AN: Once again, sorry for so much time between updates. I'm a busy, busy girl lately. I know the last chapter was kind of stupid. I was trying to do that whole Rock Hudson/Doris Day Pillow Talk thing with switching perspectives. Hence the title (How Fifties).
"How about you let me cook for you? What were you thinking Elizabeth?" Elizabeth didn't give a second thought to talking to herself as she scurried around her tiny studio, putting the finishing touches on Gram's recipe for rack of lamb. And scurrying she was, after she had hemmed and hawed about choosing a place where she wouldn't run into anyone she knew, she had practically gotten the whole town involved in her date.
Well, not the whole town. Her grandmother and Emily. After calling her grandmother with fifteen left-handed cooking questions, Gram got only a little suspicious. But God bless Gram, she didn't pry about who the Big Date was, just congratulated Elizabeth on 'finally' moving on from Ric.
Then she had called Emily, after realizing that she hadn't worn anything nice since the summer, preferring to blend in with the forty-something teachers at school. In short, Elizabeth's closet was full of clothes she wouldn't have been caught dead in last year. However, Emily had no problem prying.
"Lorenzo Alcazar! Elizabeth, what has gotten into you?"
The same question that had been pounding in Elizabeth's mind all day, like a mantra. What had gotten into her? She went from being woken up at the crack of dawn to see her drunk, slobbering ex-husband, to kissing Lorenzo Alcazar, to visiting Carly Corinthos, to crying over her lost child, to kissing Lorenzo Alcazar again, to being confronted by Faith Roscoe (again), and here she was, cooking dinner. For Lorenzo Alcazar. I've really got to stop putting him in capitals in my brain, Elizabeth thought to herself.
But Emily had come through for her, saying she trusted Elizabeth's judgment, which Elizabeth was grateful for. And she was even more grateful that Emily, with her flawless taste volunteered, not to let her borrow something of hers to wear, but to go to Wyndham's and pick out a brand new outfit for Elizabeth's first post-divorce date. Nor would she accept payment for the outfit, the likes of which Elizabeth couldn't afford, anyway.
Stepping away from the simmering sauce in the broiler, Elizabeth fingered the cool ice-blue silk of the dress Emily brought by earlier, along with matching shoes, two place settings of the Quartermaine's very best china, silverware, and crystal, and a beautiful set of vanilla-scented candles.
But Elizabeth frowned at her tiny table with its two tiny chairs. 'Elizabeth-sized furniture' Lucky and Nikolas had jokingly called it when they helped her move in a few months ago. Now Elizabeth was humiliated that Lorenzo Alcazar, all six feet and two inches of broad shoulders and long muscles, would be cramped here, eating her old family recipe, and probably wishing he'd never kissed her in the first place.
Catching sight of the clock over her stove, Elizabeth yelped, and turned on the timers to mind her meal while she attempted, tried, did anything to make herself look, and more importantly feel desirable.
A half hour later, hair blown out dry and straight, legs shaved and moisturized (just in case, she had told herself), Elizabeth stared at her reflection in her mirror. She hadn't been much on make-up lately, but tonight…She added some lip gloss and a touch of mascara. No blush was needed as her cheeks were already rosy with anticipation.
Now, for that dress. The simple style was perfect for Elizabeth, even she could admit to it. A straight, strapless neckline and hemline at her knee with a slit up the left side that was just enough seduction. A row of tiny hook-and-eyelets up the back proved to be more of a gymnastic trick than Elizabeth hoped but looking at her reflection in the mirror, Elizabeth decided it was worth it. She hadn't felt this good in a long time. Fit her like a glove, and the blue in the dress made her eyes sparkle. She turned to check the view from behind over her shoulder and frowned.
Ugly, blatant panty lines. Since her divorce, all she had worn for undergarments were basic, boring, practically military issue cotton panties and bras. Fine for suppressing her now raging hormones, but definitely not what this dress called for, the first pretty thing Elizabeth had worn in months.
She threw up her hands in despair. It was too late to run out and buy something seamless and she couldn't ask Emily for another favor. Elizabeth didn't know what to do. She had nothing else to wear, and it wasn't as if she could go without-
Wait. Why couldn't she? "It's not as if anyone will know," she said to her own reflection, slyly. It was as if a little demonic voice in the back of her head was saying I dare you to. Without giving it another thought, Elizabeth shimmied out of her panties underneath her dress and tossed them in the hamper. Feeling deliciously wicked, she turned to see her perfectly seamless derriere.
And then jumped a foot in the air at the knock at the door.
* * *
This couldn't be right.
Lorenzo looked down at the scrap of paper where he had written Elizabeth's address down, and back up at the number listed on the building. Sure enough, it was a match.
He had not expected her to live in a building like this, in this part of town, where even some of his employees would not feel safe after dark. And the building was old, run-down. No doorman. No buzzer even. And Lorenzo knew she walked to and from work.
Going through the door didn't make him feel any better. There was no elevator. Just a rickety old set of stairs. As he was going up, a group of men were coming down. Big, mean-looking thugs, and Lorenzo grimaced at the thought of Elizabeth going up and down those stairs every day, by herself. She was so pretty, so slight, it made his mouth go dry what a group of men like that could do…
No. No, he wouldn't think that way, as he came upon the third floor, where her apartment was. Well, apartment? Lorenzo noticed that the doors lining the corridor couldn't be more than twenty feet apart. And the walls were painted the sickly beige of hospitals, the grubby carpet a putrid shade of green.
But Lorenzo couldn't help but smile as he noticed the door at the far end of the hall, painted a bright red and standing out against its drab background. A faux wreath hung on it, making him grin even wider. He should have known Elizabeth's apartment would be the only bright spot in the building. He knocked.
AN: Okay guys. Next chapter will definitely changed the story to an R rating, so remember that when you're checking for updates in a couple of days. Now, for my weekly two cents about the show. Someone needs to tell Jason to get a clue (about the situation with Courtney). "You were worried about your niece or nephew, and talking about it in your sleep." Get a clue! Not everyone is as preoccupied with Sonny and Carly's lives as you are!