Sexy Girls

by Gary S. Griffin

  Fifteen minutes later, I had just finished shaving when I heard the knock on the door. The waiter arrived with everything and set up a portable table in the living room area of my suite.

  I opened the curtains to find a clear, sunny day dawning. My windows faced north toward the CSU campus. If I looked to the right I could see the pink dawn in full bloom in the eastern sky, and if I looked to my left I saw the sun beaming off the tops of the foothills in the west. I sat with my delicious breakfast and prepared to enjoy the sunrise to the fullest.

  I took a second sip of coffee, my first bite of omelet and opened the paper. Then, my cellphone rang. The sound startled me so much that I dropped my fork into the ketchup next to the omelet.

  “Hello.”

  “Oh, Stevie, thank God you answered,” Cyndie said breathlessly.

  “What’s up Cyn?”

  “Terrible news; Andi is dead.” I heard her breath catch, and then, she sobbed.

  “How? When did it happen?”

  “I don’t know how, but she was found in the trunk of her car, here, on a side street, near my apartment building,” she said, in measured gasps.

  “Oh my God.”

  “Stevie, I’m so scared. Please come home. This is crazy. I, I need to get out of here. None of us are safe.”

  “Cyn, calm down a second. How did you find out?”

  “The police called me a few minutes ago. They tried to reach Robert Grayson, but he left the country yesterday on a photo shoot. My name, address and phone number were in her purse; I think they said Andi had them written on something as her emergency contact.”

  “Jesus. How did she die?”

  “I think they said she was strangled and had been dead a few days, at least.”

  “Where are you?”

  “At work, but, I’m think I’ll leave early today. I can’t concentrate.”

  “Good Lord. This is crazy.”

  “Stevie, they want me to identify the body and I told them I could never do that. I told them I’d call you and you would come home today and would do it tonight. Please, say you will come back. I need you.”

  “I will. I’ll leave this little town right now. I can get back to the Denver Airport in less than two hours. It sure looks like this whole trip was a huge waste. Andi was here, but I didn’t really find much, other than she had two dinners and a massage.”

  “Thank you, Stevie, I can’t stay here. There’s a killer out there. I got to get out of here.”

  “Please, Cyn, don’t do anything crazy. I’ll be home tonight.”

  “I don’t want to stay at my apartment. The killer has to know where I live.”

  I thought quickly. “Look, Cyn, go to my house in Delaware. That’s a safe place and no one will find you there. Don’t let anyone in my house and lock all the doors. Do you want the combination to my safe? My gun is inside.”

  “No way, I could never use it. But, I will get out of here and then I’ll go to your place.”

  “Yes, do it. Wait a minute. Who called you from the police? Do you have their name and phone number?”

  “Yes, the detective’s name is John Morelli. And, here’s his number.” She read it to me and I wrote it down.

  “Okay, I’ll call him and then, I’ll get out of here.”

  “Thank you, Stevie.”

  “Just act smart, Cyn. Don’t go back to your apartment, don't let anyone in my house and don’t answer my phone. I’ll call you on your cellphone. You’ll see it’s me calling. Okay?”

  “Yes. Thank you, be safe.”

  I said, “You be safe too.”

  Then we said goodbye.

  ***

  What a change of events! I gave Detective Morelli a call. He filled me in on the discovery of Andi’s body. She died several days ago, maybe a week earlier. I told him where I was and that I’d catch the next available flight back from Denver and would identify Andi’s body. I’d call him as soon as I arrived in Philadelphia. I gave him my cellphone number.

  I finished eating my cold food in ten minutes. I packed up my shaving kit, my suitcase, Andi's suitcase, and my briefcase and left my hotel room in another ten minutes. I checked out of the hotel and pulled out of the lot before 8:30 a.m.

  Fighting Tuesday morning rush-hour Interstate-25 traffic I didn’t get to the airport until close to 10 a.m. After turning in the rental and catching the bus back to the terminal I felt lucky to arrive at the United counter at 10:30. I could get a seat on the 11:42 flight that arrived in Philly at 5:05 Eastern Daylight Time. I turned in my old return flight ticket, handed the reservation clerk my MasterCard to pay the difference, and booked this new flight.

  ***

  “Hello.”

  “Hello, Edie?”

  “Yes…”

  “It’s Stevie Garrett.”

  “Stevie!”

  “How are you?”

  “I’m good. I’m finally the busy actress! We’re on a break for a week, but I’ve never been busier.”

  “That’s great!”

  “It’s good to hear your voice, Stevie. Where are you? It sounds like you’re in a public place.”

  “I am. I’m in Denver, at the airport.”

  “What are you doing there?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “Are you coming to L.A.?”

  “No, not now. I have some news, some sad news.”

  “What happened?”

  “Edie, it’s about Andi…”

  ***

  I staggered to my plane, walked down the gangway, found my window seat and promptly fell asleep for an hour. I awoke as the plane crossed the Mississippi. I thought about what I’d do next. First, I’d meet with the Philadelphia Police detective and tell him what little I knew. I’d also comfort Cyndie. After that, I didn’t really know what I’d do. It didn’t seem like I had many clues to go on; just a bunch of scattered activities and people and events in the ending days of Andi Grayson’s life.

  ***

  I pulled out Andi’s black journal to review again the record of the last year of her life. One story caught my attention…

  It's October 2003. I have my dining room curtains wide open and I'm bathing in the warm sun. I'm looking out my window onto the tops of the trees in Rittenhouse Square. What a spectacular display! The leaves are in full fall color and the trees look to me like they are happy with this new season's colors. Of course, the trees are fooling themselves. Their new fashion will go out of style by winter. They will be stripped of their crimson, gold and ginger-colored dresses and lingerie, and will be left bare, revealing their rough and aging skin.

  I feel like these trees. I'm wearing only my new lingerie. It's bold red with gold trim, and reveals some of my secrets, my expensive body enhancements. These intimate coverings wonderfully lift my top and reveal my entire bottom. If only he could see me today. Like the leaves in Rittenhouse Square my attempts at youth will soon fall away. I know my own summer is ending and I'm changing seasons. I'm loosing my looks. The teenaged, brunette girl who ran away from south Jersey twenty years ago, who became a blonde, gorgeous supermodel, is changing into an old greying middle-aged woman with a face and chest that are falling, and a belly, behind and thighs that are softening.

  I'm sitting in my husband's penthouse apartment reading and drawing for my interior decorating class. Along with my writing, drawing is my therapy, my escape from the present and my hope for the future. The Philadelphia Art Institute offers a certificate program and I'm taking the fifth of six courses. Slowly, but surely, over the past three years I am progressing through the program. I take one class a semester and am working hard.

  As a high school dropout this is a new experience, my first time in a classroom in over 18 years. One day, three years ago, I have a revelation about my life. My modeling career is ending, I have no other skills, I have a job only because my husband owns the modeling agency, and my marriage is dissolving.

  I need a plan. It is hard to do, but, I break through my submissive te
ndencies and take action. I feel terrific; it energizes me like no other time in my life.

  My plans are to divorce my cheating husband, marry my special man, have two children, live in the suburbs and use my divorce settlement money to start my own business, an interior decorating business. But, first, I needed to get my GED.

  I didn't realize how ignorant and undereducated I was until I flunked my first attempt at the exams. I was so embarrassed. I kept it a secret. But, I was also determined to pass. I took a study course and worked very hard. The math was a killer. It killed me to get above the eighth grade level. The gap in my understanding was huge. I was okay at science and social studies. My verbal skills were better. I read at a ninth grade level, but I did understand grammar and I spelled well.

  My writing skills were rough and my instructor suggested that I write a journal. I didn't know what to write about so she suggested that I write about my day to day life. That was not very exciting, so she asked about my life experiences and I told her about my modeling career. That was the inspiration. Since modeling had so dominated my life, I decided to write my memoirs. No, that's not exactly correct. These are too personal, the thoughts are too private, to ever be published. They are really my secret diaries. It went slowly at first, but I loved writing. It brought back so many memories; most I loved. It also helped me understand myself more and what I wanted in life.

  Somehow, I passed the GED exams the second time. I was so happy. It gave me a warm feeling and I was motivated to go on.

  If the GED was hard, getting accepted in the interior design program was impossible. I pulled a major string to get in. My husband, Robert, is a major contributor to the college, and his call to the college president made the difference.

  However, I wanted to pass these courses myself. This is my future, not Robert's or anyone else's. I worked by myself, without any special help. I was very happy and surprised to find I had some drawing talent and a good sense of space and perspective. My teachers gave me compliments and they made me feel happier than anything I had ever done. I was even prouder of my drawings than my magazine cover photos.

  My business plan seems possible; more so every day. My personal plans still seem improbable; I won't write the other I-word.

  My daydream is broken by my ringing phone. My date for this evening wants to know when I will arrive at her apartment. Her dominate personality raises my spirits. Yes, I tell her, I'm coming soon and we will have fun and will go out to dinner. Cyndie gives me my first order; I promise to make our dinner reservation.

  I'm getting comfort from Cyndie, but I want to be with a man, a man who will hold me, love me, and make my toes and many other parts of my body tingle. I dream of my special man. I want him. I'm ready for him. I know it's only a matter of time.

  Cyndie is my best and only true friend. She is so kind to me. She treats me nicely. Cyndie knows what I want. And, she's helping.

  Cyndie also knows I'm beyond being patient; I'm downright desperate. I'm doing the best I can to hold on to my looks. Will my special man and I have better timing? Will he become free to be with me? How do we turn back time eleven years, to when we first met? I pray for the miracle every night.

  In the meantime, I'm still fighting. I spend all my money and a nice chunk of my husband's fortune too, to look pretty and young, even if it's all temporary. But, none of my efforts are enough. They can't hide the fact that I'm pushing 40. Everyday I know more and more people look through my fashion and beauty camouflage and see the old maid underneath. I have less than four years until I reach that age. I dread it. I'm determined to have a child before then, even if it means that I do it alone. I certainly won't have a child with my current husband.

  Once, my natural looks let me whip through a shower and get out the door with only five minutes in front of my mirror. Now, an hour of hard work isn't enough.

  Cyndie tells me on the phone that she will let me indulge my fantasies this night. This is what I do for fun, because my convenient marriage has fallen apart and my husband is far away, “working” on a tropical isle, and surely bedding some young beauty.

  What heterosexual man, let alone my hero, will I attract tonight?

  Yes, I am very blue this night. I don’t see how Cyndie's compliments and touches will fully bring me out of my funk. My life is not going the way I want.

  Later this Saturday night we begin our domination and submission game. As always, Cyndie is my master and I am her slave.

  Before dinner we spend time in Mistress Myst's apartment. She makes me dress truly provocative. I can't have the clothes I wore. Instead, she makes me tug on a pink g-string. It's the tiniest panty I've ever seen and is too small. Next, I pull on thigh high white stockings and step into pink spiked heels. Mistress Myst excites me when she tightens small clamps on my nipples. I squeeze into to a white t-shirt dress. It's a tiny, sexy dress made of thin jersey material and it really hugs every one of my body's curves.

  I am a very good slave. It feels safe. It feels good. It feels too good.

  Mistress Myst and I eat dinner at the Bleu restaurant on Rittenhouse Square. I'm not the best partner this night. Thank goodness I don't need to make witty conversation. Small talk on my part is against the rules. I busy myself with buttering Mistress Myst's bread and pouring her wine and wiping up messes. I do keep things neat. My mind wanders in my blues and several times Mistress Myst needs to get my attention.

  And, then, suddenly, my impossible dream is right in front of me.

  Mistress Myst spots Master Stephen Garrett first and points him out to me. Master Garrett sits at a table with a gorgeous woman. Mistress Myst and I are together in a booth 25 feet away from them.

  Mistress Myst asks me, “Andrea, do you know who is eating dinner with Master Garrett?”

  I shake my head “no.”

  Mistress Myst tells me, “It is Dee Dee Cho, his girlfriend.”

  Boy, do I get jealous. Miss Cho is a petite beauty. She has gorgeous black hair that goes down to the middle of her back. She's wearing a deep burgundy-colored dress with a plunging neckline revealing her ample chest. The short dress reveals her bare legs up to her thigh and she's wearing cute, sparkly, ruby-colored mules with silver stiletto heels.

  Mistress Myst says, “But, stop worrying, Andrea. I've heard they're about to break up.”

  My heart beats faster and I feel my excitement climbing. I try to calm myself. I don't want to be too obvious. But, I need to know more. I gain permission to speak and calmly ask, “Are you sure, Mistress?”

  “Yes, he told me,” she answers.

  Mistress Myst offers to introduce me to Master Garrett and Miss Cho.

  I worry that I look too risqué. I'm not sure what Master Garrett will think of me.

  Mistress Myst thinks I should stand up right then. But, I hesitate and start to chicken out. I don't want to meet Miss Cho. I say, “Mistress Myst, may we wait and see if Miss Cho goes to the bathroom?”

  Mistress Myst frowns and let's the moment pass without a word.

  We finish dinner and I pay our bill while Mistress Myst nurses her coffee. We wait for an opportunity. I get lucky. Not five minutes later, Miss Cho gets up and goes to the ladies room. Slowly, I stand up and start walking. Mistress Myst follows me. In a stage voice she tells me to pretend we first saw Master Garrett on our way out of the restaurant. I wet my lips, fluff my hair, hold my tummy firm and pull my shoulders back. I strut slowly and turn on all my charms.

  Half-way there, Master Garrett notices me, make eye contact and smiles his incredibly warm smile. My walk slows and takes an eternity, yet, we finally make it to his table.

  Mistress Myst speaks. “Hello Stevie, are you alone?”

  He breaks his stare from my body and looks at Mistress Myst. “Oh, no, hello Cyndie, I'm with someone.”

  Master Garrett blushes. Then, he makes eye contact with me again. “Hello Andi, God, it's so good to see you again. You look incredible.”

  I can't speak. Thank God I think of somethi
ng and lean over and kiss him right on the lips. That kiss is electric.

  I whisper, quietly, in his ear, “I love you!”

  Master Garrett looks at me strangely, but happily, wondering what is going on.

  I have made a big impression as Master Garrett also says, “Andi, you look fantastic.”

  He stares at my chest most of the time he talks to Mistress Myst. He sees the strange metal on my nipples and isn't sure what they are. He asks and Mistress Myst answers that we are playing a girl's game; Master Garrett smiles.

  We say our goodbyes and I give Master Garrett a second, longer kiss. He places his right hand on my left hip to prolong the moment. My bare skin tingles underneath. Our tongues touch.

  I whisper, “Ignore what you see tonight, I want you!”

  As I walk away I begin to cry uncontrollably. I know Master Garrett is looking at my legs and my thigh-high stockings with the pink seams up the back. Plus, I hope he notices that my little dress totally displays my behind and my cheeks move with each of my strides.

  Halfway to the door, I turn and see him staring at me. We make eye contact. I wink at him and he winks back.

  Master Garrett and I continue to look at each other and he sees the tears streaming down my face. He stands up. He's coming to rescue me.

  But, Miss Cho comes out of the bathroom. She's only five feet in front of me. She doesn't see me, but blocks Master Garrett's view of me. When I see Master Garrett again, I see he has stopped walking. He helps her get seated. He takes one last quick glimpse at me, winks again, then, turns back to Miss Cho.

  Outside, my tears won't stop. I am so sad that I only had two minutes with Master Garrett. I didn't dare stay at his table any longer because I didn't want Miss Cho to see me.

  My whole body aches for more of Master Garrett. My left hip is warm still, from his touch. I don't feel the cold. I don't feel the pain. I don't see people's stares. I don't hear anything.