“Well, you know, cher, it just might be the other way around if he likes what I do to him, hmm?”
My exasperated glance brought a smug murmur, “An’ have you met any black guys yet who don’t like what I do to them, hmm?”
I just grinned, shaking my head as she continued, “They always seem to want to come back and get some more of it, don’t they, sugar pie?”
“An’ I betcha your big ol’ good-lookin’ boss would be just the same way, don’t you sugar?”
Beau flew in late Sunday and took a cab to the Admiral Semmes, an old but stately downtown hotel. I met him Monday morning and we put in a reasonably pleasant, productive day. About 4:45 he suggested we knock off and return to the hotel. After making several phone calls and discussing more business for another hour, we repaired to the bar to await Blondie.
When she walked in a little before 7:00, she was radiantly beautiful. She’d had her full, shoulder length, platinum hair freshly bleached the previous week and it appeared she’d had her nails done professionally sometime earlier in the day in the same shade as her frosted, hot pink lipstick. Her cream-colored, business suit had a short, tight skirt and her shapely legs looked great in tan pantyhose and pink spike-heeled pumps with dainty ankle straps. She’d accented her pink satin blouse with multistrands of iridescent pearls and matching earrings.
She turned several heads when she strolled in, flashing her dazzling smile at an obviously impressed Beau…giving him a warm hug…noticeably pressing her buxom little body against him longer than necessary. Holding him close, letting him get a good whiff of her intoxicating perfume, she looked up, directly into his eyes, and purred flirtatiously,
“Well I’m just so glad you could finally make it down, Beau. I told Rick after the meeting in Colorado that I sure was hopin’ I’d get an opportunity to get to know you a lot better, cher.”
There was a noticeably suggestive emphasis on “lot” which she drew out in her Cajun-inflected, Louisiana drawl, “laaahhht bettah, shayah.”
We had a couple more rounds of drinks at the hotel bar then decided we’d best get some food. Beau had knocked back four bourbons fairly quickly, more than I’d ever seen him drink before, and was showing signs of their effect. I was surprised at his pronounced difference in demeanor this evening…he was definitely loosening up…it was evident that his very correct business English was lapsing into a more relaxed black idiom. Most tellingly, he hadn’t quit grinning since my gorgeous little Dixie Pixie walked in.
For her part, even though they were both early-thirties, Blondie behaved as if he were the most worldly, sagacious, charming man she’d ever met. She feigned fascination with his every word, smiling warmly at him and gazing into his eyes while listening raptly to his tales of corporate intrigue. She laughed heartily at his every feeble attempt at humor, flirting shamelessly. I foolishly hoped that her behavior could be attributed to nothing more than a good wife’s earnest efforts to be especially nice to her husband’s boss.