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StacieChapter 10 free porn video
The friendship between Stacie and Rachel continued to develop. Over the next few weeks, they seemed inseparable. It wasn't unusual for me to come home and find Rachel and Stacie having tea on the deck while Esther played in the garden. I was happy that Stacie had someone who could take her mind off the her mother and the slimy Ted.
One evening after supper, Stacie said, "Jack, I want you to know that I've shared a lot of things with Rachel. She knows about Ted and my mum. And about the investigation."
"I'm sure that you can trust her discretion," I replied.
"Yes, " she said, "we've become great friends, Rachel and I." She paused for a moment. "In fact, they've invited us to supper next Wednesday."
I asked, "Wednesday?"
Rachel sighed. She said, "Yes. Rachel said that Wednesday was the best day for them. But they're willing to wait a few weeks."
I was amused. I asked, "Why Wednesday?"
Stacie laughed. "Yeah," she said, "I asked her about that. She said that 'hump day' is the high end of the hump for working slaves and the low end for freelancers."
"Explain, please," I said.
Stacie grinned at me. "Just think of an average office," she said. "Most problems come up during the work week. They have to be dealt with right now." She smirked at me. "They build right up to Friday, when you finally collapse."
I could understand that. "I'm following you so far."
"Whereas," Stacie continued, "freelancers have an entirely different rhythm to their lives. Think about it. You get people calling you for gigs first thing Monday morning. People who're worried about the projects they've given you call on Friday. Wednesday is a down day." She smiled up at me. "Did you know that?"
"No," I said, "and I should have. I represent a lot of artists, most of whom are freelancers. I wish someone had told me this a long time ago. Think about it. If you knew your client's working rhythm, you'd schedule meetings and hearings for her or his convenience. It would make a big difference in the way you represented them."
Stacie laughed her musical laugh. "Well, that's a topic for discussion. Right now, I need a decision. Supper. Next Wednesday. The Stewarts'."
I thought about my calendar. I couldn't recall anything in the evening next week. "I can do it," I said.
Stacie laughed. "I sense your enthusiasm."
I smiled. "Sorry. I'll try to stay with the programme. I know that Rachel is very sweet and that Morry is charming, but..."
"But they're just not your sort of people."
I thought for a minute. I looked into Stacie's eyes, and I said, "That's true. I'm not at all like them. I told Morry the other night that I didn't understand artists. Maybe he thought I was joking. I wasn't. And these are people I represent. You figured them out right away. I've been working with artists for years and didn't have a clue."
Stacie laughed. She took me in her arms, cuddled me and said, "Jack, you're being silly. Remember, I grew up in Regent Park. A lot of people there don't have a regular job. They work when they can, like freelance artists. It's a similarity between artists and the poor: there are few fixed routines."
I laughed in turn. "Yeah, but most of the people I represent are making six figures or more. They're hardly poor or homeless."
She laughed. "Yeah, but they're cut from the same cloth."
I smiled at my darling and laughed. "Are you saying that my clients are high-class bums? I mean bums that can pay my fees. With the rates that I charge, they'd have to be very high-class bums."
Stacie wasn't laughing any more. She looked downcast. "If you thought people from Regent Park were 'bums, ' why did you marry me?"
I had no answer for a few minutes. Then I took her head in my hands and raised it until her lovely face was looking into mine. "I married you because I love you. And because you were stupid enough to say, 'yes.' You, my beautiful wife, are a genius." Stacie looked incredulous. "Really, darling mine. I've wondered about the 'artistic mind.' I even have some research up there," I pointed to my office, "that says exactly what you've just said. Artists are unpredictable and predictable at the same time. But we're all cut from the same cloth. We all want to make everything come together. It all depends on schedules. Some artists, like Morry and Rachel, can more or less predict their schedules. Others cannot. We just have to use different criteria."
"Yes. But understanding that doesn't make me a genius. I just have a different background than you do." She brightened. "So we're on for Wednesday, then?"
"Yes, love. We are."
The days flew by. Suddenly it was Tuesday. Stacie called Rachel to ask what we should bring. She was told that an appetite and a thirst were there only necessities. But upon being pressed, Rachel agreed that a nice wine wouldn't be out of place. Morry was barbecuing, and red was the appropriate colour. I suggested that we should choose a couple of appropriate bottles from my cellar, but Stacie insisted that we make a special trip to the Vintages wine store. She insisted that she wouldn't feel right unless she'd made a special effort. I gave in, and we went to the store. The supper invitation had included Charlotte as well, so Stacie insisted that she join us on our shopping expedition. Stacie got the attention of a wine consultant. An hour later, we left the store with the chosen bottles. Three of them. On average, twenty minutes per bottle. I'd bought cases in less time.
On Wednesday, Stacie went through a stack of clothes. She tried them on and asked my opinion. I always said that she looked terrific, which she did. It continued for what seemed an interminable time. I thought surely she'd gone through everything in her wardrobe. Not so. The experience continued. She wanted to look casual, but, as she said, "not too casual." Time after time, she asked my opinion. Finally, she said in exasperation, "Jack, I'm your wife. I want you to be proud of me."
"Sweetheart, I am proud of you. No matter what you wear. All those clothes look terrific. Now, if you'll pardon me, I have some work to do."
As I made my escape to my office, Charlotte whispered, "Coward." She was now Stacie's target, poor thing.
The Stewarts' house was only a couple of blocks from ours. We were to arrive at 6:00. I planned to change just before leaving. But at 5:00, Stacie burst into my office. "Come on, Jack," she said, we can't be late."
I laughed. "Baby girl, it will take us at most five minutes to walk to the Stewarts. It will take me about another five minutes to change. I doubt that we're in any danger of being late. Come here and let me look at you."
And look I did. Stare, rather. Stacie looked incredible. She was wearing a pair of jeans that left her gender in no doubt, a brightly-patterned silk blouse, and a red scarf with shoes to match. The overall effect was, as she'd intended, casual elegance. I pulled her to me and kissed her.
"Be careful," she said, "you'll smear my makeup."
I kissed her once again. "I reserve the right, madame, to smear that makeup later. In fact, I may lick it off."
Stacie gave me a mock punch. "Pig," she said, "you men are only interested in one thing."
"Actually, I can think of several things of interest," I said, "and, if memory serves, you have them all."
"Seriously, Jack, please get ready."
"Stacie, don't be so nervous. These are our friends. Even if we were a few minutes late, I'm sure they'd forgive us." But I meekly followed her to the bedroom. Once there, I put on a pair of slacks, a casual shirt and a pair of loafers. I was ready. According to my watch, it had taken less than five minutes. Guys are like that.
We headed downstairs. Charlotte met us in the living room. She was wearing a very nice summer frock. I noted that she wasn't one of those heavy women who try unsuccessfully to conceal the shape of their bodies. She looked good, and I told her so.
Stacie zipped in from the kitchen. She was carrying a bag and a large bouquet of flowers. She handed the flowers to Charlotte and the bag of wine to me. She looked around one last time and pronounced us ready to go. Charlotte and I waited dutifully on the porch while Stacie set the alarm and locked the door.
As predicted, it took us only a couple of minutes to walk to the Stewarts' house. We were a few minutes early, so Stacie insisted that we walk to the park and back. It wouldn't do to arrive early.
At last, I rang the bell. The door opened to reveal a tiny Filipino woman and an even tinier girl. Esther shrieked, "Mummy, Mummy! Auntie Stacie's here!" She launched herself into Stacie's arms. Stacie kissed her and handed her to the little woman.
"I'm sorry," the woman said, "she's been excited all day waiting for you to come."
I raised my eyebrows at Stacie. "Oh, I'm sorry," she said, "this is Magda. Magda, Jack and Charlotte."
Now that the introductions were made, we followed Esther into the house. Rachel met us in the living room. She was wiping her hands. She'd obviously been cooking. "Hi, folks," she said, "Morry's on the deck. Oh, here he comes."
Morry came in, somewhat flushed and smelling of smoke. "Jack, old boy." He shook my hand vigorously. "Stacie, you look lovely as ever." He kissed her cheek. "Mrs. Jefferson, welcome to our humble abode."
Esther broke into our circle. "Mummy, Daddy. You promised I could play."
Morry went down on one knee and bent over, more or less to Esther's eye level. "But darling," he said, "our guests have just arrived. We don't want to be impolite, do we?"
"No, Daddy," she replied seriously.
"I'll get them a drink, and then you can play. OK?"
Morry was as good as his word, and we three soon had drinks in our hands. We accompanied Rachel and Morry into the kitchen. Rachel made appropriate sounds about the flowers, while Morry was quite appreciative of the wine. I explained that Stacie had chosen it. She proceeded to tell him about the features of each bottle while Morry looked at me with a twinkle in his eye. "I had no idea," he said, "that you were such a wine connoisseur. Perhaps after supper I can show you my cellar." Morry looked down. Esther was tugging at his trouser leg.
"Daddy, everybody's drinking," she said, "can I play now?"
Morry sighed. "Yes, my love." He turned to us. "I'm afraid there's no escape," he said, "she's determined to play the piano for you. We'd best come along, or they'll be no peace."
We followed the little girl down the stairs into the basement and to what was obviously Morry's studio. It was a gorgeous room with comfortable leather furniture and a large computer facility with a very impressive looking audio system. But the centrepiece was an enormous piano. It was not only large, it looked larger because of its glossy black finish. On the side, it said "Bösendorfer" in large golden gothic letters. I stared at Morry. "I don't think I've ever seen one of these in the flesh," I said.
"Well," he said, "it's a recent acquisition. And it's a big monster, all right. It has nine more notes in the bass than any other piano. Ninety-seven notes on the keyboard. Cost a fortune, of course. I'd not have been so profligate, but Rachel insisted."
Stacie looked at me questioningly. I was about to reply, but Esther was clambering onto the piano bench, and Morry was raising it to its highest level so that she could reach the keyboard. Esther reached the summit of the chair and turned to us. "This is my latest piece," she said, "it's called 'Edward and Cooper.'"
"They're her bears," Rachel explained.
Esther turned to the keyboard. She put her hands on the keys. She frowned for a moment. I almost laughed. It was the exact expression that Morry wore before beginning to play. Then Esther started to play.
I don't know what I expected. Perhaps the usual incoherent banging on the keys that most children produce when they "play" the piano. That was not what we heard. Instead, we heard what sounded to me like a finished piece of music. And very well-played. It began with a galumphing sort of theme. That was followed by a gentle tune. At the end, the two combined together.
As she finished, we were quiet for a moment. Then of course, we applauded as she clambered down from the bench and gravely bowed. After her bow, Esther climbed into Stacie's lap. She asked, "Did you like it, Auntie Stacie?"
"Yes, sweetheart. It was beautiful," Stacie said, as she kissed Esther's forehead.
Magda picked Esther from Stacie's lap. "All right, Esther. You've had your concert. It's time for bed. Say good night to everyone."
"Yes, Mummy Magda. Goodnight, everyone."
As Magda carried the tired but triumphant Esther upstairs, I turned to Morry. "Jesus," was all I could say.
Morry took a swig of his Scotch. "Yes," he said, "it's quite frightening. She's never had a formal lesson of any sort. She learned to read by looking at the books as they were read to her. And she learned to read music by looking over our shoulders, Rachel's and mine, while we composed. I remember the day that she went to the piano and played the notes I'd just written. I asked her how she did that. Her answer was, 'Oh Daddy, don't be silly. You know how.'"
"Christ. She's a genius."
"I fear you may be right. Of course, her mother is a genius. I guess that her genes are strong enough to overcome mine."
"Bullshit," Rachel said. "That kid shows signs of becoming ten times the pianist I could ever be. That comes from her dad." She gestured toward the door. "But you came for a meal, not a preschool concert. Now let's go upstairs and eat."
And eat we did. Drink as well. Morry certainly didn't stint on either edibles or potables. The steaks were done to perfection, as were the side dishes. Morry was properly appreciative of Stacie's wines, praising their attributes astutely. I was at once amused and a little miffed to see my wife eating out of his hand, so to speak. As I may have said before, I could appreciate the technique of the consummate cuntsman, just as long as he didn't take it too far.
After Stacie's wines were consumed, several more bottles were opened. Charlotte and Magda kept up their end on the wine front. They were soon engaged in a long conversation about the finer points of cuisine. The main topic seemed to be the differences between Filipino and Maritime Canadian treatments of seafood.
I accompanied Morry out to the deck. While he cleaned his barbecue, I enjoyed the beautiful view of the garden. It looked like a miniature Versailles, with the reflecting pools and fountains. "It's gorgeous," I said.
Morry grinned. "Can't take any credit, old chap," he said, "Bought it more or less just like this. Garden design isn't my forte."
I took a drink, still looking into the pools and fountains. "Speaking of forte," I said, "what about Esther? It must be a huge responsibility having a child like that."
Morry clapped me on the back. "Old boy," he said, "I'm used to it. Don't forget that I have a wife who's twice as talented as I am and much less than half my age. So I have one more female genius in the household. At least I have experience in raising them." He looked at my glass. "Now, old chap, your glass is empty. Since you're not driving, I assume that I can twist your rubber arm to take another bit of single malt."
After an evening of astonishment and wonderful hospitality, Stacie, Charlotte and I wandered home. Charlotte hiccoughed a bit as she bid us good night and headed down to her bed. Stacie and I went up to ours.
When we arrived in our bedroom, I made good on my earlier threat. I not only licked off Stacie's makeup, I treated every part of her the same way. After she'd had several astonishing orgasms, I finally relented and let her relax while I got myself a little nightcap of single malt.
"Christ," she said, "what brought that on?"
I sat on the bed and took her on my lap. "Little minx," I said, you've been teasing me all day. I watched you getting dressed and undressed. Then, I was told, 'look but don't touch." This is my time to both look and touch. You, my darling wife, are about to be royally fucked."
The next morning, I was grateful that I hadn't scheduled any meetings at the office. The combination of food, beverage and amazing sex mitigated against my coherency. About 10:00, Stacie and I awoke to the tantalizing smell of one of Charlotte's gourmet breakfasts. We put on our robes and wandered downstairs, moaning and yawning.
After we'd eaten our fill and were relaxing over coffee, Stacie said, "Jack, I have something really important to talk about."
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