I walked down the hill on the west side Wisconsin Avenue in Georgetown, crossing the C and O canal, and stopped outside the window of a small women's boutique. The window displays indicated a variety of fine clothing and accessory items, immaculately arranged and appointed, so I entered. A small bell attached to the door jingled, announcing a visitor.
As the newly appointed general manager of Georgetown Park less than a month ago, it was part of my job to canvass the area for potential tenants willing to leave their storefront stops for a place inside the struggling, but beautiful, enclosed mall on the corner of M and Wisconsin streets. And, there are worse places to sight-see than the streets of Georgetown, for a variety of reasons.
In the first few weeks in my new position, I had already come across some of the most beautiful women I had ever seen. Washington DC was a haven for beautiful, educated women, and Georgetown in particular was popular was a bevy of international tourists, mainly European. The streets of Georgetown attracted a veritable potpourri of pussy, on a daily basis, in every conceivable shape, size, age, and color.
It was the early Fall of 1990. The venerable DC-area department store, Garfinckel's, had just closed its doors, which is a crushing blow for any shopping center that loses an anchor store. A slew of other smaller stores were already on financial life support, either severely delinquent or on reduced rent structures.
Though no one quite knew it yet, there was a recession on the horizon which would last a few years. But at the somewhat tender age of thirty-one, I had already created a bit of a reputation for turning around the fortunes of shopping malls. Georgetown Park was my third assignment in less than three years, and I had relocated from New Jersey for this particular opportunity. So, my interest in this particular shop was purely professionally related.
Initially.
I heard her before I saw her. A voice came from the back of the store. "Hello," that voice called out, in a distinctly Scandinavian accent. "Welcome to my store."
My instinct, at first glance, was that she was a drop-dead ringer for Jane Fonda. Now, that may sound funny to imagine, but back in the day, Jane Fonda, then also in her early fifties, was a stone-cold fox. Regardless of what anyone may think of her political beliefs, no one could logically dispute her "hotness". Her fitness videos in that era were the impetus for exercise for millions of America's women, and masturbation fodder for men of all ages. Myself included.
As she strode toward me, the resemblance became even more striking, down to the shaggy, stylish bob hairdo, layers of honey-colored locks, tumbling down onto her forehead, with one loose bang that dangled sexily over one eye. She brushed if off with a wave of a manicured finger, and my professional interest was suddenly long forgotten. A burgeoning hard-on will make a man's memory and conscience very short indeed.
She smiled at me, while seeming to take inventory of my own goods, her ice-blue eyes scanning up and down quickly. I was dressed in a navy blue suit and black wingtips, and I noticed that she looked for an extra second at my feet.
Women always notice the shoes. Why is that? Most men wouldn't really notice right away if a woman is wearing muddy work boots. We have other areas of attention to focus upon. But a woman? A woman sizes up a man's shoes with the same level of curiosity as a grizzly bear sniffing a honey pot. Go figure.
"My name is Ulla, I am the owner," she proclaimed with an obvious amount of pride. "Are you looking for anything special?" she asked, grinning mischievously. "Or searching for ideas for that special lady?"
Somewhat bashfully, I introduced myself as the new manager of the neighboring mall, and explained that I was just getting acquainted with the area.
She listened to me stammer for a moment, her eyes piercing into my own. Finally, she nodded knowingly. "Ah, yes, I have several friends who work in your mall. I heard they had a handsome, new manager. You are already quite popular. It is my pleasure to meet you."
I couldn't help but blush at her compliments. The blushing was accompanied by a quickly growing rock-hard bulge in my pants. Mainly, I found myself attracted to younger women. In fact, my own girlfriend was twenty-two years old, still back in Jersey, completing her master's degree at Princeton.
However, I knew instinctively that Ulla, despite being twenty years my senior (I found out later that she was fifty-one) was something different. I just didn't know, not just yet, how my world would change.
We made small talk in her quiet store for maybe fifteen minutes, while her associates, two middle-aged and very elegant women themselves, catered to the few shoppers that ventured inside. I asked most of the questions, at least at first. Inquisitiveness is a sign of profound interest in the subject matter, right?
I learned that Ulla was a native of Finland, and grew up in Tampere, the country's third largest city. She moved to the states to go to "university", as she called it, in 1959 (the year I was born). She married one of her professors, who was much older than her, a few years later. Their marriage lasted until the mid-80's, when she was widowed, and Ulla opened her boutique shortly thereafter. She was independent, worldly, and engaging. I hung on every word. Literally.
She had a townhouse just a few blocks away, and professed her love for all things Georgetown. It was clear that she was entrenched in the area and knew pretty much everyone and everything there was to know regarding local matters. I decided immediately that if nothing else, she would be a valuable resource of local retailing information for my leasing efforts.
And that's how I hit on her. Professionally, that is. "Tell me, Ulla, have you ever considered relocating your lovely store to our mall? I think we could offer you a very attractive lease structure and term."
She threw her head back and laughed, causing her thick, golden hair to fall down onto her shoulders. "Ah, I knew it! So that is your interest, eh? A consummate business man."
I waved my hands defensively. "No, no, believe me, I've enjoyed every moment that we've conversed. I was just......well......" I stammered again slightly, trying to measure my words carefully. She looked at me with a raised eyebrow and crossed her arms across her chest. She wore a silk ivory blouse that clearly showed the outlines of a lacy bra beneath, and black linen slacks. Her chest was proportionate to her lean body, and though I hadn't yet gotten the chance to take a peek at her ass, I had no doubt that it would be quite alluring.
She tapped her stylish heels on the marble floor (no, she wasn't wearing muddy work boots), making me squirm, enjoying my discomfort. The pumps made her about my own height, just under six feet tall.
"You....what....?" she demanded, toying with me. Her eyes sparkled teasingly, a Cheshire-cat grin curling on the corners of her lips. She was clearly reveling in the hint of intimidation. A confident older woman imposing her will upon a younger man. She was testing me, the professor giving the first pop quiz to her student.
I remained silent, returning her stare. When, just as suddenly, she let me off the hook, giggling delightedly. "I know how you leasing guys are, always looking for a deal." She leaned in close to me, as if sharing a secret. She smelled, um, sensational.
I don't know what her combination of expensive perfume, lotions, and shampoo might have been, but they all combined to form a powerful cocktail of olfactory stimuli.
"Your predecessor, or should I say predecessors now that I think about it, have been trying to get me into your mall for quite some time." I was relieved to not have to talk, so I let her continue.
"I could never be persuaded why I should leave my location here and go through the inconvenience of packing everything up, re-merchandising my store, and losing my storefront visibility. Plus, what should I pay all the extra common area charges that go with a mall lease? So, how would you persuade me otherwise?"
She had good points, I had to admit. I began to formulate my counter-argument, the prototypical leasing spiel. But I realized this was no ordinary prospect, in more ways than one. So, I tried the disarming approach. Charm.
"Well, if nothing else...." I began slowly. "....I would give you a personal tour of our many vacancies." I emphasized the word "many". She laughed. All one had to do was walk through the mall to notice that more stores were closing each month.
"And we could spend a few hours together to discuss possibilities and give me a fair opportunity to see how persuasive I can be."
