Tesla's Stepdaughters Page 9

  “What happened? Who did this to you?”

  “I did it myself.”

  “Why?”

  “So you can do anything you want to me, and I’ll be helpless to stop you.”

  The sounds of voices in the hallway reminded Andrews that he was standing in the open door. He quickly stepped inside and closed it behind him.

  “In the small amount of time we’ve been together, I haven’t noticed you objecting to anything I’ve done to you.”

  “Now I can’t. You can do anything to me that your devious mind can imagine.”

  He looked at her for a long moment, and then shrugged. “Okay.”

  Chapter Eleven: Portland

  The next morning Andrews got up and disentangled himself from Penny’s arms and legs. The bed was really just large enough for one of them. He had slept well through the night, but now he had several pains in his neck and shoulders and he was unsure whether to attribute them to his workout the day before or to not having enough room in bed. He slipped back into his workout clothes and put on his wristwatch, checking the time. It was not quite seven. Stepping quietly out the door, he walked the length of the ship to the dining room and found an early continental breakfast. He grabbed a pair of Danish, two bananas, and two cups of coffee; and balancing them, carried them back to the cabin. He found Penny awake and putting on his robe.

  “I brought you some breakfast.”

  “Thanks, I’m starving.”

  “Thank you for the card,” he gestured toward the greeting card still standing on the desk.

  “Not from me.”

  He opened it and looked again.

  “Must be Piff,” said Penny.

  “What are you planning to do today?” asked Andrews as they ate.

  “I’m going to try and write. I’ve got a few songs, or at least pieces of songs, that have been rattling around in my head since New York.”

  “I’d like to see that.”

  “No you wouldn’t. It would be incredibly boring. I’m just going to pluck a few strings and jot down notes. It’ll be the most uninteresting thing you can imagine. Besides, it’s Piffy’s day to spend with you.”

  “When do I get a copy of this schedule?” He sounded peevish even in his own ears.

  “Ask her.”

  Andrews did plan to ask her just as soon as he could, but when he finally saw her again, the question fell out of his brain and crawled away to some dark corner. When Ep!phanee saw him, she ran and leapt into his arms. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her legs around his waist, and her lips around his mouth. He couldn’t have gotten free if he wanted to, and he didn’t want to. They kissed for several minutes, and then at last, he set her down.

  “Did you send me the card?” he asked.

  “Of course. You didn’t recognize my P?”

  “Well, you know… Penny?”

  “Oh yeah. Well, she’s not likely to send you a card though, is she?”

  “Maybe you could sign it with an F for Fanny?”

  “You’re bad.”

  “Or you could draw a little clownfish…”

  “You’re very bad.”

  “In any case, thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. It’s because I missed you. That’s why it said ‘miss you’ on it.”

  “Very clever. So what are your plans for today?”

  “We can do anything you want to do. What were you planning?”

  “I’d like to work out again in the weight room. And Penny gave me a book that I haven’t had enough time with yet.”

  “What is it—Edgar Rice Burroughs?”

  “H. Rider Haggard.”

  Piffy rolled her eyes. “No wonder people think she’s a dyke. I’ll work out with you.”

  Andrews changed back into his shorts and tee shirt and met her in the weight room. Piffy was waiting, wearing a pair of shorts that were so small they almost deserved some different and as yet uninvented name, and a tube top. Both articles of clothing were made of some shiny black material that he had never seen before. Even in a world where just about everything seemed to exude sex appeal, it had not occurred to Andrews until that exact moment that gym clothes could be sexy. They worked out for over an hour, and Andrews didn’t know if it was the weights which caused his heart to pump so forcefully in his chest, or if it was the sight of Ep!phanee’s remarkably toned body.

  “You must work out quite a bit.”

  “Yes, I have a fully stocked gym in my home at Thatch Cay. What is that?”

  Spreading out below them was a great tan blanket moving across the landscape. It moved and undulated in swirling patterns. The dirigible was passing over one of the legendary caribou migrations. Tens of thousands of individual animals moved across the ground like a kaleidoscope of reindeer. Andrews set down his barbells and moved to stand next to the large window. Piffy followed him.

  “Caribou,” he said. “The great plains of the United States used to be covered with buffalo like this. Now they’re extinct. I think women have done a better job of running the world than men did.”

  “Say that when you’re flying through the black haze above New York, or when you’re outside your dome in Ohio and the acid rain is coming down.”

  They spent the rest of the day together, comparing their lives up until that point, talking about their interests, and eventually getting around to the possibility of their shared future together.

  “I was quite ready to find that you wouldn’t live up to my expectations when I met you,” he said, “not that I expected anything more than a professional relationship. But I like you. I like all of you. And the sex… well I really, really like it. It’s much better than I imagined it would be. But I don’t really see how our lifestyles are going to mesh. I don’t know if I can handle all the complications.”

  “What do you want to do for the next ten years, John?”

  “I want to continue with the Science Police. It’s exciting and I’m good at it.”

  “And what is your concern about it… about your job and being married?”

  “I think eventually I won’t have a concern. Someday I’ll take an assignment in a field office and then I can settle down. Until then, I’ll be traveling around the world. I might not be able to make it home for weeks on end.”

  “That’s why we’re the girls for you. Don’t you see? We’re disgustingly rich. We already have houses all over the world and one of us could almost always be there for you. And no, before you say it, I don’t just mean for sex. For companionship. For support. For friendship.”

  “Like I said, I like you. None of you have really told me what you think of me yet though.”

  “We love you. Ruth’s head over heels. Penny’s busy writing a song about you. And Steffie has the serious hots for you.”

  Andrews suddenly remembered his earlier unease over the question of with whom he spent his time.

  “I have to tell you what I’m not enjoying. I’m not enjoying not knowing who I get to be with.”

  “I thought it would be fun for you. You know—a little surprise.”

  “No. It isn’t.”

  “Well then, I’ll organize a schedule with the girls and we’ll make a calendar for you.”

  “So you want to be the number one wife and plan my time with the others?”

  “Oh, make no mistake about it. I am number one.”

  She pulled him into an embrace and kissed him. He pulled away.

  “I won’t be able to spend all my time with any of you once we continue on the tour. I have a job to do.”

  She pulled him back down and finished her kiss before replying.

  “We all understand. We won’t interfere with your police work. But at least you’ll know who’s going to spend the night with you.”

  “Did you say Penny was writing a song about me?”

  “Yes. Does that make you feel all gushy inside?”

  “I don’t know what that means, but I do feel flattered.”

  “Then after
lunch, you can hear the one that I wrote for you.”

  “You wrote a song for me?”

  “Didn’t I just say that?” she asked with a wink.

  After lunch, he waited for her in the starboard side lounge, though he didn’t have to wait long. She arrived five minutes after he did, a Gibson Bluesmaster acoustic guitar in hand. Hopping up to sit on the back of the overstuffed sofa in the center of the room, she smiled and then began strumming out a beautiful little tune. She began to sing in her soft, low voice—the one she used for Memories of Dust.

  Oh John, You’ve been so much more than kind,

  Oh John, is the truth so hard to find

  I want us to be together now

  but you’ve got to make up your mind.

  Then the chorus.

  Oh John,

  Oh John,

  Oh oh oh John, I want you so.

  Andrews sat mesmerized as she sang three more verses and repeated the chorus twice. When she finished with a flourish, he just stared.

  “You don’t like it?”

  “What?”

  “You don’t like it, do you? It’s too slow. It’s too sentimental. You’re feeling pressured. You’re feeling nagged. You’re feeling overwhelmed.”

  “No, no, I love it. I mean, I am overwhelmed…an Ep!phanee song about me… to me… for me. This is a huge fantasy come true. I’m just… I mean… well, I don’t know what to say.”

  Piffy smiled again, sat the guitar down, and climbed into his lap.

  “It is pretty cool, isn’t it?”

  She kissed him again and then retrieved the guitar, sitting next to him. Then she strummed out another, more familiar tune—a soft acoustical version of Alone. Andrews was enjoying it and Piffy could obviously see that he was. She played Matching Tattoos and Naked, both in arrangements that had never been performed, let alone recorded before. It turned into an impromptu concert for one, though after a half hour, others started quietly entering the lounge. When she finally finished with Memories of Dust, more than a dozen other spectators, including Steffie Sin, applauded.

  Piffy led Andrews back to her room and they spent the rest of the afternoon and the evening just being together, leaving just long enough to eat in the dining room after most of the others had already left. That night, she taught him a few simple notes on the guitar, disproving his assertion that he had no musical talent what-so-ever. And in bed, she showed him a few simple techniques that left her gasping with satisfaction.

  “Well Shangri-La time is over, Bud,” said Wright the next morning. “It’s time to get back to work. We’ll be in Portland in a few hours. One of us needs to go on ahead to Memorial Coliseum and make sure everything is good.”

  “You want me to do it?”

  “I think you should.”

  The rain was pouring down, as it had non-stop for the past seventeen years, when the Rosalie Morton slid down through the clouds to dock at Hillsboro Airport. Andrews had a car waiting for him and he took off for the massive indoor event center with an unfolded pocket map spread out on the seat next to him. Forty five minutes later he was driving through the police barricade at his destination.

  The police lieutenant in charge of securing the facility gulped for air and had to be held up when she shook his hand, and it was pretty much the same for each police officer he met during his inspection. It seemed that not many men had moved back to the rainy northwest.

  The locals had done their job and there was little that he could add for the security of the band. He bought a candy bar from a vending machine, and then finding a comfortable spot in the railings above the highest seats, he settled down to wait for the Ladybugs and their entourage. Before he knew it, they arrived and began setting up. Andrews looked at his watch. He had been sitting in that quiet spot for four hours, not doing anything at all. At first he thought that he hadn’t even been thinking, but on reflection he found that he had indeed been thinking about the four women now in his life. Just as the crew had finished with the instruments, Wright walked up behind him.

  “Sniper spot, eh?”

  “Sniper free though.”

  “Good. You want to go down and check on your girlfriends?”

  “No. Looks like you got them here safe.”

  “You know me, partner.” She punched him on the shoulder. “Always on the job.”

  The concert began with the Ladybugs running out onto the stage. It was much the same show that they had performed at Shea, Atlanta, and Bloomington, though they had replaced their multi-colored outfits with those they had worn on the cover of the newest album. All wore knee-high stiletto platform boots, two had on miniskirts while the other two wore spandex leggings, and they all had on bikini tops, except Ep!phanee, who wore a bustier. And everything was white. Andrews didn’t mind that the playlist was the same as the previous concert. He could have watched a thousand Ladybugs concerts over and over again and been happy about it, and that was before he knew any of them personally. Before he had slept with any of them.

  Halfway through the show, he left his lofty position and made the tour once more of the security positions. From the corner of his eye, he could see police officers nudging each other and pointing at him, as if they had been waiting for him to reappear, which they probably had. Most of the show’s ticketholders paid him no attention, thinking that he was just one more faux man. Those who recognized him for what he was, stared open-mouthed. And it suddenly struck him that this was something that he had in common with Piffy, Steffie, Penny, and Ruth. They were separated from modern society as much by their fame as he was by his gender.

  As the four women left the stage, Andrews was ready in the back to meet them. They headed for the limousine. Outside the rear exit though was another car. Andrews reached inside his jacket for his pistol as he moved cautiously toward the vehicle.

  “Don’t be a nervous Nellie,” said Piffy, behind him. “I ordered that car for us.”

  “Why?”

  “I thought we could go out and get some dinner. Maybe hit a club.”

  “Probably not a good idea,” he said, though his stomach which had not seen anything but a candy bar all day, growled.

  “It’s spontaneous. Less chance of running into someone wanting to do me harm if it’s not a planned event, right?”

  “I suppose.”

  “And the other girls are going out with Agent Wright.”

  “They are? She didn’t mention it.”

  “They arranged it all after you left the airship this morning.”

  “All right then.”

  They hopped into the big Packard and it pulled away from the Coliseum.

  “Take us to Janet’s,” Piffy ordered the driver.

  Although Andrews had never heard of Janet’s, Ep!phanee assured him that it was the most popular seafood restaurant on the west coast, if not in the entire country. The large two story establishment looked out over the Columbia River, though the river was invisible most of the time due to the constant rain and was especially so now in the dark. The place was busy. There was a line of patrons, held back by a velvet rope, waiting to get in. Ep!phanee, who was still dressed in her stage outfit, pulled a folded over ten dollar bill from her cleavage and handed it to Andrews.

  “Here. Hand this to the chick at the door.”

  Andrews palmed the bill and reached out to shake hands with the doorwoman. Though her eyes were all over Piffy, she took the bill, and as she did so, was forced to draw closer to the Science Police agent. She opened her mouth and gasped for air, grabbing onto the metal pole that held up the red velvet rope. As the blood rushed back to her face, she looked at him in wonder.

  “Two for dinner,” said Piffy.

  They enjoyed a fine meal, though both remained conscious that they were being watched by other patrons the entire time. Andrews wanted to taste some of the fresh seafood native to the northwest, so he had whole dungeness crab paired with bacon-wrapped, grass-fed filet mignon. Piffy ordered etouffée: sausages, chicken, shrimp,
and crawfish all in a rich brown sauce. Between other bites, she would pull a whole shrimp or crawfish from the bowl with her fingers, ripping off the tail and eating it and then sucking the juices from its head. She managed to make it look extremely sexy. The entrée left him feeling more than full, but she ordered Oregon berry cobbler topped with ice cream. Piffy signed a few dozen autographs before they left the restaurant and returned to their limo.

  “The Royal Continental,” Andrews told the driver.

  “Nope. Take us to the Cherry Club.” She turned to Andrews. “It’s a rock and roll club. The others are there.”

  The car took them across bridges over massive drainage channels, a little over a mile from the restaurant, to a large row of brick buildings, the endmost of which featured a gigantic red neon cherry on the roof. At Piffy’s direction, the driver pulled around to the back and they climbed out. A burly woman was waiting at the door to let them in. Inside the club was dark. Though marijuana and tobacco had both been outlawed for almost twenty years, a thick layer of smoke from both sources hung in the air. The place was packed. Ep!phanee led Andrews through the crowd and up a short flight of stairs to a raised area where Ruth and Steffie waited at a table high above the crowd. Three women, who looked familiar but whom he couldn’t quite place, were seated with them. Ruth introduced him.

  “This is Connie Dark of the Thongs, and Peggy Gossden and Angie Ransom. They’re both members of Laughing Pink.” He had heard of both bands and had no doubt seen these women on the album covers.

  “And this is our boyfriend and copper, John Andrews.” He reached out his hand and Peggy Gossden grasped it, pulling him forward. She and Angie Ransom both pressed their faces into his chest and took deep breaths, and then fell back into their seats, throwing their heads back.

  “Yes!” shouted Gossden.

  He stood at a loss for a minute.

  “Like the best drug in the world,” said Connie Dark, “but it’s not nearly as strong the second time, and I’ve had mine.”

  “Sit down,” said Ruth. He nodded, and sat between Steffie and Ep!phanee.

  “Um…where’s Penny and where’s Agent Wright?”

  “Penny will be out soon,” answered Steffie. “I haven’t seen Agatha for a while. She must be checking the place out.”