Power Play
She arrived exactly on time; seven o’clock. I heard the doorbell ring and felt a small rush of adrenalin. With Amanda, I had learned to expect the unexpected. Thus the adrenalin. I opened the door to all 5’11” of her, and smiled. She was so good at this. Standing there with her massage table and linen bag, dressed in loose‐fitting pants, a collared work shirt and tennis shoes, she looked every bit the part of a normal masseuse. In fact, any curious neighbor of mine probably wouldn’t give her a second look. But I did. I saw the deep red lips that contrasted so beautifully against her dark hair, pulled back in a ponytail. I saw the makeup that was a bit too sultry. Her dark eyes looked me up and down. She smiled and …