“Miss Whoever You Are”

Caveat emptor: This story contains graphic language and sexual innuendo.

The room is small and dark. Feint sounds of a city remind us that we’re somewhere busy and bustling. We just have no idea of where that somewhere is.

A single, lonely lightbulb hangs overhead. It’s nowhere near bright enough to illuminate anything other than what’s directly below it.

A middle-aged man is sitting motionless on a folding chair. He is blindfolded. His hands are bound behind him. His feet, also bound, rest in front of him. He is dressed impeccably.

He clears his throat before speaking.

Let me go now and I promise to kill only you. I’ll spare your family and friends. The consequences of your foolishness will be yours and yours alone. You’ve no idea of my wrath.

A brief, snide, gleeful laugh echoes around the room. It is, without question, a woman’s laugh.

Oh…I do. All too well.

He tilts his head at the voice. There’s something familiar about it.

Elegantly manicured fingers gently undo the blindfold. The man’s eyes, red with rage and revenge, stop cold.

Hello 007.

You?

Quite.

Seriously?

Yes.

Like…you you?

Surprised?

Well…yeah. Kinda. How can I be sure it’s you and not someone else with one of those face masks that look like them and then they peel it off? You’re the right height and weight –

Careful.

-to be you. But I need proof.

Proof? Okay…let me think. Got it. Beausoleil.

Oh, fuck. This is real. Only three people know what happened at Beausoleil. One is dead, one is tied to the chair, and the other is -

Hello Miss MoneyPenny.

It’s been a while, James.

The clickety-clack of MoneyPenny’s high heels fills the room. The sound is elegant and dangerous.

We’re gonna have ourselves a time, James. You can bet on that.

My dear…what’s the meaning of all this?

Cut the shit. This is all on you. You did this.

I hardly think so. Is this about money?

Fuck that. I’ve got plenty of money. No, I want something sweeter.

I’m afraid I don’t follow.

Mommy wants her candy.

James is…confused.

Somewhere far away a siren blares. Life goes on as this tragic farce unfolds.

James, you’re a legend. A hero. Truly a credit to the Empire. You’ve saved millions of lives…again and again.

Thank you. Couldn’t have done it without you. I’ve always told the PM that you’ve made an in-

I want that cock, James.

I beg your pardon.

Your dick. Gimme. Pronto.

Where did you learn to talk like that?

The library.

What kind of library?

A horny one.

MoneyPenny reveals a switchblade. 007 steels himself.

No. Nothing like that, James.

Wise of you, MoneyPenny. Killing me would be illegal and treasonous.

No two words could more perfectly describe the hot mess we’re about to make.

With a slip of the blade 007’s hands are free. His feet remain bound. He rubs his wrists wearily. Walking around to face him, MoneyPenny fetches a large plastic jar and tosses it at 007.

A thick jelly gloops from one end of the container to the other. The label on the front reads “Greazsele Freish Minta.”

What the bloody hell is this?

It’s from Prague. I had my friend bring it back for me. I told her, “Get me the cheapest oil–based lotion you can find. The cheaper the better. Doesn’t have to be for humans.”

Rather an odd request. Did she ask you why?

No, she knows better than to ask Mommy questions.

See, there again with the Mommy business. I’m really quite at a loss.

MoneyPenny begins swaying back and forth. She is moving to a groove which only she can hear. Then she begins to hum the song. Muttering lyrics to herself.

I’d rather we discuss this like friends.

Fuck no. If I wanted a friend I’d fuck my fist.

You’re breaking my heart.

Save your breath. You’re gonna need it.

But we’ve been friends for decades. I always believed, deeply so, that we had a special bond and -

I want your soul, James.

Is there nothing I can say to appeal to your sense of decency?

MoneyPenny stradles James. She unbuttons her blouse. An iPhone pops out from between her breasts. She leans in to James and prepares to take a selfie.

Smile like you mean it, James.

Please…let’s don’t.

We gotta get moving. Mommy’s got tickets for the circus at seven.