Buy the Ticket...

Please enjoy.

+

It was very nice, I had to admit. Even given the stellar reputation of the Plaza Excelsior, I was impressed. The carpet seemed ankle-deep and the furniture had apparently been stolen from the palace at Versailles. There was light and colour and comfort and cut flowers in half a dozen vases. It was spectacular.

Amazed, I looked down at the hotel key card in my hand. It had opened the door; this had to be the right room.

Outside, the sun was just starting to go down. I could see purest orange light on the palms outside.

I looked at my watch. I had half an hour.

I took a deep, deep breath.

+

Roll it back.

I looked at my hole cards and felt my tummy tighten. The two hearts already on the table and two others in my hand gave me a virtually worthless king-high short flush. I tried to overcome the wine messing with my brain, did some thinking and decided the odds of it becoming a real one were not all that bad. The ace of hearts would make it a royal flush, too -- unbeatable. It was worth staying in for, I thought.

Had I been less tipsy, I would have realized I was totally out of my depth. Only Bree's encouragement and Jasmine's liberal refreshments had kept me in so far and those were hardly a good basis for this sort of decision.

I'd met Bree a couple of times before, but the boys were new to me, Jasmine's friends. Really cute, mind you and well-turned out. Good company, all.

So, it had been a good night and a good pre-Valentine's Day party for six singles -- excellent food, nice music, a solid Cab-Sauv and some very nice, now-legal weed.

I wasn't much of a drinker at the best of times and things had rapidly got out of hand, thinking-wise. I was feeling no pain whatever after dinner when someone (not one of the girls, would you believe it?) suggested we watch the football game. In response to three laser beam stares of ruffled indignation, there was a hurried suggestion to watch a movie together instead. But then we couldn't find a movie we could all agree on; the chick-flick avoidance force was strong in those boys. So, the discussion shifted to us playing some sort of game and, forty-five minutes later, to my utter amazement, I found myself playing Texas Hold 'Em dressed only in my panties and a major all-over blush. Worse, my panties were on the table, metaphorically-speaking.

I was pretty sure I'd be allowed to keep the blush if I lost.

I was however fairly confident that the next card, the river, would save the panties and maybe even turn things around.

I peeled my hole cards off the table, peeked at them again. From over them, I glanced at the others.

Bree, a professional dancer, was a bubbly, irrepressible redhead, almost as pretty as Jasmine. She seemed utterly unconcerned that she was now dressed only in her wristwatch. Jasmine had folded earlier on and still had her knickers on. She was standing behind Pat, one hand on his shoulder. The boys? To be honest, I was finding it hard to tell them apart. Roger and Tom were no-kidding identical twins and Pat might as well have been their triplet. All of them were handsome, tall, smooth-shaven, with short dark hair. All of them had good chest hair, which I personally find appealing in a man, and they all clearly spent a lot of time at the gym. Roger and Tom called themselves 'venture capitalists', making their money -- a lot of it, apparently - investing in start-ups. Pat was a high-voltage lawyer, specializing in high-level corporate mergers or something. It wasn't something we'd spent a lot of time discussing.

Bree was coming around with more wine and I help up my glass. Roger, the dealer this round, was cuddling the deck and pretending not to stare at Bree's bare bottom as she passed. Tom and Pat seemed to have given up pretending and were openly admiring. Even Jasmine's eyes were trailing Bree as she sauntered around the table.

Frankly, I found it hard to blame any them. Bree was pretty; Bare Bree was gorgeous.

Roger coughed gently to get our attention, burned one more card and then dealt a fifth one face up, the river.

Three of clubs.

Busted.

I sagged, gulped my drink.

+

I woke the next morning, unsure of where I was. Without turning my head, I managed to get my eyes to open. The room looked familiar, but I couldn't quite place it. It certainly wasn't my own bedroom.

I was relieved however that there weren't sports posters on the walls or a heap of men's clothes on the floor by the dresser. The room was neat, clean and feminine in its decor. I closed my eyes again. It would come back to me.

My hand under the bed covers confirmed that I was topless, but wearing my panties. That was something.

I was surprised to realize that I didn't have the apocalyptic hangover I knew I so richly deserved. But where...?

A body shifted on the other side of the bed, behind me. I gave a little gasp and, trying to cover myself with the sheet, whirled around and sat up.

A sleepy Jasmine smiled at me, her hair tousled.

"Hey," she said, a small smile on her face. "How're you feeling?"

"Um, OK?" I said. "What...?"

"Sasha, you were way too wasted for me to let you drive last night and my couch just sucks, so I decided to bunk you down in here with me."

Yes, of course. Jasmine's bedroom.

"Oh." I said, looking around. "Thanks, I guess."

I tried to remember last night.

"I think I need a coffee," Jasmine said. Wearing one pair of panties less than me, she got out of bed and pulled on a robe. She opened her closet, tossed another one to me. I caught it and noticed her staring at me.

"I think you will, too," she said.

+

"Don't be like that," she said. "We all agreed to strip poker and, anyway, the boys were gentlemen." Her voice was serious. "I mean, it was Roger who took Bree's phone away from her before she could start taking photos."

I shuddered at that possibility and said a mental thank you to Roger.

My eyes fell on a pair of men's briefs lying on the floor beside somebody else's brassiere. I winced.

There was precious little sympathy in Jasmine's voice. "Sweetie, at least you went to sleep with your knickers on."

"Yeah," I said, blowing on my too-hot coffee. "There is that."

"But there's still your bet, dumb-ass," she smirked.

Bet?  I struggled to remember, then turned pale.

"Oh, poop," I whispered. "I didn't..."

"You sure as did, honey. You know the old saying, 'You bet your ass?'  She giggled. "Well, Sash, you did precisely that!"

"Oh, crap!" My stomach began to ache.

"Rather than surrender your precious panties in front of everybody, you offered to take one of the boys into the bedroom if you lost the next hand."

"Oh, no," I moaned in embarrassment.

Memories came flooding back. I'd really done that, hadn't I?

"Oh, yes. And you were freaking serious, too. The boys had maybe one sock and a pair of boxers between the three of them and you'd been doing the bare-boy-toy-drool all night."

This time, there was no -- like zero - sympathy in her voice.

"Oh, hell," I groaned. "Look, I'm sorry, Jaz. But..."

"'Look' yourself, honey," she said, cutting me off, "'Ten Minutes of Paradise' in the bedroom was your original idea. Even the boys turned you down, at least initially."

"Initially?" I whispered.

"You were pretty insistent. They more or less gave in after a while. Then you upped the bet, double or nothing."

I knew she was grinning, but all I could see were her eyes peering at me over the rim of her coffee cup.

"So, Sasha, you have a Valentine's date tonight after all."

I put my head in my hands, tried to think. This couldn't be real, could it?

I managed to not start banging my head against the wall in dismay. At least they were all cute, from what I could remember. And they weren't total creeps -- they'd tried to defend me against both Bree's camera and my own foolishness. Maybe it was time to be brave?

I took a deep breath. OK. It's Valentine's Day, after all. Maybe this didn't start off conventionally, but OK. Deep breathly, girl. Don't panic.

I looked her in the eyes. "Who?"

"Who?" she echoed.

"Yeah, who? Who's my date for tonight?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"The deal passed to Pat as I was leading you into the bedroom. There was a big roar before I got back out -- that 'male triumphal laughter' sort of stuff? Anyway, when I got back out, Bree was sitting there, starkers, just about killing herself at having watched your sweet tush being fought for, lost and won."

"So, what happened? What did they say?"

She looked at me, her head tilted to one shoulder.

"They didn't say anything, Sash. They just thanked me for the party and left."

"Three guys, three girls, everybody starkers after strip poker -- and they 'just left'?"

"Well, I made it clear that the game was over and that I was going to bed -- alone. I'm doing a double shift tonight, Sash, you know that. That's why the party was held on the 13th, not today on the 14th. And you certainly weren't capable of 'informed consent', my girl. Now, where the boys and Bree went after that, I have no idea. I can guess, but you'll have to ask Bree yourself, 'cause I'm not going to light up that particular volcano by speculating out loud."

The more I thought about it, the stupider I'd seemed to have been.

I looked down at the table.

"Is there any more coffee?" I whispered.

+

The package was courier-delivered just before lunch.

It contained a small flat box. Taped to the top of it was a playing card -- the ace of hearts. I gritted my teeth at the sight. Rub it in, why don't you?  The first things I saw when I opened it were a key card with the Excelsior logo on it and a piece of paper bearing neat but masculine handwriting:

My hand flying to my mouth, I gasped at the necklace and earrings underneath.

I held up the necklace, looked at the noon-day sunlight twinkle and flash through a centre stone the size of a small almond. For some reason, I didn't think it was blue glass, nor the sparkly things surrounding it mere paste...

I called Jasmine in a panic.

The lack of sympathy she'd demonstrated earlier morphed instantly into to a monumental belly laugh. Eventually, she caught her breath.

"You do know how to pick them, Sasha! You could always just chicken out, stand him up, say you won't be held accountable for anything you promised last night. You were  pretty out of it."

The tone in her voice didn't make that sound like a particularly good idea. Jasmine was my best friend, had been for years. She had had my six more times than I wanted to count, but she'd also tossed me to a couple of wolf packs when I'd done something monumentally stupid and wasn't likely to get hurt too badly. In her eyes, just because somebody had promised something stupid didn't let her off the hook.

Promises mattered to Jasmine.

"This is so out of hand, Jasmine. I mean, even if I stand him up, what do I do with these?"

I waved the sapphires as if she could see them over the phone.

"You said the stones look real?"

"I... I think they are. Yeah."

"Then wear 'em with a strut and a smile, girl! But the Excelsior... that's one fine hotel, girlfriend!"

She paused, obviously thinking, then, "Look, I know these guys. They're nice, all of them - straight-up boys, nothing weird. And don't dismiss them 'cause they're rich, Sasha; it beats the heck out of poor."

Her voice dropped suddenly, "Look, gotta go. My supervisor is coming. Good luck. Talk to you tomorrow."

With that, she hung up, leaving me with about eight months of rent glittering in my hands.

+

The lobby of the Plaza Excelsior was almost big enough to have its own weather patterns. I stopped inside the revolving door, had to step aside to make way for the others behind me.

I could see the staff eying me -- well, all of the newcomers -- with a professional eye. I was pretty sure that this place would actively discourage visits by young ladies of adaptable morals -- at least, the ones not on the hotel's own list. Evading their eyes, I looked around, found the bank of elevators and strode off in that direction.

A middle-aged man in a starched uniform intercepted me.

"May I help you, Miss?" he asked.

I decided to bluff and continued to walk as I fumbled through my purse for the key card. I held it out for his inspection.

"No thanks. I'm good."

He nodded, faded out of my way as I stepped into the elevator. The doors closed behind me, leaving me alone in a minor cathedral of brass and mirrors. It smelled of metal polish, money and rising expectations.

Looking around, I pushed the button marked '16', which apparently was the top floor. The button didn't light up. Indeed, the doors started to open on their own. I saw the head porter or whatever looking my way, start to turn. I smiled at him and looked for a slot into which to slide the card. I didn't find that, but there was a flush plastic plate marked with the no-tap payment icon. I held the card against it and was relieved when the doors closed.

I again pushed '16' and felt the elevator start to rise.

I was surrounded by mirror images of myself. I pulled my shoulders back, shook out my hair and tried to smile. I'd dressed well for meeting Mr Sapphires and had taken some time to make myself look extra-presentable, but this was all very intimidating.

The plan was to simply wait and hand him back his jewellery, thank him politely and - all the evidence notwithstanding -- try to convince him that I wasn't that kind of girl.

The elevator stopped.

I wasn't sure what I had expected, but hotels generally involve corridors lined with a lot of doors. In this case, the elevator opened into just one room the size of a two-car garage. There were no hallways, just four high double doors marked simply 'A', 'B', 'C' and 'D' in brass letters. The floor was polished within an inch of somebody else's life and there was a tall vase of still-taller orchids by the elevator.

I looked around. I don't belong here,  I thought to myself, realizing the implications of the layout. '16A' wasn't just a room; it took up a quarter of the entire 16th floor.

What had I gotten myself into?  I had the feeling that, any second now, one of the doors would open, spilling out the sort of people you only see on red carpets and in checkout aisle magazine stands, all peering down their noses at Sasha-the-cluelessly-lost.

I shivered, took the tiger by its tail and strode over to the first door. A tap of the key card brought a faint click from within. I turned the knob and the door opened.

+

Like I said, even for the Plaza Excelsior, it was pretty spectacular.

I dropped my purse on a sofa by the free-standing fireplace, let my breath out slowly.

Exploring, I found three bedrooms, a sitting room, a major bathroom and a room devoted mainly to mirrors and a hot tub. There was a dining room able to sit 20 people, a professional-looking kitchen and a nicely-stocked bar which, blushing furiously, I ignored.

I was so out of my league.

Wear what's there...

The box was in the largest of the three bedrooms, on a four-poster bed only slightly smaller than my own apartment.

The famous logo on its lid was commonly seen in places like airline in-flight magazines. Not being able to afford private Caribbean islands, yachts or hotels like the Excelsior, I'd never actually shopped there, but I'd certainly looked at the ads with interest and dreams.

I fumbled with the lid as I opened it. My breath caught as blue silk flowed over my hands like water in an alpine stream. Weightless fabric drained through my fingers, fell to the floor as silent as a butterfly's footstep.

I picked it up, took it to a full-length mirror, held it up in front of me. Simple, elegant, almost weightless, the ankle-length peignoir had none of the sleaziness of so much seductive lingerie. My hands held more class than a duchess' garden party.

Looking at it in the mirror, I felt compelled to try it on. My watch showed that I had another 20 minutes. It was enough. Even though I would be returning it -- for such was still my firm intention -- I had to see myself in it.

Just once.

With the sapphires.

I wanted that memory.

I undressed quickly, pulled the robe about me. Putting on the earrings and necklace, blue as the silk, blue as my eyes, I dared look up at the mirror. I was astonished to see solid confirmation of the old saying that the whole is much greater than the sum of its parts.

I was a very good-looking young woman; I knew that. I had the firm figure, the pretty face, the stylishly-short dark, dark hair. I had a good smile. I caught admiring glances from a lot of men.

But, somehow, the gems, the silk gown and this room had worked a magical transformation, elevated me from merely 'pretty' to something quite extraordinary, somebody on an entirely different plane of loveliness.

I had never, not in my entire life, looked so elegant, so... exquisite. That wasn't a word I would have used before, but it came to mind now.

Entranced, I stared at my image in the mirror as I turned back and forth, ran my hand down over the gown, its misty fabric making my fingertips tingle as they moved over it.

Down my neck.

Along my collarbone, between my breasts. My hand's soft movement dragged the silk over my nipples like a dream lover's caress.

I paused, hefted my breasts for a moment with my hands. Not quite transparent, the silk was thin enough that my areolae were plainly visible around my happy nipples. It - I - looked pretty amazing, I had to admit.

For a moment, I felt just a little bit sad that I wasn't going to follow through, that nobody else would ever see this.

I trailed my hands down over my stomach, over my hips. I could feel my lower lips swell slightly. The outfit was seduction in a box -- for both parties.

Then it hit me.

Looking at myself in the mirror, I realized that he'd won, whoever he was. No, I hadn't been bought   by the wealth so openly proffered, but rather convinced   by the sublime taste he'd displayed in his selections. Surrendering to a straight offer of money - or its equivalent - would have been one thing, but all this made me instead feel an object of sincere romantic desire.

No matter what he had planned for tonight, I realized that it would be more than a casual, sordid coupling - which after last night was all I had any right to expect. These carefully-selected gifts, this stunning setting -- I could see that it was all intended to be an indulgence for me, a gifting as romantic as anything I had ever imagined.

I realized moreover that he'd won in another way, too. It was no longer a question of just being willing to just stay here, to be cooperative, to pay off a silly bet. Looking at myself in the mirror, feeling my body tingle with -- yes -- anticipation, I knew in my heart that I wanted  to be 'that kind of girl' for whoever had gone to all this trouble and expense for me.

My watch showed 5:50 -- ten minutes. I'd of course showered before leaving my apartment, but I touched up my lipstick, brushed my hair, tucked my clothes and purse away and looked for a place to greet him.

My phone chirped, a text.

five minutes. pls wear all that's there. xo

I was ready, but confused. What did he mean by 'all'?

I looked in the box, saw I had missed one item.

Blue, satin, infinitely soft, both disturbing and elegant, the blindfold lay across my hands like a challenge. I stared at it for what seemed forever.