Lucien(52)
Luc frowned. “And a case of rubbers?”
“Erasers,” Elise explained. “I almost thought the same thing until I remembered that the English call erasers, ‘rubbers’.” She smirked. “They also call sex, ‘shagging’. Which really confused me, I thought it was a form of dancing. That put a whole new spin on shagging the night away at the beach.” Elise giggled. “Wouldn’t it be kind of funny if the case was really filled with condoms?”
Luc set the ice cream on the side table. “Go put some clothes on.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to take a look at that store room.” Luc reached for the phone and hesitated. “How many dresses were there?”
“About five. Why?”
Luc shook his head and dialed. “I’ll let you know when I know.” He put the phone up to his ear. “Ben, what do you know about cocktail dresses? Yeah, well, my wife informs me that there are a few in the store room. Uh-huh. My thoughts exactly. We’ll meet you there in a few.” He hung up and laughed. “A whole case. Ben’s gonna love this.”
Elise laughed as Luc held up a scarlet red cocktail dress. “Oh, Lucien, it is you.” The sequin covered fabric drifted and floated in the breeze of the air conditioner, brushing against Luc’s jean clad legs.
Luc squinted and shook his head. “Mmm, I don’t think so.”
Ben snickered. “This one looks more your size.” He held up an electric blue gown with a slit clear up to the waist. The fabric rustled as Ben pressed the dress to Luc’s chest. “It’s your lucky day, Luc. Blue is definitely your color.”
Luc pressed the red dress against Ben. “What d’ya think, Elise? Is this dress all Benny or what?”
Elise doubled over in a fit of the giggles. “I should’ve brought a camera.”
Luc chuckled. “How much do you think these dresses cost?”
Ben flipped over the back and showed Luc the designer’s tag stitched into the inside fabric. “I don’t know, but we can find out. If not from the designer, then your mother will know.”
Luc glanced over at Elise. “Would you mind asking mother? I would, but…,” he trailed off, eyeing the dress with disdain. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin describing these monstrosities.”
Elise wrapped her arms around Luc’s waist and leaned into him. “I’ll call her tomorrow. Do you think we can take the blue one home? It really is your color and—”
“Forget it. I don’t do sequins.” Luc tossed the dress to Ben. “Take a look under the couch.” He pulled Elise close and maneuvered them over to where Ben crouched beside the couch, sliding out a box.
Ben lifted the lid and reached into the box. “These look useful.” He pulled out a box of latex gloves and plopped them down on the couch. Ben donned a pair of gloves and smirked. “Elise did you go through this box during your inventory?”
“No. What’s in there?”
“This and that.” Ben pulled items out of the box one by one and laid them on the couch. “A few glossy magazines, a bottle of baby oil, several boxes of—damn, I should have double gloved.”
Elise leaned forward. “Why? What is it?”
Luc shook with laughter. “A vibrator.”
“Which can stay in the box,” Ben murmured. “Ho! What’s this? Pictures?” He cackled evilly. “Well, well, well. This is quite a surprise.”
“Anybody we know,” Luc asked.
Ben held up the photo. “Check out who’s wearing your dress.”
Elise took one look at the photo and gasped. “Oh my.”
“Who’s the woman with him,” Luc asked.
“That,” Ben thumped the picture with a latex covered finger, “is his secretary.”
“Oh my,” Elise breathed. “She’s wearing chaps.”
“Nice whip.” Ben clicked his tongue, muttering, “For shame, Bingley. Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to leave incriminating evidence lying around?”
“I wonder if Junior knows his father likes to play dress up,” Luc asked with a wicked smirk.
“Probably not,” Ben answered, distracted. He flung a box of condoms on the couch. “Ah, just what I was hoping for.” He pulled out a stack of receipts and waved them in the air triumphantly. “This ought to reconcile the books. One dress from La Femme Petite for two thousand and some change. One set of chaps at… man, they got ripped off. A receipt for…,” Ben trailed off, looking up at the ceiling. He grinned and pointed to the four corners of the room. “Hooks. Bingley Senior doesn’t play around.”