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I think to save on cost diaper plastic has gotten thinner. Back in march I had a diaper split and fluff down the leg of my jeans. lucky i only had one wetting. 

A little while later, the light of the sun shone through the crack in the tent’s entrance at just the right angle to shine in Priscilla’s eyes. At first the sleeping woman ignored it but eventually the daylight managed to rouse her from her slumber. With a big yawn she sat up and stretched her arms out. She looked over to the other side of the tent. Michelle was gone. Wait… what time was it? Clearly it can’t be too late otherwise they would have woken her up by now. Regardless, Priscilla stood up and placed her signature oversized hat atop her head. After some adjustments, she grabbed her staff and headed outside. Unlike poor Michelle, Priscilla didn’t have to worry about overnight accidents, thank the gods. 

Well, it's taken a little longer than I planned, but here we are again. My brain hasn't been working so well over the last week, so please let me know if I've drifted off-course or made any weird mistakes towards the end of this chapter. Thank you for your patience! This is the start of Act III, but I'm still not sure whether this chapter would be better as a cliffhanger for the end of Act II. Anyway, here it is… Act III: Undercover Secrets 49. Worst Luck Brock kept his eyes on the road as he drove, but Isadora knew he would be thinking about a dozen plans at once. He always was. “Are we going to talk to Arrencani?” she asked, always nervous. Her hand clutched the necklace, a symbol that Brock trusted her now. It was strange how many times over the last couple of days she had caught herself reaching up to touch it. “About… you know?” “We’re just going to watch movies,” he gave the same answer as always, like she’d known he would. “And maybe to find out a little more about his wife. And about how this started. But the answers we want will be in the subtext.” “So if he says…” “He can’t know that we know about his other businesses. He needs to see us learn about that organically. Even if he hints at ageplay today, or any other fetish, we pretend not to notice. Understand? I’ll know when to approach the subject so he can trust us. And we need to ‘discover’ this side of him naturally if you want to get in there.” “Right,” Isadora nodded slowly. “Keep the conversation on Alessia Strong. We can build up to other things, if we’re here long enough. But… you said fetishes?” “There are different types of ageplay,” Brock answered like it should have been obvious to her. She wished again that she’d found the nerve to go searching the Internet like Brock had, so she would have a better idea how other people experienced regression. But it always seemed so intimidating, making it necessary for him to tell her even the things that were more relevant to her own legend. “I think that a facility like his is more than likely approaching it from the kinky side,” Brock continued. “Is that a problem for you?” “No, no…” Isadora answered, trying to hold back the tide of indistinct images now flooding through her mind’s eye. She didn’t really know what he meant by that, it wasn’t even something she’d thought about. But she had to let him know that she wouldn’t be so easily scared. “No, that’s fine. I guess I never really thought about it like that. For me it’s always been just a reminder of a comfortable time, but I can see… I mean, I think I can imagine how people would get something different out of it.” “That’s good, then,” Brock said, with a quick nod. The car was already pulling onto the gravel in front of the Arrencani house. The journey hadn’t really been long enough to justify driving, but Isadora was wearing Estelle’s fanciest heels, as well as a dress which kept her legs closer together than she was really comfortable with, so she hadn’t wanted to walk today. She was dressed for presentation, rather than fashion; as Brock had insisted. “Thank you,” he said, reaching for her hand. And she realised that while she’d been thinking about their plans for the day again, he had already come around to the passenger side and opened the door for her. She leaned on him a little to pull herself upright, and felt every inch a posh lady as they took the few steps towards the front door. Was this a life that Estelle had always dreamed of, she wondered, or was her legend being pressed into a role she didn’t quite understand just like Isadora was? “Thank you?” “Thank you. For taking a dive into a life so different from what you know. For looking so stunning on my arm. And for inspiring me to ask about Alessia in the first place. It was a question I might never have thought to ask.” Isadora could avoid thinking about the comment on her appearance by telling herself that Bernard Klein often spoke like that; Brock was just maintaining their cover identities. But the other compliments, she was less sure about. Was Bernard praising her according to his habit, or was international super-spy Dashiel Brock actually impressed by the lines of investigation she had opened up? She didn’t have time to ask now, even if she had been sure there was nobody within earshot, because the big front door swung slowly open as they approached. Geoffrey wasn’t standing there to welcome them today. Instead, Roman Bercher offered a stare that made it absolutely clear that he would rather be anywhere than here. He was dressed in the crisp black suit that seemed to be the butler’s uniform, and was standing at attention like he’d never left his navy days behind, but somehow an air of disrespect still showed through. “Mr and Mrs Klein,” he said with a forced smile. “So good to see you. Mr Arrencani is waiting in the screening room.” The accent was clipped, the words perfunctorily polite, but Roman clearly wasn’t impressed that he was expected to perform this duty. Perhaps he felt it demeaning to be treated like a mere domestic servant, and was eager to return to his duties as head of security; although as soon as Isadora thought of that, she found herself again wondering exactly what the head of security would do here, in a gated neighbourhood where only the neighbours could even get to the house. Perhaps he was eager to get back to… cutting drugs, or executing investigators who got close to the Arrencani family. After all their efforts to investigate, she still didn’t know what role Roman actually held with regards to the criminal side of the business; or whether the human trafficking they had been sent to investigate was any more than a rumour. As they passed a narrow corridor on the left, Isadora’s eyes darted involuntarily in that direction and she found herself hoping that their suspicions were unfounded. That drugs were the extent of the Arrencani Family’s illicit dealings, and there were no helpless women locked in the basement downstairs. After seeing his behaviour towards the housekeeper, she could imagine all too clearly what he might be like with a woman who couldn’t call for help. She wanted nothing more than to set up an undercover reason to enter that basement room, just so she could know for sure that Roman didn’t have girls to deal with; or at least that his superiors would say that they were too valuable to be hurt by a mere hired gun. She took a deep breath and turned her attention back to the corridor ahead of them, as she felt Brock pulling her forward a little. She was still holding his arm, playing the perfect happy couple, and that gave him the perfect opportunity to keep her from getting too distracted. At the same time, she couldn’t stop wondering whether he cared about the potential kidnapped women at all. She suspected that he was using them as an excuse to prolong this case, giving himself a chance to shut down Arrencani’s drugs operation even though their jurisdiction here only extended to kidnapping. “Bernard!” the jovial voice of Lorenzo Arrencani himself signalled that the time for introspection was at an end. They were here to socialise, to convince him that he could trust them with information about his many criminal enterprises as well as the legitimate façade, and perhaps to solve the incidental mystery of why and how Mrs Arrencani had vanished from the picture recently. “So good to see you. And Estelle, looking so very sophisticated. Please, come in, come in. It can’t be comfortable to stand in heels like that for so long.” They followed him into the screening room itself, which seemed more like a miniature cinema than anything Isadora would have expected to find in someone’s house. It seemed like the rich really did live differently. There were a few small rows of red leather seats, arranged in a little dip in the floor to give them the right viewing angle opposite a screen that looked almost too tall for the big house. For sure, there had to have been some rooms cut away upstairs to make this place possible. To one side of the screen, they saw a woman wearing a stereotyped hostess uniform; more like a cinema usher than the formal outfits the domestic staff usually wore. But a second later, Isadora recognised the features of Alessia Strong. Once she’d seen that, it was easy to recognise the iconic uniform from Deleted Scene. Lorenzo had acquired a life-size cardboard sign depicting his wife in one of her early movie roles; which seemed oddly romantic for a mafia boss. “Ah yes,” Arrencani chuckled, probably seeing where they were looking. “My darling Alessia. The story of how we met involves that sign, in fact. It’s a constant reminder of why I loved her. And I thank her every time I watch one of her movies.” “Now that’s a story I’d love to hear,” Brock prompted. “I’d love to share,” Lorenzo said. “But perhaps we should start the movie first? I believe you expressed an interest in seeing the original cinematic release of Arms Length. And while I do enjoy the movie, it has quite a number of atmospheric establishing shots which would also be a perfect background to romantic nostalgia.” “Do I need to stay for this?” Roman interjected from the doorway, still looking more than a little frustrated by his temporary role as the butler. His discomfort just made it clear how much self control Geoffrey normally displayed, standing smartly for hours on end without ever making a sound unless he was called upon. “Oh, I’m sorry,” Lorenzo said. “Yes, you can leave if you want, Roman. Could you start the first movie before you go, and send Claudine in with refreshments? I’ll send for you when we need you again.” Roman slunk out of the room, and a few seconds later the lights started to dim. It seemed like Arrencani’s home cinema had an actual projection room, with nothing so convenient as a remote control. But in its own way, that only added to the atmosphere. It felt like they were in a real theatre, and having a staff to take care of the mundane tasks seemed more elaborate than ever in those circumstances. Claudine arrived quickly enough, with a selection of drinks on a little trolley. She must have been waiting to be called, and understandably didn’t want to hang around in the hallways any longer than necessary if Roman was the messenger. The house lights faded down slowly, and waves of sound rolled over them as the screen lit up. There were no trailers in this private venue, but the movie was still preceded by quite a handful of animated logos for its various production and distribution companies. In the flickering gold light, Isadora glanced down at the drinks trolley. Claudine had just poured a tumbler of sparkling water, but she saw Brock trying half-heartedly to hide the bottle as he added a more than generous measure of his favourite Swedish copper-still vodka. She didn’t sigh; indicating a good deal more restraint than she’d thought she could muster. But she found it hard to believe that Brock couldn’t stay sober for ten minutes when he needed to be at his most observant. And Isadora couldn’t keep her disappointment to herself. “Thank you, honey!” she said with a theatrical smile, reaching for Brock’s glass. “Is this for me? I thought you might like one of these, while you’re cutting back.” Her other hand offered him a bottle of still orange, which he graciously accepted. Their eyes met only briefly in the dim light, and for a moment she couldn’t be sure whether this performance was for Arrencani’s benefit after all. Would seeing tension between the Kleins lead the crime boss to remember arguments with his own wife, or lead him to talking about how he’d resolved it? Had Brock set this up to help them find the information they needed, or was he just reaching for a bottle when he didn’t know what else to do? It was impossible to tell. “Of course,” Brock answered, and she could make out the frustration in his voice. If she hadn’t known what a skilled actor he was, that would have been enough to convince her that she was really getting to him. Whether she would have stopped in that case, she wasn’t entirely sure. She took a sip of the drink, which was quite bitter but more pleasant than she had anticipated, and tried to focus on the screen in front of them for now. She thought she had seen the movie before; if she hadn’t, then she’d at least caught part of it on TV, or seen other shows quoting or parodying the most iconic moments. “Alessia dragged Totenkreuz out of the director’s chair by his shirt collar when they were filming this,” Arrencani was the first one to speak over the movie itself, after five or ten minutes of popcorn and exposition. It was a story that probably everyone had heard before, or some version of it. But Arrencani, presumably, had learned of it from the actress herself, and so this version had a higher chance of being true. “Somehow, the fans on the Internet blew that up into lifting a man by his tie, which seems quite impractical. But they had a choreographer telling the girls where to run in this scene, you know? Mapping it out like a dance. The guy was a dance professional, and knew just how to create the impression of chaos without everyone getting under each other’s feet.” “I heard,” Isadora found herself picking up the story as soon as the man paused to bring his own drink, which looked like a glass of brandy, to his lips. “Movies were all about aesthetics, then. The kidnapping scene was planned out like a dance. Completely different from the fights later on, when her boyfriend is there.” “Exactly,” Arrencani said with a smile. “Women trying to get away from the enforcers take their directions from a ballet guy, while the men would be choreographed by a martial arts expert. Even when she got a fight scene in the script, it was all dodging and weaving, never actually making contact. And that didn’t spark joy for Alessia, not at all.” “So she…” Brock found the right two words. Isadora was still thinking over all the different ways she could express the question in her mind, but her partner had distilled it down to a pair of words that didn’t give away anything at all. It was another demonstration of just how good he was at choosing the right words. “She said she should be taking her cues from the same coordinator the guys used,” Lorenzo confirmed. “She was aggressive, but not rude. And rather than a men-vs-women thing, she presented it as consistency. Having the same experts for every action scene, so the movie has a constant feel. And, of course, it’s more cost-effective to only have one fight director. She was a smart woman, always knew how to make her point. Figuring out how what she wants works for both sides.” “Did she ever do that with you?” Isadora asked, and regretted it as soon as she saw Brock’s steely gaze. But it was too late to stop talking now. “I mean… it sounds like she’d never want to lose an argument.” There was a pause, and Isadora just knew there was something there. Some private argument, something Lorenzo would never admit. But she knew right away that he would never even consider sharing this with a neighbour. “Maybe,” he said. “Everybody disagrees at times. But I’d like to think that, in the end, I gave her everything she could have wanted. And I always wanted to make her happy, there was rarely any suggestion that mattered to me more than that.” There was nothing more to ask after that. Maybe there had been conflict between the Arrencanis, but that wasn’t something he was willing to share. And now he would be on his guard, so Isadora knew she wouldn’t be able to ask anything else. Brock, on the other hand, might just be able to say the right things to encourage their host to share. But all Isadora could do was hope; and she hated how helpless she felt right now. After this mission, she promised herself that she would make a much greater effort to study the things he had said, and to acquire the same skills that seemed to come so effortlessly for him. She looked up at the screen again, trying to pick up the plot of the movie. Alessia wasn’t on screen right now, as a dramatic long shot over the rooftops led into the introduction of her boyfriend. It would have been an opportunity to talk, if Isadora could think of what to say. But the cinematography here was excellent, and it was really easy to get caught up in the guy’s introspection. “Is that Emlyn Beaker?” Brock asked, after the first bunch of dialogue was over and they were watching the man walk down an alley again. “It kind of looks like him, doesn’t it?” Arrencani replied. “No, it’s a guy called… umm… Sheldon Featherstonehaugh, I think. It’s weird, because he had star billing on the first run of posters for the film, and the trailers. He was going to be the next Stallone, if a little more brooding, and then… Well, the movie came out, and all everyone was talking about was the leading lady.” “They’re both brilliant actors,” Brock said, before their attention turned back to the movie again. “And Alessia looks stunning.” “Yes,” Lorenzo agreed softly. “She always had that quality. You can’t look away when she’s on the screen. You know the strange thing about this? It’s a pretty well-known film, but I bet you can’t tell me the name of her character.” Isadora stared at the screen for a few seconds, trying to remember. She had picked up the name of Featherstonehaugh’s character, Jason, but she couldn’t say the same about the female lead. “Is it Alessia?” she said. “The same as the actress? Seems a bit odd, but I remember a friend who did film studies talking about Jason and Alessia as a great tragic romance.” “It’s Katarina,” Arrencani answered with a chuckle. “But nobody ever remembers that. It’s only mentioned in the credits, you see. Throughout the film, the kidnappers refer to her as ‘the girl’, and Jason only calls her ‘cupcake’. Most fans started calling her Alessia because it was the only name they knew, and in the sequel it was retconned as being her middle name. Weird how these things turn out.” The afternoon continued in that vein, with Arrencani occasionally offering snippets of backstage information that Alessia had remembered. For anyone else it would have seemed almost obsessive to study the productions in that depth, or to remember so many inconsequential details. But it was clear that these memories meant the world to Lorenzo, as memories of the woman he loved. After Arms Length and Eighty-Six Minutes, Isadora found herself getting really caught up in the story of those characters. Until Claudine came around with her drinks trolley again, it was too easy to forget the circumstances of this screening. Isadora hoped that Brock had picked up some useful information, because she was sure that she would remember little more than the story on the screen. “It’s a shame they didn’t make it a trilogy,” Brock mused. “Yes, there still seemed to be stories to tell there,” Arrencani answered. “On the other hand, Alessia was so worried about getting typecast. They’d given her a potential script for the third instalment, and she was reading it when we first met. But she decided that she wanted to try something different. It took a few more attempts for her to really find her own niche, but I’d say that Manhattan After Midnight is the jewel in her crown. How about we watch that one, if you two don’t have any other engagements?” “That sounds perfectly agreeable to me,” Brock said, with a broad grin. He quickly reached past the fruit juice that Claudine was pouring for him, and started to build himself some kind of cocktail instead. Isadora took a deep breath, and then watched their host’s eyes. He seemed hesitant to say anything; very aware of the drama between the Kleins. He didn’t say anything, but responded with a jolly laugh when Isadora took the drink out of Brock’s hand and raised it to her lips. As she tried not to show surprise at the bitter flavour, she wondered for a moment if Brock was just going to make himself another one. But he paused for a moment, looked up at her, and then accepted his fruit drink. “The movie is actually named after the cocktail,” Arrencani said. “According to the novel it’s based on, anyhow. But I don’t think one is necessary in order to watch it.” “I think this will be my last drink,” Isadora said, hoping that the whiskey wouldn’t go straight to her head. This wasn’t really her kind of drink at all, but now she’d taken it, there was no polite way to change her mind. This movie was very different. Not just because of the computer-generated explosions at the beginning; which had started to come into fashion during its production but didn’t quite have the capability to look realistic. This time, Alessia Strong wasn’t cast as anyone’s girlfriend, wife, or love interest. She wasn’t a damsel in distress, but a foul-tempered mob enforcer who’s name struck fear into the hearts of all the bad guys. For a moment, as the plot started to gather momentum, Isadora wondered if Arrencani ever saw the irony in enjoying this kind of movie with his wife. Or whether her performance had been informed by whatever glimpses she had seen of her husband’s more secretive businesses. “She looks like she’s enjoying herself more in this one,” Brock said, once the plot had started to move forward. “She knew who she was, I think,” Arrencani said, gesturing with his glass. He paused for a second, and it was easy to tell just by looking that he was still enraptured by the beauty on the screen. He gave the impression of a man who would stop to think, each and every day, about how lucky he was to have her. “In her earlier movies, she talked about how the writer saw her function as being the love interest, there for the male audience’s fantasies, and the director wanted her to be a complex character… Here, she is a badass who is going to get what she wants and kill every last fool who stands in her way – Yeah, I know that quote is from another movie – and it’s so simple. I mean, in more than a few of her earlier movies, her role was just to look pretty for the men in the audience no matter how they tried to wrap flowery language around it. This time they gave her a role with a goal and a mindset, and the whole script worked with that character.” “She’s still hot,” Brock said. “And the whole world could see that. But there’s no conflict between that and the role they’ve given her. She doesn’t need to think about how the hypothetical male demographic can feel, she just plays the character. Right? For once, she only has to think about how the character feels, and not how some hypothetical male demographic feels about her, and I imagine that’s pretty freeing.” “I don’t remember the words she used,” Arrencani answered, with the smirk clearly audible under his voice. “But that’s how I understood what she was telling me. She could play the role, instead of the societal expectations around it.” The words seemed very deep, and Isadora wanted to respond but she wasn’t sure what she could add to that. She didn’t just want to be tagging along while Brock extracted all the information they needed, but it was slowly becoming clear that the two men were talking over her head. And as much as that was natural for someone like Estelle, it made Isadora’s sense of frustration start rising again. She needed to find something she could add. “That’s kind of the way it was at home as well,” Arrencani was saying, and Isadora realised that she had spaced out for a moment there, not quite following the conversation while she tried to think of something to say. “She was so much happier, more comfortable, when she knew what was expected of her, and she didn’t have to keep thinking about balancing her needs against her family’s. It’s a shame it took so long to get there, but…” His words trailed off into silence as the dialogue on the screen dominated their attention again. And as she saw Alessia Strong’s character being finally subdued and dragged away, Isadora thought she knew how she could show Brock that bringing her was a good decision. This time, a couple of months playing the underdog since the start of this undercover mission had given her the insight that would make all the difference. “It’s like she’s playing chess,” she said. “And everybody else is playing… cheese? Uhh… checkers, I mean. Like she’s smarter than the people playing the rules so everything is different.” There was so much more to say, but Isadora was already starting to feel that she had said enough. Her tongue was heavy in her mouth, and every syllable brought her precariously close to biting it. She wondered if there was something wrong with her voice, something making it harder to speak clearly. But then her perspective shifted, and what had at first seemed like a mumble turned into slurred speech. And at the same time, she thought again about the words she had said, and realised that they didn’t really mean what she had intended to say. Had she really drunk that much? She didn’t think so, but she wasn’t entirely sure how strong Brock tended to make his cocktails. She might have vastly overestimated her own sobriety; and she knew that if she wanted to retain any kind of respect, she simply needed to stop talking. The movie continued, quickly building up the level of action. Isadora realised that she was finding it harder than usual to understand the onscreen events; but there was no way to know whether that was because of nerves or alcohol; or whether her earlier concerns had made her more aware of whether or not she was taking in every little detail of the plot. She fidgeted a little, fingers coming up again and again to touch the smooth plastic of the necklace, restoring her confidence a little. “She had a body double for this part,” Arrencani was saying, idly swishing his drink around in his glass. “Not sure why. I always told her I could tell the difference, but… even for me it’s a challenge. I don’t think I would have spotted it without being told.” Isadora couldn’t see any reason for needing a double either; the shot he was talking about just seemed to be Alessia – or whatever the character’s name was – posing silhouetted on a balcony. That, at least, was something she could comment on without risk of embarrassing herself. She raised her glass as she spoke, wondering if a simple ‘yeah’ would make her seem more trustworthy, more like one of the guys, or whether it would be better to think more about her words. But whatever words she would have chosen, it didn’t seem to matter. The sound that came from her lips was an indistinct breath, and before she could make a sound she noticed the half-full glass slipping from between her fingers. She tried to catch it, but her hands just didn’t want to move fast enough. It was like her strength had disappeared. The carpet would have been treated to a third of a glass of the cocktail, but thankfully Roman snatched the glass out of the air before it could hit the ground. Isadora hadn’t even noticed that he was standing next to her, and she was shocked to realise just how much situational awareness she had lost. Had she really drunk that much before the second glass was empty. “Someone can’t hold her drink,” he said, with a laugh that instantly made Isadora wish he was farther away. He was every stereotype of the guy you didn’t want to be near when you were drunk. But she wasn’t drunk, was she? She should have been fine with the small amount she’d drunk today. And as soon as the thought finally clicked in her mind, it all made so much sense. Not drunk, but drugged. Brock had said that Arrencani might be on to him. They’d hoped to deflect suspicion with a public argument and letting slip a secret with no connection to their mission; but Isadora thought now that it hadn’t worked. Arrencani had put something in Brock’s glass, and she’d picked it up without even thinking. But that meant Brock had her glass. He never seemed drunk. Would he have a greater tolerance for whatever they’d been spiked with as well? Would Arrencani have put a higher dose in Brock’s glass, expecting him to be the problem? Did the criminal mastermind even know that she was involved, or did he think it was just Brock spying on him? She had no idea what the situation was, but she knew she wasn’t in any state to break free now. The best she could do was alert Brock, and hope that he was still able to do something. She tried to stand and shout, but her whole body felt heavy, and her head spun with the slightest movement. Her yell of warning turned into a barely audible croak, and she didn’t know if Brock would have understood what was wrong, even if he was still able to react. Rather than getting to her feet, she barely managed to topple forward out of her seat. It was only Roman’s rough hands around her shoulders that kept her from planting face-first on the carpet, and she didn’t even have the strength to look towards her partner and see if he was okay. “Oh dear,” Arrencani was saying behind her, somehow managing to feign some concern. “I guess those cocktails were too much for her. I at least hoped we’d get to the end of the movie. Can you take her to Selma and see if she needs any first aid, Roman? And then we can start thinking about who Stella really is.”

I missed this new chapter. I kept seeing new notifications but every time I looked it was just another comment.  I enjoyed this chapter. The party sounds like it is going to be very fun and interesting. Herb is definitely a bigger man than I am. I doubt that I would ever allow a stranger to diaper me. I am looking forward to seeing more.  I haven’t asked lately but I hope you are recovering well. I do think about you and pray for the best. 

I fussed as it took sometime to get me to take the pacifier as i was craddled in your arms as my mouth was sore and irritating a bit as i wiggled a bit as my diaper was wet as i hardly notice when i go as it just happens.