Delia had incredible red hair; soft, natural curls tumbled down her shoulders. Her work clothes appeared professional enough, but her breasts, dusted lightly with freckles, overflowed from the open wedge of her white-collared shirt. She wore no stockings beneath her skirt. At the office, she’d slept with many of the men, but her choices were random. It wasn’t the obvious managing directors—she had slept with several high-powered ones, but it was said that she liked Santo, a mailroom guy, and had dated him for a year. Some men claimed to have been with her but actually had not. How old was Delia? Mid-thirties? She had no wrinkles. Ted couldn’t tell, and he didn’t know how to ask. A married bond trader Ted knew called her “a talented girl”; she was choosy in her own way and, thankfully for all the men involved, discreet. She’d fuck only the men she wanted to. The trader had added, “I’d hand over ten percent of my bonus for her to do those things to me again. Just one night.” But sadly for him, she didn’t take money. She’d favored him only once. The trader had shrugged in the telling but smiled at the memory of Delia sitting on his lap, her skirt hiked up, his hands on her magnificent fanny.
K-bar was in the basement of an office building a block down from the St. Regis Hotel. It was dark inside, with red leather chairs and red tweed upholstered furniture. The seating area was dark, but the large, square-shaped dance floor was lighted. No one was dancing. The crowd was not so young, and the waitress was another pretty girl who’d tried modeling but had given up.
After the waitress left, Delia took Ted’s hand and slipped it up her narrow skirt. He felt her immediately, and she guided him to give her pleasure. Before Ella, Ted had had sex with three other girls—decent sex with girls his age, where he pretended to be knowledgeable about what he was doing. It was astonishing, shocking, and thrilling to have a girl leading him. He felt gratitude. He couldn’t pull away. A few moments into it, she closed her blue eyes, which seemed to grow darker with the evening, and she climaxed, then pushed his hand toward her again so that it would continue. She made a little gasp, and Ted almost passed out from excitement. His head felt both clear and hot. She opened her eyes and faced him, amused and delighted. With him. She moved closer to stick the tip of her tongue in his ear. With a free hand, he poured her a glass of wine. He wanted to give her something, for her not to stop. She pulled away, took a small sip almost for show. Delia pointed to his suit jacket, and he took it off and gave it to her. She placed it over her shoulders in a practiced way, slid under the table, and blew him. He took a lengthy breath when she was done, and he handed her a cocktail napkin. She returned to her seat, grabbed her purse, and walked steadily to the ladies’ room. When she came back, he held her bony hand, which wasn’t small, and they talked for the first time since the taxi. She told him silly stories about her brothers who lived on Staten Island—two cops and a building inspector. There were funny bits, too, about the other men at work. Nothing carping, but hilarious. Delia seemed to think life was humorous, and it was obvious that she enjoyed the moments that added it up. He was laughing out loud, feeling as though his shoulders could finally relax, because he was with her, and he didn’t want to go home. If she were awake, Ella would be fussing with a menu for a fancy Sunday brunch, or as soon as he walked in the door, she’d jump on him to ask his opinion on the wedding photograph proofs or something like that. He wondered if what he was feeling for Delia was love.
The next day, he bought her a cup of coffee at the cafeteria, and she invited him to her apartment after work. She lived in a large, rent-stabilized one-bedroom in Chelsea. They ate Chinese take-out, and he asked her more questions about her family. She was one of four kids, the only girl and the only one to leave Staten Island. “Hard to imagine that being a sales assistant is a white-collar job, isn’t it, Ted?” Her whispery voice hinted at sex. There was no other way to describe it.
“You have a very nice collar,” he told Delia, staring at her neck.
Then they had sex on a bed, and he thought he had never seen a prettier girl naked, including porn, and he was amazed by the naturalness of her movements, how her lush body rose to meet his, and how she enjoyed everything about what they were doing. Delia was not reluctant.
They saw each other two or three times a week for almost a month, and one night he went to her apartment after work. He had bought her a gold bamboo bangle from Cartier to surprise her, and he couldn’t wait until they were supposed to meet. At the store, it had pleased him enormously to think of it adorning her body. When she opened the door, he spotted Santo the mailroom guy sitting in the chair Ted usually sat in, the Chinese take-out cartons on the table, and he left, never calling her again. Delia never explained herself to him, and he saw that he did not owe any explanations to her, either. He returned the bracelet and bought Ella a pair of diamond-encrusted earrings that cost twice as much as the bangle.