My name is Chester and I am an architect. After ten years of an "ideal" marriage with a lady called Mildred, I had a fling with my secretary, whose name I won't tell, and since I am not good at keeping secrets, my wife sued for divorce. I am not proud of the experience, so I won't go into the "juicy" details here; besides, I don't want to relive the emotional traumas and the economic hardships through which I had to go with my family. As for my secretary, she also left me. Although I don't blame her, my professional performance was also affected. I had to hire another employee, not as attractive, driven by guilt. The adjustment period lasted a little more than a year, but I was able to make a comeback, after securing an ambitious renewal project of several government buildings.
My daughter, Michelle, showed an interest in modeling in her teenage years. The classes are expensive, and, also, I don't like the idea that she might eventually pose for a fashion or sports magazine wearing bikinis or other scanty dresses, but I did not make an issue of it and paid up, in order to avoid heated arguments with her, or worst, with her mother. Some days, I drove her or picked her up at the academy. There I met her "runway" teacher. Her name is Daphne and she has the typical figure of a model, although she is a little short. I know that she won some local and regional beauty pageants, and she was a worthy finalist in international competitions. After her "reign," she had a brief and stormy relationship with a singer of some modern musical genre, and after several scandalous and violent incidents that harmed her good name, she drew back from the public life, according to the tabloids, who during some time, chased her around with the traditional "paparazzi" in order to merely catch some pictures of her without make-up, in plain clothes and with a few extra pounds. When the celebrity press lost all interest in her, in favor of "fresh meat," a renowned model, a little older than myself, opened her own academy, which includes an agency for alumni placement, and even with its own fashion design courses. In spite of Daphne's reputation, she was hired to teach girls and teenagers.
Many times, I assumed responsibility for her schoolmates from the academy or her regular school, when they had to work on special projects, because they came along the days that I had visitation, according to the joint-custody agreement. One afternoon, she insisted on inviting her favorite teacher: Daphne! The only good thing about it was being in presence of her beauty, since she was able to get back in shape as an example of discipline and self-control for her students, but her unexpected company made me feel uncomfortable. I feared that the topic of my divorce would arise and I suppose that she was apprehensive that I would only think of her in terms of the celebrity gossip in which she had been involved. In fact, I only wished to spend "quality time" with my daughter and not with a stranger, no matter how special she could be.
Michelle kept talking during the whole trip about her anecdotes in the academy and other girly topics, and Daphne merely remarked one thing or another along line of conversation that the child was setting. Sometimes, she looked at me, like anticipating that my daughter might say something that I might not approve, but I preferred to keep silent. I drove to an elegant restaurant, worthy of my "princesses," where they showed off their etiquette and good manners. The girl assumed a more discreet tone and the teacher took the word, starting conversations about harmless topics, such as: art, music, good food and the weather. After having dinner and paying, I drove them to my apartment, where, after breaking the ice, I found the company of the former model more pleasing and comfortable. Furtively, I noticed more of her features: shoulder-length light-brown hair, almost round face, not very different from the girls in her class, light-green eyes, almost blue, hypnotic; lips not very thick, but very kissable, well-kept hands and feet, and a very sober dress, semi-formal.
After a few hours, my ex-wife called in advance to tell me that she was coming to pick up Michelle, so Daphne and I felt a little nervous that Mildred might find the teacher in such a cozy situation with my daughter and myself, so I told her:
"Miss, please, wait for me in the room, and Michelle, take your things and let's go downstairs to wait for your mother."
Daphne could not conceal an expression of resentment because I was trying to keep her hidden, but I insisted:
"Look, my divorce from her mother was quite ugly, and if she sees you here, she will stop sending Michelle to your school and complain to your boss."
