Page 39 of Down and Dirty

“Rock your world?” Kirstin sputtered.

“Dangly part?” Madrene put a hand over her mouth to cover a giggle. “I have not heard it called such in ever so long.”

“Yea, swaggering is what men do best,” Hilda opined.

“Or mayhap you were sent to help Pretty Boy with his son, who is more than a handful, believe you me,” Madrene offered.

“Hah! I have already declined his offer to be nursemaid to his bratling.”

They all laughed, Sammy’s wordfame having traveled far.

She stood as they finished working on her. Looking in the mirror over the sink, she scarce recognized the face staring back at her. “Are you certain I do not look wanton with this face paint?” Britta asked, wanting to reach for a towel and scrub it off but not wanting to offend her friends.

“Honey, you looked hot before,” Madrene said. “Now you are a hottie.”

Britta was not sure she wanted to be a hottie.

They were walking down the corridor leading to the stairs when Madrene asked, “So what was Pretty Boy saying to you earlier that had you turning red-faced, then stomping off?”

Britta waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, he was goading me, as usual. Said he wanted to give me orgasms tonight.”

Madrene and Hilda grinned at each other, then looked back at her. Kirstin just blushed.

“And? Are you going to let him?” Madrene inquired.

“Nay.” She was not about to tell them that she had brought the subject up to him first. “In truth, I do not really know what an orgasm is, except the women who share my sleeping chamber speak of it incessantly.”

“Oh, sweetling, do I have something to show you!” Madrene said, taking her by the hand and winking at the others.

When they reached the solar, Madrene pressed a flat box she held in her hand. Instantly, yet another box, this one the size of a hearth opening but resting on the floor, sprang forth with light.

Britta gasped.

“It’s a television,” Madrene explained. “I want to show you something. Check this out.”

Britta had no clue what Madrene had just said. But then it did not matter.

There were little people inside the box. One of them, a handsome man with brown hair threaded with white, was standing over a body that appeared to be dead. Leastways, the brown-haired man was cutting open the belly of the prone man, blood spurting everywhere. Was he torturing a prisoner? And the women dressed in white at his side had huge breasts that pointed straight out.

“Oh, my gods! Can we not do something? There are four of us, and they are small people… dwarves, mayhap.”

Madrene, Hilda, and Kirstin all laughed.

“You find humor in torture?”

“They are not real people,” Madrene said, patting her hand. “I wanted to show you this soap opera, Light in the Storm, so you could see Pretty Boy’s father. He plays Dr. Lawrence Bratton on this show.”

“He’s really good-looking, for an old guy,” Kirstin said.

“I hear he has a mistress who is only twenty,” Hilda remarked.

“Well, that is just like a man, is it not?” This from Madrene. “Always chasing the young girlings.”

“Wait, are you saying that dwarf torturer there is Zachary’s father? I must needs console him, even if he is a lout. To have such a monster for a father has got to be a burden.”

The three women laughed again. “I’ll explain it to you later,” Hilda said, “But Pretty Boy’s father is not really in the TV box. He may be an old lecher, but he is not a torturer.”

“Forget about that. This is what I really wanted to show you,” Madrene said. “My favorite program. Sex and the City. I have twenty shows on tape.”