My Uncle Fifi: My Beautiful Laundrette free porn video

I know, I can't believe I wrote another one of these, either. :) I didn't plan for it to be quite this long, but I wanted to try stepping things up a notch by having a few threads going to ramp up the comedy rather than just following Terry everywhere. And no worries if you haven't read the first story...like all good sitcoms, this is accessible to new viewers! Enjoy! MY UNCLE FIFI: MY BEAUTIFUL LAUNDRETTE by Jenny North Terry Riley leaned back on his bed with his arms crossed behind his head, feeling like the king of the world. He gave a contented sigh as he felt his partner's manicured fingers run sensuously over his hairy and toned pectoral muscles and he rolled lazily onto his side to face her and give her a knowing little smirk. "Penny for your thoughts?" Krystal said playfully. Her long dark hair cascaded over her shoulder in a sexy fall, teasingly obscuring her bare bosom as she snuggled closer to Terry underneath the bed sheets. "Just thinking what your father would do to me if he caught us like this," Terry said. "Between this and the money I owe him, I feel like I should be putting my affairs in order." Krystal gave him a sly grin. "Oh, I think this affair is ordered just fine," she purred, tracing her fingers down his muscular chest and abs. "And I like a guy who lives dangerously." "Is that right." "Mmm hmm. I also like guys who are adventurous," she said. "So I hope you don't mind if I invited a friend." Behind him, Terry felt movement in the bed as someone else slithered under the covers, and from the scent of her perfume he could tell immediately that it was a woman. It was a very familiar and enticing scent but before he could place it he felt her snuggle up behind him, her lithe form spooning against his body as she draped an arm around him. He smiled as he felt her soft breasts pressed up against his back and figured she must be pretty well endowed based on the feel of those big fleshy mounds pressed against him. He reached his hand back behind him and caressed her soft body, getting excited as he felt the sharp curve of her nipped-in waist which gave way to her wide jutting hips and a surprisingly round and full ass. He turned to look at her over his shoulder, but all he saw was a cascade of her long chestnut brown hair that tickled him as she nuzzled against his neck. "Do I mind?" Terry said, incredulous. "I've dreamed about something like this my entire life," he murmured as the sexy stranger gave him a gentle kiss on the neck, and then another, working up to his ear. "Would that be 'dreamed,' or 'dreamt'?" Krystal wondered with amusement. "I'm never sure which way is right." The other woman softly cooed to Terry, "I like it both ways." "Oh, I was REALLY hoping you were going to say that," he gasped. "What--w-whoa," he said with a shiver as she teased a sensitive spot. "W-what was your name again, babe?" The woman gave a throaty giggle in response, continuing her sensuous ministrations. Terry was getting lost in the feelings but opened his eyes and looked at Krystal, who was propped up on one arm and watching the pair with a bemused look on her face. "Terry, you remember Angelique." Recognizing the name, Terry blinked in confusion and turned to face the woman. She tossed her hair back from her face and he froze as he looked at her startlingly familiar features. Her face was a mirror of his own, but with subtle feminine differences--slightly fuller cheeks, poutier lips--that was beautifully made up and very desirable. And she was giving him the exact same smirk that he'd been giving Krystal just moments before. Which made sense, considering Terry and Angelique were the same person. "You don't mind if I join you, do you, handsome?" she said teasingly. "Oh, shit, I'm dreaming," Terry realized. Krystal shook her head. "No, 'dreaming' would be the present continuous tense. I think maybe I was thinking about the past perfect progressive tense. You know, 'you had been dreaming about this moment.'" Angelique popped up her head to face her. "Shouldn't it really be the present perfect tense? After all, he has been dreaming about this." "Is it? I always get those mixed up." "Unbelievable," Terry muttered. "Armed with the ability to dream up absolutely any fantasy I can imagine, my subconscious chooses to debate itself on grammar." He looked askance at his sexy female doppelganger and had to admit he was feeling rather conflicted. Dream or no dream, he didn't want to cut short this encounter with Krystal, but "Angelique" was a different story entirely. After all, the thought of a menage a trois with two beautiful women lost some of its appeal when he realized that he would be TWO of the participants. Still, if it meant getting close to Krystal, this might not be so bad-- "Or maybe this is just a dream come true?'" a man's deep voice came. Terry bolted upright to peek over Angelique's shoulder and discovered Lucius Delgado stretched out in bed behind her, with his salt-and- pepper hair looking disturbingly tousled and his big hairy barrel chest bared on prominent display. "Room for one more?" he asked. "Ugh," Terry grimaced. "Yeah, well, imagine how I feel," Krystal sniffed. "Hi, Daddy." "Hello, angel." Angelique gave the gangster a teasing glance over her shoulder. "I thought I was your angel," she pouted. "Mmm, you are, my dear," he said, draping his arm around her. His big meaty hand fell across her full breasts and he groped one of them possessively. Terry became disoriented as he felt his perspective shift, suddenly realizing that in the dream he was now Angelique, and he squirmed in displeasure as he felt the burly man's hand squeeze and fondle his breast. He managed to twist around in the embrace to confront the amorous mobster just in time to meet Delgado as he moved in for a passionate kiss. "Mmmph!" Terry objected, struggling madly to wriggle out of the man's grasp as he continued the fervent kiss. And then, in the middle of his exertions, Terry suddenly froze in place as he felt some part of Delgado brush up against his soft feminine leg. Something fleshy, he realized. And firm. And growing. "AAAHH!" Terry cried as he started awake bolt upright in the dim light of his bedroom. Desperately, his hand flew to his chest and he freaked out even further when he encountered his soft womanly bosom rather than the flat male chest he was hoping to find. But as he grabbed at his feminine curves in a panic and tried to shake off his dream, he suddenly remembered that thanks to his recent medical misadventure, he was now every bit the woman that "Angelique" had been in his dream. Well, almost. Terry felt a stirring down in his crotch from his manhood, feeling mortified that within his dream, he'd gotten aroused by his voluptuous new body. But worse still was having to admit that he'd been getting turned on by the feel of Delgado's hands on his big rounded breasts. Which he suddenly noticed he was still absently fondling. He jerked his hands away from his chest and paused to catch his breath, looking down in displeasure at his generous cleavage on display in the nightie he was wearing. "Okay, this would be a really awesome time for one of those 'dream within a dream' deals where I wake up as a guy," he said to the empty room. He waited a few more seconds and looked around the room expectantly. Then he poked at his bosom again before throwing himself back on the pillow in disgust. "Stupid _Inception_ movie always getting my hopes up," he grumbled. * * * * * The next morning Terry trudged downstairs to face what had become his new morning routine. Just a couple short weeks ago he would have slept in late, tossed on some jeans, and possibly traded quips and barbs with his brother Dave and sister-in-law Bonnie, assuming they hadn't left for work already. He'd practically been a ghost to his nieces Claire and Madison, as they'd be off to school before he awoke and by the time they returned home he was often heading out the door to hit the bars and/or hook up with the latest piece of ass. He paused briefly on the stairs to tug at his ruffled panties that were stretched uncomfortably across what was now his latest piece of ass. Terry sighed despondently as he felt his big round bubble butt. His only consolation--such as it was--was that it was somewhat hidden under the frilly petticoats of his French maid's uniform he wore, unlike his equally prodigious bosom that was on prominent display in the low-cut dress. His feminized body had been the result of some ill-considered medical experiments he'd volunteered for, and his plan had been to storm back to the clinic accompanied by an appropriately ruthless and bloodthirsty personal injury lawyer and demand that they put everything back the way it was. Unfortunately, he quickly realized that there were a number of people keeping an eye on him who were well-motivated to keep him just as he was. Lucius Delgado would of course be sorry to lose his new girlfriend Angelique, even if he didn't realize "she" was really the guy who owed him a ton of money. And the FBI agents watching Delgado certainly enjoyed how "Angelique" had such intimate access to the gangster. And then of course there was Bonnie, who was loving being able to watch her deadbeat brother-in-law mince around in his frillies and wait on the family with manicured hand and high-heeled foot. So, unable to return to the clinic without arousing suspicion, Terry had sent his trusted friend Ray on his behalf. "So, what did you find out?" Terry had asked him breathlessly. "Okay, that's sort of a funny story." "Would that be 'funny' as in, 'funny, we'll look back on this and laugh' or 'funny, I should slit my wrists now because I'm going to be wearing bras for the rest of my life'?" "So, I went to that address you gave me, and...there was nothing there." "WHAT?!?" "Yeah. No clinic, no building, just a big hole in the ground. It was like there used to be a building there, but...poof. Gone." "Y-you--they--" Terry started to hyperventilate. "That's when I realized I had the wrong address," Ray said. "Your handwriting is terrible. Your sevens look just like ones, did you know that?" He flinched as Terry smacked him repeatedly. "Ow! Hey! What'd I say?" Terry gave him a warning look. "Fine. So when you got to the right place, what happened?" "Well, I got to the address and found a strip mall. Your note said the clinic was between the Dress Barn and the Bath and Body Works." "Right." "Well, it wasn't there, either. Those two stores were right next to each other. There was no place for the clinic to be. If there used to be a clinic there, it must have disappeared like magic." Terry's eyes grew wide. "But--but--that's impossible!" "See, that's what I thought, too. So then I thought, 'I wonder if he means Bed, Bath and Beyond and not Bath and Body Works,' because the mall had one of those, too. So I looked on the other side of the Dress Barn, and there was the clinic, over on that side," he explained. Terry attacked him again. "Ow! Ow! Hey, knock it off!" "So you found the clinic?" Terry growled through gritted teeth. "I did." "And?" Ray cleared his throat uncertainly. "You said you went to the clinic on Friday the 21st, right? Saw a doctor there?" "Yes, like I told you. I don't remember his name. He was an old guy with curly hair and glasses. Thick glasses, like Mr. Magoo. I made a joke about it." "And you're sure about the date?" Terry nodded. "Positive. I remember it clearly because the next day my niece Claire had her school dance." "Oh. Makes sense." "Also, that was the day I woke up looking like Kim motherfucking Kardashian!" "Is that her full name?" "RAY!" "Okay! Okay!" he said. "I just wanted to be sure." His brow furrowed as he looked at Terry. "Sure about what?" Ray took a breath. "Terry, that clinic wasn't open that day. Their doctors on call caught a bug and they were closed through the weekend." Terry had a sinking feeling. "What?" "Dude, I showed them the newspaper ad that you answered, and they'd never heard of it. And it's a women's clinic. They don't even have any male doctors working there." Terry stared at Ray with a growing sense of unease. "What are you telling me?" "This Dr. Magoo character must have just been pretending to work there. I guess he broke in and set up shop for the day without them knowing. They don't have any idea who he is," Ray said as Terry got a faraway look in his eyes. "You don't remember anything else? Was there anybody else there? Doctors? Patients?" Terry shook his head. "There were one or two other male doctors. I didn't get a good look. They had masks and glasses on." Finally he looked at Ray and took a deep calming breath as he gave his friend a contented little smile and nodded. Ray returned the look dubiously. "You seem to be taking this really well." "Well, this all seems really awful. But I figure that you're just going to jump in here one more time and explain how it was all just another misunderstanding, and they're going to fix me up." His lip twitched in a nervous smile as he looked at Ray hopefully. "Right?" Ray shifted uncertainly and reached out to put a supportive hand on his friend's shoulder. "Don't worry, Terry, we'll figure something out," he said. He tried to sound confident and reassuring, but Terry's stupefied expression told him he may have missed the mark. The two stood there silently for a long moment as a rattled Terry tried to come to grips with what his friend just told him. "Do you want a hug?" Ray offered. Terry gave Ray a warning glare in response. "Don't you DARE." Now, a week later, Terry plucked at his French maid's uniform as he continued trudging down the stairs. "Figuring something out" had quickly given way to adjusting to his new circumstances, and now that he was caught between Delgado and the FBI, his safest move had him working in his brother's house as a maid, at least for the time being. He fussed at the frilly white trim that framed his cleavage and sighed again. "Oh, Angelique!" Bonnie said in mock sympathy, pausing as she crossed the foyer to smirk at her crossdressed brother-in-law. "You seem so unhappy! I thought you'd be delighted to get your new uniforms." Terry gritted his teeth and forced a smile. "Oh, gosh, no, I just love them, Ms. Bonnie," he lied, using the title that she had instructed him to use. Now that Terry had reluctantly been forced to pretend to be a transsexual--to say nothing of 'insisting' on wearing these ridiculous French maid outfits--Bonnie had been watching him like a hawk to try and trap him in his web of lies. She had taken particular delight in explaining to her freeloading brother-in-law his new duties and rules of behavior to be followed now that "Angelique" was their new live-in maid. Having Terry refer to her and her husband as 'Ms. Bonnie' and 'Mr. Dave' was one of her favorites. She seemed to be in an unusually good mood as she looked him over in his frilly outfit, so Terry decided to try his luck one more time on a sensitive topic. He'd already tried prevailing on his brother, but Dave had been adamant that Bonnie was the only one to address his concerns. "Ms. Bonnie," Terry said deferentially, "Mr. Dave said that I should talk to you about my salary..." Her smile disappeared. "I'm not having this conversation again, Angelique." "Oh, c'mon! I could be flipping burgers for what you're paying me!" "Oh, but then you wouldn't get to wear those pretty little outfits you love so much," she retorted, enjoying watching him squirm in his dress. "We're paying you the going rate for a live-in maid, which is quite generous considering you don't have any experience. You get room and board, plus we're even paying for your 'uniforms.' You're just lucky that Jasper was so quick to volunteer to order such an exciting variety of those French maid costumes you love to wear so much." Terry tugged at his short little skirt. "Yes, I'll be sure to thank him for that," he said, furrowing his brow at the thought of the horny teenager choosing the outfits he would now be debasing himself with every day. "And besides, have you even considered how embarrassing it is for us to have a French maid for a housekeeper? It's a bit undignified." Terry forced another smile. "Gosh, I hadn't thought of that, Ms. Bonnie. It must be difficult, seeing me like this." "Well, not for me, certainly! I'm delighted that you've decided to spend the rest of your life as a woman," she said with a smug little grin. "I just worry about the girls. It's hard enough trying to set a good example for them without their uncle prancing shamelessly around in front of them in those tawdry male fantasy outfits." Just then, Terry's ten-year-old niece Madison entered the room, already wearing her school uniform and carrying a folder under her arm. Her eyes scanned around the room, obviously looking for something. "Miss Madison, your mom is worried I might be a bad influence on you." "Uh huh. Scarred for life," she said absently, looking around the room and then checking something inside the folder. Bonnie looked surprised. "Really?" Madison shrugged. "Well, yeah. I mean, for months you and Dad just let Uncle Terry mooch off the family like a freeloading slacker. He slept all day and goofed off and you guys just let him get away with it, even though you'd never let me or Claire do anything like that. So I guess the lesson is that guys are just allowed to get away with more?" She sniffed. "Years of therapy, right there. Way to jack up my formative years." "I think your mom was more worried about you seeing me like this," Terry said, plucking at his skirt. "Oh. How come?" "I--you know, I'm not quite sure. Why was that, again, Ms. Bonnie?" Bonnie was thrown by the direction the conversation had taken. "This is--inappropriate!" she hissed. Madison shrugged again. "I dunno. Angelique's being true to herself, she's working, she's helping the family. And I see her a lot more than when she was out partying. Plus, I think it's kinda cool how you and Dad are being so supportive and open-minded. Family is important, isn't it?" Bonnie's jaw dropped slightly. "Oh, well, yes, that's a good lesson..." she said, not quite sure what just happened. "I have to go check on those reports before we meet the new investor," she said, shaking her head as she exited the room. Watching her befuddled retreat with some small satisfaction, Terry waited until she was out of earshot. "Thanks," he said. "Don't mention it," Madison replied as she walked over to a bookshelf and grabbed a couple of family photos that were on display. "'Freeloading slacker,' though? That hurts." "Uh huh, I was gonna say 'money-sucking leech,' but it seemed kinda rude with you were standing right there," she replied as she started removing the backs from the picture frames. "Yowch," he said, wincing slightly. Then, recognizing his own particular brand of snark in her sass, he wondered, "Wow, maybe I HAVE been a bad influence." "How's that?" Madison asked as she removed the photos from the frames. He thought for a moment. "Eh, I guess it doesn't matter. Nothing I can do about it now, anyway. What are you doing?" he asked as he watched her take different photos out of her folder and put them in the frames. "Well, you said that Mr. Delgado and his people are still looking for you as Uncle Terry, right? So I Photoshopped all the family photos with you in them in case they come over to the house. That way people won't notice how much Terry and Angelique look alike." "Hey, that's actually a really good idea," he admitted, impressed. "Very devious and underhanded," he said as she smiled at the compliment. "Huh. Maybe my bad influence is a good influence, after all." "Here, check it out," she said, handing him one of the photos. "Madison!" he exclaimed, aghast. "Ugh, I look like I lost a bar fight with evolution." "You want it to look different from how you look as Angelique." "Well, yeah, but there's no reason to be mean about it," he complained, touching his nose and forehead self-consciously as he examined the photo. "So I guess that's another reason for you to get back to being Uncle Terry." He handed her the photo and sighed as he headed for the kitchen. Halfway there, he stumbled on his high heels and frowned as he felt his breasts jiggle in response to the sudden motion even as his petticoats brushed against his thighs. "Right. Because what I was missing up until now was motivation," he muttered. Entering the kitchen, he found his teenage niece Claire putting her lunch into her school bag. Like Madison, she was already wearing her school uniform and ready for the day. "Morning, Angelique," she said. Terry smiled broadly and musically replied, "Good morning, Miss Claire!" She gave him an odd look. "Well, you're in a good mood today." "Really? You don't think I seemed a bit... flat?" he said teasingly, sidling up next to her so his very pronounced bosom was more evident next to her still-developing chest. Claire thumped her book bag onto the counter in disgust. "I can't believe I walked into that one," she muttered. She then cast an eye over at her grinning uncle who had moved to straighten up the kitchen table. "And don't you think those jokes are getting kind of old?" Terry looked repentant. "I'm sorry, Miss Claire," he apologized. "That was incredibly---forward--of me," he teased, arching his back. She shook her head and started to leave, but he said "Oh, wait!" and hurried up to her. Puzzled, she stopped as he pulled up the zipper on her skirt all the way. "There we are!" he declared. "Oh, thanks." "I want my girls to look their best," he said. "Besides, I wouldn't want you to... stick out." "Mmm hmm," she nodded. "This isn't over, Angelique," she declared, heading out the door. "Have a good day at school!" he called after her. "Learning about the Great Plains, studying two-dimensional planar geometry, dissecting flatworms..." "Not! Over!" she called back as he grinned. After he finished tidying up the kitchen, Terry paused to check the refrigerator where Bonnie had posted his color-coded spreadsheet of chores, with tasks broken down by day and week. He had to admit that he'd had worse jobs in his life, but none quite as humiliating as having to mince around the house in front of the family in this preposterous costume, to say nothing of how well his new body was filling it out. And being on his feet all day was bad enough without having to deal with the stupid high heeled shoes. In a million years he never would have imagined that he'd be working as a sexy French maid, and even at that he never imagined it would be this much actual work. His visions of what a maid did was flitting around with a feather duster, not--he checked the schedule--washing all the bed linens and scrubbing the bathrooms. He groaned. As he turned away, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the oven door and pouted at his made-up face and glumly realized that even he had to admit he looked good. Very fuckable. Not that he was likely to be getting much action from now on with THIS body, of course. At least nothing that he'd want to be on the receiving end of. Terry sighed and stared at his reflection with his big boobs on display surrounded by the lace trim of his dress, and for the thousandth time tried to figure out how he'd gotten himself into this situation. At this point he just wanted to avoid making any more of a spectacle of himself and try and figure some way out of this-- "Angelique!" Bonnie said reproachfully as she entered the kitchen. "You can admire yourself in the mirror on your own time," she said with a smirk as she saw Terry's face flush with embarrassment. "I, uh, I was just about to get started on the laundry," Terry said. "I'm sure. But that can wait. Here," she said, handing him a small sheet of paper. "What's this?" "That would be a grocery list." Terry looked down at himself, then back at her. "You don't seriously expect me to go to the supermarket like THIS?" "That's a good point," she agreed. She retrieved a bag and handed it to him. "You should drop this off at the dry cleaners and save yourself a trip." He was about to object again, but she cut him off. "You're the one that wanted this, Angelique," she said, emphasizing the feminine name. "Unless of course there's anything else about your sudden transformation that you feel like sharing?" Terry locked eyes with her for a long moment. "Light starch on the shirts, then?" he asked finally. "That'll be fine," she said. "And once you're done with the marketing, you can just charge it to our account and tell them to deliver the groceries here." "I can't just put them in the trunk?" "You can try," she said with a mischievous gleam in her eye as she held up the car key. Terry noticed the key chain with the stylized "V" logo and looked at her in disbelief. "You're not serious." "Dave's already at the office and I need my car. And I haven't seen your car lately so I assume it's either in the shop again, in the impound lot, or up on cinder blocks somewhere." She jangled the key from the end of her finger. "Fine," he said, grabbing the key. She raised her eyebrows expectantly, and he grumbled, "Thank you, Ms. Bonnie," while dropping into what he hoped was a sarcastic little curtsy. "Have fun, Angelique!" she called after him as he grabbed his purse and trudged out to the garage. Terry's car, as Bonnie had guessed, was indeed in the shop again, and this time the engine repairs had well eclipsed his ability to pay for the parts and labor. It bummed him out since he'd owned the convertible for much of his adult life, and he had a lot of good memories of that car. Also in the front seat of the car, and the back seat. And that one time on the hood when Danielle Grenada had done her Tawny Kitaen impression and things had gotten out of hand. Good times. Before that, he'd owned a motorcycle which at the time he'd claimed was for convenience, although Bonnie had been quick to decry it as just another obvious and feeble attempt on Terry's part to look cool. She and Dave had still been dating at the time and she and Terry had taken an instant dislike to each other. Dave observed that it was probably because the two of them were so alike, both choosing to project their insecurities by attacking each other's shortcomings. Bonnie, after due consideration, proposed that it was far more likely that Terry's sloth, chauvinism, and general asshattery was to blame. Terry, for his part, suggested that the problem likely lie in Bonnie's unrelenting fault-finding, smugness, and her uncanny ability to suck the joy out of a room. "Well, I'm glad that's all out in the open," Dave sighed. Of course what REALLY managed to get under Terry's skin was that Bonnie was often right. So, after her skewering denouncement of his motorcycle, he'd upgraded to the used convertible a few weeks later, the minimum necessary time to do so without looking like he was doing it because of her. However, he quickly became fond of the car and nicknamed it "Rosita" after a girl he used to date who had also looked good with her top down. And so, today, with his beloved convertible not available, he trudged into the garage with the echoing report of his high heels on the concrete floor providing a teasing reminder of how he was dressed. Terry despondently made his way to the far corner of the garage and hesitated in front of the tarp that was there, knowing only too well what lay hidden beneath. He grit his teeth and yanked the tarp away to reveal the hated item: a bright pink Vespa motor scooter. It was even worse than he remembered. Bonnie had won it in a contest a few years ago, and Terry had been quick to laughingly deride it as not a real bike and more akin to something that Barbie might drive as a teenager before Ken bought her the pink Corvette. Now those words had come back to haunt him as he found himself dressed more femininely than many of the Barbie dolls that Claire used to play with when she was little. For some random reason as he strapped on the matching pink helmet, Terry's mind flashed to an old adage: "Eat a live frog first thing in the morning and nothing worse will happen to you the rest of the day." But as he climbed onto the bike and adjusted his skirts and petticoats, Terry muttered, "Good thing I didn't take that advice. That would've been a waste of a perfectly good frog." Since Terry used to ride a motorcycle he figured that riding the scooter wouldn't be particularly difficult, but what he failed to appreciate was that this was his first time riding in a dress, which proved to be a very different experience. So, as he pulled out of the garage he found himself nearly losing control of the bike when the wind blew his skirts up, exposing his frilly panties and causing him to frantically slam his legs together. As he pulled over to the side of the road to organize his skirts and try and get them under control, he glanced around nervously and felt his cheeks flush in embarrassment, wondering if he'd given the neighbors a show. After an awkward and mortifying minute of fussing with his soft frilly petticoats he soon realized that they were going to blow around somewhat no matter what he did, but at least he seemed to have managed to arrange himself to avoid flashing his undergarments to passersby. For not the first time, he was immensely grateful that the crew he used to hang out with couldn't see him now. He wasn't relishing the idea of riding around town like this, but fortunately his first stop was there in the neighborhood. It was a rental house that was currently being used by FBI Agents Samm and Adams (Terry rolled his eyes again at that pairing) who were monitoring Delgado, and after pulling into the driveway he got off the bike and walked up to the front door and rang the doorbell. Almost immediately, the door opened and Agent Samm ushered him inside. "Riley, do you know the single most important thing in successfully running an extended surveillance operation?" she asked. He shrugged. "Deodorant?" "He's not wrong," Adams interjected, carting some equipment to the kitchen table. "Remaining undetected," she said, ignoring them both. "Covert. Unobtrusive." "Ah." "And do you see how a French maid--Delgado's new girlfriend, I might add--riding up to our operation on her cute little scooter and sashaying up to the front door might not be ENTIRELY conducive to our remaining undetected?" Terry held a hand over his heart. "Aww, you liked my sashay? You're so sweet to notice," he said mockingly. "Besides, what the heck am I supposed to do? Put on my maid's outfit with the all-black ruffles and sneak over here in the middle of the night ninja-style?" Adams looked up from the equipment he was working on and raised a finger. "If we're voting...?" "We're not voting," Samm snapped, then turned to Terry. "OR," she said, "you could text me and we could meet at some discreet location." Terry crossed his arms under his bosom. "Discreet," he echoed. "I can't wait to see how discreet it is once I ride up to it in this outfit on a scooter that looks like a refugee from a Hello Kitty factory. I'm about as subtle as a gay pride parade." "Yeah, what's with the scooter?" Adams asked. "My sister-in-law's idea of funny. She's LOVING seeing me like this," he griped. "Your message said you had something for me?" "A few things, actually," she said as she retrieved a small envelope and handed it to him. Terry opened it up and looked at the ID cards inside. "New driver's license and Social Security card," she explained. "Congratulations, you are now officially Angelique Isabeaux." "Oh, rapture," Terry said, looking at the cards in dismay. "With an 'F' under Sex, too. You really know how to hurt a guy." "It's your cover identity. And trust me, if you ever got carded and Delgado noticed an 'M' there, he'd be happy to introduce you to lots of people who really DO know how to hurt a guy." Terry inspected the card and wrinkled his nose. "The sad thing is, this is probably the best driver's license picture I've ever had," he said, then getting a puzzled expression as he read the information. "Huh. Is that how you spell Isabeaux?" "We guessed," Adams cut in. Terry flashed the Social Security card. "And am I to infer from this that Uncle Sam will be taking deductions from my already hilariously meager maid's salary?" "Tax fraud is still a crime, Riley," Samm said. "It's how they got Capone, after all. Although with that bod, I imagine you'd have a MUCH more interesting time in prison than he did." "Once they figured out where to put you," Adams offered. "Well never let it be said that I ever had to suffer from penal dysfunction," Terry quipped, fishing his wallet out of his purse to put the ID cards away. Samm held her hand out expectantly. Terry looked at her in dismay. "Oh, come on." "Hand it over, Riley. All of it," she said as he grudgingly slapped his wallet into her waiting palm. "Or did you WANT to risk Delgado seeing all of Terry Riley's cards when you opened your wallet?" "C'mon, I don't even have a credit card as Angelique!" he protested. "You can apply for one. Look on the bright side, becoming a barely- employed maid with no credit history probably triples your credit rating." "Well, what about all my savings? I had quite a bit stashed away!" Samm handed him a bank card. "We thought of that, too. We transferred your 'stash' into an account in Angelique's name," she said, handing over the card. "The bank didn't like having to open a new account below the minimum balance, but we put in a good word for you." "You're the wind beneath my petticoats." "Ah, which reminds me, we have something else for you," she added, nodding to Adams, who retrieved a small box and handed it to Terry. Terry made a face. "This had better be that gun I asked for," he said. "I need to protect myself. If Delgado figures out who I am, my life expectancy will be shorter than--" "Than your skirts?" Adams offered with a smile. Terry gave him a dirty look as he opened the box, which was filled with lacy hair bands and frilly maids' caps. "Wow, just what I always wanted." "Adams modified each one of your little tiaras there--" "They're NOT tiaras," Terry said defensively. "Whatever. Anyway, he wired them with hidden cameras and microphones. There's a little button where you can turn them on. Anytime Delgado or his people drop by, be sure to record everything they say." "Fantastic. I still need a gun." "Riley, I don't trust you with the feather duster." He sighed and gave up, removing the lacy hair band he was wearing and replacing it with one from the box. "Wow, I feel just like James Bond," he said, fussing with his hair. "If James Bond wore a frilly French maid's dress." "Nah, he'd probably be an English maid," Adams said. The two of them turned to look at him and he added, "You know, like 'Upstairs, Downstairs?' Or 'Downton Abbey?' C'mon, don't you guys watch PBS?" "ANYway..." Samm said, blinking once slowly. "Just tell him about the other stuff." Adams nodded and looked to Terry. "Since we had trouble hiding the wire under your dress last time since it was so... um... You know, with your..." he said, looking at Terry's body appraisingly and making vague curving motions with his hands. Terry just crossed his arms and fixed Adams with a glare. "Ahem. Well, anyway, Samm bought a couple dresses that you can wear when you're out with Delgado, and I hid the wires so they wouldn't be noticed without a more, ah, vigorous pat- down." "I hope you marked them 'hand wash separately' or that's going to be an awkward conversation at the dry cleaners," Terry said as he peered over at Samm. "And I trust these new outfits will be suitably modest for a demure flower such as myself that doesn't want to get--" "Deflowered?" Adams offered. Terry shot him a withering glance. "Sorry." "Delgado likes his women to show some skin," Samm responded. "And given the kinds of women you used to date, I think we'll chalk that up to poetic justice. I just hope that they fit," she said, eyeing his bosom. "God, have they gotten bigger?" "No!" Terry objected, a bit too loudly. "I mean, no. This dress is just really tight." "If you say so. I just don't want to waste money buying outfits for our demure flower if you're still--" "Blossoming?" Adams interjected as Terry glared at him again. "Sorry. David Attenborough was narrating a nature program last night." He straightened up and gestured with his thumb towards the door. "The dresses are out in the van. You want me to grab them for you?" "Later," Terry sighed. "I have to go run errands on my scooter. I wouldn't want to look ridiculous," he said, rolling his eyes. He then turned to inspect the equipment that Adams had been fooling with when he came in. "What's all that for?" "Nothing you need concern yourself with," Samm responded. "It's surveillance equipment," Adams explained, not noticing the annoyed look that his partner was giving him. "One of Delgado's lieutenants is coming in from out of town." "Who is it? Maybe if I see Delgado I can get you some information on the guy." Samm pursed her lips and gave him a disapproving look. "You know, Riley, we in the FBI have been running surveillance just fine for years without enlisting the aid of men dressed as French maids." "J. Edgar Hoover notwithstanding," he shot back. "But hey, I was just thinking that the next time that Delgado is trying to feel me up and happens to mention someone he's going to meet, it might the tiniest bit useful to know what the hell is going on. But maybe that's just me." "Fine," Samm conceded. "We got a tip that one of Delgado's people, Nina Fontaine, is coming into town. She runs some of his operations back East and clawed her way up through the ranks some years ago. We don't know why she's in town, but we know she's involved in his money laundering operations." Terry nodded. "Right. Well, I'll let you know if I hear anything." Samm raised an eyebrow and pointed a finger to the top of her head. Terry cocked his head in confusion before he realized she was referring to the frilly headband on his head with the hidden recording device. "Oh! Well, yeah, of course I'll record it, too. I figured that went without saying." Samm nodded and looked at him expectantly, like she was waiting for something. After a moment, he cleared his throat. "So, uh, how do I turn this on, again?" he asked. "I hear clown music," she muttered. * * * * * Across town, Bonnie arrived at the office thirty minutes early for the meeting, as was her custom. As she entered the building she was vaguely aware of a strange mood among the employees, but just chalked it up to the usual Friday morning chitchat. As she approached the office that she shared with Dave, she smiled as she made eye contact with her assistant Violet, who was looking a little agitated. "Morning, Vi," she said as she breezed her way into her office. "We all set for the investor this morning? Don't forget to double-check with the department heads that they'll make themselves available this afternoon, I'm sure they'll want to meet--" Violet hurried in after her. "Bonnie, I'm sorry, I tried to call you-- " "Why, what's wrong? Was the investor delayed? Honestly, I told people to check on that airline schedule--" "No, the meeting's started already!" Bonnie headed for the conference room as Violet hurried alongside and got her up to speed, explaining that the investor had arrived early and insisted on getting started right away. As Bonnie approached the conference room she could see that Dave and the department heads were already in there and seated as a woman she didn't recognize stood at the front of the room to address the group. Bonnie gave her husband a "What the hell?" look, and he raised his eyebrows and shrugged helplessly. "Which is why we're interested in a long-term partnership that--oh, hello," the woman said as Bonnie entered. "Thank you for joining us." The woman was a few years older than Bonnie, apparently in her mid- forties and dressed professionally in a tailored outfit that Bonnie could tell was very expensive. Her dark brown hair was pulled back in a sophisticated style and she had an authoritative take-charge air about her that ordinarily Bonnie might have admired. Under different circumstances. "Please sit down," the woman said bluntly. So much for becoming friends, Bonnie thought. She cleared her throat and smiled as pleasantly as she could manage. "I'm sorry, I don't believe we've been introduced. I'm Bonnie Riley, the co-CEO of the company--" "I know who you are," the woman said. "I make a point of researching any potential company we work with. Your husband was just explaining this 'co-CEO' business. It seems needlessly cumbersome." Bonnie regarded the woman in disbelief. "We find it makes for better communications and division of labor. And I'm sorry, I didn't get YOUR name, Ms...?" "Fontaine. Nina Fontaine." Bonnie and Dave spent the rest of the day in quiet agony as Nina--or "Ms. Fontaine" as she preferred to be called--grilled them on all aspects of their business. What the two of them had initially assumed to be an initial soft-touch introductory meeting soon turned into an inquisition that Senator Joe McCarthy would have decried as excessive. Dave, seeing which way the wind was blowing, quickly suggested that the department heads had other duties to attend to, giving the acerbic businesswoman fewer targets to focus on. He was trying with varying degrees of success to keep things pleasant and respectful, and was obviously going to lengths to keep Nina happy. Bonnie, for her part, admired the woman's directness, but was rapidly growing annoyed by her snide little remarks and innuendo about the nature of their company. "A greeting card business," Nina sniffed indignantly as she watched Violet place the cup of coffee in front of her. She regarded it suspiciously and as the smell hit her, she made a disgusted face and pushed it away. "I hardly see the growth potential in that market. Print is dead." "Sending Ovations is not just a greeting card company," Bonnie declared archly. "And print is not dead." "The Internet notwithstanding." "Yes, well, clicking 'Like' on a Facebook post may be good enough for the birthday of a guy on your intramural softball team, but our customers want to put a bit more effort into recognizing the important people in their lives." Dave jumped in, his eyes darting between the two women as they glowered at each other. "It's true that we started off as a boutique greeting card company with unique and handmade stationery, but we quickly grew from there into custom gift packaging. We've expanded our services so that we've got a deal where you can purchase items from a third-party retailer like Amazon and have it shipped to one of our processing centers where we'll wrap it up for you." "A service that Amazon already offers." "Sure, but the person you're giving it to can tell it came from Amazon from their gift wrap. When they get it they know you were too lazy to do it yourself and just clicked the button to have them wrap it. When it comes from us, it'll be in a unique packaging that makes it look hand-wrapped. Plus, if people upload a handwriting sample, we can even write a custom greeting card that looks like they signed it. And if they're stuck on what to say, our writers will come up with something and upload it to the processing center to include on a personalized greeting card." "And people pay for this?" "You'd be surprised. Like Bonnie says, a Facebook post may be good enough for some people in your life, but when it comes time for their five-year wedding anniversary, a lot of guys panic. They want something heartfelt--" "You mean heartfelt-seeming." "Well, yes." Bonnie leaned forward. "In fact, since the cards are pretty and contain a personal message, oftentimes the card can be the gift itself. People complain about buying a mass-produced card with Snoopy on it for five dollars, but for twenty dollars we can give them a beautiful card on special paper with an impassioned and personalized message inside, and since it looks homemade, they don't feel as obligated to buy a gift. Customers are often skeptical at first, but they soon realize that a gift often cheapens it. It's like, 'Here's a romantic love letter, and that Blu-Ray movie you wanted.' They usually just go for the message that comes from the heart." "From the heart," Nina echoed skeptically. "Personalized messages written by someone else." She thought for a moment. "Why does all this sound so familiar?" Violet perked up from where she was taking notes. "Did you ever see the movie, _Her_?" "No." "It won an Academy Award. It was up for best picture." Nina's eyes narrowed into a predatory gaze, now fixed on the young assistant. "Um, w-well, this is, uh, pretty much exactly what the guy in the movie does for a living." Nina turned slowly to Dave and Bonnie, who suddenly had guilty expressions. "So, you stole the idea. From a movie." Dave cleared his throat nervously. "We'd had it in the development stages for some time--" Nina cut him off. "And you manufacture fabricated sentiment for people and then package it so that they can pass it off as their own work." Bonnie stammered, "Well, I wouldn't--" "And this doesn't seem the least bit dishonest to you?" The pronouncement hovered in the silent conference room. "Not really," Bonnie admitted. "Yeah," Dave agreed. "What people do with the cards is up to them. They can be honest and say what they did." Nina considered that. "So, greeting cards don't lie. It's the people that tell the lies." "Sure, I guess," Dave said. "And there have been some times we don't always enjoy what we do--like the time a guy asked us to help write a sympathy card for his sick great-aunt so that she'd write him back into her will--but it's not our place to judge." "Hmm," Nina said appraisingly, reaching for the coffee cup and taking a sip. Bonnie and Dave looked at each other, trying to get a read on her. "Is that a problem?" Dave asked. "No, no problem at all," Nina replied. "In fact, the investors I represent appreciate a certain...moral elasticity," she said with a smile. As she laughed, Bonnie and Dave laughed along, casting uncertain glances at each other. Nina gave them a level look. "Now, in addition to expansion there was also something about a merger? The documents were unclear." Dave and Bonnie brightened up at the question and Dave gave a nod to Violet, who got up and hurriedly left the room. "We're actually pretty excited about this," Dave said. "It's more of a joint business venture than an actual merger," Bonnie explained. "We've been in talks with another company to develop another venue to sell our greeting cards. Or sell kits for making your own custom greeting cards and messages." "Interesting," Nina said, taking another sip of her coffee. "Which company?" Dave and Bonnie looked at each other excitedly. She nodded to him, and he said, "Steak Your Claim." Nina stopped and slowly--very slowly--put her cup down as her eyes narrowed. "The restaurant chain? The steak house?" They nodded, smiling. "It's perfect," Bonnie said. "Steaks take a while to prepare, so their customers have time on their hands. They can browse through cards at the table, or we can sell little pre-made kits for crafting handmade-- " Nina raised a finger to make a clarification. "You want to sell greeting cards at steak houses. Nationwide." Dave was grinning like a kid. "We're going to call it--" He turned to Bonnie. "Can I tell her? Yeah? We're going to call it, 'Meat 'n' Greet.' Isn't that perfect?" Nina stared at their eager faces as her own countenance became an unreadable mask. After several quiet seconds she blinked once and said, "That's the stupidest idea I've ever heard." Their faces fell. "W-we're not wedded to the name," Bonnie said. "We're not?" Dave whispered to her. Then, reading her face, he turned to Nina and added, "Of course not. We're open to other ideas." Just then, through the glass door behind Nina the two of them spotted Violet starting to re-enter the conference room. She had a huge smile on her face and was carrying a large poster board sign with a "Meat 'n' Greet" display that featured smiling cartoon cows exchanging brightly-wrapped gifts and greeting cards. Dave and Bonnie made eye contact with Violet, shaking their heads and waving her off as discreetly as possible. Violet looked befuddled but quickly retreated as Nina glanced over her shoulder to find out what was going on behind her. Fortunately, the fleet-footed assistant was back out the door before she could get a look, and Dave and Bonnie smiled nervously as Nina turned back to face them. "Well," she said briskly. "I hope the rest of your creative ventures are somewhat less creative." * * * * * Outside it was a pleasant sunny day, and while riding along on the vibrant pink Vespa scooter with his skirts and petticoats blowing in the breeze, Terry found that he had plenty of time to think, apart from the occasional interruptions of fellow drivers tooting their horns, calling out to him, laughing, and generally enjoying the spectacle he presented as he rode along in his sexy French maid's costume. Which is to say that he actually had no time to think at all, because people were constantly doing exactly that. By the time he arrived at the supermarket and parked, his face was burning so red in embarrassment and frustration that he thought he might need to add aloe to the grocery list. After he parked, Terry started to hurry inside but found that his quick pace across the parking lot was somewhat restrained by his high heels, which had also created a rather distracting bouncing counter- movement in his chest. With an annoyed grumble, he slowed his walk and caught sight of a young couple leaving the store who did a double-take as they spotted him. The woman smiled, but that quickly faded as she realized that her husband was gawking at Terry with more than just a passing interest. She smacked him on the shoulder as they passed, and Terry could hear as she started to chew him out. "I saw the way you were looking at that bimbo!" she snapped. "Jesus, were you not breast fed enough as a child?" "Don't you dare make this about my mother again!" Terry rolled his eyes. As he entered the store, he tossed his purse into one of the shopping carts and tried to pull it loose from the row of nested carts. It was stuck. He took a calming breath and pulled harder. Nothing. "Rrrrhhaaagg!" he growled in frustration, yanking fiercely on the implacable buggy. "Miss?" a voice came. Terry ignored it, still engaged in what was quickly becoming a life-or-death struggle with the unyielding shopping cart. It was like the object had become the focus of his impotent rage, a singular iconic representation of how he'd lost control of his life. "Excuse me, miss?" the man repeated, touching Terry on the arm. "WHAT?!?" Terry snarled, spinning towards the guy with his hair falling in his face and looking like a crazy woman. Shocked, the man yanked his hand back and took a step back apprehensively. "Um, you can have mine, if you like," he said, gesturing to an empty cart. "Oh," Terry said, straightening up. "Well, thanks," he said pleasantly, transferring his purse to the other cart and brushing his hair back into place with his fingers. "That's a great costume," the guy offered. "Are you going to a party?" "No need. In this outfit, the party always comes to me," Terry sighed. Gliding through the market, Terry continued to draw a number of stares and giggles, which he tried to ignore. For the most part, most people just ignored him, and he didn't particularly mind the ones that just smiled since they at least seemed to have a sense of humor. But he definitely could have done without the disapproving glares he got from some the women, to say nothing of the lascivious once-overs from some of the men that made him feel like nothing more than a piece of meat. "Oh, right, meat," he said absently, looking at the grocery list and heading to the butcher counter. He bent over to look at some of the items on the lower shelf when he heard a guy's voice come from behind him. "Ooh la la!" Suddenly realizing that he'd probably been presenting the guy with an eye-catching view of his frilly petticoats--and quite possibly his big round butt in his ruffled panties--Terry grit his teeth and straightened up, snarling at the guy as he turned around. "Wow, I've never heard THAT one bef--Ray?!?" He froze in shock as he saw his friend standing there, grinning like an idiot. "C'mere!" Terry whispered, pulling his friend off to the side. Ray was still smiling, looking Terry up and down. "This is OUTSTANDING," leering at Terry's cleavage. "I'll say this for 'em, those Frenchies really know how to objectify a woman." "You're hilarious," Terry said, brushing at his skirts and watching as Ray fished his phone out of his pocket to take a picture. "Put that away!" Terry admonished him, swatting at it more girlishly than he intended. "Why?" "Because there's only two reasons you'd want a picture of me like this. The first is if you intend to share it, and I can't risk any connections between Angelique and any of Terry's old friends while Delgado's goons are still looking for me." "Fair enough. What's the other reason?" "That you want a picture of me in this getup and you DON'T intend to share it. And I do NOT want to imagine what you'd be doing with it then." "Ugh, you are such a buzz kill. It's a good thing you're so beautiful when you're angry," Ray teased. "And tell me again why we're meeting at a grocery store?" "I can't be away for too long or everyone will get suspicious. And besides, it's safer for us to meet at a neutral location rather than at your place." "Wow, Terry, get a load of you, thinking like a secret agent. You're a regular Mata Hari." "Yeah, she was really something right up until the part with the firing squad," he retorted. "And don't use my name in public. Someone might overhear." "Well, I'm not calling you Angelique. That's stupid." "Not as stupid as being called Angelique." Ray gave him a once over, studying his friend's face. "I'm gonna call you Angie for short. You look like an Angie to me." Terry groaned. "Oh, good, a nickname. Yet another reminder that I'm in this for the long haul," he complained. "Oh, and now Delgado is doing it, too! He's started calling me by these cutesy little lovey-dovey nicknames. I always hated it when girls did that shit to me, but I think he wants me to join in." "Just call him the name of an animal, like a bear. I used to love it when my girlfriend did that." "You're kidding." "Hey, it works! If you want to mix it up, just toss in something at the beginning like 'honey bear' or 'snuggle bear.' Guys eat it up." "I never did." "Maybe it's just guys who don't wear ruffled panties." Terry crossed his arms defensively. "You don't KNOW they're ruffled." "Dude, everybody knows. You were showin' 'em off to the world when you bent over in your sexy little dress a minute ago." "You're exaggerating." Ray turned to get the attention of guy who was standing nearby. "Hey, pal. Her panties--ruffled or non-ruffled?" he said, pointing at Terry. The guy looked startled as he looked between the two of them, but Ray just stared at him, waiting for an answer. "O-oh, um, ruffled," the guy stammered. He then looked at Terry, who was blushing beet red. "They looked really nice. If you don't mind my asking, where did you get them? I might get some for my wife." Ray regarded the guy skeptically. "Uh huh. Your 'wife' know you're not wearing a wedding ring?" The guy froze, his eyes wide in alarm. "Oh, my gosh, are those muffins on sale?" he said, hurrying off. Terry's cheeks were burning as he glared silently at Ray for a long moment. "For all I know, you're wearing ruffled panties, too," he contended. Ray chuckled and flashed a grin. "I'm sure you're wearing them better." Terry sighed in resignation and then bit his lip and looked anxiously at his friend. "What happened with Rosita? Did you do it?" Ray nodded. "I still can't believe you wanted to sell that car. I figured I'd be burying you in it someday." "I need the money! And if Delgado's people see Angelique driving around in Terry's ride, then you WILL be burying me in it. How much did you get?" Ray handed over an envelope which Terry opened, revealing a few bills inside. "Where's the rest?" "That's it." "What?!?" Terry cried, drawing even more attention from the other shoppers than he already was. He grabbed Ray by the arm and pulled him close. "That car was worth way more than that!" he hissed. "Yeah, Zane deducted the cost of all the work that needed to be done, plus all the work from the last time that you never paid him for. He said it was that or no deal." "That lousy fink! Taking the money that I owed him!" Terry complained. "I mean... I'm good for it! I'd have paid him. Eventually." He crossed his arms and pressed his lips into a petulant and rather sexy pout, which Ray took notice of but wisely decided not to comment on. Fortunately Terry was still stewing and hadn't noticed his friend's stare. "And it's still a lousy deal! That car was a classic! Did you tell him that?" "He said you'd say that." "And?" Ray reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a pair of fuzzy dice that he handed over which Terry recognized from his car. "He said these were classic. The car was junk." Terry stood there in shock for a moment, looking wordlessly down at the fuzzy dice and then back up at Ray. Ray regarded his friend uncertainly. "You gonna be okay?" "Uh huh." Ray nodded, watching as Terry stared off into space and absently ran his fingers over the fuzzy dice. "You, uh, you want a hug?" Terry looked Ray in the face, trying to see if his friend was making fun of him. "No," he said quietly. "Okay," Ray said. They stood there in silence and after an awkward moment he put his arms around Terry, who just sighed and rested his head on his friend's shoulder. "It's been a tough couple of weeks," Terry said. "Yeah." "And I really loved that car." "I know." "I loved in that car, on that car, and all over that car." "I didn't need to know that." Terry sighed again and broke from the hug, sniffling once as he looked down at the dice. Ray gave him a little grin. "Don't worry, you'll get another ride soon enough." Terry regarded the dice ruefully. "Oh," he scoffed, "I've already got a new ride." * * * * * The next morning was a Saturday and the family was getting a late start and sitting around the kitchen table while Terry cleaned up the dishes from breakfast. "I'm just saying that if you're going to send me out on errands, I think that implies that you have to provide me transportation," Terry protested. "I did," Bonnie replied, looking rather pleased with herself. "Though I suppose I'd be willing to give you gas money if you want to drive your own car." Terry just grumbled incoherently, still smarting over the loss of his convertible. "No, that's fine," he grumbled. Claire hadn't been particularly sympathetic to his plight. "Aww, poor baby, has to ride a scooter," she said. "I don't even have a scooter! I don't have wheels of any kind!" Madison gave her sister a puzzled look. "What are you talking about? That scooter's been in the garage for years. I bet Mom and Dad would have let you drive that whenever you wanted." "Are you kidding? I wouldn't be caught dead on that thing. I mean, really," she said, giving a little shudder. She then looked to her parents hopefully. "But maybe we could go over to a used car dealer today and I could look at cars?" Dave set down his cup of coffee and gave her an appraising look. "I thought you said you hadn't saved up enough money for a car?" She shrugged noncommittally. "I was kind of hoping you might loan me the difference?" Dave and Bonnie exchanged a knowing look. "Uh huh. And that would be on the zero percent interest, indefinite payment plan, I'm assuming?" he said, raising an eyebrow. "Dad..." "Sweetheart, this isn't a good time. We've got a lot of money tied up in the business right now--" "Mom--!" Claire implored, appealing the decision. Dave tried to assuage her. "Honey, maybe in a few weeks once we've got this new investment capital in place to shore up some of the new initiatives--" "Assuming we get it," Bonnie muttered. "I can't believe that woman wants to meet us this afternoon to go over the numbers AGAIN." "You're going in to work on a Saturday? Both of you?" Madison asked. "Yes, so--and I absolutely cannot believe these words are even passing my lips--be sure to listen to Angelique while we're gone." "But I was going to go over to a friend's." Bonnie and Dave breathed a collective sigh of relief. "Oh, good. That's much better. Yes, do that." "Hey, I'm plenty responsible," Terry objected, dropping one of the dishes. "Ah, crap." Bonnie shot him a skeptical glance as she turned to her husband. "And speaking of people I don't trust..." Dave put down the financial papers he'd been reviewing. "Honey, we've been over this. She's just abrupt." "Abruptness I can handle. But there's something not right about her. She was evasive when I asked about some of the finances, and she made me uncomfortable with those weird jokes." "We need the money, and it checks out," he said, motioning to the stack of papers. "And it's her job to dig into what we do. So what if she has a weird sense of humor?" Terry scoffed. Bonnie turned to look at him. "Something to add, Angelique?" she challenged. "I'm just saying you can hardly blame people for being skeptical. I mean, you two running a greeting card business? Successfully? I'd have lost money on that bet." "You've lost money on every bet you ever made," Bonnie retorted. "Just in case you're ever wondering why your career involves carrying a feather duster." "Hey, that's not--!" he began, and then stopped as he considered it for a moment. "Okay, that may be a fair observation," he conceded. "Still hurts, though." "And remind me why Bonnie and I shouldn't have a successful greeting card business?" Dave asked. Terry gave his brother a sideways grin. "Well, c'mon, you have to admit it's pretty unlikely. I mean what with it having all the funny and jokey little greetings, and you two being so--" He hesitated, seeing their skeptical looks. "I mean, neither one of you are particularly--" He turned helplessly to his nieces. "C'mon, girls, help me out." Both of them shook their heads. "Forget it, Angelique, you're on your own," Claire laughed. "Yeah, have fun digging that hole." Terry looked back at Dave and Bonnie, who were still waiting for an answer. "I--I just--" he stammered. "I'm just saying that there's a lot of different types of humor, but you're not really what I'd call-- " Just then, the doorbell rang. "Oh, praise Jeebus," Terry whispered as he turned and started to leave the room. "Another stunning French retreat," Madison joked. Terry spun around and pointed at her emphatically. "There! You see? Now SHE has a--" He stopped as he saw Bonnie's glare. "Maybe it skips a generation," he muttered as he started to leave the room. "Remember to curtsy!" Bonnie called after him. "Oh, heavens, Ms. Bonnie, I wouldn't want to forget that." "Sarcasm is the refuge of a shallow mind, Angelique!" "Sarcasm i