Emmy And Me

Katrina got more and more comfortable with being bare-ass naked as time passed that evening, reminding me more and more of Ashley's self-empowering nudity. Ashley was a whole lot more bold about it, but Katrina was loosening up, too.

"Can I tell you something?" Katrina asked, snapping me out of thinking about Ashley.

"Of course," I answered.

"If you were, like, cool with it, I mean, I'd totally want you to be my first girl experience," Katrina said, avoiding looking at me directly.

"Why?" I asked, curious.

"What do you mean, 'why?'," Katrina demanded.

"Well, I guess I meant 'why?'," I replied. "Why me? And why the bi curiosity?"

"Seriously?" Katrina asked, sitting up and leaning forward. "I never really understood the bi curious thing until I even met you!"

"But now you do?" I asked, amused.

"Now I do!" Katrina agreed, pointing at me. "Never mind the fact that you saved my life, like, twice, never mind the fact that you're rich, and mysterious as fuck, and unbelievably scary and sexy, and…" she said, running out of things to say. "Well, yeah. You're all that and a ham sandwich."

"Mmm… Ham sandwiches…" I said in my best Homer Simpson voice.

"I'm serious!" Katrina protested, standing up to make her point, hands on her hips.

Changing the subject, I said, "I kinda liked the landing strip. Why'd you shave it off?"

"What?" she asked, taken by surprise. Glancing down and seeing where I was looking, she clapped a hand on her vaj to hide it from my view. "Eyes up here, missy!"

I made a show of my eyes slowly tracking up her body, then stopping at her pretty boobs. "Have I ever said how much I like your tan lines?"

Covering her breasts with her other arm, Katrina said, "You…!"

"Me?"

"You're-" she started to say, but couldn't think of the right words.

"I am," I agreed, reaching over to refill her glass.

"Hmph!" Katrina grumbled, sitting back down to take a sip.

In any case, all that had the desired effect, completely derailing whatever confession of lust that Katrina might have been about to make.

"I went bald because of you, you know," Katrina said after a moment.

"Even though I'd told you I liked the landing strip?"

"Yeah, you did, but you shave, so…"

"Frickin' laser beams," I corrected in my best Dr Evil impersonation, which really wasn't very good at all.

"Really? Does that actually work?" Katrina asked, letting herself get sidetracked.

"I was skeptical, but Angela swore by it so I gave it a try. It took a lot of visits and I need to go back every few months, but yeah," I explained.

"Maybe I should give it a try," Katrina said, thinking about it.

"It's pretty humiliating the first couple of times," I warned her.

"Can't be any worse than waxing, and I've had that done a few times."

"Maybe not," I conceded.

When it came time, Katrina and I went up to the master bedroom. While she put her work clothes on, I ditched my Bermuda shorts and hunted around in my drawer for some undies.

"O.K., look," Katrina said. "I know, like, I've been naked for hours now and you've only been wearing those shorts, but the way you just took 'em off just now, like it was nothing… I kinda think Emmy was right about you being an exhibitionist."

"What's a little nudity between friends?" I asked.

"Is that what we are?" Katrina asked, seemingly a bit unsure.

"I thought so," I confirmed, slipping on a pair of boy short panties to wear with a nice summer dress.

"Even though you think I'm a CIA spy?"

"You promised me you weren't," I reminded her. "I'm holding you to it."

"I'd be a shitty spy, anyhow," Katrina said.

"But a sexy one," I said with an exaggerated wink. "And that's key."

Dinner was excellent, to no great surprise. This was my fourth or fifth time eating there, and every single time had been superb.

"I can't believe how good this is!" Katrina exclaimed as she enjoyed her grilled lamb. "I know you said you can't eat this stuff all the time, and I get it, but once in a while? This is a real treat."

"It is," I agreed.

"How much does dinner here even cost?" Katrina asked.

"It's surprisingly cheap, for what you get," I replied, cutting myself a bite of the oh-so tender lamb. "With the wine, it'll be less than three hundred bucks."

"So, like, a hundred fifty dollars a person?"

"No, three hundred each," I corrected her. "But like I said, that's with the wine pairing, too. If all we did was just eat the food, it'd be closer to two-fifty per person."

"And that's your idea of surprisingly cheap?" Katrina asked, amazed.

"For this level of dining, yeah. A dinner at Per Se in New York isn't really any better, but it's pretty much five hundred bucks a person."

"Let me guess- you know this from experience," Katrina said, rolling her eyes.

"I know this from experience," I agreed.

"So, out of all the amazing Michelin five star restaurants you've ever been to, what's your favorite?" Katrina asked.

"The Michelin rankings only go up to three stars. One star means it's a pretty damned good restaurant, two stars means it's exceptional, and three means it's among the very best of the best. Your average but good enough place would never even get one star."

"So this is a three star?" Katrina asked.

"No," I replied. "But that's mostly because the Michelin Guide folks don't know that there's a whole continent down here. They've barely discovered North America, and as far as they're concerned this down here is where dragons be."

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Eventually we finished dinner, and I escorted Katrina back to her room.

"Thanks for dinner, and, um, thanks for letting me hang out at your place today," she said awkwardly.

"Thanks for having dinner with me, and thanks for being naked when you hung out at my house," I replied.

"You didn't have to say it like that!" she protested, covering her blushing face.

"No, but I wanted to."

"God," Katrina groaned. "You're gonna tell Emmy about everything, aren't you? She already called me a naked party girl…"

"Yes, I am, and yes, she does call you that," I confirmed.

Her shoulders slumping, Katrina asked, "What are your plans for the weekend? Wanna get together and do something?"

"My plans are to go to London tomorrow afternoon. Unless you can get plane tickets, I don't really see how we could get together at all."

"That's it? You're outta here, just like that?"

"Just like that," I confirmed. "But I'll be back next weekend."

"Well, that sucks," Katrina said. "I'm leaving for Miami next Friday- end of spring break, and back to school."

"Well, I guess we won't see each other, then. Well, until next time," I said, opening my arms for a goodbye hug. This seemed to surprise Katrina, and with a smile she let herself get wrapped up.

"If I go to LA, can I come visit?" she asked.

"Emmy and I would love that," I told her.

As promised, I was in time for lunch at Casa Castro. I'd packed up everything I was taking with me to London and had brought it over so there was no need to return to my house before heading to the airport.

Cecilia's suitcase was also sitting in the zaguan, indicating that she was ready to blast off. I set mine next to hers, amused at how much more she'd packed than I had. Of course I had clothes waiting for me in London and had no compunction about buying anything I might need, whereas Cecilia had packed more than enough for a week away from home.

Rafael came home for lunch as always. I found it charming how, even after thirty years of marriage, the first thing he did when he walked in was to give his wife a kiss.

"Do you two have any plans for while Cecy is with us in London?" I asked as we ate lunch.

"We are going to make love like rabbits," Mamá said. "It will be good to make noise."

Papá smiled and put his hand on his wife's. "The empty nest- it will be a type of vacation, right here."

Laughing, I agreed that I could well understand.

When Cecilia got home, she went to her room immediately to shower and pack her carry-on. Only a few minutes later Ricky and Jody came by with the van to pick up Dulce and then take us all to the airport.

I guess I should have expected that Dulce's parents would come along to say goodbye as well so the van was pretty well loaded down for the short trip.

Dulce's father and Rafael slipped into a hushed conversation in the far back row, while Mamá and Dulce's mom carried on their own conversation in the row ahead of them.

I sat right behind Jody so I could chat with Ricky. I told him that I'd be back in a week, but only for a few days. I'd let him know our arrival time as the day grew closer.

After checking in our bags, the two girls and I said goodbye to our respective families, and we passed through the security checkpoint. It wasn't the first time I'd been impressed by the level of security and the professionalism displayed by the airport staff, but as Angela had pointed out, a country that had an active terrorist guerrilla war going for decades had to take that sort of thing very seriously indeed.

KLM had a small but nice lounge there near the gate, so we relaxed in relative comfort until an airline representative ushered us all out and directly to boarding.

Since I'd bought Dulce's ticket so close to the day of the flight I'd been unable to get a seat next to the other two. I'd told her that we could switch once the plane was at cruising altitude, and the flight steward confirmed that it would be O.K. Secretly I was very happy to not sit next to the girls, but I wasn't going to say it out loud.

The girls were thrilled by the little amenity bags they got for flying business class and couldn't stop talking about how luxurious the flight had been from Colombia the entire time we waited (again in a KLM lounge, but this time much, much larger and with more food and drink options) in Amsterdam while we waited for our flight to London. It had cost me a bit extra and meant a smaller plane, but I was very grateful to fly into London City Airport this time and not Heathrow.

Waiting for us when we exited the customs and passport control was a driver in a nice suit holding up a sign that said 'Farmer and Castro'.

"Ms Farmer? My name is George," he said, handing me his business card and signaling the porter to follow as he led us outside. "I'll be your driver this week. I am available any time of day or night. Mr Lascaux asked if you would prefer any additional security?"

"Maybe," I said. "I'll call him and talk to him about it." Glancing back, I saw that Cecilia and Dulce were lagging a little behind, their eyes wide, taking in all the sights. I gave them a tilt of my head to indicate they should hurry up, and when they caught up I asked George if he was a tour guide as well.

"No, just a driver, ma'am," he said apologetically.

Once our luggage was stowed in the back of the brand-new X7 and we were on the A13 into the city I called Emmy's father.

"Thanks for the driver," I told him. "George asked if we wanted extra security, but I'd imagine the question really was did we want visible security."

Laughing, he admitted that was it. "There will be eyes on you, Emmy and the girls the entire time you're in London."

"I figured," I admitted. "Hey, if you have an afternoon free this week I'd like to come over to Paris for some chicken saté and to talk."

"Any day for you, Leah. Just tell me when you're on your way."

"Excellent. I'll talk to you soon," I said, and we hung up.

"Who was that?" Cecilia asked.

"That was Emmy's father," I replied, but didn't give any additional information.

As the doorman unloaded our luggage I went to give George my phone number, but he already had it.

"I have been instructed to contact you if anything unexpected happens with Ms Lascaux or the girls," he explained.

"Good," I told him, and thanked him, reminding him that Emmy's flight was due in that afternoon.

"Is this a hotel?" Dulce asked as we followed the concierge into the tower's lobby.

"No, this is where they have their apartment," Cecilia answered in English. Of course she'd never been there either, but still…

"Ms Farmer," the uniformed woman behind the counter said, "Your vehicles are ready to drive and your apartment has been cleaned and stocked, as per your request."

"Thank you, Sophie," I said, getting the name from her tag.

Cecilia and Dulce seemed surprised that I didn't bother with our luggage as I led the way to the elevator. When Cecilia finally asked, I told her that it would be brought up.

"What does 'PH' mean?" Dulce asked looking at the lit-up button on the panel.

"Penthouse," Cecilia explained. "It means the top floor."

"I know what penthouse means!" Dulce replied, giving her friend a shove.

Realizing I'd have to add the girls' thumbprints to the biometric front door lock, I opened the door to usher them in.

The cleaning people had left the drapes pulled all the way open, giving an impressive view despite the clouds and light drizzle of the day. They'd also left some of the interior lights on, which helped counteract the cool gray light streaming in the giant two-story windows.

"Oh my God!" Dulce said too captivated by the view to even look around the apartment. "Is this really your house?"

"This is really their house," Cecilia replied for me as the two walked over to the window to stare out. "Leah bought this house for my sister Angela."

The porter knocked just about then, and I gave him a decent tip for carrying the girl's two oversized suitcases to their rooms.

By this time the girls had begun exploring the apartment. I turned on the stereo and set the internet radio to a classic vocal jazz station for something to relax to while I checked everything over. I was pleased to see the fridge and pantry were stocked, presumably with the shopping list that Jeremy had supplied. Helping myself to a bottle of sparkling water and a few of the cookies I found, I went to check on the girls.

Dulce was sitting on the bed in the south easternmost bedroom, watching while Cecilia unpacked. The two were talking in English about what they wanted to do in London.

"I can't believe your house! This is amazing!" Dulce said. "Thanks for letting me come to England with Cecy!"

"You're welcome," I told her. "I heard you two talking about what sights to see- Emmy and I have some things we need to take care of this week, so it might be that I'll set you two up with a tour guide so you aren't stuck with us."

"I heard you ask the driver if he was a tour guide," Cecilia confirmed.

"Right, well, on Tuesday I'm probably going to go to Paris for the day, and on Wednesday Emmy and I are going to Christie's auction house to look at a guitar she wants. The auction will be on Friday. Those are really all our plans," I said. "I'd be happy enough to spend a day or maybe two playing tourist, but if you want to do anything else, just let me know and I can set something up for you guys."

"I want to see Buckingham Palace!" Dulce said.

Talking with the girls, it became clear they had an unrealistic idea of all the stuff they were going to see in just a week. I told them to make a list in order of importance and I'd get professionals working on it.

Cautioning the girls against taking any naps, I left them and went upstairs to do my own unpacking. Emmy and I had discussed how it made sense to keep full wardrobes in each of our four houses, so I'd planned on bringing things that I'd leave in London. Knowing Emmy, she was going to drag me (and the girls) out shopping for new clothes, so all I brought from Los Angeles was comfy old clothes to wear around the house.

Seeing my fight gear gym bag, I thought that maybe a workout would help shake off the lethargy of the overnight flight from Cartagena.

Debating whether I had time or not, I went downstairs to talk to Cecilia. I explained that there was food and drink in the fridge and they should help themselves. I told her that I'd be back in time for lunch, and they could play music or whatever while I was gone, but don't leave the apartment or let anybody in.

She assured me that was fine, and she and Dulce would be happy to just watch English TV for a few hours.

The gym was more crowded than I'd ever seen it, but then it was mid-morning on a Saturday. I got in a solid workout anyhow, and yes, it helped me bounce back from the long flight from South America.

"Where's your big friend?" the gym's manager asked when I signed out.

"He's flying in this afternoon," I told Gabe. "We'll both be here tomorrow morning."

"How's his recovery?" Gabe asked, pointing vaguely at his own midsection.

"He's healing well," I confirmed. "Still not one hundred per cent, but getting close."

"That's good to hear," he replied.