Lace flowed abundantly from the square neckline cut low around her shoulders and 3⁄4 length sleeves. The full skirt floated over a stuffed pad roll along her hips, making her waist look tiny. "Very c'est le dernier cri," she told herself.Her long hair she wore loose flowing down her back and was a rich brown color. Fortunately her skin was smooth enough not to require a layer of cosmetics. When she had looked at herself in the mirror that morning, she had been surprised at how vivid her brown eyes had looked despite her not having slept well the night before.As she made her way down she pondered if her spoken French would be adequate? Pierre had hired the best French language teacher available and for the past four years she had worked with that teacher not only learning the language but its nuances of slang, intricacies and accents. Yes, she told herself she would do just fine.Just as she made the stair landing and finally bringing the expanse of the entry into her view she stopped. Either way two women with the same name and address made it past the doorman each night.Mom wasn’t subtle. This was all a big lesson. She was teaching me how to deal with men, parties, drugs and alcohol. I already knew how to deal with just men and alcohol: get it from the bartender or directly from the source or drink water. As for the drugs... that was crazy. We had so many offers to “do a line” or “drop this” or whatever. Mom and Maggie somehow handled it without ever saying ‘no’. They treated these men like they were vipers. Easing away slowly without turning their backs on them.They treated the “Are you ladies alone” crowd with outright disdain. Inevitably we’d hook up with the musketeers of the world: young, friends, and full of fun.--Two events changed the course of that summer.The first occurred after a night of clubbing. We’d ended up with these three cute guys at a swank bar in the Groin (slang for a section of SOMA just below the Tenderloin). We got a big round booth in a.
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