Lawrence, Kansas, Saturday, June 10, 1989
Top down, they cruised in the red Corvette towards the cityscape stretched out in front of them as he took the open highway across the grassy plain at 90. Life was always in the fast lane with Brad, and this relationship with the high-powered teen was one he wanted to exploit. He was taking her to the Cattleman’s Club, an exclusive restaurant perched atop the tallest scraper, one that made an hourly revolution that gave each diner an unobstructed panoramic view that slowly unwound time.
Jessie wore a black, strapless evening gown—breast sculpted with cleavage cut—that hugged her waist and draped sensually over her hips. She saw the dress in Vogue and cut the page out and wrote a note across it with red lip liner—Take me somewhere where I can wear this, and I’ll take you anywhere you want. She circled the New York designer outlet and wrote—Size 2, 36-24-36.
Within a week, he presented her with a large, flat package wrapped in white with a broad black ribbon and bow. She cooed as she slid her fingers under the fabric and slid it off the box. Taking the bow and ribbon, she looped it over her head. “Now, I’m your present.”
Jessie admired Brad for his quick success in the investment market and his willingness to buy her whatever she wanted to feel and look beautiful. His handsome and buff appearance, muscular, but also, agile on his feet, and his hair—oh how she loved to run her hands through his wavy, sandy-blonde locks that ran long and thick.
“See that tall building in the center?” Brad said.
“Not now,” she breathed in his ear as she ran her tongue along its edge.
“Stop it, or I won’t be able to stand up when we get there.”
“Hot and bothered?”
“Hot, not bothered. I don’t think you could ever bother me.”
“I hope not. We have too much fun together.”
“And the summer’s just beginning.”
She rubbed his leg and watched his expression as she lowered her head down to his seat.
“Almost there, baby.” He moaned as he cut off the ramp to the city street.
“Ready for these?” She leaned forward and looked up into his face as he glanced down and slowed the Vette with a soft-pedaled brake. Her hard-cupped top gapped to reveal her tanned breasts. “These could be yours.”
They were seated in a private booth facing the floor-to-ceiling glass that overlooked the city lights. The wine steward dressed in black tie with a white linen napkin draped over his arm presented a bottle of Red Bordeaux— “Le Petit Cheval 1964, an understated wine, with currant and strawberry aromas and flavors lightly accented by cedar and spice and smoothly integrated tannins. Balanced and elegant.”
He uncorked the bottle and drew a taste for Brad, who with dignified propriety sampled it and declared it fit for the evening. Jessie smiled at him with sparkling eyes, the chandeliered lighting reflected diamonds off their midnight glow. The steward poured a glass for each and rested the bottle on the table.
“A toast, my lovely, so elegantly beautiful tonight.”
“To you, my handsome knight, you are befitting a prince.”
“And to you, a princess.”
They tipped their glasses, their eyes locked together.
“Oh, Brad, such a delightful evening. The view has been spectacular, and the wine, I’ve never tasted such lush of the grape.” She giggled, her eyes betraying her woozy euphoria.
“You barely touched your meal. Was your steak grilled to your liking?”
“Oh yes, yes. Never mind my eating habits. I’ve been so excited about this evening that my appetite is on other things.” Her eyes became sultry, and her Angelina lips puckered. “I would just love some chocolate.”
He read from the dessert menu, “Chocolate covered tart drizzled with raspberry glaze with a twirl of crème topped by a succulent berry.”
“Ewww . . . talk to me more like that.” She slipped her foot from her single strap stiletto and slid her bare toe up the end of his pants to stroke the inside of his calf.
The waiter arrived, pausing Jessie’s table foreplay.
“My lady would like to enjoy the chocolate tart, and I would like the De Fussigny XO.”
“Yes, the Fine Champagne or the Premiere Grand Cru Cognac for you, Monsieur?
“Premiere, please.”
“Very well. Mademoiselle, may I refresh your wine?”
“Oui, M’sieur.”
“And you, Monsieur.”
“I’ll hold for the cognac. Merci.”
The tall and thin, balding waiter nodded his approval.
Jessie tugged on her wine, smiling as a stream flowed down her throat.
“Fine wine should be savored,” Brad said with a miff.
“Like you.” She leaned forward, bearing over the corner of the table and kissed him with her tongue spreading his lips. Taken aback by her sudden loss of decorum in this elite restaurant, he broke the kiss and changed the subject. “I’ve meant to ask you, will you join me for a beach party with the partners of the firm and the rest of us underlings?”
“Oh, I love parties.” She giggled. “And on the beach? Sounds sexy.”
“Well, that in fact, it may be. It starts mid-afternoon, and most will be showing off their bods, and then it will go into the cool of the night with a bonfire and band, so you’ll need a change of clothes. We’re expecting a large crowd with wine, beer, and a large spread of food. It’s the annual company party, and the partners are celebrating a great year of double-digit returns. That’s how I can afford this.” He nodded at the 200-dollar bottle of wine and waved his hand slightly across the table, then rested it on hers. “I hope you are enjoying your evening.”
“Totally tubular.”
“Yeah, precisely my words,” he said in jest, but smiled, enjoying the naivety of this girl whose beauty captivated him, her carefree and youthful personality, and of course, her provocative spirit.
“What should I wear?”
“You seem fond of the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue. I couldn’t help but compare you to Kathy Ireland on the cover. You were eye candy for the volleyball crowd, a lemon drop with an attitude.”
“You’d like to pick a swimsuit from the collection?” Jessie cooed.
“My pleasure, lemon-drop.” He smiled into her coal black eyes rich with the effects of the 25-year-old wine, her eyelashes shadowing them, their heaviness calling for him to take her as his.
“And what does my amoureux want me to cover with when the sun sets, or will you keep me warm.”
“That I will, my paramour, and I shall want you to surprise me with your choice.” Brad pulled out his wallet and withdrew a credit card. “As an investor, my only request is to use it wisely.” He slid the card beneath her fingers laying his hand over hers.
“Merci précieux.”
Jessie had her Big Ticket at her fingertips.
Copyright 2017 © Jeff Cambridge
Excerpt from PURSUIT, a novel by Jeff Cambridge.
Author of transformational fiction—
Real characters in real life drama that tell the story of their transformation to become more like Jesus.
To read the scenes sequentially, begin with
“PURSUIT: A Novel – Prologue”
Located in the May Blog Archive. Click on the episodes and enjoy.
This episode is pre-published. The book will be available Spring 2018.
Your comments are welcomed and appreciated. Check one of the reaction boxes below, write a comment, or email me at lightbycambridge@gmail.com.
This novel is a work of fiction. Any references to real events, businesses, organizations, and locales are intended only to give the fiction a sense of reality and authenticity. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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