Craig cleared the cocktail glasses from the coffee table as I stacked the dinner dishes in the dishwasher. All in all it was a successful dinner party but with an added twist.
"Courtney seemed to be...oh...very interested in you," my husband commented in an off hand manner.
At first, I thought his comment was a bit strange but in truth it was accurate as the faint odor of Courtney still resided on my lips.
"Maybe you're reading too much into it hon," I said trying to deflect any intimation that Courtney wanted more than just friendship from me.
"Listen Mia, I know she's your friend but there's something in her eyes that..." he said with his voice trailing off.
As I readied myself for bed, I saw Craig gazing at me with a curious look in the mirror. Normally, Saturday evenings ended with a rousing sex romp but tonight was the continuation of a long dry spell for my husband.
When I pulled back the covers and got into bed I turned my back to him. Instantly his muscular arms enveloped me and I felt his boner against my ass.
"Not tonight hon, I'm really tired," I lied and moved away from him.
Truthfully, I loved Craig but my recent activities had me seriously questioning my sexuality.
"Humph!" Craig sighed disgustedly.
"Tomorrow morning, ok babe?" I said trying to appease him when I knew damn well that he liked to sleep late on Sunday's.
For the next hour, I tossed and turned as thoughts of Courtney dominated my mind. With mixed feelings, I recalled my first chance meeting with her mother, Elise, over two years ago.
It was the typical autumn evening in New York, cool and crisp with a hint of winter in the air. I was hopelessly lost driving around the Greenwich Village area looking for a new restaurant that was all the rage with twenty something New Yorker's.
"Make a right on Bleeker," Cleo whined impatiently.
The tires on the Mercedes squealed loudly when I executed the turn. I was a firm believer that owning an automobile in Manhattan was sheer folly.
"We should have taken a taxi. Why do you always insist on me driving?" I asked rather nastily.
"My dahling Mia, you are the lucky owner of a Mercedes 450 SEL that I am guessing you pay over twelve hundred a month to garage. It only makes sense to take it out and let the poor thing stretch its legs," she said with wit.
We were several blocks down Bleeker Street when I noticed a brightly lit building to my right.
"I'm going in and ask for directions," I said with determination.
I left the vehicle double parked and ran into a small art gallery. Craig had showed me how the GPS system on the car operated but under stress, I was drawing a blank.
"Excuse me, but do you know if O'Hara's Grill is nearby?" I asked with pleading in my voice.
A very pretty woman with lovely features and golden hair gazed at me with a puzzled expression.
"I'm not sure but I believe that it's thirty blocks or better in the opposite direction," she said with élan.
Quickly I glanced at my wrist watch, we were already twenty minutes late for our reservation. I thanked the vivacious woman and returned to the car with a line of honking traffic behind it.
"Well? Where is it?" Cleo asked.
"Practically on the other side of town," I stated with vehemence looking for a parking space.
Luckily, one was less than a block away and I edged the Mercedes into the spot.
"Why are you parking here?" Cleo mouthed with excitement.
"Because, we're not only late for our reservation but they probably gave it to another party by now and I'm starving. I saw some appetizers and wine on a sideboard at the gallery. We can look at the paintings and discreetly stuff ourselves," I said adamantly.
"Oh ok!" Cleo said resignedly.
In spite of her socialite status and wealth, Cleo was a genuinely nice person. Inside the gallery, we were greeted by the same woman who gave me the directions.
Cleo made a bee line for the food and I followed behind. With a glass of wine in my hand, I studied the paintings on the gallery wall. They were very good perhaps excellent examples from a talented artist.
"The detail is exquisite," I marveled out loud as I studied the painting of a street scene.
"Thank You," a voice at my elbow uttered.
"Oh, excuse me but I thought you were my friend Cleo," I stated shyly.
"I'm Elise, the artist in question and you are?" she asked with aplomb.
"Mia," I said timidly gazing into the deep blue eyes of the lovely artist.
"Why did you decide to come back and take in the art exhibit?" Elise asked.
Without hesitation, I explained the predicament with our reservation and overwhelming hunger.
"The gallery closes in a half hour and I know of a small but elegant bistro a few blocks away. I would consider it an honor if you and your friend joined me," she said in a breathy voice.
I accepted but Cleo declined and hailed a taxi.
At the Bistro, the maitre d' and staff acknowledged Elise when she entered. In spite of a lobby area filled with waiting diners, we were seated immediately.
Elise spoke about her work as an artist as we supped on the most delicious food.
"This exhibition has been my poorest showing so far," she stated wistfully.
"I thought the paintings were wonderful!" I stated with honesty.
"The critics gave me scathing reviews this time around and in a way deservedly so," she uttered mysteriously.
"Why?" I asked naïvely.
"I usually paint people as my subjects but my most experienced model, Courtney, flatly refused to pose for me. I had an entire series of nudes planned and she was the ideal subject but..." she sighed.
As I watched Elise, I guessed her age to be about forty, in spite of her youthful appearance.
"Was there nothing you could do or say to convince her?" I asked.
