I went into the bedroom and sitting on our bed was a small roll aboard suitcase that Amanda had packed for me. "I'm taking you to the airport," a voice said behind me. I turned and saw the blond bartender wearing one of my wife's winter suits with a pair of her Italian leather boots. She had done her hair up and had artful but subtle makeup on.
She explained that her payment for the charade included five of my wife's outfits, some cash, and a car. I realized that such an impeccably turned out woman would only need five days worth of outfits in Aspen during Christmas week. By that time she'd already be engaging in the shopping sprees that substituted for foreplay amongst the ultra-rich.
To catch a commercial flight, we had to take a long silent drive to the nearest airport with regular service to a hub. She opened the back of the Ferrari only to find the engine. I showed her the luggage compartment and explained the mid-engine concept to her. She thanked me, gave me a peck on the cheek, and said, "see you in the city."
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