits until I’m beside him before asking, “I take it things aren’t going so great.”

  “Hold me,” I command him.

  He does as requested—until his nose gets the better of him. “Whew! Let’s get you in the bathtub,” he suggests. “You can tell me all about it.”

  “Only if you go first.”

  He nods. “Deal. If you scrub my back, I’ll scrub yours.”

  It’s the best offer I’ve had all day.

  No, I don’t need to reinforce in Jack the notion that Lee is still in love with me. Instead, I tell him only what he needs to know:

  Lee and Babette are home because she’s due any day now, and she insists on having the child in her own bed at Lion’s Lair;

  Yes, he’s as frustrated as us about the lack of progress being made in identifying and capturing the terrorist cell;

  And no, my Eau de Pepe le Pew did not turn him off completely.

  “What a shame,” Jack mutters as he sponges my back. By his tone of voice, I know he means it.

  “How about the studio moguls?” I ask, hoping to change the subject. “Did they smell money when you walked into their midst? Did you reek of ratings success?”

  He sniffs the air and then shakes his head. “I doubt it. Now, if I’d had you tagging along—”

  I splash him until he’s gagging for air. “For the record, I don’t ‘tag’ along! And as of this moment”—I sniff an armpit–“I’m as fresh as a daisy.” I rise from the tub. “I’ll need to keep it that way if I’m going to entice Peter to turn over his cell phone to me.”

  Jack’s snort has nothing to do with the amount of water I splashed up his nose. “That’s easy. Just promise him a few X-rated selfies, and he’ll gladly hand it over.”

  “My God, you’re a genius!” I exclaim as I wrap myself in my robe. “For once, Brin is right. You’re wa
sted in this mundane spy work. But forget her play to make you a reality show star. You’re devious enough to be a producer!”

  Jack splashes in my direction, but I’m already out the door and laughing.

  Chapter 17

  I Love Lucy

  “Ever since we said ‘I do,’ there’s been many things we don’t.”

  —Lucy Ricardo

  What is love?

  Is it an action based on attraction, or does it build slowly, through a friendship based on trust?

  Is it a hot romance, or is it a long-term commitment?

  Is it defined by grand displays of affection, or is it proven with random acts of caring?

  Can it be just some of these, or must it be all of these?

  Here’s the deal: love is not just one thing.

  It is many things to each person because it is unique to each relationship.

  It is perfect despite its flaws.

  In other words, it’s as human as you and your loved one.

  It’s why Lucy strived to be in the show.

  And it’s why Ricky finally let her onstage.

  A life well lived has just one mandate: Make sure you find love before you take your final curtain call.

  Although the husbands aren’t participating in the book club, they’ve been asked to accompany their wives.

  James glowers when he sees me. Noticing this, Jack puts his arm around me and waves him over. “Howdy, neighbor!”

  “You’re waving a flag at a bull,” I warn him.

  “He doesn’t have the balls,” Jack counters. “He’s just a bully.”

  “That’s my point. With his type, someone always pays.” I nod toward Patty. She’s still a bit wan after the operation, but her transformation is impressive. I barely recognize her.

  Jack understands. Someone has to do something—and soon.

  Somehow, we’ll make sure it happens.

  Soon the men are rounded up. “Drinks and pu pu’s are waiting out by the pool, boys!” Brin proclaims as she shoos them outside. “When you next see your gals, they’ll all be prettier than a picture!”