The Misadventures of the Laundry Hag 00 - Skeletons in the Closet

to clear my schedule.”

Like 50 Shades?

    You’re gonna love Daisy.
    Daisy Dominatrix
    A Chickliterotica title by
    Jennifer L. Hart
    ABNA Romance Quarterfinalist

    Until Batman strode into Madame Minerva’s Dungeon, Daisy Ellis thought she had everything she wanted. Duran Price isn’t really the Dark Knight, but both the mild mannered CPA and the Dominatrix who keeps her true identity hidden behind a Catwoman mask desires more than his submission. Fitting a relationship into a double life is a full time job and with a super villainess riding shotgun, the power is up for grabs.

    Chapter One

    W hen I was eight years old I sat with my Aunt Roberta in the front porch swing, listening to crickets and watching lightning bugs when she asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up.
    “Catwoman,” I answered, then returned to my wild cherry Kool Aide.
    “That’s interesting. Why Catwoman?”
    I thought about it for a second. “Because she’s cool and she has an awesome costume and gets to kiss Batman.”
    “Sweetie, you know Catwoman doesn’t really exist, right?” Aunt Robbie said.
    “Sure she does. She’s not always Catwoman, sometimes she’s in other movies.”
    My mother breezed out on a cloud of Elizabeth Arden’s Sunflowers. “What are we talking about?”
    “Michelle Pfeiffer. Here, have some Kool Aide.”
    “That stuff rots your insides,” my mother sniffed and then hurried out to the car to meet her date.
    That was the end of the Catwoman discussion, but the idea never left me. Sure, at eight I thought growing up to be Catwoman was a legitimate profession and as I got older I found ways to rationalize the idea. Boys loved Catwoman, she was up there with Princess Leia on the fantasy wall in the boy’s locker room, or so my best friend Tad told me. Everyone knew Catwoman was hot.
    “Do you really think she’s hot?” I asked him while we studied for our algebra test.
    “Not as hot as Batman,” Tad said.
    I agreed with him on that score, Batman was hot, but I didn’t want to be Batman.
    The memory was fresh in my mind the morning that changed my life.
    Sitting across from Rowena Metcalf, aspiring author, and trundling through her tax receipts, it dawned on me that Catwoman must have a day job somewhere. Sure, she died and was revived by cats but where did she keep her catsuit when she was showering?
    Tim Burton had never returned my calls on the subject so I was stuck doing other people’s taxes in order to pay my bills.
    “Rowena, you can’t write off fifty three gallons of Moose Tracks ice cream. Jeeze, there are only fifty two weeks in a year!”
    “One week was really rough. Multiple rejections.” Rowena gave me the slitty-eyed glare that was her trademark. “It was for my muse.”
    Oy with the muse already . Rowena’s muse was the grown up equivalent of don’t look at me, she did it . “Even if your muse demanded it, the IRS won’t see it that way. Materials that directly went to furthering your career. Paper, ink cartridges, mailing expenses, yes. No ice cream.”
    “What about wine? And chocolate, I need chocolate to write.”
    I contemplated thunking my head against the desk but I couldn’t see CW doing that so I refrained. “You know, this is your fourth year claiming your writing as a business instead of a hobby. If you write off too much, it can trigger an audit.”
    Rowena made the sign of the cross at the A word. “How much is too much?”
    Clicking through her online account, I brought up her schedule C. “You made thirty seven sixty, from writing that article you sold to the magazine on the mating rituals of dolphins and porpoises. Two hundred fifty nine from your ebook novella and eighty five for the online class you taught. That’s three hundred eighty one dollars and sixty cents, via the cash method. If you keep your expenses within reason you should be fine.”
    The specter of the IRS still loomed large over Rowena’s ample frame in her cheetah print sweater dress. “Should be?”
    “Will be,” I amended. “And being audited isn’t the end of the world. You have receipts for legitimate expenses and I’ll be there to go over any discrepancies with you. Remember, my guarantee comes with my fee.”
    Rowena shuddered. “Still, I don’t want to be audited. That’s what brought down the mob, you know. The IRS got ‘em when the police couldn’t.”
    She had a point. “Just be reasonable with your expenses and don’t start up a crime ring.”
After