Two high-heeled sandals touch toes bydiscrete gold letters on a window: Boutique. Salon.Push the door, a tiny bell. From somewhere behind a splash of ...olors,maze of hanging fabric, each a promise even more full of hope than awoman's morning closet, a voice: "Can I help?" a lilt, cut off.A look. That look? She turns away, calls to the back: "He's here."Then quick-steps past me -- like she's angry? -- flips a sign by thefront door to say the place is closed, and leaves."Hey," I hear him, a few. Later that night after the reception, we had gone up to our suite. Theroom was lit by several candles, the bed sprinkled with rose petals andsitting on that bed was a parcel wrapped in pink tissue and topped witha pink bow."This is for you," said Jane as she handed it to me, "I hope you likeit, but you should know that it comes with conditions."I un-wrapped the package to reveal a beautiful pink nightdress andpeignoir, as I inspected them a pair of lace trimmed panties droppedout."Oh they are. More

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