The exhibits close at five. I spend the next twenty five minutes in the rest room, touching up my make-up, brushing my teeth, re-braiding my hair, and trying to make my pants more presentable using the hand dryer. Rhys would be so annoyed with me.
I consider bringing myself off. Maybe that would help me to stay rational and in control, to make an objective decision about my future. I don't, though. I have this weird notion that Marta wouldn't want me to.
When Marta pulls up to curb in a vintage Eldorado convertible, my surprise almost wipes out my nervousness. I had imagined her driving a fancy pickup, or maybe a hybrid. She laughs when she sees my astonishment. "I like things with a history. Perhaps because I grew up in Europe, where everything is antique." She leans over to unlatch the door for me, and I get an quick but clear look down her neckline. It appears that I was correct in my guess. In an instant, I'm sopping again.
"Hungry?" She peels away while I'm still fumbling with the seat belt.
"No, not really." I sit back and try to relax. The leather upholstery embraces me in fragrant luxury.
"Me neither. Let's just go to my place."
She doesn't really mean that, I tell myself. Not the way I'm thinking.
"To talk some more about the job?"
I can barely hear her laugh above the roar of the huge V8. "Right. To talk." My whole body hums with excitement; the vibrations of the engine just intensify the sensation.
I expect her to get onto 101 and head down the peninsula, but she surprises me once again, weaving through city streets and up and down hills until she turns into the drive of a two-story Victorian in Pacific Heights. The house is beautifully detailed in green and gold. I realize that it more or less matches her suit.
Marta come around to open the passenger side door and extends her hand to help me out of the monster vehicle. The skin-to-skin contact sends a bolt of electricity up my spine. Her grip is firm and lasts several seconds longer than strictly necessary. I'm so nervous I'm practically shaking.
"Are you all right, Loretta?" She searches my face, sensing my anxiety.
"Please. Everyone calls me Lori."
"I prefer Loretta - much more feminine. It has an aura of the past, the glamour and power of a forties film queen. Don't you agree?"
I don't, but I'm certainly not going to argue with her. I suspect that there aren't too many people willing to disagree with Marta Hauser.
The house is cool and dark and smells of lavender. Twilight filters through lace curtains, showing me rooms furnished in the lavishly ornamented style of Victoria's reign. I marvel that Marta Hauser, queen of high tech, would surround herself with these relics of a long-past era. I feel like Alice, as if I've stepped through a looking glass and I'm now lost in a world of strange marvels.
"Upstairs and left to the end of the hall. I want to show you the Turkish Room."
Marta climbs behind me. I have the distinct impression that she's admiring my butt. I'm wetter than ever, and hope against hope that she can't tell.
Then I realize it doesn't matter. If she didn't want me, I wouldn't be here, in her elegant retro sanctuary. I don't know if she was serious about the job, or just trying to lure me into her clutches, but right now, I don't care. I swing my hips a bit, taunting her. I hear her intake of breath, and half expect her to slap me across my impudent ass, but for now she doesn't touch me.
The "Turkish Room" is somebody's lurid harem fantasy come true. The windows are draped in heavy, fringed layers of garnet velvet. Oriental carpets cushion the floor, with striped silk pillows piled in the corners. There's a chaise in one corner, upholstered in gold brocade. A brass filagree lamp hanging from the ceiling sheds rosy light over the scene.
Wonderland, indeed.
"Make yourself comfortable," Marta purrs. "I'll be right back." She disappears through a curtained aperture in the right wall.
I perch on the edge of the chaise, not wanting to stain the covering with my juices. My heart beats wild and fast. My nipples are puckered into aching knots that press painfully against my bra. I start to get nervous again.
I must be insane to be here. Marta is so out of my league. Plus getting it on with a potential future boss, no matter how hot she is, definitely doesn't sound like a good career move.
On the other, I'm always so practical, and where has it got me? I'm overworked, lonely and horny. Maybe I can use a bit of insanity.