Page 270 of Dirty Discipline, Vol. 2

Two weeks later, Betsy walked into the house and dropped a stack of magazines onto Jane’s lap. She settled on the couch and flipped through the remaining mail, setting aside bills that they would both go over before paying. Hearing Jane groan, she looked up. “What’s wrong? Have fashions changed again?”

“Ha-ha, no, it’s nothing like that. It’s this,” Jane said, waving an envelope in the air.

“What’s that? I don’t remember seeing any letters in the post.”

“It was stuck between Vogue and Life. I seriously believed he’d understand that I had no desire to continue our correspondence,” Jane said after looking at the letter.

“What do you mean?” Betsy asked.

“Mr. Bossy. I wrote him a letter and mailed it the day after I got his last. I told him that though Joe was no longer my beau, I am beginning a relationship with Patrick.”

“Oh no!” Betsy said.

“You are too sweet, honey. You worry about everyone, but I can assure you that the major will move on and find a woman far better suited for him.”

“No, you don’t understand,” Betsy said, “I… you told me to write to him, and—”

“There, you see. He already has another pen-pal and, if I’m honest, I must say you two are far better suited than he and I ever were.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Betsy wailed.

“What difference does it make? You can keep writing—”

“I can’t!”

“Why not? Are you getting serious about someone and not telling me?”

“No! But Jac… I mean Major Novak thinks that you do want a relationship.”

“No he doesn’t,” Jane countered. “I specifically told him that I wouldn’t be writing to him again. I suppose he could have written to me before receiving my letter, but I assure you, nothing he could say will change my mind.”

Betsy dropped her face in her hands at the sight of Jane sliding her fingernail beneath the flap. Her heart pounded as she tried to figure out a way to set her friend straight. It turned out to be totally unnecessary.

“Oh my,” Jane said and then giggled. “Tell me, Betsy, were you a naughty girl?”

“What do you mean?” Betsy asked, though she feared she already knew the reason for the question.

“Did you write to Mr. Bossy?”

“Of course I did! You told me to!”

Jane laughed again and shook her head. “I didn’t tell you to pretend you were me. Honey, did you really think a man who has earned the title of major couldn’t discern that your letter couldn’t be from me?” Scanning the page, she continued to offer an occasional giggle. “My, my, you actually kissed the paper? What color lipstick were you wearing?”

Betsy just moaned, her face once more buried in her hands as Jane continued to read. “Ah, Bets, honey, you are just too cute, but I fear you’ve met your match.” She broke into full laughter as she reached the end. “Oh, my, when I educated you about baseball, I certainly didn’t expect you to repeat it!”

“Oh God, I’m so sorry! I promise to write immediately and confess that it wasn’t you.”

Sliding the letter back into its envelope, Jane smiled again, only then looking at the addressee. “I don’t believe that will be necessary.” Leaning forward, she dropped the letter into Betsy’s lap, tapping her red polished nail against the name on the front of the airmail envelope. “Read it yourself, Miss Minx, and I suggest you get ready to have your bottom reddened.” Sitting back, Jane flipped open her magazine while Betsy sat unmoving as if the envelope were a viper ready to strike at the smallest movement. After flipping two more pages, Jane spoke again. “Relax, Bets, any man who has the ability to address a letter as he has, and even bothered to respond, has got to have a good sense of humor. I’m pretty certain he doesn’t bite, and I meant it when I said I think you two are a perfect match. Why don’t you give him a chance?”

Betsy slowly reached for the letter, her heart beating rapidly and her tummy doing little flips. Despite her fear that she would soon be adding humiliation to her sense of guilt over her little white lie, she just had to know what the major said.

Dear Little Minx,

This time I feel no need to explain my salutation.

You asked me about being able to escape at least for a bit. The Brits are quite accommodating in their prolific attempts to both inform and uplift soldiers fighting against the forces of what can only be considered as evil. While Hitler shouts of his desire for world dominance, the British cinema shows a film titled, Miss Grant Goes to the Door. I applaud their efforts in attempting to instruct citizens how to recognize a German spy. Why do I mention such a film? Could being repeatedly exposed to it make a soldier question such innocent things as a chestnut strand of hair clinging to the glue of a sealed envelope or the shape of a pair of lips pressed against paper?

Betsy paused in reading, her mind instantly comparing the color of her chestnut hair to Jane’s blonde strands. She’d never considered such an innocuous thing as any sort of evidence to her identity. And why she’d not thought about the fact that her lips pressed to a sheet of paper would leave a different impression than Jane’s, she just couldn’t imagine. In hindsight, it was quite obvious that she was not the sort of woman who would ever succeed in subterfuge. With her bottom lip captured between her teeth, she again dropped her eyes to the letter.

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