Window Dressed Love
Joanne Faries
Angelina applied makeup. She glanced in the mirror for final approval and was pleased with her tawny tresses' cooperation. Her rose negligee clung in appropriate places. She was ready to face Trace, the premier male window dressing model. She'd prayed for this assignment.
 
The goal today was to entice tourists to stop, stare, and choose to enter the store. The bonus goal was to appear on Trace's radar.  But first they had to mesmerize, create an illusion of domesticity heated by G-rated sex. After all, they were on THE premier New York City avenue and represented THE premier shopping experience.
 
"Hey," Trace said as he entered the window. "Are you sitting or standing first?"
 
"Um, stand at the stove and pose?" she asked. Then she declared, "I'll stand. I'm making you breakfast." She exhaled.
 
"Great. I'll read the paper. At the twenty minute mark, kiss me as you serve pancakes or whatever."
 
Her heart fluttered at the thought of brushing her lips against his.
 
"Yo, you okay?" asked Trace. "You look flushed. Flu's going around. I don’t want to catch nothin'. If you're sick, call in another model."
 
"No, no. It's all good," she reassured him. "So, you ready for the holidays?" She decided to warm him up with chitchat.
 
"Nah, not really into Christmas. I'm psyched for New Year's. Flying to Gstaad to ski. That's the only place to be these days. "
 
"Cool," Angelina said. How can I keep up? Holy crap. He's a golden god, heading to freakin' Switzerland.
 
Trace glanced at his watch. "And we are on the clock. Minimal movement. Get your pose comfortable. I'll give a count in fifteen."
 
She angled herself toward the window, spatula in hand at the stove. Tourists and Trace could admire her full breasts and long legs.
 
Fifteen minutes segments flew by as they posed, moved. At one point, Angelina sat on Trace's lap and could feel the stir of his privates. Tourists peered into the windows and inspired by hot domestic bliss were motivated to buy placemats, cookware, and loungewear. Little did they know that the pancake-serving kiss initiated an invite to ski.
 
Unfortunately Trace had not brushed his teeth that morning. Angelina's desire for passion resulted in derision. OMG, the sexiest model in NYC is a pig. Bourbon and cigarettes.  She gulped air once free from his embrace.
 
The final fifteen minutes were torturous. Trace moved into position behind her. People from Iowa and God knows where watched Trace run his fingers down her arm. A girl outside screamed.
 
"So," Trace murmured in her ear. "Gstaad? We'd look great on the slopes together."
 
Angelina shook her head. "Nope, Georgia. Slop Granny Gertrude's pigs. "




First published: February, 2013
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