Читать книгу Flesh For Fantasy - Joan Elizabeth Lloyd - Страница 8

Maggie had dressed in a white knit dress, short enough to show off her long, well-shaped legs and low cut enough to highlight the shadowed valley between her breasts. She added light gray thigh-high stockings, held up by elastic lace at the tops, and gold strappy sandals with four-inch heels. Long gold earrings that brushed her shoulders and a heavy gold necklace completed her outfit. She was not overly made up and her lipstick was soft pink.

Dressed in gray slacks and a light blue shirt, Gerry opened the door to his hotel room and stared, his face flushed. “You look wonderful,” he said to Maggie. Gerry was medium height with thick brown hair with a hint of gray at the temples. Clean shaven, his jaw was tightly clenched and he stood filling the doorway.

Maggie smiled. “May I come in?” she asked, her voice soft and melodious.

Almost stumbling, Gerry backed away from the door. “I, uh, ordered some champagne,” he said.

“Good. We both need to relax,” Maggie said, patting Gerry on the arm. “It will all be fine. Really.”

Almost bonelessly, Gerry dropped onto the sofa in the sitting room of the two-room suite. “I know.”

With a practiced hand Maggie opened the champagne bottle and half-filled two flutes from the tray. “Here,” she said, handing Gerry a glass, “sip this.”

Gerry emptied the glass. “I guess it shows,” he said. “That I’m really nervous. About this, I mean.”

Maggie laughed. “It does show. But what are you so nervous about? We were together last week and it was very pleasurable.”

“I want something different from what we did last week.”

“That’s fine with me. What would give you pleasure?”

Gerry took his wallet out of his back pocket and withdrew ten fifty-dollar bills. “I understand that I can pay extra for something special.” He counted out four more fifties and handed all seven hundred dollars to Maggie. “I want to have you completely in my power. I want to feed you a potent sex drug. I mean,” he hesitated, “I mean that I want to be able to do everything to you and have you beg for more.” Maggie could see his throat muscles work as he swallowed hard.

“You do remember my rules. No real drugs and if you decide you want to have sexual intercourse, you will use a condom.”

“Of course. I remember everything you told me last week and I will abide by your rules. No problem.”

“And I get no pleasure from serious pain, so whips and things like that are not for me.”

“I understand.”

Maggie looked up at Gerry from beneath her long lashes. She smiled. “How will you give me this drug, or have you done that already?”

Gerry hesitated, then grinned and said, “Yes. Yes. I did give it to you already. It was in the champagne.”

“Is that why I’m feeling so warm?” Maggie said, slipping into the role Gerry wanted her to play.

“It certainly is.”

Maggie stretched out on the sofa and fanned herself with her hand. “I’m so hot, baby. So hot.”

“Yes, you certainly are. Maybe you’d better take off your dress.”

“Oh, yes,” Maggie said, standing up and turning her back to Gerry. “Would you help me unzip? I seem to be all thumbs. I can’t seem to make my hands work right.”

Maggie could feel Gerry’s cold fingers on her back as he fumbled with the zipper. As he slid the zipper down, Maggie began to move her hips. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she said, her voice low and breathy. “I can’t seem to stand still.” She wiggled out of her dress, let it fall around her feet and stepped out of it. Maggie had selected a pale pink satin bra and matching bikini panties. Although her age couldn’t help but show, her frequent aerobic classes kept her figure tight. She rubbed her palms over the tips of her breasts. “God, I can’t stand this. I’m so…I don’t know.”

Gerry stared at Maggie’s breasts which more than filled the small cups of her bra. “Are you uncomfortable?” he asked with mock innocence.

“I don’t know,” Maggie answered, undulating her hips and rubbing her nipples. She watched Gerry’s eyes, and from the gleam surmised that the fantasy was playing out to his satisfaction. “I just want something.”

“I know exactly what you want and only I can give it to you.”

“Please. Do it. Help me. I’m so hot.”

“I know. You’re hot all over, aren’t you. Especially between your legs. Hot and itchy. Do you need to rub yourself?”

“Oh, yes,” Maggie moaned.

When Maggie’s fingertips started to slide under the elastic of her panties, Gerry pulled it back. “Well, you can’t. Not yet. Not until I give you permission. Do you understand?”

“Yes. But…”

“No buts. You are mine to command and I say you may not have any relief yet.”

Maggie played the game. “Please. Don’t make me suffer like this. I need to rub and touch and stroke myself. I need to make myself come.”

“I will let you when you’ve been a good girl and done your chores.”

“What chores?”

“First you must undress me.”

“Oh, yes. May I undress you very slowly? May I kiss and touch you, caress you and make you as hot as I am?”

Gerry spread his arms wide, wordlessly indicating she could begin. Maggie closed the distance between them and pressed the length of her body against his. Sinuously she rubbed her chest and thighs against his as she licked his lips. Then she unbuttoned his shirt, licking his chest as she exposed it. Slowly she pulled the tails from the waistband of his slacks, rubbing her pelvis against his erection as she did so. With her entire body pressed against his, she worked the shirt down over his arms and tossed it on a chair. Her hard nipples pressed against the fabric of her bra and she sensuously rubbed them across his lightly furred chest. “Oh, baby,” she purred as she moved around behind him, constantly rubbing her body against his side, his arm, his back, stroking his skin with her satin-covered breasts and mound.

She moved completely around him until she was again in front of him. She knelt at his feet and put her fingers on his belt buckle. She gazed up at him, a silent question in her eyes.

“Say please,” Gerry said.

“Oh, please. Let me.” Slowly she pulled the end of his belt through the loops and unfastened the buckle. With fumbling fingers she unbuttoned and unzipped his fly. “Oh, baby,” she putted. “You’re not wearing anything underneath.” Careful not to touch his large, fully erect cock, she pulled his slacks down and, at her signal, he stepped out of them.

“Are you hot enough to suck my cock?” Gerry asked.

“I don’t have to be hot to want to suck such a beautiful cock,” Maggie said, sensing these were the right words at the right time. She looked up at him. “Please. May I?”

Gerry wrapped one hand around his erect penis and aimed it at her mouth. His grin said that this was progressing exactly the way he had imagined.

“Do you have to touch it?” Maggie asked. “I want to hold it and suck it myself.”

“Even better, Gerry said, his mouth open and his breathing quick.

Still kneeling at Gerry’s feet, Maggie placed one finger on the tip of his cock and rubbed the tiny drop of pre-come around the head. “I want to taste you.” She flicked the tip of Gerry’s cock with the end of her tongue and watched him shiver. Afraid his knees would buckle, she said, “I would like to go into the bedroom, if that’s all right with you.”

“Yes,” Gerry said, breathless. “Of course.” Quickly they moved into the other room and Gerry stretched out on the bed on his back. “Now, he said, “continue what you were doing.”

Maggie spread his legs, then climbed onto the bed and crouched between his thighs. “Right here,” she said, wrapping her hand around the hard staff that stuck straight up into the air. “And right here.” She licked the tip, then, making a tight ring with her lips, she sucked him into her mouth.

She looked toward his face and saw that his eyes were closed. “Look at me,” she said, “and watch me suck your cock.” She watched his eyes open and the glazed expression as he looked at her head, bobbing on his cock.

“Good,” he moaned. “Good.” It took only moments until he shot his come into Maggie’s mouth. “Good,” he yelled. “So good.”

Maggie fingered his balls until he was completely drained.

Not even thinking about the fact that Maggie was unsatisfied, Gerry disappeared into the bathroom and Maggie heard the sound of the shower. “That was wonderful,” he called from the bathroom. “I need to get cleaned up now.” His tone was dismissive, so, with a sigh, Maggie dressed, wandered into the living room and poured herself another glass of champagne. It was far from the first time she had been asked to perform oral sex on a man who believed that it was such an onerous task that his wife wouldn’t want to satisfy his hunger for fellatio. Nibbling on some of the peanuts from the champagne tray, she gathered Gerry’s clothes and walked back into the bedroom. “I will leave now, unless there’s something else you want.” She folded his slacks and shirt and put them on the foot of the bed. She put his wallet on the dresser.

“No. That was fantastic.”

Maggie counted out four of the fifty-dollar bills he had given her and put them on the dresser with his wallet. “It was wonderful for me, too,” she said. “You know, oral sex isn’t a chore at all. I really enjoy it.”

“I guess your kind does.”

Stung, but understanding, Maggie left the suite.

As the scene faded, Angela said, “See what I mean? He was a married man and you did what you did for money. That’s adultery and it’s a sin.”

“Oh, lighten up, Angela,” Lucy said, clicking the keys on her terminal. “Get real. It’s done all the time. Sex is fun stuff and everyone should have his or her share.”

“Yes. I suppose you’re right to a point. I do take this sin thing a bit too seriously. But that still leaves us with a problem.” She turned to Maggie. “You.”

“Okay. So what does that mean exactly?” Maggie asked.

“Well,” Lucy said, “I’ve talked Angela into giving you a way to help us make the decision. A task for you to do. Like the labors of Hercules and all that.”

“Yes, Lucy did come up with an idea. We have someone for you to teach about sex. Someone who’s so ignorant, it’s shameful even to me.”

Maggie grinned. “Teach some guy about sex? That’s what I do best and enjoy the most.”

“That’s not exactly what we had in mind,” Lucy said. “It’s not a guy, it’s a girl.”

“I have to teach a girl about sex? A little girl?”

“A grown woman. Actually, she’s thirty-one,” Angela said. “And she’s never had a good experience in bed. A few bad experiences since high school and no real boyfriends.”

“Is she a nun? A total dog? Come on. Give me a break here.”

“Actually,” Lucy said, “she’s a nice woman, which makes me dislike her from the start.”

“She’s sweet,” Angela continued, “and she cared for her dying mother for eight years. During the final two, Barbara moved into her mother’s house and tended to her almost nonstop. She had a nurse come in during the day while she was at work, but Barbara was with her mother almost every other minute.”

“What does she do?”

“She’s a secretary to a big-time lawyer type,” Lucy said, “and she’s half in love with him. But during all the time she lived with her mother, she had no time to consider dating. Now that Mom’s no longer around, she has no clue where to start, and no self-confidence at all.”

“And why do you two care?” Maggie asked.

“Well, actually it was her mother who got us interested,” Lucy said. “She came through here about six months ago and asked us for help before we told her where she was to go.” Lucy and Angela looked at each other and made the thumbs-up signal. “She was a good and caring woman and regretted what she had put her daughter through. Ugh. Self-sacrifice. I hate that, too.” Lucy made a face.

“Anyway,” Angela said, “we haven’t done anything about it until now, but this seemed to be a great opportunity to put you to work to help us decide about which way you go, and do something for that nice mother, too.”

“And,” Maggie said, “put off the decision about me.”

Lucy grinned. “And there is that as well.”

“Okay,” Maggie said. “If that’s the only way to get a bit more time to play, it’s okay with me. Do I get powers?”

“Powers?”

“Yeah. Like Michael Landon on Highway to Heaven. Remember, he had the stuff.”

“The stuff? Oh, yes, I remember, Angela. He did little magic things. Tossed bad people into swimming pools and made flowers bloom for nice folks.”

“I do remember.” Angela sighed. “I always loved that show. Sent that nice Mr. Landon straight upstairs when he came through.”

“Sorry but no stuff, Maggie. Only Barbara, that’s her name by the way, only Barbara will be able to see and hear you. You can appear to her and converse with her when the two of you are alone. In public, she’ll be able to see you, but no one else will.”

“As to powers,” Angela said, “I think not, although if we see that you’re getting into trouble we may, and I emphasize may, help you out.”

“This is sink or swim for you, girl,” Lucy said. “If you succeed and help Barbara become a sexually whole person, you’ll get to go up there.” She raised her eyes heavenward.

“But,” Angela said, “if you louse this up, it’s…” She aimed her thumb at the floor and Lucy grinned.

“I’m not so sure where I want to be or, for that matter where I belong.” Maggie sighed. “Okay. Tell me more about this hardship case of mine.”

Angela and Lucy looked at each other, then Angela began. “She’s not a hardship case. She’s a very nice woman who has just gone through some difficult times.”

“I know. Her mother and all.” Maggie tapped her foot on the soft floor. “So what’s her problem. Men?”

“I guess that’s the heart of it.”

“Is she still in mourning for her mother?” Maggie asked. “That will make my job much harder, you know.”

“She’s not really in mourning,” Angela said. “Her mother’s death, when it finally came, was a blessing. It had been a long and very rough time.”

“She lives in Westchester County,” Lucy continued, “in the house that used to belong to her mother. Her father died when she was only four.”

“No brothers or sisters?” Maggie asked.

“No. And no other close relatives either.”

“How do I meet her?”

Lucy’s fingers clacked the computer keys. She swiveled the monitor so Maggie could see. Slowly the picture crystallized. Maggie watched the image of a plain-looking woman materialize. “That’s Barbara,” Lucy said, “right now.” There was momentary sound, but Lucy tapped what must have been a mute button.

Maggie looked at the screen. A nondescript-looking woman sat beside a desk, typing furiously on a laptop computer as the hunky-looking man behind the desk talked. She saw him pick up the phone on his desk, press the receiver against his ear and swivel his chair so his back was toward the woman, who continued to work on the laptop.

Maggie watched Barbara tuck an errant strand of her shoulder-length medium-brown hair behind one ear while her boss talked on. “Look at that woman,” Maggie said. “She’s not even wearing makeup. And that blouse…” Barbara was wearing an orangy-yellow blouse and a brown tweed skirt. “It’s so wrong for her coloring. And sensible shoes, no doubt. Who’s the guy?”

“That’s Steve Gordon, one of the partners of Gordon, Watson, Kelly and Wise.” Angela gazed at the screen. “He’s rich, bright, successful, and very eligible. And as I said, she’s crazy about him.”

Maggie watched Steve hang up the phone and turn back toward Barbara. He opened a desk drawer, propped his feet on it and began to talk. Lucy tapped the button and the three women could hear the sound.

“That was Lisa,” the man said. “Make me a reservation for eight o’clock tonight at Enrico’s and send her a dozen roses. No, on second thought, make it just an arrangement.”

“Of course,” Barbara said. Maggie caught the heat of the woman’s gaze as she looked at her boss, while he seemed oblivious.

“Well, that’s your job, for starters,” Lucy said, tapping the mute button again. “First a physical makeover, then the rest.”

“Yes,” Angela said. “I think she should end up with that gorgeous Mr. Gordon. I can see it. A large house in the country, kids, horses, dogs…

“Actually,” Maggie said, “he reminds me of Arnie Becker on LA Law. A real ladies’ man and just a bit sleazy.”

“Yeah,” Lucy said, “me too. But Barbara really likes him.”

“She would,” Maggie said, rolling her eyes.

“Well, I think he’s perfect,” Angela said.

“Does it have to end up with them together for me to succeed?” Maggie asked, thinking that Arnie was all wrong for Barbara.

“Oh, no, of course not,” Lucy said. “Actually, I think she should get out, see the world, maybe end up like you did.”

“Free will,” Angela said. “That’s what we advocate here. Her life is her choice. It’s just that she has no real choices now. We want to grant her mother’s request and see what happens.”

“Do you think you’re ready for the task?” Lucy asked.

“I guess so.” Maggie shrugged her shoulders. What choice did she have? This was kind of like the Mad Tea Party in Alice in Wonderland, but her options were few. And, of course, this project did buy time for her back on earth. Wondering how long she could stretch this out, she uncrossed her legs and waited for the magical zap to transport her to meet Barbara.

“Well?” Angela said, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m waiting for the magic,” Maggie answered.

Lucy motioned in the direction from which Maggie had entered the room. “The elevator’s that way. Just press the ground-floor button.”

“Oh, Maggie said, standing up. She looked down at her diaphanous white gown. “And do I get clothes? This is a bit overly dramatic, don’t you think? I’ll scare poor Barbara to death.”

“Hmmm,” Lucy said. “You’re right. We’ll see to it that there are proper clothes in the waiting room on the ground floor. It’s on the right just this side of the front door. Change, then go out the door and you’ll be just where you should be.”

Maggie nodded, then turned toward the door. “Good luck,” Angela and Lucy said in unison.

“Thanks,” Maggie said over her shoulder. “I guess.”

As the computer room door closed behind Maggie, Lucy held out her hand to Angela. “It’s a bet?”

Angela took the proffered hand. “I firmly believe that Barbara will end up settled and happy in six months. Mrs. Steven Gordon. It has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it.”

“And I believe that once she discovers sex, there’ll be no stopping her. Whoever invented it, it’s the strongest drive we have, thank Lucifer. She’ll get into no end of trouble and she’ll love it. I’ll bet on it.”

“You know, people would never believe that you want anyone to be happy. You’re supposed to represent misery, suffering, and hardship, and here you are betting on happiness of one sort or another.”

“I know. But happiness isn’t all it’s cracked up to be either.”

In the room on the ground floor, Maggie found a pair of well-washed jeans, a soft light gray turtleneck sweater along with underwear, socks, and slightly worn running shoes. She dressed, leaving the almost-transparent white gown on a hook behind the door. Then she left the room and walked across what appeared to be a marble lobby toward the revolving door. When she pushed the brass handle, the door turned and she exited on the other side, right into what she somehow knew was Barbara Enright’s bedroom. Fortunately, Barbara wasn’t in it at the time. Maggie could hear sounds from the kitchen below. “God,” she muttered, recognizing the unmistakable sound of a food processor, “I’ll bet she cooks, too.” She shook her head, then crossed to the large walk-in closet, pulled the door open and flipped on the light.

Oh, Lord, she thought, riffling through a collection of slightly dowdy dresses, blouses, and suits. Way in the back, she found a soft chiffon dress in shades of blue. She lifted the hanger from the rod and held the dress at arm’s length. It was slightly out of style, but beautiful nonetheless. “Now this is more like it,” she said, putting the dress back where she had found it. “There’s hope yet.”

Suddenly she realized that she had been moving things and feeling things just like she had when she’d been alive. Phew. Been alive. That sounds awful. I don’t feel dead. Actually, she thought, pinching her arm, I don’t feel any differently than I did yesterday. She looked at the darkened window. It must be evening now, she thought, but I thought it was morning when I was with the gruesome twosome up there and I was on the phone with Paul last evening, I guess.

She looked at Barbara’s bedside table and spotted the clock. “Five-thirty and it’s pitch dark,” she said aloud. “But it should still be light. It’s midsummer.” She crossed to the window and looked out. There were small areas of snow on the ground and the stars shone brightly in a blue-black sky. “I guess time doesn’t work for the girls the way it works here on earth.” She thought about Lucy and Angela and marveled at how sanguine she had become about something so impossible. “I feel like a character in a play and soon the curtain will go down or we’ll break for a commercial and all this will all make sense.” She shrugged again. “Oh, well.” She crossed to the door and started down the stairs. “Better get this over with.”

Dressed in a baggy sweat suit, Barbara Enright scooped the butter-and-garlic mix from the food processor and carefully spread it on the slices of French bread she had laid out on the cutting board. Meticulously she covered the bread to the edges so it would toast properly under the broiler. As she finished the second slice, she reached out and almost without looking swirled a spoon through the small pot of simmering marinara sauce. She popped the bread in the oven, then lifted a strand of spaghetti with the clawlike device and snipped off about an inch. She popped the piece in her mouth and chewed thoughtfully. Still just a bit too firm, she thought, remembering when she had to get it almost mushy so her mother could chew it.

As she mused, she realized that her mother’s death didn’t hurt anymore. With almost seven months gone by, she could remember the wonderful life her mother had led before the pain.

Barbara tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, stirred the sauce and checked on the bread. She pulled one of her mother’s good Límoges plates from the closet, poured a Coke and set herself a place on the large kitchen table. With perfect timing born of years of cooking for herself and her mother, Barbara removed the bread from the oven, drained and served the spaghetti and poured sauce over the top. She flipped on the TV on the counter and watched I Love Lucy fade in from the darkness.

“Some red wine would really go better with that.”

Barbara jumped and tipped over her chair at the sound of the voice behind her. With one hand reaching for the phone, her fingers ready to dial 911, she turned slowly. “Who the hell…”

“It’s okay,” the jeans-clad figure said. “It’s really okay. I’m Maggie and we’re going to be spending quite a bit of time together for a while.”

“Get out before I call the police,” Barbara said, trying to make her quavering voice sufficiently forceful.

“Don’t do that or you’ll look like a fool,” Maggie said, crossing the kitchen and leaning over the pot on the stove. “Nice sauce. I always loved a good marinara sauce.” She lifted a strand of spaghetti and dangled it over he mouth. Nipping off the bottom, she said, “Vermicelli. And properly al dente. Not many people know how to cook pasta correctly.”

Barbara stood, mouth slightly open, with her hand on the phone. For some reason she couldn’t quite fathom, she hadn’t lifted the receiver yet.

“I know,” Maggie said, picking up a slice of garlic bread, “this is something of a shock, but believe me, it’s taking me a little while to adjust, too.” She took a large bite and chewed thoughtfully. “You know, I don’t even know whether I can eat.” She swallowed. “I guess I can, but I’m not very hungry.” She pulled out the chair opposite Barbara’s and sat down. “Wouldn’t you know it. I can probably eat what I want and not gain weight, but I’m not hungry.”

“Would…” Barbara cleared her throat and tried again. “Would you kindly tell me what the hell you’re doing here?”

“I’m not here to hurt you,” Maggie said, swallowing the chewed mouthful. “But before I try to explain, you’d really better sit down.”

Barbara thought she should be afraid, but she was more baffled than frightened. This woman had arrived in her kitchen unannounced and had made herself totally at home. She shook her head, righted her chair and dropped into it. The woman had, Barbara admitted, warm, honest eyes that looked directly at you when she spoke and an open, friendly smile. Wasn’t that what made con artists so hard to resist? “Okay. Tell me what you’re doing here. And if you’re a salesman with a very peculiar way of getting my attention, I’m not buying.”

“I’m not selling anything,” Maggie said, “but if I were, you’d be buying. I’ve actually come to change your life.”

“Out,” Barbara said. “Get out. I don’t know how you got in here with your ‘I’m not selling anything’ sales pitch, but if you don’t leave I will call the cops.” She reached over and moved the phone from the counter to the table beside her right hand. “Now get out.”

“Hmm. How to explain? Let me begin by introducing myself. My name’s Maggie Sullivan and I’m dead.” She reached over and flipped off the TV.

Her mind whirling, Barbara reran all the six P.M. sales pitches she’d heard over the years. It had gotten so she didn’t answer her phone between the time she got home from work and eight P.M. Hi, they all started, my name is Maggie. She’d heard them on the phone hundreds of times. She glared. “Sure. And your next line is ‘And how are you this evening, Ms. Enright,’” she parroted as the last words of Maggie’s speech penetrated, “ and I’m calling on behalf of…’ You’re what?” Had she heard correctly?

“I’m afraid you’ll find this hard to believe, but I’m dead.”

“Sure and I’m Minnie Mouse.”

“You’re not Minnie Mouse, but I am dead.” Maggie hesitated. “How can I convince you? You know, I’m really new to this and I don’t know what I can and can’t do.” She reached for the bread knife that Barbara had used earlier. “I hate this, but I think it just might work. I mean a dead person shouldn’t be able to feel pain and I shouldn’t bleed. Right?” To test the first part, Maggie pinched herself in the arm. Hard. “Well, I didn’t feel that.” She picked up the knife and held it poised over the index finger of her empty hand. “Do I really have to prove this to you? It may not be pleasant if I’m wrong.”

Barbara raised one eyebrow. “This is certainly the most original pitch I’ve ever seen. I can’t wait to see how you’ll get yourself out of this.” Strange, Barbara thought, but I actually rather like this ridiculous woman.

“Okay then,” Maggie said. “Here goes.” She took the knife and drew it slowly across the pad of her finger. “Amazing,” she said. “I really didn’t feel that at all.” She held the finger toward Barbara. “See? No blood. And you can see I made a really deep cut.”

Barbara could see that there was a deep cut across Maggie’s finger that wasn’t bleeding. “What’s the gimmick? Are you selling artificial limbs? And why would that interest me?”

“Cut me some slack, will you?” Maggie said, putting the knife aside. “I’m really dead.” She stood up. “Have you got any wine? I find I need something to fortify myself.”

Barbara motioned toward a lower cabinet, and when Maggie opened the door she saw a reasonably well-stocked wine rack. “I guess it will have to be red since white wine should really be chilled.” She pulled out a Chianti classico. “Corkscrew?” Numbly Barbara motioned to a drawer. While Maggie quickly removed the cork from the bottle, Barbara walked into the living room and returned with two glasses. Maggie quickly half filled the glasses and raised hers in silent toast.

As Barbara watched, Maggie took a sip, swished it around her mouth and swallowed. “Not bad, but a bit harsh. It really could have breathed for an hour or two, but it’s okay.” She waved at Barbara’s glass. “Drink.”

Barbara took a sip and swallowed. “I’m not much for wine, but my mom used to enjoy a glass with dinner.” She put her glass down and took her seat. Maggie took a few more sips, then again sat opposite Barbara. “You know,” Maggie said, “I don’t even know whether I will have to pee as the evening progresses or whether this just goes into the ether somewhere. I have no blood, so I can’t get tipsy. I wonder.”

Without thinking, Barbara took another swallow. “Okay. You’ve been here fifteen minutes and I still have no idea why.”

“I’m here for you. God, that sounds like a line from a bad sci-fi drama. Actually, I’m here because of your mother.”

Barbara bristled. “What does my mother have to do with this? She died a while ago.”

“I know. About seven months ago to be precise. And after she died, she asked a favor of two women I know. She wants you to be happy. Get out in the world. Date. Fuck. You know.”

“I don’t know anything like that at all and I’ll thank you to leave my mother out of this.”

“But she’s an integral part of it.” Maggie reached out to pat the back of Barbara’s hand, but the younger woman pulled away. “Let me explain.” Briefly Maggie told Barbara about her heart attack and how she had suddenly found herself in the Mad Tea Party with Lucy and Angela. “They can’t decide whether I’m to go…” Maggie made a thumbs-up with one hand and a thumbs-down with the other. “So they gave me a project. You.”

“I don’t for a moment believe any of this,” Barbara said, drinking more of her wine, “but why me?”

“I told you before,” Maggie explained. “It was your mother. On her way through, she asked the girls to help you out.” Maggie’s head tipped to one side and she gazed into space. “Actually, I don’t quite understand how your mother ended up in the computer room. According to Angela and Lucy, the interview process is only for the undecideds. Your mother’s goodness seems to have left the girls little choice. Maybe it was a special request of some kind.” She refocused on Barbara. “Anyway, I’m now here for you.”

“Your reference to the Mad Tea Party is accurate. I still don’t believe you.”

“Well, that’s neither here nor there, actually. I assume you want to get out more. Date. I saw the way you looked at your boss this afternoon.”

Barbara’s head snapped up. “How the hell do you know how I looked at my boss earlier?”

“The girls have a monitor and they can tune in on people. We watched you at work today so I would know who you were.”

“This gets crazier and crazier,” Barbara said. “Do you mean that they could be watching us right now?”

“Probably not. With the millions of people they have to check on as people come through for approval, I doubt whether they have time for idle peeping.”

Barbara shivered. “It gives me the creeps nonetheless.” She found she was actually playing along with this fantasy. Or was it a fantasy? “So you’re supposed to give me a makeover. What’s this going to cost me?”

“Nothing. And it’s more than a makeover, it’s a whole change of attitude. According to your mother, you’re…How can I best say this? You’re a bit of a prude.”

“Nonsense. I’m just selective. Just because I don’t let every Tom, Dick, and Harry into my bedroom doesn’t make me a prude. Not in the least.”

“Selectivity is good, Babs, but it’s not life.”

A handsome face suddenly flashed through Barbara’s mind and her patience snapped. “Don’t call me Babs. I hate it.”

“All right. Don’t get huffy.”

“I’m sorry. I just really hate Babs. Anyway, you were telling me about my makeover.”

Maggie sipped her wine. “Well, as I understand my job here, I’m supposed to teach you about yourself and sex and men and dating and all that. In the end, you’re supposed to get out more, go dancing, make love.”

Barbara toyed with her fork. “And what makes you such an expert?”

“I am, or was, a…Again how to put this. I was an expert at making men happy. Let’s just say I did it professionally.”

The fork dropped out of Barbara’s hand. “You were a hooker!”

“I prefer call girl. Very highly priced, I might add.”

“But you look like you could be my mother.”

Maggie winced. “Ouch. That hurt.” She walked into the hallway outside the kitchen and looked at herself in the ornate mirror that hung just inside the entrance. She studied her face for a moment, then returned to the table and sat down. “I don’t look that bad, despite my current circumstances, I’ll have you know.” She paused. “But I guess I am almost old enough to be your mother.”

“So why would some man…?” Barbara suddenly realized that without being totally insulting she had no way to finish the sentence.

“Why would some man want to make love with me? Because I know how to make men happy, how to fulfill their fantasies, how to make them feel strong or weak, brave or pitiful, whatever they want. I’m damn good at what I do and I have a client list as long as your arm.”

“What do you…I mean, did you charge?”

“I was worth the five hundred a night that men paid me.”

“Five hundred dollars? For one night?” Barbara’s mouth literally hung open.

“Not the whole night, of course.” Maggie ran her long fingers through her hair and fluffed it out at the sides. “And more if they want something special.”

“I don’t want to know about that part,” Barbara said. “Look, I don’t pretend to understand any of this, but I really don’t need your help. I’m happy just the way I am.” In response to Maggie’s raised eyebrow, Barbara continued. “Really. My life is just what I want it to be. And I’m just the way I want to be.”

“Sure,” Maggie said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Listen. You’ve heard enough for one evening. You really need to take a day to digest all this. Let me run along now so you can think about what we’ve said.” Maggie paused, then asked, “By the way, what day is it?”

“It’s Tuesday,” Barbara said, her head spinning. She was sitting in her kitchen having a conversation with a dead prostitute. She certainly did need some time to digest this. But she didn’t need any help with her life. None. Absolutely not.

“What date? What year?”

“It’s Tuesday, March 4, 1996. What did you think?”

“I’m totally disoriented. This bouncing from time to time. The last date I remember was July 18, 1995.” Pain flashed across Maggie’s face as she recalled Paul Crowley and their phone conversation that last evening. I wonder how he felt when he found out about me. “And where are we? It looks like New York, but everything wonderful looks like New York to me.”

“We’re about twenty miles north of the city, in Fleetwood.”

“I know the town well.” Paul lived in Bronxville, the next town up. With a sigh, she emptied her wineglass and shook off her negative feelings. “I’m not sure how this time thing will work, but I think I can manage to be here, same time tomorrow.”

“I don’t want to seem rude, but I don’t want you to come back. Just go away and leave me alone.”

“Sorry, but I can’t. I have a job and my ultimate future depends on doing it well. And remember, this is what your mother wanted.”

“I’m sure my mother didn’t want some whore giving me makeup tips,” Barbara snapped. Then her head dropped into her hands. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”

“Yes, it was. But I am what I am. I am—I was—a woman who made men happy for money. I did my job well, and got a lot of pleasure myself as well. And I was highly paid for my talents.”

“I’m sorry. But this whole thing is so ridiculous.”

“Just think about it. Consider what you have to gain. Think about looking appealing to your boss and having him ask you out. Dream about what your third or seventh date could be like. Think about all this and I’ll see you tomorrow.” Maggie crossed the room and walked into the hall.

Suddenly the house was silent. Having not heard the front door open, Barbara got up to be sure this crazy woman wasn’t lurking somewhere waiting to pounce or something. “Maggie? Where are you?” She searched the house, but Maggie was nowhere to be found.