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hosiery. I saw those at Bergdorf’s.” Bertrand had filled our glasses with the rum punch and they were lined up in a neat little row on the elevated hearth in front of us. I leaned over Paulina and reached for a glass. I added, “Being a coat check girl must pay
very
handsomely to afford Wolford.”
    She said slyly, “You’d be surprised.”
    “Nothing surprises us any more, does it, dear?”
    Bertrand, content for the moment to be rubbing Paulina’s feet and driving her quietly into ecstasy, said, “No. Nothing does. Not any more.”
    Moaning softly, Paulina barely left her reverie when she mused, “I would have liked to have known you both then.”
    “When’s that?” I said. I was the only one among us who was not immediately heading into some type of swoon. I helped myself to a piece of fudge.
    “Back when things surprised you,” she said.
    Bertrand smiled at the remark. He parted Paulina’s legs and stared at whatever it was he could see up under her skirt.
    “I was right, you know,” I said, though no one seemed to be noticing me. “About the fudge, I mean. It goes great with the rum punch, if anyone’s interested: sugar on top of sugar, you know. They complement each other. Of course, a little goes a long way.”
    Bertrand leaned over and grabbed Paulina by her hips and slid her down the rug closer to him, her skirt sliding up around her waist as he did so, revealing that her expensive stockings were the stay-put kind. She was not wearing garters. But she was wearing a tiny pair of silk panties, ruby red with a black lace pattern overlay. They looked stunning against her bone-white skin. A half-moon-shaped scar on her pelvis peeked out at the top of her panties. I ran my finger lightly along the scar.
    “I had a baby once,” Paulina said. “They took it out of me there.” The scar did not look new. She said, “Are you surprised?”
    I looked at Bertrand and said, “A little – how about you?”
    “Actually, yes,” he agreed, sitting now with Paulina’s legs spread before him and practically wrapped around him. She had draped her legs over each of his arms. “I am a little surprised by that news. You’re so young.”
    “I was even younger then. I wanted to give birth the real way, but the doctor wouldn’t let me. Things became complicated. He was afraid I was going to die. But I was looking forward to childbirth; now, I won’t have any more babies.”
    We didn’t ask about the fate of the one baby she’d had. If she were a mother, it would come out in good time. If she wasn’t, well . . . her private world wasn’t really our business yet; we barely knew her.
    Bertrand slipped a roving finger inside the crotch of Paulina’s silk panties and gently stroked the hidden lips. “Will you be with any of your family at Christmas?” he asked her.
    “No. I’m alone in America.”
    “Do you miss your family?”
    “Not much,” she said. She pulled aside the crotch of her panties to give Bertrand better access to her lips.
    “Wow,” he said quietly. “You’re beautiful.”
    She looked at me. “Does he say that about every girl?”
    “No,” I assured her.
    “Have there been many?”
    “A few,” I said. Bertrand pushed a finger into Paulina’s vagina. Her eyes gleamed when he did it. She looked intoxicated – in that amorous way. I added, “But none of the others were as pretty as you are.”
    She moaned contentedly and rocked on Bertrand’s probing finger. She was a girl who liked being told she was pretty, even though there was likely no doubt about it in her own mind. I leaned down and kissed her on her mouth.
    “You taste like sugar,” she said.
    I smiled at her. I broke off a tiny corner of the fudge and fed it to her. She didn’t so much eat it as let it melt in her mouth. Then her eyes sparked. “That
is
good. Did you make it yourself?”
    “Yes,” I said quietly. “I made it this morning.”
    Bertrand, having lost Paulina’s undivided attention for now, reached