golden

six: the well-fed devil; the famished angel

Two days. She had two days to make herself a real vamp of a woman. How, she had no idea. The illicitness and mysteriousness that shrouded other women was lost upon her. She had never seen herself as seductive or womanly. Only perfect and not. All she knew was that she had to achieve that Veronica Lake in The Glass Key effect on men and she had no earthly clue as to how it would happen.

Harry, the darling he was, agreed to help her. He hadn't given her any clues for methodology, only promised to arrive at her house bright and early the next morning to begin their work. She had left the Midnight Lounge right after that, too eaten away with all the lascivious murmurs from the other women. Murmurs that induced counterparts in her head. Counterparts so powerful she had almost pulled out her hair.

Good gracious, what was it about him that made her lose all sense of herself?

Their contrasting ideas of what bright and early meant left her on edge. She had slept fitfully Friday night and awoke Saturday morning with a touch of exhaustion and the worry of his impending arrival. The six cohesive chimes were the force that shoved her from bed and into the shower. The image of his devilish smile the producer of her choice to wear her favorite casual dress of dark green, with a wide white belt. The recollected memory of the freedom he offered the basis for her decision to pick up her eye-glasses, and then put them on.

"BET!" Partnered to eight chimes of the grandfather clock outside her bedroom door, "Company!" And then, "Be back later!"

In a manner completely unlike her, she scrambled up from the vanity stool. The fleeting thought to abandon her eye-glasses came upon and vanished just as quickly. She gathered herself in poise before exiting her bedroom. The walk down the hall and to the balcony that overlooked the foyer was eternal in her eyes. No amount of steady breaths or mental repetitions slowed the quickened pace of her heart.

But he wasn't there.

Elizabeth leaned over the edge of the balcony to peer down into the foyer. She saw the telephone table and the hydrangea by the door. The violet purple hydrangea that she had sworn up and down upon seeing for the first time would be blue. On the table next to the phone was a nondescript bag she had never before seen.

"Harry?"

"M'in the kitchen, love!"

She waved away his use of a trivial pet name and thanked who- or what- ever that at least he wasn't in the habit of calling her Betty or Betsy. The stairs were taken two at a time and had the shag runners still been in use or at least still in the process of being ripped up, she would have tripped.

He was, in fact, in the kitchen. In the past week, the contractors had finished the kitchen. All the cabinets were a mustard yellow with grey granite tops. The walls a backsplash of white stone and grey mortar. On the windowsill above the sink was the not-yet blossomed orchid Harry had given her last weekend. The man himself admiring the green stem of the plant, leaned forward in curious inspection.

"They take a bit of time to bloom." She captured his attention. As he spun to greet her, she pressed her hip against the refrigerator. "Very testy, orchids."

"I read that." His nod sage and smooth.

She cocked an eyebrow at the comment. He'd read about the nature of orchids? She pushed off the refrigerator and went to move the plant from the window to the counter in the shade.

"That so it doesn't get too much sun?" He asked, leaning over her shoulder. "They only like the morning, right?"

"Did you read that as well?" She teased, finding that plunging ease at which he gave off. With nimble fingers, she adjusted the newly formed leaves and left the plant be.