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The woman nodded. "Do you have . . . costumes?"
"We do." Giving a demi-cup bra one more quick adjustment, Madison rose to her feet. "A variety of them. Which one are you planning to use to dazzle your lover?"
"Oh . . ." The customer chuckled. "Ah, maid?"
"A classic." Madison took her to the rack on the wall and showed her a traditional black-and-white outfit, complete with frilly apron and very low-cut blouse, matched by the high cut of the miniskirt. As the woman fingered the fabric, her expression reminded Madison of the disastrous times she'd sought out lingerie to bandage her own failing relationships. The look in the woman's eyes wasn't a true mesh with the desires she was harboring. Confirming it, she spoke.
"I'm not sure. I really don't know if he'd even like this sort of thing."
"Do you like the idea?"
"Maybe. I just remember years ago when we saw a movie that had a sexy maid in it, and how he liked that. Maybe I'm being foolish. It seems to take more to get him interested these days since he turned fifty, and I thought maybe something . . ."
What can I do to get him to pay attention again? To look at me the way he did at first? It was as clear as if she'd said it aloud, but the silence said it was too painful to be voiced.
Not more than a couple months ago, tangled up in her own baggage, Madison would have been unable to help, beyond offering the woman the number to a good divorce attorney. Since then, she'd connected with her own desires, thanks to Logan's direction. As such, Madison could step back and look at the situation from the woman's perspective, sympathizing with it, but not getting it confused with her own. This woman was dealing with middle age libido issues with her husband. A simple thing that wasn't so simple when dealing with the heart. "Would you mind telling me your name?"
"Nancy."
"Nancy. I'm Madison. And if you don't mind a couple suggestions, I think you may be focusing on the wrong person here. There's a good kind of selfishness, the kind that helps everyone involved. We have to be able to turn ourselves on before we can turn on a lover. As obtuse as guys can be, nothing centers their radar like a woman who's getting hot and bothered. It also sounds to me like rather than taking him on a wild rapids ride, you need to take him to a secluded lagoon."
At Nancy's blank look, Madison drew her to the bookshelf. "Does he like to read?"
"He'll spend a whole day with a book on the weekends and he reads at bedtime every night. He's even read my romances when he has nothing else." Nancy gave a little laugh. "Wasn't self-conscious about it at all. Said he liked a couple of the historical ones."
"Wonderful. Who gets home from work first?"
Nancy shrugged. "He does, usually."
"Okay. How would you feel if you came hom
e from work and he met you at the door, naked and ready to go at it like rabbits?"
Nancy put her hand over her mouth, stifling a surprised giggle. Then, seeing Madison wanted her to consider the question, she did, and whatever went through her mind sobered her. "Well, I expect I'd feel a little pressured. I mean, I'd be glad he was interested, but--"
Madison waved a hand, accepting that. "Of course you'd feel pressured. My point is that maybe that's his problem. When we're in our twenties or, God help us, our teens, it's all about our hormones. At fifty, it's about his boss, about the job stresses, the jerk who cuts him off in traffic on the way home. Whether there will be enough money for the kids' college, retirement, the vacation you've both always wanted to take to Europe. You have to help him change gears when he comes home."
As Nancy digested that, Madison picked up a book selection. "How about one Friday night, you suggest reading to him? He can put his head in your lap, close his eyes."
She put the book in Nancy's hands. "This one is a menage a trois, with one man and two women, written with both genders in mind. Plenty of things to intrigue him, as well as you. There are sketches in it as well."
Nancy flipped open the book and blanched. "Wow . . . " She gave it a closer look while Madison suppressed a smile. "That's actually very . . . nicely done."
"Yes. There's some erotic photography in there too. Again, things that will appeal to him visually and you emotionally, the best of both worlds." Letting her hold on to the book, Madison took her to a different section of the store and picked up a remote control panty with bullet vibrator in the crotch. She made a mental note to order more, since she'd sold about half a dozen of them this week.
"Encourage him to be interactive. When you're reading, switch this on, show him what you're doing. Get yourself worked up, and draw him into the spell. Then turn the remote and the reins over to him, so he feels like a man, like he's taking the lead. I bet things will take a good turn."
She took a breath. "If they don't, then maybe you need to dial it down further--or shoot him in the head and bury him in the backyard--but what's most important is getting in touch with what you want, Nancy. Pleasure yourself and invite him to take the journey with you. That's the key to reconnecting to him. If he's worth anything at all."
A few minutes later, as she was checking Nancy out with a generous purchase that included a couple of the books and the panty, she saw Clarence's UPS truck turning into the alley. Today was Friday, and not just any Friday. It was one of those Fridays where he might be bringing her something from Logan. When she heard the motor idle outside her back door, then Clarence turning the back room door latch, delight surged through her.
Nancy flicked a glance at her as she swiped her credit card. "You must have ordered something nice. You look like a pony just arrived at your birthday party."
She hadn't ordered anything at all, which was exactly why she had that look on her face. A week ago, Logan had told her it was time to give her the guided fantasy he'd promised her, a tantalizing erotic threat. She expected whatever Clarence was delivering would officially kick that off.
That same night, Logan had taken her for an after dark walk in a park near her neighborhood. He'd done nothing more than hold her hand, flirt, and let her talk about a hundred different things. Then he'd backed her against a tree and given her long, hot kisses that made her feel like a teenager out necking past curfew. She'd had a stubble burn on her throat the next day she'd caressed with her fingers when she discovered it.
He'd refused to take things further that night, but he left her reeling with the possibilities, thanks to his parting words.
