New Orleans, New Year, 2023

    John is on a business trip to New Orleans. As the elevator rises he is privy to a conversation that is an unexpected delight. A woman dressed like a film noir starlet lavishes compliments on a demure but alluring female rider.    
     “I love your shoes. I know that is a weird thing to say. Your bra matches your blouse too.”    
     “Well, my girlfriend says the straps are as tight as the belt on a plane.”    
     “They slip down your shoulders in a way that makes for slack. Don’t listen to everything your woman friend tells you. You wear it like the perfect discotheque doll.”    
     “Give me a moment to regain my composure while I bathe in your casting me in your own seventies B-movie.”    
     “You fit the role. Except that you are my Art-house actress with the charisma to fill those shoes.”    
     “How do you know I want to be in your movie?”    
     “You skipped your floor on the elevator. I could    
chalk it up to your distraction by my compliments that left you in a state of diversion.”    
     “Just because I forgot to exit doesn’t mean anything. But let’s pretend you have made me amorous, does that mean you take me to the jazz club tonight?”    
     The admirer says, “Only if you dance with me.”    
     “I am here for the Baptist women’s convention. So to answer your invitation I’d love to. Not likely I’ll get caught by the evangelicals at a den iniquity.”    
     John arrives at my floor but hesitate to step off. The admirer tells him “Sweet dreams.”  
     Later at the Sweeney’s residence Gloria asks, “Honey, how was your jaunt to New Orleans?”
     “It wasn’t really a jaunt, more of a conference.”
     “I bet you saw a lot of beautiful women.”
     “There was a weird eavesdropping on two ladies in the elevator but I won’t corrupt your ears with that.”
     “It can’t be any worse than what my girlfriend and I talk about when the men are away.”
     “Good that she kept you company. Did you two play Parcheesi?”
     Gloria says, “We made up our own candy loop game, a fruity kind. We were fully skirted. They were our lipstick portals. We coined a name for our kiss, the Bourbon Street tap dance. It was just us girls.”
     John goes to change out of his sweaty business suit into casual clothes. Gloria lets John think her girlfriend is in the kitchen to keep her company while she performs proper housewife duties. But unbeknownst to him Gloria is giving her dishwasher hands a break.
     “Oh girl, I’ve meddled with John’s pride. He likes to write the lines for both him and that vampy actress who plays his wife on his sitcom to impress the producer. But he called me a primadonna because I came up with zippy lines for that Hollywood fox when he was stumped. I tried to pull the thorn out of his lion’s paw by telling him only his real wife could know the words to get their chemistry going. I tell you, if he wants to fume, I need break from wifely duties. Speaking of which, we are long overdue for a pajama party for just us ladies.”
     Girlfriend says, “Should we invite John?”
     Gloria says, “Only if he agrees to model lingerie.”
     Girlfriend says, “He’d have to wear a jockstrap to prevent wardrobe mishaps.”
     Gloria, “Even those athletic supporters aren’t foolproof. Let him believe we’re having an all girls Tupperware party.”
     Gloria is the all American wife who surfs in on the ray of her sunshine smile. She holds the pie she worked on all morning just to please her man but John sulks.
     “Gloria, you’ll always be my ghostwriter.”
     Gloria’s second sense tells her how to soothe his bruised ego. She leads him with her boudoir wisdom into a decidedly not June Cleaver situation where handcuffs are stowed just for this occasion. The ties that bind were never so strong as when secured by a wife in her thong.
Written by goldenmyst
Published | Edited 3rd Jan 2023
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