by Ashlee Price
I pulled the long zipper and parted the fold slowly. Mrs. Brand was impatient, though, and pushed me aside, whipping off the bag and holding the dress up for me to see. It was stunning, and she could not have chosen a color any more appropriate for me. It was the color of a late summer sky when the clouds barely filtered the sun, leaving a light, misty blue. The dress was unadorned; a simple, one-shouldered sheath that hugged my figure. The neckline was open all the way to my ribcage, allowing my breasts to hug one another like the petals of a flower just before it bloomed. Its open neckline allowed it to be simply slipped over my head without any buttons or zippers to clutter the smooth fabric. I gasped as I took it from her, turning it around. “Mrs. Brand, I’ve never seen a more perfect dress. How can I ever thank you?”
“You could try opening that suitcase. There are a few more goodies in there to go with it,” she instructed me.
I re-hung the dress and stooped to open the suitcase. Inside, I found a pair of shoes that fit perfectly and matched the fabric of the dress. There was a square velvet box hiding behind the shoes. I pulled it out and slowly opened the lid. Inside lay a pendant: an emerald-cut, large aquamarine on a silver chain. The stone reflected the blue of the dress, and its facets reflected the lights from the room. I was speechless. Mrs. Brand nodded, understanding my excitement.
“Well, put it on,” she encouraged me. I went into the small apartment area where I could lay the things out on the bed. She had been thoughtful enough to bring satin underthings and hosiery. The dress’s skirt was slit nearly up to my hip. I let it slide down over my body and adjusted the neckline. It fit me like another layer of skin. Mrs. Brand came up behind me and fastened the aquamarine necklace. As she watched, I turned and looked into the full-length mirror. We gasped in unison.
I had French braided my long hair and wound it above my head into a sort of coronet. From her suitcase she produced a small tiara and I placed it within the braided hair. I’d kept my makeup minimal, not knowing what to anticipate. As it turned out, I looked quite virginal, and I believe that was exactly the impression that Mrs. Brand was after. She looked at her watch. “We’ve got to get going,” she told me, handing me a satin wrap to put about my shoulders. A small clutch completed the outfit. Before we left, she turned me around to face her.
“I need you to listen to me a moment,” she said. “There’s a car waiting outside with the driver. The party begins at eight this evening and is supposed to be over at midnight. At midnight, the driver will be at the party entrance. If you are not there, he will leave. I will take that as a sign that you decided to go home with Mr. Royal. You are not, under any circumstances, to flirt or leave with anyone else, most particularly a man. Do you understand?”
“Of course, that’s no problem. I had no intentions of flirting with anyone, if that’s what you mean. I can’t tell you how grateful I am for your sponsorship. There was no way I could have done this on my own.”
“There’s one more thing, Sindy.” From behind her back she brought a blue lace mask. “I want you to put this on and not remove it under any circumstances until you have left the party.”
I was puzzled, but I nodded and accepted her terms. She gave me a quick kiss on one cheek and opened the door. There waited a white limousine, the driver standing next to the opened back door, waiting to hand me in. I gave Mrs. Brand a quick little wave and got into the limo. “Have fun!” she called out to me as we pulled down the alley and out into the traffic.
Chapter 8
Lance
Looking up to the clock, I saw that it was almost eight. On a thousand other nights, it would not have made any difference to me what time it was. On this night, however, eight o’clock was the beginning of four hours of what I assumed would be absolute torture. I was waiting in a small room to the side of the ballroom. I could hear the orchestra tuning up and there was a general, high-pitched buzz which I assumed came from the ladies waiting outside the entrance. I walked to the window and pushed aside the curtains to look down to the street below.
The street was clogged with everything from motorcycles to soccer-mom vans to limousines. Girl after girl after girl emerged, pausing to adjust her clothing after she stepped onto the curb. One would think it was a Hollywood premiere. I didn’t flatter myself—I knew what they were really after.
I went to the small bar in the corner of the room and poured myself two fingers of Scotch. I dropped in a couple of ice cubes but didn’t wait for them to cool the liquid. I poured it down my throat, picked up the bottle to pour more and thought better of it. The last thing I needed was to get drunk and end up with one of those gals. The stakes were too high to risk a drunken choice.
There was a tap on the door and I heard my mother’s voice calling my name. “Come on in, Mom.”
She shyly pushed the door open and looked around, her eyes searching the room for me. She found me standing with the bottle of Scotch in my hand. Pursing her lips, she said, “Oh, Lance, do you think that’s such a good idea?”
“No, Mom. I’ve only had one small drink. I agree; there’s too much at stake.”
This seemed to satisfy her, and she looked me over head to toe. “You look charming, quite debonair,” she reassured me.
I wasn’t concerned about my appearance. I just wanted to get this over with so I could get back to my life and find Sindy. I hadn’t told anyone about her. The last thing I needed was for someone to chase her down and bring her to the party.
I couldn’t imagine what I was thinking when I agreed to set this entire affair in action. I’d always been so impatient. It was my shortcoming. If I’d waited just a little longer, I would have met her and I could have saved myself all this trouble. I set down the glass and pushed the contemplating part of my mind deeper into my head. I could get through the next four hours. Hell, anyone could get through the next four hours.
Mom walked up to the mirror next to the door. A few last-minute primps and a touch-up of her lipstick seemed in order. “It’s time,” she told me in a small voice. I think she found this a very emotional moment, almost a second birth.
“May I?” I asked as I offered my arm to escort her into the ballroom. She gave me a quick hug and took my arm.
They had set up a receiving line where I was to stand and greet each guest, one at a time. The group had worked it out that if I met a young lady in whom I was interested, I was to slide my left hand into my pants pocket as I shook her hand. This was a signal for them to make sure she became my dance partner at some point during the night. I disliked the idea. It felt like we were culling calves out of a herd to be branded. It didn’t matter, though; I was taking none of this seriously.
Unless you’ve been swallowed up by a mass migration of females, you can’t imagine the atmosphere in the room that night. The line was like so many Christmas lights, each a different color and each connected to the next. I wanted to pull the plug and shut the door. Pinks, greens, purples, blacks, bright yellows; it was amazing what women thought suited them best. I tried to imagine each one naked, but the sad fact was that most were better imagined dressed. By the twelfth one, I quit trying to think of something original and witty to say. I simply shook their hands and said, “Hello.” My left hand only went into the pocket three times in the entire first hour. There was one memorably pitiful creature who even brought her dog. It kept nipping at her neck as she slapped it away. I motioned to one of my staff to remove the poor animal before she gave it a concussion.
The outer doors were closed and the remaining dozen or so girls were waiting patiently. The music had already begun.
She was fourth in line. She might as well have been the only one in line. My cock saw her before my eyes did. An ethereal creature, she was dressed in the color of the sky and seemed to float in just as lightly. Her attire was understated, her figure magnificent, and curiously, she was wearing a mask. She staggered a bit when she looked at me, and I almost imagined a look of recognition in her blue eyes. My hand went into my left pocket, and
stayed there, discreetly fondling my cock. I no longer gave a shit about the others. This was the one I wanted.
I wouldn’t let go of her hand after the shake, but dragged her out onto the dance floor and pulled her closely against me. She smiled sweetly, and then with a bit of alarm as my hard cock pressed against her flat tummy. I couldn’t control it. I didn’t want to.
I don’t think I ever stopped dancing. My staff was furiously trying to attract my attention for the next girl, but I ignored them.
“Do you want to talk now?” I asked the woman in blue.
She shook her head silently. It was the best answer I could have heard. I signaled the orchestra to play only slow dances, and I never let the woman in blue go. Eventually, the others gave up and herded themselves to the champagne punch bowl. Not long after that, they kicked off their heels and began dancing with one another, just to keep from standing in one spot all evening.
I felt the body in my arms, and it molded against mine in all the right places. Her breasts invited my mouth, and were it not for the audience, I would have dropped to the ballroom floor and taken her right there. Images of she and I skiing, making Thanksgiving dinner, shopping, playing chess and making babies rolled through my head like a movie.
I looked around for my mother and finally found her standing on the sideline. She was nodding and smiling. She approved. Suddenly, I saw her face crumble and watched her turn around, her hands rising as if to fend something off. She was clearly upset, and I dropped the woman in blue from my arms and went toward Mom. I thought perhaps she was ill, but the look on her face was more serious, and then the sounds of screams began to filter through the bubble I’d been in for the last hour or more.
“Fire! Fire!” came the shouts, and the screams carried the word faster than the flames themselves. The emergency exit signs lit, and a loud buzzer shocked more people into finding the nearest exit. Thank God we were only a little more than ten feet above the ground – the length of the entry flight of stairs. Police and men in firefighting garb appeared intermittently in the crowd, urging everyone to calm down and directing them to the nearest exit. One firefighter had his arm over Mom’s shoulders, recognizing that she might get trampled among the younger women.
I turned back to find the woman in blue, but she had disappeared. Everything was havoc. I was seized from behind by one of my personal security detail and likewise ushered out a nearby exit and into a waiting limo. I ordered the driver to stay in place while I searched for the woman in blue, but the police ordered us to move on, and soon my woman in blue, the party scene and the entire building were a plume of black smoke out the rearview window.
Chapter 9
Sindy
When he let go of me, I stumbled into the rush of women about me. Like bees fleeing from a hive under attack, we all gravitated toward the deep windows. Thankfully, they opened. While others fluttered and cried about me, I slid off my shoes, jumped out, and rolled onto the ground. I searched the curb for my limo, but since it was barely after eleven, he was nowhere to be seen among the fire trucks and emergency vehicles.
I headed away from the party in the direction of the salon. It wasn’t a long walk, and I needed the clear air to think. I didn’t think he’d recognized me, but I had certainly recognized him. How could I not have?
All the things I’d read in romance books came back to me then. I understood what it meant when your heart pounded harder and you felt as though you could barely breathe. I had felt his muscled chest against my breasts, and I was fairly sure that wasn’t a pocket knife I’d felt pressing into my belly. His arms were strong and had guided me around the floor effortlessly. Even though the scent of smoke was strong on my dress, I could still smell his aftershave. I had inhaled it deeply as my nose rose to nuzzle the soft skin beneath his ear. We hadn’t spoken; there really was no reason for it. I knew I had made a good impression on him. He hadn’t danced with anyone else but me.
I hoped no one had been hurt in the fire, not even my stepsisters. I turned down Washington, a couple of blocks from the salon. As I came nearer, I saw that the lights were on inside. Alarmed, I tried to remember whether I had turned them off, and I knew distinctly that I had. What had happened while I was gone?
The answer came very soon thereafter. I fished my keys out of my small handbag and unlocked the front door. There stood my stepmother, her hair standing out wildly and her face flushed with anger.
“Where have you been? What the hell is that you’re wearing? I’ve been calling for hours and you haven’t answered. Now I find out that there was a fire at the birthday party and your sisters are at home. Would you like to give me some explanation, young lady?”
“Not really.”
She cocked her head as if she hadn’t heard me correctly. She wasn’t accustomed to my standing up to her. “What’s that?”
“I said I really don’t want to tell you where I’ve been.”
She stomped her foot. “Taking one look at you, I’ve got a pretty idea of where you tried to go. Since you didn’t have an invitation, I know they didn’t let you in. What did you do? Run off with the nearest guy who would have you? You filthy slut! I knew such behavior was inside you. It had to be. Your mother was a slut, too!
I slapped her. Not once, but three times before she was able to catch my hand. I growled at her, “You will never mention my mother to anyone again. She was a hundred times the woman you could ever hope to be. You are a vicious bitch, and I’ve had all I’m going to take of you.”
“Is that so? When did you get that little potty mouth?”
“I picked up a few words around the house, you might say. I’m done being your slave, Clarabella. I don’t know what my poor, late father saw in you, but my guess is you waved your fat purse beneath his nose, as well as the lease to this building, and he had little choice in order to protect me.”
“The kitten has claws, does she?” By this time her face was a purplish red and spittle flecked her chin.
There was no reason for me to stick around, or even try to go back to the house. I knew they would kick me out, so I would save them the trouble. I pushed Clarabella to one side, heading for the apartment at the back where I had left my day clothes. I carefully hung up the gown, put the aquamarine and shoes into the suitcase, and glared at her as I left via the front door. I’d never sneak out the back door from her again.
I stood on the sidewalk in the night air and fought to regain my normally calm disposition. I’d never spoken to anyone like that before, but then no one had ever given me reason to. Looking down the street, I spotted the blinking neon sign outside the One More Cup all-night coffee shop and headed in that direction. It felt more familiar than anything I could think of.
I pushed open the door and the bell overhead was triggered and tinkled. I took my favorite booth and sat down to think. The owner, a nice old man I called Uncle Tommy, brought a cup of coffee and sat down opposite me. The shop was otherwise deserted.
“Ya look a lil’ done in. Did ya hear about the big tadoo over at the Royal birthday party?”
I nodded. “Sure did, Uncle Tommy. I was in the middle of it.”
“No kiddin’?”
“No kiddin’. Believe it or not, the guest of honor danced with me all night. It was magical, Uncle Tommy. But… then… that sort of thing wasn’t in the cards for me. The fire started and it was over.”
“I’m sorry, darlin’,” he muttered, reaching over to pat the back of my hand. I realized how odd I must look with my updo and makeup.
“Mind if I use your washroom?”
“Sure thing. You go on ahead.”
“Watch my stuff, will ya?” I asked, and he nodded.
I locked myself into his tiny bathroom and had a good cry. The little makeup I was wearing streamed down my face. Eventually, my shoulders stopped shaking. I washed my face, dried it with paper towels, and then pulled out the pins that held my hair. It was a little stiff on the top where I’d sprayed it, so I ran my fingers through it
. I’d put the tiara in the suitcase. I would have to figure out a way to return it to Mrs. Brand. First, I needed to find somewhere to sleep that night.
I pushed on the lock and opened the door, heading down the aisle to my booth, but someone was blocking it. I looked up, my mouth open to ask him to let me get by, but then I saw who it was.
It was Lance Royal, and he was staring right at me.
“Sindy?” he said, more than asked, but the tone was perfect regardless.
I had to play it stupid. I couldn’t let him know. “Oh, yeah, you’re the guy I gave directions to the other day, aren’t you?”
He nodded. He gestured to the booth where I’d been sitting. “May I join you?”
I looked around for Uncle Tommy, but he was busily wiping the counter and trying to look like he was minding his own business.
I nodded. “Sure.”
While I sat, Lance asked Uncle Tommy for a cup of brew and came to sit opposite me. He stirred one packet of sugar into his cup, and I found myself memorizing the back of his hand. I knew what it felt like at the small of my back, but this was the first time I’d really seen it.
“We’ve met before,” he said simply, studying my face.
I looked down into my lap, but then the tears started and I was lost. I nodded and then opened my purse and pulled out the blue mask, sliding it across the table in his direction.
“I knew it!” he exclaimed. I nodded again and pulled a tissue out of my purse. Lance reached over the table and grabbed my hand. “You’re coming with me!”
Startled, I looked up at Uncle Tommy, who simply nodded with a smile and waved goodbye.
Chapter 10
Lance
I knew if there was anywhere to begin looking, the coffee shop was it. It was our secret. I knew all about her; about her mother dying when she was young and her father marrying to give his daughter a new mother. He’d died since and she’d been left to their mercy, or so they thought. The house, however, had been in her father’s name and had passed to her at his death. In truth, the stepmother and stepsisters were trespassers. True, they owned the salon, but they lived rent-free and used Sindy as a slave. She was so much better than that.