How I Know My Rich Older Man Will Buy Me Anything and Everything I Ask For: Part 2

Every woman should have the expe­ri­ence of own­ing a piece of fur. It’s bet­ter than the first prom or home­com­ing; far bet­ter than a first kiss. And it should be pur­chased by some­one who adores you, who has not yet lifted the scales from his (or her) eyes to see what faults and flaws you possess.

Part of the magic was, of course, the ele­ment of sur­prise. But I think the best part was hav­ing Patrick relax on a chaise with a cig­a­rette and cognac in hand while he watched me preen and prance in front of mir­rors, under recessed light­ing, try­ing on dozens of fur coats. I decided it was to be a full-length fur coat, not a jacket or cape, and no cloth on it what­so­ever. I fig­ured if I was get­ting a fur coat, I was going full steam ahead.

Bill, the owner of the fur shop, who had a long-established busi­ness and rep­u­ta­tion, knew Patrick well. I fig­ured that rela­tion­ship was no doubt con­nected to Patrick hav­ing bought his ex-wife numer­ous furs over the years. But that didn’t bother me. Bill was gra­cious and sweet and couldn’t do enough for me. I’m sure he was also very happy to know he was no doubt going to make a big sale.

Bill brought in one fur at a time, not rush­ing me and mak­ing sure that Patrick saw me from all angles. It’s also impor­tant to add that I was wear­ing very high pumps, black patent leather, to be precise.

There is much to learn about furs and how dif­fer­ent the pelts are, how they are sewn, and how many choices of col­lars and sleeves one has. All of Bill’s furs were sewn right there in that shop by a group of expert Pol­ish seam­stresses. Odd as it may seem, I didn’t want a mink. I wanted to be able to use the coat for busi­ness and casual, not just bring it out for the opera or a spe­cial night out. I wanted to be able to throw it into the over­hang stor­age unit of a plane or wear it with blue jeans while shopping.

A beaver is known in the fur world as a “work­ing woman’s fur.” Yes, it is less expen­sive than a mink, but there is noth­ing cheap about it. The right fur—almost like the right wed­ding gown—calls out to a woman. Mine was a long-hair, nat­ural cognac-colored Cana­dian beaver with roll back cuffs and a wing col­lar. The pelts had lus­ter and shine. It came down mid-calf length and looked stun­ning with my dark reddish-brown hair. The lin­ing was silk and Bill said my name would be hand-sewn into the left side of the lining.

I’m not sure who was hap­pier with that Christ­mas gift that year, me or Patrick. I was thrilled, and he was thrilled to see me that way. After a series of sit­u­a­tions where he had tried hard to buy me some­thing I refused to accept, he had finally cho­sen right. What a dear, gen­er­ous man I had found. His love was all-encompassing and made me feel both glam­orous and safe. It was the first time in my life I had ever felt that way.