Don't Shoot the Messenger

7 - First Night

*edited 

Clair's POV

When he interrogated me, I acknowledged that there was no escape unless he allowed it. It was still true. I should want to escape, but did I? I looked at the man beside me and studied him. He didn't want to harm me. He was interested in me (for whatever reason) and had not been able to follow up on that interest for some time. That made me something imagined and not known. A fantasy. 

  He had to be in his 30's at least, though the way he carried himself -so self contained and controlled- made him seem older. I am almost young enough to be his daughter. What could we have in common? We are from different worlds. I caught his interest, but if events had not intervened he would have moved on by now...as soon as he had seduced me I thought cynically. Would I let him; would he allow me to refuse him? ...What kind of lover would he be if... I felt my face grow warm. I was getting ahead of myself. Tonight was a fantasy for both of us; I should enjoy it as long as it lasted.  

  "What are you thinking?"    "That I'm too young for you. You'll get bored and loose interest."    "Probably" he admits "But not tonight."  "A rich handsome man wants to take me out and spoil me." I shake my head, smiling. "Make tonight one of my favorite memories Mr. Macello; I expect you to be worth remembering."  "Alissandru, and your wish is my command." 

  The traffic is longer than the drive. Soon we pull up outside of a large shopping area with architecture that looks new, but old style. As far as I see down the street the buildings have the same pale facade... There is a corner boutique called Pronovias with several evening gowns in the window. I reach for the handle, but Mr... Alissandru stops me. Several men get out of the cars ahead of and behind us before he opens his door and offers me his hand after he climbs out...   

  Soon I am looking around like a child at Christmas. "The dress first, and shoes. When we have your outfit for tonight we can spend some time exploring." I laugh "I know. I could window shop for hours otherwise and never get what we came for."   "Shopping for windows?" He asks, his expression puzzled. "It means looking, not buying."   "You do the looking, I will do the buying." He sees the hesitation in my face, as my steps falter. He stops and the men around us do as well. "I am not trying to buy you." He says softly "I never could."  

"I'm traveling light. I don't want to pack my bags with anything but memories. It's not as if I have an address to ship things to, and most things here would invite someone to rob me. It can be fun to look in the shops ...I can enjoy something without owning it."    "All right. You can 'window-shop' later." He tugs my hand and we start walking again. This store has dresses that ... well, it's like restaurants where they don't post the prices of the food. If you have to ask, you can't afford it. It is larger inside than I thought.  

  The only thing I have heard about men and shopping is that they get bored and impatient and want it to be over. Mr. Macello seems content to recline on the plush white couch and watch me in one dress after another. I love the feel of the fabrics sliding over my skin. Well, except for the sequins. I couldn't help thinking things like: scratchy, snag, and hard to clean. I told the woman who was helping me pick out dresses, and she brought others.  

   One dress had soft wide straps in glittery clasps at the shoulder, and a plunging neckline. Another had a bodice decorated with many soft folds of fabric. The third was off one shoulder and had a deep slit up one side outlined in smooth glitter. There was a small rack of other dresses waiting for me to try them on.