Ihad fun writing this!!
TITLE: “MY OWN HOME
“Mr. Solo. Mr. Kuryakin.”
We turned as they recognized the voice of Derek Volstrong, the manager of the Park Plaza Hotel.
“Hello, Derek”, I greeted the retired UNCLE agent. “What’s up?”
The Norwegian beamed. “I have found the perfect apartment for Mr. Kuryakin.”
Illya and I exchanged glances. The wondrous night we became lovers we had, as always, discussed our plans. One of them was, although we had decided to live together, we realized each needed a place for some alone time.
I had the penthouse I had inherited from my late Aunt Amy. Illya just had his apartment – which was much larger than the one room he had started out with – in The Village.
“Would you like to see it?”
“Yes”, we answered as one being.
We followed him down the stairs to the floor below. He stopped at the door nearest the EXIT.
The minute we stepped into the apartment we knew this was the one.
It was about the same size as mine; but, that is not what sold us.
Once an agent always an agent. We were making a thorough search of place when Illya discovered the secret door. Now all we had to do was figure out how to open it.
It was my Russian’s love of ancient history that found the solution.
“I think I know the secret, Napoleon”, he said.
“And that is, O Wise One?”, I quipped.
Reaching up he grasped the rusty hook above the door and pulled it down. Instantly the door slid open with a nail biting creak.
“I have some excellent oil for that”, Derek said. “It’s from an old Viking recipe.”
“Great! We’ll need it. Meanwhile, let’s find out where this goes”, my ever-curious lover suggested.
“Hold on, Mr. Kuryakin, I’ll be right back.”
So, saying he disappeared into the kitchen. In less than a minute; then returned with two high beamed flashlights.
We each took one and entered. Immediately we found ourselves on a landing. There were stairs going up and down. We decided to go up.
For all of five minutes we climbed only to encounter another secret door.
Illya, once again, proved the solution. This time he twisted the hood upward. Sure, enough the door opened to revel the master bedroom of the penthouse.
“Well, what do you think?”, Derek asked; of course, as a former colleague, he already knew the answer.
“Where do we sign”. I asked as we entered the bedroom.
He grinned and continued into the living room. We followed. “You don’t. Call it a way to repay you both for all you did for me.”
“Does Waverly know about this?”, Illya asked.
We had reached my door. He opened it. “Naturally’, he replied without turning. “Oh, by the way, Security, and the furniture, will arrive tomorrow.”
Be we could reply he left closing the door behind him and setting the alarm.
Illya embraced me from behind. “Your place or mine, Napasha?”, he whispered in a convenient ear.
I turned into his embrace. “Yours.’
Never the end