*Author's Note: Any and all persons engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.
Disclaimers: This story has been edited by myself utilizing Microsoft Spell-check. You have been forewarned; expect to find mistakes.
*.*.*.*
Garrett Dunning nodded politely as the receptionist of Glasspool, Dumont & Associates wished him a good lunch. The thirty seven year old attorney punched the button of the elevator and waited. Finally, it slid to a stop and he stepped in, nodding politely to the other occupants.
Stepping out of 1 Alliance Square, Garrett made his way across to 2 Alliance Square. Someone opened the door of the Bombay Café and the wonderful smells of the Indian cuisine wafted out, causing Garrett's stomach to rumble slightly. He briskly walked past the restaurant to the lobby of 2 Alliance Square and opened the door. Inside the air-conditioning of the lobby, Garrett search and found the door for Baron's. He entered the small jewelry store and approached the lone salesperson.
The young woman had not seen him come in. She was fiddling inside of a cabinet, nicely rounded backside wiggling as she sang, rather badly to herself.
"Hit me with your best shot. Why don't you hit me with your best shot. Hit me with your best shot. Fire away," the owner of the buttocks, encased in snug mid-thigh gray skirt warbled.
"Excuse me," Garrett said, sonorous voice clipped in impatience.
"Hey," the girl smiled, turning and straightening.
When she turned, there was actually the sound of clattering. Garrett saw that the girl's long blonde hair had been done into several slender braids. On each braid, she'd threaded several beads of gold and silver and jade. When the braids came together, they did so with a noisy clatter.
The girl pulled a set of ear buds from her ears. Her clear blue eyes smiled, unembarrassed to be caught singing to herself. She approached the counter, stocking clad legs pushing the hem of her skirt dangerously high. Her blouse was stretched taut over two very pleasant hillocks of flesh and she leaned forward, affording Garrett a glimpse down the front of her blouse to the lacy cups of her bra.
"Pearls?" Garrett asked. "I'm looking for a strand; would you have lavender?"
"Right over here," the girl smiled, indicating another counter. "For your mother?"
"My, no, for my fiancé," Garrett said, annoyed.
"Oh," the girl said, shrugging.
She stepped behind the second counter and directed Garrett's view to the elegant pearls.
"Fiancé? We also have some very nice engagement rings," the girl suggested. "Also some wedding sets."
"She'll be wearing my grandmother's engagement ring," Garrett snapped.
"Of course she will," the girl said.
"Twenty four inch," Garrett said, wanting to ask the girl what she meant by her 'of course she will' statement.
"Lavender, lav, here we are," the girl said, locating the twenty four inch strand. "And these matching earrings?"
"Just the necklace," Garrett said, pulling out his American Express credit card.
Elizabeth Dumont's ears did not have lobes. Therefore, she did not wear earrings. But this was none of this girl's business.
"Would you like this gift wrapped, sir? I can do it right now," the girl offered.
"That would be nice; it's a birthday gift," Garrett said.
"Birth, birthday, how about this gold and white paper?" the girl asked, showing Garrett the roll of thick paper.
"Perfect," Garrett said, letting the first smile crease his face.
He watched with mild interest as the salesgirl quickly, efficiently wrapped the gift. She stuck her tongue out in concentration and Garrett shuddered as he saw the small gold hoop ring on the edge of the girl's tongue. When she folded the paper over, her tongue stiffened, protruding further.
When she finished, the girl looked up, clear blue eyes twinkling with happiness at her own handiwork. She showed Garrett the package, waiting for his approval.
Garrett gave her a curt nod and her smile widened, showing perfect white teeth. She then took his credit card to the register.
"And, your copy, please sign the next copy," the girl said, putting his card and the register's receipts in front of him.
"Thank you, Garrett said, slipping his receipt into his jacket's inner pocket.
"Nice pen," the girl complimented when Garrett pulled out his Cartier pen.
"It should be," Garrett said.
He scribbled his signature and the girl picked up the scrap of paper. When she turned, her braids and beads formed a tantalizing curtain over her rounded backside and thighs.
Elizabeth would have whispered, none too quietly, that the girl might want to skip the next dessert. Garrett could not tell how tall the girl was; her feet were hidden from his view behind the counter. She could be wearing flats or five inch heels; he had no way to gauge. And portions of her did appear to be soft, but she looked curvaceous, not fat.
"Thanks, Gar. Come again," the girl said.
"Garrett. Actually? Mr. Dunning would be even better," Garrett snapped.
"Uh huh," was her response as she slipped her ear buds into her ears again.
Garrett's face flushed at her nonchalant attitude. He was an accomplished attorney, used to dealing with governors, senators, members of Congress. He was used to dealing with millionaires, billionaires, and those that used to be billionaires and millionaires, billionaires and millionaires before crossing paths with Garrett Alan Dunning and the clients of Garrett Alan Dunning.
He was tall, six feet three inches. Garrett Alan Dunning had paid his way through college on a football scholarship. Construction jobs in and around Oakleaf County had paid the expenses his athletic scholarship had not covered. Now, he spent at least three afternoons a week at the fitness center in 3 Alliance Square's ground floor.
His brown hair was thick, threatening to curl should he let it grow too long. His brown eyes were deep, warm pools. His handsome, square face was quick to sport a five o'clock shadow by three o'clock.
He dressed in nothing but the finest of clothing. He never told anyone, not even his closest acquaintances (he had no friends) but Garrett Alan Dunning had grown up wearing thrift store clothing, clothing his older sister could find at garage sales, church rummage sales. Now that he could afford the very finest, Garrett made sure he wore the very finest.
Garrett stomped out of the small jeweler's, checked his Rolex and decided he could take the time to eat. The Bombay Café was quite busy; twelve thirty was peak lunch time.
At the table, Garrett unbuttoned one button on his silk shirt and tucked his tie inside of the garment. The tie had been a gift from Elizabeth, picked up for him when she'd gone to China for negotiations with a manufacturer.
Garrett had waited the appropriate amount of time after his Allison had died, cancer, before approaching Elizabeth and pursuing a romantic relationship. At one time, the forty two year old blonde had been married to a Mr. Dumont. No one knew if Mr. Dumont had passed, or if the marriage had ended in divorce. Elizabeth was a closed book on the subject. Garrett just knew, in the twelve years he'd been with Glasspool, Dumont & Associates, there'd been no Mr. Dumont present.
The waiter showed Garrett the deference Garrett had come to expect and earned himself an eighteen percent gratuity. Wiping his mouth with the rough napkin, Garrett wondered briefly if Elizabeth would like the cuisine here at the small bistro. Before the napkin reached the roughly textured table cloth, Garrett knew the answer. Elizabeth would just tell Juan, her executive chef to prepare lamb swarma, rather than deign to eat in the quaint restaurant.
'For your mother?' the impertinent salesgirl had asked when Garrett had requested pearls.
Just what had the girl meant by that comment? Or her somewhat snide comment of 'Of course she will' when Garrett had mentioned that Elizabeth would be wearing his Grandmother's ring.
"Take on me. Take on me. Take me on, take on me, I'll be gone..." the girl was singing when Garrett strode, very purposefully into the jewelry store. "Hi Gar. I think I was born twenty years too late. I got this Eighties thing going on, you know?"
"Mister. Dunning," Garrett snarled. "Mr. Dunning."
"Okay," the girl said, easy smile showing her perfect teeth.
"So, what would you have recommended? Instead of the pearls?" Garrett demanded.
"Over here?" the girl said, unperturbed by Garrett's anger. "There's this sports watch? Brushed aluminum, waterproof..."
"She has a Rolex," Garrett snapped.
The girl regarded Garrett with a look of scorn. She held the watch up for Garrett to see.
"Uh huh. I'm sure she does," the girl said. "Gar, a Rolex is what you wear when you're going to Houston to sit through an opera, when you're pretending not to be bored out of your mind. A Rolex is what you wear when you're meeting a congressman, reminding him that you sucked his dick, time for him to bend over and take it up the ass. This? This is what you wear when you're going to get a little adventurous, a little fun."
"And these?" Garrett asked, taking the gift-wrapped box out of his inner pocket.
"Pearls? That's what you wear when all the lights have to be off. No, I don't want you to see me, make sure those curtains are closed, I'll pull the bottom of my nightgown up, you did make sure the dorr's locked, didn't you, no, don't oh that's just so nasty, don't put your mouth on my breasts, bad enough you got to touch them, you're getting your spit on me, why do you have to be such an animal, aren't you done yet, well, if you want someone that will do that, then you need to see one of your little whores, a proper lady doesn't do that," the girl said. "I am not putting my mouth, I cannot believe you would even suggest, just what have you been watching?"
Garrett stared at the salesgirl. Elizabeth was poised, elegant, intelligent. She had surgically enhanced breast, a size 34C on a thin, almost boyish frame. Her white blonde hair did not quite touch her shoulders, her clear blue eyes were underneath expertly formed eyebrows, her nose was perfectly proportioned to her square face.
