Chapter Thirteen: Sheer Spectacle
"Miranda, are you sure Madame Mirabeau's new government is really making things better on the island?" Andy's face was worried as she began dressing for dinner. "Some of the people I've seen didn't look so happy."
"What on earth can you be talking about, Andrea?" Seated on the bed, the strikingly attractive older woman watched with amusement as her beautiful young assistant hesitated over which bracelet to wear, then shrugged and slid both of them over her slender wrist.
"Well, it's just that when I was resting on the massage table this afternoon, one of the girls was bending over me, and I saw bruises down below the neckline of her dress. And when I went to thank her, after I woke up from my nap, I touched her on the arm and she sort of winced. Like someone's been hitting her!" Andy's big brown eyes were full of concern.
"Please." Miranda rolled her eyes, wishing her passionate, excitable young assistant didn't have such a vivid imagination. Still in her filmy white undergarments, Andy was standing before her like a sacrificial offering in a pagan temple. The sight awakened aching need and dark desire. "Can you show me exactly where you saw these phantom bruises, Andrea?"
"Well, it was down around here, I think." All innocent and unaware, Andy pointed to the spot on her own milk-white flesh. Somehow Miranda always caught her off guard. Her knowing touch excited the younger woman, and made her more aware of her own body than she expected. In a moment the older woman was kissing the spot Andy had innocently pointed to, just above her own breast. Then the cunning older woman was licking the same spot. Then Miranda moved lower, suckling like a baby, till her tongue encircled the tightening peaks of Andy's rising desire.
That night, Andy and Miranda were guests of honor at Madame Mirabeau's table in the grand showroom of the resort hotel. It was a bit lonesome for Andy, since Miranda and Madame had a lot of catching up to do. The two of them had known each other in Paris when Miranda was a chic young thing just starting out. It was ridiculous to read anything into it, really. Andy had the most wonderful relaxed feeling after the way Miranda had seduced her in the hotel suite. Afterglow, they called it. A languid mixture of sleepiness and satiated desire. Still, watching the two older women whisper and laugh together gave the slim, dark-eyed beauty a jealous feeling. After a moment she looked away.
There was a pageant on the main stage, the type of shallow, glitzy spectacle one always saw in Las Vegas and similar places. Andy privately thought the whole thing a bit over the top, a bit superficial and extravagant. But it was certainly entertaining. A troupe of female dancers in high head-dresses and gaudy costumes were acting out the entire history of Santa Dorina Island, from the arrival of Christopher Columbus right up until the present day.
"Would mam'selle care for another drink?"
"Oh! Yes, thank you." Andy was a bit startled because the dark-skinned girl serving drinks was dressed exactly like one of the native girls up on the stage. Her heavy, rounded breasts were perfectly formed, with no marks or bruises. While she sipped island rum from a cocoanut shell, Andy couldn't help wondering what sort of life this girl led. Was she well paid? Did she have opportunities for education and advancement? How much of Madame's prosperity trickled down to people like the smiling waitress who refilled her shell, or the lithe, exquisitely formed female dancers on the stage?
"Are you enjoying the show, Miss Andrea?" Madame President called, from the far end of the table.
"Yes, madame. It's a wonderful tribute to the island's propserity - I mean prosperity!"
The plump female president giggled, very pleased. But Miranda knew Andy better and read her mood.
"Even the most successful woman needs a place to unwind, Andrea," her employer scolded gently.
"Of course, Miranda." Andy felt a twinge of guilt. Here she was, enjoying a free vacation at Miranda's expense, and not even taking in the sheer spectacle unfolding right before her eyes. Whole troops of dancing girls were shimmying on the stage, their voluptuous female forms merging and melting together into one big blur. When she closed her eyes, Andy could picture herself as a conquering Spaniard from long ago, coming ashore to the rapturous welcome of naked island beauties. Or perhaps Miranda would be the conquistador, and she would be the willing and eager tropical beauty. Willing . . . eager . . .
"Someone's had enough of our island's history," Madame President murmured, in an amused tone of voice. The plump, powerful island leader clapped her hands, and a bevy of female attendants appeared as if by magic. "Take the young lady to her room, please. To her bed. And come right back!"
"Yes, Miranda" Andy echoed. She thought she was back at the Runway office, taking orders as usual. Instead she was being carried off to bed by four beautiful young women with smiles on their faces.