Chapter Two
The next afternoon they were back, coming into the laundromat individually instead of as a group. It’s working, she thought as Jones walked through the door. The Monkee pigeons couldn’t stay away . . .
Jones smiled at her. “Good afternoon, April. Came by to see how your studies were going.”
“Slowly,” she said. The textbook that Mistress had given her was nearly incomprehensible—not very fun for casual reading, and Mistress had left strict orders prohibiting any other books or magazines.
He looked genuinely sorry. “I’m sorry to hear that. Smart lady like you . . . ”
She looked up at him in surprise, unused to hearing positive words about her intelligence. Mistress mostly utilized her body, not her mind. “Th-thank you.”
He smiled at her—a real one that reached his eyes. “You’re very welcome. Is there something I maybe can help you understand?” He touched the textbook.
Her fingers tensed; she didn’t want Jones to see the physics text behind the pasted-on cover. “No. No . . . thank you. I just need to pay more attention.” To your mission or Mistress will have your head.
“Attention is the wisest thing anyone can pay.” He looked at her and smiled. “Ancient Chinese proverb that I just made up.”
She laughed genuinely. Most amusing, Jones. “You’re funny.”
“Thank you. So tell me about yourself. Something you like . . . something you hate . . . ”
She tilted her head to the side, regarding him. “I like . . . my job.” That much was true; working for Mistress was exciting and terrifying and rewarding for those who pleased her. “I hate . . . ” She paused. What did she hate?
“There’s more to life than work, April.”
Not my life, Jones. “I suppose that’s true. So,” she added, smiling, “what would you recommend?”
“Well . . . music’s a good place to start . . . and art . . . ”
“Art?”
He nodded. “Painting, drawing . . . that sort of stuff. Art. Do you like art, April? Or has your life revolved around machines so much you’ve forgotten it?”
She paused. Once—long before she’d ever worked for Mistress—she’d been a student, studying the great works of art. “I’ve always loved art,” she admitted.
He smiled and lifted a piece of paper. His pencil scratched across its surface for a moment and he handed it to her. “Me too,” he said, kissing her cheek as he left the office.
On the paper was a drawing of her—rudimentary but recognizable. She stared at it for a long time. It was crude and simple, and yet . . . there was a playful elegance in the line, and she hadn’t been able to help staring at his hands as he’d drawn. Maybe there was more to Davy Jones than just a tattoo . . .
There was a rattle and her dummy machine’s lid opened up, revealing a red-haired man. “Check-in time! Mistress wants a progress report.”
April quickly stowed the drawing in the book. “D—I mean, Jones has already made contact. It’s promising. The others haven’t arrived yet, but they will.”
He smiled. “Very good, April. She’ll be very pleased. How’s life as a businesswoman?”
April fingered the corner of the drawing that stuck out from between the pages. It’s very nice . . . Knowing how she was supposed to respond to the loaded question, she said, “I look forward to being able to finish this mission so I can continue serving Mistress.”
“I’ll make my report, then. Bye, April.” And he left, the machine clattering shut as he did.
Dolenz walked in a few minutes later. April watched him bounce around, trying to impress a rather vacant-looking blonde man who followed him in. His steps were light as he implored “Niles“ to “Watch this!” He twirled around in midair, landing with a dancer’s grace to a “Groovy, man! Outta sight!” from his companion.
Dolenz laughed, bowing. “Thank you, thank you!” he did a little twinkle-toes step, ending very close to April. “Hi, April! This is Niles.”
She forced down the lump in her throat. “Charmed.” She didn’t trust her voice to say anything more.
Niles put in his laundry and he and Dolenz kept up a running patter, the drummer doing little dance steps when Niles’s attention wandered. Niles left to get his money, and Dolenz walked over. “Sorry about that. He’s . . . distracted, and if I don’t act nuts, his attention’ll wander and he won’t be able to find it again.”
“How . . . how nice,” she said, finally finding her voice. She tried to focus on the wall, her book . . . anything but the lithe body leaning on her desk.
“You okay, April?” His voice was filled with genuine concern, his eyes filled with it as well.
“I’m fine,” she said. And he’s courteous as well . . . This job was getting to be a little too easy. “Thank you.”
He nodded and gallantly kissed her hand. “You’re more than welcome. Ladies are precious, and you’re a real one.” With that cryptic statement, he walked out, leaving April to spend the next ten minutes trying to get the flush in her cheeks to recede.
The piano she’d ordered the day before arrived twenty minutes after Dolenz’s exit. “Where ya want it, lady?” the man growled roughly.
April stood up, her soft eyes hardening. “Along the wall, please. Chip or splinter it and you’ll answer to me.” Thunder lurked beneath her words—she silently thanked the voice coach she’d had a child who’d taught her to speak from her chest. The fact she had five inches on the man didn’t hurt either.
Nearly swallowing his cigar, he nodded and they carefully put the piano in place. “There. No chip, no splinter.” He grinned greasily at her, his eyes roaming along her long body.
Yanking the clipboard from his hand, she signed for the piano, then jammed the edge of the clipboard into his stomach. “Go.”
He wheezed, then recovered. “Gimme a kiss, sugar.”
“Never allow those beneath you to be fresh,” Mistress’s voice whispered in her ear. With a quick glance to make sure they were alone, she slapped him, curling her fingers so that her nails bit into his cheek.
He cried out, his hand flying to his bleeding cheek. “Hey!”
She calmly examined her nails. “There’s your kiss. Now go before I give you another.”
He growled, but wisely left, bumping hard into Tork as he did. “Wow, what happened to him?” the blond asked.
April just shrugged, smiling pleasantly. “I didn’t know delivering pianos could be so hazardous.”
Tork favored her with another dazzling smile. “Micky told me you were a little upset.”
“I was?” She frowned. “I don’t remember being upset.”
“Hm.” He looked around, smiling. “May I?” he gestured toward the piano.
“Please do,” April said. “It’s something I got for amusement.”
He smiled and sat down at it—and began to play something classical. Her mouth grew gradually dry as she watched him play, his fingers flying over the keys, his head tilted to the side in concentration.
He finished and looked up with a smile. “Two Part Invention in F. Bach.” And he began to play something else. “This is Mozart.”
This is my heart beating wildly, she thought idly.
His nimble fingers finished the song and hovered over the keys for a moment, as in benediction. He smiled up at her. “Thank you.”
“Y-You’re welcome,” she stammered. Mistress didn’t tell me about this . . . she didn’t tell me any of this . . .
He stood up and studied her eyes. “You look shaken.”
“I . . . I’m . . . ” I don’t know what I am right now. This wasn’t supposed to be happening. They were supposed to be drooling and fawning over her. Not the other way around.
“C’mere. Come sit down.” He led her around her desk and pulled out her chair. She allowed him to sit her down, trying not to meet his soft brown eyes for fear that she would become lost in them.
“Are you okay? You look lightheaded.” His hand was fluttering over her cheeks.
Don’t touch me . . . please don’t . . . “I’m fine. Really. Your music was beautiful.”
He smiled again. “Thank you. Maybe I’ll play again sometime.”
“I would love that,” she said.
He nodded and looked outside, where Jones was waving at him. “Whoops, gotta go. Duty calls.” He looked at her. “You sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine. Go,” she added with a smile. Before my brain completely melts down . . .
Another smile, and he left.
April got up, walking to the door and opening in for some fresh air. The mission wasn’t going wrong, exactly . . . it just wasn’t going the way she’d envisioned. It’s all right, April. All you have to do is focus the next time they come around. Make yourself cold and hard. Like Mistress. Her gaze lifted at the sound of an approaching motorcycle, her resolution vanishing.
Nesmith was sitting astride it, wearing tight, faded jeans and an old leather jacket, his wool hat keeping his long black bangs from drifting into his eyes. He rode with the confidence of a man using to traveling at high speed, his slender, powerful hands gripping the handlebars. Her heart leaped into her throat and stayed there, pounding in time with the purring engine. Oh . . . my . . . goodness . . .
He stopped the bike on a dime in front of the laundromat, turning off the engine. “Well, hello!”
“Hel . . . hi,” she murmured, watching his lanky body dismount the motorcycle. “Your . . . ” She swallowed. “Your friends left a little while ago.”
“I know, I’m goin’ to catch up with them. Gotta return Niles’s bike anyhow. Wanted t’see how you were doin’. You looked so sad last time I saw ya—was kinda worried.”
Oh, I’m not sad anymore . . . “No, I’m fine. Just . . . overwhelmed by your kindness.”
Something flared in his eyes. “Y’say that like nobody’s been kind t’ya before.”
She cursed inwardly. Weak, April . . . weak. “That’s not true. I have friends—they are all very nice.” And Mistress has always treated me as a daughter. So there, Nesmith.
He smiled and nodded respectfully to her. “Reprimand accepted,” he said merrily. “I’ll go return this bike and I’ll be back. Promised the others we’d meet here later.”
Ohno! “Why?”
“Well, here’s the midpoint between where we’ll all be and home.”
“Oh, I see.”
He smiled and started the bike again, roaring off.
April went back into the laundromat and closed the door behind her. “Lovely, just lovely,” she thought, going back to her desk. She needed to think. When they came back, she had to clamp down on her emotions and get to work on her mission. They liked her—step one was already complete. Step two was getting them to fall for her.
On to Chapter Three
Back to Chapter One
Back to Secrets and Lies Index
