Disclaimer: This story is copyrighted 1999 by Mark Anthony. This is a work of erotic fiction, involving explicit sexual acts between consenting female adults. If it ain't your cup of tea, read something else. If you are under 18 years of age, ditto.
Andrea frowned at her terminal as her eyes scanned the message. Most of the cubicles around hers were already vacated, the employees of the Imagine Publicity Agency having left at five o'clock sharp, to nice houses in quiet suburban neighborhoods. She, like most evenings this week, had opted to stay, mindful of her precarious status as new employee, hoping to score points with the boss by putting in extra hours. Five had become six without much work being done since she had spent the time clearing away the huge amount junk mail that was piling up in her inbox.
She brushed a lock of blond hair out of her face absentmindedly, looking for a sender's address. She knew better than to reply to the message when she saw it was some kind of anonymous mailing list. The contents of the message, unfortunately, reminded her all to well of her ongoing boyfriend problems of the moment, which centered around a dufus by the name of George Torelli. Instead, she tried to focus on the annoyance of having to filter through the mess of unwanted messages and other junk mail, but ten seconds wouldn't go by before George's face cropped up again and again in her mind.
"What the hell," she muttered, clicking on the forward icon and sending a copy of the "love mail" to three of her girlfriends--she sure as hell didn't lose much by resorting to that desperate kind of help. The message was forwarded instantly, and she erased it, shut off her computer, stretched her arms, grabbed her coat and purse, and went home.
By the time she got home, she had forgotten the whole thing.
"So what's the deal with the agency?" George asked, with typical nonchalance. "Are you gonna keep the job or not?"
Andrea was slowly discovering that her boyfriend had a gift for making his inquiries sound mechanical and coldly ritualistic, as if it were a particular burden on their relationship. She sat tensely on her chair, in a conservative but nicely cut evening dress, which tightened around her delicate, bare shoulders, and emphasized her soft silhouette. She had bought it recently, more to please herself than for George.
"I still don't know George. Can't we talk about something else for now, please?"
George was good looking to say the least, a bit of an unexpected catch for Andrea, following a double date with a cousin and two of her acquaintances two months ago. He was tall, striking, with sharp features and the body of a consummate athlete. She, with her shoulder-length natural blond hair, gentle brown eyes and sexy figure, was certainly a catch for *him*.
The first two weeks had been great, the couple quite taken with each other... but the routine of a normal relationship had soon begun causing a great deal of friction. George was very much self-absorbed. Looking back on the last few weeks, Andrea really wasn't sure they were going anywhere.
"You're always talking about the job when we get together Andrea", his biting sarcasm catching the attention of the young waiter who was passing by their candlelit table, "Now that I *indulge* you for a bit you don't wanna talk about it?" His emphasis on the word indulge carried all the snobbery he would have used in reprimanding a child.
Andrea made a dismissive gesture, trying hard not to let the mounting frustration in her ruin a perfectly good meal in the romantic surroundings of the Italian restaurant. She desperately wanted to enjoy a smooth evening for once.
So George dropped it. But his voice kept that nagging acerbic edge all evening, as he made a point to recount the trivial details of his own little life, most of it growing more and more uninteresting in her eyes. The gap in common interests had appeared quite early, but had been ignored by the both of them in the excitement of a budding relationship. It was now coming back with a vengeance. By the end of desert, both were silently looking into their own empty plates. Andrea was trying to come up with reasons for staying with him. By the time the check arrived, George announced he was coming over her place to grab his stuff.
"Fine" was all she said.
A single tear was slowly coming down her cheek by the time she got to Fey's place. Her friend opened the door and quickly got her into the lofty apartment, sitting next to her and being supportive as she struggled with her emotions.
The tears were of frustration mostly--that and the feeling of trying to give yourself wholly to another while receiving nothing in return. George was a son-of-a-bitch, and she wasn't unhappy to be rid of him--she was just angry at herself for having wasted time on him.
Fey nodded sympathetically, with an understanding forged since they were both little girls. They sat on the large couch, in the middle of spacious surroundings, soft lights illuminating part of the mostly dark apartment. The purposefully somber and reserved atmosphere was the sort of thing that was part of the cathartic ritual, something that went back a long way in their friendship.
"Don't worry about it" Fey assured Andrea with a impish smile, "at least now the wish-mail can do its work". Andrea looked at Fey, momentarily puzzled. "Oh--that e-mail. Yeah, I guess" she said, unconvinced. "I never put much stock in those things. And it's not as if the breakup wasn't going to happen."
She could feel that anger rising in her once again, but Fey calmed her down. She hugged Andrea tightly, stroking her mane of rich hair. "Believe me Andrea," she offered, gazing in her lovely eyes, "you can't avoid this kind of thing. Meeting this jerk may have been a low point, but at least you got rid of him in record time. Now if it had been me..."
"You never went out with a jerk like that!" Andrea protested.
"Harrison Nichols" Fey reminded her.
Andrea's mouth closed tightly, unable to think of a comeback.
Fey's expression was soft, even amused. "Two years, remember? And I'd still be hanging on to him if it wasn't for you."
Andrea smiled ever so slightly, for the first time of the evening, which delighted Fey.
"I still lead the 'most jerks dated' category, though..." she mused jokingly.
"Damn straight" Fey said, with a mock 'better you than me' expression, and yelped when Andrea poked her in the ribs.
Both women exploded in laughter.
Days turned into weeks.
Andrea soon forgot about George. In fact, her "mourning period" was short lived, ending abruptly when she discovered that she was in line for a promotion at the agency. Before the end of the month she was in charge of several projects, and was even allotted a budget and given administrative responsibilities. Someone had noticed the long hours she had put in and things were definitely looking up.
Two weeks later, she took time on a lunch break to pay Rachel a visit.
She was a mutual friend of Andrea and Fey, was a tall and stunning brunette working in a modeling agency, easily the best-looking girl Andrea knew. She had provided useful contacts to Andrea who had landed her the job at the Publicity Agency. Understandably, Andrea wanted to drop by and thank her again for the lead--it wasn't the ideal job she had conceived of securing when she had left college, but it was pretty close. If only she could get PR assignments, she was sure she could really stand out.
The studio Rachel worked in currently was about fifteen minutes away from her workplace--about halfway to a fast-serve restaurant she liked, not much of a detour for her. She walked into the older looking building, nodding to the receptionist in the main hall and asking on which floor she could find the shooting studio. After a quick ride up an elevator, she walked onto a vast indoor expanse, crammed with projectors, lighting equipment, cameras and wooden panels which served as subdivisions for the extensive number of simultaneous shoots presently going on. The ceiling was easily twice higher than normal, and it seemed that everywhere she looked, there were two kinds of people: gorgeous female models in various states of dress (or undress), and neurotic, focused short men holding on tightly to their cameras, meandering their way through the slightly crazed shooting schedules to make their deadlines.
She inquired quickly to a short and dungy techie who scarcely gave her any attention until she repeated three times that she was here to see Rachel, and then proceeded to yell her friend's name in an ear-splitting voice that made her wince. Seconds later, Rachel's head popped from around one of the backdrops. The techie pointed over his shoulder to Andrea, mumbling something before making a quick exit between the labyrinth of backdrops.
Rachel wore a light robe, under which Andrea could see a revealing dark negligée, a garter belt and long, black stockings with intricate patterns. The model stood a good inch over her on account of a pair of black stiletto heels, and she walked over with an ease and detached informality that seemed to contrast with her state of undress. Other women, similarly attired, came and went, presumably part similar shoots, all of them coldly detached and uncaring of the occasional lewd stare from a technician taking five and admiring the scenery.
"It's been a while Andie" said Rachel brightly, hugging her friend with enthusiasm. "I've been hearing good things through the grapevine."
"Well," Andrea said, unable to conceal her excitement, "I guess I've been doing something right. They might move me up to the public relations department if I can handle the ongoing projects."
"Moving up, mmh? Does this mean I get a finder's fee for getting you in?" Rachel teased.
"Only if I were doing as well as you apparently are" Andrea countered, on the same playful tone. "Now you're doing Victoria's Secret? When are you leaving for Paris?"
Rachel winked as she straightened her bust, as if to show her tits off. "You gotta use whatcha got baby" she managed, in a low, baritone voice, nudging Andrea with her elbow. Both laughed heartily.
