Chapter 5
"He's taking me to Spirano's."
Melanie stopped pacing and turned to face her friend. She had stopped off on her way from work to brain storm. It was Friday evening and miraculously the salon was empty. Carrie worked mostly by appointments and the next person was not due for another hour.
It was five thirty and she had asked her grams to keep David again so she could go out tomorrow night with Rodney. This was becoming a habit, one she was not sure she could continue.
She had her cleaning job tomorrow and would be knocking it out early enough to rest and do something with her hair. All week, she had been trying to come up with reasons why she should let this go. She was not accustomed to intrigue, and this was turning out to be one.
"We could go vintage again or go with my original idea and raid that diva's closet. You're planning to be picked up from there, so why not wear something of hers? The woman's gone for a whole month. Take advantage."
"That's not me."
Spinning, she went back to the window to stare at the evening traffic.
The days were getting shorter and the streetlights were already on.
Her car had coughed several times reminding her that she was going to have to take it back to the mechanic before it died on her.
She was desperate and desperation always led people to do crazy things.
"I like him."
"I like my guy too. He's taking me sailing tomorrow night. I might just let him have sex with me. Seal the deal."
Melanie turned to look at her friend who shrugged.
"I'm not into morals the way you are honey. I'm thirty, single and tired of being thirty, single and trying to make ends meet. This shop is not doing enough to pay the bills, and I'll be damned if I take on a second job."
"I don't have a child to think of, not one. My eggs are drying up, and my life is a train wreck. I'm going to take whatever I can get from my guy and if it goes somewhere, then so be it."
"If not, I intend to walk away with enough to have me set for several years at least. I'm not going to refuse any gift. Expensive things can be pawned."
"That's horrible. This is not us. We're not gold diggers."
"I prefer to think of it as seeing an opportunity and making use of it."
Carrie's eyes blazed. Easing out of her chair, a tall, willowy woman with spiked natural hair and a narrow face, she was attractive enough to draw a second look but paled in comparison to her best friend. Walking over to the shampoo basin, she started scrubbing.
She rented out a few work stations, but today the other two people had left early. Peeling off the protective gloves, she faced her friend and stared critically.
"Your car is about to die. You hate your job and that bitch Sylvia Anders treats you like dirt.
Use her damn clothes and her place to get what you want.
Think about David. He deserves better than you shopping at the thrift store for his wardrobe.
You said you like the guy, have fun while you're at it. "
"And if it goes further?" Melanie spread her hands. "What do I do then?"
"Honey, you're obsessing over nothing. Go to dinner and have a blast, period. It's about time we did."
Slumping down on the chair behind her, she propped her elbows on her knees and sighed.
"Today was like a day in hell." She admitted. "Jessica was on a tear about some shipment not coming in and that asshole Jerry is trying to jam me up. All because I refuse to sleep with him."
Slamming the basin she had been scrubbing down on the counter, Carrie marched over to sit on the shampoo chair, eyes blazing.
"Why the hell haven't you reported that prick?"
"Because he's Jessica's family. And you know what that means."
"Why don't you let me at him? All I need to do is bruise those small balls of his and render him impotent to every other woman including that wife of his."
Melanie laughed and felt her mood getting lighter.
"The wife is nice, so unlike Jessica." Blowing out a breath, she sat back and stretched her legs out. "I really like him, Car."
"I sincerely hope we're not talking about Jerry, the prick."
"What? No. I like Rodney." She planted a fist between her breasts. "He makes me feel things I never dreamed of feeling."
"Then go for it." Reaching out, her friend rubbed her left knee. "Who knows, this might be your own Cinderella story. Kinda like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman."
"With one exception, I'm not a prostitute." Melanie reminded her dryly.
Carrie threw back her head and let loose one of her belly laughs.
"Honey, underneath, we all are. Borrow something from that diva's wardrobe and I'll swing by with my bag of tricks and come and work on your face and hair."
She lifted her friend's hand and studied the long, elegant fingers and unadorned nails.
"Just tell me what you decide on the outfit, and I'll work my magic here also."
"I still feel weird going through her closet and borrowing her stuff."
"Don't tell me you've stayed away and resisted the urge to try on some of those fabulous clothes." Her friend's guilty expression had her nodding. "I thought so."
"She has such nice things. I could not resist."
"Nothing is wrong with a little envy now and then."
"That's not what the Bible says."
"God is an understanding one. And the good book also says that people are blessed to be a blessing. Raid that closet and be blessed."
*****
She stood in front of the full-length Cheval mirror and stared at the transformation. Carrie had come and gone and after spending an hour fussing with hair, makeup and nails, the result was absolutely stunning. The girl knew her stuff.
She had decided to go with something retro, so Melanie's thick natural hair was scrupulously shampooed, deep conditioned and gelled and swept back into an intricate chignon at the nape of her neck. Gold hoops swung at her lobes.
The dress she had decided on and borrowed from the vast mountain of clothing from Sylvia's closet was an emerald green cashmere, so light, it felt as if she wasn't wearing anything.
It clung to her curves and stopped just above her knees. The boots, the softest leather she had ever felt, were tan and came to her knees. Fortunately, she and Sylvia wore the same size in clothing as well as footwear.
Whenever she started to feel bad about wearing the woman's stuff, she recalled that Sylvia had preferred to give her stuff to an upscale thrift store that sold celebrity things at a cost, than give it to the woman who cleaned her house.
Her justification was that Melanie had nowhere to wear them to.
"Your local bar and little diners wouldn't do these things justice." She had told Melanie loftily. "And besides, you're used to department stores. You should stick to that."
She actually relished wearing it and had stopped feeling guilty. People like Sylvia Anders who looked down on other people because they happened to be in a better position did not deserve an ounce of respect. But still...
Shaking her head, she turned to the dresser that reminded her of a shelf in Romano's (not that she had ever been!), she chose a small bottle of perfume that Sylvia had boasted was from an exclusive perfumery in Paris.
"A delightful Parisian bought it for me. A besotted one, I might add."
Dabbing a little to her pressure points, she stepped back and eyed herself critically. She looked like a whole different person. Which she supposed, playing this role, she was.
Taking a deep breath, she went to get the jacket matching the boots and slipped it on just as the ringer sounded.
He was right on time.
Trailing a hand down the glossy banister, one she had polished herself, she swept through the narrow hallway to the front door. Taking another deep breath, she disengaged the locks, opened the door, and lost her breath.
He was wearing black. Sweater, dress pants and jacket. His hair was brushed back from his face and glowed with health. His amber eyes burned as they swept over her from head to toe and then back again where they lingered on her parted lips.
She had gone for a gold colored lip gloss which, from the look he was giving her, was a very good choice.
"You look delicious." He said hoarsely. Taking her hand, he drew her out and held on. "We should stay in."
"No."
He shook his head in bemusement.
"No." He agreed. "You're stunning. Makes me wonder where the hell you've been all my life."
"Hiding."
She was trembling a little and badly wanted him to kiss her. Angling away from the cameras, she locked the doors and turned back to him.
"Hi."
"Hi." He cupped her face and turned it towards his. "I have to do this."
The kiss was slow and erotic and had her toes curling. She moved in, hands curled on his chest and was gratified to feel the thumping of his heart.
He tasted her, yearned and drank deeper. He wanted to drown in her, go so deep that he would have difficulty getting back up. She was delicious and heady, more than the fat grapes he had growing on his vineyard in Tuscany.
She tasted like sin, like seduction and he wanted so much more. And had to force himself to stop. But not entirely. Sliding his lips from hers, he trailed it along her bare neck and then her throat.
Taking a deep breath, he stepped back, his hands unsteady.
"You're addictive." He cupped her cheek, eyes golden as he drank her in. "Why don't we go before I change my mind?" He looked up and noticed the building for the first time. "It's one of ours."
"What?" She wasn't sure if she was floating or still on the ground. Her system was crashing and her heart racing. She felt clammy with heat and desire.
"This place is one of ours."
"Oh." Shaking her head, she looked around.
"How long have you lived here?"
"A while. The neighborhood is nice."
"And I hear pricey." He shot her a crooked smile. Taking her hand, he guided her down the steps. "Now that you're getting involved with the owner, you could get a discount on the lease."