Page 9 of Misadventures And Ms. Demeanor

"You're really good with your mouth. How do you keep the lipstick on?" he asked. I could tell by the way he was trying not to smile that he was kidding.

Veronica smacked him on the arm. "Jack Reid, how could you?"

Jack looked down at Veronica, ran his knuckles over her cheek. "I watched the movie, then came home to you, babe. Remember? That was the night we did that thing with the ties since we didn't have any handcuffs. I remember because you called out?—"

Veronica covered his mouth with her hand. "Don't you dare," she hissed.

He nipped at her fingers then kissed her again, this time with a whole lot of tongue. "Goldie, if you're quiet for the night, I've got some plans for Veronica."

Goldie just shook her head and laughed, waved her hand toward the door. "Go. Just go. Daphne can stay and help."

I whipped my head around to Goldie. Stay and help?

The couple bolted for the door before I could even argue. Realizing I'd been well and truly caught, I exhaled and joined Goldie behind the counter.

"Here. Sort these. Somehow the strawberry flavored condoms got mixed in with the mint ones."

She handed me two boxes with individually wrapped condoms to sort. At least I wouldn't be bored. The store was one big room styled to replicate a Las Vegas casino, circa 1960. There was an abundance of gold and lots of crazy carpet.

"So, sweetheart, is there something you want to tell me?" She sat on a stool by the cash register giving me room to spread out my task on the glass counter. I didn't look up from my sorting.

"About what exactly? That I missed my assignment in Thailand or that I was tased by Officer Hot Pants or that my aunt is having sex with Carl and a can of whipped cream or that people think I'm Silky Tangles?"

"Officer Hot Pants?" Goldie got a dreamy expression. "Yeah, that name fits him, and so did those jeans today. I haven't seenhim in a long time, and he sure looks fine. You could have your way with him, especially if you tell him you really are Silky Tangles."

"Goldie, I don't want to be with a guy because he thinks I'm a porn star. He'd learn the truth when he got me naked—did you see that woman's butt? Besides, I can definitely say my repertoire in the bedroom does not include the things in that movie."

"If you watch them, you can pick up some pointers."

I just turned my head to look at her.

"Right. Okay then." She held up her hands. "So you're not a porn star, and I can't help you with Officer Hot Pants. I'm well aware of Velma and Carl, but certainly missed the whipped cream part. I'm sure if you go home, you won't. I'm all for fun in the bedroom, but seeing your aunt in action isn't good. How about this? I've got my old camper parked in front of my house because I'm selling it. You can stay in it tonight. It's all cleaned up and ready to go."

Goldie's camper or a live porno starring Aunt Velma. The decision wasn't tough. "Great, thanks, Goldie."

A camper in Montana was like a boat in Florida. So many people had them and it wasn't strange to see one in a driveway or in front of a house, especially this time of year. Big Sky country was for exploring and playing and a camper was the way to go. It was better than a tent because you didn't have to worry about bears.

"Just don't use the toilet. It's all primed and ready to go for the new owners."

"Sure, no problem." I'd rather hold it in than stay at home.

Goldie clicked her manicured nails on the counter. "As for your assignment, hmm."

Oh man. A hmm from Goldie? This wasn't good.

4

Nothing else exciting happened before closing. Thankfully. No one else recognized me, for which I was relieved. More worrisome, however, was that Goldie had been surprisingly quiet. She wasneverquiet. I pulled my Rabbit into the driveway and stared at the dark house I'd lived in since I was five. It was built early in the 1900s on the north side of Main when the city started to grow after the gold rush tapered off and other industry moved in. It was considered a bungalow with a combination of brick and wood painted white. The windows were big and original, which meant lots of light but plenty of drafts in the winter. Aunt Velma had bought it after her divorce and when my parents dumped me with her, she converted the attic into a bedroom for me. The roof slanted on both sides so it was cozy and great for a short person. As I grew, I'd had to watch my head as the ceiling quickly became the walls. Aunt Velma was an avid gardener and people drove or walked by to see the yard, especially this time of year when it was in all its glory.

I tiptoed inside with a large amount of dread about what I might see or hear. I dashed up the narrow stairs off the kitchen, found a change of clothes and my old Scooby Doo sleeping bag,and made it back to the car without hearing anything that would scar me for life.

Goldie's house was about ten blocks away on the other side of Main. Sure enough, there was Goldie's old camper. Old was an optimal word. It was very vintage, so vintage I thought I'd seen it on an episode ofThe Brady Bunch. Perhaps I was confusing it withBuck Rogers. It was a camper and car built in one, meaning it didn't need to be towed. It was metallic with a red stripe down the side. It reminded me of a great big steel pickle heading for outer space. I ducked my head and went in the side door and flipped on the lights. I wasn't driving it, so I didn't need a key and not much bad stuff happened in Bozeman. It was almost an unwritten code that you didn't mess with another person's camper.

In front of me was a tiny kitchen counter with a built-in stovetop, a mini fridge beneath and a few drawers. A toaster oven took up most of the miniscule counter space along with a coffeemaker. To the left was a bench seat with a table and another bench seat across where a kid could sleep. If I remembered correctly, the table folded down and the two seats somehow morphed into a bed. Supposedly for grown-ups, but I highly doubted that unless they were under five feet tall. In the other direction there was a recliner against one wall, clearly a Goldie modernization. Across from it were fold-down bunk beds, just like on a train; stowed during the day and lowered for sleeping. Past that was a small door which had to be the bathroom, then another door that led to a bedroom. Literally, a bed with a door for privacy. The pickle slept two if you were on your honeymoon and six to eight if you really liked each other. An awful lot.

I turned out the light and made my way into the back bedroom. It was cool, only in the fifties even though it was July, so I threw on my sweatshirt and spread out my sleeping bag. Icould hear the wind in the trees and nothing else. No sex. No headboard banging. Nothing. My life was a total wreck. Even though Roger and I hadn't really been together for a while, my relationship status was officially single. The first hot guy I get near and he tases me. I signed autographs for a porn star. I was homeless, bedded down in my childhood sleeping bag and spending the night in a used camper. My life needed serious work. Decisions needed to be made because I was just as aimless as I had been at fifteen. But not now. I'd had enough insanity for one day, so I called it a night.

"Hello!"Goldie trilled from the door. I sat up and rubbed my eyes trying to remember where I was. Oh yeah, the camper. The bed swayed as Goldie came inside; the stabilizers weren't down to balance the RV. "Oh good, you're up. I've figured out all of your problems," she responded almost gleefully.