tagNovels and NovellasNo Controlling Legal Authority Ch. 12

No Controlling Legal Authority Ch. 12


Imogene auditions for the bridge club, or Modeling Lessons

The timing of Archie's arrival could not have been less fortunate for Imogene. She was tottering on the verge of intoxication, and the cogent half of her brain was still lingering in the stacks sucking on Billy's thundering erection. Her memories and Nancy's stroking of her thigh had conspired to quicken her pulse and initiate a flow of warmth to her loins like an aphrodisiac. She knew her hand was trembling as she responded to the boy's proffered hand.

"Oh sure, I know Mrs. Justice, mom; I've seen her at school and at the games a bunch of times."

His hand closed around hers, surprising her with the strength of his grip. He held her hand in his without shaking it, and his eyes roved up and down her revealing dress in a blatant examination of her barely concealed curves, before he continued, "But, jeez, she sure didn't look this good." He was grinning salaciously, and, under other circumstances, she would have jerked her hand away indignantly, but her thoughts were muddled and she barely reacted. Her hand lay in his grip inertly. She blinked at him, and he swam in and out of fuzzy focus. He's kinda cute, she thought and tried to smile at him unself-consciously as his eyes settled on the deep "V" of her cleavage.

Nancy, remaining behind the bar, went through the introductions perfunctorily, but she studied Imogene's reactions with keen interest.

"I should have known you two knew each other already," she said blithely.

Archie was clearly impressed with the dress; he was practically undressing the girl with his eyes, and Imogene, bless her tipsy little heart, was absolutely helpless to protest. Nothing like martinis and sexy talk to pull down the inhibitions and loosen things up, Nancy thought, congratulating herself on the ease with which Imogene's reserve seemed to be unraveling. Imogene's free hand brushed her hair back from her face, and she smiled at Archie bravely. Atta girl, Nancy thought as she measured the interaction between her son and the young woman.

"You know, Archie, Imogene was just telling me how much she likes to suck cock, weren't you, dear?"

Imogene jerked like she had been jabbed with a fork; her mouth shot open and her eyes nearly popped out as her head snapped toward the older woman.

"That’s so cool!" Archie replied excitedly, maintaining his grip on Imogene's hand.

"Nancy!" Imogene yelped in protest.

"Well, that's what you said, wasn't it?" Nancy pressed. "You were telling the truth, weren't you?" "I, I, I," the girl sputtered.

Suddenly, Archie laughed and patted her hand. "Don't pay any attention to her, Mrs. Justice, she's just testing you; trying to see how tough you are, aren't you, mom?"

"Archie! Shame on you; now you've gone and given me away," Nancy scowled.

"See, Mrs. Justice? She does it all the time; says something shocking and then watches everybody's reaction. Gets her kicks that way. Well, that's one of her ways."

"Don't you have something to be doing, young man?" Nancy said sternly.

"Yeah, I guess so," he replied evenly, but then, releasing her hand finally, he continued, speaking to Imogene, "You're here to audition, I guess?"

Imogene's head swiveled from one to the other as she tried to process the exchange. She looked at the boy blankly and responded, "Audition?"

"Imogene and I haven't discussed `auditions' as yet, Archie," Nancy interrupted.

"Oh!" Archie answered, "Well, I guess I got home a little early, then. I'll leave you guys to talk or whatever. I'm gonna take a shower."

"That sounds like an excellent idea, sonny; I can smell gymnasium from here." Nancy was grinning smugly; things were progressing nicely.

Archie winked suggestively at Mrs. Justice and said in a stage whisper, "Y'all have fun, now, ya hear; maybe I'll see you later," and walked out of the room leaving the speechless woman staring after him.

When he was gone, Nancy sighed and shook her head. "That boy, Imogene, sometimes I don't know what I'm gonna do with him, you know? Did you see the way he was looking at you and that dress?"

"Nancy!" Imogene blushed. Of course, she had noticed; what woman wouldn't notice being drooled over. Reactions like that were worth every penny of the six hundred dollars she paid for the dress. She hadn't been looked at like that in years, and she had come to miss the sensation of being so obviously attractive. It felt good, she mused drunkenly, being ogled, even by a kid, well, not exactly a kid.

"Lord, if I didn't know him better, honey, I'd think he was about to tear your clothes off and fuck your brains out right here in front of his mommy."

Nancy was smiling wickedly, and the word "fuck" cracked in the air like the snap of a bullwhip.

"Oh God, I need a drink," Imogene gasped.

She lunged for her glass and gulped half the contents in a single swallow. Her mind was reeling. What the hell was going on here, she wondered, totally confused and bewildered by the older woman's unfettered lubricity and the boy's brazenness. She sagged heavily against the wet bar waiting for the liquor to quell the quick tremors of uncertain anxiety rippling through her gut; her knees felt weak, unable to support her weight, and she struggled to make sense of what she had heard.

"That might not be so bad, now that I think about it; he's not bad looking, if I do say so myself. I bet he'd be a pretty good fuck, and I know he'd be better at it that your stuffy old Rufus."

Nancy was sort of thinking out loud, and Imogene was aghast at the idea of a mother talking so casually about someone having sex with her own son.

Imogene drained her glass and stared at the empty doorway, where Archie had exited, as though she expected him to return to ravish her right there on the Persian carpet. She staggered slightly and caught the bar to regain her balance. Nancy was in the process of refilling her glass.

"Careful, honey," Nancy warned, "that carpet'll get to moving around on you, if you drink too fast; first thing you know, you'll wind up on your back and miss your chance to audition."

"Audishun?" the girl responded thickly.

She took a deep breath, pushed away from the bar and tried to stand without assistance. She wobbled unsteadily and blinked uncomprehendingly at the older woman.

"Yes, honey, audition; you know, `try out.'"

"Huh?" Imogene's confusion was complete. "Whash, uh, what for?" Her tongue thickened, and her consonants sloshed in her mouth giving her an inebriated lisp.

"For the bridge club, silly," Nancy laughed. "You want to join, don't you?"

"Bridge?" Imogene brightened perceptibly at the mention of the club, and she sobered up slightly. "Oh, yesh, yesh," she gurgled, "join."

Nancy laughed good-naturedly. "I thought you would, but you have to audition for it first. I have to see if you're really ready to be one of us, you know."

Imogene nodded eagerly, but a feeling of uncertainty plagued her. She glanced around the room for a clue to what Nancy was talking about. God, she thought haplessly, I hope she's not going ask me to sing or dance or anything like that. She looked at Nancy expectantly.

"Don't worry, dear," Nancy answered sensing her apprehension, "It's not all that big a deal. Sort of like sorority rush, they tell me; you were in a sorority, weren't you?"

"Yesh, ma'am," she acknowledged.

"I thought so; it was on your resume as I remember."

"Yesh, ma'am." She had reverted to formality to help her deal with her confusion.

"Which one was it, honey; I forget."

"Chi Omega," she answered thickly and took another gulp of martini.

If my sisters could only see me now, she thought ruefully, half drunk and half naked, making a complete fool out of myself every time I open my mouth, but, sisters, I'm getting there anyway. She gloated drunkenly, she's talking about asking me to join her bridge club, `THE' bridge club, the one that everybody in town's dyin’ to be invited to join. `Audition?' Hot Damn, she'd run through the fires of hell to join, if she had to, especially after what Maxine had told her; she was ready for anything. She took another sip and waited for Nancy to speak.

"I bet you girls did fashion shows and modeled clothes."

"Yeah, we did a few times."

"Did you like modeling? I mean you've got the figure for it, honey, long and lithe, just like the models in the big fashion shows."

Imogene warmed to the flattery. "Ish wuth lots of fun, Nancy," she slurred, and the memory made her straighten her back and throw her shoulders back.

"I know it's fun; the bridge club models too, sometimes."

"Really? I thought you jus played cards."

"You're not supposed to know; nobody's supposed to know about our modeling. We keep it secret cause everybody would just be gossiping about it and wouldn't understand."

"Who'd care what yous did at a bridge party?"

"Well, honey, we do a little more than play bridge and model clothes at our bridge parties; sometimes we model for our husbands, sometimes it's for their clients, you know, people we can trust not to talk too much afterward. And," she took a breath and lowered her voice as though trying not to be overheard, "every now and then some of us go to St. Louis, or Jeff City, when the legislature’s in town, for a few days and put on a real show."

"Gosh," the girl gaped in amazement, "I had no idea."

"We keep our secrets well, Imogene, and, if you join, you'll have to learn to do the same."

"Ooooo, I will, I will, I promise."

Imogene could almost feel the invitation in her hand, she was that close. She was nearly panting with eager anticipation. Parties and dances, weekend trips to the Cayman Islands, all were within her reach now, and she wiggled her toes in her shoes and fantasized about sun and surf and endless miles of sugary white beaches.

"I know I can trust you; if I didn't believe that, I wouldn't have invited you up here today."

"Trust me, yesh, yesh," the girl gushed ecstatically. The fog of alcohol, which had swirled in her brain worsening her confusion, seemed to lift, but it was only the rush of excited adrenaline that momentarily cleared her mind, the wreckage of her judgment would take much longer to repair.

"Oh good, then, you'll model for me, and we'll see how you do. If you're half as good as I think you're gonna be, you and I will be bridge partners starting next week. How's that sound to you?"

"Oooo, Nancy, really? Yoush promish? You're not teasin me, are you, pleashe?"

The girl was practically hopping from foot to foot. She took another gulp of martini to steady her nerves and tried to control her excitement.

"I promise," Nancy laughed good-naturedly. "Now, let’s get on with the show; I want to see how you strut your stuff, kid."

"Huh?" Imogene looked around puzzled, wondering where the clothes she was to model were. "This is all I have to wear, Nancy," she shrugged, indicating her dress.

"Oh, don't worry about that; Maxine's sent up a whole wardrobe for you to model, darling. Come on, I'll show you; this is going to be fun."

Nancy took her hand and led the puzzled girl away from the martinis on the bar and down a long corridor. After what Imogene thought was about a mile, they entered a cavernous room with an immense stone fireplace filling one wall and a series of huge-screened televisions lining the walls. In the center of the room, there was a couch the likes of which she had never seen. It was the size of two king sized beds pushed together and was covered with dozens of throw pillows. She counted four TVs along the nearest wall, before Nancy pulled her around the couch and through a door and into an adjoining room.

"See? What did I tell you?" Nancy said, pointing to three wheeled racks of dresses and other garments, as the two women entered the room. It was a smallish, windowless room which had been fitted out as a dressing room with a couch, a dressing table with an assortment of makeup in tubes, jars and compacts scattered on the top, and a couple of upholstered chairs. The racks of clothes had been left in the center of the room and took up most of the available space.

"My goodnesh," the girl mumbled as she examined the racks of clothes, "it'd take a week to model all that."

"Oh, don't I know it. I can't imagine what she was thinking sending all those suits and winter coats up here. We won't fool with that, shall we; let's just concentrate on this rack."

Nancy steered her toward the rack nearest the doorway. A glance told her it held mostly cocktail dresses, like the one she was wearing. She flipped through the dresses, sliding the hangers toward the end of the bar. The price tags had been removed, but she recognized a few as being from Maxine's most expensive, designer original collection; she wouldn't even look at these in the store much less try any of them on. They were elegant and intriguing, totally haute couture, and she could hardly contain her interest in seeing how she would look in them. She soon reached the middle of the rack and, in so doing, exhausted the supply of dresses; from that point on to the end the selection changed to nightgowns and negligees, and the further she went the skimpier things seem to become.

"Well, what'd ya think, gal?" Nancy asked expectantly.

"Wow," the girl replied in awe, wide-eyed and excited. "I've never worn anything like these," she said as she lovingly fingered a sleeve.

"I know; does that Maxine have good taste, or what? You're going to be fabulous, darling, just fabulous. Now, I'm going out to the den to wait for you. You just start at the end of the rack here and find a dress you like and come on out when you're ready. Got it?"

"Uh, ok," the girl replied in need of some reassurance.

"It'll be ok, trust me; nothing to worry about; nobody there but me to watch you. You need any help getting dressed?"

"No, no, ma'am. I'll manage."

"That's my girl," Nancy chirped with an infectious air of confidence, and she pulled the door closed as she left, leaving Imogene alone.

The young woman clung to the clothes rack for support and wrestled with her bewilderment. Events had moved too swiftly for her to assess, and the martinis, along with her erotic memories of Billy, had fogged her brain sufficiently to cloud her judgement completely. She fumbled through the racks of clothes in amazement; Diane von Furstenburg, CK, Albert Nippon, Gucci, names from all the famous designer houses were there, some two and three times. Ohmygod, she exclaimed to herself, when she spotted a Versace label in a light, shell jacket and matching pantsuit; every one of these must cost more than Rufus makes in a year. She was staggered by the wealth represented in that collection, and shook her head in disbelief. It just can't be, no way, she thought, but Nancy had said she had Maxine send all these things up just for her to model today, and, yet, she said it was no big deal. Good grief, no big deal? Why, these were clothes she had never seen, never would see in her whole life, much less get to try on and wear, even for a second or two. She picked a Georgio teal sheath off one of the racks and held it up to her chest. She turned toward a full-length mirror on the wall. The dress fit her perfectly, and she felt like a queen dressing for her coronation. She attempted a spin before the mirror but lost her footing and stumbled awkwardly. She giggled at her image in the mirror and chided herself gently; queen's a little tipsy today, all her loyal subjects better stand back a little or she might fall in their laps and then it would be off with their heads, cause you're not supposed to touch the queen without her permission. She laughed at herself and replaced the dress on the rack.

She was just beginning to flip through the dresses on the rack Nancy had told her to pick from, when she heard a knock and Nancy calling out to her through the closed door, "Imogene, honey, are you alright in there?"

Oh darn, she thought how long's it been, anyway; I must have lost track of time, and then she answered, "I'm ok, just give me a sec; there're too many choices in here."

"Take your time, sweetie; I'm making a fresh batch of martinis; you can have one just as soon as you come out."

"OK," Imogene replied. Just what I need right now, another martini, she thought with what little semblance of judgment remained. She hastily examined the dresses she was to wear. They were a skimpy, flimsy lot, with sheer panels or open spaces in strategic spots; minimalist clothes, she giggled, very chic and avant garde, and she pondered indecisively whether twould be better to bare the breast or the butt for the first trip down the runway. Good grief, she marveled at the wisps of fabric masquerading as clothing, do people actually wear this stuff out in public; my God, she jabbered to herself, holding up to the light a particularly insubstantial looking selection, look at this one, my publishe hairs, I mean, pubiche hairs would be going publishe, I mean, public, in this one. She hung it back on the rack and looked for another, less risqué, offering, but there weren't many modest alternatives, and she wavered uncertainly.

As she stood pondering her options as best she could, Maxine's admonition suddenly returned to her, "Whatever she tells you to do, you go along with her and make her happy...you make her happy and she'll reward your friendship beyond your wildest dreams." My wildest dreams, she repeated mentally; sobering thought, her wildest dream, because she had big dreams and big plans for herself; she was ambitious and hungry and, most of all, she was eager for success, and the seductive trappings that accompany success: wealth, position and power. She took a deep breath and reached for the dress she had just returned to the rack, and, as she held it up for reinspection, hoping against hope that it had by some magic suddenly become opaque, she thought uncertainly, Maxine, I sure hope you're right about this.

Nancy was sitting on the edge of the couch, waiting with growing impatience, and nipping lightly at her fresh martini. She had turned the sound system on, and the room was filled with the energetic beat of a rock tune called "I'm too Sexy," which Archie had pirated off the Internet and recorded in an endless loop for her. She had partially closed the drapes, darkening the room considerably and had turned on the spotlights in the ceiling, which threw an arc of light circles on the floor from the door to the dressing room across the room to the opposite wall. The circles passed close enough to the couch that Nancy's feet were illuminated within one of them. The song was beginning its eighth rotation, and Nancy was becoming restless. She was about to check on Imogene again when the door to the dressing room opened a crack, and the girl's head poked through the opening.

"There you are," Nancy said crisply. "I was just about to come and check on you again."

"I'm sorry, Nancy, but some of these things aren't that easy to figure out how to put on. I kind of struggled with this one, but I think I got it right."

"Well, then," Nancy replied somewhat mollified, "come on out and let me see you; if you figured it out, I'll reward you with a martini, if you didn't I'll punish you with a martini."

"Gosh," Imogene laughed, still holding unsteadily to the doorway, "sounds like I can't lose."

"Oh, you'll get the martini alright, but let's see how the audition goes before we decide whether you lose or not, shall we?"

Imogene missed the warning in Nancy's comment, because the words of the song, "I'm too sexy for my shirt," had smothered them, and all she heard was the promise of another martini. Buoyed by the music and the thrill of wearing a designer dress, even an "X" rated one, she pushed the door open and stepped into the first circle of light.

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