Fanchon's Book(3)

"I understand, Madame. No promises." Apparently mollified, she arose dutifully and followed me into the bedroom.

Despite my air of finality, I knew I had pretty much committed myself to another session of lovemaking before she took her leave. But that would be no great hardship: the gift of Rosalba's tongue, sui generis, was something to be treasured, not spurned. Even now I could have gladly spread my legs and accepted it-lying down, of course, not teetering hazardously like some giddy ballerina with a substandard sense of equilibrium. Only the unseemly setting had vexed me, not the archly improvised act itself; was I a barbarian that I should fail to appreciate such a quaintly aesthetic mode of bidding me adieu?

But the climax of our farewell performance would have to wait. Business before pleasure-and I had an interview to conduct. The new maid was due any minute; literally and figuratively, I had to gird my loins for the encounter. True, I had already given my consent, practically-sight unseen, as it were-to take her on for a trial period. But I meant to be thorough, nonetheless, and had every intention of putting the girl through an exhaustive inquisition first.

Dressing presented no problem. Lingerie, a negligee, the mules with the furry pompoms; Rosalba scurried around to get the things I needed. My mental preparations were less manageable, however, and I continued to view the affair somewhat shakily, conscious of my own prejudice and yet-with good reason-unable to conquer it. Could any maid measure up to my faithful Rosalba?

"Tell me about her," I said. "You're sure she's safe?"

"Safe?" Rosalba frowned quizzically. "But I've told you that, Madame. Kristi isn't the gossiping kind-or else I wouldn't have recommended her."

"I hope you're right. Not that I don't trust your judgment, but I do have to think of my husband's career. Even the barest whisper of scandal could be tragic."

"Kristi won't give you any trouble. Not that way. About the other things, though-well, like I said, you might have to break her in slowly. This is her first job as a lady's maid, you know. She's so young and inexperienced. And shy, too."

"You make her sound like an innocent child."

"Mmm, a child, maybe, but not exactly innocent."

Rosalba's twinkling leer was eloquently suggestive. "You'll like her, Madame, she's really very pretty."

"That's small comfort. I'm not looking for beauty in a maidservant, all I need is someone who can-" The melodic cadence of the downstairs chimes cut me short; I shrugged lamely and gestured for Rosalba to go to the front door.

"It must be Kristi," she said. "Will you want to talk to her in the living room?"

"Uh… no, I think not. Bring her up here."

Where better to interview a prospective personal maid than in my own bedroom? I checked my appearance in the mirror, then lit a cigarette and stretched out upon the chaise lounge in leisurely fashion. But I was awake to my rapidly burgeoning curiosity; now that the zero hour had actually arrived I felt a prickle of excitement at the thought of meeting Rosalba's replacement.

Nor could I help but notice how provocative a posture I had fallen into. Did I hope to dazzle the girl? Deliberate or not, the indolent pose displayed my mature figure at its voluptuous best. The negligee, slinky and sheer-lemon-yellow to set off my brunette coloring-had pasted itself to every curve and contour, vividly limning the post-nubile ripeness of my flesh. Lower down, the carelessly tossed folds revealed a daring length of nude leg. Patently alluring admittedly, if not downright lurid; wreathed by the spiraling haze of blue cigarette smoke, I could almost see myself playing the bitch-goddess of the boudoir in a Hollywood lust epic. In glorious Technicolor yet.