It was my first time, that time with Marc, and I should have known better.
He'd ushered me in the door with that wide smile, all dimples and dancing eyes, and was at pains to make me completely comfortable. I'd enjoyed the anticipation many times over in my fantasies, and the experience itself was even more delicious than I'd imagined. The way he viewed me, I felt like chocolate on a hot day. It was impossible not to become pliable, and I wanted to please him.
The elegant evening gown clung to my body, and I used its satin to form vibrant shapes against the blank canvas of the couch. Marc's delighted murmurs spurred me on. His approval was like warm light filling me.
"That's it, perfect. Oh yeah, I wish all the girls moved like you do. Hold it, slow down, ahhhhhh, yes, that's so nice."
It was as if I knew what to do before he wanted it, and his surprise and enjoyment were palpable. We were like one being. I know it's dangerous to get caught up in these things, but despite myself I began to picture a future with Marc. It seemed almost necessary that two people as compatible as we were should form a life together. Who knows when such a natural connection might be found? The fantasies drove me to apply myself to his pleasure, and I knew he felt something too.
It was over before I knew it, and I lay there on the couch, exhausted.
"That was fantastic," said Marc.
I suspected it was best not to let him know just how much I'd enjoyed it. I put my clothes back on in the bathroom.
The wrinkled fifty he gave me as I left made me feel grubby.
***
I dropped around to Marc's again the following day. I'd told myself I'd be able to wait to see how it turned out, but I couldn't help myself. Impatience drove right through me like a hot skewer.
The front door was open, so I entered the hall. I stopped at the hallstand mirror to check my reflection, and admired a vase of roses below it. Their deep rich red-black reminded me of the satin gown I'd worn, and the memory of the previous day bubbled up afresh.
Marc's voice was muffled by the closed door. I told myself it was more consideration than eavesdropping as I moved to the door and strained to make out the words. Marc's voice, saying "That's it, perfect. Oh yeah, I wish all the girls moved like you do. Hold it, slow down, ahhhhhh, yes, that's so nice."
The punctuating giggles were clearly not Marc's, and they hastened the rise of a crawling sensation in my stomach. Marc was using the same words he had said to me - with another girl! Either they shared the same connection, or he said that to all the girls. I didn't know which was worse….
To have thought we shared something special and unique! Oh, I felt such an idiot. And the flowers? They had not been there yesterday, which means he'd bought them today – for her! Or - worse - she'd brought them for him! Standing there in the hall, ready to melt into the carpet runner in my embarrassment, I tried to avoid eye contact with my reflection as a prickling rose up my cheeks. I picked up the vase and smashed it onto the floor.
By the time Marc had time to discover the flowers scattered among shards of china, I was long gone.
***
On my doorstep this morning, the bulky envelope was stamped in the top right corner with the logo of Marc Jacobs Photography. I tore away the wrapping. Inside was a bundle of glossy photographs - all of me in the satin dress on the couch. Accompanying the proofs was a note, which read:
Emily, These turned out great! I really enjoyed our photo shoot. Do you fancy dinner this Friday? Marc
P.S. Sorry about the flowers - the vase fell over.
Next to the parcel was a slightly crumpled-looking bunch of deep red roses.
I felt a sharp stab of delight, and then shame, and embarrassment, and then I didn't know what to think. I sat down on the doorstep, leafing through the glossies. Marc was a fantastic photographer, and for a first modeling gig, I didn't think I'd done too badly at all.
And Friday night dinner with Marc - that would be nice. More than nice. If he could see the funny side when I presented and explained a replacement vase, I'd know for sure that we shared something special.
No, I'd not done too badly at all - for a first time.