The story so far:
Eighteen-year-old Matt Baker lives in a town in Arizona in 1993 when his best friend Jack introduces him to thirty-three-year-old Cary Woodley, an adventurous but naïve artist and mother of two. The three bond over their shared love of early American history and Bowie knife fighting. Cary and Matt grow closer in friendship after an incident at her birthday party at which her manipulative husband arranges to get her drunk and leave her at the mercy of his predatory co-workers. Matt rescues her and Cary begins divorce proceedings.
As Matt's graduation draws closer, he is also drawn deeper into the developing tale of Cary's revenge--namely that she is faking an affair with pictures and a bogus story to make her soon-to-be-ex-husband angry. Matt begins to realize that he has feelings for Cary deeper than simple friendship. While playing paintball with her, he is jealous of the attention the other guys are giving her. And when one of them loses control and kisses her after recording phony sex sounds to fool a recording device left behind by her ex-husband, Matt realizes he can't stay silent any longer. He confesses his feelings, and at his graduation party a week later, Cary (now Bernham) throws caution to the wind. Matt faces down Cary's ex-husband when he arrives at the party, and Cary agrees to go with Matt to his rich friend's graduation party as his plus-one. Their unlikely romance has begun to blossom.
Chapter 11
It was almost ten by the time I got to Ty's party. The police interview had been short and sweet. It essentially amounted to "If nobody was hurt, no trespassing, and no threats, then we have nothing to do here." I thanked them anyway, and then dashed upstairs to take a shower, shave, and get into my tuxedo. Cary had a head start on me, and I didn't want her to be waiting without an invitation once I got there.
The drive from my suburban neighborhood to what passed for the fancy part of town was full of anticipation. Beyond the fact that Ty's parties always rocked, I now had Cary to look forward to as well. Ty had said at our graduation ceremony that morning that there would be some general events and games that everybody was welcome to take part in. But he'd also suggested that there would be special "adult" games starting around ten. I sort of hoped Cary would want to do one or two of those with me.
I gave her car make, model, and license plate to the security guards at the gate to Ty's neighborhood so she could get in, and finally pulled up to the curb, chuckling at what I saw. Somebody had put a cardboard standee of his dad turning out empty pockets, and a banner reading "License to Bill" dangling from it. Several cars had been parked along the street in front of the row of mini-mansions, and I gazed appreciatively at the expensive topiary. It was a perfect tableau for a secret agent's misadventures.
I adjusted my bow tie and jogged up the long walkway to the front door. A sign standing on a narrow brass pole next to the entry read "Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to enter and have fun!" I smiled and let myself in. Ty always went the extra mile. Things were already pretty raucous inside; Ty had clearly invited a bunch of friends other than just his high school buddies. I even thought I recognized a few folks who had been seniors back when I was a freshman.
Cary knew the address, so I didn't worry too much--I just hoped she'd arrive before things started heating up. I wondered for what must have been the fiftieth time what she was planning to wear that she thought would be so much better than her little black cocktail dress. In the great hall several stations had been set up at tables in a circle. One of them had a simple fishbowl with a bunch of keys in it. Another few had signup lists for strip poker and truth or dare, naughty Bond trivia, and so on.
"Mister Baker?" I turned to find myself looking at a man I guessed to be in his thirties, wearing a red vest, red bowtie and black slacks.
"That's me," I said, sounding uncertain.
"Master Salinger has instructed us to look out for you, sir," he said, with a theatrical wink. "Should you wish it, you and your plus-one are invited to the private games." He looked back and forth. "Do you
have
a plus-one?"
"Oh. Yeah, of course." I sounded like an idiot in my own ears, and forced myself to speak in a steady voice. "She's arriving separately."
The man proffered a clipboard. On it was a signup list, and a small explanatory card clipped above it reading "
Consorts and Counterspies: A sexy game of hidden identities and secrets
." About a dozen people had signed up for it, including the man of the hour--Ty himself. There were two columns: one for "Guys" and one for "Dolls." I hesitated a moment, then quickly signed my name.
About to write Cary's name down as well, I found the pencil point hovering. Who knew what sort of horny hijinks we would get up to here--and I wouldn't want this getting back to her kids. Her ex-husband was a vindictive bastard. So "Jane West" took her place in the Dolls column beside my name. I handed the clipboard back to the man in the red vest.
"Oh, awesome! I was hoping you'd sign up for that. Should be good," a voice said from my shoulder. I turned to see Ty, and grinned.
"Happy graduation, man," I said, giving him a high-five. "You look a lot better when you're not wearing that hideous eyesore."
"Orange is a perfectly dignified color for a suit," he sniffed in mock annoyance. He handed me a glass with some amber liquid in it that smelled suspiciously sharp. I took a swig and tried to resist making a face.
Ty laughed good-naturedly. "Yeah, bourbon isn't for everyone; it's sort of an acquired taste."
"And this is cool?" I asked, resisting the urge to look over my shoulder for an adult. A
real
adult. "Nobody's gonna narc on us, right?" I indicated another guy in a red vest off to the side of the room. "He looks like a chaperone."
He shook his head. "Not a problem, I hired those guys. Actually, my parents
insisted
that hiring them was part of the deal. You saw them leave once the caps and gowns were off, but they made me promise to have
some
sort of supervision. The last thing we need is a newly-minted grad burning down the house or starting a fight."
I looked back and forth at the sea of teenage hormones and alcohol. "Or getting assaulted because they're drunk." The memory of Eric's intoxicated ire was still too fresh to forget entirely.
"That too," Ty nodded seriously. "One of the big things I made sure that these guys know is that in addition to ID's being checked at the gates to make sure everybody here is 18 or over, we don't need criminal charges brought down for rape. The only sex happening here will be enthusiastic on both parts."
I thought about Cary. Even though I had written a pseudonym so that her name wouldn't get out, what if one of these guys recognized her? "Are they all local?" I asked, nodding at one of the red-vests.
"Nah. Private firm out of Phoenix." Ty grinned wickedly. "I didn't want any uncles or aunts accidentally recognizing anybody here. And the neighbors won't nose in. One of the benefits of growing up trashy
nouveau riche
is that even though the neighbors look down on you, they're afraid that if they call the cops about your underage drinking, you'll call the cops about their hookers and blow. Nobody likes or trusts each other, but at least we don't snitch."
"Sounds... awesome," I said. I was pretty sure my expression was the same as having just tried bourbon.
