Chapter 2

After Steve ushered the kids to bed, he went back to the family room and oozed into an overstuffed chair opposite the TV.

Breaking the news about their grandfather had gone easier than he'd expected, but the hours of rehearsal for his short speech had left him frazzled. That, and all the beers he'd had to help him think.

He grabbed the remote as deftly as if it were a live trout and waved it ineffectively a time or two before he found the correct button. Idly he flipped channels. Everything looked pretty much the same. He couldn't tell which was Howard Stern, which was pro wrestling and which was a Fox News talk show. After a while he settled on an old rerun of "Bewitched." The one good thing about his condition was that he couldn't tell whether it was the good Darrin or the second one.

He was half-asleep when he heard someone behind him. He didn't even have the strength left to turn around.

Someone in a black shiny outfit flitted through the periphery of his vision. His eyes remained fixed on the TV. It was hard enough trying to focus without adding to the complexity by moving his eyes.

Whoever it was walked back and forth, crossing his line of sight several times. He made out that it was a woman, half from the shape and half from the fact that she was cleaning up. He could see her ferrying bottles and other trash in what he vaguely remembered as the direction of the kitchen.

By the time the woman returned, another magical domestic crisis had been tidily resolved and Steve had switched off the tube. That allowed him to devote his attention to the mystery woman.

He blinked twice, but it did nothing to clear up his vision. He couldn't figure out who it was. It wasn't just the blurriness. He got the impression of two photos superimposed -- or of a person suddenly changing appearance.

"Everything is OK?" The woman had Nanny's voice. That seemed natural enough, since she also had Nanny's head.

But even as he mumbled a reply, Steve kept staring. Something was wrong. Why would Zosia have Paula's body?

For a hazy moment, it looked like Paula had the head of the second Darrin. That particular nightmare did blink away.

But that was definitely Zosia's head smiling at him and Zosia's voice talking to him, even if he couldn't quite understand what she was saying. So why did he see Paula's body?

Well, he thought, there was the shape. Both of them were in damn fine shape. Damn fine.

She was coming closer to him. He grabbed his head with both hands to hold it steady.

Ah! He got it. He was confused. It wasn't that Zosia had Paula's body. It was that she had his wife's tits.

A dull pain stabbed him just above the right eye, momentarily distracting him. When he next noticed, Zosia-Paula was climbing onto his lap.

Yes, he thought, those were his wife's tits. Or at least her nipples, which were all he could really see through the holes in the black satin nightgown.

A grasp of the situation flapped around him like a moth for several seconds before it landed in his brain.

Not Paula's body. Not Paula's tits. Paula's old nightgown, the one with the peekaboo holes over the tits. The one she'd worn on their wedding night.

This was not good, a boozy voice inside him slurred.

The only slightly less slurred voice issuing from his mouth said, "Where did you get that?"

"This nightgown? Mrs. Steve give me. Is pretty, no?"

"No," he said. "I mean, yes. I mean, no, we shouldn't be doing this." The "this" at that moment was Zosia straddling him, rubbing her sex into his crotch.

It was only his extreme inebriation that saved him from the inevitable reaction. But that drunkenness also made it difficult for him to resist when she snatched his hands and clapped them to her breasts. Or when she leaned forward and plunged her tongue into his mouth.

As the voluptuous young woman writhed on his lap and offered herself to him, Steve felt guilty that he had gotten drunk enough to be put in that position. But he also regretted that he was too drunk to enjoy it as he should.

Which made him feel guiltier that he was fooling around with their nanny while his wife was away dealing with her father's death, for heaven's sake.

Which made him regret all the more that as long as he was so guilty, he couldn't get it up and really have something worth the guilt.

The pain above his eye was spreading across his forehead like an iron vise.

Zosia had pulled the gown off her shoulders and was rubbing his face between her breasts. "I'd really be loving this," he thought, "if I had any contact with the nerve endings in my skin." Or, rather, he thought an addled version of that. His mental capabilities were following his physical ones into oblivion.

Zosia's hands were inside his shorts, desperately massaging a cock that would not respond. It somehow struck Steve as funny and he began to giggle, then chuckle, then guffaw.

Then Zosia was talking but she had Paula's voice, which he thought was awfully presumptuous of her. Trying to take Paula's husband was one thing, but her voice... Oh. He got it. The big black banana on his face was a phone. Paula was on the phone. Paula was doing all the talking, which was a good thing. He could not make sense of a word she said, which might be a bad thing.

Zosia was no longer on his lap, and that was probably a good thing. Oh. She was on her knees with his flaccid cock in her mouth. Bad. Very bad. What if Paula saw? But Paula on phone. Paula good-bye. "Goo-bye, Paula." Zosia still trying. Zosia... "Goo-bye, Zosia."

He woke up around 4 a.m. to find himself still in the chair. He checked and saw his shorts were on and zipped. That made him feel relieved, though he couldn't quite remember why. He stood up and a lightning bolt of pain arcing through his skull knocked him back down. He went back to sleep.

The morning after the funeral, Paula stood in the doorway of her parents' house, waving good-bye to Steve and the kids.

What a relief that's over, she thought as she changed into a demure beige suit with a slit in the skirt that was very undemure if she sat just right. It was bad enough having to cope with the funeral and all, but Mother had bizarrely insisted on giving the servants the day off. An entire day with no help! All the more reason, she thought, to make sure Steve abandoned the whole get-rid-of-Nanny idea.

Steve was still on her mind as she carefully applied lipstick and just enough makeup to give her that natural look. He was such a disappointment. The sight of some of her younger cousins at the cemetery had reminded her of how old he'd gotten. Cousin Billy, for example, tall and tanned and tight-bunned. And he always had that special gleam in his eye for her. Why couldn't Steve be more like that?

She pulled on her hose and clipped them to her garter belt. As she ran her hands along the silk, she reminded herself that finery like that didn't come cheap. At least Steve brought home the dough. Not enough, alas, but she could do worse. Cousin Billy worked the graveyard shift at a 24-hour Gap.

Paula stepped into four-inch heels and strode to her car. Two years old, it was. She rolled the top down resentfully. Steve should really be making more money, she thought. Especially with all those hours he worked. Which meant even less time with her. Not that the prospect of his pudgy body was all that appealing. But, still, a woman has needs. Yet another reason to make sure Nanny stayed.

Traffic was a bitch and she lost half her tall slim cappucino when the jerk in front of her forgot how to merge, but she kept the spill from her suit and kept a smile on her face. She had been listening to a new book about positive mental attitudes and this was exactly the time to test its advice.

Her father's attorney, however, had a very negative mental attitude. So much so that he was incapable of forming a sentence that didn't include the word "no."

It was "No, Mrs. Oldham, i can't reveal the terms of the will until it's read to everyone" and "No, I can't just tell you what you inherit" and even "No, I can't verify that you will inherit." She was shocked when he actually said "Yes, we can get you a coffee." But, of course, that was followed by "No, we don't have an espresso machine."

She had carefully arranged her skirt to show most of her long legs, and when he became politely obstinate she idly fingered her blouse buttons and accidentally undid several. Nothing helped.

Paula was not one to give up easily, but somehow the lawyer and his secretary teamed up and she found herself outside his office watching the door close. She bit her lower lip, on the verge of tears. Was she losing it? Over the hill? Had that mortician been her last hurrah?

She sagged into a chair in the waiting room. The secretary gave Paula a sharp look, but then the intercom buzzed and she disappeared into the lawyer's office. Paula sat, forlorn, contemplating her mortality.

Shortly, a young man in a rather plain suit swam into her vision. He asked if she was all right. God, Paula thought, I must look pathetic. But she bravely produced a wavering smile. He asked a few other bland, solicitous questions, but she lost track of what he was saying. She noticed something much more important. He was staring at her chest.

And he couldn't be much beyond his early twenties. Maybe she hadn't lost it after all.

"So, tell me," she said, "Mr. -- er --"

"Barnes," he said, "but you can call me Jeff."

She favored him with a bigger smile and a deep breath that lifted her chest. "Thank you, Jeff. I'm Paula. So you're a lawyer here?"

"Oh, no. Well, maybe someday. I wish. No, I'm just helping out. With the files and such. I'm still in school. Law school."

Her smile sagged a little. He quickly added "But if you have any questions, I'll be glad to help if I can."

He had that eager puppy look, brushing a lock of brown hair away from his cherubic face. Paula was composing a question to test his eagerness when the hatchet-faced secretary reappeared and shooed him away. It was Paula's turn next, and the secretary was only marginally more polite than she'd been to Jeff.

Paula declined the icy offer of an escort and said she'd see herself out. But she quickly got lost in the warren of hallways and offices. The third time she'd passed the same painting of some old sea battle, she felt as if she should shout for a life preserver.

Then she saw a familiar bland suit crossing the far end of the corridor. She took off after him, turn after turn, as he sped away. She was about to call his name when he pushed open a door and went in.

She rushed up and stopped short when she saw the "Men" sign.

Paula glanced back and forth. The hallway was empty.

She eased the door open with her foot until she was sure there was no one on the other side, then slipped in, keeping close to the wall.

Jeff was standing at a urinal on the far wall, next to two stalls. She checked to make sure no feet were peeking out beneath either one. Silently she opened the door and poked her head out. The coast was clear. She eased the door shut again.

On tiptoe, she crept up behind Jeff. She waited until he was finished and shaking off before reaching a hand around and taking hold of his soft cock.

"Here," she said. "Let me do that." She gave it several firm shakes. It grew more rigid with each one.

Jeff's eyebrows were embedded in his hairline as he turned his head toward her. As his mouth dropped open, Paula covered it with hers, shoving her tongue deep inside. He staggered as she pushed his back against the side wall of the nearest stall, her hand rubbing his dick to hardness.

Breaking the kiss, she brushed her cheek along his and snaked her tongue into his ear. His cock twitched.

She put her lips right next to his ear and whispered. "Jeff, could I be so bold as to ask a favor?"

He nodded vigorously.

"There's something in the files here that I need to see. Could you take care of it for me?"

He swallowed hard. "I'm -- I'm not supposed --"

"But you do work with the files, don't you?"

"Uh-huh, but --"

"And you'd like to do me... a favor, wouldn't you?" Her hand closed around his cock.

Jeff nodded slowly.

"You wouldn't be hurting anyone. And I'll make it worth your while."

She led him to the sinks and washed his dick off. As he stared wide-eyed, she began to sink to the floor. The sound of muffled conversation came from outside the bathroom. Quickly she got him into a stall and locked it behind them.

Paula shuddered when she looked at the toilet seat. She unrolled yards of toilet paper and hastily wrapped the seat before sitting down. As tinkling sounds came from the urinal on the other side of the stall wall, she silently motioned Jeff to step forward.

His cock had shrunk slightly, but light kisses and her soft, warm hands soon brought it back. She swallowed him slowly, careful not to make noise and give them away. When she looked up, half his dick inside her ruby lips, Jeff was biting his lips and clutching at the walls.

Came the sound of a faucet running and she held him in her mouth, jacking him off with her hand. The whole bathroom thing felt icky, but she hated the idea of not getting what she wanted.

When she heard the door open and close, Paula took her hand from Jeff's rod and buried all of it in her mouth.

"Oh, jeez," he groaned. "Sweet mother, that's so fucking good. Suck my cock. Suck it! Suck -- aaah!"

She went faster, slurping his dick in and out as her hands dug into his ass. His pubic hair tickled her nose on every downstroke. It was actually fun, she thought, doing someone she could totally deep throat.

After a few minutes, though, her jaw began to ache. She pulled back to the tip and used a hand to get him off, swallowing as much as she could.

When it was over she made him stand guard outside the john while she washed her face and hands thoroughly. With the promise of even more to come, she got him to show her the way out and arranged to meet him in an hour.

At the appointed time, she rolled up to the front door of the law offices. Ten minutes later, not even her daily affirmations could make her believe the little shit was just running late. Swearing under her breath, she twisted the key in the convertible's ignition and peeled off.

Scarcely had she started moving when a blurry figure came racing around the side of the lawyer's building and dove headfirst into the tiny rear seat of her car.

Paula slammed on the brakes, vaulting the intruder over the rollbar to land heels over head in the passenger seat. She grabbed her purse and flailed him with it, landing several solid thwacks.

Only when he twisted around to face her did she recognize Jeff. He cut off her questions, yelling for her to drive off.

After they were several blocks from the law offices, he crawled into the proper position. His tie was askew and one of the sleeves of his cheap suit was hanging funny.

"Shit," he said, breathlessly. "Why'd you go crazy like that? Hitting me and shit?"

Paula shot him a dirty look. "Me? What were you doing leaping into a moving car? Why didn't you meet me at the door?"

"I barely got out alive. Old Man Carruthers nearly caught me with the will. If anyone saw me getting in your car they'd put two and two together. I had to sneak out -- and then you take off like a rocket! I could have been killed trying to catch up."

"Whatever. So you got it?"

"The will? Uh, yeah. Sort of."

She eased her foot off the gas slightly. "What's that mean? Didn't you make a copy?"

"No. What did I just say? The Old Man would can my ass if he caught me walking around with something I wasn't -- hey, what gives?"

Paula had swerved to the curb and begun to pull the car into a U-turn. "We're going back," she said. "I want that will. You're going in to get it if you have to cold-cock the entire bar. Remember what your reward is."

She shifted in her seat, letting her skirt ride up. Jeff licked his lips as he stared at Paula's legs.

"Wait," he said in a rush. "I didn't say I failed."

"So you have the will?" She slowed down.

"No."

She sped up.

"But -- but I know what's in it!"

Paula pulled to the curb and parked.

"Speak," she said.

He hesitated. "How do I know you'll come across if I do? And we aren't going to do it right here, are we?"

She stared at him, pursing her lips. She let out a big breath.

"There's a beach fifteen minutes from here. Nobody goes there because the sand got washed away years ago. It's still got a little parking lot you can't see from the road."

"Sounds like you know this town pretty good."

"I grew up here. And I had an active youth." She pulled back into traffic. "Now start talking."

He looked her up and down. "I still haven't gotten anything -- I mean, since your down payment back at the office.

Paula took a hand from the steering wheel and fumbled beneath her skirt. A pair of champagne silk panties appeared on her thighs. After completing a left turn, she slid them down to her ankles. She pulled her left foot out of them and then pressed it to the accelerator, nudging aside her right foot. In one fluid move she lifted her right leg, panties dangling, and deposited it in Jeff's lap. The move also gave him a direct view of her wide-open beaver.

He gaped, breathing hard. As if it had a mind of its own, his hand made its trembling way to her trim ankle and caressed upward.

Paula rubbed the point of her high heel into his crotch. "Satisfied? Now spill."

He was still staring open-mouthed. She pressed down harder with her heel.

"OK, OK!" He winced.

She eased off. "Talk. Who gets my father's money."

"You do."

"How much?"

"All of it."

She glanced at him suspiciously. "Are you sure?"

"Positive. 'I leave the whole of my estate to my only daughter, Paula Noonan Oldham.' No one else."

She smiled to herself. It looked like Daddy hated Mommy as much as Mommy hated Daddy. Served her right. Paula considered. She would be generous, she thought, and let Mother stay in the house. At least for the time being. But she'd take the cabin at Tahoe. That was fair.

Pulling onto the side road that led out to the beach, she felt a momentary pang of doubt. "You're sure there was no one else? No friends? Relatives?"

"Just some legal mumbo-jumbo and his signature," Jeff said. "That's it."

"Mumbo -- just how close to being a lawyer are you?"

"Close enough. This was just boilerplate to make sure no one could challenge the will. And it's solid, too. Carruthers has never had a will of his successfully challenged. You can bank on it. So... your father have a lot of dough? I mean, he must, to afford the Old Man, right? So you're rich?"