Moina Locklear was a lovely little thing, and she definitely knew it. She hadn't always been that way of course- having had an awkward adolescence where she wore glasses, had a face full of pimples and braces- but she seemed to be finally pleased with her appearance at the age of twenty-five, where her parent's money had bought her perfect, white teeth; a sexy, pouty bottom lip; a full bosom; and a wardrobe full of nice clothes. She went to the frequent cocktail parties of the local Connecticut bourgeoisie and prided herself on being a prominent member of the local yacht club- even though she didn't own a yacht.
Her mother had bequeathed to her before her lost battle with breast cancer, the estate, the family fortune, and a bonus of three thousand dollars won from her divorce settlement with Moina's father. Moina had enough to live comfortably for the rest of her days, all without lifting a finger.
She mused upon her good luck before checking her trusty palm-pilot for any appointments today. The day proved to be boringly empty save for the final event- the monthly 'themed' bash over at her friend Jill's house. Jill had a huge hot tub, which every month at her smashing parties proved to be the center of the Ridgefield gossip club. The theme this month (it was February) happened to be entitled "Seeing Red" and the invitation was as follows:
Martinez Monthly Mash
February 2009
"Seeing Red"
When: February 10th 7PM to 1AM
Where: Jill and Ricardo Martinez Estate
What: Enjoy cocktails, outdoor grilling, and more at this month's Mash, where the theme is RED! Wear red; bring red roses, whatever as long as it's RED in honor of Cupid's favorite holiday.
RSVP ASAP.
Moina excitedly pitter-pattered to her walk in closet, and turned to the side exclusively for dresses. She had four red dresses- one was out of the question because it required her to wear white shoes, and white after Labor day was a no-no- the other was a sundress, too casual- the third had a button missing- which left the fourth- a sexy, plunge-line halter with a pleated bottom that revealed just the right amount of skin. She chose a pair of matching red peep-toe pumps and laid them out on her bed along with red underwear and bra. The outfit was delightfully sensual overall.
Though Moina Locklear was a pretty little thing, and she could dress as scantily as she wanted- she never did so to attract men. For Moina, getting jazzed up proved to be for her own personal satisfaction. Men did not control her life because she had seen firsthand what her father had done to her mother by betraying her with another woman. She feared intimacy, especially the sexual kind, ever since she lost her virginity to a rough, inconsiderate boy named Ian at the age of seventeen. But she adored looking sexy, making people want her, even though the chances of her wanting them back were slim to none. Not that Connecticut lacked in cute, sophisticated guys...
Moina whittled away the day by going grocery shopping and getting her hair done. She loved the way her hair looked when it was freshly made up- she had short red hair cut to her chin in a modern, austere bob- she would catch her reflection in the window or a mirror and smile. Her face was dainty and girlish, her lips red against the paleness of her skin, her big brown eyes shown beneath the sepia of her eyeshadow and mascara, and her nose tweaked up in a perky little peak accented by the freckles underneath her eyes and across its bridge.
All throughout adolescence, her breasts were nonexistent, flat little lumps with no volume, until at nineteen she persuaded her mother to let her get implants which landed her with the 32Bs she had now. Her body was streamlined and slender, with wide hips and a small butt.
Moina sighed in the mirror and checked her watch. 6:02, still an hour left.
She watched television for a while (some game show) until it was finally time for her to depart.
--
The party was already well underway by the time she got there- the latest music blaring from the outdoor speakers, the fire pit heating the atmosphere around the fading February snow, the hot-tub full of people, martinis in everybody's hand.
"Oh Moina, we thought you'd never get here," came the slightly squealing, patronizing voice of her friend Jill, the host. Jill's man candy husband, a real-estate guru named Ricardo Martinez had his arm linked around hers, and his eyes traveled around in boredom. Jill and Moina kissed each other on the cheeks.
"Ricky, be a dear and go fetch Moina a martini will you?" she bade her husband, kissing him on the cheek. He made a grunt of assent and left the two women alone.
Jill and Moina began to chat animatedly about eyeliner and hair products, when something distracted the host, and her eyes lit up with excitement.
"Off the topic for a moment, Moina dear- but have you met my cousin Claude? He's visiting from Montana and is quite the interesting person. I swore he was around here somewhere..." her eyes searched the party hungrily for said cousin of hers, and Moina experienced the dreadful sense of being set up.
"Claude?" Jill called out, and after a few moments of impatient foot-tapping, an extraordinarily tall man emerged from the shadows of the house.
"Cripes, Jill, I was just getting a drink," he complained loudly.
Claude had to be at least six feet tall, with a boyish face and dirty-blonde hair. He wore a red shirt and black slacks. Once he stepped from the porch-light, his hair returned to a more natural shade of brown. It hung in loose curls down his neck.
"Claude," Jill addressed, her voice clipped; "there's someone I want you to meet. This is Moina Locklear. She lives in Ridgefield, just south of here. Would you be a dear and keep her company while I go refill the ice bucket for the champagne?"
Claude nodded noncommittally, sighing with relief after Jill went off, teetering in the opposite direction of the ice bucket she claimed she needed to refill.
"She's so damn bourgeois," Claude said curtly, his hands in his pockets. Moina nodded in silent assent.
