Chapter 7: The Eighth Level?

Angie kept my arm locked in hers, preventing any attempt at escape. We caught a cab back to my place. She was even more appreciative of it than Dianna had been.

"Girlfriend, you live like a queen!" she exuded.

Realizing what she had just said, she giggled.

"Oops! Well, you know what I mean."

She made a beeline for the master bedroom. Her practiced eye did not miss the jewelry armoire or vanity. She nodded her approval, checking my dresser drawers, one by one, noting the lingerie and Dianna's corset. She moved on to the vanity, nodding her head and smiling at the MAC products, then stepped to the armoire. Her eyes bugged out when she saw the diamond-and-ruby pieces.

"I'm not even gonna ask," she exclaimed slowly.

I knew what she was implying and nodded my head. She exhaled loudly, then moved on to the closet. She stood silently, taking in the suede suit, the red sequined gown — and the coat. She shut the door silently, then turned to face me.

"Well," she observed, "it's not as extensive as I would have guessed, but Jesus..."

Her last word came out almost in a whisper.

"I'm kinda new to this," I admitted. "That's why my wardrobe is so limited."

"Define 'new'," she interrogated.

"Uh, this past weekend?"

"Two days?" she questioned. "Wow, you're just a cherry at this."

"Um, not... exactly..." I corrected.

Her eyes bulged. Then she smiled a Cheshire smile.

"You don't waste any time, do you?" she smirked. "I was right about you, Lisa. You do know how to use it when the time comes. We are going to become very, very close friends..."

"But, Angie, I can't..."

"... and no one in the office will ever have to know our secret — if I don't want them to. Now, Lisa, I want you to get dressed for me. As much as I might want to see you in that red sequined number, I think the suede will be fine for now."

I stripped off my male attire, swapped the pink panties for the freshly-washed lavender bra and panty set, then slipped my boobs into my bra. Angie re-tightened the corset's laces, cinching them down as far as they would go - crushing the breath from me. She also directed me to swap out my suntan stockings for a jet-black pair.

I professed my relative lack of skill at applying makeup. My captor insisted on doing my 'look' for me, right down to re-applying my eyelashes and fingernails. During the course of our makeup session, she was delighted to discover my prosthetic male eyebrows, peeling them away in a flash, then penciling in the dramatic high, thin arches I had affected all weekend. Angie was doubly delighted to discover my camouflaged ear piercings. She pursed her lips and shook her head expressively.

"You are just full of surprises, Lisa," she intoned mirthfully. "It really must kill you to have to hide all this just to come to work. Just looking at how beautiful you can be, and knowing how drab you have to be to get by in your stifling male persona is killing me."

When her task was complete, my face did not present the full-blown drag/stage look my girlfriends had given me Saturday night. Still, it reflected a dramatic/exotic Latina flair, right down to the dark claret outline of my lips with the more vibrant red filler, all covered with a coat of shimmering gloss. I could not detect a shred of difference in the look and feel of my glamour-length crimson talons from what they had been all weekend. Under Angie's direction, I re-applied my jewelry, then spritzed myself with perfume.

"Looking good, Girlfriend," she assured me. "Now, let's see it with the hair. Wait a sec; let me work with it first."

When Dianna and I had decided to keep the wig, we had picked up a professional wig block, styling brush and pick and, of course, hairspray ("A showgirl's best friend, Sweetheart," Dianna had claimed). Angie now attacked my shimmering mane with the latter three. In less time than I thought possible, she had 'pumped up the volume' — literally as well as figuratively — to compliment the dramatic flair of my makeup.

"Now that's what I'm talkin' about," she crowed, then paused and winked. "I'm also a secretary. Now, let's get this puppy on you, Sweetie. I can't wait to see."

The elastic mesh cap went over my head first, holding my own longish locks in place. Angie carefully positioned the wig as Mimi had done, cinching the elastic Velcro tabs in back. I then did a credible job mimicking my friends' efforts to anchor my new mane to my own hair with bobby pins. Angelina's smiling face was next to mine, meeting my gaze in the vanity mirror.

"Oh, yeah," she murmured. "Now put on the shoes. I want to see The Strut."

My heart was pounding, but no longer from apprehension. I was into it now. I slipped my feet into the mules. The skyscraper stilettos arched my legs, thrust out my boobs and tush, and made me feel invincible. I conjured up a mental image of Dianna flowing across a room in that effortless way she did. Then, I willed my body to emulate her.

"Oh... YEAH!" the lovely Latina extolled. "Girrrl, that is pure poetry in motion. Two days, my ass! You were born for this. I'm gonna have to work hard just to keep up."

The excitement — and champagne — had caught up with me.

"Angie," I pleaded, "I hate to break up this mutual aberration society, but I really have to pee."

She laughed, nodded, then sat down at my vanity.

"You go ahead, Sweetie," she encouraged. "I'm gonna take advantage of this fabulous collection of cosmetics and touch up my face."

While I was doing my business, I sorted out the tangle of emotions from the afternoon. Once I had gotten over the initial shock of discovery and Angie's blackmail, the whole thing had been an incredible turn-on. I could not deny I had always been attracted to my beautiful secretary; now, more than ever. She had given every indication she felt the same way. Where was she going with this? My instincts told me this was going to be more than a casual get-together.

Was this being unfaithful to Dianna? No; she had told me there would be times she would not be able to tell me in advance about having sex with a man. She would share it with me later, when she saw me again. I could do the same now, and everything would be all right. Would Dianna be as jealous of me having sex with a GG as she had been about my 'date' with Daniel? Would Angie want to penetrate me as Dianna did — in this case, using a dildo? I wanted to be prepared...

The bathroom was fully-equipped; whirlpool tub, separate shower stall, double sink. toilet — and bidet. When I had toured the place, I thought it was a quaint appendage that would sit forlornly in the corner, forever unused. Now... The sensation of being thoroughly cleansed by the powerful jet of water was stimulating and unnerving at the same time. My insides tingled from the experience, not to mention the anticipation of what was to come. During my stay in the bathroom, I swore I heard my companion's voice, talking to... someone.

In my absence, Angie's 'touch-up' had rendered her face and hair as dramatic as my own. She beamed at me as I emerged from the bathroom and held out her hand to me.

"Ready?" she asked.

Déjà vu.

"For... ?" I reiterated.

"A celebration!" Angie gushed. "The cab will be here in a few minutes. There is no way two zorras like us are gonna sit at home, looking like this. I want all of Chicago to see us tonight. I have never felt so alive!"

I had to admit; I felt the same way. I gathered up my suede clutch, added cash, my Driver's License (embarrassing if I had to show it, but at least it was legal), perfume, compact, and another tube of K-Y. Angie noted the lubricant, as well as the condoms already in the purse, and beamed.

"Planning on getting lucky tonight, Girlfriend?" she cooed.

"The thought crossed my mind," I admitted coyly.

Angie winked.

"You just might be right," she ventured. "I'm really turned on right now and you are so hot! This keeps getting better and better."

The cab ride was short, depositing us in front of Ruth's Chris Steak House on Dearborn. Well, okay; the bar is kinda nice and I might be hungry enough for a small filet later, but... Angie wrapped my arm in hers and hurried us inside to escape the evening chill. We made our way into the bar. I was musing to myself how long it had been since I had a really good frozen strawberry margarita. My first had been with Susan, at Fat Tuesday's in Key West. You remember those historic firsts in your life: your first kiss, your first date, your first love... your first full-blown coronary seizure. There, seated at the bar, were Rob Nelson and Jim Grant!

"If we turn around right now," I murmured to my companion, "and leave the way we came, they might not notice us."

Angie pouted.

"What fun would that be?"

"But you said no one from the office had to know!" I cried.

"If I didn't want them to," she corrected. "Be nice and you will be fine. I was asked out for a special occasion tonight — and I'm not about to say 'no' to our bosses. They asked me to bring a friend for a foursome. I can't think of any girlfriend I would rather have by my side tonight — or one more perfect. Let's go, Mija!"

She tightened her grip on my arm and pulled me forward.

"Angie!" Rob beamed. "You made it in record time. Was traffic that light?"

My girlfriend shook her head, beaming her most radiant smile.

"Nothing to it," she chirped. "We were just over by North Pier. We actually waited longer for the cab to arrive than it took to get here. Rob, Jim, may I introduce my girlfriend, Lisa..."

It suddenly occurred to us both she had never asked my femme last name.

"... L-Layne," I stammered, lucky to find voice at all. "P-pleased to meet you both."

I extended a trembling hand in their direction. Both men were off their stools in a flash. Jim shook my hand with a gentle touch — as a man would shake a woman's hand. Rob turned my hand over and kissed the back of it. He stood transfixed, staring into my eyes as though turned to stone. Jim just grinned at his partner's distress. At last, Rob shook his head as if clearing it.

"I'm sorry," he intoned, embarrassed. "Where are my manners? It was rude of me to st... I mean, I couldn't help mys... Damn, Angelina, you were right. She is absolutely captivating.

Okay, that helped a little. I was still shaking like a leaf in a Force Five Nor'easter.

"You poor girl!" Rob stated compassionately. "Why don't you women ever wear coats? You look great, but even if you take a warm cab, you can catch your death of cold getting into or out of it."

"When some nice Sugar Daddy buys me a fur," Angie hinted, "I'll even wear it in July."

"Consider it done, Baby Doll," Jim breezed. "Call it a 'perk' of your new position."

"Angie is getting a... promotion?" I asked hesitantly.

"Yes," Rob replied with a grin, "for services rendered. Didn't she tell you? We will announce it officially to the whole company tomorrow. She is coming upstairs to become an Executive Personal Assistant. That's part of the reason for our celebration tonight."

"Um, congratulations," I offered lamely.

"Thank you, Sweetie," she responded sprightly. "I couldn't have done it without you."

I wished she would stop dropping hints like that. So far, they didn't seem to realize who I was. As long as they didn't, I might still have a job the next morning. I gathered up all my courage.

"Well," I observed, "if this is a celebration, perhaps we should have a drink. Would it be too much trouble to order me a frozen strawberry margarita? Make it the big one; I need it."

Ten minutes later, I was already half-way through the frosty, forty-eight ounce concoction. It went down so easily! After all, it was just a big Slurpee — with about a gallon of Cuervo. The others were sipping leisurely at their cocktails. There had been not a single untoward comment or reference, regarding me. The two executives, particularly Rob, were actually warming to me as they would to any attractive woman. Fortified with liquid courage, I was beginning to respond in kind.

"So, uh, Mr. Nelson," I began.

"Lisa, please call me Rob," he interrupted. "This isn't office hours and 'Mr. Nelson' is way too formal for the occasion — and present company."

"Okay... Rob," I corrected myself. "I just wanted to express my personal pleasure in your choice of promoting my friend Angie. I know she deserves it and she will be a valuable asset to you and Mr... uh, Jim."

"Thank you, Lisa," Rob responded. "Angie's promotion is richly deserved. The men in the Major Trades Group give her rave reviews, particularly Lance Layton. Perhaps Angie has mentioned him to you? She thinks the world of him."

I stiffened — hopefully imperceptibly — at the mention of my alter ego, nodding my assent.

"Lance is the real reason we are celebrating tonight," Rob continued. "He really put us on the map today. He's the best of the best, and loyal to the core. Did you know he threatened to quit, and take his whole group with him, because some blue nose in Employee Relations got a bug up her ass about Angie's sartorial splendor? He was willing to piss away a six-figure income, plus stock options, for his secretary's honor. I wish all my people had that level of personal integrity. Jim and I have been wracking our brains all afternoon, trying to decide on a suitable reward. Angelina has even offered a suggestion or two, haven't you Angie?"

She smiled from behind pursed lips and nodded. Her eyes twinkled.

"From what I hear," Rob went on, "Angie is lucky to have a good friend like you. Your unselfish support of her career advancement is just one more indication of that. The truth is, she won't be working for us."

"She... won't?" I asked haltingly. "Then who will she be working for?"

"Our Executive Vice-President," Jim answered.

"Really?" I questioned with genuine confusion. "Angie never mentioned you had one. Who is it?"

The two men looked at each other — and grinned.

"Why, you of course," Bob stated matter-of-factly. "Dear Lady, after your performance this morning, you could write your own ticket anywhere on LaSalle Street. I'll do anything I have to do to keep you."

He gazed at me with a whole lot more than professional interest.

"Anything. Anyone who can make us one hundred fifty-seven million dollars and change in the morning, then show up that same evening, looking like a supermodel for her date with me, deserves her chair in the Executive Suite."

My internal clock may have been a little off, due to the effects of stress and alcohol. As nearly as I can figure it, about one-point-five seconds elapsed between the time Rob uttered those words and I sensed the first taste of bile in my throat. Strawberry-flavored bile is not cute.

"'Scuse me," I barked, even as I was bolting for the bathroom door.

As I dashed away, I thought I heard Rob inquire: "Was it something I said?"

The First Commandment states: "Thou shalt worship no god before Me."

Fine; I won't burn in Hell as long as God is a porcelain throne.

I heard her voice directly behind me as I knelt.

"Sweetie? Are you all right?"

"Never better," I gasped. "Purging is 'in' these days. With the right spin, I may make the cover of next week's People."

I felt her right arm wrap gently around my tummy as I coughed. Her left hand held my forehead. No one had performed that simple, loving act for me since my mother. I adored Angie at that moment — even as I despised every fiber of her being.

"What did I ever do," I wheezed, fighting for breath, "to make you hate me so much?"

"Huh?"

My stomach finally decided it had done enough somersaults. My breathing returned to normal. I got to my feet, turned around, lowered the seat, and collapsed on it.

"You set me up," I cried. "You outed me — to our employers! I'm done in this town. I'll be lucky if I can get a job trading baseball cards in Buffalo. Why, Angie? Why?"

She just stared at me as though I had sprouted a third eye in the middle of my forehead.

"Excuse me?" she exclaimed indignantly. "Did I set you up? Of course! How else could I have gotten you here under these circumstances? As for the rest, were we sitting at the same table a moment ago? I could have sworn I heard Rob Nelson offer you a Vice- Presidency. How, exactly, does that classify you as 'done in this town'?"

"By this time tomorrow, everyone in the company will be convinced I'm some kind of freak!"

The raven-haired Latina continued to stare. The corners of her mouth twitched a bit, then curled upwards.

"Oh," she stated matter-of-factly. "Is that all?"

Angie reached down, hiked my skirt up around my hips, then slipped off my panties. My damn clitty, not understanding how indignant I was about what my companion had done to me, sprang to full, painful attention. My companion then unzipped and wriggled out of her own tight skirt — she wasn't wearing panties - straddled my thighs, then slowly sank onto my lap, impaling herself on my rigid rod. Her eyes momentarily glazed over. She trembled and gasped a sigh of contentment as I filled her drenched pussy.