I felt guilty about that juvenile thievery but that's what it was-- juvenile. Stealing L'Atrice's designs however was a another story. That would be an adult crime of perception, judgment, and decision.
Thea had left several messages on my machine since I last saw her. I was avoiding her and what she had in mind, but that didn't mean the idea still wasn't etching at my integrity.
Even though L'Atrice's pathos was leading my general attitude towards sympathy, I could not forget she stole my design first. She initiated it. And if she hadn't stolen it, maybe I would be sitting in my own office. Thea was right about that.
Maybe Thea was right about a lot of things. She knew the score and if I wanted-- I could learn it from a professional. She was willing and eager so I called her.
I sat on my couch and my blood flowed with nervous excitement. I was taking a step. A step into adulthood, a step towards cynicism and leaving sophomoric idealism behind.
I poured the wine and eyed Thea, who wore a navy blue suit and sheer black stockings. I wondered if she had on garters, which she sometimes wore and knew I liked. My smiled widened, as did her's, and I handed her the glass. She knew what was up.
I touched her leg with mine and we toasted without words.
With a glass of red in my left, I reached my right hand over and slowly inched it up her skirt. She smiled at me as my hand climbed higher until I found what I was looking for-- sure enough, a garter just for me.
My fingers ran along the edge of her stocking and skin, fondling her garter snap. Her breathing became audible and I ran my hand back down her leg. I put my wine down and caressed her lips with my fingers-- and then with my lips.
She was ready, I could tell. More ready than ever. I lay her flat across the couch, unbuttoning her shirt and sliding my hand over her warm skin and full breasts. Her moans became deeper and heated my every move.
And then between "oh, ahhs" and other sexual cries, she started to repeat my name. "Fran ... oh Fran..."
I whispered to her what I thought to be true, "You are so beautiful. I can't stop thinking about making love to you."
I could tell by the redness of her face that one touch would release her. My hand slipped across her skirt once more, but with a definite purpose and destination. And just before my eager hand reached its target, she whispered, not even sure if she wanted me to hear, "I love you Fran, I love you."
She lay there and I remembered what she wanted from me. Her face cooled and her body relaxed, when suddenly I felt the words she had said deep inside, "I love you, Fran." And I loved her for saying it.
Our bodies lay close on the couch and our hands were intertwined liketeenagers. "I'll do it Thea. I'll do it tomorrow."
