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Her space was on the tenth floor. She loved hiding in plain sight among the many commercial and office spaces. The building contained everything from upscale doctors’ offices to designer showrooms and artists’ studios. Her thousand-square-foot boutique/showroom was in a corner unit at the end of the tenth floor. Nestled away from the elevator and prying eyes.
As Desdemona unlocked the double doors she briefly eyed the name “glitz” etched in lower-case letters in the frosting of the glass wall. She entered the loft-style space and turned on the overhead lighting as she took in the twenty shiny black mannequins displaying each of the high-end dresses she carried.
Desdemona set her tote and the shopping bag on one of the four leather club chairs situated around a round riser where a model could showcase a gown. Patrice’s choice to display the black lace Suzanne Neville gown on the mannequin nearest the window wouldn’t have been her pick, because the sunlight didn’t bring out the detail work of the lace, but she fought the urge to move it. She didn’t want to undermine Patrice’s confidence, particularly since the business was mostly a front.
Her consorts couldn’t care less about the dresses they purchased as part of their payments for the services of her paramours. For her, the boutique served a dual purpose—a front for her procurement business and a legitimate source of income allowing her to file taxes and still have a verifiable reason to be in contact with every consort on her list. The profit she made off the sale of the dresses was a bonus.
“Good morning, Mademoiselle.”
She stroked her new bracelet as she turned and eyed Byron Levin entering the showroom and walking toward her, looking every bit the powerhouse Hollywood producer in his lightweight suit. He was in his mid-sixties, balding, Jewish, tall with a round belly that was indicative of good living, and wealthy beyond belief. “In town for the Tonys?” she asked, forcing a soft smile as she extended her hand and raised her cheek.
He shook the first and kissed the latter.
As required, he had left any staff downstairs. She only met with consorts and no one else.
“As a matter of fact, I am. Hoping to help get a play adapted to film,” he explained.
She didn’t bother to ask for any more details. “Care for something to drink? Or is it too early for vodka tonic?” she asked, remembering his favorite drink as she waved a hand in invitation to one of the club chairs.
He unbuttoned his blazer before folding his tall and wide frame into one of the chairs. “I don’t like to turn down an offer from a beautiful woman,” he said.
Desdemona was glad to turn her back to him as she walked over to the bar cart in the corner. She rolled her eyes. Byron had been a consort for years. He was big, loud, and boastful, covering up his arrogance with a charm that was as noticeable as a pile of shit on a hot summer day. She fixed his drink from the stocked bar cart in the corner.
“My visit here is twofold,” he said when she handed him the drink and took the seat in the chair next to him.
He in turned handed her an envelope of heavy stock before taking a healthy swallow of his beverage.
Crossing her legs, she opened the envelope and pulled out a raised print invitation to the official afterparty of the Tony Awards being held at the Plaza that very night. Something for nothing didn’t exist in their world. She eyed him coolly and awaited an explanation.
“I have an associate who might want your offered...services,” he said.
This was nothing new.
Being added on as a consort of Mademoiselle was no easy feat. An accepted referral was a sign of clout. Her list was tight and manageable—just the way she preferred. To be accepted by her was a feather in the cap of the wealthy men and women who wanted something to brag about like new jets, concept cars, rare jewels, and deep-throated lovers desperate to prove that he was her number one.
“Byron,” she began, holding the invitation between her index and middle fingers to extend to him.
“I know. I know,” he said, finishing his drink. “Just meet him. I will only introduce you as my wife’s favorite boutique owner and nothing else in case you decide not go any further with it.”
Behind her contentment was an annoyance that she hid well. These days her thoughts were more inclined toward leaving it all behind, not adding to her roster of powerful people looking to buy sex, temporary affection, or ego coddling.
“I started to bring him with me this morning,” he said, rising to move over to the dresses on display.
“Byron,” she called over to him.
He glanced back over his broad shoulder, glass still in hand.
“That would have gotten you dismissed from my list,” she said, her voice firm. She softened the truth with a smile.
He chuckled and nodded, turning his attention back to the frocks before him. “I know, and I don’t want that,” he admitted. “My little regular gal is dedicated as hell to get me over the finish line with a smile.”
Plum—or at least that’s the name she uses—draws some of my highest fees. And I even heard he tipped her well on top of that. For all that cash she better be dedicated.
“Let’s surprise Dolly with this one right here,” he said, pointing to a beautiful gold sequined gown that would look lovely on his wife—a former beauty queen who had dedicated the last thirty years of her life to his career, their family, and charities. “She already has a gown for the Tonys, but she can save it for some other shindig. Hell, she can use it as a fucking dust cloth for all the hell I care, long as I getmesome Plum while I’m in town.”
For a moment Desdemona allowed herself a vision of his bulky body drenched in sweat as he rutted away between Plum’s thighs. She frowned.
“Would you like the dress delivered?” she asked as she rose to her feet.
