Never count on people being where they promise to be, especially when they know you can’t be trusted
Home Alone. Maybe.
Home Spun Tales (Variations on a theme 2)
BEAUREGARD YANKED HIS TIE from his collar and dashed up the stairs to the bedroom. Eileen wouldn’t return from her conference until late tomorrow, which means he had the house to himself. Free rein for twenty-four hours, no snide comments, no passive aggressive reactions to minor offenses, no eye always watching because she was certain he would cheat at the first opportunity.
With one hand he unbuttoned his dress shirt, with the other he twisted the doorknob and waltzed into the bedroom only to hear a giggle. And not the giggle he expected. The bedclothes wriggled as though hiding a nest of snakes and a hairy foot stuck out from one side.
The blood rushed from his neck to his cheeks. “Jesus, Eileen, who’s that man whore in our bed?”
The bedclothes wriggled as though hiding a nest of snakes and a hairy foot stuck out from one side.
Eileen’s head peeked out from under the covers, her face flushed too, but not from anger. “For God’s sake, Beau, you never leave work before five.” The man whore rose to grab his clothes and leave, but Eileen grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him back. She locked eyes with Beauregard. “Are you going to deny there’s a woman behind you in the stairwell?”
He waved for his secretary Rebecca to button her blouse. “The power’s out at the firm, but I needed Rebecca to take dictation.”
Eileen stroked her man whore’s shoulder. “And I didn’t have any cash to pay the cabby. So we’re even.” Which would have settled the issue if Beau hadn’t noticed two mens’ shirts neatly folded next to two pairs of boxers in her open suitcase.
Find my books
Wry noir author Phillip T. Stephens wrote Cigerets, Guns & Beer, Raising Hell, the Indie Book Award winning Seeing Jesus, and the children’s book parody Furious George. Follow him at Phillip T Stephens.
