Ted Bell - Tsar

“ Street Girl, ” Monie said, eying the book’s lurid cover. “Interesting. What’s that one about?”

“Hookers. Well, not really hookers. See, their moms are all hookers, and their kids all sort of grow up in the life, you know? You know, they, like, copy the behavior of the parents, or parent in this case, since there don’t seem to be a whole lot of dads in this book. Just gangsta pimps, mostly. But this one girl, Amanda, she’s, like, the hero, and-”

“Heroine.”

“Right, heroine , and she’s determined to break out of the vicious cycle and make something of herself, you know, beyond just shooting smack and hooking.”

“Isn’t that great?” Monie said, tucking Debbie in, pulling the duvet cover up under her chin. It was supposed to get really cold tonight, dip down into the teens. “A girl with spunk, huh? If you like girls like that, you should try Nancy Drew, girl detective. Talk about spunky.”

“She’s cool. I like her.”

“Nancy Drew? You do?”

“Noooo-a, Amanda, silly. Now, shush, Mom, I’m at a really good part. Amanda’s about to get caught with her mom’s crack pipe in her purse at school. She didn’t put it there, of course. Her mom’s scag boyfriend, Notorious Ludacris, did it.”

“Sorry, Charlie. Lights out. Tomorrow’s a school day, remember?”

“Okay, okay, Mom. Just lemme finish this chapter, okay?”

“Now. Light’s out.”

“My God! We are, like, so strict in this household, it’s just pathetic!” She closed the book and put it on the nightstand.

“Go to sleep. Sweet dreams, you two.”

“More kissing!” Debbie cried.

“Kiss-kiss, now go to sleep.”

Monie flicked a wall switch by the door that turned all the lights off. “Night-night, Mommy,” Debbie said.

“Night, Mom,” Carrie said. “Love you.”

“I love you, too, sweetie. Both you guys.”

She pulled their door closed and walked a few feet down the hall to her husband’s study. George was at his desk, staring at his computer screen. EBay Motors, most likely. George spent every evening he wasn’t playing fantasy football or watching the Golf Channel on that damn eBay, chasing his dream car. She walked over and stood behind him.

Yep, eBay.

“How’s it going, hon?” she asked.

“Aw, hell. You know that dirt-cheap ’58 Vette I was bidding on? The maroon one? White interior?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Some butthead aced me out at the last second. I mean, the very last second. One second before the time expires, he slips in there at five hundred over my final bid. Damn it!”

“Aw. Did you have a good day at the office?”

George turned around in his swivel chair and smiled up at her. “Isn’t that an oxymoron?”

“Probably.”

“Kids asleep?”

“One down, one to go.”

“One X-Men flashlight shining under the blanket?”

“Yep. That’d be my guess, five minutes after lights out. She should be clicking it on right about now. She’s started a new book.”

“Black Beauty?”

“Dream on, clueless dreamer. She’s reading Street Girl . By the beloved author of Ho Town. ”

“Sounds bad.”

“Mmm.”

“Hey. You want to fool around?”

“How’d you know?”

“I don’t know. The way you’re standing with your one hip cocked out. Usually a reliable indicator. How’s the mayor business?”

“Endless meeting with the Civic Association. Annual report from the Public Relations Committee. You know my definition of a committee?”

“A group that keeps minutes and wastes hours.”

“Correct. Well, guess what the chairman of that committee told me at the end of his annual report? At the end of his endless two-hour PowerPoint presentation?”

“No clue.”

“He said that after an exhaustive study, it was the unanimous recommendation of the PR Committee that the town of Salina not toot its own horn.”

George laughed. “The PR Committee guy said that?”

“Yep.”

“Isn’t the very definition of PR tooting your own horn?”

“I thought so.”

“So, what did you do?”

“I disbanded his committee on the spot.”

“One less committee for mankind.”

“You can search every park in every town in America, and you will never, ever see a statue of a committee.”

“That’s my girl. Disband ’em all. Don’t leave a single one standing.”

“Turn that thing off and come to bed,” Monie said, running her fingers through George’s soft but thinning brown hair.

In the bathroom, pulling a shorty see-through black negligee over her head, she remembered the phone call while she was taking the mac and cheese out of the nuker.

“Honey,” she said, cracking the door an inch or two.

“Yeah?”

“Did I forget our anniversary or something?”

“Nope, that’s next week. Why?”

“I got a call from some bakery. Said they were delivering the surprise and wanted to make sure someone was home.”

“The bakery? Not me.”

“That’s weird. I thought maybe you were springing some big news or something. That promotion I keep hearing about.”

“I’m springing something big, all right. Come out here and have a look.”

“George! You ought to be ashamed of yourself!”

At that moment, the front doorbell rang.

“Who the hell could that be? It’s almost nine o’clock,” George said, pulling her to him, pressing his erection against her belly.

The little nightie that could, Monie thought, smiling up at him. “Probably the bakery.”

“What did you tell them?”

“I said I hadn’t ordered anything. Of course, I wasn’t completely sure you hadn’t.”

“I’ll go get rid of them,” George said.

“Not with that thing sticking out, you won’t. I’ll put a robe on. As for you, mister, go directly to bed. And hold that thought.”

George went to the window and peeked under the shade at the driveway below. “Bakery, all right. Big white truck.”

She grabbed her blue terry robe from the hook on the bathroom door, slipped it on, and padded down the stairs barefoot, knotting the sash around her waist.

“Hello,” said the very fat bakery man when she opened the front door. He was all in white, even his shoes. You could barely see his face because of the huge white box in his hands, tied with a bright pink ribbon.

“Hey. I think you guys made a mistake,” Monie said. “We didn’t order anything.”

“This is the Bailey household, correct? You’re Mayor Monie Bailey?” he asked, peering at her over the top of the box.

“It is. I am.”

“Well, then, ma’am, this is the right place.”

“But, like I said on the phone, we didn’t order anything.”

She felt uncomfortable and realized the guy was staring at her breasts. Not openly, but she’d caught him looking. She was suddenly aware of how cold she was and looked down. Well, no wonder. Her sash had come undone somehow, and her robe had fallen open. The little black see-through wasn’t covering up much cleavage. Her “strategic assets,” as George called them. She quickly pulled the robe together at the throat and managed to tie the sash with one hand.

“That doesn’t mean someone somewhere doesn’t want you to have a very special surprise, does it, now?”

“N-no, but we-look, it’s nine o’clock, and we’re plumb tuckered out, so could you just-”

“Could I just come in and set this beauty down? It weighs a ton. And it’s definitely for you.”

“Well, I-okay, what is it?”

“A cake. A gorgeous chocolate cake with coconut icing.”

“And who ordered it for us?”

“Name’s in the envelope inside the box. You have relatives in Topeka?”