Page 7 of She's a Big Deal

“I certainly do.”

‘Pretty deep’was stating it accurately, though. The sudden breakup with Beth, a local teacher Olivia had been dating for six wonderful months, or so she thought, had rocked her world in the worst way. Especially when the woman thought it was okay just to declare one day that she really preferred to be with men, and was going back to her ex. Olivia never saw that bombshell coming. She’d fallen hard and fast for Beth. For sure, the break-up hurt.

“It’s been almost a year now,” Dana reminded her gently. “You should go out with us sometime, Oli. Mel and I are off to Montreal next weekend for one of her conferences. Why don’t you come?”

Dana’s wife, Mel, was a popular author of lesbian fiction. Her work events attracted lots of avid readers, and sometimes also women in search of a good time, no strings attached. Olivia used to be into that sort of thing too. And having fun. But not since Beth. She rubbed scented shampoo over the puppy’s short coat and smiled as she noticed his eyelids start to droop.

“Better dry him up and feed him puppy formula before he drops, uh.”

“Olivia,” Dana prompted softly.

“Look, I’m not in the mood, okay?”

“I get that, but sometimes you gotta dust yourself off and saddle up again even if you don’t feel like it. You’re too young to give up. Not to mention gorgeous, as well.”

Olivia shot her a look, then pointedly glanced down at her mucky blue jeans and stained sweatshirt, covered in pet hairs, with a hole in the side. “You need glasses if you think this is gorgeous.”

“Oh, come off it, woman! You look like a butch version of Stefania Spampinato.”

“Spam what?”

“Italian actress my wife currently happens to have a crush on.” Dana laughed. “Think smoky, curvy in all the right places, with hair to die for, and gorgeous twinkling brown eyes.”

“Ah. Well.” Olivia shrugged, embarrassment warming her cheeks. “Okay. Thanks, I guess.”

“You’re welcome. So, will you think about it, at least?”

“Yeah, I will. For now, get me a bottle.”

“Sure thing. What should we name this one?”

“Hmm… How ‘bout Everett?”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. The name just popped into my head when you asked. He looks like an Everett, I feel; distinguished. Like an older gentleman. Anyway, better than calling him ‘Velcro’, uh?”

“Yes.” Dana laughed. “Way better.”

???

At about the same time Olivia fell asleep on her couch with an exhausted puppy curled up in her arms, Grace arrived at the popular Cuban dance club in South Beach. Friday was Bachata night, another stroke of good luck. She enjoyed Salsa, known for being fast, energetic, playful, and flirtatious. In contrast, Bachata was slow, sexy, and sensual. It was by far her favorite style. The Miami evening was hot and steamy despite the time of year,which fitted her mood perfectly.If there was one thing Grace disliked, it was the bitter winter cold of her native Vermont.She made her way slowly toward the bar, dressed in sand-colored slacks fitted at the waist, which tapered down nicely to cinch above her ankles. On her feet, she wore a pair of Dior, ‘J’adior’ slingback heels which retailed at $1000. A narrow band of black Lycra around her torso covered her breasts adequately but left her back and tight stomach bare. Her shoulders were exposed, her blond hair slicked back. Grace noticed a few people glance her way and stare as she walked through the club. As the music flew over her, she felt an instant rush of excitement.Oh, yeah…She never failed to come alive in this sort of place and could feel her body waking up to the music. The layer of tension associated with her business persona would soon drop off.

“Ola chica!” The owner of the club glided toward her with open arms. “Ms. Michaels. It has been far too long.”

“I agree.” Grace returned his air kisses with an indulgent smile. “How are you, Roberto?”

“Ah, great. Business is great.”

“Good to hear. I can see it, too.”

“Will you save me a dance?”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

He laughed and gave her a little bow. “Estupendo!”

Grace soon located her hired date for the evening. The dark-skinned woman stood at the bar in a short black cocktail dress which stopped just above mid-thigh, and was kept from riding up by a couple loops of black lacing around her thighs. The dress hugged a slender and tight body that Grace remembered was delightfully responsive, in bed and on the dance floor alike. Magalie’s long black curly hair was held back with a red satin tie. The overall look was both simple and glamorous.

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