The Dame - 1. Chapter 1

She glided into my office on a pair of black heels so high you'd need oxygen to put on a hat. While not a classic beauty her face was exquisitely formed with delicate features, her makeup perfectly accentuating a pair of striking green eyes. Soft caramel locks curved down one side where demure ruby lips pursed in a heart-shaped pucker. She wore a cream-colored silk blouse and a red pencil skirt that hugged her hips like velvet on a sofa. Her perfume hit me moments after my jaw dropped.

 

The dame was gorgeous and I know gorgeous. My formative years were spent at Greta’s Beauty Shop where my ma worked five days a week. Watching women young and old sculpting their natural and sometimes man-made assets into art, I learn at an early age what it took to make women beautiful. In high school a part-time job assisting Mr. Hobbes’ photography studio taking pictures of young ladies looking to make it in the modeling business turned into a full-time gig photographing those same women in the back room where the modeling involved a whole lot less clothing. My success was attributed to an eye for talent and a way with the ladies. Only thing it ever took was professionalism and a little respect. All of which lead me to my current line of work, The Seth Graham Modeling Agency. I'm Seth Graham and beauty is my business. Did I say this dame was gorgeous?

 

The door closed with a clang echoing off the flimsy office walls as my brain lurched into gear. Swearing to myself to get that door fixed I attempted to rise on slightly unsteady legs...and failed. To say I was unnerved was an understatement. She stopped in front of my desk looking down at me with a cool direct gaze.

 

“I’m looking for a model.”

 

Her voice had a silky rasp to it that sent a shiver down my spine like she’d just stroked it with her nails. The effect had a direct line to my brain and I resisted the urge to shut my eyes.

 

Trying to remain calm I replied, “I got all kinds. What're you looking for, Miss –?”

 

“Dorothy James”, she extended her hand in a graceful flourish, long fingers tipped by nails in a french manicure. Exquisite.

 

“Seth Graham, at your service. Please, Miss James, have a seat and tell me what you’re after.”

 

As she slipped into the chair her skirt rose a few inches baring a set of gams that practically knocked my socks off. Not curvy but nicely shaped, the view improved as she crossed them at the knee.

 

Now I should confide that while I have a keen eye for a beautiful dame I am rarely overwhelmed by them if you know what I mean. I don't exactly swim in those waters. As I said, beauty is my business and that is how I like to keep it - all business. So I have to admit I was as stunned by my reaction. Still I know one when she’s got it and this chickadee had it in spades.

 

“I’m not looking for any model, Mr. Graham. I’m interested in one specific model and I believe he works for you ... Damian Slick.” This last part was said in almost a whisper.

 

Well, now there’s a name I should've expected to hear. Damian Slick is one of my most popular models on the books. He has the kind of slick looks - yeah, that ain't his real name - that always makes the ladies he's being photographed with look better. And he loves the camera. Of course, I recognized his potential immediately but I also realized he wouldn’t last. He’s set his sights on bigger things than just newspaper ads and catalog shoots. Still, I took what I had and used him often while he was still around.

 

I sighed. All the good dames wanted Damian. Like me his preferences swung in another direction but Damian’s need for any and all attention meant that he drew women like flies to shit. And in this case, I do mean shit. Broken hearts trailed miles long behind the guy.

 

“Look, Dotty, I gotta to be honest. Whatever he told you, it ain’t gonna work out. If he don’t want you to find him, take that as a sign, go home and forget about him.” I hated being the one to make them cry – and they always cried.

 

But this dame was no crier. The hard line of her mouth and squint in her eyes told me she would not be so easily swayed from her course.

 

“He owes me money, Mr. Graham.” That wasn’t too hard believe but still, I’d heard all the excuses.

 

“Yeah, how much is that?” I asked just to be nosy. I liked how she spoke all defiant and what-not.

 

“$2000 and change. He - he swore he’d pay me back.” That hitch in her voice tore into me.

 

Oh, Lord, not the tears. But she held her head high and looked me straight on. My eyes were drawn to those lips again all perfect and red. I wondered what it would be like to kiss them. Would they be a soft as they looked? This thought drew me up short. I wasn’t exactly sure where it came from but I figured I needed to get rid of this dame faster than day-old cabbage soup.

 

“Haven't seen him in a while but I’ll be sure to let him know you’re looking for him next time I do. If you’d like to leave a number for him to reach you, I’ll pass that along too.”

 

She wrote her name and number on the notecard I’d handed her then passed it back to me, our fingers touching a few moments longer than the exchange required.

 

I rose from my chair, this time my legs held out although still a bit unsteady. I was sure there was sweat forming on my brow.

 

She rose soon after and nodded as if we had come to some deal of which I was unaware. I walked to the door and opened it. At a height only a couple inches short of my six foot frame, she glided past me on those gorgeous gams of hers. Just as she reached the door, she stopped and turned her head my way. Up close those green eyes sparkled in the light, her perfume wafted over me, her lips parted.

 

“Do call, Mr. Graham, now that you have my number.”

 

Right then she swallowed, the muscles of her throat spasming in and out. A nervous tick that told me much more than I think she intended because it was then I knew exactly what her game was. I smirked widely, “Oh, I do indeed have your number, Miss James.”

 

Her finely sculpted brows knitted for a moment before she broke out a smile so sweet, so innocent looking, I gaped.

 

“I was wondering ....” she purred.

 

When she strutted away down the hall, I couldn’t help but lean out and watch the show. Gorgeous!