Page 9 of Madam, May I

Biting her bottom lip and tasting the crimson gloss she wore on her lips, Desdemona looked down at the invitation before reaching to have it in her grasp. If nothing else it was something to do and things to see outside of the norm.

Tapping the corner of the invitation against her palm, she walked over to the inventory hung on racks lining the walls and selected a size eight black strapless gown with a matching elaborate floor-length sheer cape with delicate 3-D silk flowers. “Just in case,” she said aloud.

* * *

Hours later Desdemona stood in the midst of the elegantly dressed crowd at the ball sipping on a glass of pinot noir. The room’s neo-classical styling was made all the more luxurious by the colored lighting, sumptuous tablecloths, and sweet-smelling floral arrangements. There were hundreds of guests in attendance celebrating the annual Tony awards lauding the very best of Broadway’s musicals and stage plays. From the floral wall serving as the backdrop for photos to the DJ drawing the bodies onto the dance floor, it was a night meant for the pleasure of celebrities of music, film, and stage. Sumptuous couches intermingled with elaborately decorated tables gave the large grand ballroom some warmth. Wine and signature cocktails quenched thirst, and downstairs a buffet serving samples of delicacies like mini-sandwiches and caviar sated appetites. Winners of the coveted Tony socialized with their awards in hand.

“Welcome to the Tonys,” she mumbled into her drink before taking a sip.

There was a time when Desdemona had been starstruck, but those days had long since passed. Knowing some of the inner cravings of the elite had dulled the shine. Nothing like knowing a world-class professional athlete liked being fingered in his rectum while he climaxed to dull the shine and let it resonate that celebrities were like everyone else.

Desdemona claimed a spot on the mezzanine and amused herself spotting current and past consorts. There were more than a few in attendance. A high-powered manager of a top-grossing pop star. An athlete or two. A politician who trusted her with his predilection for beautiful transsexuals. Some raised their drink to her in a silent toast. Others showed their discomfort with their spouses at their sides. She made a note to speak to them about that at a later time.

She squinted when she noticed Byron, his wife, and another man she recognized as A-List actor Dirk Blank looking in her direction. Desdemona easily moved in the opposite direction, the edges of her cape rising a bit as she took the stairs and mingled with the crowd.

Smiling and socializing with the spouses of her consorts. It was a level of phony she wasn’t able to swallow.

Her heel slipped, and she fell forward with a squeal, her face landing squarely against a hard chest.

“I got you,” a male voice whispered near her ear.

Desdemona looked up at the man keeping her from falling flat on her face. A streak of fuchsia lighting illuminated his face. He was handsome enough but smelled even better. Warm and spicy. It made her tingle. She gave him a smile she knew showed her embarrassment. “Sorry about that,” she said, standing erect.

“You okay?” he asked, his hands still on her elbows.

“Embarrassed, but all in one piece,” she said, stepping back from him.

“One beautiful piece.”

The years had made her a good read. Desi eyed him and sized him up. His stance was that of a confident lover. The thickness of his fingers, lips, and nose was indicative of a large penis. She locked her eyes with his, and he held them for a good while before they shifted slightly. A tell.

Desdemona tilted her head to the side and shook her head. “We’re not doing that,” she said, her voice playful.

“Doing what?” he asked, bending to speak close to her ear as the DJ switched to a loud and thumping electro house song by Calvin Harris and Rihanna.

Desdemona leaned in toward him. “Flirting,” she said.

He nodded as he looked around the room and then back at her. “Because . . .”

“I’m celibate and I don’t plan to end that tonight with a one-night stand, and I’m not up for a relationship,” she said, holding her hands up and shrugging her shoulders a bit.

He looked disbelieving.

She leaned in toward him again and rose up on the toes of her strappy heels. “I’m good, love. Enjoy,” she said into his ear with a lighthearted giggle at her use of the soft-hearted rejection popularized by social media.

He smiled and shook his head as she walked away.

Desdemona was honest. Brutally so. It helped her consorts trust her. What she had told him was the truth. The irony was not lost on her. A celibate madam. It had been more than five years since she’d had a lover. A warm and hard body pressed down upon hers.

Sometimes I miss the intimacy.

She stopped and turned to look at him—the good smelling man—but he had disappeared in the crowd.

She took a sip of her wine and then another as she allowed herself to regret letting the moment to be wild, reckless, and young pass.

To break up the fucking monotony.

Desdemona reached for her prepaid iPhone. It was a little after midnight. She was ready to call it a night and get reacquainted with her bed.

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