A date with Charles Bass…. And I don't know what to wear.
I'm completely, positively lost. What even is the dress code? A stroll in the city isn't the same as a dinner at some fancy restaurant. Should I ask him? No… If he insists on surprising me, I'll surprise him back. Hopefully in the best way.
I need to rob Serena's closet again – I come to a conclusion as I make my way out of the woods. Sadly, I didn't get to see what lies on the other side of this path – or the other – , too eager to comply with Bass's command.
Another opportunity will come.
I hurry my pace when I notice the woods have wangled more shadows than brightness. But I can no longer be frightened when I know the only thing that's haunting these woods – as well as my mind - is Bass. If I think about it, even just briefly, I can feel his lips over mine. It's tempting, almost impossible, not to run my finger through them. But it's a double disappointment – to not feel the sensations he grants me and the fact that's he's not here to feed that expectation.
The door of my bedroom is open when I get home. It's a strange happenstance, since Serena has this sacred ritual of spending her Saturday afternoons in Sandy Springs, at the Perimeter mall. Cautiously, I tip-toe down the hallway and take a peek inside.
"Oh."
With one brown duffle bag spread open on the bed, Serena folds one tall pile of clothes.
"You travelling somewhere?" I ask as I enter the room, returning to my normal walking.
"Yes. You can have the house for yourself. I'm staying the weekend at Collin's place. Monday he's going to drive me to work, so I'll only see you later in the evening."
Why do I feel like I'm going to miss her? Terribly?
"Oh, okay."
When she finally takes a glance at me, her eyes rise with incredulity.
"Did you go for a run?"
Not a run… But close enough.
"Yup," I make my answer short and precise. If I keep talking I might just stumble and fall on my own trap.
"It's a marvelous day outside, isn't it?"
"It is," I nod. "Incredibly hot."
I position both hands on my waist, watching her swift and expertly fold and pack her clothes. So… what's the plan? Should I actually rob her closet tomorrow night, or is it better if I ask her for style advice?
"Serena…"
"Mhm?"
Should I tell her? Everything?
A car honks downstairs.
"That's him," She grins and lively zips her bag, her pile of clothes gone from view. I'll talk to her when she comes back. Knowing her, our conversation will take very long and she's clearly in a rush. "Oh, and this was in the mail," she hands me a white envelope that was lying on our bed. "Enjoy your weekend. Bye!"
"Bye."
A house to my own… It's a novelty and, unfortunately, not the best news in the world. If we weren't in such an early stage of our "relationship" – the term still doesn't ring well; not without a clarification – and I wasn't seeing him tomorrow, I think I would have a mind to call and invite him for dinner and a glass of cheap wine.
But I better let him miss me for a day; give him a taste of his own medicine… Yup.
I find my reflection on the vanity. Astoundingly, I'm still ruddy and shaken up, and my tousled hair has practically slipped out of the ribbon and is mostly all over my face. That's the state he left me in… Goodness gracious.
Finally, I muster the courage to open the envelope, dreading and hoping, all at once, it is from who I think it is. Inside, there's a small card, inked with Bass's calligraphy. Another note… I was starting to believe they'd meet their end.
"You should be kissed, and often, and by someone who knows how."
-BASS.
Oh. My.
This time he's got my mind in a hustle... Is this from a classic literature book I've never read?
My fingertip finds my bottom lip, recalling his kiss like it's a record I can play over and over. And I'm spiraling, too, across my bedroom.
I bite my lip, tasting any invisible fragment he might've left. I do want to be kissed often… And he sure as heaven knows how.
I slip out of my sneakers and distract my mind by making dinner, so as not to think of Bass's note and what he has in store for tomorrow. In my heart, I know something has shifted in him and he's willing to take us to the next step. And it feels like I've waited for that my whole life.
Back home, there was silence in the night – silence I took for granted. In spite of the humming crickets in the warmer nights, only the occasional bark from the neighbor's dog was heard. Here in Atlanta, I can hear the back and forth-dance of the night traffic, the random cries of angry moms and anguished babies, the horns, the footsteps of people on the sidewalk, the locking of apartment doors… It's a steady murmur, altogether. One that I've strangely gotten accustomed to and lulls me to sleep.
I'm in my bed, and it's the middle of the night. I don't even have to open my eyes or check the time to know. The window I purposely left open to provide me a pleasant cooling breeze, as well as keep me some company, tells me the opal full moon I contemplated for a lingering brevity last night is gleaming directly against every surface of my room, overlooking me.
Clutching the pillow next to me – which most days belongs to Serena – I swear I can feel Bass in my room, staring at me with his ever-intense blue-eyed gaze. Piercing through my mind and soul, his face is as clear as the dark void surrounding him.
He strides towards me, clings onto me with the hook of a single hand.
He's all mine and I'm all his.
But I know there's more underneath. There's an unsettling whisper behind his moonlit, indigo stare, which bares ruthless torment, beyond understanding. It leaves me restless for answers, covers me in a blanket of silence, whishing words came easier. For both of us. But I'm spellbound, relishing in his gentle touch, reveling in the wizardry of his embrace that often remembers a firework show.
My safe haven.
I'm all his and he's all mine. That's what I choose to believe. Even if just for tonight.
And I don't feel at danger anymore. So I allow the relentless daze to sweep me back into dreamland.
Blasting my newest favorite album – In The Zone by Britney Spears – I rummage through Serena's closet, ditching my book proposal that seems never-ending and the puzzled thoughts about last night's sorcery. Early 2000's music was something else…
I don't even bother checking my side of the closet. Aside from my two sundresses, it's equipped with nothing but jeans and basic shirts, so it's safe to say I'd be looking at a dead end.
It's more than obvious the fact that I need to go shopping. For special occasions like this, for work… I have nothing appropriate. But when I have rent, transportation and the best book agent in the country to pay, I can't afford that luxury.
I scan her dress section. The amount of skin-tight dresses she owns is beyond normal. So finding a mid-length dress amidst the scanty fabric seems like an accomplishment. I eagerly pick it out. It's a skin-tight off-the-shoulder dress, sangria red. It's actually beautiful, and my most demure option.
Now, shoes…
I glance down at Serena's shoe rack. All of her heels are too high for my inexperience. Should I take the risk, or choose something comfortable? I side-eye my black Converse sneakers – the shoes I had planned on wearing to work, if it wasn't for the fact that Atlanta is too darn hot.
No! My little devil shouts in capital letters. You're wearing the dress and the heels! She's imperative.
Might as well go barefoot…
Resigned, I pluck out the shortest heels she has – a pair of simple, black pumps –, with no doubt in my mind I will end up taking them off as soon as I sit down.
What if we're walking all night? God help me…
Last night's dream burst into my mind as I slide into Serena's dress. It felt so real… All the sensations, all the emotions… And I want nothing more than that – to have him close. To know he's never disappearing from view… from my life.
I seek my phone. It's six already. He hasn't said a word since yesterday and I have to, at least, know what time he's picking me up – if he's still coming, that is. But he won't get the gratification of a call… Oh no.
To: 404-511-0077
What's the dress code, Mr. Bass?
And what time are you picking me up?
Blair.
6:22 P.M
I save his number on my contact list as I await a reply.
To my great relief, Serena is taller than me and, therefore, the dress reaches the top of my knees, fully covering my thighs – if it wasn't for the little slit baring more of my leg. But that's nothing a long coat won't fix.
My phone rings and my heart skips a beat at his promptness.
From: Mr. Bass
Miss Waldorf,
Tell me: Is this a polite manner to text someone?
When you become my P.A – which I'm recklessly looking forward to – just know I won't let this type of behavior go unpunished.
6:23 P.M
Oh crap.
Is he angry? And what does that mean? Would he fire me? God, this man is too uptight for his own sake…
To: Mr. Bass
It is, in my world. Especially when someone makes unconcise plans.
And if you're looking for my apology, you won't get it tonight.
So I think it might be better if you don't come at all.
6:24 P.M
I take a step back and study my appearance on the vanity mirror. I had never tried a dress so tight in my life, and it's safe to say it was a risk worth taking. I look like a woman in it... I feel like a woman. Well, if tonight's a fiasco, I can always come home and have a movie session by myself in this killer dress. Yup… Bridget Jones' Diary sounds like a good idea.
Girl… What you should do is go out! My little devil shakes her body in a sensual shoulder dance. And have fun! I know what kind of fun she's talking about…
I shudder when my phone is heard again – in less than a minute.
From: Mr. Bass
What's "unconcise plans" in your world, are called surprises in mine.
Are you sure about that, Miss Waldorf?
Oh, I will come. That you can count on.
6:25 P.M
I resist the urge to roll my eyes.
Not if I lock you out…
To: Mr. Bass
It wouldn't be that much of a surprise if you came by and I wasn't home. Or was still in the shower. At least not the good kind.
I'm sure.
When are you coming, then?
6:26 P.M
I flop on the edge of the bed.
Inside me, anticipation begins mixing with sudden trepidation. Why does he like to have me on the edge so much? At least – and to my utmost relief – Serena's clothes fit me well enough. I couldn't imagine Bass showing up at my door while I'm stressing out over what to wear. Or not having anything appropriate to wear.
Heck, I don't even know I'm dressed properly. I stare at my reflection. Is this too much?
His husky voice creeps inside my mind. Patience is key, Miss Waldorf. Oh, if only it was that simple…
My phone signals his reply has arrived.
From: Mr. Bass
Trust me, it'd be the good kind.
If you're so resolute, I'd say we bet on it. Are you in, Miss Waldorf?
I'll come when you're ready. And from all your talking, I'd say you're not even dressed yet.
6:28 P.M
My little devil is cracking her knuckles before I even arrive at a decision. And so my mood is lifted.
Oh, game on…
To: Mr. Bass
I'm in, Mr. Bass.
And I'm afraid you're wrong. I'm very much dressed, although unsure if properly.
If you'd just told me where we're going, I could've gotten ready much quicker.
6:29 P.M
Just as I am rising to my feet, Breathe On Me begins playing from Serena's laptop. My body goes into trance, turning into nothing but a living flashback of our last evening together.
I stand and watch us, positive I'm not simply recalling the moment – I'm also reliving it. Just like now, I had no idea what awaited me. And it turned out to be so much more than the hopes and dreams that had crossed my mind…
Too good to be real. There's nothing that describes him best.
When the song ends, I'm face to face with my idiotic smile as I lean against the bedframe. God, why am I such a mess when it comes to him?
My phone lights up in my hand.
From: Mr. Bass
I truly hope you're not a sore loser, Miss. Waldorf…
Tell me what you're wearing and I might lend you a hand.
No rushing. Lately, I've been fond of taking things slow and it's been a most gratifying experience.
6:30 P.M
God… He's loving this, isn't he? The constant, almost-intolerable torture he's putting me through.
I wish I met you before your No Rushing phase, I want to type out. But decide on something else – something that will, hopefully, grant me more insight on his latest "experience".
To: Mr. Bass
I could say the same, Mr. Bass.
Something tells me you don't often lose, so you might start preparing yourself.
Oh, now you don't like surprises? That's too bad.
Has it? I hope the process of such experience doesn't exhaust you.
6:32 P.M
Feeling a little sassy, I grab my Chapstick and run it across my lips. Twice. Until they're cherry red. My mind recalls those movements and runs with it, reminding me of how I used his Chapstick at his hotel. And how he swept his finger along my bottom lip on the jet and tasted it…
I flush, just like I remember I did then.
From: Mr. Bass
Trust me, the only person in need of preparation is you, Miss Waldorf.
I'm not sure I appreciate your tone, nor your vindictive words.
I'm on my toes. Now tell me.
If it does, it means I've exhausted you, too. And that's exactly the purpose of my experience.
6:33 P.M
He's on his toes… I smile, pleased. I can already feel the taste of victory…
To: Mr. Bass
I was born prepared.
And I'm not sure if you should take things so seriously… But who am I to question?...
I'm on my bare toes, wearing a dress.
That sounds like a tortuous experience…
6:34 P.M
I scan Serena's perfume collection. She has one for each day of the week, one specially for Christmas and another for Valentine's Day. I reach for the sparkly black bottle. Black Opium by Yves Saint Laurent. It looks expensive. Dang, it smells expensive!
I spritz my wrists and neck with the sweet and sensual fragrance. I hope she doesn't mind…
From: Mr. Bass
Confident… I like to see it. But I must confess I'd like to see you lose much more.
So bold over the phone… But when I'm standing in front of you, you become the shyest person I've ever known. But don't worry: I'll teach you to be politer, too. After making you blush a couple of times.
A dress… That's music to my ears.
6:35 P.M
To: Mr. Bass
And I'd like to know how you intend on making me apologize.
Are you sure you'll have time for that? I don't plan on taking your mind off your hotel empire.
Music is meaningless if there's no one to listen to it…
For the last time, where are you taking me, Mr. Bass?
6:37 P.M
From: Mr. Bass
That's one of tonight's many surprises.
You already have.
I'm sure you couldn't be more perfect than you are right now. But, as much as I'd like you barefoot, the rules won't allow that. So I suggest whatever you like the most.
"To lose patience is to lose the battle" – Mahatma Gandhi
6:38 P.M
Oh, my… Did he just say I'm perfect? Without even seeing me? And I can wear whatever I want? I can't fight off the laugh tugging at my lips, imagining Bass going on the internet and Googling quotes about patience.
To: Mr. Bass
Thank you.
I'm ready now.
6:39 P.M
From: Mr. Bass
Oh, she can be polite after all…
I'm outside.
6:40 P.M
My heart somersaults.
He's here?!
To: Mr. Bass
Is it cold outside, or is it just me?
6:41 PM
I attempt at playfulness, to conceal my ever-increasing agitation.
From: Mr. Bass
It's actually very hot from where I'm standing.
6:41 P.M
Oh, God. Could he be spying on me?
I brace myself on the ledge of my window, careful not to rip Serena's dress. The tardy sundown offers me no sight from Bass.
I finally release the air in my lungs.
Of course he's not spying on you! My little angel sneers over my shoulder. He's probably on his car, waiting for you, like a gentleman.
To: Mr. Bass
What I meant was: Do I need a jacket?
6:42 P.M
From: Mr. Bass
We both know that's not what you meant…
Wear whatever you like.
I just have one rule: Don't wear any panties.
6:42 P.M
Holy Virgin Mary…
To: Mr. Bass
Why?
6:43 P.M
From: Mr. Bass
Because you left your panties on my jet, Miss Waldorf.
Luckily, I got a hold of them before Sylvia could see your indecency.
You should be more careful. If you don't want anyone to know, that is.
6:43 P.M
How did they fall out of my pocket? Oh, my... Did he see the kind of dirty they were? I blush, criminally, staring at his message.
Shit.
I slip out of my panties before I change my mind and cover myself with Bass' trench coat. Although now there's no hiding that I'm not wearing underwear. With my heart thumping in my chest, I head to the kitchen for a big glass of water. I don't want to make him wait, but his messages have gotten me a little disoriented.
You can do this, I repeat to myself as I put the glass back on the counter and return to my room.
With my head back on my shoulders, I comb my hair – which is staggeringly well-behaved today – and adorn it with my silver headband. After a long check-up in the vanity mirror, I slide the heels on, grab my bag and clamber out of my apartment.
Well… For worse or for better.
The very last Saturday of May… and the first thing my eyes see – it seems – are dark jeans leaning against the Porsche logo, glinting under the last rays of sunlight. I recognize those jeans… They're the ones he was wearing that night at O'Cloak.
Who knew rich people repeated clothes just like us…?
My eyes travel north. He's as mesmerizing as ever, with his leather jacket open over a crisp white shirt – unbuttoned at the collar – and his untarnished dark quiff flicking through the wind.
I'm instantly short on air.
"Good evening, Miss Waldorf," his eyes capture my attention and I have to fight the urge to pinch myself.
Bass in a laid-back attire… it's a rare sight. And, perhaps, the sexiest of all.
"Good evening," I murmur, clawing the strap of my bag as I approach him and his sleek Porsche - which is nearly as sexy as he is. This time it's a matte, charcoal-painted one – I realize.
Bass and his sports cars… I wish I had the courage to tell him this is a terrible, terrible combination – unless his intention is to have me breathless and wondrous all night long.
When I comes close, I inhale his telltale scent – it's a heady experience. One I can't see myself living without. For the briefest of seconds, I catch his wild eyes roaming my body. And then his lips part, just slightly.
"Just like I imagined…" he shakes his head, looking thrown off balance. If he is, so am I.
His messages earlier scroll through my mind to let me know what he's thinking. He thinks I'm perfect. And, more than ever, he smells of hell of a bad combination, indeed.
Without another word, he turns around and opens the door for me. I can only imagine the bulge of his bicep under that leather jacket as he pulls the door open. Bad thoughts… This early in the evening.
I sit down, feeling my dress crumpling against the beige leather. His fragrance spreads around the car the second he gets in, in an ineluctable tempest of allure. I fix my dress back down my thighs, noticing a silent Bass observing me with a pleased smile from the driver's seat. If I could read minds, I'd says he's celebrating already.
"Here," he says, then holds out his hand. I can see a white fabric folded inside his fist, which he opens to reveal just what I expected. My panties! I reach for them, but he clenches his hand before I get a hold of them. "These are the prize."
The prize? I frown. Whatever the heck would he want my panties for?
"I accepted your rule. Now the least you could do was give them to me."
"Alright," he complies, and I bet he can see the incredulity on my face. "If that makes you more relaxed."
Before he can change his mind, I steal them from him.
Feeling way too observed, I begin to unfold them. They're clean. I almost gasp. So… He saw.
"Can you look away so I can I put them on?" I ask, my head low to conceal my state of deep shame.
"You weren't this demure last Wednesday, when you left my suite with your panties in your pocket."
I freeze at his words. What am I doing? I can't just casually whip out my panties and slide them on like I'm in the comfort of my own house!
"Now, I said you could have them. Not put them on."
I'm puzzled.
"So that's not the plan?" I hear myself whisper.
"I have far more interesting plans for you, Miss Waldorf; plans that will latch your voce sommessa."
My what? There he goes again with the foreignisms…
"What if I put them on?" I defy, staring back at him over my shoulder. "I'm a free woman."
"You are. But you also know how games work, don't you? If you break the rules, you're disqualified. Therefore, you lose."
Shit… I wish I knew the rule referred to the game and not the dress code. Damn you, Bass. Playing dirty after all, uh?
I save my panties in my bag, purposefully not breaking eye contact with him.
"I have one rule, too."
"Fair enough."
"Why did you tell me you had a girlfriend?"
His eyes become alarmed. And so do I.
Is he a compulsive liar? Did he actually have a girlfriend at the time? This inevitable thought crosses my mind and I blanch, in fear; in fear that he changes girlfriends as often as he changes cars.
"Honestly…" the word surfs on a heavy exhale. "It was to see your reaction."
My reaction?
"To test me," I deduce. Where is this deploring tone coming from? I did the exact same thing, bringing that word up. Actually, I took out the match – he just set it on fire.
"Yes."
"So is this also a test?" I voice my fears before apprehension gets a hold of me.
He shakes his head, resolute.
"No. I wanted to take you on a date," a timid smile plays at the corner of his mouth. "A real date."
Oh.
I allow myself to smile, too. Heck, I can't fight it. I can't help but turn into a state of deep elation whenever he's so verbal and clear. So sweet…
"Wasn't Chicago a date?" I question. My fingers become uneasy over my lap as my smile fades. Yet his isn't going anywhere so soon.
"No. That was a meeting," he says, matter-of-factly.
"I see. And do you have the habit of kissing on your meetings?"
"Only special ones."
He winks. And I blush. And swoon. Just a little bit. Holy Saint, I feel so warm inside my chest is bound to explode…
Before I can say anything else, the car is speeding down my street. I relax against my seat, although my limbs are still faintly trembling. No matter how many times I'm near Bass, I can't seem to quit having this reaction. And I can't stop staring at him.
From the corner of my eye, I watch his thumb press on one of the buttons in the steering wheel and, then, a song crescendos its way into my ears – Another Day in Paradise by Phil Collins, I read on the screen.
The intro is tense, suspenseful – haunting, even –, just like a scene from a horror movie. And then it erupts into a heartfelt, sensual, soft rock ballad. I'm amazed every time I'm in Charles' car and he plays me his favorite songs. It's like I discover a new facet of his.
We're heading North, blazing through the lively streets of Downtown Atlanta. I find comfort in the silence. And so does he – I presume.
Before the song even comes to an end, I feel the car slowing down. We're in the center of Atlanta, in the Hotel District.
"Are we stopping here?" I ask as we park in front of one of the giant buildings surrounding us. I try to find its ending, but fail from where I am. Is this one of his properties? Wait, is this his apartment?
"Yes."
Five minutes from my own… I don't think so.
"I was scared you'd take me on another jet ride, or to another country."
I hear the heart-stopping sound of his guttural laugh. It reverberates inside me and the warm, fuzzy feeling returns.
"Another time," he mutters softly, and I have to look at him to find out he's not joking. Oh, roses…
I fix my hair behind my ear, unsure of what to say. God, this man is disarming… And then his hand is over the tin fabric of my dress, slithering down the slope of my thigh.
"I'm taking you for desert," he reveals. "I figured it's your favorite part."
I open my mouth to breathe and expel all the air in my lungs before the simplest of words come to me.
"It is."