Romance: Catching Helena Handbasket (15 page)

     Irving was not amused.

     “So says the dude that’s standing buck nekkid—or nearly so—in the dead center of Saks Fifth Avenue,” he sniffed, adding as he averted his eyes, “I swear, boss, I’ve seen far more of you in the past few days than I ever cared to see.  Ever.”

     Trey snorted.

     “So says the man that’s standing at the center of Saks wearing a floral print dress,” he accused, pointing a mocking finger in Irving’s direction.  “One who, incidentally, didn’t bother to shave or even trim his 5 o’clock shadow before trying on his ever so tasteful rose floral print.”

     Arielle gaped.

     “What he means, of course, is that—if one follows the strictest dictates of fashion—then a dandelion print would probably go much better with a 5 o’clock shadow,” she interjected, adding with a pointed glance in Trey’s direction, “because, of course, we all know that it is perfectly acceptable for a man to wear a dress, if he so chooses.”

     Trey nodded.

     “Sure, I have no problem with it myself,” he allowed, adding as he shot his own pointed stare in Irving’s direction, “What he does on his own time is his business.  He cannot, however, call in sick just so he can shop the day away at Saks.”

     Irving rolled his eyes.

     “I guess I’m just following the direction of my own fearless leader.  Your administrative assistant told me that you called in sick yourself today—but you look pretty healthy and hale in those ever lovin’ tighty whiteys,” he sniffed, adding as he hoisted his stubble-stricken chin to proud, haughty effect, “And for your information, I am buying this dress in preparation for a very important event—one that just happens to directly relate to my position at Elmhurst Publishing.”

     It was Trey’s turn to roll his eyes.

     “I’m waiting with baited breath, Irving.  Just try to justify as to how the purchase of this admittedly lovely but inexplicable frock in any way relates to your editorial position at Elmhurst Publishing,” he deadpanned, adding in all seriousness as his eyes flew wide, “Oh no, Irving.  You really didn’t entertain the notion that you would be the cover model for Helena’s new book—that you’d be the Victorian princess that stands beside Blaine Bennington before the spectacle of Kew Gardens?”

     “H’mmmm….” Arielle interrupted, stroking her pert chin in what seemed to be a show of keen contemplation.  “Now I must say, Irving, that if you do indeed wish to pull off the Victorian princess look, the 5 o’clock’ shadow will have to go, after all…”

     Irving sighed.

     “Look folks, I may be crazy—but I’m not nuts,” he declared, rather proudly.  “Of course I have no intentions of replacing our friend Helena on the cover of her own book.  I would, however, like to participate in an upcoming karaoke competition being hosted at a British pub not too far from Kew Gardens—a competition that falls, coincidentally, the day after our photo shoot.”

     “What luck,” Trey muttered, teeth gritted until they ground.

     “Isn’t it though?” Irving grinned, totally missing the bitter irony and incredible angst that belied Trey’s words.  “I figure that if I win the competition, it will only bolster our profile on the European scene—and, hopefully, provide an extra publicity boost for Helena’s book.  But in order to score the win, to deliver my very best, most powerful rendition of ‘Lookin’ for Love in All the Wrong Places’—followed hopefully by a kicker encore of ‘I Am Woman,’ backed by the brass string quartet I plan to hire for the event—I kinda need the dress.  Just a motivational thing—and something I’m willing to spend my own money on if it will give an extra boost to Helena’s book, which turned out beautifully.”  He paused here, adding as he cast a cursory look in Helena’s direction, “Are you OK there, Helena?  You haven’t spoken a word in the five minutes or so that we’ve been standing here.  Under normal circumstances, if Helena Vance goes wordless for more than 2.5 minutes—unless, of course, it’s before 9 a.m. and she hasn’t had her iced cappuccino—she’s probably dead.  Or, at the very least, in a deep state of waking coma.”

     Helena shook her head absently, still stuck in a hypnotic haze; one induced by the vision of a.) Trey in tighty whiteys and b.) Irving in a dress.

     “S’rouck,” she finally managed an inaudible phrase that she desperately hope would somehow translate to, “Thanks, Irv, I love the idea of the karaoke competition.  This event sounds like it could indeed provide a great promotional push for my book.”

     Arielle, for one, did not get the message.

     “Do you think we need to call someone?” she asked Trey, though she never tore her gaze from Helena.  “Maybe I should get her some sparkling Perrier.  The water will revive her, and the beverage’s exquisite sparkle might serve to stir her senses and return her safely to the world of the living….”

     Trey shook his head.

     “Nah, I’m sure she’ll be fine,” he said with a chuckle, adding with a meaningful glance in Helena’s direction, “I believe all I need to do is buy her these clothes and get her back home.”  He paused here, shifting his ever meaningful gaze in the direction of his tighty whiteys, “I think I’ll also be buying all of the clothes that I modelled today for you ladies—and wearing these puppies home.”

     These words acting as a magic elixir that restored Helena to her previously maintained, fully conscious state, she bolted upright out of her chair and declared, “You can’t wear tighty whiteys out in public, you weirdo!  Especially not in New York City!”

     Then she had what she liked to call an EF Hutton moment; an instant in which she opened her mouth, and—thanks to the loudly spoken and totally inappropriate words she spoke—managed to draw the attention and outright dismay of every living human being in the room.

     Snapping said mouth firmly shut, Helena gazed with wide eyes at the crowd of people that stared at her with perplexed, in some cases horrified glances.

     Even Irving Birnbaum shot her a glance that seemed to question her ever lovin’ sanity.  That, on reflection, was not a good sign.

     Finally Trey broke the silence and said, “Well just so you know Helena, I was planning to wear some clothes over the tighty whiteys—for although today’s weather is unseasonably warm for New York City, it’s still a wee bit nippy—and, as you noted, in all likelihood illegal—to parade around New York City practically nekkid.”

     Helena said nothing—indeed, she figured with a painful grimace, she’d already said enough—just nodded and turned for the door.

     Moments later Helena found herself ensconced in the back seat of Trey’s rented limousine; and although she had returned most literally to the lap of luxury—lying on her back with her head resting comfortably in Trey’s newly tighty whitied lap, all the while surrounded by a collection of shopping bags that contained the couple’s new wardrobe—she found it difficult to relax and enjoy the sight of the city as it sped in an artsy frenzy past their crystal-planed windows.

     “Penny for your thoughts love?” Trey queried, arching his eyebrows as he ran an affectionate hand through the windswept strands of her mussy blonde hair.

     Helena snorted.

     “Do you have as much as a penny left over in your bank account, after that ridiculously extravagant shopping trip?” she asked, adding as she lowered her chin to her chest, “The same trip that saw Helena making a complete and total fool of herself, and possibly more than once.”  She paused here, adding with a low, sharp laugh, “Oh, I’m probably being just a mite tough on myself Trey.  I probably didn’t make a total fool of myself, at least not on a consistent, repeated basis throughout the course of the entire day.”

     Trey shook his head.

     “Oh but you did, my dear,” he countered with a sly, charming smile.  “Helena Vance did indeed just make a complete and total fool of herself, and repeatedly, while shopping at the most elegant and esteemed upscale department store in the entire United States.”

     Helena started.

     “Um, just one question Trey,” she said, pulling herself up on her elbows to look him straight in the eyes.  “That thing you just said, mere seconds ago.  Was it any way meant to make me feel at all better about what happened today?”

     Trey guffawed outright.

     “Helena, don’t you understand?” he told her, wrapping his arms around her sturdy shoulders as he fixed her with a gaze of pure adoration.  “That is precisely what makes you so adorable, so very irresistible to me.  You do and say exactly what comes to mind at any given moment—and most of the time it’s absolutely brilliant and—well, even when it’s not, which happens very rarely and several times today—it’s still out and out loveable.”

     Helena grinned.

     “Well, that makes me feel a little better,” she told him, adding with a hefty sigh as she once again considered her loudly spoken assessment of his new tighty whiteys—one voiced, as Trey had so helpfully pointed out, at the center of the world’s most elite and exclusive department store, “Marginally, at least.”

     She took in her breath as Trey fixed a tender hand on the skin of her delicate cheek; turning her head ever so gently until their gazes met and locked.

     “Well maybe I could do something that would really make you feel better,” he whispered, staring deep into her eyes as his agile, magical fingertips caressed her cheek.

     Helena arched her eyebrows.

     “Would this by any chance happen to involve more chocolate?” she asked, spirits elevated and tone highly hopeful.

     A chuckling Trey shook his head.

     “I’m afraid not, my dear,” he whispered, adding as he leaned forward to plant a light, soft kiss tenderly on her lips, “What I have for you now, my Helena, is something even sweeter—and infinitely more pleasurable.  Let’s just say that I would very much like to finish our journey today with a most pleasant happy ending.”

     Helena froze in her place, biting her lip as she considered these mysterious, admittedly seductive words.

     “Trey, perhaps now would be a good time to tell you,” she whispered, covering his hand with hers, “I do want you to be my first lover—well, my first lover if you don’t count Stanley Worthington, the first guy to engage me in a spirited game of tonsil hockey after the senior homecoming dance, while everybody else was at the buffet in the gymnasium.  Oh usually I’m all about the buffet in the gymnasium, but I’ve just never been a big fan of glazed shrimp with macaroni sauce, especially when Mrs. Crawford from culinary arts, ironically the person who taught us home ec, made it.  I swear I hold that woman personally responsible for my eternal lack of any and all forms of culinary skill…”

     Trey had heard enough.

     “Helena!” he interrupted her.  “Now tell me if I’m grasping for straws here—whatever the hell that means, never did understand that phrase.  I do believe, however, that—somewhere between telling me about your first game of tonsil hockey and your apparent lack of culinary skill—you let me know that you want me to make love to you.”

     Helena bit her lip.

     “Bingo,” she allowed, adding with a sigh, “I do want to be with you, Trey.  I know now that you’re the man I’ve waited for, for so long.  Still and all, I would like to wait just a little bit longer—at least until we hit the airport runway in London!”

     Trey chuckled.

     “Well no worries love,” he whispered, chucking her chin in an affectionate gesture.  “What I have planned for you today will keep your innocence intact, while still bringing you pleasure and satisfaction.”

     Helena pursed her lips, her interest officially piqued.

     “Is that an actual thing?” she queried, eyebrows arched.  “Is it possible to get pleasure without—um—giving up the hymen?”

     Trey crossed his eyes.

     “Your command of the romance languages never fails to astound me, my sweet,” he grinned, adding as he took her hand in his, “And yes, darling, I assure you that a woman can experience pleasure in so many, very delightful ways.  Do allow me to demonstrate.”

     Motioning for Helena to relax in his arms, Trey leaned forward to taste her lips with a sweet, soft kiss; all the while cradling her body in his arms as the rhythm of the moving car ran slow and steady beneath them.

     Helena took in her breath as Trey’s long, lush tongue slipped between her trembling lips; his fingers simultaneously lowering to knead the skin of her neck and shoulders, before slipping farther downward to caress her breasts.

     She gasped as, even through the fabric of her white cotton shirt, Trey’s magic fingertips sparked a fire that spread quickly to the pit of her belly; igniting her desire as his intimate massage grew deeper and more intense.

     She moaned in protest moments later, as his hand left her breast; she released a second moan moments later, as his fingers next touched a more sensitive, intimate area.

     “Relax,” he whispered against her lips, his fingers all the while slipping down her pants to tease her lower belly.  “Just let me please you.”

     With these words he again claimed her lips in a second, more passionate kiss, his luscious lips plying into hers as his tongue lapped and laved her mouth.

     Even as she kissed her lover senseless, Helena was keenly aware of the movement of his fingers as they slipped next beneath the border of her sleek white satin panties; teasing and toying with her feminine mound as sparks of arousal ignited in his wake.