Chapter 3
Dear Diary, I'm finally here in the Big Apple. Can't believe it. I met my new roomie, Josette, and her "friend," Deke. It was, as they say, a "close encounter" of best kind. Caught them in bed, actually. Strange, neither seemed to mind. They 're very open-minded, but, I guess, that's what it's like to be a Greenwich Village bohemian. Today, I'm going job hunting. Deke knows the owner of a imagine New York restaurant who's looking for a hostess, so I'm going for it. Got to get a dance class in sometime today. Josette knows of a place where classes are only ten bucks. I'm already getting worried about money. This is an expensive city. But, like Josette says, "a girl's gotta do what she's gotta do," to get by here. I'll give it a shot.
Sally Ann clutched her subway map on the train platform. This was her first experience with the New York City Transit, and it was like another world. They didn't have subways in Dayton. But Josette had told her it was faster and cheaper than taking a taxi. Sally Ann had to get to East Fifty-Seventh Street from the Village and, according to the map, that was a long way. And there were so many train lines, she hoped she didn't get on the wrong subway.
"You look like you could use some help."
Sally Ann jumped. She hadn't even noticed the well-dressed, gray-haired man standing next to her. Instinct told her not to answer him. Even though he looked like a typical businessman, he might be carrying an Uzi or some other weapon in his briefcase. She tucked the map inside her purse.
"Hey, it's okay," the man said. "We're all out-of-towners at one point."
Sally heard the roar of a train approaching. Was it the right one? What if she got lost? Her interview at the restaurant was in forty-five minutes. "Is this the B train?" she asked him desperately.
"It is," he answered. "Where do you need the go?"
Sally Ann told him her destination as the train pulled up in front of them.
"C'mon," he told her. "I'm going in that direction. I live on East Fifty-Ninth."
Still skeptical, Sally Ann allowed the handsome stranger to escort her into the subway car. It was midday and the train was crammed with straphangers. Not a seat in sight.
"Here, grab on," the man told her as the B train jerked abruptly forward, nearly topping her. The movement jostled her, and she bumped into a fortyish-looking woman who scowled at her.
"Sorry," she said, thinking how unfriendly the city seemed.
As if reading her mind, the businessman touched her elbow. "You just happened to pick one of the busiest times of the day to travel," he said. "Everyone's in a hurry."
"Everyone's always in a hurry here," she opined.
"My name's James."
"Sally Ann. I'd shake your hand, but I can't move."
James laughed. He, too, was wedged between oblivious commuters. "First time in New York?"
Afraid to give him too much information about herself, Sally Ann lied. "Oh, no. I just don't usually take the subway."
"You prefer the buses?" he asked. She nodded. "Which line do you ride?"
Sally Ann was caught off guard. She knew as much about Manhattan buses as she did about the subways. "Okay, you got me. I'm from Dayton. Just got into New York a few days ago."
"I suspected you were an out-of-towner," James smiled. "And you're already on your guard. Hey, don't get me wrong. Better to be safe than sorry, right?"
She nodded. "Are we almost there yet?"
"No. There're quite a few more stops." The train halted at the next station. Hoards of people disgorged from the car. Two seats were vacant, and Sally Ann and James quickly took them. Now, she had an opportunity to size him up. James, she estimated, was in his late forties. Blue eyes. Under his obviously expensive, Italian-cut suit, it was evident he'd stayed in shape. No wedding ring, she noted.
"Are you from the city?" she asked.
"Boston."
"Oh, did you go to Hah-valid?" Sally Ann teased, making a poor attempt at a New England accent.
"Stanford Business School, actually," he smiled again. "Now I'm an investment broker. Boring, I know, and I hate Wall Street-that's the part of the city where I have my office-but it's a good living."
"Funny, I just met another fellow who works around the financial district," Sally Ann said, thinking of Billy.
"Don't tell me his name. I probably know him," James said. "Well, this is our stop."
Suddenly, the greenhorn Midwesterner was glad she had an escort. As they ascended the steps, Sally Ann realized she had no idea where she was. She reached into her purse for the restaurant's address.
"Oh, you're going to Chez Pierre?" James inquired. "I eat there all the time. "It's a three-star restaurant, you know."
"I don't care how many stars as long as I get this job," she answered him.
"Look, why don't I walk you to the restaurant? I could meet you there in an hour, and I'll treat you to dinner."
Sally Ann was touched by his generosity. "Gee, James, I don't know. We've only just met."
"So, we'll get to know each other better." His blue eyes appraised her. "I'm a nice guy, really."
"You don't have to convince me." She saw the striped red and white awning with the restaurant's name emblazoned in black script across the plate glass window. Small cafe tables were strategically positioned on the sidewalk. Never having been to Europe, Sally Ann imagined this would be the kind of place one might find on some Paris side street-maybe with a artist painting passersby.
"Here were are. What do you say?" James persisted.
Sally Ann relented. "Oh, all right. I probably won't get the job anyway, and I'll need some cheering up."
"Don't be a pessimist. See you in an hour, my dear."
As soon as she entered Chez Pierre, Sally Ann felt intimidated. She didn't even read or speak French, and, clearly, this place attracted a well-heeled cosmopolitan clientele. Catching her reflection in a large gilded mirror, she thought she looked frumpy and out of place. She was almost ready to turn around and walk out when a young man about her age approached her.
"Do you have a reservation?" he asked in heavily accented French.
"No, I have an appointment-for a job here," she replied. "I'm supposed to see a Mr. Bouvier."
"Oh, you must be Sally Ann. I'm Jean-Claude Bouvier, the owner. Deke's told me such good things about you. He used to work here, too, you know."
He's so young to own his own business, Sally Ann thought. Jean-Claude took her into his office in the rear.
"Let me get right to the point," he said directly. "I need a hostess who's good with people. I don't care if she speaks French, because our clientele is international. But I am looking for a woman who is capable, attractive and sophisticated. Someone who's not intimidated by short-tempered Upper East Side snobs, snooty weekend tourists, and customers who demonstrate their cultural differences. For example, a Frenchman might snap his fingers and say 'garcon!' when he wants his bill. Whereas, the Swiss usually expect you to attend to them, requiring that the waiter watch that table closely to see when they're finished dining. Do you get the picture, Sally Ann?"
"I've never worked in a restaurant like this," Sally Ann admitted.
"Neither had Deke. But I trained him well because I intuited he'd adapt nicely. I'd like to propose that we hire you on a trail basis. I'll have the hostess who's leaving train you for a week. Then, you're on your own. And if things don't work out, c'est la vie."
Whatever that is, Sally Ann thought. Things are moving so fast. She caught Jean-Claude staring at her boobs. She'd worn a low-cut lavender blouse that displayed her ample cleavage. So that's what he's after, she surmised. Just like all the others.
"Would you like to see my resume?"
"What I see is what I like," Jean-Claude replied. "Do you like what you see, mademoiselle?"
"It's a beautiful restaurant."
"Don't be coy, Sally Ann. You know what I'm talking about."
Boy, he really wants to cut to the chase. Okay, I'll play along.
"I find you quite attractive," she said. "Is it true that French men are all romantic."
"Let me show you."
Jean-Claude kissed her deeply, his tongue sliding into the depths of her mouth, feeling her heat. His hands found her heaving tits and squeezed them. Unbuttoning her blouse, his eager fingers unclasped her bra and snapped it open. Sally Ann threw her head back, a cascade of blonde hair spilling over her naked shoulders. Jean-Claude's sensual lips fastened to her rosy, rock-hard nipples.
"Yes, darling. Suck my titties," she urged.
With one hand holding the breast he was suckling, Jean-Claude used his other one to reach under her skirt. She shucked down her lace panties, and Sally Ann kicked them away from her high heels. The French man found her wet bush and inserted an index finger.
"Ahhh!" Sally Ann moaned, thrusting out her pelvis.
Jean-Claude stopped tit sucking and looked up into her passion-glazed eyes. "like it? Do you want more than just a finger, mon cheri?"
"Oh, yes, honey. Gimme all you've got."
Sally Ann heard the sound of a zipper. She glanced down at his trousers to see a long, uncircumcised cock snake out of its confines. She'd never seen a foreskin before, and the fleshy overhang intrigued her. She reached out to touch it. It's like a little hood for the dick, she observed, sticking her finger inside and feeling Jean-Claude's pre-cum.
"Pull it back and suck it, Sally Ann."
Obeying orders, she latched onto the dickhead and skinned the extra flesh back, revealing a pink corona. Eagerly, her lips parted and she took it into her mouth, sucking it right down her throat. This time, it was far easier than when she blew Billy on the train. Jean-Claude's big dick had a slight curve, which seemed designed to slip right down a girl's gullet.
"Oh, baby, that's what I want. What I need. Now, give me a taste of you."
The young man fell to his knees and buried his head between her parted thighs. First, he sniffed the aroma of her pussy, inhaling ecstatically. Then, he opened her twat with his fingers and peered inside the inviting pink interior. Jean-Claude's tongue located her buzz button and flicked rapidly.
"Mmmmm, ohhhh, baby. Eat me. Suck my little pearl," Sally commanded. "Go deeper. That's it. Put your mouth on my cunt, stick your tongue inside me."
She was already dripping on his mustache, but he didn't seem to mind. When Jean-Claude finally came up for air, he even licked his chops. "Your elixir is headier than my finest champagne," he complimented. "And now, the piece de resistance!"
Sally Ann may not have understood French, but she was learning a lot about the language of love. Whatever piece de resistance was, she wanted a "piece" of it. Jean-Claude got back on his feet, his massive organ pointing straight at her hole. "I'm going to fuck you, baby, like you've never been boned," he boasted.
"Is this part of my training?"
"An early bonus, let's say."
Suddenly, Sally Ann felt a deep penetration. His tumescent prick banged her abruptly. She gasped, unprepared. "I don't think I can take all of you," she began to protest. She felt filled to the brink of overflowing.
"That's not what your cunt is saying," Jean-Claude said, and smiled wickedly. "It's saying: 'feed me more!'"
He was right. Sally Ann's innards were stretched fully, and she reveled in the feeling. She glanced down to watch as his lance speared her all the way, then withdrew completely, revealing her juices. Then, he plunged in again, threw back his head and moaned in zealous glee.
"Fuck me, darling. Fuck me like the little blonde bitch that I am," Sally demanded. "Tell me how good my pussy feels around that fat ol' peter of yours."
"Your pussy's telling me all I need to know. Open it wide and let me take you over the edge."
Taking advantage of all the years she'd spent stretched out at the barre in ballet class, Sally Ann gave the restaurateur a full split. Jean-Claude never had felt such complete acquiescence. Her pussy was wholly and totally his for the taking. He jackhammered into it, feeling his cum well up.
"I'm so close, darling," Sally Ann warned. "Please, cum with me! Cum, baby, cum! Fill me to the brim!"
Her prompting was all he needed. He pulled his raging ramrod out of her sweet pussy pie. Aiming at her fleshy boobs, Jean-Claude shot a missile of cum right between them. It ran down her belly and back to her bush.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" he groaned through the explosion.
"I'm cumming, too," Sally Ann screamed. "Oh, Jean-Claude, you've made me cum good!"
Head flailing, his balls bouncing from side to side, Jean-Claude watched the buxom blonde writhe in unabashed lust. This was the best sex he'd had in a long time. She's going to work out just fine, he thought.
The two horny twenty-somethings collected their clothes just as Jean-Claude's phone rang. He spoke in angry French to whomever was on the other side.
"I have to go see the chef in the kitchen," he apologized. "He's new, too, and doesn't work well under pressure. Can you start tomorrow night?"
Sally Ann shifted back to business. "Sure. Do I have to wear a uniform or anything?"
"Something understated-black and elegant. An Ann Klein or a Channel will be sufficient." Jean-Claude noticed the dumbfounded look on her face. "Do you have anything like that?"
"Of course," she lied, hoping Josette had such a dress in her closet. "By the way, I'm supposed to meet a friend of mine here for dinner in about fifteen minutes. Can I wait for him at the bar?"
"Absolument!" Jean-Claude escorted her to the door of his office. "Is this a special friend?"
"Oh, no. Just someone who's showing me around New York."
"Normally, we give our employees a fifteen percent discount on dinner if they want to eat here," Jean-Claude said, suddenly all business. "But tonight I'll make an exception. You and your friend may order anything on the menu, including wine, and it's on the house. I'll tell your waiter."
"Oh, I wouldn't want to impose-"
"My dear, the pleasure has been all mine. You satisfied my appetite. Let me satisfy yours and your friend's."
"Well, did you get the job?" James asked. He'd shown up right on time. His business suit had been replaced by a handsome suede sport coat, chinos, and fashionable leather boots. He looked ten years younger.
Altering her story where necessary, Sally Ann beamed with enthusiasm. "And we don't even have to pay for dinner," she bragged. "The owner said it was on the house. So, let's indulge."
"I was looking forward to treating you," James said, somewhat disappointed.
"This is a treat, James. Just being with you is a treat."
"Aw, you say the nicest things," he grinned.
"That's because I'm from Ohio," she laughed.
"If I can't treat you to dinner, then let me take you dancing afterwards."
"Oh, James, I don't know. Tomorrow is my first day of work. I don't want to stay out too late. And I've heard that clubs here don't start hopping until the wee hours."
"I have a fantastic sound system and a terrace that looks out on the skyline," James said. "We could go back to my penthouse and dance on the terrace. I'll bet you're a terrific dancer."
Sally Ann explained that, in fact, that was why she'd come to Manhattan. James's thigh pressed against hers. She hoped Jean-Claude didn't walk by and see them.
A waiter arrived and took their order. Chez Pierre was crowded. Sally Ann surmised she was going to have her work cut out for her here.
"You look so preoccupied," James observed. "Why don't you just cut loose and have a good time tonight. I promise I won't keep you out late. In fact, I have a car; I can drive you home later." His thigh pressed insistently. A hand reached out and stroked her cheek. The young woman flushed. She sighed.
"All right. But you've got to get me home before midnight."
"Okay, Cinderella." James's blue eyes were bright with anticipation.
"Thank you, Prince Charming."
From behind the bar, Jean-Claude collected the evening's liquor receipts. He'd assumed Sally Ann's "friend" was a man, but, judging from his blatant interest in her, it was apparent the gray-haired gentleman had designs on her, too. This girl really gets around.
James's penthouse condominium looked like a spread straight out of Architectural Digest, Sally thought. French antiques adorned the sunken living room. The marble bathroom was the size of Josette's entire apartment. And, as he ushered her to his bedroom, Sally Ann was reminded of a photograph she'd once seen of Hugh Hefner's private chambers. A king-sized, four-poster bed was smothered in satin and silk sheets. On the wall hung a massive gold-encrusted mirror. Her feet sank into an invitingly plush Chinese rug. In spite of herself, she gasped in awe.
"This is like something out of a movie, James."
"You're like something out of a movie. One of those femme fatales from the Forties. Dangerously appealing."
Sally Ann laughed nervously. "Nothing dangerous about little ol' me."
"I'm not afraid of danger, my dear." James appraised her up and down. "There's something sexy about it, don't you think?"
He led her out onto the terrace, which, indeed, had a stunning view of the city lights. She grasped the wrought iron railing, feeling as if she were lost in the clouds. James, standing behind her, pressed himself gently against her back.
"Now, what about that dance? Sally Ann, show me some of your best moves."