'The Tax Table Scene' - An April 15th Tax Day Fantasy by Bonnie Rutledge Egads! You've received a note that you're being audited! You're in *big* trouble! A call is left on your answering machine by an office assistant, saying the accountant in charge of your case would like to discuss your returns over dinner. You are surprised when she lists the address of The Jeweled Peach, but you can't think of a better place for your last meal before you're hauled off to prison with the other tax offenders. Besides, the tiramisu's delish! On the appropriate night, you arrive at The Jeweled Peach, only to be further surprised when the maitre-d' escorts you to one of the private rooms. Waiting by the intimate table-setting stands the World's Sexiest Accountant, Lucien Lacroix, CPA!(See The Nunkies Fantasy Manual, Fantasy #38) He takes you by the hand, gives your fingers a lingering kiss, then leads you to your seat. "This is a surprise," you say. Lacroix takes his place across the table and begins to work on opening the wine. "Not an unpleasant one, I trust." He gives you a knee-crumpling smile - it's a good thing you're sitting down. Your eyes widen as you notice that the label on the burgandy sports the number '1872'. Nunkies catches your amazement and chuckles, "I thought you might like to indulge in a few things that pre-date your country's taxes." You eagerly accept a glass and take a sip, noting the extreme smoothness and echoes of aged fruit. It was wonderful. You make a small sound of pleasure, close your eyes, and tilt your head back as you swallow. You feel a warmth in your throat as you swallow, then a pleasant tremor spreads through your body. You recall that, nervous over the audit, you hadn't eaten lunch. Alchohol on an empty stomach could be quickly intoxicating. Almost as intoxicating as your dinner companion. You let your eyes drift open. Lacroix is watching you hungrily. You realize that tilting your head back as you drank emphasized the pale column of your neck. Was it by chance or subconcious flirtation? You lower your head slowly, keeping his eyes on you. "It tastes delicious," you annouce. You're talking about the wine, but Lacroix's gaze continues to burn into your jugular. He breaks his eyes away finally, agreeing in a low voice, "Undoubtably." The meal proceeds along the same lines. Lacroix has already arranged for your favorite dishes, including the tiramisu. You use your best manners as you dine save for a few naughty instances: when you licked your tiramisu spoon clean for far too long, and when you trailed your tongue repeatedly over your lips before and after a bite (Miss Manners would have handed you your napkin, but when's the last time Miss Manners ate in front of Lucien Lacroix? Hmmm?!? You rest your case). You also made a few more moans of pleasure at the taste of the food than a dinner with your accountant requires. As the staff clears the last of the china, Lacroix gives you a new predatory grin. He pulls a black leather briefcase from a nearby alcove and snaps it open. "Remember, my dear...Business before pleasure." he puctuates this statement by producing copies of your federal tax return and a Cross pen. "But I thought..." you stammer in surprise. "You thought that because I prepared your taxes this audit would go away? Under usual circumstances, it would. My work would never be questioned. But, my dear, you didn't send the forms in exactly as I prepared them, did you? Several new itemized deductions are listed here. I intend to discuss them with you before your slate is cleaned." Your mind swims. Itemized deductions. Itemized deductions. What did you add to those forms? Anything that might give away the fact that you're a member of Nunkies Anonymous? Uh-oh..... "The first," Lacroix says. "is a deduction for medical reasons. What 'condition' calls for three hundred dollars worth of rosebud incense?" "It's aromatherapy," you improvise. "Rosebud...soothes the senses and acts as a muscle relaxant. It was in USA Today - it must be true." Caught off-guard by your journalistic innocence, Lacroix nods and continues with the next item. "You have a miscellaneous business expense here - One toga, cat-sized. My question - Why?" This excuse came much easier, because it was almost the truth. "It was a gift for Bonnie. She's really in her own little world these days especially since that car theft fiasco. You have to walk around on four paws or wear scrubs to get her attention." "Really?" Lacroix interjects. "I hadn't noticed. She pays attention to me." Instead of thwacking him and exclaiming , you continue your nice story. "She dresses one of her cats in togas. I talked with the other add-...uh...admirers of Bonnie's contributions to the world at large and we decided it would be best to humour her just in case she *is* insane, so we gave her a toga for her cat." "Uhhhhmmmmmm..."Lacroix says. You aren't exactly certain what that sound implies, but he continues down the list, so you breathe a silent sigh of relief. "The next item is extremely large: two business meals here at The Jeweled Peach every week. Deducted as a business expense: three thousand dollars. That's how I deduced you were fond of this restaurant." "Well, the food is sublime." "So I hear. I took the liberty of speaking with the owner about your meetings. He said the group is made up of women who required place settings of tiramisu, water and coffee at each gathering, as well as plenty of extra cups. Once the meeting starts, he is forbidden to enter, but he described the proceedings as sounding quite...rambunctious, then complained that the carpet always had damp patches once you left. I must confess, I find that I am overwhelmed with curiosity - what do you do with this group?" You say the first thing that pops into your head. "Aerobics." Lacroix raises a doubting eyebrow, but you nod insistently. "Our organization ...works...out. A lot. I guess the carpet gets ... sweaty." you think, picturing the Nunkies Drool Cup hidden in your purse. "We drink lots of fluids, and the dessert is our reward for really 'going at it' during the meeting. It's sort of a 'Happy Body/ Happy Mind' kind of philosophy." Lacroix rises from his chair, steps closer, and considers you gravely. "So there's absolutely no possibility that this group is in actuality those 'Nunkies Anonymous' people that are always calling my radio show, stealing my coasters, pilfering my portrait, and abusing my Bust-O-Matic Kit, leaving puddles of drool in their wake? You're not an addict, are you my dear?" "Well, I am addicted to chocolate and Ben & Jerry's. Then there's that little compulsion about Sean Bean...." You frantically begin to mentally picture Bob Saget in a spandex top and Brady Bunch trousers in order to quell the heat that runs through you as Lacroix moves even closer. Suddenly he places the tax return in front of your face while whispering silkily in your ear. "Look at line 79, my dear. You claim a deduction for some insurance policy premiums which cover a book. A book called the *Nunkies* *Fantasy* *Manual*!" Your will crumples in the face of such damning evidence coupled with the sensation of Lacroix's breath tickling your earlobe. "Yes! Yes! I am an addict! I'm a Nunkies Addict! But Bonnie's one, too. It's her copy of the fantasy manual! I just 'borrowed' it for a while... The insurance was just in case anything 'happened' to it." Lacroix runs his hands down your arms and pulls you against his chest. "You may be expressing your addiction honestly, but you're still a liar." He runs his fingers through your hair, adding warm kisses along your jawline. "I find that very enchanting. I think I should force all of the Nunkies Anonymous secrets out of you." "H-how?" Lacroix is doing something wonderful to your lower back with his fingers. You're afraid he'll stop, but you're also afraid he won't do more. "Torture," he whispers. you think. He flips you around in his arms so that your back is pressed against him, and those heavenly fingers begin trailing down your stomach as he kisses your throat. "So you're upset with the members of NA?" After this, you start to have trouble forming sentences. He's everywhere, all around you. "Not at all. I believe the addicts need me most of all - and such devotion - the shrines, the stories, the limericks - it must keep you very busy." "Mmmm-hmmm," you agree. All at once, you realize Lacroix's mouth is above yours, separated from contact by the merest wisp of space. "How much do *you* need me, my dear?" You manage to pull yourself together and whisper, "Is this another deduction?" Lacroix smiles wickedly at your question. Pushing his briefcase aside with one arm, he sits you on the table with the other. Just before his lips meet yours he murmurs, "This falls into more of an exchange of equity category..." "Oh, Nunkies..." ********************************************************* The End