“In short, we’re already so empowered that our tops are the ones who need safe words,” triumphantly interjected Hope Lawrence, a divine natural blonde in her middle twenties, her slim, shapely form complimented to perfection by a black and white checked seersucker dress with a wide, black, patent leather belt.
“Thank you, darling, I’ll remember that one,” Marguerite beamed at her special pet. Hope had been running the coffee bar at Marguerite Alexander and Sloan Taylor’s bookshop for several years now, and that young lady’s charismatic personality and ravishing demeanor had been a draw for the little café within Marguerite’s shop since Hope first put her cherry red apron on behind its counter.
“Now, here is what I propose, my dearest ladies,” said Marguerite. “That first we order our lunch. Then, while we are waiting for it to arrive, we go around the table in round robin fashion, each speaking a few words about how we came to find ourselves in the scene and Random Point, sharing experiences we feel comfortable in revealing and pledging to keep any disclosures made during our meetings private and inviolate.”
“I’ll have a martini too,” said Paula Taylor to a passing waiter. The thirty-something prep school guidance counselor, a well proportioned size eight beauty with pale blonde hair and large blue eyes was dashingly clad in a black skirt and fitted black silk brocade vest over a long sleeved white shirt, with a pink pearl on a gold chain encircling her smooth throat and pink pearls in her earlobes.
“Might not a full account of our experiences be dangerous?” asked Polyxena Guzman, in her faint Dutch accent. The European gym and spa owner, of the spectacular body and white blonde hair was clad in a full skirted, black and white toile patterned cotton halter dress that displayed her sculpted torso with both glamour and taste. She was the only woman who had come into the group as a dominant and had but recently gone over to the opposite side of the scene, unaccountably attracted to several of the more affably masterful Random Point males she had met since moving to the area.
“Ladies,” said Marguerite indulgently, “please feel free to keep your lovers’ secrets. But also, feel free to confide. So long as we all agree not to reproach our men with any ancient history that might be revealed or harbor any ill feelings toward each other, why should we not feel free to share our histories with one another?”
“I’ll have a Long Island Ice Tea,” said Phoebe Casper with ill-suppressed excitement to the other waiter. The petite, chestnut brown haired stage actress had dressed her nip-waisted but voluptuous little body in a white dotted Swiss tea dress with a fichu neckline that drew attention to her full, creamy bosom. Of all the women present, she was the least experienced and perhaps the most romantically inclined. And yet regarding the enchanting prospects offered by her second sojourn in Random Point, even she already had secrets which she dare not reveal.
“I think we must also assume that if any lady present has done anything scandalous with any man not belonging to herself, that it was the man who initiated the episode,” said Marguerite. “Except in the case of Susan Ross.”
Susan Ross, sitting at Marguerite’s right hand in a short sleeved white cotton shirt and a round black cotton skirt with a wide black belt tossed her long wheat blonde pony tail and grinned at her older friend.
“But how do we know that if we reveal a secret that we won’t be inadvertently hurting someone’s feelings or creating needless insecurity?” asked Damaris, seated on Marguerite’s other side, in a sleeveless black zip front jump suit with a beautifully defined waist and glove tight pants that pegged just above her slim ankles. The dress designer, retail entrepreneur and shop owner, like Marguerite, was the mother to a baby girl who was currently being well tended by a nanny at home.
“That is a question we must all ask ourselves before speaking,” Marguerite agreed. “Personally, I must admit that I’d be surprised if even three of you haven’t done everything with my own husband that it is possible to do in our scene,” she remarked with surprising cheerfulness. “In fact, I go about pretty much assuming that Michael has had or will have had you all. So frankly, nothing you can say about him will shock or distress me and I’d love to hear the details. I’m just the type of person who enjoys collecting information. But you can trust me absolutely never to throw it back in his face. However, some of you may feel differently on this subject.”
“Not me,” said Phoebe, “I’d love to know if Pascal has been up to anything with anyone here after guarding me so closely!”
Amanda nearly jumped in her seat on hearing this pronouncement and wondered whether it would be worse to reveal or conceal Phoebe’s husband’s recent advances to her.
Susan raised her eyebrows at Hope who said to Marguerite, “May we be excused for two minutes, Mistress?” Then Hope took Amanda by one hand and Susan by the other and led them out of the inn by the back door and into the garden, which led to a small wooden bridge that spanned the Woodbridge brook. They crossed over the bridge to the woods in the golden red June sunset and Susan lit a joint.
“Do you think she knows I played with Michael?” Amanda quickly asked her friends.
“Yes, of course she does. You did that shoot at his bar,” Hope reminded Amanda.
“I know she knows about that, but that first time he spanked me, when Hugo took me to his house,” Amanda said.
“We can assume Marguerite knows everything,” said Susan. “And if she doesn’t yet, you heard what she said. She won’t freak out if she hears something new.”
“What about Pascal? What he did the other day?” Amanda said, taking a hit off the joint and passing it back to Susan.
“Pascal Robbins did something with you the other day?” Susan asked in surprise.
“He spanked me and kissed me!” Amanda revealed sensationally. The three blondes looked at each other and smoked thoughtfully for a moment.
“That’s not like him,” said Hope, with concern for Phoebe’s feelings.
“That’s true. And Phoebe’s so innocent in the scene. She’s done practically nothing,” said Susan. Though in point of fact, she rather suspected Phoebe Casper Robbins of having an extremely large crush on her lover and patron, Anthony Newton, who was producing, directing and playing piano for the Kiss Me Kate revival at the repertory theatre that summer, with Phoebe in the lead role. “Amanda, I wouldn’t say anything about that today,” Susan counseled.
“Especially if you want to pursue some photography with him this month,” Hope added. “I have a feeling he’d be peeved if you told on him.”
“Huh!” Amanda grunted, refusing a second hit of the strong grass. “So he’s allowed to make a totally unsolicited advance towards me and receives not the slightest censure?”
“Did you dislike it so much?” Hope asked, taking a final puff herself and offering Susan one more before extinguishing the spliff in a silver case.
“I didn’t dislike it at all,” Amanda laughed, “But I don’t think he behaved like a gentleman.”
“Well, Phoebe doesn’t know that he isn’t a gentleman at this point and it might break her heart,” said Susan, while thinking to herself, “or drive her straight into Anthony’s arms!” She didn’t like that thought.
“And then there’s Pamela,” Amanda remembered, “She and I are just becoming friends. I daren’t mention anything about Mr. Bartlett in front of her!” The others paused to turn and look at her.
“Does she even know he let you shoot at the store?” asked Susan.
“She may know that, though we haven’t discussed it, but I can’t let her find out why he really let me do that.”
“I think she does know about that shoot,” said Hope. “But she thinks Ambrose let you do it as a favor to Hugo.”
“I mean, they weren’t married yet …” Amanda began to say when a familiar female voice interrupted her, saying,