Ha, ha.
And another thing, she followed Frederica down the stairs. Ambrosiano had talked about punishing her tonight. What the hell was that all about?
Frederica stopped in the hallway, gesturing inside an imposing doorway. On either side of it, two gleaming knights stood guard, their silver armor carefully and meticulously polished. From what she understood, the Director was paying nearly ten thousand Euros a day-roughly the same in dollars-to rent this seaside home originally built for a duke who ruled this portion of modern day Italy.
Julie's breath was taken away as she saw the dining room. It was truly fit for royalty. The table could easily have sat a hundred persons. It was made of dark, carved wood with enormous claw's feet. Tapestries hung from every wall, depicting various classical and medieval scenes. The ceiling was vaulted and trimmed in gold. Its concave surface was covered by a fresco, a scene of heaven, with five cherubs flying together to touch a single glowing red heart in the middle. From the center of the heart a chandelier depended, five layers high, dripping gems, like a pure fountain of diamonds. The walls, by contrast were painted in a sky blue. On each wall was a high door, next to which stood a servant in a long white coat and white gloves.
Grigori and the Director were already sitting at the table when she walked in. Giovanni was at the head, with Grigori seated to his left. To the right was an unoccupied place, presumably reserved for her. Both men stood at she walked in, pushing back their throne-like chairs in the process. Julie remained nervously at the edge of the large Persian rug, afraid to proceed further.
"You look stunning, my dear,” said Giovanni, who was wearing a white tuxedo, with black tie and pants. He had a red handkerchief in his pocket, typical of the man's unique fashion sense.
He was rather stunning himself with his white hair tied back in a ponytail, his body freshly scrubbed and scented with cologne. It was a mix of vanilla, jasmine and cinnamon that disarmed her instantly, breaking her fragile defenses. The next step would be dampness, spots of surrender on her silk panties.
"Thank you, Signor Ambrosiano,” she allowed him to kiss her hand.
The touch of his lips sent ripples down her spine. Could it really be true that the Great Maestro saw shades of Lucia in her? Surely she was not a tenth the actress, nor could she ever hope to duplicate the woman's sultry, dark beauty. Surely Frederica was just trying to make her feel less ill at ease around the man. Or she was covering for him, trying to obscure the clear evidence that the one-time perfect caster had completely lost his knack for finding talent?
Although clearly it wasn't true what Julie had said about him being maybe too old. Giovanni Ambrosiano's sexuality was as pronounced and evident as his obsidian eyes. Up till today, she'd not thought of him in such terms. Now, thanks to what Grigori had awoken in her, she couldn't help but see the Director as a man … a potentially naked man, with a lean, smooth body, hands to possess, a tongue, and between his legs a spear, long and made for piercing a woman's essence.
Julie felt a vague, though unjustifiable stab of guilt as Grigori came to escort her to her seat. Really, he had no claim on her-so why should it feel like she was betraying him by lusting after the Giovanni?
"Julya,” Grigori murmured, anxious to prove he, too had been paying attention to their language swap. “Is beau … ty … ful."
There went the panties. She was creaming, right on schedule. The man's compliment having put her over the edge, though really the sight of him alone would have done that.
Grigori was in a tuxedo as well. His was black, with a white shirt and shiny black shoes. The outfit emphasized dramatically the V of his shape. She really doubted a man anywhere could fill a suit better. Frankly, she'd be hard pressed not to feel let down any time she looked at one again on a lesser man. He'd left his hair loose; though he'd combed it out and washed it clean of the sea and the smells of the raw earth. His scent was that of sandalwood and incense, exotic, dreamy, but totally masculine. He'd shaved his face close and smooth, adding further definition to his high cheekbones. Julie licked her lips. A subtle little dart across the ruby red painted surface. She wanted to touch those cheekbones, feel his ruddy skin, and his full lips, too.
Giovanni's lips were thinner, but no less exciting. They were lips that had kissed the hottest mouths in show business, lips that knew how to give orders and how to burn through the arrogance of self-important people.
His skin, being lighter, would be smoother. But the man was much older. Would she feel his age somehow, his wisdom? Certainly the two men were nearly the same height and that would create interesting possibilities if she wished to touch them at the same time, especially the more intimate parts of them. Sighing, she imagined herself pleasuring the two cocks side by side.
Oh, god, was this wrong? Wanting to have both these men? With the notoriously womanizing Director it seemed to be a passing lust while with Grigori there could well be deeper feelings between them. Or could she be misjudging things, making assumptions about Giovanni? Was he not capable of true love himself and worthy of being loved in return? And how could she say with Grigori that she really knew anything about him except the size and performing ability of his cock. How much of her falling for the Dasklovian had to do with the hidden influence of the Director, anyway? Was the man still directing them now, in fact?
"You will sit beside me,” said Giovanni.
Grigori led her to her place beside the Director. She would have felt much more comfortable next to the huge Dasklovian, though obviously she had not been consulted as to the seating arrangements.
"I am pleased the dress accommodates your body so well,” Giovanni observed when all three were in place.
Julie felt a little pink come to her cheeks. For some reason the remark sounded sexual to her ears. Was he trying to telegraph his interest in her? Of course it was a little hard to pretend to any modesty after having been caught screwing her co-star.
"Do you suppose Grigori likes the way it looks on you?"
"I wouldn't want to hazard a guess,” she replied, taking a stiff brace of her full glass of red wine. Old but good, as Frederica had predicted. Though at this point she'd have gone for just about anything with alcohol in it.
"Should we have you find out?” The Director wondered aloud. “Perhaps you could crawl under the table and tell us how hard his dick is at this moment."
She nearly choked on the second sip. “Signor Ambrosiano, you may not speak to me that way. And I assure you, if Grigori understood what you were saying he would demand you apologize."
"Shall I translate it for him?"
Julie saw he was serious. “But you don't speak Dasklovian. You said so."
"I said that I do not direct in Dasklovian. I can, however, converse in it. I have simply chosen not to thus far."
For a moment she thought he was joking. “You mean you put Grigori and the rest of us through all this communication anguish for nothing?"
He waved his hand in the air dismissively. “Words. What are words? A decade from now, they will probably not even exist any longer. The medium is the message. Your North American McLuhan said that."
Julie was on her feet. “I think I've had about all of this high brow culture stuff for one life-time,” she decided. “If it's all right with you, Signor Ambrosiano, I am going back to the States to film some more detergent commercials."
The Director sipped his Chianti, unmoved. “I forbid you to go."
The sheer outrageousness of the statement froze her in place. “You … what?"
"I forbid you,” he repeated. “You have a contract. Until this film is completed, you will remain under my direction. Completely."