“Anita, I can’t fit into your clothes! I’m six inches shorter and twenty pounds heavier.”
“Well, okay, we’ll bag the miniskirt idea. But I can bring over accessories and makeup. I’ll be there are soon as I can.”
Twenty minutes later we were rummaging through my pathetic wardrobe. “What about this long green velvet dress?” Anita suggested. “You always look so pretty in it.”
“Too formal and too hot. I usually wear it for family holiday gatherings.”
“Okay…how about this blue suede suit?”
“Too businesslike.”
Anita refused to be discouraged. “All right. How about the skirt from the blue suede suit with a pretty blouse? This white lace one has a nice low neckline—you definitely won’t look too businesslike.”
I tried on the outfit with strappy white high-heeled sandals. I was pleased until I turned around to get a rear view. “Oh, my god, my ass looks huge!”
“No, it doesn’t,” Anita disagreed firmly. “You have a great ass and great tits. I wish I had your assets…then I might actually have a shot at the Victoria’s Secret catalog and the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue.”
I turned to look at her. She was dressed in faded jeans and an old T-shirt. No makeup. As usual, she looked spectacular. Anita had incredibly long, lean legs; Audrey Hepburn features; feline green eyes and short jet-black hair. It was impossible for her to look bad. I dismissed a twinge of jealousy.
“Okay, I’ll trust your opinion. I’ll wear this outfit. Now what about accessories?”
We finally agreed on her gold San Marco necklace and matching bracelet, with discreet gold hoop earrings. She also loaned me a white pashmina. She applied makeup and wrote down instructions so I could re-create the look the following night. When I studied myself in the mirror I felt like a princess—a much prettier, more sophisticated Gillian.
“Okay, just one last thing,” said Anita. “Underwear.”
“Anita, he’s not going to see my underwear!”
“You never know.” She smirked. “Besides, even if you don’t end up in bed with him, pretty underwear will make you feel more confident.”
“I guess so…. I do have a new bra and panty set I bought at Victoria’s Secret. Aunt Mary gave me a gift certificate for my birthday.” I showed her—a push-up bra and modest bikini panties in apricot silk trimmed with ivory lace.
“Perfect. You’ll give David Wentworth the biggest hard-on of his life.”
“Anita!” We collapsed into laughter.
It was nearly midnight when she left. “Now remember, I want to hear all the details right away. Have a wonderful time.” She winked at me as she closed the front door behind her.
The following night I splurged on a taxi even though I couldn’t afford it. I didn’t want to take the subway or bus to Francesca’s and dishevel my appearance. As I stood before the restaurant door, huge moths of nervous tension fluttered in my stomach. I closed my eyes and took three long, deep breaths, trying to center myself the way I did before going onstage or in front of a TV camera.
The hostess was a coolly elegant black woman in a low-cut ivory evening dress. “May I help you?” she asked with an imperious glance at me.
“Yes, I’m meeting David Wentworth.”
“Of course. This way please.” Her voice was a degree or two warmer, but her expression suggested that she still couldn’t imagine what I was doing there.
“Gillian. You look wonderful.” David rose and leaned over the table to peck my cheek. Even that brief contact was enough to make my heart race.
The hostess dropped a menu in front of me and then leaned far over the table to hand one to David. Her boobs nearly popped out of her gown. I glared at her. She ignored me. David seemed oblivious to the boob maneuver and my outrage.
We quickly ordered wine and entrees. I tried not to feel intimidated by the chandeliers, the priceless Persian rugs, the fine china and crystal.
David smiled and pinned me with his brilliant blue eyes. He was staring at me so intently I had to drop my gaze and fidget with my napkin to regain my composure.
“When I met you at Mary’s I thought you looked familiar…. I’m wondering if I remember you from a commercial.”
“Maybe. My most successful one was for Manhattan Bank. It ran for several months on local stations. I played Satisfied Customer Number One.”
“Yes, I remember now. You were excellent as a satisfied customer.”
The mild sexual innuendo was enough to make me blush ferociously.
“So how was your meeting?” I asked to change the subject.
“Pretty good. I’m working on a new luxury condo project in Boston. There’s been a lot of red tape, a lot of problems with subcontractors, but we’re making progress.”
Our entrees arrived. My salmon dish was mind-blowing—what Anita and I called “ohmigod food”—but I was too nervous to enjoy it. David and I chatted casually about our backgrounds. I told him about growing up in rural New Hampshire with Anita; he talked about Denver and his childhood dream of becoming a professional tennis player. A severe knee injury had ended his budding career.
Two hours slipped by; eventually we were the only customers left in the restaurant. David sat back in his chair and again mesmerized me with his gaze. “I just moved into a new apartment on East Seventy-Fifth Street. I’d love to show it to you.”
I felt a moment of panic. Miss Prudence and Miss Hornypants made a brief appearance in my head.
“He wants to have sex with you! You never sleep with a man on the first date!” cried Miss Prudence.
“Go for it. You might not get a second chance with this guy,” urged Miss Hornypants.
Miss H. won. “I’d love to see your apartment.”
“Great. My car and driver are just outside.” He leaned across the table and softly kissed my lips. My panties were soaked. I knew I was about to experience the most intense sexual pleasure of my life.
No ostentatious stretch limo for David. His car was a sleek black Mercedes with tinted windows. “Gillian, this is Al,” he said, introducing me to the driver. Al, a huge, swarthy middle-aged guy, opened the back door for me and grinned. I liked him immediately.
In the car David chatted with Al about sports. Taking my fingers in a firm grip, he moved my hand to his thigh. I could feel his potent body heat; I swallowed hard.
The elegant lobby of his apartment building had the hushed atmosphere of a European museum. In the elevator David punched the PH button and then kissed me hard, slowly sliding his tongue between my lips. He ran his hands down my back to my ass. By then my nipples were rising and my pussy was aching. When the elevator doors opened he released me.
“Would you like the grand tour of the apartment?” he asked.
No, I want you to rip off my clothes and take me right here in the foyer. I restrained myself. “Yes, I’d love a tour.”
The living/dining area was about the size of a football field. Huge floor-to-ceiling windows revealed a stunning panorama of the East River. The decor was muted and elegant—steel-gray leather sofas and ottomans; large Cubist paintings that appeared to be Picasso originals; a few enormous floral arrangements in crystal vases. I’d seen apartments like this only in House Beautiful and Architectural Digest. “It’s lovely,” I murmured, trying not to let my impatience show.
He took my hand and pulled me through the kitchen, the study, the guest