I was so nervous. I’d been invited to Nathan Remington’s home in the Hamptons. I checked my hair and makeup in the mirror and walked out the door. I was dressed just as he’d requested. White satin garter belt, sheer white, full-fashioned stockings, a silver dress that seemed just a little too tight and matching silver high-heeled sandals. No bra, no panties, no purse or phone. He was very specific, even sending the lingerie, dress and heels to my apartment that afternoon by courier. I was to be his “date” for the evening, though we weren’t going out. The limo driver didn’t say a word as he drove me to Mr. Remington’s private hanger at the airport. Neither did the pilot of Mr. Remington’s private jet. I felt strange sitting alone in the cabin of the jet as we flew from Philadelphia to Long Island. At the small airport, another limo was waiting and again the driver didn’t utter a word. It was unnerving and I had the feeling they were used to this kind of thing. After a short drive, we arrived at Mr.
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