In the evening’s darkness, Amy stood on her balcony in the dark, looking out on the calm scene. She was a little lonely. In just the last few weeks she’d begun to understand single men hunting companionship. Traveling alone was boring.
After being inside all day in meetings, there was the urge to do something physical in the evenings, to run, swim, anything that was different.
However, being a woman alone in such circumstances, in public accommodations, left her open to be approached. In all that time she’d met about every variety of male God could devise, and they were no big deal.
But traveling with her father had kept the wolves at bay.
Amy had served as a “side man” to her father during the summers, then full time in the two years since college. In that time, she had been listening silently and learning. She had been traveling for his political campaign advisory company for almost four months now on her own. It had been a revealing experience.
Her dad used her as a trusted representative. It was interesting work, but it would have been better if she was a man.
Men reacted to her not as Bill Allen’s representative, but as a young female. Their reactions ranged from indulgence, to tolerance for Bill Allen’s daughter, to genuine attraction, to lechery. But mostly they had trouble taking her seriously.
Where a man could have started at a basic level of acceptance, Amy had to work to reach up to that zero and then had to work hard for the men to even listen to her.
Her father told her, “It’s good experience,” and he ruffled her hair. He then grinned at her and said, “In another fifty years, they’ll listen to you and take you very seriously with genuine respect. By then you won’t be the sable-haired blue-eyed killer you are now.”
She’d fingercombed her hair back into place and given the disgruntled reply, “I’ll have it before then.” Her father didn’t realize his hair-ruffling was very like other male reaction to her. She was aware, but she could tolerate it from him since he was her father.
However, the next time she’d gone to have her hair cut, she’d told Peter to give her a hairstyle that would allow her father to ruffle it without destroying anything calculated.
Peter had groused a sympathetic, “Men!” He then spent almost forty minutes studying her head before he cut her hair in the matter of about twenty minutes in a neat, shake-right swirl.
Peter believed in style not fad, and he said, “You’re lucky you can wear your hair any way you choose and forget it. You have enough hair, your head shape is good and your features are well placed. Ears can be a bore. Yours aren’t bad.” From Peter that was accolades only to her luck. He had meant nothing personal.
* * *
Below Amy’s balcony, down on the pedestrian walkway, a group of wedding guests strolled along in the misty evening, laughing. Even from two floors up, Amy could clearly hear, “But who else will come?”
“Who knows? It’ll be interesting to see.”
How carelessly those elegantly, casually clothed people chatted. Anyone listening closely could intrude and pretend to be one of them.
Being oblivious to listeners was the way with any specialty group whether it was business, politics, travelers or, as in this case, monied people.
It never occurred to them they were overheard and someone could carefully listen. Look at the information she’d gleaned just in the lobby, the elevator and just now. They didn’t actually know who all would be there at the wedding of Sally and Tad.
Even Amy, who had no ulterior motives, could go to any of them and say, “Well, hello! I’m a descendant of your Aunt...” Was it Tilly? No, not Tilly. It had been Trilby. “I’m your long lost cousin, Amy Abbott!”
She could say that quite easily. They didn’t know all of their relations. Even those they knew weren’t in touch with the others. She could fake being related.
And they would accept her. After a certain strata in life, people were no longer snobbish. They would include her quite nicely, for a time, just for the novelty if for no other reason.
All Amy had to do was take advantage of their careless tongues. She could do it. And if she did...she could meet Chas! Ah, yes. Did Chas know he was a carrot to her goatish...uh...ewe-ish desires?
If she did pretend to be related to them, it would give her the opportunity to find out what kind of man he really was. She would learn if he was solid or hollow. She could do it as a test of her father’s schooling. An independent study. Test her skill of summation. What a neat cover-up for lust.
Lust? She? Of course not! It was simply... curiosity.
However, it would be interesting to have an affair with him. To have him look at her with that sinfully lazy smile. To have him bend his head down to hear her and watch her mouth as she spoke. To be the object of his attention.
She might be able to do that, too, with complete immunity. Not only could Amy Abbott Allen invade their celebration, but she could contrive to have an affair with the dominant male wolf.
They were all strangers, she wasn’t native around there. She could very easily perpetrate such a masquerade...and get away with it.
She did pause. Again. It was another threshold. Was it the one she’d sensed as she’d entered the suite?
She was contemplating a very rash thing here. Strange behavior for the puritan Amy Abbott Allen. It was one thing to fake an acquaintance and invade a private gathering just to see if she could, but it was another thing entirely for a woman of her upbringing to even think about plotting an affair.
An affair with a stranger she’d only glimpsed in a hotel lobby? Insane! She’d been working too hard. She was alone too much. Her male contacts called it burnout or nerves or relaxation or distraction or almost any other word. She’d always sneered and called the affairs predatory usage.
Could it be she was no better than any prowling male? Women did do this sort of thing. Amy knew they did, but she’d always thought they were a different kind of woman.
Perhaps Amy’s interest now was only because she’d never before seen a man she wanted.
Amy did want to try for him.
With the decision, she spent a long time listening to a wild, shocked debate inside her head— all of which she realized she’d heard before! Had she only been thwarted from seduction by her conscience? Was she a victim of Victorian morals?
She was not! While not quite past this one, she was a Twenty-first Century Woman!
She could live like any man. She could take her pleasures as she found them and enjoy the freedom of choice. She could.
She could stand on her back legs and howl just like any others of the wolf pack. She could go right ahead and have an affair, right there, with Chas...if she could entice him.
What if he wasn’t interested? Well, there were others in the party. She could... No. She could look them over again, but she hadn’t seen any of the others who’d rated a third glance.
It
