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torture
knowing the only thing separating us is one inch of plastic. I help
him into the jackets and straighten and smooth the fabric out. We
stand before a multi-angled mirror so he may inspect the suit. He
spends a few moments critiquing in silence while I worship in like
manner. He finally shakes his head. He declares that he is growing
bored of black – that it feels too stark and serious, solemn like a
funeral. I do not like black either, so I can only grin. He loves
the blue.
    When I offer him the tan suit, he eyes
me incredulously. I quirk an eyebrow and smirk back.
    “You’re trouble, is what
you are,” he says, shaking a finger. But am I his type of trouble?
After a little cajoling, he agrees to try it on. He emerges from
the fitting room with a look of amazement. I help him into the
jacket. I can tell he is impressed with my impromptu selection. It
makes my chest swell with pride, which can
only help my chances , I tell myself as I
adjust my posture to push my breasts out.
    David collects his things. “You’re a
very charming young lady, Taylor.” I chuckle flirtatiously,
carefully hanging the suits back up and folding his two selections
over my arm to take to the counter.
    Coyly, “Thank you. You’re quite the
charmer yourself, Mr. Charleston.”
    “David,” he corrects.
    “David,” I echo. There is an air of
danger and dominance about him – something acutely belied by his
classic charm. He is incredibly sexy and so intensely seductive. I
would let him take me here and now, right here on the floor in
front of everyone. I smile over my shoulder at him as I lead him
towards the register. “I wonder,” he says aloud. He pauses. So do
I. I watch him inquisitively. As he adjusts his cufflinks, “Would
you be available to attend this silly little party of mine this
weekend? With me?” he adds.
    My heart leaps into my throat. This
cannot be happening! It is just too good to be true. I gawk at him
for a moment too long, convinced I heard him wrong. I battle the
urge to shriek out a YES. “As in a date?” I stammer, hardly able to
contain myself as I brush my hair over my shoulder.
    David grins handsomely. “A date. A
favor. My life is sorely lacking in beauty. You
compensate.”

    I laugh bashfully. What a catch!
“You’re so sweet.” I shake my head in disbelief. “I’d love to.” I
lay his suits on the counter and ring up his purchase. I slip in a
ten percent discount, which is open to employee discretion. Cheryl
will understand. We exchange numbers. He does not say goodbye, but
rather “See you soon”. I lean over the counter, popping up a foot
behind me, to make sure David is well out of sight… before I
commence my victory dance.
    The first thing I do on break is call
Stephanie. I fill her in hurriedly, emphasizing every dirty little
detail. She is excited for me, as she has seen him before. She
tells me that all of the floor attendants swoon over him whenever
he visits. I can totally empathize. When she asks me what I am
going to wear to the party, my stomach knots up. I realize I have
nothing even remotely sexy enough. Luckily, Stephanie
does.
    I spend what remains of the week
pining after David and trying to keep from touching myself at the
thought of him, or looking him up on the internet, or watching
interviews on YouTube. I can hardly eat, my nerves are so frazzled.
On Wednesday night, Stephanie lets me borrow a short black dress
with a plunging neckline along with her matching pumps.
    David phones me Thursday evening,
which tickles me to no end being that I am used to guys texting me.
Then again, David seems like the type to prefer talking on the
phone to messaging. Maybe that is how all older men are. After all,
David is not some guy. He is not some boy. He is a man. He informs
me that the dinner party starts at 7:00PM tomorrow night. He asks
if he can pick me up. I tell him his offer is sweet. However, given
the fact that I do not get off of work until 5:00PM and it takes