I can’t help noticing her red, kissable lips and the way they contrast with her fair skin. Strawberry blonde, on just the right side of short to be cute, and with an accent far posher than mine, she must be the English Rose so many foreign men seem to crave. Harry introduces her as Jane. She shakes my hand without warmth, says ‘Oh hello, pleased to meet you,’ with a smile that’s obviously fake. I have a good sense for duplicity, and I’m getting a strong feeling of it at this moment. She avoided my eye all afternoon at our tour of the premises. I bet she’s forgotten my name already. She strikes me as too stuck-up to be a hooker…but who am I to say? I don’t know if I’m going to cut it either. At least Jane pretends to be friendly. Unlike some people I’ve come across. * * I begin to relax and enjoy the evening. It’s the first time anything has felt remotely normal in this house. Not that miniature embassy balls – there can’t be more than 45 people in the room – are an everyday. And again the next night. And every night that week. Then came the night she knew she was going to sleep with him. She canceled dinner, afraid of ruining a lifetime friendship over one night of passion. And as happened so often, they lost touch with each other. Until today.The morning crawled by and Bridget got nothing done. At 12:30, Wilson stepped into the door. She found herself grinning at him for a minute before she remembered to grab her purse and to clock out. In the lobby of her office building, he kissed her. She felt a thrill course through her body. He pulled back and looked at her feet."Just checking." He smiled."You remember that?" I'll never forget it."She found herself blushing.They walked down the block together. She could not resist taking his hand."How have you been?" Good. You?" Just fine."They walked a little further."What do you want for lunch?" he asked."You."He paused. Then he smiled. Then he lead the way to the nearest hotel.At the desk, she got cold feet. She.
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