Samantha's Seduction (eBook)

ONE

It was another Saturday morning in New York, but I thought to myself that this Saturday was going to be different. Saturdays were usually spent grocery shopping, stopping at the bookstore to see what was new and over to The Golden Bough for tea. Then home to Washington Heights to read a book or maybe do a little knitting.

Whom am I kidding? When I got home, I went online, adding to my blog, checking out the blogs I followed, logging into Reddit to see what was happening there, or maybe Tumblr to see if there were new pictures. Then checking out Facebook, answering emails, and maybe sneaking in a little porn before retiring for the night.

This Saturday I told myself was the first day of the new me, no more homebody for me. I was going to take on the world and have all the fun I read about in the books and magazines, and the first step toward the new me was going for a haircut.

“And what’s wrong with our life so lived?” asked my mind. “We have stability and comfort and…”

“Boring,” said my brain. “What we have is boring. When was the last time anything exciting happened in our lives, ah, like never?”

“Quiet, you two,” I said. “I’ve decided and that’s that.”

I normally just went to the place in the mall where they would take the usual three inches off the bottom and I would pay my fifteen dollars and be happy until the next time.

This time I made an appointment at Alfred’s and told myself that I was going to get a new look that went with my new life. Though, truth be told, the closer I got to Alfred’s, the more the ache in my stomach grew and I was at the point of not going through with it when Wendy, the most popular girl at the office where I worked, walked by without even acknowledging me and went straight in.

Well, if it was good enough for her, then it certainly was for me, but the ache in the pit of my stomach got worse. “I can’t,” I thought. Whom was I fooling? Nobody but myself, I could never be one of those women I read and dreamed about. Then I was at the door and rather than giving into my fears and turning away, I opened it and went in.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” said my mind. “It will only end in disaster like it did every other time we tried something stupid like this.”

“SHUT UP!” yelled my brain. “Don’t you feel how exciting this is? Just imagine; we’ll come out the door in our new ‘do and bump into Sir Galahad or maybe Justin Timberlake. He’s beautiful and I hear he is hung…”

“SHUT UP, BOTH OF YOU!” I yelled, and then looked around to make sure that it was my inside voice I had used as I was embarrassed enough already with what my brain had said and I didn’t need any more embarrassment with people looking at me like I was crazy, well, okay, crazier. I mean, does anybody else hold conversations with themselves as I do?

I approached the receptionist with my purse clasped in my two hands and quietly said, “Samantha, I have an appointment,” and waited.

The receptionist was speaking on the phone and chewing gum, snapping it as she spoke. “I know, I would never have thought, I know,” snap, snap, “I know,” and putting one hand over the mouthpiece. “Name?” and when I said, “Samantha” again she said, “Wait over there,” and pointed to a row of chairs.

I looked over and saw Wendy sitting in the middle chair looking like she owned the place and I wondered if I could ever feel that confident and slunk over to a chair as far away from her as I could get.

I picked up a magazine and started paging through it, hoping to still the flutterflies I had. When the receptionist came by and offered me a coffee, I felt so stupid as I stuttered, “No, no thank you,” knowing that I would have spilled it all over myself the way my hands were shaking.

It was Wendy’s laughing that did it and I bolted for the door. Well, I would have bolted, but I had to go back and get my coat and then make my escape. God, would I ever be able to live this experience down?

“See,” said my mind, “another fiasco. You should have listened to me and we wouldn’t be getting into trouble like this.”

I looked back into the salon where Wendy and the receptionist were having a good laugh, at my expense, I’m sure, and I could feel the heat from the flush of humiliation flowing over my face. “If the fucking Devil was here, I’d sell him my soul right now, and for a discount. Please, just make today go away,” I pleaded.

It was a long, slow, despondent walk back to the bus stop and an even longer bus ride home. I slunk into my apartment and went looking for something to drink so I could drown my sorrows. God, I was pathetic, couldn’t even get drunk when nothing turned up.

Putting the kettle on, I wondered how much tea I would have to drink to kill myself, you know, like a bathtub full or two, and sat and listened to the mournful whistle of the kettle, the sound track of my life, not even a wolf whistle, just a steady droning, on and on.

It was the rattling of the kettle on the stove that startled me out of my sorrow, the noise letting me know that I had let it boil dry and alerting me that I was in danger of burning the place down. Though I thought, “At least then I’d be in Hell and could give the Devil a piece of my mind about how he hadn’t taken me up on my offer.”

It was Monday; I was on my way to work, going the usual way that I went, no change in routine for me, when I noticed a storefront that I had never seen before. “Where did that come from?” I wondered as I walked past and why hadn’t I seen it before? I mean, it’s not as if I hadn’t walked this street a thousand times, how could I have missed it all these years? But I kept walking.

As for work, Wendy, as usual, didn’t even notice I was alive. Was her life so exciting and full that she had already forgotten what had happened Saturday at the hair salon? I had dreaded coming into work all day Sunday and the pain in my stomach on the way to work could almost have sent me home sick and there she was, walking by me as if I didn’t exist, which was her normal way.

I breathed a sigh of relief as I watched her tease all the men that she talked to, casually tossing her hair, flashing that big smile, touching an arm here, laughing at some silly joke, and there I sat, afraid of my own shadow, too nervous to talk to anybody. I was green with envy, or maybe it was the potato salad that had smelled a little funny that I had eaten making its presence known.

The store was still there when I walked by after work and I shook my head again. The name of the store was Faustus’s and looking in the window, I saw mannequins dressed in the most unbelievable fashions, some quite risqué, I thought to myself, and so life-like that I had a hard time thinking they were just plastic and not real. Well, except for the part where they didn’t move. I stared for a number of minutes trying to take in as much as I could, having the tableau laid out before my eyes, feasting on such rich and exotic things unlike anything that I had ever seen before.

I turned to leave when the door opened and an older man walked out and approached me saying, “Enjoying my displays?”

His voice was a rich, dark baritone that made me weak in the knees just to hear it and it went so well with the clothes he wore, a grey suit with a white shirt and black shoes. But it was his face that drew my eyes to it, and held them. How stunning he looked, with his high forehead and dark eyes underneath bushy, salt and pepper eyebrows and a long nose over full lips. It had me thinking naughty thoughts about him. It was the goatee that stopped my inspection; it was trimmed and neat, came down to two points’ salt and pepper in the middle but outlined in black that hung just above the cravat that he wore. A very handsome, older man was all I could think.

“Would you like to come in? There is much more to see inside. I’m sure there is something that will appeal to you and if I might be so bold to suggest, I think I have just what you are looking for,” he said.

Again, the voice and again I felt weak; it was all I could do to keep standing. “I don’t think so; everything is beautiful but far outside my expense range. I would have to work a hundred years to pay for anything in this window, I should think.”

“I think I can surprise you. I take things,” and he hesitated, “I take things on consignment and most of what you see here is quite reasonable and for someone as beautiful as you I am sure we can work out something.”

I hesitated. It was just wonderful standing there listening to his voice and feeling the heat on my cheeks from blushing, I thought he must think I was just some silly little girl. “I, ah, thank you for the compliment, but I really don’t think there is anything I can afford and I’m late getting home as it is. I am sorry for bothering you.”

“We should leave,” said my mind. “I don’t like how I’m feeling and that is bad. I have a bad feeling about this. We should leave now.”

“We should stay,” said my brain. “That voice is so seductive and the clothes are so beautiful. I’m getting excited just standing here.”

“You get excited when the weatherman on TV talks,” said my mind, “and need I remind you again that he is not talking directly to you? He is on TV!”