It was the party of the season given by the nouveau riche, politically connected, and almost famous celebrating the return of the warmer weather.
The rather sizeable home, painted in pastel yellow and white, replete with palm trees, looked very much like it belonged in the Caribbean, rather than Long Island.
Waiters and waitresses dressed in black and white uniforms carrying trays of food and drink, weaving among the guests. A big band performed in the great room.
Formally attired men lounged by the pool, ate, drank and chatted about stocks and bonds while smoking illegal Cuban cigars as their wives, daughters and girlfriends shimmied and swayed to the music. It was enticing... a lively cha-cha, then a rumba to a merengue.
"Illya would be loving this, the music that is,"Solo thought to himself as he danced with one lovely lady after another. He laughed at that thought, reminding himself the Russian wasn't a monk, and appreciated a beautiful woman as much as the next man….but he wasn't that quick to put the moves on just any female.
"You snooze, you lose," he'd remind Illya, but the words were usually wasted as his partner would just bury his nose in some sort of science journal.
Illya wasn't here though, and as a matter of fact Napoleon wasn't even on an assignment. He was home in the Hamptons attending a party, rather large party with local 'well to do's' and their out of town guests.
It was his yearly obligation to represent the Solo clan among the 'chosen' whenever his parents were traveling, as they often seemed to do this time of year.
His brother Hannibal was off in Rome, having just been assigned to the U.S. Embassy there...his first big opportunity, though he was really a peon starting at the bottom. Still he was following in the family tradition of their grandfather the Ambassador.
Napoleon's sisters were off jet-setting and Aunt Amy would have nothing of the goings on in the Hamptons...'snobbery' she called it and rebuffed any invitations. In a way he agreed with his aunt, but he had to perform his due diligence, or face the consequences.
So it was up to the eldest son of Darius Solo to represent the family at the event. If Napoleon didn't show up, there'd be hell to pay. Fortunately he'd requested the weekend off, so there's be no assignment to complicate matters.
It really wasn't that bad, just mingling, drinking champagne, eating lots of sumptuous hors d'oeuvres, and of course flirting with scads of lovely ladies.
As usual his libido was leading the dance and he was sizing up a few damsels that he might be a little more 'intimate with' come the end of the evening.
The Latin beat changed to a much slower tempo, offering an opportunity for some up close and personal sloooow dancing; that found the tuxedoed Solo pursuing a line of women just waiting to be asked to join him on the dance floor. There were no such gauche things as dance cards here.
It was Solo's choice and they knew it...
He walked up to a shapely blonde dressed in tight fitting white gown with hundreds...no thousands a sparkling iridescent beads carefully sewn onto it.
She looked as though she'd been poured into the low cut dress, and her cleavage offered possibilities of what might be to a man like Napoleon Solo.
"Hi there...may I have this dance?" He smiled at her, turning on the charm.
"I thought you'd never ask,"she smiled back at him enticingly.
After several more slow dances and nuzzling, Napoleon had made his choice...but only if she'd be a willing participant of course.
He escorted her out to the veranda where the air was filled with the heady scent of azaleas, roses and dozens of other flowers mingled with a light saltly breeze drifting in off Long Island Sound.
"The stars are gorgeous tonight," she whispered, staring up at the clear evening sky.
Napoleon stood behind the woman, wrapping his arms around her.
"They are, as are you," he whispered, nibbling on her throat.
"Oh you must say that to all the girls," she laughed softly.
"Only the most beautiful ones."
She turned, letting Napoleon envelop her in his embrace as they kissed; his hands beginning to slowly wander and wordlessly signalling her of his intentions.
"Not here," she whispered." Let's go to my room in the guest cottage over there," she pointed across the gardens.
They discreetly made their way from the main house, entering the cottage separately and once inside their embraces became more aggressive...they were hungry for each other.
After peeling away her delicious gown, leaving her dressed only in her flimsy lingerie; Napoleon lifted her into his arms, kissing her again before carrying her upstairs to the bedroom.
There they became entangled in each others arms as their passions took them to the intimacy they craved, and just as their horizontal mambo was rising to a crescendo; there was a noise downstairs.
"Oh my God," she gasped shoving Solo against his chest. "It's my husband Vito!"
"You're married?" Napoleon pushed himself up, looking her straight in the eyes.
"Ummm, yes."
They could both hear Vito's heavy footsteps slowly plodding up the stairs.
"Oh crap," Solo muttered, withdrawing and looking around for an exit.
He headed to the only place he could go, the French doors leading out to a small balcony.
His clothing was scattered near the door to the room...no time to grab any of it and as he opened the balcony doors; he turned one last time, blowing her a kiss inspite of her neglecting to tell him she was married.
She wasn't looking as she was busy shoving Napoleons tux and accoutrements under the bed…
Closing the doors behind him, he climbed over the railing, feeling for a trellis with his foot and hastily climbed down to the ground; gritting his teeth to keep yelping as he caught parts of his naked body on a few thorns.
Solo hit the ground running, breaking off a branch from a bush with large foliage to help cover his nudity as he dashed for cover.
The only thing he could do was head to his car, which thankfully had the…
"Oh you fu..." he cursed to himself. The keys were in his tuxedo pocket. He'd kept them rather than handing them to the valet as his Walther, wallet and communicator were all locked in the glove compartment.
"Double crap."
He found himself out in front of the estate, ducking from tree to tree while he hid from drunken party goers….his mind racing as to what to do next.
If he were caught in this state, his indiscretion would be revealed and of course he'd have to face the embarrassment as well as the fury of his father the Colonel, much less the ire of Alexander Waverly. The Old Man had continually warned him to curb his appetites when it came the fairer sex...
"Are you in need of some assistance?" A very familiar voice called to him from a black sedan. The man was sitting in the driver's seat with the window rolled down and his arm resting comfortably on the door.
"Illya?"
"Did I sound like someone else?"
"What are you doing here?"
"I had an odd feeling, call it intuition, that you would be in need of my help this evening. So I drove out to this place just in case."
"You've been spying on me."
"Basically, yes…how else would I have known where this compound was located. I must say it is quite an impressive piece of property. Tsk, such decadent bourgeoisie. You could build at least twenty homes or more on this land…"
If there had been more light, Illya would have seen his partner's face flush red.
"Well do you or do you not want my help? If I were you, I would not decline the offer as your current state of undress will most likely end you up in...what do you call it? The hoosegow?"
"Fine, yes. I do want your help," Napoleon snapped, still annoyed, knowing his partner was definitely getting his jollies with this.
"Well if you are going to take that tone with me, I am going to leave."
Illya started the car, rolling up his window.
"No...wait. Sorry chum. I don't know how you managed this, but yes I desperately want your help. Please?"
"Since you asked sooo nicely," Illya reached back, popping open the driver side passenger door so no one would see Napoleon get into the car.
"Thanks partner mine. I guess I owe you big time on this one."
"Yes you do," Illya smiled contentedly.
"And you're going to get your pound of flesh aren't you?"
"No need to put it quite that way, but since you mentioned it... I may take it an ounce or two at a time," Illya snickered as he drove off into the night.