Chapter 14
GINA
At twelve noon on Monday, I’m just about to leave for my appointment with Antoine when Angie texts me: Gina, I’m downstairs. You’re almost late for your shopping trip.
I type a quick response. How did you know about that?!
Angie: Come down already.
I take a deep breath and reply. Dante won’t like this. He disliked the dress you chose at that Soho salon. He hired Antoine because he wanted me to have “a more proper image.”
Angie: No worries, I won’t say a word.
I meet Angie in the lobby, and we flag down a cab because Thomas is “on a job,” according to Dante.
Twenty minutes later, we arrive in front of Saks Fifth Avenue. This close to Christmas, the street’s a riot of noise and color.
Two men in Santa suits walk arm in arm. On my right, a Salvation Army worker in another Santa suit sings a rap version of “Frosty the Snowman” while he rings his bell.
Angie makes quick work of pulling me through the crowd of people lined three deep in front of the store’s display windows.
“What are they trying to see?” I ask, craning my neck at the crowd.
Angie rolls her eyes. “The Christmas display. It’s pretty elaborate. Big draw to the city.”
I’m grateful when Angie pushes open the enormous doors and we enter the store. “Dante said to meet him on the seventh floor...”
“I know exactly where to go,” she says, leading me to the elevator. “You’re so lucky to have Antoine,” she adds, giving me his resume as we ascend.
“How do you know so much about him?”
She shrugs. “He dresses all the ladies in the Ricci family. The ones married to the big guys, at least. My aunties usually take me on their rendezvous with them.”
“Aunties? Siblings of your parents?”
“Not that close. More like distant relatives.”
“If you have no real connection to them, why bother accompanying them? Sounds boring to me.”
“Oh, it is. But they like having me around. I’m family, even if it’s distant family. And they need someone to listen to them complain about their husbands.”
The door opens before I can ask any more. I immediately spot a tall, very handsome man in a Fedora standing near a sign that says Private Services. Angie rushes over to him.
“Angie, I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Couldn’t resist another chance to see you in action. Antoine LaRue, I’d like you to meet my new cousin, Mrs. Ricci. Cousin Gina, this is Antoine.”
“So nice to meet you, Mr. LaRue,” I say.
“Enchanté,” Antoine says, kissing my hand in the continental fashion. “Please address me as Antoine.”
“Then please call me Gina.”
He smiles. Antoine has a nice vibe. Over the top, to be sure, but he pulls it off. In addition to the Fedora, he wears a tweed suit that fits him like a second skin. And sports a handkerchief in his pocket like you see on the covers of fashion magazines.
“Now, let’s get down to the matter at hand,” he says. “Your husband advised me that you’ll need a full wardrobe. Dresses for dinner parties and museum openings, that sort of thing.”
“And a winter coat.”
“Yes,” he says, looking at what must be a notes app on his phone. “I have that on the list. This way, ladies.”
Antoine leads us to two large doors. When he pushes them open, I see a beautiful salon that looks like an old-fashioned ladies’ tearoom, circa the 1950s.
Through the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking Fifth Avenue, I can see the tourist crowds on the other side of the street.
“Good afternoon, Antoine. Gina,” says a sophisticated blonde saleswoman as she comes towards me. “I’m Nina Jones, head of fashion. You must be the new Mrs. Ricci.”
“I stand accused,” I say with a grin. But no one laughs.
I shake her hand, yet I’m miffed by the way she addressed me. It’s like everyone compares me to Dante’s first wife. I try to calm myself. Maybe it’s my imagination.
“Would you like some Champagne?” she asks, already walking to a silver bowl where a bottle rests on ice.
“Allow me the honor,” says Antoine, opening the bottle with the utmost grace. He pours glasses for us all and makes a toast to my fashion success. We raise our glasses, clink, and sip.
“Gina, Angie, take a seat, please, in front of the raised dais. Nina and I have taken the liberty of pulling some outfits that we believe fit the bill.”
Angie and I make our way to tall chairs that have been placed on a white lambskin rug. What follows, to my surprise, is a private fashion show.
A series of models, roughly my height and weight, take turns mounting the dais, spinning around so I can see the outfit from all angles, then stepping down.
As I watch them, I imagine myself in each dress. My imagination runs so wild I blush as I visualize Dante’s calloused hand raising the hem like he did the other day.
Then his hand traveling up my inner thigh. The vision is so vivid I feel my pussy moisten.
“Well, Mrs. Ricci, what strikes your fancy?” Nina asks.
I struggle for words. “They’re all nice...”
What I don’t say is that I’m not one for the color black, or dresses so structured I’d hardly be able to walk across the room.
But that’s not the point.
The point is, which one would Dante prefer?
“How about we send them all to the dressing room and you can narrow them down there?” Antoine says.
“Okay. But do they all have to be black?”
Angie laughs as she pours herself another glass of Champagne. “Ha! You can take the girl out of California, but you can’t take the California out of the girl.”
“Black will be a beautiful color on you, Gina,” Antoine says. “Very elegant. Dignified, as your husband requested. Now, for the winter coat...”
We work through outfits in an array of styles and fabrics. Just not many different colors. Eventually Antoine tells Nina to pack everything up and send it to the penthouse by messenger.
Then Antoine turns to me.
“Now the hard work is done. It’s time to relax. Would you ladies care to join me in the Saks Café?”
“We’d love to!” Angie says. “Right, Gina?”
I manage a nod, and as we leave the room, Antoine turns toward me. “I’ve taken the liberty of personally selecting your bridal trousseau.”
“What’s that?” I ask.
“Lingerie,” says Angie. “Sexy stuff.”
“I hope that was okay,” Antoine says. “If you like, we can visit the fourth floor and you can select items you like for yourself.”
“That’s okay,” I say. “I’m sure you have excellent taste, Antoine.”
But even as I speak the words, my core tingles in anticipation of Dante seeing me in all that scanty silk and lace.
I imagine myself lying on top of my bed later in anticipation of Dante’s evening visit. Maybe he’ll take one look and be so overcome with lust he’ll rip the expensive lingerie right off my body.
“Gina, are you okay?” says Angie.
“Yes,” I manage. “I’m just wondering if I should have taken Antoine up on his offer of selecting the lingerie myself.”
Angie snorts as Antoine moves ahead to call the elevator.
“One thing about Antoine is that his taste in lingerie is opposite to his preferences for outerwear.”
“What does that mean?” I ask.
She seems a little tipsy as she leans in and whispers in my ear.
“You thought Antoine was too conservative, right? Well, when it comes to lingerie, the wilder the better. You’ll see what I mean soon enough.”
“Come, ladies,” Antoine calls. “Lunch is waiting.”