Indian Housewife

As soon as the door shut behind us, Andi’s lips were pressed against mine and we both moaned as we found each other’s warm, receptive mouth. I held her… no… I clutched her against me, willing her to simply know how much I loved her.When Eric’s three-legged cats finally decided they liked me a few years ago—or at least that I was a fact in the building and wouldn’t suddenly disappear—they attached themselves to me at every opportunity. If I sat on the back steps to drink wine with Eric, or if a group of us gathered around a hibachi to grill steaks on the outside landing, they would twist around my ankles, rubbing and purring. If I failed to pet them in the right spot, they rubbed against me until they had satisfied themselves. Once, when I was juggling two bags of groceries that I’d carried down the hill from QFC, they slipped past me into my apartment. When I sat in my recliner they were suddenly both in my lap kneading my leg with their one front paw each and pushing every part of. Thomas, our usual waiter was off that night, so Carlo, the maître d’, offered to take care of us himself but we said that anyone would be fine as we were certain of being treated as well as we have always been. Carlo said he had just the right person. He was soon back with Alexandra, or Sasha, as she introduced herself. Sasha was from her slight accent obviously Russian, and extremely beautiful. While not as tall and voluptuous as Gretchen, she managed to nicely fill out her demure uniform of shirt, slacks, and vest. Speaking with her throughout the meal we learned that she had recently relocated to Vegas from NYC where she had worked at the flagship restaurant; that she hails from St. Petersburg; studied ballet in her youth and was attending UNLV to get her degree in Law. We liked Sasha. We liked her a lot. Dinner started off with some raw seafood, sort of sushi but with Mediterranean touches. We moved on to a light pasta with seafood dish that we shared and then Gretchen had.
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