Authors: Sarah Ann Walker
Standing in the doorway like an idiot, my brain finally wakes up and I ask, "May I go in?"
"Of course. Please Sweetheart, make yourself as comfortable as you can be. Would you like a quick tour?" God, yes!
"Please."
Taking my hand again to begin the tour, I’m thrilled. I love this! I love this apartment! I love Z holding my hand! I love everything here in New York.
"Okay. To your left is the kitchen, dining room and atrium, but we'll see that in the morning. To the right, follow me, are the bedrooms, library and bathrooms."
It’s so nice. I would love to live here forever.
As if!
"This is the library. It's a little pretentious, but I just couldn't change anything in it. It felt like it had a kind of history all its own that I didn't want to mess with." I see what he means.
"There’s the main bathroom. It’s fairly generic. This is the first spare room, also fairly boring. This second spare room is where most guests stay because it's larger and it has an ensuite bathroom."
"Wow. It's huge, yet still warm and comfortable. I like that it's the same color scheme as the main room." Am I staying in here? He hasn't stop wheeling the luggage, so maybe not.
"And here’s the master bedroom..."
Oh. My. GOD!
"
This
is very, very big, and beautiful, and wow, kind of sexy." Shit. That was out loud!
"Yes, most women like it. I love the furniture, but I'm not overly fond of the color. It's an acquired taste I think, at least for a man."
Most women?
Well,
shit…
that statement kinda hurt my chest a little. But what? Did I really think Z was a virgin before he met me? Get a grip. Pull it together.
"It's red and burgundy and black. These are stunning colors, Z. And yes, I could see a manly man such as yourself having to get used to it. I love the furniture too. Wow. The mahogany furniture is antique, no? And just beautiful.”
"Yes. The bedside tables are reproduction pieces, Kittinger, to be exact. But the rest of the furniture are original pieces; a few bought overseas, and some are very old, bought for the apartment in the late 1800's. Again, I love the furniture, but the colors are a little too
‘boudoir’
for my liking." It’s so SEXY! Am I staying in here?
"Where would you like me to put your things?" Here! Right, here!
"Um, wherever you want." There! You decide!
"Where would you be most comfortable?" Shit. Right HERE! "You're the guest. Where would you like to sleep?" In your bed. HERE! Dammit!
"The guest room next door will be fine." I want to stay here! With you!
"Okay. Are you tired? You must be. Would you like anything before bed?"
YOU!
"No. I'll just settle in and go to sleep. What time do you have to leave in the morning?" Please say you don't have to leave me. Please!
"We can have breakfast together, then I'll set you up with my Kindle. I have to leave by 10:30 but I should be back around 3:00. Is that okay?" No. I want you here with me, ALL day.
"Yes. Thank you." I hate this. I feel all abandoned or something.
When Z takes me back to the bigger spare room, he again asks if I need anything, and after I decline, he kisses me gently on the lips. It's a nice kiss, if not very bland.
Dammit.
He was much more flirty and sexy with me in Chicago. I guess ‘what happens in Chicago,
stays
in Chicago’. Maybe I was just that- a
‘Chicago-thing’
and now that he's on his home turf, he no longer wants me. Or maybe because he's already had me, he no longer wants me. Or maybe I was so bad earlier he no longer wants me. Or...
"Stop. What is it? Please tell me what you’re thinking." No way.
"Nothing. I'm just tired. Good night, Z, and thank you for everything. You've been very kind to me." God, I feel so sad suddenly I just need to be alone.
"If you want or need anything at all, just come get me, or yell for me, or even knock on the wall... Okay?" He states grinning.
"Okay. Good night, Z." No kiss.
Dammit.
Closing the door behind me, I head for the bathroom, remove my make-up, brush my teeth and use the toilet. I'm all done.
Opening my luggage, I pull out my pajamas, and don't even bother putting my clothes away right now. Who cares about wrinkles when I feel all sad and lonely inside? I just want to crawl into bed, and sleep away all this sad, heavy feeling.
Crawling in, the antique clock reads nearly 3am, and I feel exhausted. I can't even fight sleep and I don't want to. I need to sleep off all this sadness.
Closing my eyes, I feel the pull quickly. After a whispered good night to Z, I can feel myself sinking. I'm so tired.
I’m done…
CHAPTER 16
Slowly waking in a gentle wash of sunlight, I feel cold and groggy. It's 8:52 am, and I’ve slept long enough. Trying to get out of bed, proves challenging though. I simply don't want to. I just want to lay here for another 6 hours. I want the lethargy to fade, but I don't actually want to do anything about it. Get UP!
No!
Quickly waking in a harsh glare of sunlight, I’m overheated and alert. It's 11:41pm, and I have slept way too long. Hopping out of bed is easy. I simply have to. I don't want to lay here for another minute. The lethargy has faded, and I didn't have to do anything about it. Should I get moving? Yes!
As I walk out of my room toward the living room, I am amazed at the beauty of the apartment. All the big and little details I didn't see or notice last night, are simply gorgeous in the daylight.
Who owned this place before Z? Who DID he inherit it from? How old is it? How much is it worth? Downtown Manhattan, huge apartment, original
almost
everything... I would have to say at least 20-25 million, probably much more. It's just spectacular. Where’s Z?
In the kitchen, I see a bowl on the table and beside it Apple Jacks and a note. Smiling, I grab for the note from Z.
Sweetheart,
I hope you slept well. I did check up on you through the night, and this morning, and you seemed well, and OUT COLD. Therefore, I didn't want to wake you before I left.
As you can see, I too love Apple Jacks, so dig in. There are many other food supplies in the fridge and cupboards, so help yourself to whatever you would like. The coffee pot is also ready, just turn it on if you feel like some coffee.
My Kindle is ready for all your tantalizingly filthy novels. The account is up and ready, and the Kindle is in the library beside the window. I hope you're comfortable in there, but feel free to change locations if you’d like.
I plan to return close to 3:00. If you need anything, or just want to talk, please call my cell. Even by Manhattan's standard of time and traffic, I can be back fairly quickly if you need me.
Make yourself at home, and enjoy your time off. Hopefully, you won't think yourself to death before I return.
Yours, Z
Okay. Good. He sounds the same. He's not freaked that I'm here, and he doesn't seem freaked by
me.
Maybe I should do something before he gets home so I'm not a bother. I could cook him dinner, or I could clean his house, or I could tidy up... Or I could
snoop
around? No! That would be very ungracious, and yet my feet start walking to his bedroom anyway.
Once inside the red and burgundy
boudoir
, I reach for his closet. Wow! On the left side of the walk-in, there are the requisite dark suits... many dark suits, but then there are hundreds of dress shirts, in
hundreds
of colors. On the right side, Z's
casual
clothing is hung in a crazy array of rainbow colors. There is so much color it’s almost blinding. He doesn't discriminate at all. From canary yellows, to teals, red, and even a few pink golf-type shirts. As for my favorite black? Z has very little black anything, excluding, the 5 or so perfectly pressed tuxedos in the back of the closet.
I am stunned by all the color. I didn't know someone could live like this. Even Marcus who
did
wear color, only apparently wore
some
color... blues, greens and browns...
boy
colors.
Shit
... Z is crazy for color. No wonder he asked about all my black. He must have gone into a near coma surrounded by all my black the last couple days. Maybe I should go buy something with a little color. Yes! That's what I'll do.
Returning to the kitchen, I think about eating a bowl of cereal quickly, but I'm too excited to eat. Running back to the spare room ensuite, I shower quickly. Washing my hair is required, but it is so time consuming to dry I decide to just twist it into a chignon wet. My hair is so heavy, that the twist won’t really frizz my hair, but rather turn it to light waves when I pull it out this evening. It'll have to do.
Heading back to my luggage in the spare room, I dress quickly in black slacks and blouse, with a light black cardigan overtop. Quick make-up, quick hair twist into a chignon, quick everything, and I'm done. I'm going to do this.
What am I going to buy? Color in what? Pajamas? A blouse? A cardigan? Bra and panties? Oh,
god no.
I'm not going
there
today. I am definitely not ready for lingerie shopping, though it might be fun…? Ah
no,
lingerie shopping will NOT be fun. Christ, what average sized woman wants to see herself well-lit in a change room filled with perfect bras and panties? Plus, I don’t know if Z even wants me anymore now that we're in New York.
By the door, I see keys in a glass bowl, filled with crystals. Fitting a key into the keyhole... Yes! It works the front door. What else do I need? Grabbing my purse, cell phone, money, and the key, I'm good to go. Downstairs, the doorman whistles and…
Seriously?
... in mere seconds a taxi pulls up.
Where am I going exactly? Um, Macy's on West 34th Street? It's a little generic, not super posh like the little shops in the Fashion District, but I think I'm more comfortable in a large store with lots of security, just in case. The taxi driver is nice and friendly, and very non-threatening, so Macy’s it is.
Arriving at Macy's, I'm almost shocked at the sheer sizes of it. I've been here before, many times with my mother in fact, but I had forgotten just how large it is.
Where to begin? Staring at the floor plan I read; 3
rd
Floor: 'Women's Dress clothing' and 4
th
Floor: 'Women's Casual clothing'. And the 5th Floor: Yay! Shoes. Where the hell
DO
I begin? The 3rd floor and then make my way up to the 5th floor? That makes sense.
Um, sweaters... Not much selection. The summer line is in full swing. I see a few though, in various shades. One particular light cardigan jumps out at me. I'll try it. Walking over to the blouses, there are hundreds. I see blue and white stripes, very nautical. I hate sailing, another disappointment for my parents. Yuck! There are pinks and oranges, and even a crazy collage of color and shapes on one very loud blouse. Choosing one, I head for the pants.
Jeans…? Ah,
never.
Slacks...? There are so many choices again. Grabbing a sleek pair of slacks was easy. Pants just do or don't work. I actually prefer skirts, because I find my ‘big butt and thighs’ look much less obvious in skirts. Huh. I wonder if my aversion to jeans is based solely on the obvious
inability
to hide any extra weight within them.
Leaving the slacks, I head over to the dresses. Again, there are hundreds to choose from. I see sexy, slinky, elegant, youngish, and middle-aged styles. Where the hell do I fit in? I look younger than my age, but I’m older than I look. Do I go younger or older? Maybe both? Oh! I see a particularly sexy, low-cut, cleavage showing, short cocktail dress with a little bolero jacket for modesty. It’s very nice. Actually, I think I love it.
I pick my size in everything, and then the duplicate piece of clothing in a size up. You never know... Macy's might have their own sizing gauge. I swear some department stores do this either to excite or depress their customers. Though, why they would want to depress us into
NOT
buying their clothing, when we try on a size higher than our usual, I’ll never understand.
On the fourth floor, I am almost overwhelmed completely. Where do I even begin? There is just color, and clothing, and people, and
stuff
everywhere. This is insane and awesome too.