Part 1: A Mysterious Invitation

The early morning Georgia sun was streaming through the mullioned windows of the Jenkins' upscale family home in the equally upscale suburban neighborhood of Morningside. Gloria Jenkins was vacuuming the living room of their large two-story Colonial house. She had already kissed her husband Bill goodbye as he left for his mundane but quite lucrative position as a senior partner in his father's large investment and brokerage firm in downtown Macon.

Finishing the living room, the petit blonde homemaker moved on to the foyer, the new self-propelled machine moving nosily over the short-napped fitted carpet. As she reached the area by the front entrance, she stopped to move aside the small blue area rug positioned there for people to wipe their feet on as they entered. As she bent down to move the rug aside, she noticed from the corner of her eye the phone on the foyer table. Its red message-waiting light was blinking. That's curious, she thought. She had not heard the phone ring, but supposed the vacuum had probably drowned it out.

Shutting off the vacuum, she wondered who could be calling at this hour of the morning, hoping nothing had happened to Bill on his drive to work. Pressing the Retrieve-Messages button, an unfamiliar cultured male voice came from the speaker. It was obviously a recorded message.

"Good morning, Mr. or Mrs. Jenkins. I am calling to extend an invitation to a very private dinner party to be held on Friday, May 8th, at 7 PM. Entertainment will follow the meal. A close associate of yours, who shall remain nameless for the moment, has nominated you for membership in our organization. I can assure you, however, that this does not involve sales or other commercial opportunities, only a gracious meal followed by stimulating entertainment. Dress will be business or semiformal. Should you decide to accept this invitation, please RSVP by calling (478) 967-1432 before noon, May 7th. You will receive additional information and instructions at that time. Good Day."

Gloria hung up the phone, a puzzled expression on her face. It must be one of Bill's business associates or clients, she thought. She left the message on the machine for his review later.

When Bill returned home that evening, Gloria mentioned the curious message and suggested he listen to it. He finished mixing his gin and tonic, then stepped to the phone and retrieved the message. After listening to it, he turned to his wife and, with a puzzled expression, said, "I don't what to make of it. I have never heard of anything like this before. Scott will be dropping over after dinner; perhaps he will have some idea what it is all about, after all he was born and raised in this area." Bill then took his drink and retired to the family room to relax for a few minutes while Gloria was preparing their meal.

When their neighbor, Scott Fuller, stopped by after dinner, accompanied by his wife and Gloria's best friend Susan, Bill played the mysterious telephone message once more. As it was playing, Gloria thought she saw Scott and Susan exchange knowing looks, but once it had finished they both said that they did not have a clue as to its meaning.

"I guess if you're curious about it, the only way to find out is to call the number he gave you," Scott opined.

"What have you got to lose?" Susan commented. "Worst case, you'll get a free meal and best case, you might even pick up some new clients for your firm."

"I guess you're right," Bill replied, picking up the phone and punching in the number.

After a few seconds, Bill gave his name and said he was calling in regard to a message left on his machine earlier, then he listened in silence for awhile before taking out his pen and jotting some notes on the message pad.

Hanging up, he turned to us with a puzzled expression, and asked Scott, "Where the hell is Savanna Estates?"

Again, there was that knowing look between Scott and Susan before Scott replied, "Savanna Estates? You're talking some serious money now. That was supposed to be a major, hundred-acre, upscale development on the north side of town about twenty years ago, but it never got off the ground. The building lots themselves were going about a million an acre, supposedly targeted at the movers and shakers in this area. If I remember correctly, only one ten-acre plot was ever sold, and that to a multimillionaire from New York. I don't remember where his money came from: films, theater, television... something like that. Anyway, the next thing anyone knew, the remainder of the land was taken off the market and a mansion was built that would put Buckingham Palace to shame. I think he must have purchased the whole subdivision because nothing else was ever built there and the whole thing is now landscaped parkland, walled and gated, with private security."

"Why would an eccentric billionaire we've never heard of extend us an invitation to a private dinner party?" Bill wondered aloud. "I mean, sure we're doing all right. I'm pulling down a six-figure salary, have a membership in a private country club, own this house outright and drive a new Jaguar, but we're certainly not in his league."

"I don't know the answer to that," Scott replied, "but if you accept the invitation, perhaps you'll find out."

"Go for it, Bill," Susan chimed in. "You'll never find out if you don't, and it could even throw some lucrative business your way. Think of it as another rung on your ladder to the top!"

"What do you think?" Bill asked Gloria.

"I think I might like a new Mercedes convertible," Gloria answered demurely with an impish grin.

"All right then," Bill said, as he moved back to the phone and tapped in the number he had jotted down on the memo pad.

After a short conversation, with Bill doing more listening than talking, he hung up and returned. "Okay, we've accepted the dinner invitation for seven o'clock on the eighth."

There was no further mention concerning the mysterious invitation. Scott and Susan left shortly after ten, and a few minutes after Gloria neatened up the house and put the cat out while Bill showered.

Lying in bed later, Gloria said, "I've got to do some shopping tomorrow. May 8th is only about a week away and I don't have a thing to wear, at least not to a party like that!"

"Sure, whatever you think best, dear," Bill mumbled, half asleep.

The next morning, after Bill had left for work, Gloria took her purse, retrieved her Corvette from the garage, and drove into town in search of suitable eveningwear for the upcoming dinner party. Local shopping was pretty well limited to a relatively small area consisting of a few specialty shops clustered in a four-block area downtown, and then of course, there was the mall on the outskirts. She parked in a convenient downtown lot and wandered through the half dozen ladies apparel stores but found nothing that jumped out and cried, "Buy Me... Buy Me," so it was off to the Mall.

She parked the Corvette in her favorite shaded area of the mall parking lot and entered through the nearest entrance. After browsing through the two major anchor stores and still not finding anything, she made her way down the concourse, stopping at the food court to buy a croissant and a container of espresso. As she sat at one of the small food court tables, eating her pastry, sipping her drink and watching the parade of passing mall-crawlers, she suddenly spotted her old school friend, Marcia, in the milling crowd.

Shouting out her name and waving the croissant madly, she finally caught her attention. When Marcia approached the table, she inquired, "What are you doing here this early in the morning?"

Gloria told her about the upcoming dinner party, and that she was looking for something special to wear because she felt the first impression she would make on their host might very well be important to Scott's future.

"Well," Marcia asked, "what sort of statement do you want to make? Efficient, upwardly mobile, tight-assed, matronly, sexy... ?"

"Let's try for efficiently sexy," Gloria laughed.

That got a chuckle out of Marcia, who thought a moment, then asked, "Have you tried Marianne's Closet?

"Never heard of it," Gloria said, "Is it here in the Mall?"

"Sure. It's fairly new though, that's probably why you've never heard of it. Finish your croissant and I'll show you," Marcia replied.

Strolling down the concourse, they passed J. C. Penney's and then turned left into a small cul-de-sac that Gloria had never noticed before. There, nestled between a tobacconist and a Barnes & Noble bookstore was a small ladies boutique with an even smaller, unpretentious sign reading Marianne's Closet. In its single narrow display window was a manikin clad in exactly what Gloria had in mind, the perfect gown for an upscale dinner party: classy but subtlety sexy, in what appeared to be an off-white linen material. It was bare at the shoulders, revealing a discreet amount of cleavage and snug at the waist, its knee length skirt full and graceful.

"That dress looks pretty classy to me. What do you think, Marcia?"

"Wow, I think you'd knock 'em dead in that little number," Marcia replied enthusiastically. "I don't know who you're trying to seduce, but unless he's a wooden Indian, that should do the trick!"

As they entered the shop, Gloria was still chuckling over Marcia's 'seduction' remark. She knew she still had a pretty good body for a nearly thirty-year-old housewife, five foot three, one hundred twenty pounds (well, maybe closer to one twenty five on a really bad day), shapely hips, a trim waist and fairly large, still firm, breasts... but a sex goddess? She didn't think so!