The rain was relentless. Sylvia sat staring out her office window, morbidly fascinated by the constant, driving intensity of the storm. She had watched it all morning, even skipping her lunch break in an unsuccessful wait for it to let up. The tiny, overworked heater straining noisily behind her had long ago given up any hope of keeping the fog off her window. Now with early evening falling, she could barely see the lights that had been on all day in the buildings across the street.
Long rivulets of condensation were running down the inside of the window. She watched as her misty reflection dissolved in a changing series of abstract designs, each twisting and flowing down the glass. She could feel each drop of water drain away her concentration, like Chinese water torture. She was aware that the beating rain was having an elemental effect on her, deep in her gut.
She felt the familiar, throbbing pressure growing and recognized it as the slow but welcome buildup of sexual tension that always accompanied a steady rain.
Her lover, Brandon, regularly took delight in teasing her about how fortunate it was they lived in the Pacific Northwest.
"Any woman who gets turned on by the rain is sure living in the right place around here," he would joke. Brandon loved her enthusiastic sexuality and was the first man she ever knew who was secure enough to encourage her to embrace it without being threatened himself.
For what seemed like the hundredth time she twisted in her chair to look at the clock. Only 3:30. She heard her secretary return from coffee break, shaking her raincoat and grumbling loudly about the weather. Sylvia's concentration was now completely frazzled and she knew any further pretense of working was ridiculous. She had been feeling hormonal all week and was dying for relief. Impulsively, she turned off the computer, took her purse out of her desk and locked the drawer.
"See you on Monday, Stella," she called into the office next to hers. "I'm outta here. If Brandon calls, tell him I blew off the afternoon and I'll catch him later at the Davenport."
Brandon had been out of town all week on business but was due back late this afternoon. Their earlier plans to meet for an after-work drink had been loose, but their Fridays were routine enough that she wasn't worried about missing him. She knew he'd either call or just show up sometime after six at their favorite bar. The old Davenport Hotel was only four blocks away and had become their regular meeting place for the three years they'd been living in Spokane.
Putting up her umbrella and facing into the driving rain, she felt somewhat like an escaping prisoner. She walked quickly down Post Street, empty except for one forlorn-looking woman standing in front of an abandoned pharmacy. It was faster to walk than wait for a taxi even if she did get a little wet and cold, and she knew the Davenport's famous fireplace would be roaring its usual welcome when she arrived. Then a nice hot Bailey's Irish Cream with coffee in the Peacock Room Lounge would have her feeling back in sorts in no time at all.
The bricks on the hotel entryway were slick and shiny in the glow of the overhead flood lights. A doorman she had never seen before stepped into the rain to greet her. He reached for her umbrella and ushered her quickly through the door into the lobby.
"Welcome, Miss," he smiled coolly.
His greeting was courteous rather than welcoming, but Sylvia knew he had carefully checked her out. The practiced eye he used when he looked her over had been professional and subtle. Most women probably wouldn't have noticed, but personally she always felt annoyed that an unescorted woman couldn't walk into a nice hotel without feeling suspect. The Davenport had a reputation for keeping a close watch on the hookers that flourished nearby and as a result they were rarely seen here.
Sylvia hurried into the practically deserted Peacock Room. Lightly perfumed votive candles on each small table flickered softly, the only direct lighting in the intimate room. Classical music enhanced the warm, inviting ambience, reminding her of old money and a bygone, musty elegance. She and Brandon had commented that the few call girls they occasionally did see here were very high-class and expensive looking.
She looked around the lounge and was immediately cognizant of being the only woman in the room, except for Laura, the cocktail waitress. As she took off her coat she smiled and waved, giving Laura a 'thumbs-up' to signal she was ready for her usual drink before settling into an overstuffed leather chair. Her skirt was drenched and she stretched her legs out toward an ornate old radiator, kicking off her shoes and wiggling her toes against its warmth. Greedily sipping the hot drink Laura sat before her, she quickly jerked it away when she painfully burned her tongue. Embarrassed, she looked around the room to see if anyone had seen her. A tall, slender man sat watching her intently from the bar. She followed his eyes and realized he hadn't noticed her discomfort because he was instead staring at her long legs stretched out before her.
Sylvia instinctively slithered deeper into the chair, feeling her damp skirt slide further up her slippery, nylon-covered legs. She knew she had a great pair of legs and liked having them looked at, especially by such a handsome man. As she more carefully sipped her drink she peered over the cup, studying him obliquely. She glanced around the room, pleased with the knowledge that men still found her attractive. She took a deep breath, enjoying heat radiating toward her and began to feel the best she had all day.
Laura soon appeared before her with another drink. She placed it on the table and was grinning broadly as Sylvia looked up at her in surprise.
"But, I didn't order this . . . " she started to say.
"It's from the gentleman at the bar." Laura winked knowingly, nodding her head at the man who had been admiring her legs. Sylvia turned to look at him and he smiled, toasting her silently with his drink. Sylvia smiled back, flattered by his confident gesture and watched as he stood up, tucked his tie into his jacket and walked toward her. Laura discretely slipped away, a smug look on her face.
"Mind if I join you?' he asked politely.
Sylvia felt the familiar flush of excitement that always accompanied a man's first attentions. She was no stranger to being approached and always enjoyed the flirtation and game playing. The instant chemistry between a new man and herself was one of her greatest enjoyments of being a woman. She looked at him approvingly, noticing that his expensive business suit and tie were the latest style. He was younger than she had realized, but was even more attractive close up.
Taking her silence as acquiescence, he lowered himself gracefully into the chair next to her.
"Thanks for the drink," she said.
His smile was boyish and charming, and Sylvia was struck by his strong sense of presence. "You looked a little cold and wet," he grinned. He held out his hand and waited patiently until she finally extended hers. "My name's Brad." He took it and squeezed softly.
She was surprised at how soft and gentle, almost feminine his grip seemed coming from such a large man. His eyes sparkled playfully as he settled back into his chair and then leaned attentively forward when she finally smiled at him.
