Danielle 13

1.

Sophie was trapped at the back of the bar. She'd made the mistake of walking in alone and being a woman at the same time. And because she was so polite, she made for easy prey for peacocking would-be suitors -- including the guy sitting next to her, explaining the proper way to make a dry martini. So the second she spotted Claire, she shot her hand in the air like the first kid in class with the right answer, and waved her friend over to her table -- Now.

"You see, it's all about which vermouth..."

"Hey!" Sophie said as Claire approached.

"Hey!" Claire said, matching Sophie's smile and spunk. They hugged tightly and gave each other kisses on the cheek. "Sorry I'm late."

"It's fine," Sophie said. "I was just talking here with Gary..."

"It's Glen, actually," the man corrected. He rose slightly to shake Claire's hand. "It's nice to meet you, Miss...?"

"Cl— "

"This," Sophie jumped in, "is my good friend, Lilly."

Claire gave Sophie a knowing smirk. (("Lilly," huh?))

Sophie's look back said. ((C'mon...))

Claire made as though she were chewing gum, and switched over to a thick, abrasive Long Island accent that sounded something like Marissa Tomei in My Cousin Vinny. "Hi! I'm Lilly," Claire said with a hard handshake for Glen. "I hope I'm not interrupting nothing."

"Well, actually..." Glen began.

"Not at all!" Sophie said. "Pull up a seat, Lilly. You need a beverage."

"Oh-my-GAWD! Yes, please!" Claire said.

"I'm actually due for a refill myself," Sophie said, looking around the bar for their server.

"Good luck with that," Glen said with a deep eye roll. "Service tonight has definitely been sub-par. This martini is hardly dry."

Claire grimaced at Sophie. ((Yikes.))

Sophie opened her eyes wide. ((Right?))

"Oh-my-GAWD!" Claire said to Glen, "Do you know who you remind me of?"

"Uh... who?"

"Quentin Tarantino!" she said loudly. She turned to Sophie. "Doesn't he look just like Quentin Tarantino?"

"Yep," Sophie said truthfully into her wine glass. "He sure does."

Glen laughed nervously. "Thanks... I've always..."

"Oh-my-GAWD!" Claire said. "Don't you just LOVE Tarantino? You know what I like? I like how his movies are just like other movies, you KNOW?"

Glen took a long sip of his drink.

"Did you see the one about the slaves?" Claire continued, louder, leaning into Glen's face. "Duh-Jango?"

Sophie pursed her lips to suppress a laugh.

"Can-you-buh-LIEVE the crap he got for that?" Claire said. "You ask me, if Blacks don't like that word, then they shouldn't be using it so much, either, RIGHT?"

Sophie gave Claire a nod. ((Nice touch.))

((Thank you,)) Claire nodded back.

Glen seemed to chew this last point over, turning his face up into a hard, Tarantinoan squint. "You know something, Lilly," he said, lifting his glass. "I couldn't agree with you more."

2.

Claire was a polyglot with an uncanny ear for dialects. She had the ability to jump in and out of voices, to take on a whole new identity when the moment suited her. It was a talent that had provided Sophie with much amusement back in their wilder days.

There was "Cassidy," the rough-and-tumble Kiwi who attracted Rugby players and outdoorsy guys just looking for a simple, down to Earth girl with a sick body who liked to camp; "Mishka" was the Russian ice-princess that trust-fund babies and wannabe Wall-Streeters worked so hard to win over, flashing cash and coke, promising long, exotic weekends; "Donna Jo Sugarbaker" (Claire always said the whole thing) was a Dixie belle she reserved for the corn-fed quiet types who loved God and guns without irony, but who always -- always -- opened the door for her. Sophie's personal favorite was "Danielle," a pushy, pouty French femme who elicited (and usually fulfilled) American male fantasies of uninhibited sexual appetites. Guys were rarely prepared for Danielle.

"Lilly" -- the Long Island Lifeline -- was the one who swooped in to rescue Sophie from unwanted advances or ill-advised hook-ups. How many times had they been in a grimy frat house, with Sophie tucked under the sweaty arm of a shirtless bro breathing heavily into his red Solo cup, and Claire wedging herself square between them, attacking the poor horny bastard with boisterous "Oh-my-GAWD's" and "Can-you-buh-LIEVE's," until he finally gave up and left, deciding that it just wasn't worth it. Lilly came in handy, and had a pretty high success rate.

But Glen, here, was determined.

When the server finally arrived, Sophie immediately ordered another Chardonnay. And as Claire began to order a drink for herself, Glen chimed in.

"Allow me. I'm actually a bit of a mixologist myself," Glen insisted, before rattling off a list of strange cocktail suggestions.

"Let's see," he said, "Can you guys make an Ugly Christmas Sweater?"

"I'm not sure," the server said, sure.

"How about a West Indian Whorehouse?

"A West Indian...?"

"A Marked for Death?" Glen asked. "An Above the Law? A Hard to Kill?"

"Sir, I think those are just Steven Segal movies."

Sophie breathed in deeply and closed her eyes. Was this why Claire had invited her out to this place? Was this the good time she'd been promised? To help get her mind off of her ex? Hell, she had Chardonnay at home. And at least at there she didn't need to wear a bra.

"How 'bout an Out for Justice...?" Glen asked.

"She'll have a Malbec!" Sophie blurted out. She exhaled and quickly composed herself. "Malbec, right?" she asked Claire, calmer.

"That would be fabulous," Claire said in a toned-down Lilly voice, hiding in her phone while Glen finished his list.

As the server sped away, Glen reached into his coat pocket and pulled out what at first looked like a Taser, or a remote control of some sort. He put the device to his lips and sucked on its tip, while a little blue light flashed in confirmation. A white cloud momentarily covered his face.

"Um, Glen?" Sophie said. "I'm pretty sure you're not allowed to smoke in here."

"It's an e-cigarette," he assured her, shaking his head. "The cigarette of the future."

"Are you sure it's not from the past," Sophie asked. "From when you could legally smoke inside public places?"

Claire laughed at this with her real voice.

"Ah! But it's not smoke," Glen said. "It's vapor. Perfectly harmless."

"Even so," Sophie said, glancing at the other tables around them. "I don't think..."

Glen waved her off. "Here, I'll show you." He took another drag and held it in, and made as though he were about to blow it out right into Sophie's face, to prove his point. But before he could exhale, he was startled by a hard, tight grip on his shoulder. He choked on his harmless non-smoke, staring at a set of thick, brown fingers bunching up his ill-fitting jacket.

"Excuse me," said a deep, rich voice in the near-dark. "You're not allowed to smoke in here."

"It's um..." Glenn stammered at the large Black man standing behind him. "Vee, um... It's vapor." He held up the device, pointing to it impotently. "See?"

With their silence, Claire and Sophie, both made their indifference to Glen's plight perfectly clear.

"I think it's time to go," the gentleman said. He held onto Glen as he packed up his e-cig and downed the rest of his martini, and he didn't let go until Glen made his exit and waved goodbye to the ladies as he faded into the background.

"Is everything alright here?"

Sophie turned to the new arrival and smiled. "We..."

"Oui!" Claire interrupted. "Now that you are here," she said, switching over to a heavy French accent.

Sophie raised her eyebrows at Claire. ((Yeah?))

Claire raised a single eyebrow back at her. ((Yeah.))

It was then that Sophie noticed the empty space on Claire's left hand where she usually wore her wedding ring.

"I don't want to intrude," he said.

"No, no," Claire said, pointing out the newly vacated spot next to Sophie. "S'il te plait. Please, join us."

He sidled up to Sophie and sat down. He was so much bigger than Glen and couldn't help brushing up against Sophie. The sudden contact made her tense up at first. Only at first.

He said, "I was just hanging out at the bar..." and stopped, and laughed at himself. "So cliché..."

"Hmm, let me guess," Claire picked up. "You are staying in this hotel, and you are only in the city for one night. And you usually do not approach women like this...?"

"That's right," he said.

Claire continued, "But you saw the two of us from afar and fell madly in love with us at first sight, yes?"

His smile broke through the muted darkness. "Something like that, I suppose," he said. "That, or maybe you just looked like you were in need of rescue."

Sophie giggled, shaking her head.

"Rescue!" Claire said loudly. "As tu entendu?" she asked Sophie.

Sophie only offered a shrug in return. Her own l'éducation en français consisted primarily of wine names and the lyrics to "Les Poissons" from The Little Mermaid.

"And is that why you are in the city in the first place, hmm?" Claire asked. "To rescue us?"

"Perhaps," he said, taking a sip of his drink.

"But are you not all taught in America to fear strangers?" Claire asked. "Je me demande, who will rescue us from you?"

For Sophie, Danielle was always fun to watch in action. She was haughty and she didn't give a shit. She freely called out her admirers, stripping them down to their base urges; only then were they free to fuck without pretexts or rules. Claire used to say that she had some of her best sex as Danielle; she'd certainly been the star of Sophie's favorite morning-after stories.

"Now," Claire said, "If we were to... mm... introduce ourselves, you would no longer be a stranger to us, yes? How does that sound?"

The gentleman nodded his head and extended his hand. "Lamar."

"Bonsoir, Lamar," Claire said, taking his hand. "My name is... Lizette."

Sophie took a sip from her glass and cocked her head at Claire. Lizette?

Claire returned the look. "And this," she said, gesturing to Sophie, "This is my very best friend... Danielle."

Sophie nearly choked on her wine. Her eyes opened wide, still staring at Claire as Lamar took her hand.

"Lamar," he said.

"Huh? Oh... Bon... Bonjour?" Sophie said. "Bonjour."

Claire smiled at Sophie, taking a sip from her own glass.

"It's nice to meet you both," Lamar said. He gave Sophie a sly grin that made her squirm in her seat.

"So, Monsieur Lamar," Claire said. "Now that we are no longer strangers, how do you plan to rescue us?"

3.

The hotel elevator was one of the newer kind, with a TV screen on the back wall. Claire was captivated by a story on the news, about a family dog that had disappeared from the backyard one day, only to reappear at the front door over a month later, by himself, safe and sound and happy as ever, sporting a new bandana around his neck; he'd been cleaned and fed, and clearly taken care of while he was gone, but by whom was a mystery. When asked where she thought her pet dog had been -- if he, in fact, had left her for another family -- a little girl with burettes told the reporter, "I don't care. Just as long as he always comes back home."

Sophie stared at her faded reflection in the glowing, gold-plated elevator doors. She couldn't help but fidget, running her fingers through her short, blonde hair, and brushing imaginary lint off the front of her black dress, adjusting and readjusting her cleavage. She was petite, and whenever she saw herself in a full-length mirror, she stood on her toes and elongated her neck, as though stretching herself out an inch at a time. As the car ascended, her heartbeat thumped in time with each passing floor.

"So..." she said. "What exactly is going to happen up there, Lizette?" She spoke with an adorable trembling lilt that always made her sound both a little bit excited and a little bit scared.

Claire checked her own reflection in the doors and ran her fingers through her long, blown-out locks, turning her head to examine herself at all angles. "Just follow my lead," she said with a smile.

Sophie started to asked another question, but couldn't get it out before they arrived at their floor. Her image disappeared as the elevator doors parted open.

4.

"Glad you could make it," Lamar said, opening the room door. He'd taken off his suit jacket, and his dark skin popped off the crisp whiteness of his shirt. "Please, come in,"

"Merci," Claire said. She lightly grabbed hold of Sophie's hand and led her inside. Lamar's suite was spacious and bright, and boasted a wide open view of the city. On the bar, champagne chilled in a bucket of ice next to a set of glasses. A sultry r&b tune surrounded them, playing from somewhere in the walls.

"Ah yes, this is quite nice," Claire said. "D'accord, mon ami?" she asked Sophie.

"Um... Oui."

"Oui," Claire said in approval.

"Your friend doesn't say much, does she?" Lamar said.

"This is true," Claire said, giving Sophie a probing look. "Perhaps a glass of champagne would help with that, yes?"

"Oh... yes," Lamar said, jumping into action. "Yes, of course." He poured a glass for each of the ladies, then one for himself. "What should we drink to?"

Claire thought about this. "Let us drink to... to les étrangers,"

"Lazy...tron...?" Lamar asked

"Les étrangers," Claire corrected.

"Right," Lamar said. "Anyway, what does that mean?"

"'The strangers,' of course," Claire said with a smile.

Lamar returned her smile. "To the strangers," he said, clinking Claire's glass, then Sophie's.

All three of them took a sip.

Claire took a seat on the couch. She crossed her legs and made no attempt to cover her now-exposed, bare thigh. Her eyes darted from Sophie to Lamar, and back.

Sophie furrowed her brow at her. ((What are you up to?))

Claire bit her bottom lip and held her gaze on Sophie, even as she spoke to Lamar. "Tell me, dark stranger. What do you think of Danielle?"

Sophie could hear Lamar behind her, sipping from his glass and licking his lips clean.

"How do you mean, exactly?" he asked.

((Yeah, how do you mean, exactly?)) Sophie thought.

"Well, I don't know," Claire said. "Do you think that she is beautiful?"

"I do," Lamar said without pause.

Sophie took a sip of her own. She wasn't sure what she expected to hear, but his answer -- and the speed with which he gave it -- made her smile in spite of herself. She wanted to turn around; she wanted to look him in the eye, to -- what? -- to thank him? To see if he were telling the truth? She felt her face turn red, suddenly hot with the thought of his eyes on her.

"Come closer," Claire said.

Sophie took a step forward.

"Not you, mon ami," Claire said. She turned to Lamar. "You."

Lamar complied, and with one long step he was right behind Sophie. She felt his closeness again, like she did in the bar downstairs. More so, even. Standing, it felt as though he were all around her, like a wall closing in. She fought the urge to lean back, to let the building collapse on top of her completely.

"Touch her," Claire said.

Lamar's hand hovered over Sophie's bare shoulders, his fingers grazing the fine hairs on her skin. He moved down along her arm and back up - one, then the other. Her body braced itself at the threat of his touch.

((Claire...?)) her eyes said. Her lip trembled. She wanted to speak -- thought she should speak -- but didn't.

"Put down your glass," Claire told Lamar. "And take hers, too."

"Any particular reason?" Lamar asked, finishing his drink and doing as he was told.

Claire's voice was suddenly cool and commanding. "Because monsieur, you need both hands free to unzip her dress."

Sophie's mouth dropped. ((Claire!))

"And you, Danielle" Claire said, "need your hands free to remove your dress."

Sophie was frozen, and didn't know what to say in any language. This was the time to call everything off, to come clean. The last exit on the highway. And yet, despite the high stakes and the paralyzing tension, Sophie's eyes couldn't help but follow Claire's long legs as they uncrossed and crossed again, her skirt riding even higher.

Lamar's finger dug into the seam of Sophie's dress, searching for the zipper. Once he found it, he tugged at the slider and paused, holding it out in place.

Sophie's breaths were short, and once again she heard her heart thumping. She gave Claire a hard, anticipatory stare. ((Are you sure?))

Claire raised an eyebrow in return. ((Are you?))

Sophie closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and nodded her head. ((Yes.))

With that, the zipper on her dress pulled apart.

One.

Tooth.

At.

A time.

She shivered at the new coolness on her back. She reached up and pulled the dress down slowly, letting it slip from her chest, to her hips and onto the floor, where it stayed, pooled at her feet. She stood in front of the two of them now in only a white satin bra and matching panties. Exposed.

"And how about now?" Claire said to Lamar. "She is even more beautiful, no?"

"Y-yes," Lamar said, clearing his throat. "She is."

Sophie felt his gaze, and was sure that, if she reached back, she'd find a hard-on tearing through his zipper. He was showing a lot of restraint, she thought, all things considered. She found herself turned on by the idea of it, at how close she and he were to one another without really touching; at how, with his size, he could really just pick her up and do all things possible to her, if he wanted -- if Claire would only let him...

"Danielle!" Claire said. "We are waiting for you."

Sophie snapped to attention. She was suddenly aware of how easily she could answer to the name and a smile crept across her face.

As she reached behind her back and unclasped her bra, Lamar slipped his fingers underneath the straps, sliding them off of her shoulders. Sophie's full breasts spilled into his hands. From behind, he pulled her body into his, kissing her shoulders and her neck, breathing into her ear. With on hand, he pulled her panties down; the other was firmly on her breast.

Sophie didn't need to grab his hard-on; she could feel it digging into her back like a weapon. She wondered how it'd feel deep inside of her, and found herself hoping that it would hurt, even just a little. And she became wet with the possibility of it. She grabbed hold of his hand, moved his fingers around her waist, down her thigh, and tucked them between her legs. She clasped her fingers over his, guiding him through her slippery lips. She twisted her hips to maneuver him further inside of her.

She could hear Claire trying not to moan herself, and failing. This turned Sophie on even more, the thought of giving herself to both their appetites. Her whole body tightened as her first orgasm approached. She dug her fingers into Lamar's arm, and her thighs squeezed his fingers until they couldn't move. No matter - by now, just the feel of his touch, the way he so hungrily held her in his grasps, was enough to make her cum. When she did, and she finally opened her eyes, she found Claire still on the couch, licking her lips, with her own hands hidden between her legs. It was clear to Sophie that the two of them were returning from the same trip.

Sophie stared at her with narrowed, dreamy eyes. ((So? What do we do now?))

Claire smiled back coyly. "I don't know, Danielle," she responded aloud. "What do we do now?"

5.

Sophie lay in the bed, on her back. Claire's blowout fanned out across her stomach. She couldn't see Claire's face, but didn't need to; she could feel Claire's tongue tracing the light trail of hair on her pussy leading down to its opening, alternate between teasing and attacking her clit - Claire parting her legs with force, even when each orgasm begged for them to shut. Especially then.

Lamar lay next to Sophie, kissing her forehead, her nose (which she wiggled like a bunny at his touch), her lips, her chin, her neck. He ran his tongue along her breasts, taking each one in his mouth, indulgently licking and sucking and biting at her nipples, sending short signals of pleasure through the rest of her body.