Her mom sent Wanda back to change three times. Each time it was for shorter heels, longer skirts and more modest tops. Damn it! Henry had been kept busy working on some sort of business merger and she hadn’t even seen him, let alone had any private time with him, for almost a month. She really deserved a chance to turn him on a little. Even her make-up was toned down at her mom’s insistence.
‘The Chandlers are a prestigious family,’ she said, often. ‘Decorum is de rigueur.’
Wanda hated to admit it but her mom was a prude and a snob, very old school. At least, she was where Wanda was concerned. For herself, short skirts or ones with slits and less than modest necklines were fine. Not that she couldn’t carry it off. Parked in her very late forties, she still had the body of a twenty-year-old.
The outing was a chance for Wanda to wear her engagement ring. It had nine diamonds, set in a square pattern of three threes. She didn’t know much about gems but each stone had to be at least a carat, so the ring was too much for the supermarket. For a swanky restaurant, it was fine.
Although The Captain’s Table’s brunch was a buffet; the maître d’ greeted Wanda and her mother and showed them to their table, where Lucinda was waiting, alone. The elegant woman, as slender, lithe and tight-skinned as Wanda’s mom even though she had to be at least five years older, rose to embrace her. The two mature women air-kissed to both sides, then pecked each other’s pursed lips. The contact was brief but, Wanda felt, electric. Were her mom and Henry’s doing the horizontal? Wanda shuddered and thrust the thought away. Those were images she certainly didn’t want sneaking around inside her head, waiting for their chances to soil her fantasies.
Wanda had a seat on a bench against the wall, under a cartoon of a bare-breasted mermaid riding a seahorse, side-saddle, of course. Wanda took the seat that’d be directly to Henry’s head-of-the-table right. Lucinda sank into the seat that’d be to his left, between him and Wanda’s mom.
‘Henry’s sorry he’s late,’ Lucinda explained. ‘He’s picking up his cousin, Kitty, who will be joining us.’
‘Kitty?’ Wanda asked.
‘They’ve been playmates since they were children,’ Lucinda continued. ‘Best pals forever and all that.’
Playing what? Doctor? That wasn’t a very charitable thought. Wanda shoved it away to join her nasty suspicions about Lucinda and her mom. Kinky fantasies starring herself were bad enough. If she started involving friends and family, that’d be really sick. Too sick to even tell Dr Sullivan about?
Leggy waitresses in musical comedy versions of sailor suits brought champagne and orange juice. Wanda sipped and then swallowed. It was early in the day for alcohol, but a Buck’s Fizz barely counts, right? Then again, she’d skipped breakfast. She pushed the flute three inches further away, then pulled it back. What the hell! She deserved some fun in life.
Lucinda turned her head towards the entrance and brightened. ‘Here he is!’ she sighed in a tone most people would have reserved for the Second Coming.
Despite herself, Wanda found that she was straightening and pulling her tummy in. He was only a man, after all. He might be six-foot four, ruggedly handsome and charming, with a boatload of money, but he was still human. Right?
Henry was wearing navy espadrilles, crisp white pants, a smart blue blazer and a cravat, and he held a captain’s cap under his arm.
‘Henry always likes to dress up,’ Lucinda boasted.
Does he? Did that mean that he was metrosexual, or simply gay? Was he planning to marry her just to be his ‘beard’?
Kitty, her black hair in a pixie-cut to match her big-eyed pixie-face, also wore a blue blazer, with a mid-thigh white pleated skirt, bobby-socks and deck shoes. They were co-ordinated. She wasn’t. Kitty was showing her legs off. She wasn’t.
With a great effort, Wanda stopped grinding her teeth. She rose into Henry’s warmish embrace and cheek-kiss.
Lucinda made the introductions.
Henry declared that he was famished and suggested they raid the buffet. Good idea. Food would give Wanda something to sink her teeth into, apart from Kitty’s elegant neck.
Henry was right in front of her in the line. He took lots of raw oysters so Wanda did likewise. So did Kitty.
‘Oysters, huh?’ Kitty remarked.
Not sure what the girl meant or was implying, Wanda just nodded.
‘You might want a lemon wedge,’ Kitty prompted her.
‘I was hoping for lime,’ Wanda replied, trumping the reminder but still taking the advice.
Kitty ignored that and said, ‘I was hoping for some tongue. I’m very fond of tongue. How about you, Wanda?’
‘That depends,’ Wanda replied, leaving off the ‘whose tongue’ that had almost sprung to her lips.
‘You’re right. It certainly does depend, on so many things.’ Kitty gave Wanda a brief fluttering wink, which Wanda interpreted as ‘whose tongue’ plus ‘and where it’s licking’.
Perhaps the girl wasn’t such a bad sort, after all. She was more slender than Wanda, which meant she was a bit skinny, of course. It was impossible to tell about her tits, under that blazer and a horizontal striped boat-necked cotton sweater. Wanda suspected that her own were better, or, at least, bigger.
The buffet line started with lobster tails. Wanda chose one that was arched high out of its split shell, like it was struggling to be born. There were a variety of pâtés, herring, shrimp, crab and lobster. Wanda took a serving each of the crab and the lobster. A blob of Russian salad and a few black olives absolved her conscience about taking all the high-cost, high-protein offerings, so she was able to feel fine about the two paper-thin slices of very rare roast beef, with creamed horseradish.
Henry dropped a couple of gigantic butterfly scampi on top of her beef. ‘These are very good,’ he told her.
‘Thank you, Henry.’ She could always skip supper, and breakfast tomorrow. Maybe lunch, as well.
Back at the table, a heaped bread basket plus little pots of dressing and drawn butter had appeared. Kitty shed her blazer and dropped it onto the bench seat beside her, though a waitress whipped it away in less than ten seconds. Her sweater was skin-tight so that Wanda could see that she had cup-cake tits, small but firm and projecting, with obvious nipples. Not bad. The hem of the sweater was cropped and elasticised, leaving a three-inch band of bare tanned skin at her midriff. Neither Lucinda nor Martha, Wanda’s mom, showed any sign of disapproval, whereas, if it had been her dressed like that, she’d have been given a slow verbal roast in hell for it. Perhaps it was because Wanda was ‘spoken’ for and Kitty wasn’t? That’d be some compensation.
Kitty nudged Wanda with her thigh. ‘I’m sure that we are going to become great friends,’ she declared. ‘I can feel it already.’ She rested a warm palm on Wanda’s knee and squeezed.
‘Thank you.’ That was confusing. It isn’t fair when someone you’ve decided to hate comes on all warm and friendly. And ‘comes on’ to boot!
Wanda picked up a small fork and prodded at the lobster meat, not sure how to proceed. Next to her, Kitty simply plucked her tail from its casing with her fingers, dipped it in a sauce and slowly sucked at the pinkish-white meat. There was no doubt in Wanda’s mind. The girl was fellating the firm flesh.
Kitty dipped again. ‘I do love this sauce, don’t you, Wanda?’
‘I’ve tasted better.’
‘Haven’t we all! I wonder if this is a cock or a hen lobster?’
‘Does it make a difference?’ Wanda asked.
‘They’re both good, I’m sure, but I like to know what I’m putting in my mouth, anyway.’
The blatant innuendoes confirmed that Kitty was definitely a naughty girl. Wanda liked that, even if the girl’s freedom to be openly bad made her jealous. Under different circumstances, she and Kitty could have been very good friends. Come to that, she really couldn’t hold Kitty’s past whatever-it-had-been with Henry against her.
Henry had his head back, pouring an oyster into his mouth. His Adam’s apple bobbed. Did oysters evoke the female essence for him as much as lobster tails did the male one for her?
Her mother and Lucinda were looking into each other’s eyes as they too slurped oysters. Oh my God! If that didn’t confirm exactly what Wanda didn’t want confirmed, what would?
So as not to mimic Kitty, Wanda picked her tail up and sank her teeth into it. The sweet meat was resilient enough she could almost fancy it was alive and moving inside her mouth. On her tongue.
This wasn’t a brunch. It was a goddamned food orgy!
Four loud and burly young men brought plates that were pyramided with the buffet’s offerings to the next table. Wanda threw a glance at Kitty to see if she disapproved of the newcomers as much as she did. There was something about the young woman’s profile …
Wanda twisted on her bench seat and looked up at the cartoon. There was a definite likeness between Kitty and the mermaid. And Henry drew. As far as she could see, the picture wasn’t signed, not even with initials. If it had been, and the signature had been ‘Henry Chandler’, or the initials ‘HC’, that would have been very unpleasant.
Henry’s knee touched hers under the table. Was his hand going to follow? Please?
He asked her, ‘Do you ride, Wanda?’
She nodded. Her mother had made sure that she was raised ‘above her station’. Upward mobility had been the theme of her life, imposed by her sole parent. Her mom hadn’t been mistaken though, after all, all being well. From shoe-shop assistant to the wife of a multimillionaire would certainly be an upward move.
‘English saddle, or Western?’
‘Either – both. Not at once.’
He grinned, warming her heart. ‘Funny girl! My negotiations will be finished in a couple of days. I plan to take a few days off to get to know my bride better.’
Did he mean sex? Please, God, let him mean hot sweaty, maybe kinky, sex!
He continued, ‘I thought we could all go out to the ranch, kick back, take it easy, with maybe some riding? You have a quality about you, Wanda, that makes me want to see you in full English riding regalia.’
The men at the next table were laughing raucously.
‘I don’t have …’ she began.
‘No, of course not. Here, take this.’ Henry handed her a business card. Mr Pink, Bespoke Habits. ‘He does boots, as well. I’d like you to go see him and let him measure you. I’ve told him exactly what I want him to make for you. He makes all my riding clothes for me.’
‘Oh, thank you, Henry.’
‘Pink doesn’t do Western outfits, though, so take this as well.’ He put a black credit card on the table. ‘There’s no practical limit on it, so don’t worry about what you spend.’
Wanda had some vague impression that there was something special about black credit cards. Henry was giving her a taste of what being married to a very rich man was like. That was a kind of courtship, wasn’t it? Wanda tucked both cards away in her purse and made sure to wedge her purse between herself and Kitty, where no one would be able to snatch it. The backs of Wanda’s fingers pressed briefly against Kitty’s hip. The hip pressed back. Wanda clamped down on her imagination before it could take her where she didn’t want to go. Perhaps she should get away from the table, and the heat of Kitty’s slender young body.
‘I’m up for dessert,’ Wanda announced.
Henry laid a finger on her wrist, where it seared her flesh. ‘I hope you don’t mind but I ordered a special dessert for us. It’ll be right along.’ He lifted his other hand, sending a waitress scurrying towards the kitchen.
‘What is it?’ Martha asked.
‘Figs.’
Martha looked taken aback, which was exactly how Wanda felt. Figs?
Henry explained. ‘Fresh green Smyrna figs, slit open and some of the pulp scooped out. They’re filled with raw Demerara sugar that has been supersaturated with dark 180-proof rum. Then they are wrapped in foil and baked so that the aroma penetrates the flesh.’
Kitty, under her breath, whispered, ‘Penetrates the flesh.’
Wanda couldn’t help but echo, ‘Penetrates the flesh.’ She and Kitty exchanged sly glances and didn’t giggle.
Henry continued. ‘Once they are out of the oven, they are opened, topped with clotted cream and served very quickly, while the hot and cold still contrast. I think you’ll find them amusing. If not, there’s an ample dessert buffet to choose from.’
‘I’ve never heard of that dish,’ Wanda admitted. ‘What’s it called?’
‘I haven’t named it yet. If you like it, perhaps it will be “Figs Wanda”.’
‘Your recipe?’
‘The chef here allows me to dabble.’
Oh! He likes to dress up. He cooks fancy desserts. Please, please, please don’t let him be gay!
The chef himself appeared, complete with his high hat and check pants, and served them each with a single cream-slathered fig in a cut-glass coupe. Henry thanked him. He bowed to the table and retreated to his domain.
Wanda picked up her dessert fork. As she prodded through the cream, a perfume that could have got her drunk just from breathing deeply burst up at her. She dug in and scooped a morsel out. Oh! It did things on her tongue, soothing things, but exciting things. Her sinuses seemed to sigh. Beneath her tongue, saliva pooled. Wanda sucked in a deep breath. It tingled all the way down into her lungs. Perhaps deeper.
‘How do you like it?’ Henry asked.
Everyone but Wanda proclaimed their approval. She was too busy enjoying the contrast of texture between clotted cream and tiny smooth fig seeds. Eventually, she managed to breathe, ‘Divine!’
Kitty added, ‘Devilishly so! Figs Diablo?’
For a while, the table was quiet as all devoured Henry’s creations. That seemed to make the noise from the other table louder. There was a squeal of chair legs on hardwood as one of the oafs twisted round to glare at Henry.
‘Hey, you, sailor boy! You got four fine-lookin’ bitches there and we got none. That’s no fair! Send ’em over to us and we’ll show ’em how real men treat their women.’
Henry dabbed at his lips with a napkin, set it down carefully and stood up. ‘I suggest that you and your friends pay your bill and leave.’ His voice was soft and calm.
‘Oh yeah?’ The hooligan snatched his glass beer mug up and cracked it down on the edge of his table, leaving a glittering multi-bladed weapon in his trembling fist.
Wanda stood in fear for her fiancé, though what she could do was beyond her.
The man swung shards of glass at Henry’s face. Henry brushed it aside with his left hand and looped his right fist up and over to slam down on the man’s cheek, driving him to his knees. He swayed, then toppled to lie there, face distorted, eyes closed, blood trickling from his nose and bubbling from the corner of his mouth.
Henry looked at the man’s three companions. ‘I repeat, I suggest that you pay your bill and leave.’
The three looked at each other sheepishly. One said, ‘George was drunk.’
‘And so are you,’ Henry observed. ‘And now George is on the floor.’
The three tossed bills onto the table. Two of them lifted George by his armpits and dragged him out, followed by the third.
Wanda wrapped her arms around her hero’s arm. ‘That was magnificent,’ she told him.
Lucinda, Martha and Kitty all added their praise, but it was Wanda who got to hold him close. Under his sleeve, his arm was massive and unyielding.
The maître d’ bustled up to their table. ‘I am so sorry, Mr Chandler. I had no idea they were already drunk before they came in. I’ll ban them from the premises, of course.’
‘Not your fault,’ Henry assured him. ‘Better clear their table and take care of the broken glass, right?’
‘Of course! Immediately!’ He hustled away.
Wanda said, ‘The least he could have done after that incident is comp you our meals, Henry.’
Martha laughed. ‘He couldn’t very well do that, you silly girl. Henry owns this restaurant. He won’t be given a bill.’
Henry fixed Wanda’s mother with a look that Wanda hoped would never be aimed at her. ‘Martha, unless someone had told her, how could Wanda be expected to know that? In other circumstances, she’d be absolutely right. It would have been totally appropriate.’
Martha looked down, blushing. She mumbled something that might have been an apology to Wanda.
What a man! He tackles hooligans without blinking and he defends her against her mother, a much more courageous feat. How could a girl not love a man like that? And, as for doubting his masculinity, how utterly ridiculous that was!