Madoff's Other Secret by Sheryl Weinstein

Author:Sheryl Weinstein [Weinstein, Sheryl]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-312-61837-7
Publisher: St. Martin's Publishing Group
Published: 2009-08-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

We had our first official “date” at the Lowell, a boutique hotel on Sixty-third Street just off Madison Avenue. The quaint, redbrick structure rose seventeen stories and sat on a quiet, tree-lined street two blocks from the penthouse Bernie shared with his wife.

Until now, our relationship had consisted of stolen moments in restaurants and bars throughout the city. We decided a hotel room would offer us the privacy we craved. The Lowell was perfect. Bernie reserved a one-bedroom suite on the ninth floor. He phoned me a few hours before we were to meet to give me our room number. I took great care getting dressed. Beneath my suit was a sexy silk chemise I’d bought for the occasion.

I felt dizzy as I stepped out of the taxi onto the hotel’s welcoming red carpet. I was extremely excited and nervous as I strode into the European-style lobby. Bernie was waiting for me, and we took the elevator up to the ninth floor together. “Sheryl, you know I love the way you look in that blouse,” he grinned. Before he could even push the button, I grabbed his lapels and tried to kiss him.

“Not here,” he warned. “There could be cameras.”

The room had a prewar aura of formality with old-world furnishings and heavy drapes. There was a living area with two couches, a coffee table, a desk, and a working fireplace, and a beautiful bedroom with a king-size bed. The door had barely closed behind us when Bernie pulled me near and kissed me gently. “It feels nice to finally have you in my arms,” he said softly.

Pulling me closer, he pressed his lips to mine. I had waited so long for this moment. As I kissed him, I noticed that he had lowered his eyes.

“Bernie, how come you’re not looking at me?” I asked.

“I’m shy,” he replied with a bashful grin. This wasn’t our first kiss, so I was a little surprised by Bernie’s sudden timidity.

After hanging our coats in the front closet, we moved to the couch. A quiver of excitement coursed through me as he took my arm and began to kiss the inside of my wrist. His lips slowly made their way to the nape of my neck. His touch was gentle and tender. Bernie and I had ordered up sandwiches. As he took my breath away, I heard a knock at the door. It was room service with our dinner. The Lowell has an excellent restaurant, the Post House, downstairs. Bernie taught me about Dijonaise sauce that night. I was sitting across the table when I noticed him mixing the mustard and mayonnaise together on his plate.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

That’s when he told me about Dijonaise.

Our trysts were never about the meal. We ate because we hadn’t had dinner. There was nothing rushed about Bernie. He wasn’t a grabber. He didn’t run around the room chasing me. It was like a dance, slow and sensual and appropriate. In that room we created our own world.

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