Sleep came easily that night, both of us too wiped out to stay awake. It was nice, drifting off with Emmy cuddled again me, the post-coital glow giving me a warm, relaxed feeling. The townhouse really was surprisingly quiet, too, and that helped as well.
I must have finally recalibrated my internal clock to East Coast time, because I woke up early. Not as early as I usually did back in Palo Alto, but earlier than I had the last few mornings in New York. Knowing Emmy would sleep for at least two more hours, I quietly slipped out of bed and threw on my running gear. It wasn’t until I opened the front door that I realized it was raining, but decided to run anyway. It wasn’t particularly cold, after all, so why not get wet?
I took the same route as I had before, crossing the bridge to Queens, then backtracking to Roosevelt Island and running the perimeter. My run was quite a bit faster, since this time I knew where I was going and the landmarks were at least a little bit familiar. From the southwest side of the island I tried to spot our townhouse, but I wasn’t sure I could really tell ours from any other. Not that it mattered, but still- it would have been cool.
It’s funny. When I first started running at Ruben’s recommendation, I really didn’t enjoy it at all. He promised me that it would get better, and he was right. It didn’t take long for my form to smooth out and my speed to increase, while at the same time feeling easier. It only took a few months of running two or three times a week for me to reach that point where my brain disengaged from my physical actions and I could run on autopilot. This freed me up to think about other things while running, things like school, work, Emmy, whatever.
When I talked about it with Coach Burke, he’d said that when he’d been a runner back in the ‘80s he’d thought of it as a sort of meditative state and welcomed the time to solve the problems of his daily life. I’m not sure I really solved any problems while running, but it was nice to have an hour inside my own head.
Emmy was still asleep when I got back to our place, so I showered and got dressed, then went to the office to work on a proposal for a bit until Emmy was up. I was deep in the financials of an apartment complex in Sunnyvale we were thinking of acquiring when Emmy came in.
She had a sleepy, just-woke-up look on her face, which she emphasized by yawning and stretching. She was wearing my white dress shirt from the day before, and as she stretched, I could tell that she had nothing else on at all. The hem of the shirt only rose up as high as her upper thighs, but she’d only buttoned a couple of buttons and as her shoulders rolled back it parted below her belly button and I got a glimpse of her lady parts.
As the shirt moved back into position, I glanced up and caught Emmy’s mischievous look and realized I’d been busted. Then again, in a sense, so had she- it was obvious she’d put on a little show for me and it wasn’t merely an accidental flash.
“Good morning,” Emmy said, her voice still a bit sleepy. “Have you been up long?”
“Not too long,” I lied, enjoying seeing her in my shirt. Of course, on her it was comically oversized, but that simply made it all that much more sexy.
Emmy stood there, nervously fidgeting, so I beckoned her to come over next to me and I swiveled my chair so she could sit on my lap, but she didn’t- she just stood next to my chair, holding the hem of the shirt. This had the pleasant effect of emphasizing her pert little nipples, standing proud in the slightly cold room.
“Come on,” I said. “You seem as if you want something.”
She nodded her head, saying, “Yes?” giving me a hopeful look.
She was so damned sexy, looking like that, there was no way I would deny her anything. Of course, I wouldn’t anyway. After all, she was my princess, right? I figured she was going to want to drag me to art galleries, or go to someplace really fancy for lunch or something like that.
“Anything you want, Em. What can I do for you?”
“Um, sex?” she asked, her eyes pleading.
Laughing, I stood up and quickly wrapped my arms around her, using her butt to lift her up so her eyes were level with mine. I gave her a long, deep kiss while she wrapped her legs around my hips.
“What, last night wasn’t enough for you?” I asked when we broke our kiss.
Nuzzling my face, Emmy said in a soft voice “Last night only reminded me why I am so in lust with you.”
Chuckling, I replied “I lust you, too, baby. Very, very much. But it’ll have to be quick. Wally is due with bagels in about forty-five minutes.”
“I guess you will just have to do me right here, then,” Emmy declared, pointing at the big, old-fashioned desk that was part of the granny furniture that came with the house.
I set her down on the edge of the desk and she scooted back just enough to hook her heels on the edge, her knees wide open, displaying herself as she rocked her hips back.
This was all the invitation I needed, and so without any sort of foreplay I dove right in. Thankfully my tongue had fully recovered from its strenuous workout of the night before, so I used it to give her exactly what she wanted as I knelt between her legs. I didn’t draw it out at all, just going straight in as I ate her with enthusiasm.
It didn’t take long before she was breathing hard, so I just kept at it, enjoying the feeling of the girl I loved in the throes of ecstasy, brought to that state by my efforts. When I felt her walls tighten around my fingers, I gently scraped my teeth across her sensitive and vulnerable little bud, drawing a muffled squeak followed by a groan as she fell back onto the cold glass top of the desk.
“How was that?” I asked as I stood up, enjoying the sight her splayed out like that, her legs still wide open.
“Did you bite me, you terrible brute?” she asked in wonder, her voice belying her words.
“You are just too delicious to resist,” I growled in my best Beast voice. “You’re lucky I only took the slightest nibble!”
Then, just to make sure she really was O.K. with it, I asked “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
“No, it did not hurt,” Emmy said, sitting up on the edge of the desk. “But it was just so very intense. It was wonderful this time, but please, do not do that too very often. Save it for very special occasions.”
“I can do that,” I said. “Now go and get dressed. I don’t want Wally seeing you like this.”
“Do you think he would not like it?” she asked, her voice playful as she spread her legs again to give me another peek.
“I’m pretty sure he would, but you’d ruin him for his wife,” I said, laughing. “No other woman could ever compare to you, and seeing you naked would simply be unfair to the man.”
Walking down the stairs to the third floor, Emmy asked “What about Luisa? Do you think seeing her naked would ruin him for his wife?”
“I dunno,” I replied. “I guess I’d have to see his wife to make that call.”
“Luisa is very spectacular,” Emmy said, perhaps a bit too casually.
My spider-senses tingling, I said “Yeah, she’s a lot prettier than I expected. To be honest, when you’d told me about her I expected a slightly frumpy middle-aged woman,” I said, trying to redirect the conversation.
“Mrs. Dalton had described her to me, so I knew that she was young and pretty,” Emmy explained as she shed my shirt. I was sorry to see her take it off, she’d looked so adorable in it, but on the other hand, I always, always enjoyed seeing Emmy naked.
“When she told me about Luisa’s appearance, I expressed my doubts. Mrs. Dalton told me that it was a recurring source of amusement for her and her husband. Apparently many in their social circle assumed that Luisa was Mr. Dalton’s mistress.”
“Why was that funny for them?” I asked, following Emmy into the bathroom. I didn't do it because I wanted to watch Emmy take a shower, although that was certainly a benefit, but because I needed to wash my face and brush my teeth. And watch Emmy take a shower.
“She told me that Mr. Dalton is actually gay, and has a male lover, but nobody knows that. The rumors about Luisa only helped to bolster his image as a heterosexual. The Daltons stay together because they are friends, and for the sake of the children.”
“So Luisa was a sort of second beard for the guy?” I asked.
“Beard?”
“It’s a woman who is seen in public with a man, pretending to be his romantic partner to conceal the fact he’s gay,” I explained.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“Yes, that is what she was,” Emmy agreed.
I could have left the bathroom, since our conversation was over and my face washed and teeth brushed, but that would have meant I would have missed the show Emmy was putting on. Once she’d realized I was watching her, she took the opportunity to show off a bit, and I think we both enjoyed it. She enjoyed showing off and being sexy, and I enjoyed watching her do just that. It was a win all around.
I glanced at my watch and saw that the time was very nearly nine, so I sadly left Emmy and went downstairs to greet the perfectly punctual Wally with this morning’s load of bagels.
Instead of leading him downstairs to the kitchen again, I led Wally up to the second floor sunroom. While we waited for Emmy, I asked Wally if he enjoyed driving for the limo company.
“It’s alright,” he said. “I get to see the city, and meet interesting people, you know?”
I liked the fact that he was opening up a little bit, not seeming as stiff and formal as he had at first. I was starting to think that maybe us hiring him full-time as a driver when were in New York and a general gopher while we were away but the house needed something might be a halfway decent idea.
“I imagine you get to drive for plenty of celebrities? How is that?”
“Well, I actually mostly drive businesspeople, you know? Maybe one in five is a face I recognize. Like you two,” Wally said. “Miss Emmy is a rock star, and I’ve seen your picture in magazines with her on red carpets, right? So I knew who to look for in the airport when I picked you up. Most of the time, it’s just a name. Mr. Jones, Ms. Smith, so on. But honestly, in my experience, there isn’t one class of people it’s better to drive for than another. Everybody is an individual, you know?”
“That’s a pretty good attitude to have,” I said, just as Emmy joined us.
“What did you bring today?” Emmy asked, eying the bag of bagels on the table.
“I mentioned that my favorite bagel shop in all of New York is in the Bronx. I stopped by there this morning so you two could try the best New York has to offer.”
“Oh, that is wonderful!” exclaimed Emmy. “Thank you so very much!”
The bagels were excellent, just as promised, but I’d have to do a back-to-back taste test to really determine if they were better than the ones he’d brought from the Seinfeld place. Maybe if we stayed in New York long enough I’d be able to evaluate the nuances of bageldom, but for now, all I could tell you is that they were all of them much better than the national chain bagels I’d had before.
As we finished our breakfasts, Emmy announced to Wally and me that today, she would like to go shopping. “New York is one of the world’s greatest cities for boutiques, and I would like to spend the morning buying clothes. Leah, we need to update our wardrobes, and this is the perfect time to do some of that.”
Wally chuckled a little tiny bit at the look of suffering I gave him, but really, I’d expected this. I mean, Emmy was right- maybe London, Paris and Milan might be better for high-end clothing boutiques, but really, nobody could possibly complain that New York was any much worse.
I also knew, from past experience, that Emmy would want to start off with lingerie. I had mixed feelings about that. Emmy loved buying sexy lingerie, and loved modeling it for me, and there was no way I could ever complain about that- don’t get me wrong. I loved seeing Emmy in sheer, lacy underthings, and slowly peeling them off her was a very, very good way to spend the time. However, Emmy modeling sheer, lacy underthings in a private room at an upscale boutique with the saleslady watching was more than just a touch mortifying. Even worse, she liked to pick out things for me and then demanded that I model them, in front of that same saleslady.
This had happened more than once back in the Bay Area, and I just knew it was going to happen again today.
Of course, Emmy always got really amorous when we did that, so I guess that was another upside. It wasn’t as if we were negligent in the lovemaking department the last few days, but really, more is always better, right?
We hit three lingerie boutiques that morning, and coincidentally or not, all three were for brands based in London. The three were decidedly different in style- one more innocent and practical (my favorite for myself- I bought quite a bit there) that didn’t have private rooms, to Emmy’s dismay. The second was more classically classy, with lots of lace and silk. The bras were comfortable, but the panties didn’t really seem like anything I would ever wear for more than a few minutes at a time. Emmy made up for the lack of private room in the first boutique and she spent at least an hour trying on various pieces. I tried not to even look at the total the Emmy spent there, since the cheapest piece I saw were a pair of silk and lace panties for over three hundred dollars.
The third shop carries a brand that was sort of ‘elegant Frederick’s’. Lots of teddies, some corsets, garter belts and so on, but in really high-end materials. Surprisingly, Emmy didn’t much want to play in that boutique at all. When I asked why she didn’t like their stuff, her response struck me as funny.
“They are trying too hard to be sexy,” she explained. “Being sexy must seem effortless.”
Back in the limo, Emmy asked Wally where we should have lunch.
“You want the truly New York lunch experience?” he asked. “Then there’s only one real answer. Sure, other places and other dishes may claim to be iconic New York, but really, they’re all second-place contenders at best,” Wally said, taking out his phone. I couldn't see what he did, but it must have been some sort of online ordering.
“There!” he said. “They’ll be ready by the time we get there. I hope you don’t mind, but I ordered for myself, too.”
Emmy laughed, and said “But of course! We will all have lunch together!”
As we drove, Wally explained that the real, truly real, experience would actually involve going in and standing in line for our order, but that’s an experience that could be put off for another day. For now, ordering ahead and picking up beat the lines and the noise and crowds.
Wally pulled up in front of a surprisingly small corner deli with old-school neon signs on the storefront and windows. He disappeared inside, returning in about two minutes with a couple of brown paper bags.
Jumping back in the driver’s seat, he explained, “Now I’m going to find a parking spot, then we’ll have a little walk ahead of us- maybe a couple of blocks.”
Soon enough he parked the car in a pay garage and we crossed the FDR Drive and found a park bench to sit on while we ate looking out over the East River.
From the first bag, Wally produced three bottles of sparkling water and some napkins. From the second bag, some large, paper-wrapped sandwiches.
“You haven't truly eaten New York-style until you’ve had a genuine, old-fashioned pastrami sandwich,” he declared, unwrapping half of a sandwich and handing it to Emmy, then doing the same for me. “And really, what better way to eat them than enjoying a beautiful day, watching the river?”
The sandwiches were huge, with tons of meat and some mustard on rye bread, and nothing else (unless you count the pickle on the side). As good as it was, I couldn’t even eat half of mine. Emmy, of course, came nowhere near even eating that much, but she made a point of assuring Wally that the sandwich was amazing, just too much food for her tiny little tummy, but thanks for the amazing experience.
We sat there for perhaps an hour, eating, talking and enjoying the view and the people-watching. A few cyclists and pedestrians obviously recognized Emmy, but were too cool to do more than a double-take. None came up for autographs or selfies, to my relief.
After lunch, we went back to the house and told Wally we wouldn’t need him until that evening when Emmy had dinner plans for us.
I expected Emmy would want to nap, but to my surprise she said that the contractor and the designer were due to arrive for the meeting at three.
“I have a few ideas I would like to discuss with you before they get here,” Emmy said, taking my hand to lead me upstairs. “I would like to turn the sitting room into a little recording studio, but that would mean converting Luisa’s office into the control room, and the closet into an iso room, so that would mean that it would take up all the sixth floor but your office. Is that O.K. with you?”
“Honestly, Em, I don’t really need my own office space, if you need the room. We have five other bedrooms besides the master- I could set up a desk in the smaller third-story bedroom and be just fine. It isn’t as if we have a ton of kids and need all the bedrooms, right?”
“I had thought that bedroom might be your workout room,” Emmy said, looking a little distressed. “If that is to become your office, where will we put your gym?”
Emmy seemed really bothered by the idea that her plans might not be suitable, so I said “Let’s go back to the first idea. I’ll keep the large office on the sixth floor as mine. It’s nice that it has the terrace, even if it is on the street side of the house. We can scrape the rest of the floor clean and remodel it into your studio, however that works best. We can convert the street-side bedroom on the third floor into a workout room, and since it won’t be its own bedroom we can open up the two bathrooms into one larger bath. And get a really nice tub in there.”
“That is perfect!” Emmy exclaimed, enamored of the idea. Of course, I’d just gone back to her original plan, but whatever. It was her house, after all. Whatever made her happy made me happy.
The general contractor and the sound studio guy arrived right on time, but the designer was late, so we started our walk-through without her. Figuring that the two of them needed to work out ideas together for the sixth floor, that’s where we started. While Emmy and the sound guy were busy bouncing ideas off each other, the general introduced himself as Erich. He was originally from Germany, but came to the U.S. for college, fell in love with an American girl, and never went back.
Erich and I discussed some general ideas about the house, how we wanted to preserve as much of the Pre-War details as possible, and restore them in the areas that had been remodeled in the intervening decades. It meant custom mouldings, Erich explained, but those were easy to source- they would just take a while and cost a lot.
I explained that there was time to do it correctly, and the budget would allow for expenses like that, so as far as I was concerned the only priority was that it be done flawlessly. “I want to not be able to tell which rooms are original and which are reproductions,” I told him.
“We can do that,” Erich agreed. “All we do are these sorts of high-end remodels, and we have the experience and the subs to do it right.”
By this point, Emmy and the sound guy (whose name I never caught) had settled on a plan, so they brought Erich in to talk about what had to be done. I headed downstairs to wait for the designer, who had run over an hour late by this point.
Figuring I’d hear the doorbell anywhere in the house, I went down into the basement to do some exploring. I hadn’t even really looked down there at all besides the big kitchen, so clearly there was more to see. Down at the other end of the hall was a good-sized room with what appeared to be an ancient oil-fired boiler and a more modern (but still old) A/C unit. I’d noticed a cheap air conditioner unit in the window in the big kitchen, so I figured that was an area we would have to spend a big chunk of money on.
Past the boiler room was a laundry, with two fairly current washing machines and two dryers, as well as a strange open shower setup that I realized must be a dog wash station. The thing that struck me as the oddest about the laundry room, though, was the fact it had an exterior door to the street. Outside the door, a small below-grade landing and stairs led up to a gate and then the sidewalk. I’d seen the stairs and door from the outside, but it hadn’t occurred to me that they would lead into a laundry room. Strange.
Heading back inside, I checked the various pantries, linen closets and so on, and again, was surprised when I found a spiral staircase leading down to an even lower level. Down the iron stairs, a cramped hallway opened into several storage rooms filled with boxes of who-knows-what, and a room that held the machinery for the elevator (which didn’t actually make it all the way down to the level I was in at the moment).
At the end of the hallway, though, was a heavy door with one of those push-button combination locks. Pondering for a moment, I tried punching in one, two, three, and four and it popped right open.