I shut the door behind me and took a deep breath. This was all moving fast. The first fantasy was on home turf, and that was nice. This was really close to work and it made me a bit nervous. My eyes scanned the room. Something was different. The rack that had held my work blouses was gone, replaced by a row of fancy, flimsy, sheer things, festooned with feathers, lots of lace, a bow or two. Closer examination revealed mostly black and nude bras and panties, with splashes of red and white here and there. It was all lingerie—elegant stuff, expensive stuff, teddies, sheer wraps, a long see-through black gown and beneath, on the white-painted floor, a pair of gorgeous black feathered mules. A thick, white terry-cloth robe lay across his bed. On the dresser was another blessed glass of chilled champagne, which I downed (impressive, for me) in almost one gulp.
What was I about to do? I was about to have sex with a sexy-as-hel
l war photographer, but not before he took some sexy shots. Of me. Wearing this sexy stuff!
I pulled out the sheer gown, held it up to the window. Holy shit, I’d never buy something like this for myself. When would I wear it? I thought back to Julius when we were married. If I’d shown up in our bedroom wearing this, he’d have laughed. Not in a mean way, but in a way that said, Baby, you don’t have to put on a show to get to me. I imagined my hurt. Why would he laugh at a time like that, when all I was trying to do was be sexy for him, like that expensive marriage counselor had suggested way back?
And just like that, I was having an imaginary fight in my head with my ex-husband, feeling all that old familiar rage, the kind that would have sent me storming back into the bathroom, slamming the door on him, yelling, “Forget it!” to which Julius would have replied, “Solange! Come ooooon. I was just kidding! You looked beautiful!”
Screw you, Julius.
I snapped out of my fight. Dammit, this is not for Julius, and truth be told, not even for Erik. This is for me!
I tore off my work clothes, selecting the full-length, black sheer negligee, carefully slipping it over my head, surprised at its sturdiness. The gauze tumbled over my legs, the empire waist cinching tightly under my breasts. I could barely look at myself in the mirror, but I forced an appraisal.
Wow. Okay.
I not only looked sexy, I felt it.
I can do this!
A step closer changed my mind. I could see my nipples press through the material! I covered myself instinctively.
Actually I can’t do this. I can’t just step out there like this.
I gazed over at the rack, at all the other lovely, sexy things. I thought of Erik, his arms, my fingers running through his hair. I looked at myself again in the mirror. All those years of being single, and a mother, and a working mother, and a hard-working mother, meant I had lost the ability to just play.
There was a gentle knock on the door.
“Solange? Are you okay in there?”
The champagne was warming my skin.
“I’ll be right out.”
I slid my feet into the heeled slippers, counted to five. Look at you in that black negligee. Are you seriously going to go through with this? At the last minute, I reached for the bathrobe and threw it on, covering myself up.
Baby steps.
Go! Just go. Carefully in those heels, I walked to the door and opened it. I could see the light from the setting sun coming through the windows.
“I’m over here, Solange.”
I followed the sound of his voice, the heels making a hollow clacking sound on the wood floors. I peeked around behind the partition and found Erik bent over the top of an elaborate-looking camera mounted on a tripod, different from the small one he had used for the earlier shots. The backdrop was different too, this one dark blue, with large colorful pillows and throws strewn about a sectional that barely rose above the floor.
“Hi,” he said, looking up, his face soft.
“Hi,” I said, barely cracking a smile.
“Make yourself comfortable.”
Clutching the robe, I walked over to the pillows and cleared a space on the sectional, lowering myself like a big chicken settling into a nest. Definitely not sexy.
I was still in my bathrobe when Erik began to take pictures.
He looked over the top of the camera again. “What’s on your mind?”
“Nothing,” I said, looking around at the dark shadows, feeling horribly self-conscious. The sky was the blue of deep dusk.