“And I assume Jonas told you there is nothing going on between us but friendship. Or he might not have. He can get awkward around complicated feelings.”
Complicated feelings? For Allie or for Sandra? Allie was getting impatient. “Would you mind telling me exactly what you’re trying to say?”
“I’m saying...” Sandra lifted the dress’s hem and turned back and forth, making the material swirl around her ankles. “Let nothing stand in the way of you pursuing some very fine Jon-ass.”
Allie broke into a short laugh. “Just like that?”
“What?” Sandra turned in exasperation. “You need it in writing?”
Allie gritted her teeth. Okay, she deserved that. It probably wasn’t easy for Sandra to come up here, given her past with Jonas, and it was incredibly nice of her to step out of the way. Allie should be gracious about it. “Thank you for telling me, Sandra. If you’re sure you’ll be okay with it. And if you’re sure Erik—”
“I’ll take care of Erik.” She smiled at herself in the mirror, a small smile, almost dreamy. “By the time I am through with him, he’ll forget you ever existed.”
Allie burst out laughing, delighted when Sandra giggled along with her. “You like him?”
“That man needs to be taught a lesson. I just happen to be a very willing teacher.” She took the dress off with obvious reluctance. “Can I come up and try some other stuff on sometime?”
“Sure, of course, anytime.” She nodded too many times, liar that she was, preferring privacy. “I still have other trunks to go through.”
“Excellent.” Sandra stepped into her shorts and pulled her tank top back over her head. “Dinner will be ready around seven, but they’re pouring gin and tonics at six.”
“I can live with that.”
“Yeah, this life is not exactly a hardship.” She passed close to Allie and touched her arm. She smelled faintly of ginger and something sweeter. “Be nice to Jonas. He’s a good guy.”
Allie nodded, strangely emotional. “I promise.”
She watched Sandra descend the ladder, then hauled out her phone, adrenaline rushing. Julie needed to hear about this. They’d have to plan how this would go, how she and Jonas would get together, who’d take the lead, when, where...
Halfway through her text, she stopped. Wait a second.
She didn’t need to ask herself or Julie any of those questions. Great-Grandma Josephine had not only sketched out various seductions, but had also provided all the outfits. Allie gave a slow, wicked grin, envisioning some very specific erotic pleasures.
Tonight, Jonas would be subjected to a full treatment of page twenty-four.
7
Allie: Just finished dinner. Champagne on ice. Getting ready.
Julie: I get Diet Coke, you get champagne. No fair. Is it hot there?
Allie: Not as hot as it’s about to get, heh heh.
Julie: Sweltering here. Subway smells like the pee of ten thousand frat boys. Don’t come back!
Allie: You’re not exactly tempting me.
* * *
ALLIE TOOK HER TIME getting ready, immersing herself in the mood she wanted to create, moving languidly, not allowing her breathing to accelerate, aiming for a dreamy, sensual state she could bring with her to the cottage, and to Jonas. She was also bringing champagne, which she’d pilfered from the generous stash in the bar refrigerator, making a note to replace the bottle next time she was in town, though it would probably never be missed. Not sure how well outfitted the cottage was, she’d also grabbed glasses and an ice bucket.
Allie showered, shaved, applied lotion, plucked and trimmed, then put on the thin flowered robe that had been hanging in her room’s closet, and floated down the hall back to her room. Inside, she crossed to the open window and let the robe fall and the breeze off the lake caress her body, gently finger-combing her hair from bottom to top, wet strands sliding through her fingers.
Erik and Sandra’s laughter drifted up from the kitchen. After a delicious and relaxed meal on the screened-in porch, talk had grown increasingly sparse until it became obvious they were all trying to figure out how to split into couples with the least amount of awkwardness. Finally, Jonas had stepped in with a really funny and tactful job of saying they’d undoubtedly not see each other for the rest of the night.
What was Jonas doing right now? Lying in bed? Looking out at the water? Sitting on the beach?
How would he react to Josephine’s plan?
She couldn’t wait to find out.
The pink tap pants and camisole from page twenty-four of the diary had been hanging on the door opposite the window to freshen them, though contrary to what she’d expected, there was little to no musty smell.
The camisole—very plainly designed, and probably considered a bra in the twenties—was trimmed with cream-colored lace and ended mid-stomach, leaving some room for the imagination. The style was tight, designed to flatten a woman’s bosom in order to produce the era’s ideal boyish figure. The tops of Allie’s breasts were visible above the lace and her nipples felt exquisite against the smooth, slippery silk. The tap pants skimmed the outline of her buttocks. A tiny silk rosebud wreath had been stitched in the center of the camisole, and another nestled in a patch of lace on the hem of the panties’ right leg. The outfit made her look lean, feminine, and ultrasophisticated. Tonight no one would mistake her for a girl from a rough part of Brooklyn’s Kensington neighborhood.
Over the lingerie, she pulled one of the simplest dresses from Josephine’s wardrobe: a cream-colored linen sheath lined with peach silk that peeked through a lacy network of floral cutouts from shoulder to waist.
On her feet—she didn’t bother with stockings—she wore a pair of cream-colored shoes with low heels and cutouts by the button fastener for the strap.
One last look in the mirror as she perched a cream cloche-style hat on her head.
There.
Allie smiled at her reflection. The outfit not only felt entirely comfortable, but also entirely her—not as if she was dressing up in a costume from another era—but as if she was putting on an outfit bought for herself. Maybe it was her longtime obsession with vintage clothes, but clearly she was at ease indulging a spectacular Great Gatsby moment. And why not?
She liked her own century very much, thanks, with progress on women’s issues and advances in health care, but she’d love to have experienced the exuberance of the 1920s. Especially as someone with Josephine’s money, class and confidence. This woman could meet the queen of England and not have a thing to hide.