No Controlling Legal Authority Ch. 11

Wednesday dawned bright and clear. Nancy was mildly thankful, since she wasn't sure Imogene's car could climb their hill if the road was wet. She bathed and washed her hair, and switched the TV on to watch Jerry Springer, while she shaved her legs and her nail polish dried. She fixed a Screwdriver with just a light splash of vodka to sip on while Jerry roasted a couple of fat cousins, who, for no readily apparent reason, were fighting over some grungy, deadbeat, scrawny twerp, who, it turned out, had been fucking them both and a boy who worked in the detail shop in the garage under his apartment. The vodka made Jerry's guests tolerable and made her feel laid back and mellow. Around eleven, the van from the Galloping Gourmet catering company pulled up and the delivery boy brought lunch to the door. She had ordered a shrimp and crab salad with honey glazed croissants and a raspberry compote desert. She unpacked the plates from the white delivery boxes and put them into the refrigerator, thinking as she did so, that they were lovely to look at, but it was questionable whether she and Imogene would actually get down to eating lunch. She smiled, thinking about the upcoming audition and figured that she and Jerry could enjoy the lunches later in any event.

She dressed in a relaxed, uptown casual style, in a white, long sleeved, silk blouse with mother-of-pearl buttons and a snug but reasonably modest, pleated, navy, wool skirt with a hemline that hit her just a few inches above the knee. She slipped barefooted into a pair of high heeled, navy pumps, and stepped to the mirror for a quick look at herself just as the doorbell rang on the precise stroke of noon. She fluffed her hair with her fingers, giving herself just a hint of disarray, and quickly loosened the top two buttons of her blouse to expose some cleavage.

Nancy opened the door and, giving her guest a lingering lookover, smiled appreciatively. Imogene was standing on the porch anxiously massaging her handbag with black-gloved hands, and looking a little like a deer caught in the headlights. She was wearing a short-waisted, chinchilla jacket over a black satin cocktail dress, which was slit up one side nearly to her waist. A cascade of pink and red roses had been embroidered exquisitely onto the front of the dress beginning just below the plunging neckline and continuing uninterrupted to the hem. That hemline probably would have been low enough on someone not quite as tall as Imogene, but on her, Nancy observed with interest, it was obviously going to make sitting modestly very difficult.

"Imogene, darling," Nancy said warmly, her mild twang betraying her Arkansas origins. She extended her hand, "You look absolutely wonderful. Please do come in."

"Thank you," the young woman answered, taking Nancy's hand hesitantly, "I hope I'm not overdressed."

"Not at all, honey. You look pretty as a picture. Here, come on in and let me take your jacket."

"Thanks," the girl replied stepping into the foyer and turning to allow Nancy to help her remove the jacket. While Nancy hung up her coat, Imogene glanced around the formal, marbled entryway and into the living areas beyond. A pair of massive white pillars rising from intricately carved, green, travertine plinths gave definition to the entry and dramatically framed the view through the living room to a wall of arched, multi-paned windows overlooking the town in the valley below. Nancy had been emphatic when describing what she wanted to the architect Jerry had brought up from Memphis to design their house; she wanted a room just like the Jungle Room at Graceland, but with windows and a view, and he fulfilled her requirements admirably.

"OhmyGod," Imogene gasped when her eyes adjusted to the change in light. "This place is fantastic."

"It is a nice view, isn't it," Nancy responded modestly, "but let me look at you, honey." Nancy lifted the girl's hand above her head and led her in a slow, full circle pirouette. The skirt flared slightly as she turned, exposing a shapely, tanned, bare thigh to well above the pantyline, and Nancy guessed that she was either wearing a thong or nothing at all. A single band of black satin began at the waist in the front of the dress, gathered in a pleated satin cup to partly cover one breast, then continued up, around her neck and back down to another pleated satin cup and then on to the waist on the opposite side. It was an ingeniously fashioned halter-top, which looked like an hourglass with the narrow neck, which separated the opposing halves, passing behind her neck and the globes at opposite ends just covering the swelling mounds of her breasts in front. Her back was completely bare just to the point where her buttocks began to slope outward and the cleavage of her backside was only barely revealed. "Wheweeee, honey, that's some dress," Nancy whistled appreciatively, making a mental note to give Maxine a special thanks at the next bridge club meeting, "Does Rufus know you're going out in daylight dressed in that outfit?"

"Rufus hasn't seen it yet," the girl blushed. "Do you really like it?"

"Honey," Nancy began solicitously, placing her arm around Imogene's shoulders, "on you, with your figure, it looks spectacular. I always admire a woman who can wear a dress as sexy as that one and still carry herself with style."

"It's too sexy?" Imogene declared anxiously, screwing up her face with concern and self-consciously covering the bare expanse of skin below her throat with her hand.

"Nonsense, my dear. It's perfect." Nancy gently pulled the girl's hand away from her bosom. A mantle of crimson colored Imogene's neck and bare chest and was creeping up her face. "Now, shame on me, I've promised you a cocktail, and all I've done is make you blush. Come on with you; let's see if I can get to the liquor cabinet and make amends."

Nancy took the woman's hand and led her into the living room. "Here," she said, gesturing toward a gigantic curved couch covered in pearl white damask with pink, tasseled antimacassars aligned at precise intervals along the back cushions and on the arms. "Have a seat, and I'll fix you up in a jiffy. How does a Martini sound?"

"Hmmm," the girl hummed enthusiastically, trying to sound worldly beyond the reach of her experience. In truth, she hadn't tasted a Martini in her life. "I would love a Martini."

She settled into the soft cushions of the couch and crossed her legs at the knee. The hem of her skirt rode up dangerously, and she tugged at it ineffectually and glanced nervously in Nancy's direction.

"Martini it is, then, my dear. I'll make it a double ‘cause you deserve one since I embarrassed you so badly a minute ago."

Imogene struggled to master her growing feeling of inadequacy as her eyes swept the sumptuous surroundings. Gone-with-the-Wind lamps with beaded shades in a rainbow of hues and Venetian glass blended with teak and oak and a myriad of other imported woods, and converged on an immense Italian marble fireplace in the corner beside the wall of arched windows, which she had glimpsed from the foyer. A set of matching Eames chairs flanked the hearth, and to one side, in a pool of light from a series of spotlights recessed in the ceiling high above, there stood an alabaster replica of the statue of Aphrodite, who seemed to be beckoning to an equally imposing statue of David across the room. Three enormous, stunning, Persian rugs stretched out across the expanse of hardwood flooring, and Imogene squirmed uncomfortably and prayed that Nancy had not seen the tatty imitation she had bought for Rufus' office.

"Here we are darling," Nancy interrupted her inspection. "Shaken, not stirred, and dry too, barely a whisper of Vermouth; just the way Double "O" Seven liked them."

Nancy handed her the drink and sat down on the couch at some distance around the curve from Imogene, so that they were more or less sitting at right angles.

"Oooo, thanks," Imogene answered accepting the goblet of clear, chilled gin. She eyed uncertainly the red plastic sword skewering three marinating, pimento-stuffed olives, which was resting against the side of her glass, and was relieved when Nancy fished a similar sword out of her own glass and stripped the olives from the blade with her teeth. She imitated her hostess and immediately the tart tang of olive commingled in her mouth with the faint flavor of juniper from the gin making her grimace.

Nancy smiled knowingly and leaned slightly toward the inexperienced woman, extending her glass toward her, "Cheers, darling; here's to a long and happy friendship and to the first of what I hope will be many memorable luncheons."

"Oh, yes, I'll drink to that," the girl bubbled ecstatically. She leaned toward Nancy, reaching to tap her glass lightly against Nancy's in the empty space between them. It was an awkward stretch because Nancy hadn't met her half way, and the movement caused the fabric of her dress to fall forward briefly exposing her smallish breasts to Nancy's view. Oh, Maxine, you are a dear friend, Nancy chuckled to herself as she craftily moved her glass away to prolong the moment. They thrust and parried with their goblets briefly, and she glimpsed the girl's softly rounded mounds and their tiny vermilion tips jiggling with the movement of her arm. Hmmmm, she thought, she'll do quite nicely, and then, abandoning the ruse with a soft laugh, she allowed Imogene's glass to brush her own with a gentle clink.

Imogene righted herself and lifted her glass to her lips. Nancy watched the girl expectantly as she poured a liberal quantity of the drink into her mouth and swallowed. Imogene hesitated for a heartbeat, then another; her eyes widened, a touch of flame singed the outer edges of her ears, and her shoulders jerked back reflexively. She coughed and covered her mouth with the back of her hand. Tears welled in the corners of her eyes. She gulped to flush the foreign taste from her mouth, and wanted to die from embarrassment.

"Oh dear," Nancy breathed soothingly. She waved a napkin toward the girl more to distract her than to fan her flushed face. "The first swallow always does that to me, too," she volunteered reassuringly.

"OhmyGod, I'm sooooo sorry; some of it must have gone down the wrong way," Imogene gasped.

"Take another swallow; it'll help, I promise."

Imogene raised the glass cautiously, eyeing the innocuous looking liquid like it had turned to flaming motor oil.

"Go ahead," Nancy encouraged. "It won't bite you a second time."

Already the girl could feel the numbing effects of the first sip, and her breaths were coming more easily. Her lips felt full, tingly and sensuous, and she licked them tentatively to confirm the effect. She brought the glass to her lips again and sipped a drop or two. The taste filled her senses instantly but less jarringly, and she gulped in relief.

"See?" Nancy smiled knowingly.

Imogene nodded and dabbed at the corners of her eyes with her cocktail napkin.

"All better, already," the older woman grinned soothingly. "Take another sip and you'll be fine, honey."

Imogene struggled to bring the glass to her lips a third time. Good lord, don't let me make a complete fool of myself, she prayed inwardly. I can do this, she thought as she bravely raised the glass. The rim caressed her full, pouting lower lip, and she closed her eyes. She tilted her head back and lifted the stem. A trickle of fire ran across her tongue and down her throat warming her neck and breasts as it flowed toward her belly. Her head swam slightly, and she lowered the glass without opening her eyes.

"See, darling, it's not so bad, is it? Just about like swallowing cum, isn't it? At first you're not too crazy about the idea, but after you try it a few times, it ain't so bad after all, isn't that right?"

Imogene was concentrating on mastering the art of martini drinking, and, so, Nancy's ribald comment failed to completely register. Her lips felt thickened and hot, and a flush of warm well-being was spreading into her fingers and toes. She blinked and looked blankly at Nancy, who was smiling at her expectantly.

"Huh?" she said vacantly.

"Oh my goodness, look at you, your glass is empty already. Be still and I'll pour you another," Nancy answered unresponsively.

"I'm sorry. What did you say?" Imogene asked, obediently surrendering her empty glass.

"I said, `I'll pour you another,'" Nancy replied as she stepped toward the wet bar.

"No, no," Imogene said shaking her head. "Before that?"

"Ohhhhh, that!" Nancy laughed over her shoulder as she shook the silver martini shaker. "I said that drinking martinis is a lot like sucking cock and swallowing cum; it gets better with practice."

"Oooooooo," the girl answered, blushing furiously. She was unaccustomed to such talk and certainly never dreamed that Mrs. Farber would be so, uh, uh, "earthy."

"What's the matter, honey? Did I embarrass you again?" Nancy returned to the couch with a fresh drink for the speechless girl. "I guessed that was your first martini, but I sure didn't figure you to be a virgin in the cock-sucking department."

"I, uh, uh," the girl stammered hopelessly and stared into the bottom of the glass Nancy had returned to her, praying to glimpse a vision of her future taking shape in the shimmering depths. She took a sip for strength, a gulp, actually, and calming bliss soared on juniper wings to warm her soul. Nancy's brash words rang in her ears and chiseled at the walls restraining her memories. Men, she thought, hot men, hard, taut with need for her, yearning for her and begging, then filling her, squirting their love into her and flooding her with their warmth. Her lips thickened, and her tongue restlessly searched the crevices of her mouth for remnants of those treasured pilgrimages to the temple of lust. Oh no, no virgin, she, and she fumbled in the dark edges of her mind for the crumbs of courage she required to proclaim her experience.

"Oh, never mind, that was impolite of me, darling. I guess I tend to be a little forward, don't I?"

"Oh, no, not at all," Imogene protested, recovering some of her composure. "It's alright, really, I don't mind."

She took another sip of her drink. Lord, she hadn't known what to expect from this luncheon invitation. It was more than she had ever hoped for, and she had wanted to be prepared. She had confided her luncheon invitation to Maxine, who, of course, had talked her into the cocktail dress, telling her about the fabulous, wild and crazy parties Nancy and Jerry threw up there in the "castle on the hill," and how important it was for her to make a sexy, sophisticated first impression on Nancy. Maxine had fitted the dress herself and let her have it at cost, she said, and still it set her back six hundred dollars. As she signed the charge slip and prepared to leave, Maxine called her to the back, into one of the fitting rooms, and put her hands on her shoulders and looked her right in the eye. She said, "Imogene, you're a sweet girl, and I like you. You remind me of myself not many years ago; I was struggling to get a start in the world and didn't really have a clue about how to go about it. I've learned a lot since then, so let me give you a little advice. This is your big chance to make something of yourself. You won't get many chances in life and you surely won't get another from Nancy Farber, so don't blow this one. What ever she says, what ever she tells you to do, you go along with her and make her happy. Understand? I've been friends with her for nearly ten years, honey, and it's cost me some, but it's paid me ten million times what it's cost. When I met her, I was just like you; I didn't have two nickels to rub together in my pocket. Now, I have a ski chalet in Aspen and a villa in Provence, believe it or not, and the only reason I'm still working in the shop is because I enjoy making pretty women like you look sexy as hell. Everything I have in the world I owe to Jerry and Nancy Farber, everything. They let me in on deals that most people only read about in the papers years after the deal's done and shake their heads and say `oh, Jeez, I wish that was me done that.' You listen to me, now, cause I'm telling you exactly how it is up there on the hill. You make her happy and she'll reward your friendship beyond your wildest dreams; you let her down and you won't hear from her again, or any of her friends either and there are a bunch of them. She won't be rude or hateful or anything like that, you'll just cease to exist as far as she's concerned. You'll continue to scrape by, getting nowhere, buying clothes you can't afford, to wear to parties you aren't invited to attend, and you'll go through the rest of your life looking up from way off at the lights flickering on top of that hill. Only difference between you and the little match girl will be that you will know exactly why you're on the outside looking in, instead of being on the inside looking out. It's all up to you from here on, honey. I've done my part, you're dynamite in that dress, if I do say so. You can thank me after your luncheon."

"Oh, I think you do mind, honey," Nancy rejoined sounding less frivolous. "Perhaps I overestimated our similarities, my dear." Her tone was brittle, like thinning ice at the edge of a pond.

Imogene squirmed uneasily. This was turning ominous quickly; exactly what she had determined to avoid at any cost. Maxine made perfect sense; you get one chance and you don't blow it. She took another gulp of fire.

"I just misunderstood you for a second, Nancy. I guess I was choking and not listening. I've got a lot more experience than you give me credit for, I bet."

"Oh, you do, do you? My, my, this may be an interesting lunch after all."

Nancy grinned and scooted toward the young woman. She reached out and patted Imogene's bare knee knowingly and whispered, "Go ahead, you can tell me all about it."

Imogene took another gulp and drained her glass. Nancy ignored it, and waited. Imogene squirmed her hips into the cushion, fidgeting as the liquor worked it's magic.

"I, uh, did it lots of times."

"Really?" Nancy's brows were arching skeptically.

"Oh yes, lots."

"Tell me about one. Which one was your favorite?"

"Oh, gosh, I don't know."

"I bet it wasn't old Rufus, now was it, honey. Hell, I bet that stuff shirt just pushes his pants down and fucks with his tie and socks on, doesn't he?" Nancy roared with laughter at the image she created and patted Imogene's knee happily.

Imogene forced a chuckle and squirmed deeper into the cushions. She looked at Nancy, desperate for a hint of intent. She didn't know whether to defend her husband or participate in the ridicule. Gin muddled her thoughts and slowed her responses. Rufus' image floated into her mind, and she giggled.

"Ohhhhhh nooooo, Nancy, you got Rufus all wrong. He's not like that at all, really."

"Don't lie to me, honey, I know better."

"No, really, I'm not lying, honest. Most of the time he doesn't even take off his pants."

"Eoooweeeee," Nancy howled with laughter. She rocked on the couch, spilling her drink and gleefully slapping Imogene's knee with her palm. "Oh God," she sputtered between peals of laughter, "the headmaster does it with his pants on. That's too much. Too, too much. Honey, if I was you, I'd bite him next time he did that to me."

"Maybe I will," she replied laughing and inching her leg away just enough to discourage further pounding.

Nancy recovered enough to continue, but she had laughed so hard tears had run down her cheeks, and her mascara was beginning to run. She wiped her eyes with a handkerchief and said, "Lordy, you are funny girl, and I do like a girl with a sense of humor. I guess I must look awful, so I'll go powder my nose, and you help yourself to another martini. They're in the shaker by the sink. When I get back, I want to hear all about your best one, OK?"