"Well," Spencer said, returning from lowering the stereo. "What…". " get for you ladies before we get down to business?" Joanna rolled her eyes for Deborah's benefit.
"Let's explore that wine cellar you mentioned," Deborah said.
"Good idea," Spencer said barely pronouncing the d's.
The basement looked as though it hadn't been touched since the mid-nineteenth century, save for the addition of several bare low-wattage electric lights. The exposed granite blocks that formed the foundation were dark with mold. The partitions were made of rough-hewn oak planks held together with huge, primitive iron nails. The floor was dirt. The air was clammy because of a number of muddy puddles.
"Maybe I'll wait here on the steps," Joanna said as she looked around the dimly illuminated dungeon, but Deborah forged on despite her high heels.
Deborah was fearful that Spencer would not make it in his inebriated state. On several occasions she did have to give him support to keep him from falling.
The wine cellar turned out to be just one of the many partitioned-off cubicles whose crude doors were secured with huge old padlocks. Spencer produced a key the size of his thumb from his jacket pocket and got the hasp open. Inside the compartment were a half-dozen cases of wine placed haphazardly on makeshift shelves. Spencer did not hesitate. He opened the first case and pulled out three bottles. "These'll do," he said. Without bothering to replace the padlock, he staggered back to the stairs, clutching the bottles under his arm.
"My Fayva shoes are ruined," Deborah mockingly moaned to Joanna as they climbed the cellar stairs.
In the kitchen Spencer produced a corkscrew and opened up the three bottles, all California cabernets. Spenser selected three wide-mouthed wineglasses from the cupboard, and Deborah volunteered to carry them. Spencer led the way back to the living room. He sat in the center of the couch and motioned for the women to sit on either side. Then he poured the wine and handed out the glasses.
"Not bad. Not bad at all," he said after taking a sip. "Now! How do we get started?" He laughed. "I'm new at this threesome stuff."
"I think we better have some wine first," Deborah said. "The night is young."
"I'll drink to that," Joanna said. She held up her wine glass, and everyone else did the same.
Once again the women were able to get Spencer talking by merely asking about his childhood. That simple question unleashed a long monologue with shades of Horatio Alger. While he talked, Spencer plied himself liberally with wine. As in the restaurant he seemed oblivious to the fact that the women hardly drank at all.
When one-and-a-half bottles of wine had been consumed and the story of Spencer's early life got to the college stage, Deborah interrupted to ask Joanna if she could speak to her for a moment. Joanna agreed, and the women drew to the side. Spencer's blue eyes followed them with great interest and anticipation.
"Do you have any suggestions?" Deborah said sotto voce. With the rock music in the background, she was confident there was zero chance Spencer could hear. "The man's a sponge for alcohol. Other than his eyes and cheeks, this extra wine has had little effect."
"I don't have any suggestions except…"
"Except what?" Deborah asked. She was getting desperate. It was almost nine o'clock, and she wanted to get home to bed. She was exhausted, and tomorrow was going to be a big day.
"Ask him to slip into something more comfortable like silk pajamas or whatever he has. That's a stock cliché that might work, and IT he bites, it will mean his pants and wallet will stay in his bedroom where I can get at them."
"Meaning I'll have to deal with him without pants," Deborah groaned.
"Do I have to remind you this was all your idea?" Joanna blurted.
"All right, all right,' Deborah said. "Keep it down! But if I scream, you better get your ass down here in a hurry."
The women returned and Spencer looked up at them expectantly. Deborah tried the line that Joanna had suggested. Spencer responded with a crooked smile. He nodded and struggled to get to his feet. The women immediately came to his assistance.
"I'm all right," he protested. He got up by himself and swayed briefly. Then he took a deep breath, set his sights on the stairs, and started off. The women watched him bob and weave on his way across the living room as if he had little comprehension where the various parts of his body were at any given moment.
"I take back what I said a moment ago," Deborah announced. "The wine is having an appropriate effect after all."
Both women winced as Spencer ricocheted off a console table and sent a group of painted toy cavalry soldiers to the floor. Despite the collision he maintained his footing and made it to the stairs. With his hands on both banisters, he managed better on the stairs than he'd done on the open floor. He disappeared above.
"Let's talk about what we are going to do when he comes down," Deborah said anxiously. "Depending on what he's wearing or not wearing, he might be too preoccupied to talk about his favorite subject any longer."
"As soon as he comes down I'll excuse myself to use the bathroom," Joanna said. "You keep him occupied."
"There is a back stair in the kitchen," Deborah said. "That should get you up to the bedroom."
"I saw it," Joanna said. "I'll just make it as fast as I can."
"You'd better," Deborah warned. Instinctively she tried to pull her miniskirt down to cover more of her thigh, but that only succeeded in exposing more decolletage. "As you can well imagine, I'm feeling rather vulnerable in this outfit."
"You're not going to get any sympathy from me."
"Thanks," Deborah said. "Let's sit down, my feet are killing me."
The women sat and discussed Spencer's life story. When they exhausted that, they talked about how they would manage the following day if they got Spencer's blue access card.
"Our goal will be to get me into that server room as soon as possible so I can give us access to their restricted files," Joanna said. "David said it would only take fifteen minutes or so. Once it's done we can get the information about our eggs from a workstation or even from our computer at home."
"We'll bring our cell phones," Deborah said. "That way I can stand guard when you're in the server room and let you know if anybody is coming."
"That's not a bad idea," Joanna agreed.
Deborah looked at her watch. "How long has Casanova been upstairs changing into something more comfortable?"
Joanna shrugged. "I don't know. Five or ten minutes."
"I wish he'd hurry," Deborah said. "I'm so tired I could lie down on this couch and be asleep in two seconds."
"I feel the same way," Joanna said. "It's the jet lag. Our bodies are still on Italian time."
It's also because we've been up since six."
True," Joanna said. "Tell me! What are you going to do tomorrow in the clinic's lab while you're waiting for me to get into the server room?"
“I'm interested in finding out exactly what they are doing with all that fancy equipment," Deborah said. "I'd like to find out the specifics about their research, which includes finding out what the real story is behind the Nicaraguans."
"You will be careful, won't you?" Joanna warned. "Whatever you do, don't jeopardize our cover until we've got the information that we're really after."
"I'll be careful," Deborah said. She looked at her watch again. "My good God! What's he putting on up there, Superman tights?"
"It is a little long," Joanna agreed.
"What should we do?"
Joanna shrugged again. "Do we dare go up and look? What if he's stark naked and lying in wait for us?"
"Good grief! What an imagination," Deborah said. "Are you really worried? What is he going to do, jump out and say boo? The man walked out of the room with legs that resembled wet spaghetti."