I made Craig wait in the living room while I dressed. He assumed I'd be putting on the same dress I'd worn to the opera the month before. I lifted the new dress from its box and steamed out a few creases as it hung on the shower rod. It slithered up my body, over the smoky black pantyhose, over the black bikini panties, matching short slip, and black bra.
The dress appeared modest in dim light. But in the bright lights of the lobby of the Lyric, anyone would see that the panel across my chest was a dark mesh that emphasized, rather than concealed, my cleavage. The skirt of the dress had narrow, vertical panels of the same mesh sewn in. Tantalizing glimpses of my legs, from mid-thigh down, would appear and disappear as I moved. Harley Moss had giggled with glee at the 'kerfuffle'--his word--his creation would cause among the 'stuffy opera crowd'--also his phrase.
So I wasn't surprised when Craig's jaw dropped when I made my entrance into the living room. It was nice to surprise him.
"Um, can I ask...?"
"You can," I said. "But don't worry. It didn't come out of our account. I just worked my charms on your friend Harley Moss." I took Craig's hand in both of mine and explained the deal I'd made with the diminutive dressmaker. "So now your girlfriend is a model as well as an engineer with a hardhat and big, clunky boots."
Craig seemed puzzled, as if he didn't know whether to be happy, proud, or embarrassed. But by now, he knew better than to complain or object to anything I did.
After I'd finished my makeup and brushed my hair, I fussed with Craig's tie and brushed lint from his suit, and we headed out the door to find a taxi.
In the lavish lobby of the Lyric, Craig ran into some friends at the bar and proudly brought them over to meet me. The man raised his eyebrows, suitably impressed. His wife wore a green ball gown that would certainly be uncomfortable to sit in. She looked about to step back for a moment, but gathered her wits and took my hand.
"What a beautiful gown you're wearing," she said.
"Thank you. And I love that shade of green. They go perfectly with your emeralds."
She actually blushed, though she was at least twenty years older than me. "These?" She fingered the jewels. "They were my mother's. But you have to tell me--who made that scandalous gown?"
"Harley Moss, over on Wabash. You know, north of Monroe."
"Really? I'm impressed. I'm not sure I'd even dare to go to his shop. I've heard he's very selective about his clients. I'd be so humiliated if he turned me away."
"Oh, no, I don't think he'll do that," I said. "Here--take one of his business cards and tell him I sent you."
"Do I have to knock three times until the tiny door opens?" She lowered her voice and stage-whispered, "
Knock, knock, knock.
RoseAnn sent me." Even the men understood the joke, and the four of us laughed together.
To my surprise, I handed out three more of Moss' business cards before going in for the first act. During the intermission, six more. I wondered if Harley would be able to handle all the new business.
In the taxi afterward, I felt Craig's tension. Since I'd refused his orgasm the other night, I knew he was expecting it tonight. I leaned over close and whispered, "Don't count on anything, lover. I might and I might not. Surely you know that by now." I reached for his crotch and touched his cock through his pants. It was like an iron rod.
Back in the apartment, I made him strip naked and wait in the living room. In the bedroom, I quickly stripped and put on an uplift bra that made my breasts bulge. I put on a garter belt and a pair of dark nylons, without panties. Reaching into the closet, I put on another dress, the short black one that Harley had made in fulfillment of his promise. At last, I opened the door, and posed with one hand on the doorframe.
