by Deborah Layne
(07/03/02)
The hostess smiled at the well-dressed (in the business-suit sense) man and woman, said, "This way, please," and lead them to a table for two near the back of the restaurant, in a quiet corner, not too close to the kitchen -- one might even say, romantic. But one wouldn't say romantic, because this was a business lunch.
"How's business?" he said, glancing over his menu and catching just a hint of her breasts through the sheer white "V" of her silk blouse, outlined by her smart, tailored navy suit jacket.
"Not bad," she sighed, unbuttoning her jacket as she spoke. She unbuttoned her jacket to keep it from poofing up as she leaned over the table to reach for her water goblet, of course. The gesture was not flirtatious because this was a business lunch.
"And, with you?" she added, gazing at him through her lush brown lashes.
"Couldn't be better," he said softly, fingering the parchment menu, glancing over the stylish curves of the Commercial Script lettering which described in delicious detail the day's lunch specials.
"Hungry?" she breathed. "I've heard they have some very unusual specials here. The chef is masterful." As she spoke, she ran one long, elegantly shaped rose-colored nail along the curve of her water goblet.
"I was just considering the specials. They sound delicious. Fresh, spicy, aromatic."
The waitress came to take their orders and placed a wicker basket of steaming fresh bread on the table beside a white china dish with a round, soft mound of creamy butter. When she was gone, they turned to business.
"So, business is good, then?" he said, unfolding his napkin slowly, smoothing out the edges before he slipped it gracefully into his waiting lap.
"No complaints so far," she said, unfolding her own napkin, but giving it a sharp little snap to the side before spreading it across the top of her warm thighs.
"So, you've made it onto the Strategic Marketing Team," he said. He lifted his dripping water goblet to his lips and drank deeply as he watched her hands return from smoothing her napkin again.
"Oh, yes. No more glass ceiling that I can see. It's a genderless world," she said. She took off her glasses, ran her long slender fingers through her hair, and laughed softly, like a steam bubbling across very smooth rocks. "Oh, it's such a relief, as a woman, to know that I am an equal in business, to know that I don't have to wonder whether you're just trying to take me to bed," she said.
"I can imagine," he said, reaching for his knife, spreading the soft creamy butter across a slice of fresh warm bread. "What a relief to know that I'm here strictly to talk about marketing, to know I'm not thinking about how to get you on your knees under my desk, to know I look at your soft inviting lips and I'm only thinking about the strategic marketing plan they'll be sharing with me after dessert."
She had taken her own slice of bread, buttered it slowly in rhythm with him. She smiled, pink lips spreading as she delicately moistened them with a quick dart of her tongue. "It's such a pleasure to be a valued member of the Strategic Marketing Team. I'm sure I don't have to tell you the sacrifices I've made," she lowered her eyes and bit into the bread.
"Yes, it used to be hard for a woman, didn't it? But, these days, I look at you and I'm only thinking of focus groups and market analysis, not a threesome with you and my trophy wife," he reached for a raw oyster.
"And I'm not wondering how strategic you'd be if you were handcuffed to my headboard, blindfolded," she said as she slurped her own oyster, licking the juices off her fingers.
"Of course not. We're equals," he slipped out of his jacket and let it drop casually to the floor. "MBA, right?"
"Wharton," she said authoritatively, shedding her own jacket.
"Stanford," he hissed, gripping the edge of the table, arching his back.
"Valedictorian," she moaned, tipping the table away from the wall, not even wincing as the china, silver, crystal, PDAs, cell phones, and bud vase spread across the floor like a dining room dramatization of Vesuvius. She rose slowly from her chair, clutching her napkin, one corner in each hand, winding it into a pink linen blindfold as she flowed toward him.
Their clothes were heaped on the floor as she mounted him, thrusting strategically until their moans reached a harmonious blend of spent passion.
The waitress took their plates. "Can I get you anything else?"
"Just coffee, I think," he said.
"Oh, yes, coffee, please," she said.
"Now, about that marketing plan," he said.
"Serious business," she said.
