Pleasure Seekers Read Free Page B

she stepped into the car, pushing the button for the fourteenth floor. The elevator rose quickly, silently, and soon the ride ended.
    Faye made her way down the carpeted hallway to her apartment, unlocking the door and walking into a spacious entryway that opened out to a sunken living room with a panoramic view of the East River and Long Island City.
    She’d accepted the one-bedroom, one-and-a-half-bath co-op as a divorce settlement in lieu of alimony, and it had soon become her sanctuary—a place where she shut out the sounds of the city.
    The overstuffed club chair with a matching footstool in an alcove off the living room was where she read, composed copy, watched television, listened to the radio and meditated.
    At home she spent more time in the den than she did in bed, although there’d been a time when she’d spent entire weekends in the king-size bed with her oral surgeon ex-husband making love and being loved.
    A wry smile twisted her mouth as she placed her keys and handbag on the small table next to the chair, her gaze lingering on a family photograph.
    Kicking off her heels, Faye sat down, raised her feet onto the footstool, closed her eyes, covered her face with her hands and willed her mind blank. Her hands came down quickly as she opened her eyes. The scent from the anonymous card lingered on her fingertips.
    A knowing smile softened her features. She was familiar with the fragrance because her firm had designed an aggressive holiday marketing campaign last year for the classic perfume.
    She reached into her handbag for the card. The delicate loops in the letter E and the navy blue ink confirmed that a woman had written the message.
    And there was only one way to decipher the cryptic message from Mr. or Ms. E.
    This task she would not give to her assistant.
    She would place the call herself.
    Tomorrow.
    Lowering her feet and pushing off the chair, Faye made her way into her bedroom and adjoining bath. She lit half a dozen lavender-scented candles on a table, turned on the water in the tub, removed a jar of bath salts off a built-in shelf and poured a generous amount under the runningwater. The lavender fragrance filled the air as she stripped off her clothes, leaving them on a padded bench in the corner.
    Faye then went through her nightly ritual of cleansing the makeup from her face and brushing her teeth before she settled into the lukewarm water for a leisurely soak.
    When she climbed out of the bathtub forty-five minutes later, she was completely relaxed, her mind free of everything that had gone on in her life for that day. She blotted the moisture from her body with a thick velour towel, then walked into the bedroom and crawled into bed.
    The cool air coming through the vents of the air conditioner whispered over her naked body, raising goose bumps on her flesh, but Faye didn’t notice it. She had fallen asleep.

CHAPTER 8
    L eaning back in her chair in the sun-filled office, Faye stared out the window. The sounds coming ten stories above Third Avenue were still audible. She’d spent the past couple of hours revising copy for a family-style restaurant chain whose executives wanted an inviting hometown theme for their upcoming Thanksgiving and Christmas holiday sales pitch.
    Swiveling, she faced her desk, her gaze lingering on the legal pad. She’d listed more than two dozen words, crossing out some and circling others. The ones that remained were: small town, Main Street, winding roads, family members that ranged from great-grandmother to an infant. The idea came to life in her head when she decided to include a young soldier in desert fatigues who surprises everyone when he walks into the restaurant to share Thanksgiving dinner with his extended family, while meeting his infant son for the first time. The camera would zoom in on his wife’s face as tears of joy fill her eyes. She hands him his son as the music swells.
    Picking up a pencil, Faye scribbled: background music—jazz, R&B or gospel.