HOW TO BE THE PERFECT GIRLFRIEND

by Heather MacAllister

  Missy had her mouth open. "Saran Wrap?"

  "Men go nuts, I'm telling you. And it's fabulous for a first time because your boobs aren't sagging and your butt and thighs and stomach are compressed and sculpted. No jiggling. There you are, gleaming as you slowly open the coat. And all that carefully arranged perfection is his first impression of you. It's the image that'll stick with him no matter what he thinks he sees later."

  There was silence, then Missy ventured a question. "They have red, blue and green plastic wrap. Do you think—"

  "Clear."

  "Oh. Okay."

  Well. "On that note…" Sara reached for a fortune cookie, cracked it open, read the fortune and burst into laughter.

  "What does it say?" Hayden snatched it out of her unresisting fingers, read it and flung it down.

  Missy retrieved it. "'You will receive wise counsel from an elder.'" She laughed. "Elder. Oh, that's good."

  Sara was still laughing to herself as she made her way back to her cubicle.

  Laughing until she saw the white envelope sitting on her desk.

  She opened the envelope and a key fell out, along with a sheet of lined notebook paper with handwriting on it. A smaller note was also in the envelope.

  Simon's initials were stamped at the top of the paper.

  "Sara, I'll be out of the office until after my trip. I've had to take a couple of personal days to drive Kayla and Joanna to visit one summer camp near Austin and another one near Dallas. Kayla is lukewarm about going and Joanna felt a united front from us would reassure her."

  Sara stopped reading to admire Joanna's tactics. Maybe Saran Wrap and a fur coat wasn't overkill after all.

  "I know you understand that I wouldn't leave now if it weren't important. The opportunity arose quickly because Kayla is off from school due to a teacher's seminar and apparently waiting until I returned from this trip wasn't feasible since camp reservations fill up so quickly. I'll be flying to Glasgow out of Dallas, but as soon as I can, I'll call you."

  She'd heard that before.

  "Here are the instructions for feeding Mrs. Galloway's cats as well as a copy of her key. I still have one. Just in case."

  Just in case what? Just in case she accidentally on purpose dropped it down the garbage disposal? No. She wouldn't do that to a couple of helpless kitties.

  "Thanks for understanding, Sara. Uncomfortably yours, Simon."

  She smiled a little at the "uncomfortably."

  So round one was to Joanna. But Sara had not yet begun to fight.

  She wondered if she could find any used faux furs online.

  Over the next couple of days, she planned a dozen menus, winnowed them down and discussed food strategies with Missy and Hayden. Finally, she decided on the winning dinner: salmon mousse and champagne, grilled filet mignon—because Hayden had insisted that she feed Simon beef—baked potato, strawberry, walnut and mesclun salad—to demonstrate that she could be traditional and innovative—and bread pudding because it was soft and warm and sweet and suggestive—and because it could be made the night before.

  "That's a heavy meal," Hayden commented. "We don't want to weigh him down. Ditch the bread pudding and go with a chocolate mousse."

  "But she's having salmon mousse to start. The textures are too similar."

  "Then serve him ice cream. Men like ice cream." Hayden grinned. "And have you ever kissed while eating ice cream?"

  Sara could tell Missy was thinking about it. "But the beauty of bread pudding is that if you don't get around to eating it, you bring it out the next morning and call it a French toast casserole."

  Hayden gave her an admiring look. "Why, Missy. I am so shocked."

  Sara decided to go with the bread pudding and buy some chocolate chunk ice cream to keep in reserve.

  A couple of nights later, she invited Hayden and Missy over to her apartment for a trial run. It was a good thing because the mousse was runny, so Sara changed her appetizer to salmon spread, but everything else was going fine and she felt reasonably confident that she could cook the meal for Simon.

  Now, Missy and Hayden in her apartment was something else. They prowled around and checked out her CD collection, which wasn't large or current. "I mostly listen to the radio," Sara explained from the kitchen.

  "Let's get her some better CDs," Hayden said to Missy, who was following her around making notes.

  They made Sara nervous, but that still was no excuse for the runny salmon.

  "Definitely," Missy said. "We should also do some romantic feng shui or something."

  Hayden bounced on the couch. "This is not the most inviting piece of furniture."

  "Well, sorry. It's a sofa bed," Sara told her.

  "They're never as comfortable as regular sofas," Hayden said knowledgeably.

  "Pillows and a nice soft throw," Missy wrote.

  "Candles," Hayden said.

  "Fresh flowers," Missy added.

  "New sofa," Hayden snuck in.

  "Oh, come on! I can't afford all that!" Sara brought out the runny mouse and some champagne.

  Missy checked the label. "Go for Veuve Clicquot."

  "Do you know how expensive that stuff is?"

  "Yes. I've been researching champagnes for my wedding reception. It's so worth it."

  "This is a Rolls we're talking about, kiddo," Hayden reminded her. "Missy, let's check out the bedroom."

  While they did so, Sara sat on her hard, uncomfortable sofa, drank her cheap champagne, dipped crackers in what was now salmon soup, and told herself that it would all be worth it.

  Missy and Hayden came out of the bedroom. "Emergency shopping trip tomorrow at lunch," Missy said. "I can't believe you haven't discovered the joy of six-hundred thread count sheets."

  "And honey, the stuffed animals have got to go."

  Sara poured herself more champagne. "I thought they added a touch of whimsy. Cows and sheep and clouds?"

  Hayden and Missy shook their heads.

  Hayden gave her a stern look. "Tell me you don't have whimsical lingerie, as well."

  "Cow pajamas," Sara mumbled with cracker in her mouth.

  "You won't be wearing pajamas. You need a silk robe. Missy, make a note."

  "Already did."

  "I have a nice, big, fluffy, white terry cloth robe."

  "Excellent. You'll be lending that to Simon."

  And then there were the cats. Sara was not a cat person and they sensed that. Each day after work, she let herself into the huge penthouse apartment in one of Houston's few high-rises and the cats hid from her. They were named Tony and Cleo—how original—and she never got close enough to figure out which was Tony and which was Cleo.

  She plopped her purse on the counter and shook the bag of dry cat food. There was a complicated rotation of foods for the cats. And today, oh, what fun, today was litter box day. In spite of all the apparent advances in the litter box field, automatic litter boxes could only be so automatic.

  Sara cleaned the bowls in the kitchen, the only evidence—other than the litter box—that the cats were actually in the apartment.

  "Hey, Tony, hey Cleo, it's me, your gullible food slave. Why don't you guys come out so I can see you and I won't have to hunt you down just to see if you're still alive? You know I'm going to and you know I'll leave right after, so come on. Give me a break."

  She wanted a break in another area, too. Simon hadn't called her. Sure, he was overseas, but come on. It wouldn't hurt to e-mail—yes, it would be forever in the company records, but surely he could think of something innocuous to say just to make contact.

  He'd been gone for over a week including the bogus trip to check out summer camps. He wasn't scheduled to be back until next Monday. Maybe he'd call her before then.

  No, she hadn't given him her phone number, but it was in the book. He could find it if he wanted. And after she'd invested in champagne and hideously expensive, but oh-so-luxurious sheets which spoiled her for any other kind, he'd better call.

  Sara f
inished putting out the food and water and emptying the litter box waste receptacle, then went looking for the cats. She checked under the sumptuous sofa, a favorite spot, but no cats. Instead of heading for the bedroom, their other favorite spot, she sat on the sofa and sank into the cushions. Oh, yeah. This was one comfortable sofa. It was long, too. Sara stretched out and lifted her arms as though encouraging Simon to lean over her and cover her body with his. Bliss.

  This was the kind of sofa Hayden had been talking about. Unfortunately, it was way too big for Sara's modest apartment. But they had found some cushy pillows and a chenille throw that had softened Sara's couch. They'd made her buy other accessories at the home store and then Missy had made her take something called a "scent personality test" so she'd pick the right candle scent.

  Sara realized that Simon was the first man she'd been interested in who would appreciate cushy pillows and chenille throws and scented candles. She liked that about him.

  What she didn't like about him was that he hadn't called. Maybe there would be a message on her machine today. The sooner she got out of this place, the sooner she could go check.

  She went into the bedroom with its high-thread-count sheets, which she recognized now that she was a sheet connoisseur, and lifted the dust ruffle to check under the bed. A pair of cat eyes blinked back at her. But just one pair of cat eyes.

  "Hi, Tony or Cleo. Where's your cohort in crime?" Now that she'd located one cat, she'd have to watch that it didn't escape and get mistaken for the other.

  Sara looked under all the furniture, but didn't find the other cat. She didn't feel comfortable snooping in a stranger's home, but she did want to find that cat.

  She went back into the kitchen and checked the pantry, just in case the cat had gone in there when she wasn't looking. No cat. She closed the door firmly. She checked all the other rooms again and was back in the bedroom when she noticed the closet door was ajar.

  A spurt of adrenaline shot through her, because she knew that she hadn't opened any closet doors today and that they'd been closed every other time she'd played hunt-the-cat. Had someone broken in? Was a burglar hiding in the closet?

  Sara's mouth went dry until she remembered that the maid had come today. She must not have closed the door all the way.

  "You naughty cat." Sara opened the closet door and was at first stunned by the sheer size of the space. "What is this? Another spare bedroom?"

  She turned on the lights and saw a professionally organized closet with an electronic clothing rack. Sara flipped a switch and Mrs. Galloway's clothes began to march around and back up near the ceiling. "Wow." Another switch worked a rotating purse and shoe rack.

  "I am so cleaning out my closet when I get home."

  And then Sara stopped the moving clothes. Not one, not two, but three fur coats swung softly before her. At first glance she knew that at least two were fake, or somebody needed to be held accountable for the purple and red fur. The third one was long and black and had it been real, it would have been in a cold-storage vault instead of here in the closet in a cloth bag with a little window on it.

  She heard a sound and ducked beneath the coats to find a cat, a cat who had made a very nice cashmere nest for itself.

  "You are so busted." Sara tried to retrieve the sweater.

  "Rowr!" The cat swiped at her and she jumped back. The cats had been declawed, but they hadn't been detoothed.

  "Calm down. It's only me." Maybe if she hung around the cat would get hungry enough to come out of the closet by itself and Sara could shut the door. She wasn't too pleased that it had probably ruined a cashmere sweater on her watch, but that was between Mrs. Galloway and her maid.

  Sara crawled back out from beneath the coats and then got an idea, an idea that might not have seemed so great if she'd stopped to think about it. But there were these coats. And Sara was all alone except for the cats and she really did want to get the cat out of the closet before she left, which meant she had to hang around.

  There was Saran Wrap in the pantry. She'd seen it. She had practiced cooking dinner, it made sense to practice the plastic wrap/fur coat scenario. Perfect sense.

  Sara gingerly took down the long black coat and unzipped the cloth bag. The first thing she noticed was how utterly soft and luxurious it was. The second thing she noticed was the PETA label embroidered in red in the collar and down one side of the lining. The other label had some politically correct babble about recreating the elegance of fur in a kinder world.

  Fake. She got the message already.

  Sara lay the coat bag on the bed and got the plastic wrap from the kitchen. Feeling self-conscious, she undressed in the master bathroom where her naked self was reflected repeatedly.

  Now. Where to start? She unrolled a length of plastic and wrapped it around herself like a towel and immediately knew that wasn't the look Hayden had in mind.

  Sara took the whole roll out of the carton. Starting beneath her left arm, she moved the roll across her breasts and behind her back, where it fell to the white tiled floor.

  She bent to pick up the roll and parts of it stuck to itself.

  Okay. Go around the back first. Sara pulled the plastic from itself and started again, this time with better luck. The results weren't as visually appealing as Hayden suggested they might be.

  Naked, and trailing plastic wrap behind her, Sara used the bedroom phone to call Hayden.

  "Hayden? This is Sara. Look, the plastic wrap thing—how are you supposed to get it on?"

  There was a short silence. "Where are you?"

  "The cat lady's house. She's got a fur coat and I thought I'd practice."

  "Is Simon there with you?"

  "Of course not!"

  "Is anyone there with you?"

  "Just a couple of scaredy cats. Ha ha."

  "It helps to have another person."

  "There isn't anybody else. My boobs look horrible."

  "Lay down on the bed. You want gravity to work with you here. Also, position yourself before you wrap."

  "Okay. Hayden, how much am I wrapping? Do I wrap my legs together or separately? How far down?"

  "Do you want to be able to walk?"

  "I guess that would be helpful."

  "You have a choice—miniskirt length, if there won't be a fat roll midway to your knees, or try a crisscross style."

  "Plastic wrap has styles?"

  "Just experiment."

  "Okay."

  "Sara—don't forget to pull tight."

  "Gotcha." She hung up the phone and positioned herself on the bed.

  Wrapping herself was a little easier from a prone position, but Sara was getting a real workout. When she finished and stood, sweat trickled beneath the plastic.

  She wrapped her legs separately down to her knees, but it was hard to bend to get lower. When she did this the next time, she was going to start with her leg and wrap up, so that little rolls of fat didn't collect down at her knees. Gravity. Must work with gravity.

  She left her arms bare because by this time she was exhausted and figured that any man faced with a naked plastic-wrapped woman wouldn't be looking at her arms.

  Sara walked into the bathroom to see how she looked. The whole effect wasn't bad—as though she had on a clear, strapless capri pant suit.

  But was it sexy?

  It was loud. Maybe that was what the fur coat was for—to deaden the sound.

  Next time, she should try for less plastic to cut down on some of the folds. It might be cooler, too, since she'd already noticed little areas getting fogged with heat.

  The bathroom was too hot, that was it. Sara crackled her way back into the bedroom and slipped into the coat for the full effect.

  For a moment, she forgot that she was naked under the coat and just stared at herself in the full-length mirror on the closet door. Wow. She was beginning to get the coat thing.

  She vamped a little, channeling her inner vixen, letting the collar slide off her shoulder. Then she let it slide off her oth
er shoulder. Turning, she loosened it more so that she could see the fur against her bare back.

  There was something about the deep black that brought out the creaminess in her skin. It might even be better without the plastic, she mused.

  Unlike some people, she didn't have a whole lot of sagging going on.

  Slowly, Sara turned back around until she faced herself in the mirror. Trying to see herself through Simon's eyes, she dropped the coat to her waist.

  Too fast. Hitching it up again, she made it slowly slide down her arms, one hand clutching it just beneath her exposed breasts.

  Yowser.

  She was so going on a thrift shop hunt for a fur coat. She threw back her shoulders and practiced various expressions and poses, ultimately simply staring, trying to imitate Simon's intensity.

  And that was the one that finally got her. She stared at herself the way she imagined he would, taking in the fur against her skin, the way the plastic wrap covered all, yet revealed everything. Her breasts, slightly flattened yet lush, begging to be unwrapped.

  Sara released the coat and it slithered to the floor.

  Her breath quickened as she imagined Simon's would. He would want to touch her. Here … and there … Sara closed her eyes as a bead of sweat trickled between her breasts.

  Okay, she was hot—on a couple of levels. The level she was concerned with was the one making the plastic wrap unstick.

  She must have done something wrong. Impulsively, she picked up the phone and called Hayden again.

  "What am I doing wrong?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "I'm so hot!"

  "That's the idea, honey."

  "Yeah, but I'm really hot. Sweating hot. It's not attractive."

  "How long have you been wrapped up?"

  "Since I called you last."

  "You're probably using too much plastic wrap, or that coat is really thick."

  "Both, I think. But this coat is something else. It's fake, but it's such a good fake she's got PETA stuff embroidered in it so the paint people won't get her. It looks like a full-length sable, or something like that."

  "Hmm. They are the best."

  Sara heard a noise. "I think that stupid cat is finally leaving the closet."