watched him watching me. It was almost as though his gaze was touching me, literally, physically making contact with my body.
Ian introduced himself, and told me he wasn’t part of the art world, but the girl he’d brought had previously been an interior designer and they’d been checking out galleries and art openings for pieces to put in his newly renovated penthouse.
“So if you’re not part of the ‘art world’ what world are you a part of?” I asked.
“Money.”
That’s when he explained what he did, and I found myself impressed by the ease with which he talked about his complicated business. I simply nodded along, even when he used jargon I’d never heard before.
He asked if I was a fu lltime waitress. I said no, told him what I did for a living, and how I had ended up serving hors d’oeuvres that night.
“So,” I said, “I’m only temporarily the help .”
Ian looked me in the eye for a moment—again, that aggressive stare—and said, “That really got under your skin, didn’t it?”
“It just seemed kind of… ”—I shrugged—“…unnecessary, a little condescending. I mean, if it weren’t for me and the others here, you’d be pouring your own drinks, smearing salmon spread on your crackers, cleaning up. You know. Helping yourself.”
Rachel signaled that she needed me in the kitchen, so I walked away before he had a chance to respond. This time I didn’t turn around to see if he was looking at me.
“ That guy is totally ignoring his date, talking to you,” she said when I got in the kitchen.
“That’s not his date.” I explained it to her.
“Oh, well that’s a whole different story then.” She opened the refrigerator and retrieved a tray of something. “If he asks you out, say yes.”
“He’s not going to ask me out.”
“What makes you say that? Here, take this around, see if anyone wants some.”
I took the tray she put on the counter in front of me. “I’m pretty sure he’s a player.”
“Players can be fun.”
“Not this one,” I said.
I was wrong. By the end of the night, I had become intrigued with Ian. On the surface, he was attractive and wealthy. That part was his fault. I’ll take the blame for projecting onto him the excitement and lure of those fictional dreamboats I had come to love reading about. Here, in real life, in a chance meeting, I thought I’d found my opportunity with one of those guys.
Our relationship moved quickly, both in the bedroom and out. There were trips to places I never thought I’d be able to visit, and to places I hadn’t even known existed.
Ian was faithful. There was never the slightest hint of cheating. He worked a lot, but when he wasn’t working, he was with me. In fact, he practically demanded that I be available when he was, and ready for whatever he had in mind. I managed to juggle my work schedule around his, although when I began traveling more, that got more complicated.
That’s also when the sex was starting to become a little boring. Not for lack of acts I’d never experienced; Ian often had something new for us to try. But I became bored because it was like the sex was choreographed. And that led to the realization that my dissatisfaction wasn’t really about the sex—it was an emotional issue. And, as I mentioned, Ian never opened up about anything, especially when it came to personal feelings.
Three months into our relationship, Ian asked me to move in with him. He paid off the remaining months on my apartment lease, took me out for lunch and shopping one afternoon, and by the time we got back to his place, all my stuff had been moved into his house by some of his employees.
My parents did not approve. I was taking it too fast w ith Ian, they said, and they repeatedly impressed upon me the fact that Ian’s lifestyle was much more lavish than my own, that I came from hard-working roots and they feared that I would forget where I came from.
They also didn’t like the fact that they’d
Ian introduced himself, and told me he wasn’t part of the art world, but the girl he’d brought had previously been an interior designer and they’d been checking out galleries and art openings for pieces to put in his newly renovated penthouse.
“So if you’re not part of the ‘art world’ what world are you a part of?” I asked.
“Money.”
That’s when he explained what he did, and I found myself impressed by the ease with which he talked about his complicated business. I simply nodded along, even when he used jargon I’d never heard before.
He asked if I was a fu lltime waitress. I said no, told him what I did for a living, and how I had ended up serving hors d’oeuvres that night.
“So,” I said, “I’m only temporarily the help .”
Ian looked me in the eye for a moment—again, that aggressive stare—and said, “That really got under your skin, didn’t it?”
“It just seemed kind of… ”—I shrugged—“…unnecessary, a little condescending. I mean, if it weren’t for me and the others here, you’d be pouring your own drinks, smearing salmon spread on your crackers, cleaning up. You know. Helping yourself.”
Rachel signaled that she needed me in the kitchen, so I walked away before he had a chance to respond. This time I didn’t turn around to see if he was looking at me.
“ That guy is totally ignoring his date, talking to you,” she said when I got in the kitchen.
“That’s not his date.” I explained it to her.
“Oh, well that’s a whole different story then.” She opened the refrigerator and retrieved a tray of something. “If he asks you out, say yes.”
“He’s not going to ask me out.”
“What makes you say that? Here, take this around, see if anyone wants some.”
I took the tray she put on the counter in front of me. “I’m pretty sure he’s a player.”
“Players can be fun.”
“Not this one,” I said.
I was wrong. By the end of the night, I had become intrigued with Ian. On the surface, he was attractive and wealthy. That part was his fault. I’ll take the blame for projecting onto him the excitement and lure of those fictional dreamboats I had come to love reading about. Here, in real life, in a chance meeting, I thought I’d found my opportunity with one of those guys.
Our relationship moved quickly, both in the bedroom and out. There were trips to places I never thought I’d be able to visit, and to places I hadn’t even known existed.
Ian was faithful. There was never the slightest hint of cheating. He worked a lot, but when he wasn’t working, he was with me. In fact, he practically demanded that I be available when he was, and ready for whatever he had in mind. I managed to juggle my work schedule around his, although when I began traveling more, that got more complicated.
That’s also when the sex was starting to become a little boring. Not for lack of acts I’d never experienced; Ian often had something new for us to try. But I became bored because it was like the sex was choreographed. And that led to the realization that my dissatisfaction wasn’t really about the sex—it was an emotional issue. And, as I mentioned, Ian never opened up about anything, especially when it came to personal feelings.
Three months into our relationship, Ian asked me to move in with him. He paid off the remaining months on my apartment lease, took me out for lunch and shopping one afternoon, and by the time we got back to his place, all my stuff had been moved into his house by some of his employees.
My parents did not approve. I was taking it too fast w ith Ian, they said, and they repeatedly impressed upon me the fact that Ian’s lifestyle was much more lavish than my own, that I came from hard-working roots and they feared that I would forget where I came from.
They also didn’t like the fact that they’d
Similar Books
