Late summer. The sun blared hot on the southern soil in a seasonal conspiracy with humidity to hang heavy in the still air. Hibiscus bloomed profusely, brilliant colored flowers opened like wide smiles turned up at the deep blue sky. Crepe myrtles displayed white, pink, purple and red confetti, their spindly floral umbrellas arching over walkways and streets. Lush shades of green spilled out as ground cover, backdrops and lavish veils to nature's living palette.
She gazed out at the extravaganza, enjoying the morning scenery. Turning back toward the coffee pot, she spied something propped against her porcelain mug. His distinctive script on a bisque linen envelope, her name in thin lines of stark black ink - she opened the flap, removed the note and read:
"delphi ~ complete your tasks early and prepare for formal dinner in town. Your clothing has been left on the dressing table – wear those, not more, nor less. Choose light makeup appropriate for dining, and affix your hair up loosely. Your appearance should be appealing – perhaps even enticing – without creating distraction. I will send a car for you at seven o'clock sharp. ~ D'Ordre"
Immediately, she walked barefoot down the hall to the bedroom, curious what He would choose for her to wear for dinner in public. There were two plain white boxes on the dressing table, one smaller than the other. She sat down on the damask-covered bench, imagining the contents – and then opened the lid of the larger box.
White tissue paper... and then, the selections purchased decidedly for His pleasure. Heart racing in anticipation, she proceeded to bathe, and spent the rest of the day getting ready: scrubbing fair flesh to a soft glow, shaving carefully to a smooth finish, ensuring that she was dutifully clean, inside out, outside in. She used light foundation, two shades of blush, artfully painted her eyelids with natural shades, brushed on black mascara. Dabbed perfume on her wrists, behind ears – inside her navel. Last, artfully applied hot red lipstick.
Check the clock: time to dress. The car arrived promptly – an obedient slave, she was waiting on the front steps.
He made reservations at an exclusive private club, requesting a secluded table that offered a view of the lake. The drive from the house was just over an hour, and He didn't want to miss her entrance. She will walk past patrons seated at the bar and in the dining room – their reactions, and hers, will endow quite an engaging affair from His privileged vantage point.
Stopped the Lincoln at the front door, handed the keys off to a waiting valet, and slipped into a dark gray herringbone sport coat before continuing inside. Greeted by a well-polished host, He was led to the expansive window wall looking out over the lake, then into a candle-lit alcove just large enough for a party of two.
He sat down in a plush fine Italian leather wingchair, appreciating its functional placement: unobstructed visual access to the main dining room, while His guest remained visible only to Him. Directly opposite, He faced an elegant black wrought iron chair shielded by a semi-circle river-stone wall. Sculpted from heavy metal was a female figure whose lush black hair spiraled up in lustrous curls over the curved chair back. Her silhouette stretched into long shapely legs and spindly arms bound by twisted metal rope that wove delicately around her until it knotted at wrists and ankles, forming an iron web that provided more than adequate seating.
He was pleased with these accommodations; nodding approval to the host, he ordered a drink, glanced at His watch, and sat back against the cushioned leather. She should be arriving soon.
At the restaurant, she sat perfectly still, poised for the driver to open her door. Knees pressed together, she turned gracefully so that both feet landed outside at once. She thanked her chauffer, proceeded to the entrance and was met by a refined young man in a black tuxedo who promptly took her arm.
"Welcome, miss delphi – come right this way." She complied, unquestioning that he addressed her by name, though they had never met. D'Ordre left nothing to chance; His attention to detail quantified her safe-keeping.
The foyer was dark, so it took a couple of minutes for her eyes to adjust. She was glad for piano instrumentals coming from hidden speakers; otherwise her escort might hear the intense pounding in her chest. Carefully, she kept one step behind, eyes forward and slightly lowered, trusting his lead down four carpeted stairs into the dining room.
Her long mahogany hair was twisted and fastened with a simple but elegant ivory comb, with a few loose ringlets around her face. Soft beige complexion highlighted with coral rose blush, eyelids shaded the color of Florida sand and framed by lashes tipped in sleek black. Smooth lips sun-kissed in glossy red.
This is what He studied first: her refined poise.
