Mission Three: Accomplished.
I follow behind Lena, watching as her ass shimmies when she climbs the steps to the front door. She presses the buzzer and I quickly pinch her ass. Lena shoots me an annoyed glare, but I simply smile.
A man decked out in a black tuxedo with tails and a tight frown opens the door. “Good evening. I’m Wadsworth, the butler.”
“Hello, I’m Ms. White,” Lena replies.
Wadsworth switches his attention to me as I chew on the pipe. “And you, sir?” he asks with a strained British accent.
Lena places her hand on my arm and answers. “I believe this is Professor Plum.”
“I wasn’t aware you two knew each other,” Wadsworth states.
“We only met today — we received similar invitations to a dinner party at this address and decided to share a taxi.”
Oh, so that’s our story. Hot.
“Very good. Follow me and I will introduce you to the other guests.” Wadsworth sharply turns toward the entry hall, so we obediently follow him. “Everyone is in the dining room,” he adds over his shoulder.
That’s weird — I guess swinger parties start with a nice meal so everyone can get acquainted. Like a potluck dinner that turns into potluck sex.
Whispering into Lena’s ear, I ask, “Why are we eating dinner?”
“Shh, just play along,” she scorns.
Fine. I’ll play along. I’ve read that Manhattan sex clubs have crazy memberships and vetting processes, but so far, this all seems like a silly game. Nothing like that movie with Nicole Kidman and the mask-wearing sex cult.
“Ladies and gentleman, may I present Ms. White and Professor Plum,” Wadsworth announces.
Wadsworth — where have I heard that name before?
Wadsworth extends his arm in a presentation gesture, and then pulls out a chair for Lena. I take the last available chair on the opposite side of the table between two attractive women.
Placing my pipe on the table and checking out the hot chick to my right, I ask, “What’s for dinner?”
She leans into me and smirks. “Mrs. Peacock revealed a few minutes ago that we’re having one of her favorite recipes prepared by the cook.”
Huh.
“I’m Miss Scarlet, and I love a man in tweed.” She pinches the fabric of my sleeve between her fingers and winks.
I wink back at her and then study the guests slurping bowls of soup around the table, none of which are wearing an actual Halloween costume. Across from me is dark and sexy Lena, dressed in black and going by the pseudonym of Ms. White. Miss Scarlet is wearing a revealing burgundy dress and staring at me with lust. Mrs. Peacock is to my left, drinking wine and nodding goofily at the table conversation. A dude next to Lena is dousing his hands in hand sanitizer and squirming in his seat.
“Do you like Kipling, Miss Scarlet?” asks a man with a fake mustache.
In a seductive voice, Miss Scarlet replies, “I’ll eat anything, Colonel Mustard.
“Colonel Mustard, are you a real Colonel?” Lena asks between slurps of soup.
White. Mustard. Peacock. Scarlet.
“Yes, of course. Retired and presently working in Washington,” Colonel Mustard adds.
“And what about you, Mr. Green? What do you do in Washington?” Miss Scarlet asks.
Green. Oh shit — Professor Plum.
Nervously, Mr. Green stands from the table and throws down his napkin. “I work for the State Department and I’m a homosexual,” he recites.
What the …
“Everyone, please follow me to the study to meet our host, Mr. Boddy,” Wadsworth instructs.
I watch in confused horror as the cast of Clue obediently rises from the table and follows a fictional butler through the entry hall.
“I’d like to know why we’re here, Wadsworth,” Colonel Mustard shouts.
Yeah, me too.
“I invited you — please follow to me the study and I will explain …” Wadsworth’s voice trails off.
I try to get Lena’s attention but she patters off ahead of me. Miss Scarlet on the other hand, gives me all her attention — pressing me against the wall outside the dining room and running her hand over my chest.
“I hear you do things to lady patients that doctors aren’t allowed to do,” she whispers while grabbing my junk. “Nice boots, Professor,” she adds in a breathless pant.
Miss Scarlet pushes off me in slow-motion but then she turns sharply and dashes off in front of me. As we make our way into the study, the guests disperse. Miss Scarlet chooses the antique desk to sit atop while I cozy up on the sofa next to Mrs. Peacock. Lena is seated in a wingback chair with her legs crossed. I stare feverishly at her body while placing my pipe in my mouth — this game better hurry up so I can get her naked.
A man in a dark suit and carrying a duffel bag moves swiftly to the fireplace. He looks at me like he’s confused and then shoots Wadsworth a nasty frown. No worries, because I’m soon distracted by a scantily dressed French maid with a huge rack.
“Would joo like some brandee?” Her French accent is terrible, but the view down her cleavage is awesome.
“I’ll take one,” Mrs. Peacock answers.
The maid continues to pass out the drinks to the guests and then places the tray on a table. She leaves, shutting the door behind her.
Wadsworth moves to the center of the room and nods to the man in the dark suit. “Very well, we’ve all been called here for one reason … blackmail!” His face becomes animated and excited as he addresses the guests. “Our host,” he points to the man with the duffel bag, “is blackmailing us.”
Mrs. Peacock fans herself with her purse and whines, “I’m not being blackmailed! I’m an open book. I have nothing to hide!”
The man against the fireplace laughs maniacally as Wadsworth reveals seven envelopes. “In my hand, I hold the only evidence of our government indiscretions. Including you, Mrs. Peacock.”
“I’m not ashamed of my dirty secrets,” Miss Scarlet declares with a devilish grin.
“Give me those envelopes,” Lena demands.
Colonel Mustard approaches the mystery man and claims, “So you’re Mr. Boddy?”
The man leaning against fireplace smirks. “Yeah, so what? There’s nothing you can do — I’ll be leaving now.”
Wadsworth puffs his chest and smiles. “Not so fast! I’ve called the police and locked all the doors. They will be here in thirty minutes. Once the police arrive, we can explain that we’ve been blackmailed and Mr. Boddy will be arrested.”
Mr. Green stands from his chair and moves toward Wadsworth. “We? Are you being blackmailed as well, Wadsworth?”
Wadsworth lowers his head and sighs. “I’m afraid so. My late wife befriended the wrong kind of people.” He raises his head and fakes a cry. “They were socialists. But I didn’t have any money so I was imprisoned as Mr. Boddy’s butler.”
“What exactly is a butler?” Colonel Mustard asks.
“I buttle.” Wadsworth deadpans.
Lena steps forward and asserts, “We should wait for the police and then we can forget about this horrible night.”
“Do you want the police to know about all your dead husbands?” Miss Scarlet quips.
“Enough!” Mr. Boddy opens his duffel bag and delivers a black box to each guest, excluding Wadsworth. I stare at the box in my lap, wondering how long this game plays out before the actual sex party begins. Talk about prolonged foreplay…
“In your box you will find a lethal weapon. The only person preventing us from leaving is Wadsworth. Murder Wadsworth and we can walk out of here and continue our monetary arrangements.” Mr. Boddy pauses by the light switch and waits for us to open our boxes.
Mrs. Peacock holds up a lead pipe and says, “But I’m not a murderer!”