Made For Sex Read Free Page B

see my place,” she said. “Let’s have lunch chez moi next week.”
    â€œIn Hopewell Junction? I guess I could. You’ll have to give me directions.”
    â€œNot Hopewell Junction. Around the corner.” With an enigmatic smile, Ronnie gave Carla an address on East 54th.
    â€œI don’t get it, Ronnie. You have an apartment right here?” She saw Ronnie nod, then pause. “No wonder you know all the good spots to eat. Have you got a secret life? Tell me everything.”
    â€œNext week I promise you’ll know all.” As Ronnie left for her usual two o’clock meeting, she added, “I’ll arrange to have the whole afternoon free. We’ll talk.”

    The address that Ronnie had given Carla led her to a small, three-story brownstone on East 54th. Carla climbed the four steps to the entrance and rang the bell. Ronnie opened the door dressed in a soft gray wool long-sleeved jumpsuit, her dark blond hair loose around her shoulders. A pair of large, free-form silver earrings and a silver herringbone choker were her only jewelry. Carla was glad that she had chosen to forgo her usual jeans and had worn a dark green wool suit with a beige raw silk blouse.
    The two women bussed cheeks, and Carla followed Ronnie through a small vestibule and into a beautifully furnished living room.
    â€œSome fantastic place,” Carla said as she looked around. Everything was done in black, white, and shades of gray. The sofa was overstuffed, covered in black leather banded with leather straps secured with heavy metal buckles. It was accented with throw pillows in black-and-white stripes and plaids. The two comfortable-looking soft chairs were white jacquard fabric with identical black-and-white pillows. A fluffy white rug covered the center of the floor; Carla could see the original highly polished inlaid wood where the rug ended. The walls were covered with a soft silver-gray silk and the windows were draped in a slightly darker gray damask. End tables of black lacquer held white-based, modern lamps that filled the room with light.
    Vases and pots of flowers placed on tables and pedestals around the room provided the only color. Roses, chrysanthemums, and geraniums added their hues to blooming cactuses and unusual blossoms that Carla didn’t recognize. Several hanging baskets of living blooms hung from hooks in both the walls and ceiling. One wall was all windows with a decorative but highly functional iron grill outside. The opposite wall contained a long, white, glass-fronted wall unit filled with books of every kind, from popular novels to poetry to volumes on natural sciences and history. The other walls held black-and-white Ansel Adams prints and other, smaller black-and-white photographs by artists Carla didn’t know. At one end of the room sat an antique maple desk.
    Carla whistled. “Holy cow.” Through her real estate wanderings, she had learned enough to appreciate the class and expense of the decorating.
    â€œJust a little hideaway,” Ronnie said, laughing.
    â€œLittle? Either you inherited a small fortune, your writing is doing extremely well, or Jack indulges you and your ‘little hideaway.’”
    â€œOr ‘D’ none of the above.” Ronnie handed Carla a champagne flute and filled it from an already opened bottle of Dom Pérignon. She clinked her glass against her friend’s and, with an enigmatic smile, said, “To ‘none of the above.’”
    They drank. “Okay,” Carla said, “give.”
    â€œI think we know each other well enough for me to show you my photographs. Sit down.” She motioned toward the sofa and Carla picked up a photo album covered in black satin and sat down next to her friend. When she opened the album Carla saw a picture unlike anything she had expected. A statuesque brunette posed, wearing a black leather and chain bathing suit-like outfit. The links draped over her naked