Father Of The Brood

Ike breezed through the curtain and met his sister backstage feeling buoyant, lusty and full of anticipation. “I owe you,” he told Nora as he embraced her fiercely. “I owe you big. Did you get a load of the woman who bought me?”

He felt Nora nod against his shoulder. “Oh, I got a load, all right.”

Ike sighed wistfully. “I can think of no greater pleasure on earth than to be owned by that woman for an entire night.”

“I told you it would all work out,” Nora said when he released her. She twisted her mouth into a wry grin. “St. Bernadette’s gets five thousand dollars, and you get that great set of hooters you wanted. Well, my, my, my. Isn’t the world a lovely place?”

“Oh, Mr. Guthrie.”

Ike turned to find his new owner passing through the curtain behind him as gracefully as she would if borne on wings. While he was onstage, he had been fearful that in good light some of her dazzle would diminish. But he’d been wrong. Good light only made the woman even more radiant. He didn’t so much approach her as he was drawn to her. All he knew was that he couldn’t wait to take her hand in his.

“Hello, Ms…?” he began as he drew nearer.

“I’m Sophia Marchand,” she said as he reached for her hand.

But she stepped away before he could curl his fingers around hers, then thrust another woman forward to take her place—a drab, colorless creature who faded to nearly nothing beside her iridescent sponsor. Ike’s gaze flickered over the newcomer for scarcely a second before returning to the woman who had launched a variety of previously undiscovered fantasies in his brain.

“And this is my sister, Anna,” she told him. “I’ve bought you for her. She’s so looking forward to the weekend you have planned. Enjoy.”

And with that, the woman smiled and turned away, exiting through the curtain as quickly and completely as a magician’s assistant disappears into the black beyond.

A mouse, Ike thought as he gave the other woman another quick once-over. His gorgeous peacock bad bestowed upon him a mouse to take her place.

“Annie,” the mouse said quietly. Her voice was huskier than he would have thought, but he got the feeling she would indeed squeak when she reached the proper decibel. “My name is Annie. Annie Malone.”

She extended a hand toward him and smiled, a smile that was pleasant and harmless and rather pretty in a wholesome kind of way. In spite of her smile, however, Ike somehow got the impression that she was no more pleased by this turn of events than he was.

“Ike Guthrie.” he replied automatically, taking her hand in his.

Her hand was small, a bit rough, and in no way decorated. The woman who had bought him had been wearing rings on nearly every finger, and he’d already begun to indulge in all kinds of salacious imagery about her long, red nails. Annie’s hands didn’t evoke sensual pleasure. They evoked hard work. And her eyes didn’t promise untold realms of erotic discovery. They suggested about as much sexual expertise as an ingenue. Ike’s gaze skittered lower, and he sighed again. And great hooters, he noted with much disappointment, were simply out of the question.

“Nice to meet you, Ms. Malone,” he said as be met her gaze once again.

Too late, he realized she understood completely where his own eyes had been lingering. But instead of blushing and turning away, as an ingenue would have, she had arched one eyebrow and squeezed his hand hard in what he concluded was an unspoken threat.

“Please, call me Annie,” she said, sounding surprisingly hardy in comparison to her slight build. “After all, we will be spending the night together.” The eyebrow fell, but one corner of her mouth lifted in a sardonic grin.

Oh, goody, Ike thought. A weekend with Raggedy Ann’s evil twin, Craggedy Annie. He hadn’t noticed at first that big chip on Annie Malone’s shoulder, and he didn’t know what caused it to sit there so resolutely. But now he could see it clear as day. She might look sweet and innocent—hell, she might look like a kid just freed from college—but there was an angry energy barely coiled within her that was just about to blow. Hastily, Ike dropped her hand before she could drag him down with her, and shoved his own hands deep into his pockets.

Oh, well, he thought further as he noted the sprinkling of pale freckles that dotted her nose and cheeks. Maybe some sun would give her a little more color. And the sea breeze would be good for her. If it didn’t blow her right into the ocean first.

He glanced over his shoulder to find that his sister had been paying close attention to the scene played out. Nora nodded her approval, lifted a hand to circle forefinger and thumb in okay, then left the room laughing.

Two (#ulink_3774cac3-2b9a-5bea-889e-f72b5b46af9c)

“Annieee!”

Annie sighed with much frustration and growled under her breath. Now what? she wondered.

The cry had come from Mickey, that much she could determine immediately. But the little guy had a six-year-old’s propensity for wanting just about everything, and right away at that, and his cry of terror at the sight of blood was virtually identical to his urgent plea for just one more cookie. Whatever the problem was, Mickey, at least, would consider it of global importance.

Annie dropped her favorite pair of blue jeans on top of the meager wardrobe selections she was packing for the weekend and went in search of Mickey. She found him with his head caught between the rungs of the stairway banister and rolled her eyes hopelessly as she bent to help him free himself.

“I told you not to do this, didn’t I?” she asked him calmly as she twisted his head carefully to the side.

“Yes,” he whimpered, clearly frightened by his predicament but determined not to show it.

“The last time this happened, what did I say?”

Mickey sniffled. “I don’t remember.”

Annie’s voice softened. “I said, ‘Mickey, if you put your head in the banister railing this way, it’s going to get stuck.’ Isn’t that what I said?”

“I guess so.”

“So why did you do it again?”

He hesitated, biting his lip as Annie carefully extracted his head from the rungs. He remained silent as he stood rubbing his hands furiously over his forehead and through his pale blond hair. His blue eyes were resolute and adorably menacing.

“Well?” Annie prodded.

Mickey thrust his stomach forward, a gesture he probably thought she would find intimidating. Annie only smiled.

“I’m waiting,” she said.

Mickey relaxed and looked down at his feet. “I don’t know.”

She nodded her understanding. “Okay, hotshot. Just try not to do it again, okay?”

He nodded back. “Are you still going away this weekend?” he asked as he followed her to her room.

“Yes.” Annie went back to her packing, resigned to the Spanish Inquisition that she knew would follow. Mickey asked a lot of questions. And she’d discovered long ago that she had no alternative but to answer every one of them if she ever hoped to maintain any kind of balance in her life.

Mickey scrambled up onto her bed and began to remove things from her duffel bag, inspecting each item as if it were the most fascinating scientific specimen he’d ever had the good fortune to encounter. “Where are you going?” he asked.

They’d been through this a million times already, so Annie had the routine down pat. She continued to pack as she obediently replied, “Cape May.”

“That’s in New Jersey, isn’t it?”

She nodded again. “Yes.”

“And New Jersey is across the river, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

He grinned, clearly pleased to be able to show her just how much he knew of the world. Then he plucked a pair of her socks out of the duffel, unrolled them and asked, “How long will you be gone?”

“I’ll be back Sunday night.”