Taking her by the hand, he led her to another chair and there she got a makeup lesson and a small shopping bag full of cosmetics and skin care products. She would have been shocked to learn that the cosmetics alone were over three hundred dollars.
It was late afternoon when Samantha, dressed in a red Christian LaCroix suit, her hair short and curling about her head, her face perfectly made up, left Saks on Mike’s muscled arm. They carried no bags since Vicky had said she’d have everything sent to Mike’s house. This time, when they went through the cosmetics area on the first floor, many o
f the tall, thin young women rushed forward to offer Samantha a sample of their perfume, but she waved them all away. Mike stopped at the Lancôme counter, and in spite of Samantha’s insincere protests, he chose Trésor for her, paying for it with cash.
Holding the little bag of perfume tightly in her hands, as though it were very precious, Samantha looked up at Mike. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you for today.”
He smiled at her, a smile of pride and pleasure. “Want something to eat?”
“Yes,” she said, “I’m starving.”
Tucking her arm under his, he led her from the store. As they walked out together, Samantha noticed that Mike was as proud to be seen with her when she was wearing her old sweat suit as he was when she was in designer clothes. It really didn’t matter to him what she was wearing.
7
As they walked back to the town house, Samantha kept touching her hair, feeling the way it curled about her face.
“Like it?” Mike asked, and she nodded.
She wasn’t aware of it, but she was walking straighter, taking longer strides than she had when they’d first walked down the streets. Feeling some regret that Samantha was no longer clinging to him, Mike was pleased to see her smiling and happy, and he was delighted to see her looking as good as she did.
When they neared the town house, Samantha was the first one to see the women sitting on the stoop. There were four of them, and it was easy to conclude that they were not what her mother would have referred to as “nice” girls. Their clothes were too tight, too short, too brightly colored, their faces painted with too much contrast between lips and eyes and cheeks. Three of them were smoking; two of them were sitting on the iron railing, and they made no attempt to pull their tiny skirts down over the parts of their bodies that they were exposing.
“I think you have guests.” Samantha realized she was frowning, for she’d been looking forward to ordering a salad plate from a deli and sitting in the coolness of the garden with it, but now she’d have to retreat to her father’s room.
Seeing her frown, Mike pulled her hand into his arm. “You’ll be my hostess.”
“I can’t…” she began because she didn’t want to become more involved with this man than she already was.
“It’s just Daphne and some of the girls wanting a free meal. They’ll be gone before full dark.”
“Oh,” she said softly, eyes wide. “They work at night?” She was trying to sound sophisticated, as though she weren’t shocked by the dress and manner of these flamboyant women.
“They strip.”
“Oh,” Samantha said again, relieved, for stripping was healthier than what she’d first thought they did. As they drew nearer, Samantha felt one of the women looking at her with more interest than the other three, and she knew without a doubt that this woman was Daphne. When the woman left her perch on the rail, Samantha saw that she had to be at least six feet tall. Samantha thought that under the face paint the woman was probably quite pretty, but it was difficult judging her facial beauty because her body was so distracting: a great deal of it was cantilevered from her broad-shouldered frame. “Is she Daphne?” Samantha asked, whispering.
“Every inch of her.” Mike was watching Samantha’s face, hoping for a sign of jealousy.
Leaning closer to Mike, Samantha whispered, “Are parts of her…augmented?”
“As far as I can tell, most of Daphne is fake,” Mike said with enthusiasm. “She’s been augmented, supplemented, subtracted from, added to, from her face to her feet. When you touch her, all the balloons she’s had inserted under her skin slide away at crazy angles.” Even as closely as he was watching Samantha, he couldn’t see any signs of jealousy.
“And Daphne is an…an exotic dancer?”
“No, she’s a plain ol’ garden-variety stripper, there is absolutely nothing exotic about Daphne.”
Halting, Mike faced Samantha, his hands on her shoulders. “Sam, my girl, you don’t have to meet these women, and I’d understand completely if you didn’t want to. I can send them home, and then you and I could go out to a quiet dinner somewhere. I’ll take you to La Cirque.”
“What a ridiculous thing to say,” she said sharply, realizing that he didn’t understand that her questions were curiosity; he seemed to think she was a Puritan snob who wouldn’t sit at a table with a stripper. “Of course I want to meet them. And would you please stop touching me?” Moving away from him, she started down the street, and the next moment she was introducing herself to the women, who looked at her with bored eyes.
Daphne came down the stairs, towering over Samantha. “You’re Mike’s…tenant?” she asked.
When she figured out what the woman was asking, Samantha realized why the women were looking at her with hooded eyes. “His tenant and nothing else,” she said with emphasis. When she saw the slight smiles of relief on the faces of the women, she realized that these women considered Mike to be their property and Samantha an intruder.
Mike unlocked the door, and in the next moment the women swept inside and took over the town house. They turned on Mike’s stereo, then went to the kitchen and began pulling out dishes while one woman went to the telephone to order enough food for a dozen people. One of the women said she had a new routine for the club and wanted Mike’s opinion on the strip dance, but he declined her offer for a private viewing. Samantha was somewhat curious as to what a stripper really did, but she couldn’t very well ask the woman to perform for her alone.
The food arrived, and before she knew what was happening, Samantha was acting as both a hostess and a maid. For the rest of the evening, she seemed to always be in the kitchen ladling food onto plates, pouring beer into tall glasses, and carrying trays into the garden. Once, Mike caught her just as she stepped into the garden and pulled her into his arms, with her back pressed against the front of him, his strong arms about her waist. He bit her earlobe.