Chapter 12

“Oh! I think Sharon Stone lives here?” I heard someone say at the door. Obviously, she didn’t expect a naked Joyce to open the door.

“She does. Who can I say is calling?” Joyce said as if she were a maid at Downtown Abbey.

“Isis Thames.”

“Oh, yes. Miss Thames. It was you who called. You can undress here, if you please.”

“You mean ... Nude?”

“Of course, Miss Thames. Concubines are not to wear clothes. I thought you knew.”

We heard Joyce resume, “Thank you, Miss. You look lovely, if I may say so. Miss Stone will see you now in the Living room. Please follow me.” Joyce seemed to have no problem staying in character.

I was sitting with Jennifer and Drew at the table. We haven’t told Drew for obvious reasons that Isis would come round tonight. Both Joyce and I were on high alert about how he might react to her. Isis walked without a shred of clothes into the living room, like only a porn star could. A well-rounded woman with a very bald pussy, long legs and tits! OMG, she might have more upfront than we all had together.

I will never forget the look on Drew’s face when he saw her for the first time. A grin stretched from ear to ear, the kind that crinkles the corners of his eyes. His eyebrows were slightly raised in a perpetual state of pleasant surprise, as if every detail of her face — and body — was a new, delightful discovery. He took a small step forward, not with the hesitant shuffle of a shy admirer, but with the eager stride of someone greeting an old friend.

“I’m Drew,” he said, his voice as steady as a metronome, “and you are just ... a brilliant artist.” He didn’t gush or stammer. His words were a simple, honest declaration, spoken with the quiet confidence of a critic who has just seen a masterpiece. He held out his hand, a gesture of respect rather than a plea for an autograph.

She took it, a bit surprised by his composed demeanour. “Thank you, Drew. That means a lot,” she replied, her smile genuine. “What’s your favourite film of mine?” she asked, expecting the usual answer.

“It’s not just one,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s the way you carry yourself in all of them. I’ve spent hours analysing your performances.”

“Oh my,” she sighed. “I have heard of people who have seen my movies many times, but I haven’t met a man yet who spends hours analysing all my movements.”

Before Drew could answer, I said, “Drew, why don’t you introduce everyone before you offer Miss Thames a chair?”

“Of course,” he said. “Jennifer”, he waved vaguely in Jennifer’s direction, “My mother, Joyce, and my wife, Sharon. Like Sharon Stone, the movie star. She doesn’t wear panties either, as you can see.” And pressed his finger into my Venus mound. Jennifer’s facial expression was blank as usual, and despite it all, I started blushing. I expected stammering, blushing from the top of Drew’s head to his navel. I had anticipated he would run to his room and bury himself in there. But I never, ever expected him to be so calm and relaxed about meeting her. If anything, he was delighted to meet his idol. That she was nude as we were, didn’t seem to faze him at all. The rest of us were looking at her tits, even Jennifer. Except for Drew, who had eyes only for her face. Drew, the man who avoided eye contact with practically everyone! None of us felt the need to correct his sloppy social introduction.