Through the first and second shampoos and the subsequent mineral bath for my hair, I kept telling myself I did this for Amy.
For my sweet sister Amy.
I had never been professionally, or otherwise, slapped, pampered, massaged, plucked or tucked before. I liked it. I was made up like a starlet. I had to admit – I looked hot. At least, I thought so. With a little luck, I could pull off this seduction.
Not once did any of my handlers issue a word of reprimand for my lack of care to my nails, skin and hair. It was as though I challenged their abilities, and they appreciated the opportunity to test their skills. The attention made me feel special, like I was worth their hard work.
The bill bulged my eyes, but only briefly, until I remembered the problems I’d presented them with and the level of their professionalism. No doubt I’d go down in the history of the First Lady as its most challenging client.
I left the spa at six-ten, my shopping bag filled with items that Vanessa, Carlos, Penelope, Candace and Tiffany guaranteed would maintain my hair, skin and nails in the manner which our Creator had intended. My reflection in store windows promoted the high level of expertise of First Lady, but the person staring back wasn’t me. I could never be that woman with the smoky eyes and trendy inverted bob. In my heart and soul, I was unmaterialistic and laid-back and if it weren’t for Amy’s cause, I would never pretend to be anything else. This was only temporary. The red highlights would wear out. The make-up and mascara would wash off and the sleek straight do would grow long. Once Carlisle paid for his callous disposal of my sister, I’d be back to my old ways faster than I could turn around counter-clockwise.
In the few minutes between my pedicure and manicure, I’d called the prepaid cell. Linda, Amy’s new bedside sitter, had answered on the first ring, which I took as a sign of her efficiency. I was tempted to call again to check on her and my sister’s condition. If I did, Linda might resent the intrusion and distrust. I called Carlisle Antiques instead and learned the shop was open until eight. Again, everything seemed to fall into place. With a nod to kismet, I tucked my cell back in the pocket of my jeans and continued on my way down the sidewalk.
Several minutes later, I let myself into Amy’s apartment with the key under the pot of marigolds gracing a corner of the larger than normal stoop. I remembered reading that marigolds kept away flies and mosquitoes. Amy probably read the same article. She loved the sun, but hated the insects that flocked to her sweet blood.
I had no idea how to dress for a seduction, but figured something in Amy’s wardrobe would suit my purpose.
From the bedroom doorway, my gaze lingered on the double clothes closet before I strode to the five-drawer armoire. Knowing the middle drawer – the one easily accessed and opened most – would hold Amy’s close-to-the-skin undies, I checked what she kept in the other drawers. She reserved the top one for slips, chemises and silk stockings. Nothing to blush about there. I didn’t know what I expected to find. Amy was feminine, not kinky. The second from the top stored her frilly, girly stuff. I turned my nose up at them until I remembered the cause and reminded myself to do whatever it took to give Carlisle what he’d given Amy.
I yanked open the bottom drawer and got the surprise of my life.
Oh Amy, what were you up to, sweetie?
I fell to my knees and took the whip, handcuffs, spiked dog collar and mask in my hand. Amy, Amy, Amy. I threw those items aside and picked up the black leather bustier peeking out from the back of the drawer, still with the price tag attached.
At least, I didn’t need to worry about Carlisle recognizing Amy’s clothing on me. I wasn’t a gambler, but I’d take a bet I’d find newly purchased leather pants hanging in her closet.
In three long strides, I peered at the matching pants and, like the bustier, the price tag was still attached.
Without foresight, Amy had created my seduction ensemble.