Gina
“I hope you don’t mind us taking two cars tonight, darling,” said my wife, giving me a quick peck on the cheek. “I’ve just got some last-minute things to take care of for the gala.”
“Certainly,” I said, a note of irritation in my voice. The galas were inevitably extremely boring events, and now I wouldn’t even be able to take advantage of the free drinks.
“The babysitter should be coming in about fifteen minutes. Oh! I nearly forgot. Janey won’t be able to make it. Some kind of family situation or something, so the agency is sending over a new girl,” said my wife.
“Ugh,” I replied. “And Mikey was just getting used to her. I sure hope he gets along with this one.”
“I’m sure it’ll be all fine, dear. Okay, I’m off!” said my wife before heading out. A few moments later, I heard her car engine turn over in the driveway.
Now doubly irritated at having to forgo any cocktails tonight as well as having to explain all of our house rules to a new babysitter, I decided to treat myself to a small nip.
Heading into the living room, I pulled the stopper on a crystal decanter of my favorite scotch and poured myself a small measure into a glass. A moment later, I went ahead and doubled the amount, and then I gulped it down in one swallow, enjoying the fiery heat in my throat.
Just as I finished putting the stopper back into the decanter, I heard the front door bell ring. When I moved to open the door, I was nearly taken aback by the sight of the new babysitter.
Whereas Janey had been a sweet, mousy girl in her second year of high school, the new girl that the agency had sent over had a much more dangerous vibe about her. Although she was dressed in a perfectly ordinary pair of jeans and a halter top, I couldn’t help but notice that she was far more endowed than Janey or any of the other babysitters.
Indeed, the sight of those full breasts so lusciously filling out her halter top was so intriguing that I stood there, tongue-tied, at the door for a long moment, making me look like an idiot.
“Hi, is this the Johnson residence?” asked the girl.
“Yes, it is. You’re the babysitter sent over the agency?” I replied.
“Yes, something like that,” said the girl with a rather mischievous smile before pushing past me and into the living room.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” I said, frostily, as I closed the front door.
“You can call me Gina,” said the babysitter, and her flippant tone of voice was beginning to concern me.
“Well, Gina. I’m heading off to a charity benefit tonight, organized by my wife. I should probably be home around ten thirty,” I began.
“That’s cool,” said Gina, but she wasn’t looking at me. Instead, she was surveilling our house.
“If you’re from the agency, then you know we have quite high standards,” I continued, nonplussed. “So no parties, and no having your boyfriend come over.”
“I don’t have a boyfriend,” said Gina, intently examining some of the fine art pieces I had picked out for the western wall.
“Well, that’s good, then. And whatever you do, no alcohol or drugs, okay?” I said, glancing at my watch.
“Yeah, sure. Where’s the kid?” said Gina, still busy examining our antique Chinese vases that were flanking the fireplace.
“His name is Mikey, and he’s probably asleep. His bedroom is down the hall. I don’t expect him to give you any trouble, but if something comes up, our phone numbers are posted on the fridge,” I said.
“Cool,” said Gina, giving my collection of first-edition manuscripts a brief once-over.
“Help yourself to anything that’s in the fridge. Oh, and the remote control to the television is right there,” I said, gesturing at the coffee table. “Any questions?”
“Nope,” said Gina, looking more like a prospective burglar than a faithful guardian of my son’s health and well-being, but I didn’t have the time or patience to call the agency and request a new babysitter.
“Okay, I’m off to the gala, then,” I said, checking my watch yet again. Sometimes, I just liked to watch the sweep of the second hand as it made its way around the dial.
“You look very handsome in that tux,” said Gina, turning to look at me for the first time since she had entered my house.
“Why, thank you,” I said, feeling a tiny flush of embarrassment for no reason whatsoever that I could discern.
And with that, misgivings and all, I then left the living room and headed into the bedroom where I quickly finished applying my cufflinks. I then headed downstairs and scooped up my keys from the bowl beside the front door.
“Goodnight, Gina. See you around ten-thirty,” I said to the back of the babysitter’s head, which was already glued to our large, flat-screen television.
“G’night!” she called out, without turning her head.
And with that parting note, I made my way out to the car and then on to the gala.
As I had predicted, the entire night had been one boring parade of old biddies making their way up to the microphone to ask all the patrons to “open their hearts and wallets” for whatever good cause my wife was supporting at the moment. After the obligatory round of lame jokes and speeches quoting Webster’s dictionary, I was craving for another scotch, angry that I couldn’t enjoy myself because my wife had insisted that we take two cars.
Therefore, at the earliest possible moment, I popped up from my assigned table and made my way backstage to find my wife.
“It was a lovely event, darling, but I’m bushed. I think I’m going to head home now,” I told her when I finally located her, surrounded by the senator’s wife and half a dozen of her cronies.
“Certainly, darling. Tonight was a smashing success! I think I shall wrap up here with the Smiths and Keatlands a while longer. See you at home,” said my wife before turning to resume her chatter with other women.
Thoughts of a tumbler filled with a generous portion of scotch were foremost in my mind as I made my way outside and waited for the valet to bring around my car. Twenty minutes later, perhaps driving a bit too fast, I saw my old familiar driveway.
After parking the car, I cautiously made my way inside. All was quiet except for the television, but in the living room, I saw no sign of Gina. I was just about to head down the hallway to my son’s bedroom when I noticed that my crystal decanter was not in its usual place.
Instead of elegantly standing next to a silver tray with glasses, the decanter was now sitting at an angle, and I could see that one of the glasses was turned right-side up. Coming closer, I could even see a tiny drop of sweet brown nectar in the bottom of the glass.
Gina the babysitter had clearly been drinking my scotch! But what happened when I confronted her with her misdeeds was something that I never could have expected.
