Holiday Escort (3 page)

I walked around the room and marveled.

One wall was mirrored with a ballet
barre
mounted firmly to it. At the end of the room were built in cabinets holding a stereo system. She had a computer connected to the stereo
, so I presumed all her music was on the computer. I looked in the cabinets and found rows and rows of CDs, all of them dance music. It was organized by style. The largest shelf was devoted to Tango.

I stared at all of it then closed it all up, turned the lights off, and headed back upstairs, carrying my shoes.

I stepped into the kitchen and considered. I pulled out my phone and Karen's business card and sent her a text message. "OMG.
The dance floor.
OMG. OMG. OMG."

I sent a second text, this one somewhat more serious. "Do you care which bedroom I take? If not, I'll take the one in back; it has a larger closet. But maybe you prefer hiding me downstairs."

I got a response to the first message. "LOL. Wish I could see your expression. Glad you like it.

Then I received, "Take whichever bedroom you like."

I texted once more.
"Is there a wireless network?"

The reply said, "Password is
BackOcho
". A back
ocho
is a tango dance move.

* * *

It took me an hour to move my stuff to my bedroom and unpack. I moved my bathroom things into the bathroom, but stored it in the available drawers rather than leaving it all over the counter like I normally do.
Then I looked around.

The decorating sucked. Okay, it didn't suck. It was very tasteful. The entire house was tasteful. But it was boring. It was sterile. I hated it.

She had told me to decorate for Christmas. I'd talk to her tonight about it.

I went back downstairs and started digging through the kitchen.

Karen had every kitchen toy imaginable. And none of it looked like it got much use. The pantry barely held the basic staples such as flour and sugar. The refrigerator held evidence of leftover take out food and a few old bottles of condiments. In one cupboard I found an extensive collection of tea. There was a coffee maker but I didn't find any coffee in any of the cupboards, the refrigerator or the freezer.

I texted Karen again.
"Goldie Fox slipped into the bear's home but all the cupboards were bare."

Her reply came. "LOL.
Goldie Fox, hmm?
Fill the cupboards, keep receipts." A second reply came. "Buy things you know how to cook. I don't."

I wrote back, "What was your old girlfriend's name?"

"Jessica. Difficult subject. Busy now."

I took the hint. I snooped through her office and found a pad of paper. I did an inventory of the cupboards and decided the only thing she didn't need was tea. It took me an hour to prepare a list. I used my computer to find the local grocery store.

By the time I was done at the grocery store, I was pulling two carts around with me. I basically bought everything, including fresh meat and produce for three nights' worth of meals. I accepted an offer to bring the groceries to my car. The total was a little over three hundred dollars.

I got home and organized the pantry and the refrigerator while putting everything away. It was four PM. Dinner at seven. That means the chicken in the oven at five-thirty. I did the rest of the planning, then prepped everything and put it in the fridge, ready to go.

Finally, I had a chance to sit.

Karen said she wanted a girlfriend without the sex and the complications. But she wanted her house to be warm and inviting. I decided fake girlfriend who had been running around all afternoon and was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt wasn't quite what she had in mind. I took a shower and primped for a date. I put on a skirt, nylons, and blouse, then did my hair and very light make-up.

Promptly at five-thirty the chicken went in the oven. Everything else could wait until Karen got home. I set the dining room table for two, complete with candles and linens then curled up on the sofa in the great room, book in hand.

At seven, the timer went off for the chicken. Karen wasn't home. I lit the candles anyway.

At seven fifteen, I turned the chicken down to the lowest setting in the oven.

At seven forty-five, I turned the oven off entirely.

At eight fifteen, I took the now dried out chicken out of the oven, cut it up, retrieved the salad from the refrigerator, served myself a salad with chicken spread over it, then bagged up the rest of the chicken for the refrigerator and washed my dishes.

At nine-fifteen, I heard the garage door open.

I got up from the sofa, setting the book aside, and waited for her in the kitchen. She came in, shedding things in the foyer, and stepped into the kitchen. She looked terrible.

"I'm sorry," she said. "This is why I don't do well with most girlfriends."

I nodded. "Did you eat? Dinner isn't quite what it would have been two hours ago, but it's not ruined. I'll need to heat some of it up."

She looked at me. "You dressed for a date."

"Thank you for noticing." I looked at her. She really
looked
terrible. "Are you okay?"

"Yes.
Legal emergency at work.
I can't talk about it."

"Did you eat?"

"No. Anything you have would be fine. A sandwich?"

"I can do better than that." I walked over to her and took her purse away from her, setting it on the island, then took her hand and pulled her to the dinette table. I pulled a chair out and pushed her into it.

From the formal dining room I retrieved the candles, still burning, and set them on the dinette table. I set her place setting in front of her but kept her plate.

She stared at everything then looked at me.

"You prepared a romantic meal."

"You said you wanted a welcoming home. You said the holidays were a stressful time for you. I was trying to make the home welcoming."

"Aren't you angry?"

"Karen, you're paying me to be a rather odd version of your personal assistant. And I told
you;
I am the best in the city. A personal assistant who gets mad at her boss can't make that claim, can she?"

I turned my back on her and prepared her dinner.
I set it down for her and asked what she wanted to drink. I retrieved the water she requested then sat down with her.

"You aren't eating?"

"I ate an hour ago. I'm keeping you company."

She picked up her fork but looked at me. "I'm so sorry. You went through all this work."

"For the record I want to point out that I am not responsible for your guilt trip."

She smiled. "Noted." She slowly began eating her dinner.

* * *

Afterwards we moved to the great room. She looked haggard and exhausted. We sat at opposite ends of the sofa. I reached down and plucked her feet from the floor, placing them in my lap.

"What are you doing?"

I ignored the question but removed her shoes. Then I began massaging her feet for her. After that, she didn't protest.
Her eyes closed and she whimpered a little in appreciation.

"Boss," I told her once she had relaxed a little. "Your house is wonderful."

"Little
ol
' lawyerly me hears a 'but' attached to the end of that."

"The decorating is tasteful."

"But?"

"Sterile."

She laughed. "I know. Jessica had the house decorated wonderfully. It hurt t
o
o much to look at it after
she left
. I hired someone to come in and change it. This is what I got."

"So I have permission to do whatever I want for Christmas."

"Keep it tasteful."

I smiled. "I used to do Marsha's house."

"I know," she said.

"What is my budget?"

"Spend whatever you need. Keep receipts and I'll reimburse you immediately."

I thought about it. "So if I spent five grand, that would be fine?"

She opened her eyes and looked at me. "Is that what it would take?"

"I'm finding out whether you're serious about 'whatever it takes'. And how lavish do you want it?"

She closed her eyes. "That sounds high, but use your judgment."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"Do you want a tree?" she did. "Real tree, not fake?" She did. "Garlands?" Yes. "Lights?" Yes. "I'm not putting up exterior lights myself. I'll hire someone to do it."

"I like when they're all one color," she said. "And not gaudy."

"I'll handle it." I paused. "Are you religious?"

"No. Are you?"

"I worship Mother Earth."

She opened her eyes at me, possibly to judge whether I was being serious. I was. She nodded and closed them again. She let me massage her feet for several minutes then said, "I need to give you the schedule.
For events between now and January first.
There is paper in my office."

I got up and retrieved the pad I'd used in the kitchen, then sat down and put her feet back in my lap.

She opened her eyes and looked at me. "Are you flirting with me?"

"Yes."

"
I thought you were straight. Flirting i
s a bad idea." She started to take her feet back.

"It's just flirting," I said, hanging onto her feet.
"I am hoping your feet feel good enough to dance with me. Assuming you want us to look natural together when we go out."

She relaxed and let me keep her feet, but didn't comment.

She dictated the schedule to me, entirely from memory. She had
four
events scheduled at her home
, including a New Year's Eve party
. There were four other office-re
lated events she was attending.

"There is a computer in my office."

"I saw it."

She told me her password. "I keep my entire mailing list on it, categorized by relationship. I want Christmas cards sent to everyone on the list." She paused. "Marsha said you used to sign her name, that you could actually write in her handwriting."

"I told you, I'm the best in the cities."

"Can you do mine?"

"I'll need a several page sample from you as well as an entire page of your signa
ture, both formal and informal."

She opened her eyes and looked at me. "I'm a terrible human being."

"Because you're asking your fake girlfriend to fake your Christmas cards for you?"

She laughed. "Yes." She closed her eyes again. "Personal notes to anyone who looks like they might be close."

I started quoting what I would write. "To whom it may concern.
Seasons
greetings. Karen The Too Busy."

She laughed.

We discussed the other things I would need to know. I was amazed at how easily she made decisions and how much she
was trusting
me with her entire life.

She took her feet away from me. "Do you have dance shoes?"

"Already downstairs waiting for me."

She led the way to the basement. We both put on dance shoes,
then
she walked to the stereo a
nd turned things on. Tango music began to spill from the speakers.

"Daring choice," I told her. "Tango
electronico
. I would have expected something more traditional from you."

She didn't say anything but instead turned around and began walking towards me in time to the music. She didn't take a direct path, but circled around me before pulling me into her arms. I immediately leaned against her. I leaned slightly with my head so our foreheads were touching, slightly off center, looking over her right shoulder, she over mine. She was an inch or so taller than I was, so we fit perfectly.

We did a quick weight shift, putting me on my left foot,
then
she stepped forward.

She was a good lead. I was a much better dancer than she was, but she was a better lead than I would have been, and she was good. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the dance.

It had been months since I'd been in
someone's
arms. She was warm and soft and strong. It felt really nice.

The song ended. I held onto her. Another song began, and we were dancing again.

We didn't talk. We just danced.

It felt so good to be held by her. It felt so good to be dancing again. Even if I was a fake girlfriend, it felt good to be in a relationship, even a fake relationship, with someone I enjoyed dancing with.

The song ended. She tried to pull away, but I held on, so we ended up performing a
volcada
. It was poor taste to do so after the music was over. I giggled. She stepped back up to me.