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Post by Deleted on Feb 17, 2014 0:42:56 GMT -5
Setting both drinks on the table, he made sure to pull out her chair for her. Turning to look down at the elder woman requesting his attention, he looked at Vicki. His hand went to Vicki's elbow for a second, as to let her know he would be with her in a minute. He would not ignore those of an older generation. His mother had taught him better.
"Ma'am." He offered, turning to the older woman. He raised a brow, interested in her words if she had been so moved to interrupt them.
"We are not-" He started, his words overlaid by Ms. Vale's. It seemed the two women were now conversing, him there as if just a pretty thing to look at. But the words were curious, coming from the woman. Did they really give off such an impression? Ms. Vale was certainly a breath of fresh air. Feminine, assertive. Classic. Perhaps this kindly grandmother had a point.
"Thank you, Ma'am. If things cease to work between her and I, certainly you will be next on my list." As Vicki whispered hotly in his ear, a grin came to his mouth. A quick turn of his head and a kiss was pressed to her cheek. "Let me escort our guest back to her seat, and I will return quickly, my sunshine."
Offering the older woman an arm, he made sure she had been able to find her table, and was seated with ease, before going to the coffee counter and ordering her drink for her. Paying for it, he brought it to the woman, crouching beside her and sharing a few more words before he brought up her aged hand to his lips, and kissed it goodbye.
Hands in his pockets, his gaze found Ms. Vale once more as he walked casually to their table, and drinks.
"That was, something." Pulling out his seat, he sat, glaring silently at the stain on his sweater. "There is a wisdom in the older generation. I could not turn her away after her insightful, kind words. I do apologize for leaving you here alone, after I said we could enjoy our beverages together. It does seem that my stay in Gotham is looking up, other than an interrupted date, and a ruined sweater." He reached for, and raised his cup, nodding to her. "Shall we now, finally, enjoy our coffees?"
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Post by Deleted on Feb 17, 2014 17:02:41 GMT -5
As Marc gave his undivided attention to the elderly woman, Vicki watched, a bit overwhelmed with happiness in her spirit. Marc was so kind and considerate to others, and so gifted in social graces. He certainly went out of his way to make the ladies feel special.
Even Vicki.
This one’s definitely a keeper, she thought to herself. Don’t screw it up, Vicki. Slow and steady wins the game.
As Marc walked back toward her with his hands in his pockets, Vicki noticed everything about him. God, where had he come from? He was too good to be true. He seemed to be everything she wanted in a man -- ruggedly handsome, good natured, sincere, and courteous. He was the total package -- so . . . perfect.
When Marc took his seat and began resuming their private conversation, Vicki noticed his silent glare concerning his soiled apparel. His apology made her blush. She’d never had anyone treat her this nicely before.
After they bumped their coffee cups together and took their sips, Vicki raised her free hand, grabbed Marc’s chin, and pointed his face toward hers, making sure she had his full attention. They were looking straight into one another’s eyes.
“Please stop that,” she scolded gently. “Nobody notices that coffee stain, except YOU. We’ll get your sweater cleaned. Okay? Stop worrying about it. Trust me. It’s the only imperfect thing about you that I can see . . . .”
At that moment, time seemed to stand still as their eyes locked and their souls connected for a few brief seconds.
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Post by Deleted on Feb 18, 2014 5:57:27 GMT -5
His lips pursed at her touch. He was not happy with the stain. Nor the kids that had been inconsiderate and ran into him. Nor the wasted beverage. He was crabby. There were certain customs he preferred. And one of them was having his coffee before whatever god-awful time it was now.
So as he ruminated on the elderly woman's words, Ms. Vale's touch snapped him from his reverie. Gazing into her blue eyes was something. They were clear. Hopeful. Charming. He knew for a fact his were not. Jet lag was not his friend. His apartment search was draining. Ms. Vale seemed to be the only bright spot in this cold city.
"I do not like deviating from my routine. That is what happened today. And my mother purchased this sweater for me one holiday. While I may not be lacking for material things, I cherish the ones given to me by others. This trip has found me-" He sighed, searching for the proper words. "Sorely lacking."
Replacing his espresso on the table, his hand went to gather hers from his face. He first pressed her fingertips to his lips, cherishing one before moving to the next. After that show of affect, he pressed her hand to his cheek. "You try so hard to make me smile, when I am nothing but dour. Why waste your joy when my mind is set, Ms. Vale?" There was already a glint in his eyes, and a faint smile playing on his lips. She was already improving his mood.
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Post by Deleted on Feb 18, 2014 17:28:34 GMT -5
As Marc caressed each of her fingers with a warm and sensuous kiss, Vicki felt she was as close to heaven as she could possibly get. Marc treasured gifts? He had no clue how badly she wanted to give him a kiss right now!
Suddenly, the little voice inside her head issued a warning:
Don’t screw it up, Vicki. Slow and steady wins the game.
Vicki hated when her conscience sounded and reined her in!
With that, Vicki began pacing herself. Things were moving way too fast – for her, anyway. She was falling in love with Marc the way you fall asleep: slowly, and then all at once. She tried to temper her passion by saying something witty, something he wouldn’t expect.
“Why do I do it? Because I have to look at you,” she mused sarcastically with a playful tone of voice mixed with a hint of sass. “So get over your bad self right now!”
She watched Marc’s expression and laughed out loud.
“I’m kidding!” she confessed, slapping him playfully on the knee before he could take her seriously. “Look, it's not a waste of my joy. I want to make you feel as good as you make me feel. I also want you to feel as good as you look. And speaking as an award-winning photographer, I must say that you look pretty damn good, Mr. Marc. You're very easy on the eyes.”
Now it was Vicki’s turn to bring Marc’s hand to her lips and kiss his fingers. Then she let his hand go and finished her coffee. Although she had finished first, she didn’t rush Marc in any way, wanting him to enjoy his beverage and her company. At least he looked like he was enjoying both.
After some idle small talk, Vicki took Marc’s empty cup from him and stood to go and throw it away with her own. She shook her head, knowing he would protest her actions. “Please let me do this,” she pleaded. “Don’t be so one-sided. I want you to let me do nice things for you sometimes, too.”
After throwing the cups and napkins away, Vicki stopped to chat for a moment with the nice woman who had spoken to them earlier. Their short conversation couldn’t be heard, but the expressions on Vicki’s face spoke volumes. Vicki ended the tête-à-tête by leaning over and giving her new friend a sideways hug. Then she said goodbye and returned to Marc.
“So, are you ready to go to Peyton’s now, Mr. Dahlmaine?” she asked, reaching for her purse. “Are you ready to be my show pony?”
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Post by Deleted on Feb 22, 2014 0:53:32 GMT -5
Sass? From this one? He pressed her palm to his lips once more before arching a brow. A new side to her that was playful. He liked this. "I do not seek out to be 'bad' as you say, Ms. Vale." But he did meet her smile with a half-grin. Until his coffee took full effect, he would be at half-mast.
"I am not aiming to do anything. I am aiming to be nothing but my genuine self. And that self is dour at the moment. I have not had a fantastic start to my day, I will admit." He sighed, elbow leaning on the table as he put his head in his hand.
"You know how to lavish praise on those that are undeserving. Perhaps that is how you won your awards? Coaxing smiles from the grumps of the world. Yes?" He was teasing her, despite his own weariness with the world. Or at least with Gotham.
As she rose to throw their things, he went quiet. If she felt the need to dispose of their garbage, he would indulge her. He would have to pick his battles today it seemed.
"Yes, but I am the new one to this city. You are not. Let it go back and forth between this, so neither of us are in debt. And no track-keeping."
He watched her move to the disposal and back. Detouring to the elderly woman to chat caught his interest, the two women glancing in his direction. He offered a held up hand in acknowledgement. After several more minutes Vicki returned to him, and he stood, offering his arm once more. "Perhaps no show pony, but yes, Ms. Vale. I am as ready as I think I will be."
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Post by Deleted on Feb 22, 2014 8:16:00 GMT -5
As Vicki took Marc’s arm, his comment about record-keeping still haunted her. She had taken his words seriously and wondered what his first marriage must’ve been like. She presumed record-keeping had been another life-lesson learned on his part through past experience. Her question was this, if it pertained to his first marriage: Who had been keeping the track record – his wife or him?
Vicki knew Marc had nothing to worry about in that regard, as far as she was concerned. While Vicki was the kind of gal who appreciated men and their chivalric acts of kindness, she also liked doing what she wanted, when she felt like it or felt led to. Call it instinct, impulse, whatever -- her actions were her own, and she basked in the freedom of free will and choice. She always trusted her gut feeling, and coupled with her heart, she usually did the right thing.
And although she didn't consider Marc a grump, she hadn't commented either way about it, to keep him guessing.
When Marc said he was ready to go but didn’t think he would end up being her show pony, Vicki gave him a wry smile. “You don’t know me at all, do you, Mr. Marc?” she asked with mock hurt and disdain as they began walking. She added dramatically with a thick Transylvanian accent, trying to sound like Dracula, “I always get what I want! Resist all you like, but you will fall victim to my feminine wiles!”
She couldn’t help but burst out laughing. She was having so much fun with Marc, sometimes at his expense. She tightened her grip on his arm, signaling that she was only playing and really enjoyed being with him. At least she hoped that’s how he was interpreting it.
The walk to Peyton’s was a short one -- one block away, in fact. As the couple approached the building, one could tell it was a ritzy, upper-class men’s clothing store by the fancy marquee hanging over the entranceway. Once Marc had opened the door for her -- Yes, she was learning! -- Vicki entered and waited in the foyer until they were greeted by Pierre himself, the rotund French owner of the establishment. He welcomed Vicki in French, kissing both of her cheeks.
”It is so good to see you again, Miss Vale!” he exclaimed in English with a thick, French accent. ”What an honor to be graced with your presence on this fine and glorious day! How may I help you?”
“I was wondering if you could fit us into the schedule,” Vicki replied, her fawn-like eyes catching his attention. “My friend here is new in town and is in need of some additions to his wardrobe. Naturally, you were the first person that came to mind. Mr. Pierre Peyton, I’d like for you to meet Mr. Marc Dahlmaine,” she introduced. “Marc is visiting Gotham for a few days, and may even decide to move here . . . if he likes what he sees -- clothing and otherwise.”
Vicki was definitely a smooth talker and one of the best when it came to public relations. Her manners (and beauty) often opened many doors for her. And hearts. She winked at Marc as she finished speaking, hoping he got her true meaning of that last part.
Meanwhile, Pierre’s eyes widened when he realized Marc could be a potential regular customer in the future. With a big smile and open arms, he greeted Marc the same way he had Vicki, with a warm embrace while kissing both cheeks. Then he began carrying on a conversation with Marc in French. Vicki had no idea what they were saying to one another, but by the way Marc’s weary face lit up, she knew he was enjoying it.
“Of course, I will accommodate you, Mr. Dahlmaine,” Pierre said in English, keeping one of his arms around Marc so he felt welcomed. “What a coincidence! It just so happens that I had a cancellation. The store is yours for the rest of the day.”
Vicki was surprised how everything was working out. The day was turning out to be perfect. Then she eyed Marc’s sweater.
Well. Almost perfect.
“Pierre, please be a dear and do something about that dreadful stain, won't you?” she asked, pointing out the blemish on Marc’s clothing.
“Of course, Miss Vale! Of course!!” Pierre exclaimed, snapping to attention. <“Please follow me this way, sir,”> he instructed Marc in French.
As they began walking, Vicki noticed a beautiful floral arrangement in the corner of the foyer. The crystal vase was filled with assorted flowers. “Oooh! Look!” Vicki pointed out to Marc, taking his hand in hers. “Yellow roses! They’re my favorite!”
Once inside the 2,300-square-foot store, Vicki was amazed at the huge selection. Everything from men’s business suits and dress shoes to casual wear was displayed -- without price tags, of course. When they reached the dressing room area, Pierre stopped Vicki and motioned for Marc to enter one of the rooms.
<”Please remove your shirt and sweater, and I will launder them for you,”> he told Marc in French, so as not to embarrass them in any way in front of a lady. <”Is light starch acceptable, sir? I aim to please.”>
Meanwhile, Vicki was getting excited. One way or another, she was determined to see Marc without his shirt on!
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Post by Deleted on Feb 23, 2014 2:54:30 GMT -5
"You are engaging, Ms. Vale. But I don't like to assume after only a few hours of knowing eachother. So your words would be correct." As she altered her voice in some sort of Romanian affectation, his brow raised. Patting her hand, they continued to walk. A short walk at that. She was an ingenue in her views of love. It was uncomplicated, and refreshing. Had he thought other of her, he would not have purchased coffee for her, shown her affection, or entertained her comedic foibles for longer than a few minutes.
As Vicki walked before him, the proprietor greeted her warmly. After their exchange, Marc would slip a hand from his pocket and greet Mr. Peyton as well.
Encased in a warm hug, he was curious if the man really was French, or putting on airs. Either way, his store was impressive.
She was assertive to say the least. As she took his hand in her own, it was warm. Her emotitation at the flowers was not overlooked either.
"I would prefer to have a replacement shirt. It would not be proper for me to walk around half-naked before Ms. Vale." he returned tersely to the store-owner. To show so much flesh in front of a woman he was newly, yet deeply acquainted with would be tacky. And disrespectful.
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Post by Deleted on Feb 24, 2014 15:38:04 GMT -5
When Marc and Pierre disappeared into the dressing room area, Vicki decided to walk around and do a little shopping for Marc. She walked over to the Cashmere sweaters first and looked at the assortment of colors on display. Using her artistic eye, she tried picturing Marc in each one and finally decided on two colors: green and periwinkle. They’d both look great on him, and each would complement his gorgeous ice-blue eyes.
Unexpectedly, Pierre appeared on the scene and rushed toward the dress shirts. Obviously, Marc had requested a new one, and Vicki walked over to Pierre to make sure whatever he picked out would go with the sweaters she had selected.
“Go with a grey one,” Vicki decided for him. “When you give it to Marc, please ask him to put it on and come out here. I’d like to see what he looks like . . . in it, I mean.”
Pierre smiled. He knew exactly what Vicki had meant. “Ah, love is in the air, I see,” he sighed romantically to her as he grabbed a grey shirt and a cerulean shirt, just like the one Marc had been wearing. “If only I were twenty years younger, Miss Vale. I’d give that gentleman a run for his money.”
Vicki giggled at the flattering comment. “Speaking of money,” she added with a whisper, “there’s a fifty dollar cash tip for you if you can get him out here without a shirt on.”
Pierre winked an eye. “I will do my best, Mademoiselle, but I can make no promises.”
Vicki shrugged her shoulders in reply. “A girl’s gotta try.”
As Pierre disappeared the way he came, Vicki wondered if Marc thought she had been kidding when she said he was going to be her show pony. Silly man! He’d know better in a few minutes!
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Post by Deleted on Feb 25, 2014 5:53:54 GMT -5
Marc stood in the changing area, hands shoved in his pants pockets. He had no shirt on, but was unwilling to appear so naked before Vicki. Especially so early on. Pierre was different. He was a man. And the proprieter of this place. So between Vicki, and Pierre Peyton, one of them would find him a new shirt. Or several. His wardrobe was severely lacking, and he saw no reason to ship his things from France, to Gotham.
One the elder gentleman came with only two shirts, he rolled his eyes. Going for the grey one, he sighed. Slipping the buttons from one or two of the top, he then pulled it over his head. It fit well. And he liked the color. Going to stand outside, he waited for Ms. Vale to make sure it fit, and looked properly. Turning to Pierre, he nodded. "I will take this style in white, black, charcoal, green, and blue. I like it."
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Post by Deleted on Feb 25, 2014 20:36:49 GMT -5
Vicki smiled when Marc came into view wearing the grey shirt. My, it fit him nicely and complimented his eyes, just like she knew it would. In fact, it looked better on him than she'd even imagined.
“You look very dashing, Mr. Dahlmaine,” she complimented when he got into ear shot. She was standing in front of a trio of angled full-length mirrors where customers could stand and inspect themselves from all sides. Motioning for Marc to come and stand next to her, Vicki waited patiently for him to close the distance between them.
When he got to the space, Vicki slowly backed away from the mirrors and let Marc take his place as the center of attention. He looked like triplets standing there -- the proud peacock -- and Vicki admired him from multiple angles. To her, he didn’t have a bad side at all.
At least not on the outside.
“I found these,” she told him, walking up to him again and showing him the two sweaters she had selected. She took turns holding each one up in front of him. “I picked them out for you. What do you think? Which one do you like the best?”
As she waited for him to respond, she eyed both of their images in the mirrors. She was pleased at how cute they looked together. Their children were going to be gorgeous!
Vicki giggled, amused with herself . . . and Marc.
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Post by Deleted on Feb 27, 2014 22:09:35 GMT -5
"Thank you, Ms. Vale." He responded, eyes going to the mirror as he stepped before it. The shirt was a fine cut, color, and a good material. He liked it.
Calling Vicki back to his side with a bend of his fingers, he needed her opinion. "Does it fit in the back? I do not have eyes there to see."
He turned slowly. With the hopes she could spot any imperfections. When she returned to his side he raised a brow. She had picked out shirts for him? Terrific. His face crooked in a smile. Lips touched by his tongue for a second. "I like both. Which would you think would go with this better?" Focusing on her, and the style of sweater she had picked, he had to admire her taste.
As she giggled, he studied her features. She truly was a ray of sunlight in his day. "You are amused by something, Vicki?"
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Post by Deleted on Mar 1, 2014 16:44:42 GMT -5
Vicki’s eyebrows rose when Marc told Pierre that he wanted the same style shirt in white, black, charcoal, green, and blue. The man definitely had taste, and it wasn’t all in his mouth.
“Yes, sir! At once, sir!” Pierre exclaimed, running off to gather the variety of colored shirts, dollar signs in his eyes. “I feel extremely honored to be able to accommodate you this afternoon, Mr. Dahlmaine! Thank you, sir! Thank you so very much!”
Vicki was flattered that Marc wanted her to look him over to see if the shirt fit him correctly. “Hmmm,” she hummed, folding her arms in front and tapping her chin with her right index finger. She enjoyed watching him turn in a complete circle for her. He had a cute butt. “I don’t know,” she whined with a critical eye. “Can you hold out your arms for me?”
She watched him.
“Can you turn around for me again?”
She tapped her chin some more, taking in the view.
“Can you walk for me -- back and forth a few times?”
When Mark was done, Vicki sauntered over to him and waggled her index finger in his face, motioning for him to lower his head to hers. Then she placed her forehead on his and stared deeply into his dreamy blue eyes.
“See? I told you that you would be my show pony,” she whispered. She couldn’t stop smiling.
It impressed Vicki that Marc liked her taste in sweaters, too. “Oh, definitely the green one!” she replied when he asked her for her preference of color.
Looking at herself standing with Marc again in the trio of mirrors, Vicki let out a perky laugh. When Marc inquired the reason for her laughter, she shrugged her shoulders and replied, “I love the view.”
Suddenly, Pierre appeared again with the assortment of shirts. “I have started a tab for you, Mr. Dahlmaine,” he said. “Would you care to try these on for size as well?”
“Oh, Marc! Do you mind?” Vicki pouted playfully. “Be a dear and humor me. I’d love to see you in the blue one! I think it would look fantastic with the periwinkle sweater. Don't you?”
Then Vicki and Pierre glanced at one other, and she winked at the men's fashion merchant. They were both thinking about the same thing -- that fifty dollar tip.
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Post by Deleted on Mar 5, 2014 5:36:36 GMT -5
Moving as she asked his arms rose, he spun, and he walked back and forth. Rolling his shoulders he stood straight. "Is this good for you?" He queried, curious as to why she wanted him to move as such. Did he need to hop on one foot? Spin as well? The shirt fit that much was true.
Shrugging to her level, they were now eye to eye. Quite literally. "You are quite right. We should have made a bet on such a claim." Was his response. A smile grew on his lips as she beamed. He straightened, a tucking the shirt to his trousers. "Green is vibrant. Green is growth." He nodded curtly to her answer when she laughed again.
As soon as Pierre reappeared, he waved his hand. "I would like to take them with me. They fit as is evidenced by this shirt. If you have time for suits I would require several. My wardrobe in Gotham is limited. I am looking to expand that and require the proper attire. A tab would be fine." As Pierre put the shirts down Vicki had a request.
"I am not fond of periwinkle. I would do blue with green instead." He said flatly. He would not wear purple here. His hand reached for the blue oxford. Untucking the one he had on it slipped easily as he pulled it off his back, and handed it to her. The blue shirt would then hang before him as he undid several buttons deftly, and pulled it over his head. "The sweater?" He asked, looking from Pierre, to Vicki as she noted the proprieter had not gone to survey the suits.
"Perhaps I should look at suits myself." He mentioned, stepping down from the mirror and walking from the dressing area. His store was quite expansive. It had many suits of fine quality. Several caught his eye as he walked through, hoping the man would be able to glean what he liked, for another fitting. If they could get tailored and sent to his makeshift suite he would be grateful. "I do believe I have enough for suits, shirts, sweaters and ties, Ms. Vale. But what of more casual items. Are those to be purchased here, or elsewhere?"
In France he would know where to stop. Gotham was new to him. He was lucky to have her as his guide.
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Post by Deleted on Mar 6, 2014 23:02:19 GMT -5
Vicki spotted Pierre running to Marc’s side when Marc waved and requested to take the dress shirts home with him. The store owner leered at Marc’s request to try on several suits. Indeed, it looked like sales were going to be very profitable for the day’s bottom line.
Marc kept saying repeatedly that his wardrobe was lacking. It made Vicki ponder what limited apparel he had brought with him to Gotham City. He made himself sound like a needy pauper, but Vicki knew it was the furthest thing from the truth. Marc Dahlmaine was so rich.
In more ways than one.
Vicki was disappointed when Marc told her that he really didn’t like the periwinkle sweater she had picked out for him. She loved the color and decided to send it to her father in the next mailing she had planned. She always wondered why her parents never phoned or wrote to thank her for any of the clothing items and knickknacks she sent to them on a regular basis. Deep down, she hoped they appreciated her effort and thoughtfulness.
When Marc changed shirts right there in front of her, Vicki observed his chest with lustful eyes. His scrumptious body was a scalding hot temptation that sent shivers up her spine. Their gazes clashed for two heavy heartbeats before Vicki got it together and turned away. Marc had a way of looking that felt more like a hot, physical touch. She assumed he knew exactly what was running through her mind. She doubted he ever had to spend a night alone.
Vicki was impressed with Marc’s good fashion sense. The green sweater looked awesome with the blue Oxford shirt. It was obvious to Vicki that Marc invested a lot of time and money in his image. The man was gorgeous! She also assumed he was aware that his style was a huge mode of communication, and was worth caring for as much as his education, career, and relationships.
“Never underestimate the power of what you wear,” she told him, quoting Oscar Schoffler, longtime fashion editor of Esquire magazine. “After all, there’s just a small bit of yourself sticking out at the collar and cuff. The rest of the world sees what you drape on your frame.” Then she smiled at him and complimented, “Marc, now you look picture perfect.” Damn. She wished she had her camera!
Being honest with herself, Vicki was more interested in seeing Marc in his birthday suit than in a business suit, but she humored him by walking over to the suit section with him. Perusing the area in search of ones that she liked, there was a navy pinstripe suit on display that caught her eye immediately, along with a gray suit with a matching vest. Next, she looked at the selection of silk ties, keeping in mind that Marc wasn’t fond of wearing any shade of purple.
“Let’s try these,” Vicki suggested, pointing out the two suits to Marc. She held up the ties in front of them and asked for his opinion. “What do you think?”
When Marc rattled off a list of other clothing items he desired, Pierre thought he had died and gone to Heaven! Marc was the neediest customer he’d had in years. His eyes bulged at Marc’s inquiry concerning casual items. He wasn’t about to let Marc seek out his competitors.
“Peyton’s has anything you need, Mr. Dahlmaine,” the man answered. “You are standing in the finest men’s clothing store in Gotham City. No one can beat the quality.”
(Pierre didn’t mention that Peyton's was also the most expensive men’s clothing store in Gotham City. Everyone could beat the prices!)
Discreetly handing Pierre his fifty dollar cash tip, Vicki winked. “Please take those two suits to the dressing area,” she told him. “Although we are the only ones in the store, it would be indecent for Marc to change out here. Besides, he’s too much of a gentleman to do that. He respects me.”
As Pierre left them, Vicki turned to Marc and smiled, taking in his reaction to her statement. She was so glad that they had met and that she could help him in this small way. At that moment, she felt she could share anything with him and he would listen. She decided to put that to the test.
“I keep dreaming of meeting ‘Mr. Right’,” she said, sharing her heart while making small talk as she escorted Marc to the dressing area. “Some of my girlfriends tell me I should settle for ‘Mr. Right Now’, but that’s not me. I want the dream.”
She smiled weakly and added without thinking, “I know I should stop dreaming. Sometimes it keeps me from seeing what’s right in front of me . . . “
Vicki tried to smile again, but didn’t feel real successful.
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Post by Deleted on Mar 8, 2014 17:45:15 GMT -5
Vicki's eyes had lingered on his toned torso. He knew he was a fine specimen. He was also a divorce, well read, monied, and available. In some areas, he knew that was a 'hot ticket' as they said. To others he was a walking time bomb, as evidenced by his failed marriage. He saw himself as a lover of life.
So when the green sweater was tugged down over the other shirt the appreciative gaze of both Pierre and Vicki was noted. He unbuttoned his slacks and tucked in the oxford. Ready to find more staple items he cracked a grin at her statement. Zipping his fly and he was ready. "You are full of witticisms. I appreciate the compliment, and the recommendation. If Peyton's has all I need, I shall leave a much richer-and well dressed individual." As much as he enjoyed flight he had packed with a carry-on, not expecting much of the states. And it was easy enough to expand a wardrobe in the city he chose to frequent rather than take un-needed items as baggage.
"Clothing is a uniform. A reflection of how one sees them-self, or cares to alter the perceptions." He added, nodding to Ms. Vale again.
As the two traversed the area, he did like the suits she had picked. "The light grey is a three-piece. Good eye. I also need Black, straight blue. A few suit-jackets, slacks." He averted his eyes to think.
"Possibly several other items as well. Sportcoat in khaki, navy. Several ties, with coordinating pocket squares. Shoes, to correspond to the suits. Trouser socks. Undershirts, and underwear- Boxer briefs, with some cotton makeup." He continued to add more and more items. The selection at Peyton's was of quality, so he saw no reason to not purchase what he needed.
"If possible, a pair or two of denim, polo-shirts. Perhaps an overcoat, leather gloves. And I know your store does not sell the following, but is there a good sporting-ah, goods store?" He wanted to expand his rock climbing gear. It seemed he would be staying in Gotham for a while.
The passage of money between her, and his hands did not slip his peripheral vision, and he smiled slightly. So the man had won a bet. Not his business. "I appreciate both of your dedication. It is my own fault for not thinking ahead to pack. But I prefer to clothe myself in the frippery and finery of the city I am in. A better investment than to bring unwanted items." As he ran his fingers over several other ties, he slipped a hand to his pocket, quiet.
Once Ms. Vale started talking again his brow arched as he listened to her speak. "Dreams are a good thing to aspire to. But not if action is not coupled with said aspirations, Vicki. Never settle. It sets one up for failure." Fully turning from the tie selection he looked to her.
"What is your full dream? And never stop looking for that perfection. Even though some may be perfect on the exterior, and not fully to the bone." He understood her true meaning, a hand coming to caress her jaw, a thumb brushing along her lips as he inclined her head to him. Leaning down, he said nothing more as his lips pressed to hers softly. He waited a few moments before pulling back and standing up straight.
"Forgetting to dream is to kill the joy of life. Never stop, sweet Vicki." He stated lowly.
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