Flirtinis with Flappers (14 page)

Suddenly, I missed home with a vengeance. The little New England town I'd grown up in. The old saltbox house my parents still lived in. When I returned from Iraq, they had begged me to come home. To let them take care of me while I got on my feet. But I had been too proud. I'd thought I could do it all on my own.

If and when I ever got out of this mess, I was definitely going to pay them a visit. Even if just to let them know how much I loved and appreciated them.

I turned my attention back to Daisy.

"And my mother," the flapper was saying, staring off into the fire, "did she stand up to him? Tell him he was a no-good bum and should get out and never come back? No. Not at all. Instead, she'd just cower." She turned back to me. "Oh, Louise, how she'd cower in front of him. It woulda made you sick to watch. Made me sick, I'll tell ya that. Especially when we got a little older, and he started in on me and my sisters. I ran away when I was fourteen, and I vowed then and there that I would never let a man keep me down like she did."

Daisy took the handkerchief from me and used it to dab at the corners of her own black-rimmed eyes. "Sorry," she said. "The memories always get me." She sighed. "Anyway, the reason I'm tellin' you this is that we ain't like our mothers. We're moderns. We got freedom now. We don't need to attach ourselves to the first guy who comes along. We can make our own money. We can live our own lives. Who wants to settle down in a house with a white picket fence when you can run off to Hollywood and star in pictures? We could do that, you know? We could get on a train right now and head to California." She jumped to her feet and started dancing a silly dance. "We could be movie stars, Louise. We could be anything."

I laughed appreciatively. This was certainly a lesson I hadn't planned on getting while visiting the 1920s. But she was right. Women had been long oppressed throughout history, and now, as the twenties roared, they were just coming into their own. Sure, they'd made a lot of mistakes along the way, but they were their mistakes to make. And now they were almost free. They could hold jobs (though perhaps not great ones). They could vote. They could smoke and dance and marry the guy they chose to. Or no guy at all, if they preferred.

All were things I completely took for granted back in the twenty-first century. I could learn to stand on my own two feet and be my own person. And in the future, if I wanted to share my life with someone, I could. But I would never have to give up my self-respect and autonomy to do so.

I wished I could tell Daisy some of this. To instill some hope in her about the future. But I remembered what happened to Michael J. Fox's future girlfriend in
Back to the Future Part II
when she saw her past self, and I didn't want to be scraping the little flapper's jaw off the floor with my fantastical tale of time travel.

"You're right, Daisy," I said, scrambling to my feet. She was still dancing her goofy dance, so I grabbed her and playfully twirled her around. Then I started dancing too, mimicking the strange waltz I'd seen at the party. We bobbed from side to side, giggling like schoolgirls. I wasn't sure my torn dress would survive the abuse, but I didn't care. After all, it belonged to Louise, not me.

"See, we don't need men!" Daisy crowed, twirling me around this time. I spun away from her and then back again, laughing.

"Nope. To hell with men!" I cried triumphantly, raising my fist in the air. "We are women! Hear us roar!"

While confidently roaring, I managed to trip over the coffee table and fell, taking Daisy down with me. We collapsed onto the floor, still giggling.

"Ow!" I cried, laughing and rubbing my knee. "Maybe I need a man after all. A man doctor!"

Daisy snorted, reaching over and rubbing my knee with her hand. "Poor baby," she cooed. "Want me to kiss it better?"

"Is everyone in this place going to insist on calling me baby?" I groaned. I was beginning to feel like Jennifer Grey in
Dirty Dancing
. "I mean, I get why the men do, but…"

I started trying to scramble to my feet, but Daisy suddenly placed a firm hand on my shoulder. I looked at her, cocking my head in surprise at her gesture and the sudden serious look on her face. Her eyes were large and round and staring right back into mine.

"What?" I asked, feeling the inexplicable need to blush. Why was she always staring at me like that? "Do I have lettuce in my teeth or something?" Not that I had eaten any lettuce. Like I said before, I was all carbs all the time while I was living on someone else's metabolism.

"Uh, no. Sorry." She shook her head and scrambled back to her feet. "We should, um, get you cleaned up. Let's go back to the house."

"Oh-kay," I said, scrunching my face in confusion. What was that about? She didn't suspect something was wrong, did she? That her best friend was different somehow?

She couldn't see Dora behind Louise's eyes, could she? I hoped not. 'Cause that would put me in serious trouble.

*   *   *

"Hi, honey, I'm home!" I called to The Rat as I entered my apartment and shut the door behind me. It was past eleven P.M., and Mrs. Landers had taken it upon herself to give me an in-depth lecture on the evils of staying out late. According to her, the night air itself could get you knocked up and hooked on drugs if you weren't careful. Who knew?

"Dinner's on the table, sweetie," The Rat called back in an equally sarcastic voice from his position on the armchair. He had somehow managed to turn the radio on and was listening to some lively sounding jazz. "God, radios suck," he muttered. "My kingdom for On Demand."

I rolled my eyes, having a feeling I knew exactly what kind of programming he'd likely "demand" if he had the access. Too bad he wasn't serious about that whole dinner on the table thing, though. I was starving and pretty sure that Domino's delivery wouldn't be invented for another few decades. In fact, there wasn't even a Wendy's "Eat Great, Even Late" drive-through I could hit. Stupid decade. You never realize the pure bliss of super-value menus until they're taken away.

"What a day!" I said as I kicked off my shoes and collapsed onto the bed. I stared up at the ceiling, trying not to listen to my growling stomach. I should have eaten more of those appetizers at the party and not burned so many calories with my near-sex activities.

The Rat shot me a suspicious look. "When you say, 'What a day!' do you mean, 'What a day—I can't believe how easy it is to change history? You'll never guess how much I screwed up the world in fourteen short hours!?' Or 'What a day—I accomplished my mission, got my ex-boyfriend to agree not to wake up Bugs Moran, and the world as we know it is safe and sound until the next time the Time Warriors decide to try and mess with something?'"

"Uh…somewhere in between?"

"Ah. What a day—I actually screwed around and drank too much gin and didn't accomplish a gosh darn thing."

"No!" I protested, perhaps a bit too strongly, sitting up. "I accomplished…things."

"Things?" The Rat jumped down from the chair and scampered over to the bed. He twitched his nose at me. "Define 'things.'"

 "Um, well, I met with Louise's boyfriend. That Machine Gun guy." I grimaced. "You wouldn't believe what he wanted me to do, though."

"I hope whatever it was, you not only did it, but you did it with a big freaking smile on your face and said, 'Thank you for the opportunity to serve you' afterwards."

"Dude, it was sucking on his fungus-filled toes!"

"Mmm. Peanut butter and toe jam sandwich, eh? So, how'd it taste?" His tail twitched back and forth.

"I didn't do it!" I screwed up my face in disgust. Maybe the idea didn't sound too bad to a rodent, but just thinking about it made me sick to my stomach all over again. "I'm sorry, Ratty, but there's only so much I'm willing to do for my country."

"Fine," The Rat said, crawling up onto the bed, his little feet clawing the duvet for traction. "So you didn't suck on his toes. Did you please him in other ways, perhaps?"

"I…" Eesh, this was embarrassing. "I…threw up on his feet."

"Wow. If I could reach, I'd be slapping my forehead with my paw and making Homer Simpson
d'oh
noises right about now."

"Whatever, dude. You have no idea how bad he smelled."

"Right. I get you. When given the choice between, say, saving the world and disturbing your olfactory glands, you say bye-bye to the world every time, right?"

"You know, I'm not telling you anything else if you're going to hassle me at every step," I said with a frown. "I mean, could you at least save the condemnation till I'm done with my story? Don't worry, I'm pretty sure you'll get other opportunities to poke fun at my shortcomings."

"I would be willing to bet very expensive cheese on that fact," The Rat agreed. "Fine. Go on. You puked on a guy with a penchant for automatic weapons. How else did you screw things up today, darling?"

I sighed. "Well, do you want the good news or the bad news?"

"God. Please don't make me choose."

"Fine. The good news is I figured out whose body Nick has snatched."

"Really?" The Rat actually looked impressed. Somewhat. "Nice work." He paused. "Uh, what's the bad news?"

I swallowed hard. (And I'd thought the puking thing was embarrassing?) "I almost had sex with him."

"Uh…"

"And…then I kicked him in the balls and ran out of the house."

"Oh dear."

"It wasn't really my fault though!" I protested, not liking the horrified, disappointed look on The Rat's twitchy little face. He really was expressive for a rodent. "I didn't figure it out till halfway through, when he did this stupid thing that Nick used to always do."

"Uh-huh."

"Do you have any idea how freaky that was? To be halfway ravished by a handsome stranger and then find out that the handsome stranger in question is actually your ex-boyfriend who you hate and are never speaking to again?"

"No, but one time I hooked up with this chick at a bar that turned out to be a man."

I raised my eyebrows. "I am not even sure how to respond to that."

"Hey, I was drunk. And the dude definitely looked like a lady." The Rat shrugged his little shoulders. "But let's get back to your misadventures here. You had him in your bed, half-naked and vulnerable, and…now you've lost him?"

"Look. You don't have to worry. I'll find Nick again and apologize for kicking him. At least now I know what he looks like. And where he hangs out. I'll find him and make sure he doesn't screw up the St. Valentine's Day Massacre." I sighed. "Somehow."

"You'd better, princess. Tomorrow's February Twelfth. You've got just two days left."

"Plenty of time."

"Uh-huh." The Rat didn't look convinced. But then again, neither was I.

"Tomorrow," I said, in my best Scarlett O'Hara voice, "is another day."

I grabbed my nightclothes and headed to the bathroom to change, ignoring Ratty's squeaky suggestion that I strip down in the bedroom to make up for the absence of Skin-e-max. He claimed it wouldn't be a big deal since technically he'd be gawking at Louise's body, not mine. Impeccable time-travel logic, but I was so not buying it. I pulled the bathroom door firmly shut behind me, locking it for good measure.

Alone at last, I stared into the mirror. I'd really done a number on the body I was borrowing. Makeup smeared, dress ripped, bite marks on her neck. She was going to be so annoyed come February Fifteenth when she got her body back. Annoyed and deeply confused.

Where was Louise, anyway? I wondered. Was she inside this body somewhere, deep in a coma-like sleep, praying that I didn't screw up her life too much while I controlled her every move? Or had we swapped bodies? Was she walking around San Diego as I spoke? If so, she'd better not go get anything tattooed. Or close down the all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet and make me gain fifty pounds. I should have left her detailed instructions on my five-mile jogs and carb-free lifestyle. (Uh, not that I had a five-mile jog and carb-free lifestyle beforehand, but she didn't need to know that.)

I sighed and sat down on the edge of the tub. What was I going to do? In two nights, Machine Gun was supposed to take me to a hotel room where we were to wait out the St. Valentine's Day Massacre. That didn't give me much time.

Why did the FBI pick
me
for this? How could they have possibly decided I was the best person for the job? Couldn't they have gotten Nick's billionaire brother to come back and persuade him? After all, those two were thick as thieves. Or maybe his best friend, Mike? Either of them would have been better choices in my opinion. For starters, Nick actually didn't hate their guts.

How had I gotten myself talked into this? Stupid guilt-ridden changing history speech. How could I have fallen for that? I was a complete narcissist to actually believe that I had the power to save the world.

And because of my vanity, now the world was pretty much doomed.

I shook my head, trying to rid myself of negative thoughts. They wouldn't help me. As the shrinks said, they were self-defeating. No, I needed a plan. Unfortunately, I was very sucky in the plan department. And I knew Ratty wasn't going to be much help in the matter. Nick probably would have been able to come up with a brilliant plan, but since he was the one I was planning against, I could hardly ask him to formulate one for me this time.

Nick. Sigh. Just thinking the name caused high-def visuals of our near encounter to flood my brain once again. Not that it hadn't been playing on endless loop since I had left the party. Half of me wished I didn't realize it was him until after we'd gone all the way. At least then I would have gotten my jollies out of the deal, even if it would have probably messed me up even further.

You know, I thought I'd been doing so well moving on with my life. Now I realized I was back at square one. As much as I hated the guy, I still had strong feelings for him. I still wanted him. I still cared for him. I still loved him very much.

I'm such a Dumb Dora.

"Jiminy Cricket! It must be nice to have your conscience go on extended vacations, allowing you to ignore the fact that you've got only two days left to save the world and instead giving you a few extra moments of shut-eye."