“What did you have in mind?” He was hesitant. He didn’t do drugs or lead a wild, crazy life. She didn’t do drugs either, but she liked going out with handsome young guys.
“Whatever you want, dinner at a deli, something simple. If you don’t feel like going out, we can order in at my place.” She knew he lived a few blocks from her in Tribeca.
“That sounds just right. I didn’t want to have to get all cleaned up and dressed. I’m wearing sweats. I was going to go to the gym, but I already went this morning. I’m taking boxing classes to keep busy and in shape. But I’d rather hang out at your place than the gym tonight. Can we order sushi?” He sounded like a kid when he asked, and she smiled.
“Of course. Whatever you want.” She was the agent for all purposes: food, friendship, hand-holding, sex, whatever the situation warranted and the client wanted. Her employers knew that she dabbled with the clients occasionally, or they suspected it. She was seen with handsome young actors on their roster at events from time to time, but they saw no harm in it. What she did after hours was her business. Things could get pretty loose with actors sometimes, and she was old enough to know how to handle it. As long as she was discreet, they didn’t care what she did. It was different and somewhat more serious on the literary side of the agency. Alabama Moore was the best actors’ agent the agency had ever had, and everyone loved her.
Allie got home half an hour before Eric was due to arrive. She showered and put on jeans and a thin pink V-neck sweater without a bra. Her implants held her breasts up nicely. They hadn’t been as perky at twenty as they were now, and had been a lot smaller before the surgery. Her body was amazing, with lean, smooth flesh, and not an ounce of fat anywhere. She was in fantastic shape from her daily workout at the gym and yoga classes. She put the time in to keep her body toned, lean, lithe, and trim, and it paid off. She made good use of it regularly. She wasn’t indiscriminate or sloppy about it. She chose her partners carefully and had affairs that usually lasted about a month. Then she moved on. They always ended on good terms, and she and a number of her young male clients shared a secret from then on. It added a little spice to her work. She enjoyed that and so did they.
She turned down the lights in her loft and lit some candles. She pulled out the menu for the sushi restaurant she preferred for Eric to look at when he arrived, and she put some music on. She set the stage just enough to make her apartment appealing and the mood right if he was so inclined. If not, the atmosphere was cozy and relaxed, and they would share a soothing evening. There was no harm in that. She couldn’t imagine trading the life she had now for a husband and children. She loved her freedom and the variety of partners that had been her way of life for years. She had no desire to be tied to one man, or for an intimate relationship, and the thought of children terrified her. She would much rather spend the night with someone like Eric than some boring guy her own age, or a child. She had no maternal instincts at all, and never had. She loved her career and where it had taken her. She had grown up among actors, and she was familiar with their quirks and fears. Their narcissism didn’t bother her, since she was similarly focused on herself, so they didn’t shock her with how self-centered they were.
Eric arrived five minutes late and brought a bottle of good French wine. He opened it so it could breathe for a few minutes and glanced at her appreciatively.
“You look hot, Allie,” he said with a slowly spreading smile. “It cheers me up just looking at you.”
“That was the whole idea of your coming over tonight,” that and some other things she had in mind. The invitation was obvious. He kissed her then and slid a hand under her sweater. Her implants were recent and felt more real than the last ones, with new technical improvements. In any case, he didn’t complain. He seemed to like them. He took her sweater off gently, pulled her down on one of the couches, and slid a hand into her jeans as she unzipped his and released him. They didn’t waste any time and were making love within minutes. He was an adept lover, and made it last as long as they could both stand. Her yoga positions served her well, and they were both breathless when it was over. He glanced at her cautiously, afraid she might have regrets.
“Are you mad at me?” he asked her, fondling her breasts again, and then kissed her nipples. “I couldn’t keep my hands off you once I saw you in that little pink sweater. You’re so damn hot, Allie.” She grinned and laughed. She was a fun companion and great in bed.
“What part of that do you think I’d be mad at?” she said in a husky voice. It was the best sex she’d had in years. She hadn’t guessed he’d be quite that good. He had surprised her, which was rare for her.
“Well, if you’re not mad,” he said, smiling too, “let’s do it again.” And they did. They made love three times before they ordered sushi at midnight, and twice afterwards. He spent the night, and he strolled around her apartment naked the next morning when she got up, and joined her in the shower. He was a gorgeous sight to behold.
“That was an incredible night last night,” he said with a look of wonder once they were dressed. They had surprised each other. “Can I see you tonight after work?”
“You’re not bored yet?” she asked, and kissed him. He slipped his hand into her jeans again.
“Do I look bored to you? I may have to show up at your office. I’m going to be having withdrawals by lunchtime.”
They made love again in her kitchen before she left for work and he went to his boxing classes, after promising to be back that night. She could sense easily that they were going to have a fabulous time for the next few weeks, maybe a month, and she had taken his mind off the part he wanted so badly. Now he wanted her even more. She was glad she’d called him. It was good for both of them. It was one of the many perks of her job that she loved, having easy access to men like him. Although after the acrobatics of the night before, and his ability to make love again and again, she was beginning to think he was unique. He was definitely her favorite client for now.
Merriwether’s evening started out peacefully when she got back to the townhouse on East Eighty-Fourth Street, where Jeff had been trying to write for several hours. Their daughter, Annabelle, was already asleep, as she always was when Merriwether got home. Their part-time nanny, who came in the afternoons so Jeff could write, had put Annabelle to bed before she left.
Jeff looked irritable when she got home, and she poured them both a glass of wine.
“How’s the book going?” she asked him. She’d had a good day at work. She loved the balance in her life: her home life with him and her hard-driving career as the CFO of the agency. She loved having a grown-up life. It wouldn’t have been enough for her, staying home with a child and no longer working. She’d grown up in New York and came from a family where excelling and material success were all-important. Jeff was from an L.A. family of “creative people” who had accomplished nothing and didn’t care.
“It’s not,” he answered about his book, and took a long sip of wine. “Annabelle was a pain in the ass this morning. She said she had a stomachache so I let her stay home from school, in case she was getting sick. She was fine. She interrupted me every five minutes until lunchtime when Amalia finally came in and took her off my hands, and by then I was too distracted to write. I just wasn’t in the mood. It’s hard shifting gears from childcare to writing.” Annabelle was usually in school until Amalia, their part-time nanny, came in, and most of the time he enjoyed being with their daughter. He said that having a job would interfere with his writing. And now their daughter did.