The Fantasy
Heather
We didn’t talk to each other right away, at least not verbally. The limo door opened. Three sets of eyes swung to the newcomer and instantly sized up the competition.
That was me. I stood alone on the curb in the crisp night air, my thin white dress and red wrap hardly any protection from the coolness of the weather, or from the icy stares. I was by far the youngest, but these were women in the full bloom of their s****l prowess. The chauffeur slammed the door behind me, but my attention was on the aloof nod of the stunning blonde, the way the full breasted brunette casually crossed her thin ankles, how the long-legged, short black haired woman nearest me who held a half-full champagne glass in opera gloved hands didn’t consider me any kind of threat. The blonde gaze
