Agnes stopped in front of a Starbucks Coffee Shop. A Café Mocha would taste splendid she thought. A gawking young man held the door for her as she entered the store. Agnes rarely opened doors for herself. She thanked him with a glance that made the guy’s knees wobble.
There was a queue stretching all the way to the door! Agnes fretted, impatiently tugging at the cuffs of her coat sleeves. She was unaccustomed to waiting for anything. It was always her turn.
The solution to her dilemma presented itself after a cursory examination of the people standing in her way.
The next person in line was a distinguished-looking older man in an expensive suit and overcoat. Agnes had a keen sense for reading a person’s character by their appearance alone. The man’s posture and the soft angle of his brow revealed to her that he was a polite and amiable gentleman who could hardly deny a favor to a pretty lady.
Agnes slipped through the tables of the restaurant and entered the line from the opposite end. In any other instance, such a tactic would immediately provoke loud, hostile remarks from native New Yorker’s if they even suspected that she was cutting in line.
No one questioned Agnes, though, as she walked very purposefully toward the man in front. In fact, for the first time that morning nobody even noticed her. Despite her big hat, swishing leather coat, and clicking heels she seemed to be quite invisible at that moment merely because she willed it so.
She startled the gentleman when she suddenly appeared close beside him and touched his arm with her gloved hand. She greeted him pleasantly and beguiled him with her irresistible smile.
Immediately captivated by the lovely stranger, the bemused fellow listened to her intently and without hesitation. Her eloquent English accent made her all the more charming to him.
Eyebrows raised and lips pouted she presented some fanciful plight to him, her gloved hands clutched to her leather breast in distress.
After a brief exchange, the fellow patted her shoulder in reassurance and said, “I’d be delighted, Miss. Allow me”.
He spoke with an Eastern New England accent that was deliciously quaint to Agnes’ ear.
A register opened at the counter. The gentleman graciously gestured for Agnes to order ahead of him. She smiled again, clicking her heels happily, as she stepped forward. She ordered her Café Mocha and he ordered a House Blend Decaf.
She artfully maintained friendly conversation with him while their drinks were prepared. To all appearances, they were well-acquainted colleagues, or a father and daughter perhaps.
The young girl at the register placed the mocha and coffee on the counter in the standard paper cups and told the man the total for the drinks.
“Begging your pardon, Miss, but this simply will not do! Paper cups are so distasteful to drink from. I wish to have my mocha in a porcelain cup if you please,” Agnes interrupted, her lips pursed in displeasure.
She raised her finely arched eyebrows at the girl with expectation.
Agnes never hesitated to ask for service of any kind. Her entitlement knew no bounds. She was rude only if necessary and that was actually rare. Her presence was so winning that people usually were more than willing to serve her, especially if they were men.
“Um. We have ceramic mugs for sale, ma’am. You have to buy them separate though,” the girl explained with a frazzled expression.
She was a bit overwhelmed with customers and struggled to disguise her irritation at Agnes’ request.
“I’m sorry to be a bother,” Agnes apologized, batting her eyelashes at her benefactor.
“Not at all,” he answered.
“Pour her drink into one of those ceramic mugs young lady. And pour mine into one too,” he told the girl.
“Oh! Be sure to pour a fresh mocha in my mug! This one in the paper cup is already spoiled for me,” Agnes clarified, waving her shiny hands.
Giving Agnes a look of disbelief, the girl disposed of the paper cup and stepped away to make the mocha in the ceramic mug herself.
“I have rather sensitive taste. I simply cannot stomach that cardboard flavor in my drink,” Agnes explained to the gentleman.
Her gloved fingers plucked at her coat buttons.
The fellow appeared completely unperturbed by her particularity. In fact, he was quite enthralled by her dignified bearing.
“I would never fault a woman for knowing what she likes,” he declared.
“A classy young lady like you should never be afraid to express herself.”
“Indeed,” Agnes responded.
The look of approval she gave him warmed his heart.
Two ceramic mugs knocked heavily on the counter top before them.
“Can I get you anything else?” the girl behind the counter asked with an insincere smile as she glanced frantically at the endless line behind them.
Agnes ignored the girl. She greedily picked up her mocha with both hands. A satisfied smile curled her lips as she smelled its aroma.
“That will be all Miss,” the gentleman said as he handed a bill to the girl.
Exactly what happened in the brief moment he took his eyes off Agnes would remain a mystery to the man.
He wasn’t sure, but he thought he felt her gloved fingertips brush the back of his right hand lightly as he received his change with his left. The long skirt of her leather coat flapped heavily against his pants leg for an instant. A loud rustling ended with an abrupt leathery creak.
The man stuffed his wallet into his pocket. He picked up his coffee and turned toward her again. “Would you like to join me…” he began to say before his words trailed off.
Agnes had vanished!
He looked all around him. As tall as she was, she would be impossible to miss in that outfit of hers. However, she was nowhere to be seen. There was no way she could have gotten out of the crowded shop so fast with that brimming cup of mocha! Was there?
“Where did she go?” he asked out loud. He glanced back at the girl behind the counter. She very purposely avoided eye contact with him as she called for the next customer.
He turned to the people behind him in line. Half a dozen faces glared at him with impatiently.
“Did you notice the pretty woman in the leather coat and hat that I was just talking to? Did you see where she went?” he asked, directing the question at anyone who would listen.
The businessman directly behind him looked at him like he was crazy before shouldering past him to the counter.
“Surely someone saw the tall woman in the leather coat that was just standing next to me. She was a real looker. Did you see which way she went?” he repeated to the crowd of people in the line.
Those who did not simply ignore him shrugged with blank expressions or grumbled at him with annoyance to move along and get out of the way.
“Well I’ll be damned. She must have run off,” he said, scratching his head with perplexity.
He searched for her at every table before sitting down to drink his coffee.
She had taken the drink and left without so much as a “thank you”. He wasn’t angry about it, but he didn’t expect that kind of behavior from her. She had such a refined air about her. Apparently, he misjudged her. She certainly played him for a fool.
More than anything, he was just disappointed that she had cheated him of her pleasant company. He couldn’t remember the last time he met such an intriguing woman. She caused a stir of excitement in him that he hadn’t felt in decades.
He continued to watch the room for her the entire time that he drank his coffee, but in vain. Agnes never reappeared.
~
Agnes seated herself at a sunlit table in Bryant Park two blocks away, laughing at her own cleverness. Even in her high-heeled boots, her step was so smooth that she did not spill a single drop of her mocha as she dashed across the busy streets and up a flight of steps to the park. The weather was somewhat chilly to be sitting at an outdoor table, but Agnes was quite comfortable in her leather coat and gloves.
The tall collar of her leather coat enveloped her head as she hunched over her steaming drink. She cupped the mocha in her sleek gloved hands, savoring its warmth. The down-sloping brim of her hat covered her eyes so that passer-by could only see her red lips as she gently blew into the mug. Her shirt collar brushed against her jaw line, buttons glistening.
Her leather coat shined in a gleaming white arc on her back and flowed over her seat to pile softly where it reached the ground. The supple lambskin bunched in the hollow beneath her breasts, a button protruding atop each fluid ripple. She crossed her legs. Her coat flaps spread open below her knee as her polished boot swung in and out energetically.
Her black leather coat absorbed the heat of the sun that shined upon it, bathing her with its energy. Her mocha tasted as delicious as she hoped and warmed her further on the inside. Agnes was a woman who could have anything, and at that moment, she couldn’t be more content.
It would be difficult to find any person in the world who relished simply being alive more than Agnes did. She celebrated each day that she awoke healthy and whole. Being fabulously rich, powerful, and beautiful were certainly reasons enough for her to be happy.
Agnes was fundamentally graced in a manner far more extraordinary, though. A quintessence precious beyond knowing was contained within her perfect body. The secret of it was hers alone and it filled her heart with endless joy.
No woman ever loved herself better than Agnes did. She was utterly self-satisfied. She would find it difficult to recognize any personal flaw if asked. As much as she craved society, she was equally satisfied to be secluded with none but her own company.
Agnes was admired and respected by many for her greatness, her elegance, and her generosity. Others accused her of being proud, vain, and self-serving. Whatever the case, she thrived with an exuberance that was truly difficult to fault in a world so full of misery, self-loathing, and discontent. For her part, Agnes was long past caring about the world’s opinion of her.
Agnes’ mood couldn’t be brighter on that crisp, sunny autumn morning. Her mind was free of any concern. For several minutes, she was content simply to marvel at her own slender hands as she drank her mocha. Her slick leather gloves peeled from the smooth ceramic mug with sticky squeaks as she adjusted her grip. The glossy black lambskin creased inside the joints of her fingers, tapering to spatulate points at the tips.
The rubbing leather of her coat creaked luxuriously all about her whenever she bent her arms to drink. That sensual, familiar sound had imparted a deep-seated sense of security to her ever since she was a young girl. She buried her head deeper into the collar of her coat to revel all the more in her own leather-enclosed paradise. She could hear her leather coat creak softly with the mere rise and fall of her chest as she breathed.
Agnes owned more leather coats than she bothered to count. The one she wore was truly one of her favorites. As her maid Madeline suspected, the lambskin was produced at Agnes’ own private ranch. Every panel of leather in the coat was exquisitely smooth and supple and without the slightest defect in the grain. Buttoned up tight inside of it, she was sealed in blissful comfort. Sometimes wearing a luxurious leather coat was almost as pleasurable as having sex for Agnes, and this was one of those times.
Agnes finished her mocha, draining every last drop from the cup. She licked the chocolate foam from her lips and raised her head to peer over her collar. She was so caught up in herself that she had scarcely noticed her lovely surroundings.
Bryant Park encompassed two square city blocks. Tall London Plane trees lined its walkways, partly obscuring the buildings that loomed on all sides. The sun brilliantly illuminated the rustling leaves above with a fiery autumn hue. Agnes occupied one of the many small, round green tables set up along the sidewalks. The formal French garden design lent a rather Parisian feel to the place, which likely explained Agnes’ affinity for it.
Agnes’ table was on the front terrace beside a pink granite fountain. At the opposite end of the park was the picturesque Beaux-Arts façade of the New York Public Library. An open green filled the space in between, a popular place for picnic lunches in warmer months.
The lawn couldn’t be seen now, though. A large ice-skating rink covered the grass, similar to the more famous one at Rockefeller Center. According to the sign Agnes read, it was called “The Pond”. White pavilions for skate rentals, snacks, and hot chocolate were set up around the perimeter.
It had been ages since Agnes went ice-skating. She was quite the accomplished skater, even if she did say so herself. Of course, she was talented at most anything she tried, and there was little she had not attempted in her lifetime. Agnes believed in living her life to the fullest.
A gentle breeze caused her leather collar to slap against her wet lips. A falling leaf landed on the brim of her hat, slipped off the slick surface, and skittered down her sleek figure to the ground. Agnes unwittingly crunched the dry leaf under her boot as she uncrossed her legs. Her heels clopped on the pavement.
Agnes placed her cup on the table and withdrew a small round compact from her coat pocket amid much leathery creaking. She popped the richly enameled case open, unimpeded by the leather gloves on her hands. She quickly inspected her face in the mirror, checking to be sure that her lipstick was not smudged. Her lips were still glossy crimson. She smiled at herself and replaced the compact in her pocket.
Then she swept away from the table, heading down the walkway toward the entrance of the skating rink. She kicked her heels merrily and snatched playfully at yellow leaves that tumbled through the air around her. The day couldn’t be more splendid to Agnes.
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