as I put the paper down slowly and glared at them both.
“Life is too long to spend it without teeth.” Peter's comment did not amuse me, nor did the look in Charlotte's eye when she asked him admiringly where he got the suit.
“It's Versace, Charlie. He's the only designer I wear. Do you like it?”
“More than life itself,” I volunteered for her, and then mercifully, the doorman called on the house phone. The car pool was downstairs to take them. ‘Time for school!” I rushed everyone out the door, closed it, and then turned to look at him. “What exactly are you trying to do? Cause a revolution here? They're children. They don't know you're just kidding … and Peter … that outfit …” I didn't know how to say it, but it wasn't going to be easy keeping Charlotte in anything even remotely respectable, if he kept wearing little numbers like this one.
“It's terrific, isn't it?” He grinned, and I sat down and groaned helplessly, and then looked up at him again. But he looked so sweet and so vulnerable, he actually looked hurt at the thought that I disapproved.
“Yes, it is terrific.” What the hell, he was brilliant, I loved him, he was great in bed, and the kids had left for school. What harm could it do if I played the game with him? If only for a day or two. He couldn't keep it up forever. No one could. Sooner or later, he'd get tired of teasing me, and he'd have to go back to the khakis and the Gucci shoes. But I was secretly longing for the days when Charlotte called him a dork becausehe was so conservative. The little leopard spandex number was certainly anything but.
But as I looked at him, he grinned mischievously, and pulled me out of my chair. “Come on, Steph … let's go back to bed.”
“I have a million things to do today, and I haven't finished the paper,” I said sternly, as though that would dissuade him. Ever since Roger left, I had promised myself I would wear makeup every day, and keep abreast of the news.
“It's all the same crap that happens every day, every week,” he assured me, unmoved. “People killing each other, people dying, guys making home runs and touchdowns, stock prices going up and down like yo-yos. So what? Who cares?”
“I do,” I laughed at him. He looked so ridiculous in that outfit, particularly with the huge gold chain around his neck. He looked like the Ghost of Christmas Past gone Hollywood. “And so do you, unless all that spandex has gone to your head. You can't suddenly stop caring about the real world, just because you're playing a joke on me. The outfit is one thing … the rest is something else.”
“It certainly is,” he said, ignoring me completely, as he scooped me up in his arms like a Barbie doll and marched back to my room, where I had already diligently made my bed. He pulled it open with one hand, as his rings flashed in thesunlight, and deposited me lovingly on my Pratesi sheets. And without hesitating for a moment, he began to undress. Very conveniently, the leopard body suit had a concealed zipper, and in less than a second, he had unzipped it, and pulled it off, right over his electric pink shoes. And then he stood there in a leopard satin G-string, his hot pink T-shirt, and the matching shoes. “Now talk to me about the stock market,” he said, as he slipped off the shoes and the necklace, and joined me in my king-size bed.
“I thought we were going to the Met,” I said breathlessly, as he began to undress me, but as he kissed me I found I was too overwhelmed by him to object. “Do you think we should …” I whispered weakly. It was broad daylight, I was the mother of two children. What was I doing with a man in a leopard satin G-string, making love to him while they were at school? But as the G-string disappeared like so much dental floss, along with my blue jeans and pink lace undies, my objections seemed to vanish into thin air.
He was extraordinarily athletic, and even more sensual than he had been before. And
“Life is too long to spend it without teeth.” Peter's comment did not amuse me, nor did the look in Charlotte's eye when she asked him admiringly where he got the suit.
“It's Versace, Charlie. He's the only designer I wear. Do you like it?”
“More than life itself,” I volunteered for her, and then mercifully, the doorman called on the house phone. The car pool was downstairs to take them. ‘Time for school!” I rushed everyone out the door, closed it, and then turned to look at him. “What exactly are you trying to do? Cause a revolution here? They're children. They don't know you're just kidding … and Peter … that outfit …” I didn't know how to say it, but it wasn't going to be easy keeping Charlotte in anything even remotely respectable, if he kept wearing little numbers like this one.
“It's terrific, isn't it?” He grinned, and I sat down and groaned helplessly, and then looked up at him again. But he looked so sweet and so vulnerable, he actually looked hurt at the thought that I disapproved.
“Yes, it is terrific.” What the hell, he was brilliant, I loved him, he was great in bed, and the kids had left for school. What harm could it do if I played the game with him? If only for a day or two. He couldn't keep it up forever. No one could. Sooner or later, he'd get tired of teasing me, and he'd have to go back to the khakis and the Gucci shoes. But I was secretly longing for the days when Charlotte called him a dork becausehe was so conservative. The little leopard spandex number was certainly anything but.
But as I looked at him, he grinned mischievously, and pulled me out of my chair. “Come on, Steph … let's go back to bed.”
“I have a million things to do today, and I haven't finished the paper,” I said sternly, as though that would dissuade him. Ever since Roger left, I had promised myself I would wear makeup every day, and keep abreast of the news.
“It's all the same crap that happens every day, every week,” he assured me, unmoved. “People killing each other, people dying, guys making home runs and touchdowns, stock prices going up and down like yo-yos. So what? Who cares?”
“I do,” I laughed at him. He looked so ridiculous in that outfit, particularly with the huge gold chain around his neck. He looked like the Ghost of Christmas Past gone Hollywood. “And so do you, unless all that spandex has gone to your head. You can't suddenly stop caring about the real world, just because you're playing a joke on me. The outfit is one thing … the rest is something else.”
“It certainly is,” he said, ignoring me completely, as he scooped me up in his arms like a Barbie doll and marched back to my room, where I had already diligently made my bed. He pulled it open with one hand, as his rings flashed in thesunlight, and deposited me lovingly on my Pratesi sheets. And without hesitating for a moment, he began to undress. Very conveniently, the leopard body suit had a concealed zipper, and in less than a second, he had unzipped it, and pulled it off, right over his electric pink shoes. And then he stood there in a leopard satin G-string, his hot pink T-shirt, and the matching shoes. “Now talk to me about the stock market,” he said, as he slipped off the shoes and the necklace, and joined me in my king-size bed.
“I thought we were going to the Met,” I said breathlessly, as he began to undress me, but as he kissed me I found I was too overwhelmed by him to object. “Do you think we should …” I whispered weakly. It was broad daylight, I was the mother of two children. What was I doing with a man in a leopard satin G-string, making love to him while they were at school? But as the G-string disappeared like so much dental floss, along with my blue jeans and pink lace undies, my objections seemed to vanish into thin air.
He was extraordinarily athletic, and even more sensual than he had been before. And
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