One of the great things about living single in Manhattan is the over-active social scene. There are bars, clubs, parties here to cater to any desire imaginable, cuisine from all over the world, and the world's best entertainment options. Of course, this scene draws visitors like moths to a flame. Case in Point: Amy and Michelle. My company's budgeting process required coordination between my group and these two Marketeers, both of whom decided these meetings were better held here than in our Corporate HQ. An email from Michelle explained the "airfares require a Saturday night stay", that she and Amy would make a weekend of it, and would I like to join them for a night on the town, the Saturday before our meetings? Great... I have what I would call a passing professional relationship with both women: I have been in meeting with them, but I would have been hard-pressed to give anything more than a general impression of either woman. I could not remember if either one was married, had a boyfriend (or girlfriend for that matter), or much of anything about either woman. I resigned myself to having a fun evening of drinks, exchanging company gossip, and setting the stage for productive meetings later in the week.
We had decided to meet for drinks in their hotel bar sometime around 10:00. I decided to play the penultimate NYC Girl with a somewhat conservative edge, so I dressed in a little black dress and not-quite-fuck-me pumps, with black seamed thigh-highs completing the look. Underneath it all, I wore a matching thong and strapless bra, also in black. I did not expect anyone would actually see what I had on under the dress, but the small thrill I got from dressing up a bit would make up for the evening talking shop.
I walked into the lounge, quickly spotted them, and almost as fast noticed I was already at a two-drink deficit. Turns out they came down from their rooms around 9:00, when the place was deserted, which at least ensured we had a prime location at the bar. We exchanged kiss-hug pleasantries, then I joined them and I added my drink to their standing order. They complimented my dress, how well I looked, and both agreed NYC agreed with my disposition. Both Michelle and Amy dressed to impress, both had on skirts with drops higher than my dress, with Michelle going for the fun and flirty look while Amy deciding a tight skirt just what her hips needed. I laughed a bit when I remembered I originally I thought I needed to tone things down a notch or two!
It also became apparent to me they had no interest in talking shop, either. What did become apparent was that both wanted a "Sex and the City" kind of evening. While not against such a thing in principle, in fact I dislike mingling my personal and professional lives. While it would have been great to go to a club, meet some cute guys, make them buy us drinks, and let them in our panties; I did not want such tales to travel back around the company campfire, which is what I feared would happen with these two. And I did not want to have Monday morning meeting with them, having seen them hook up on Saturday evening.
Of course, Amy managed to start flirting with a couple of admittedly cute bridge and tunnel boys sitting on the right side of us. When Michelle joined in pointing their attention in another direction, I looked around the bar and began a countdown until I could make my escape. Just as I was bringing my drink to my lips, my stationary hips collided with someone else's hips, and I just barely managed to get the upturned drink away from my dress. I turned to my left; ready to throw my death-stare at whoever intruded on my space, when a hand went to my shoulder and a feminine voice called out an apology to me. I had to look up to meet her very open and deep brown eyes, relented my death-stare, and returned her smile. She turned back to her friends, and I turned back to my drink.
Amy's boy noticed I had almost spilled my drink, and decided he needed to announce my apparent inebriation to anyone within earshot: "Whoops! Someone has a drinking problem!"
Amy came to my quick defense, telling him "That's Susan. She's our tour guide." Thanks, Amy. "She lives here." She continued by way of explanation.
"Oh, really," said the taller of the B&T Boys, "where do you live?"
"Hell's Kitchen," I answered back, somewhat miffed I had been drawn into this mating dance, then asked "And you two?"
"Yeah... we both live over in Hoboken. We have a great view of Manhattan, just can't see paying those Manhattan rents" came back his answer.
How nice, I thought: You have a great view of a place you cannot afford. I was thinking of something nice to say about New Jersey when his friend joined in with, "Sounds like you two are paying her too much!"
I bit my tongue, smiled at his joke, and quickly turned back to the bar. Just as the next drink appeared, I felt another nudge on my hip. The same woman as before stood there, obviously nudging me on purpose. She had turned from her friends a bit, as I had from mine, smiled again, and asked, "Are we having fun yet?"
I gave her another look. I would put her somewhere in her 40's, with a very elegant edge to her. She wore her well-coiffed hair off the shoulder, had on this shiny black halter-top with mesh sleeves, and a straight-line leather mini, all of which fit her very curvy form like a glove. She wore tall black leather boots with a spike heel; even without them she had a couple inches on me, with her boots she seemed to tower above me. She also held my gaze, nodded her head towards me, and had the best smile I had seen that evening. Yes, I took notice of her.
I took another look over her shoulder to find her friends now passing pictures amongst themselves. One of them called her by name, and Mari returned to their fold.
"I think you need to go." I laughed and turned back to Amy and Michelle.
"Susan, who was that?" asked Michelle.
"Another tour guide" came back my reply, but I do not think Michelle minded my answer, considering the hand now placed on her thigh. Amy seemed equally into her new friend, as I continued nursing my drink with studied disinterest.
