“That’s a
low blow,” I said. “Sincerity? That’s low.”
“It’s not
an act, not a lure,” Nikki looked scandalized without letting her smile slip.
“I know.
That’s why it’s low.”
She’s right. She’s absolutely right. Sure,
we’ll go out dancing or have movie dates, and even some canoodling, but
everything else is life or death. And I hate it. And, honestly, I’m sure she’s
gotta be chomping at the bit. She’s used to long-term stuff, like court
intrigue. And even though it’s not my thing, I didn’t mind the occasional
week-long game of Risk or Monopoly with Paul. I really do hate the members
here, too, so maybe it would be fun to tweak their noses.
“Pour me a
Scotch and start talking before I change my mind.”
Her eyes
lit up, sparkling like they do when we’re on our fourth dance of the night,
exhilarated.
She passed
the bottle to me, a Laphroaig old enough to go on Social Security, and I worked
the stopper free carefully as she began talking.
“Well, do
you know how much you enjoyed playing the rowdy dandy for Angelica? Well, I
thought you could take on a similar role in the weeks to come so as to
disguise. . . .”
I poured
the scotch, neat, and swirled it around my glass as Nikki continued. She had a
plan. No, not a plan, an entire campaign. This was more elaborate than
summer-long multi-world Risk Campaign.
This could be kind of fun. At the very
least, we can have fun with strategy sessions.