Authors: Elizabeth Lowe
Upon entering Gucci and Saks of
Fifth Avenue, with a nod of his head the attendants paid substantially to cater
to her every whim swept her off her feet, a time when she became engrossed in
the variety of fine fabrics and styles of famous designers. As Sam dallied in
her fantasy, Ted took the liberty of selecting a wardrobe to be gift wrapped
and delivered within the hour to the penthouse.
When they returned at the end of the
day shocked she was to find boxes filled with apparel strewn about her bedroom,
most of which she had previously rejected.
For the first time she realized money meant nothing to Ted.
“Jewelry, you need some jewelry,” he
exclaimed one morning over a cup of coffee, “Something to go with your new
outfits.”
Before a protest escaped, they
arrived at Tiffany's to be ushered from one display to another.
Peeking over her shoulder, Ted
insisted, “Pick out whatever you wish, darling, and it’s yours.”
With a snap of his fingers diamond bracelets
draped her wrists, ruby, emerald and sapphire rings, sparkled from every
finger, and necklaces and pearls adorned her neck.
His generosity quickly became oppressive,
“Enough, Ted, enough.
I will not accept any
more, please.
Take me back now,” Sam
begged.
Her pleas never reached his
ears.
Sam was beginning to wonder what Ted
wanted in return.
She had refrained from
becoming his mistress so far.
Now she
worried how much longer she could receive his gifts without feeling obligated
to tend to his demands in bed.
It was a brisk day, the middle of
October, when he made the decision to visit St. Patrick's Cathedral.
A trip Ted purposely avoided knowing it gave
him the leverage he needed to keep Sam in New York.
During the past weeks, she had grown quiet,
withdrawn, and homesick.
There was no
better time.
Once Sam entered through the huge
solid bronze doors, she froze.
The sun
was casting its hues through the stained glass windows lining each side of the
cathedral while the immense pipe organ rendered a melody capable of vibrating
ones soul.
Gaining composure, slowly she
passed the marble Saints who offered rest and comfort to those knelling before
them.
In the tranquility, candles
epitomizing loved ones in need of prayer.
Surely, God dwelled within the magnificent edifice, Sam reflected.
Gliding to a pew, she kneeled and folded her
hands.
Sliding in beside her Ted placed
an arm around her shoulders.
Consumed by silence for an
interminable time helped Ted muster enough fortitude to recite the speech he
had been secretly rehearing.
“Someday
soon, my love, we’ll get married here, I promise you.”
Face tilted toward
his, Sam’s eyes sparkled with tears.
“Married?
Here? Oh, could we Ted,
could we?
Our marriage would be
blessed.”
“Whatever you want, my darling,
whatever you want.”
Raising her
fragile hands to his lips’ he kissed them lightly.
Starring into her eyes the words floating out
pierced her heart and branded it forever.
“I love you, Samantha.”
Ted was a master at choosing the
right time and place to utter precisely the right words.
Convinced of his sincerity, Sam’s mind
reeled.
After all, who could lie in the
house of God?
How could she leave New
York now when her dreams were just coming true?
During the following week’s they
spent their evenings at the Metropolitan Theater, enjoying Broadway shows, and
dining and dancing at many of New York's exclusive clubs.
Just as the sun rose, they would arrive at the
penthouse exhausted, and too frequently inebriated.
Feeling Sam soften,
soon he would get what he wanted, and Sam was feeling like a Princess living a
fairy tale decreeing it more difficult to say no to her Prince charming.
Occasionally managing to pop in and
out of his office never lingering long enough to discuss business with Brad,
Ted barely kept abreast of top priority deals.
Times when Sam kept the appointment’s he made for her at the finest
beauty salons for massages, pedicures, manicures, facial’s, and coiffures.
Upon returning to the apartment one
day, Sam sat at the dressing table glancing at her reflection.
Looking back was a stranger resembling a
woman she had seen on the airplane.
Questioning
the uneasiness taking hold, she brooded over all that had taken place; times
she believed she was living the life she always wanted.
Then, why was she feeling a nagging urge to
pull on jeans and boots and bolt as swiftly and as far away as she could to get
a breath of fresh air?
Losing control, scooping a hand full
of cold cream she smeared it over her freshly made up face.
Plucking gobs of tissues she scrubbed until
all traces of makeup vanished.
Frantic
fingers raked through her hair giving flight to all the pins and combs that
prevented her ebony tresses from tumbling beyond her shoulder blades.
Grabbing a brush, she briskly ran it through
the tangles removing all evidence of curls and waves.
However pleased she was when finished, she
wondered what kind of demon had possessed her.
The
restlessness she had been experiencing worsened after a disagreement with Ted a
few days earlier.
Discovering her old
clothes missing, she was furious, though not quite certain why.
When confronting Ted he did not deny having
them removed, and was adamant about not returning them.
Running into the bedroom in tears, she locked
the door threatening never to come out or speak again until he returned her
belongings.
Realizing a day later she
was a bullheaded as he, Ted gave in believing when his back was turned she
would leave.
To appease Ted, she
promised to wear her old clothing only in the apartment when no one else was
around.
Fearful that he might take them
again, she hid them in a box in the closet.
Trying to battle her restless feelings, each day she would take them out
and hold them to her breast.
The more she was with Ted, and the
more intimate they became, the harder it was for him to keep his promise not to
pressure her into having sex.
His
intolerance and irritability was making her question her beliefs.
She could not determine if it was because of
her fear that she could not satisfy him or, if he really was the man she had
been waiting for?
Many nights lying in bed with Ted in
the adjoining room she wondered if she should go to him. “For heavens’ sake,
girl, you're twenty two, how long do you plan to wait?” Nights when she would
slip from beneath the covers and approach the locked door separating them.
Placing her hand on the knob her heart raced
and a cold sweat dampened her skin.
Seconds later, she would dart back to the
comfort of the bed quaffed up and shielded by the warm quilt.
Lying there, she vowed, “I won't make Ted
wait too much longer, I just have to be sure.”
CHAPTER 11
“SEPTEMBER
2010”
To
allow Ted and Sam privacy, using the stairway, Brad descended five floors to
their executive suite.
Combining living
and working quarters in the same building had proven to be advantageous,
particularly in New York.
Acclimated
to working out in their private gym established on the entire forty- eighth
floor that offered state of the art equipment, track, swimming pool, Jacuzzi,
and sauna, Brad knew the importance of exercise in diminishing stress.
During the past few month’s resentment had
built from not having the time for his favorite pastime. Due to the rapid
growth of business and Ted's sudden lack of responsibility, using the stairway
compensated for recent inactivity.
The
added tension from Sam’s arrival made him yearn even more to work off
frustration and persistent thoughts of her.
With
posh navy blue carpet padding, his feet he entered through the wall of brass
and glass etched with scenes of ocean waves, sailboats, and sea gulls.
It was difficult to believe they now owned
the building in which they once leased a small office.
Though the revenues from many other
businesses and apartments within the complex had proved profitable, they
compounded responsibilities.
Now
Peterson and Johnson consumed two floors with the noisy, cluttered Broker’s
cubicles occupying the floor below.
Newly renovated, the executive suite offered sleek corridors, recessed
lighting to ease the pressure of work, a large central area for the receptionist
surrounded by conference rooms, a waiting room, and two spacious offices.
Contemporary was the theme, handsomely
furnished, the doors and trim of solid oak, chairs of imported burgundy
leather, with illustrations of nautical scenes suitably suspended on the
walls.
The exterior of solid glass
offered a cornucopia of natural illumination and splendid views of the
metropolis.
Passing
the reception area, sporting his typical broad smile, Brad gave Connie her
customary wink.
Headphone pressed to her
ear overburdened with calls she sat at her desk.
Like most of the female employees Ted hired,
she was young, single, sexy and beautiful, her blonde hair an added asset in
procuring employment.
Connie's hazel eyes
followed the whiff of Brad’s cologne.
He
was as graceful as a matador she believed, his handsomeness bigger than
life.
So smitten was she, continually
she fought feelings of insecurity.
Unlike most males, particularly Ted, Brad never made advances, rumors
were he never dated an employee, still, she dreamed maybe one day to be the
exception.
Continuing his paces, Brad asked over
his shoulder, “Any messages, Ms. Thorpe?”
Wishing just once he would call her
by her first name, possibly stop long enough to notice her; Connie replied
melodiously, “There's a stack of them on your desk, sir.”
“When isn’t there,” he grumbled?
Ted’s
secretary sashaying up to Brad made him chuckle inwardly.
He anxiously awaited the day Stacy’s wiggle
would rip one of her short tight skirts and expose the nudity beneath, but
doubted such an embarrassing experience would teach her proper office
attire.
Everything about her pre
orchestrated her fashion, voice, and body movements adding lewd messages.
Her distinct perfume swelled his sinuses, her
snug sweaters other parts.
He had to
admit Ted sure had the knack of finding the sexiest of women, but rarely saw
beneath the surface.
Stacy could not
carry on an intellectual conversation if her life depended upon it.
Though drawn to her auburn hair, olive skin
and striking green eyes, as tempting as Stacy was, Brad held to his vow never
to bed a secretary.
”Is there a problem, Ms. Philip's?”
“Do you know when
Te
. . .
I mean Mr. Peterson will be in,”
Stacy's high-pitched voice the grating kind
like chalk on a chalkboard.
“I'm not sure.
Why?”
“I'm
up to my neck with proposals returned for final approval.
His clients are freaking out because Mr.
Peterson has not returned their calls.
After five attempts to reach him, Mr. Somers is livid.
He thinks I'm refusing to put him through and
called me a two bit whore along with other sorted names.”