Alien in the House

Chapter 11



WE WERE MOSTLY NAKED, I was in Jeff’s arms with my legs wrapped around his waist, and he was doing wonderful things to my breasts, when the com activated.

“Chiefs, you’re needed downstairs.”

I stopped yowling like a cat in heat. “Why? No one’s supposed to be here for another couple of hours.”

“Actually, the first guests are set to arrive in forty-five minutes or less, and Pierre wants everyone prepped on what’s going on where. Commander Reader also wants to ensure that we have the right teams assigned to the right politicians.”

Jeff sighed. “We’ll be down shortly, Walter. Just have to change into our formalwear.”

“Yes, sir, Chief, I’ll advise.”

The com shut off. “You know, I can remember Gladys interrupting us like that, all the time. Is it just some Head of Security thing, or are they watching us on a spy cam so they can interrupt at rotten times?”

“I don’t think so,” Jeff said with a chuckle. “Though I admit, I’d rather be making love to you than going downstairs.” He pulled my head to his and kissed me deeply while he let me slide slowly to the floor. By the time our kiss was done, I was ready to go for it and tell the rest of the gang to handle things in our absence.

But, such was not to be. Jeff patted my bottom and then we got down to the business of getting dressed.

Since I’d done some running around earlier, I took a fast shower. Proving his dedication to the Diplomatic Corps, Jeff refused to shower with me. Decided to make him pay for this after the party was over, hopefully for hours.

Shocking no one, Jeff put on what he always put on—a black Armani suit, white shirt, and black tie. Despite being promised that diplomats had to wear casual clothing, somehow Jeff had avoided such and I was still impatiently waiting to see his butt in jeans again. A handful of times in three years wasn’t enough, really.

I had put my foot down and demanded a dress that wasn’t black, white, or black and white. Thanks to Pierre, our Embassy had its own designer on retainer, and Akiko had listened to my pleas. She’d created a lovely green cocktail dress that was slinky without being overtly sexy, and festive without making me look like a badly wrapped present under a Christmas tree.

Akiko also handled all our accessories, so I had lovely shoes that matched without being matchy-matchy, and a larger-sized handbag. Yes, we were in our own home, so I didn’t need to carry a purse. But my experience told me I always needed to have my purse on me, if only to grab my Glock, or the adrenaline harpoon Jeff far-too-often needed slammed into his hearts.

I transferred my necessities from my standby big, black, cheap leather purse—aforementioned Glock and harpoon, iPod, earbuds, external speakers, cell phone, special assassin-issued burner phone, hairspray, brush, cash, and I.D. Hey, just because we were supposed to stay in the Embassy complex didn’t mean we would. I was savvy to the ways of my life now, and it was always better to be prepared.

The handbag had a long strap, allowing me to put it over my head. The dress had been designed for this, so the bag’s strap looked like part of the dress’ trimming, and the bag itself looked like it belonged right where it was hanging. Yeah, Akiko was that good.

I wasn’t big on makeup, so I didn’t apply any. Gave my hair a good brushing and decided to go with putting it up in a fancy banana clip. Easy, yet looked like I’d put some real time and care into the ’do.

“You look gorgeous, baby,” Jeff said as I finished up. He kissed my neck.

My neck was my main erogenous zone, and he knew it. “Mmmm, you do that any more and we’re going to call in as too horny to attend.”

“Not an option.” He kissed my neck once more, then took my hand and we headed downstairs.

Pierre and Reader kept us all busy handing out assignments and ensuring we all knew what not to say to whom, so much so that the time flew by. Painfully, sure, but at least the ordeal went quickly.

Doreen and Irving Weisman also added in with suggestions and tips. Doreen was the daughter of the former heads of the Diplomatic Corps and Irving was her human husband. Because she’d grown up in this life, Doreen was our most experienced member on staff, and because he was a guy who’d scored a Dazzler—meaning he was incredibly smart—Irving had paid attention and was now as good as Doreen at saying the right things at the right time.

Doreen’s parents, Robert and Barbara Coleman, along with the rest of the former Diplomatic Corps, had been eaten by the Poofs, on my order, during Operation Confusion. Doreen had loathed her parents by that point, so she wasn’t holding a grudge.

Also, my order or no, the Poofs held a great deal of political sway on Alpha Four, meaning that if the Poofs ate someone, most A-Cs went with the idea that said someone deserved to be Poof Chow. There was polite mourning and then everyone went on about their business. I chose to never argue when my alien relatives by marriage had some whacked out belief that meant they didn’t hate me.

Of course, most of the A-Cs had no idea what had happened to said former Diplomatic Corps—though I was sure some had a good guess. The party line was that they’d disappeared and we were still searching for them.

However, Doreen had certainly deserved to know what had happened to her parents. That the Poofs had agreed to chow down had given her a reason to not feel guilty for not feeling bad that her parents were dead. We were all about the silver linings these days.

Doreen had just finished reminding us that smiling and nodding were great, but laughing at bad jokes was better, Pierre had reminded us that our New World Order had created some happy politicians and some tense ones, and Reader had just finished up stressing how the politicians from our home states were probably the most vital to keep happy, when the doorbell rang.

“Places, everyone,” Pierre said. “It’s show time.”

Walter, who was, as always, on the com, turned on my music mix. The happy sounds of “Party Rock Anthem” by LMFAO met my ears.

“Really?” Jeff asked.

“You all said I should create a tasteful party mixtape.”

Jeff looked at Pierre. Who shrugged. “I’ve learned, Jeff darling, to let Kitty win on the musical choices.”

While Jeff grunted and muttered something about classical music and why it was good, Len and Kyle went with Pierre to station themselves as our Embassy’s bouncers. Of course, they were bouncers with all the special C.I.A. toys that allowed them to easily spot bugs, hidden firearms, and other pleasantries.

Jeff and I headed to what we called the small salon. As the Co-Head Diplomats, we had the job of initial paw shaking and such. Once our guests had been properly greeted, Pierre led them into the dining room, which had been converted into a cocktail party area, albeit without the cocktails. A-Cs being deathly allergic to alcohol meant we were a teetotaler nation, and because we were on our own land in the Embassy, we enforced that rule as a “religious custom.”

Happily, Pierre brought in the most welcome guests—my parents.

“You didn’t take a gate?” I asked as I hugged my father, who was in a nicer suit than he normally wore. Appreciated him dressing up for the occasion.

“No, kitten. Your mother felt it would better if we were seen arriving.”

“Just glad you’re both already here, Sol,” Jeff said as he let go of Mom and hugged Dad. “Always nicer when you and Angela are with us.” He meant it, too. I’d truly married a great guy, and my parents agreed.

I got my mother’s breath-stopping bear hug. “You look perfect, kitten.”

“Thanks, Mom. Air . . . need the air.”

She released with a laugh. “Sorry. Just been a long week.”

“I’ll bet.” I studied her. She was in a simple black velvet dress that looked great on her. But Mom normally didn’t hit me with the bear hugs unless one of us had been in extreme danger prior. “What were you working on?”

She grimaced. “Can’t tell you. But, happily, that’s because it doesn’t involve any of you.”

“Well, that’s good.” I hugged her again, praying the whatever that didn’t involve any of us had nothing to do with the Dingo. “Glad you made it through safely, Mom, whatever it was,” I whispered in her ear.

Got another bear hug, but this one was shorter. “Me too.”

“I do hate to break up the mother and child reunion,” Pierre said. “But more guests are coming, and I believe Angela and Sol have assigned duties.”

“We do,” Dad said. “Lead on, and we’ll get to work.”

Pierre and my parents headed off as the doorbell rang again. It was going to be a long night.

Unsurprisingly, our nearest neighbors were the next to arrive, in part because most of them had walked across or down the street. By now we knew most of them, and Pierre had a laundry list of their quirks, habits, and dislikes, as well as who was cheating on and with whom.

When we’d first moved to D.C. I’d been forced into the Washington Wife class. I’d hated every moment of it, but, shocking one and all, I’d actually picked up some tips and decorum along the way.

Therefore, I did all the greetings to foreign dignitaries properly. Oh sure, not as well as Jeff did them, but I made do. Of course, I didn’t have to give Olga or Adriana any fancy greeting other than a big hug, but I did pull out all the stops and give Olga’s husband, Andrei, a decent curtsey. Hey, he was the Romanian ambassador and his wife and granddaughter kept me informed and, in at least one case, alive, so I figured he deserved a good showing from me.

“Don’t Get Mad, Get Even” from Aerosmith was playing. “Excellent song choice,” Olga said with a wink. “I heartily agree with the sentiment.”

As our local neighbors headed to the main room, “Ray Bands” by B.o.B came on. Jeff winced. I ignored it. I had a nice tune from ELO coming right after this one, and that’d teach him for telling me that I had to have some bands other than Aerosmith playing during this party.

Sure the song was about someone trying to get goodies based on another person’s fame. But that was appropriate for D.C. Besides, it was especially fitting considering who I could see on our near horizon.

Sure enough, the invitees that excited me the least were here—the Cabal of Evil had arrived.