So white and tranquil and glamorous, like something from a thirties movie set. I half expect Fred Astaire to come dancing out of the en suite bathroom, dressed in white tie and tails, and almost floating on air, ready to charm me. Instead it’s Simon who emerges; not quite Fred, but a nifty mover all the same and, to my eyes, infinitely more handsome. He’s not in evening dress, but he is wearing an achingly good suit. It’s charcoal-gray, with just a faint sheen of midnight, and it makes his eyes gleam and flash like a pair of polished sapphires and the rest of him just look like a sex god. I feel as if I’m in a movie too. At a pivotal moment, with a thousand eyes watching me. They’re waiting for the drama to begin, and the men are admiring my body. Maybe the women are, too? Perched on the upholstered dressing table stool, I add a little more tint to my lips, leaning forward toward the mirror and self-consciously graceful, both for the unseen audience and Simon’s intent gaze.
What do You think about Ecstasy In The White Room?
