Authors: Elizabeth Lowe
Like a fountain, feelings of
selfishness and guilt made Bernie's thoughts race.
They had spent the entire week fretting over
her attire and appearance leaving no time to consider Sam.
“Sam, I've been so egotistic.
We haven't even thought about what you'll
wear.”
Tears toppled onto her pink
cheeks as she professed, “If you only knew how I once felt about you.
How jealous I was.
I don't know what to say.
I can't believe your generosity.
I’ve been transformed because of you.
How will I ever thank you?”
Bernie's pending tears threatened her
carefully applied make-up.
“Nonsense, don't do that, Bernie,
for goodness sake, the dress, your make-up.”
As Sam blotted Bernie's tears, they hugged.
“Just think about Brad and what he'll feel
when he sees you.
You look simply divine.
You're going to sweep him off his feet.”
A thought as soon as it left her lips
filling Sam's eyes with a gentle mixture of melancholy and happiness wondering
how Brad would react to the new Bernie.
Sam's facial expression spoke as
loudly as words.
Brad's true feelings
would have rolled off Bernie's tongue if not for clamping her lips shut.
Knowing it was wrong, she had to try again to
win his favor.
Maybe she could make him
forget Sam. Besides Sam could have anyone she wanted.
She didn't need Brad, didn't love him.
No one would ever love him as much as she
did.
Internal resolutions churned;
Bernie yearned for more out of life.
She
needed more, and with Brad, she would have it all.
CHAPTER 28
“NOVEMBER,
2010”
The setting suns, show of
colors were sparse through the constricted spaces separating stately
buildings.
Eagerly awaiting Brad’s
arrival, wiping at a meager grimy spot on the only window in her apartment,
Bernie examined the rubble in the street below.
A
homeless lady, hunched over from years of privation, wearing layers of rags,
pushed a cart of newly found valuables into the alley across the street lined
with cardboard huts bunched together to escape the whipping winds.
Imagining herself in the same position caused
chills to pepper her skin; though far from her dream, she was fortunate to have
her paltry apartment.
The
height of new heels, were pinching toes.
Her gloves the only protection her fingernails had from being chewed to
the core.
During the past few hours, Sam
phoned five times to inquire about her progress, to wish her luck.
Glaring at the clock again, she spouted, “How
did I ever get myself into this damn mess?”
Black hands pointed out four fifty five.
Having been ready since three, surely she would die of trepidation
before five o'clock.
Admittedly, it had
been luscious dressing up, as if slipping into a new resplendent self, making
her forget temporarily she resided in Harlem.
Sleek
as a long, black leopard, looking out of place, a limo paused in front of a
shabby apartment building.
On the way,
Brad wondered why Ted insisted on separate limos.
Later he concluded it was best to spend as
little time together as possible.
Last minute reservations pertaining
to escorting Bernie to such a gala were making him uneasy.
Elizabeth would have been a better choice, a
panic thought; she had always accompanied him to this gala.
Born with a silver spoon in her mouth,
reeking of class, she mingled well with the upper crust.
Easing from the posh leather seat,
less than anxious he made his way to Bernie's door surprised to discover it
wide open.
His date was bending over to
pick up a fur wrap lying on the couch, the slit on the side of her dress revealing
every inch of her long, shapely leg.
Hearing Brad's
footsteps, Bernie straightened and faced him.
His stunned silence, the entire accolade she required.
Amazement brightening
Brad’s eyes burrowed through her. A thick raspy voice emerged, “I'm here to
pick up Bernice.
Is she here, beautiful?”
Wearing his sexuality like a second
skin and the wickedest of smiles, Bernie's heart tumbled at the sight of
Brad.
She had to gulp her admiration for
the picture he made in the doorway.
In
black tuxedo pants, a burgundy jacket with black lapels, a paisley, burgundy,
and black cummerbund, bow tie and handkerchief, and a white ruffled shirt, he
was thrillingly handsome.
No man ever
squired her dressed so elegantly.
Making
things more illusory, Brad just happened to be the man of her dreams.
It was the way he was
undressing her with blazing eyes creating anxiety and masking her elation.
“It's me, you idiot.”
“I beg your pardon,
mademoiselle.
You look absolutely
stunning.”
Blushing, with a wide
smile she chirped, “You're forgiven.”
Bernice's demeanor spoke of Sam’s
class, her ability to build upon natural beauty, and abundant talents.
By enterprisingly transforming Bernie into an
elegant woman, again Sam tugged at Brad's heartstrings.
Silence dragging on
too long made Bernie jumpy.
“Well, don't
just stand there, for Christ's sake.
Help me with this God Damn thing.”
Lips pressed together
corralled Brad’s laugh.
Although on the
outside Bernie appeared every bit a lady, inside there remained some pretty
rough edges.
Crossing the room, seizing the fur
cape Brad held it suspended while looking lingeringly at the smooth enticing
mounds spilling over the bodice.
As he
swirled the wrap around her shoulders, her fragrance taking flight assaulted
his senses.
Feeling her tremble beneath
his touch, his hand glided down her arm to clasp hers.
Bowing, kissing her gloved knuckles, he
murmured,” You look like a goddess.
It
is indeed an honor to escort you this evening.
Shall we go?”
As Brad’s arm bent to permit her
hand to slip through, her free hand clutched at a stomach flipping upside
down.
Placing his hand upon hers, giving
it an affectionate squeeze, he brushed her forehead with a kiss sky rocketing
her into heaven.
If only for one night,
she was the luckiest girl in the whole, wide, wonderful world.
During the drive to Southampton,
Brad continued to enchant Bernie with champagne from crystal goblets and
strawberries from a silver bowl.
Surely, one blink of her eyes would evaporate the fantasy.
Tonight Bernie would have sworn her shoes had
turned to glass.
Serving her from an opposing
position, remembering well what curves were beneath the material, Brad’s eyes
became a paintbrush.
Scrutinizing her
red mouth sip the champagne then bite the strawberries, her tongue licking the
juice from her lips, brought slumbering erotic thoughts to surface.
He was hard and eager.
An expert at reading a man’s mind, she was
deliberately luring him.
Kicking off her
heels, she continued the seduction by crossing one leg over the other, the slit
on the side revealing a long, lean limb.
Provocatively maneuvering her shoulders freed the fur.
Adding to the conspiracy, dim lights on opposing
sides cast a blush upon her face and swelling breasts.
Male hormones reached the danger
zone.
Like a Matador ready to claim his
prize, Brad eased forward.
With poise,
he removed the glass from her hand placing it on the bar. Like neon signs flashing
a warning, his glance held hers.
A
finger inching forward lightly traced her kneecap around and around as onyx
eyes caressed the length of her bare leg.
Outstretched fingers, hot and experienced, gently with purpose massaged
her thigh for agonizing moments before returning to her knees where they meekly
uncrossed and inched her legs apart.
A hand sliding up the inside of her
leg discovered no protection from his intended invasion.
With ease and finesse, a finger entered
her.
Her eyes slammed shut.
Gasping, she arched her back as he began
doing amazing things to stoke her fire.
Coming to his knees, he undid his belt, unzipped his pants, and released
what she desperately wanted to see, to touch.
Fingers gripping her buttocks jerked her forward.
He planned to have his way, and God help her,
she would let him.
Watching his
self-manipulation tending to his needs, and the ways his finger moved inside,
glazed her eyes.
She could not stop the
hand reaching out to take possession, pleasuring him made his head tilt back
and his eyes slam shut.
Together they
began mumbling a foreign language known only to lovers.
For a brief second he made her stop so he
could unzip her bodice and release her breasts.
As though starved for the pleasure they offered he stared in
disbelief.
Wilting she was from the heat
of that stare.
Pulling him forward she
offered up what he wanted.
Quickly her
breathing became erratic; delirium teetered on the tip of her tongue.
She was ready.
“Please Brad, please, no more. “
Obeying her command, he jerked her
closer, an instant making her frightening aware she had yet to learn all of his
capabilities.
Shaft in hand, he pressed
forward gradually allowing the long, thick shaft to slip inside, spreading her
wide he drilled deeper teasing her until she begged, “Faster, faster,” her hips
taking over deciding the speed.
The tip
of his tongue outlining her lips licked the remaining champagne before drawing
them in to gently suck and delve until they reached the velocity imperative for
culminating what they started.
Arms
encasing Brad's neck, Bernie willingly surrendered offering complete access to
both ends of her body.
Like the coldest
chill of winter, a voice frosted the moment, “Excuse me . . . Excuse me,
sir.
We have arrived, sir.”
Pulling his lips away
with a moan Brad ordered, “Close the privacy partition, and drive us around for
a while.”
Bernie’s sigh of relief escaped into
the cavern of Brad’s mouth.
At last, she
thought as his hands frantically busied themselves with the abundant gifts she
so willingly offered.
Possessing the
means and the will, somehow she would make him forget Samantha.
Through fog veiled windows shadows moved like
a storm at sea.
....................................................………………………………………………………............................................................................................................................................................................................
The couple exited the limo, Bernie
struggling to rearrange her dress, madly fluffing her hair and reapplying
lipstick, Brad beaming with the satisfied grin of a conqueror. Together they
climbed steps bordered with urns to enter the stern, stone and brick
mansion.
Awaiting attendants properly
ushered them into the receiving line of guests.