Indian Girl
"As she got into bed he stood back with his head bowed, not daring tosay what he wanted without permission."What is it?" she impatiently asked him."Apart from my one mistake, buying you what I thought was an exclusiveand tasteful outfit, can you tell me one more thing I've done todeserve this, Mistress?" Don't you think that wanting me as some sort of trophy isn't enough?You men are all the same, expecting the little wife at home to serveyou like a slave then putting us on display like meat in a butcher'sshop. Why do you do it?" Because, Mistress, I love you, but you obviously don't love me now,if you ever did."He was wasting his breath, she had passed out and was asleep.He needed to go back downstairs to clear up all the debris from thedinner, but first went to his new room to clean himself up. Hequickly saw that his wardrobe consisted of two more uniforms in blackand another in pink, all designed in the same way.There were three pairs of shoes on the closet, one of each. ” The voice on the other end of the phone was familiar in all sorts of ways but older (it was nearly 15 years older) said, “Oh, OK. We’ll say nine-thirty. I’ll leave things to the crew tonight.” He was a journalist and ran the local paper. She’d given a story to one of his reporters earlier that day. She had met her at a cafe in town. “OK, see you then. Room thirty-four, just come straight up,” said Em brightly. She closed the call. She didn’t feel at all bright. Em ate the rest of her meal. It was good. She drank the rest of her wine. That was even better. She ordered a cognac and a coffee and was soon feeling pretty sparkly. She remembered Tim. He had shagged her (very nicely) twice at her house on two afternoons when Ambrose was out, once on his boat when she had offered to crew for him, twice in his car, once in the club swimming pool and three times at a holiday house on a island where they’d all gone for a weekend house party. This was one of her little adventures she had.
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