<div class="floatleft">(http://i5.photobucket.com/albums/y173/SettyJenesequah/design__18_16_01_2013___vintage_pinup_photo_by_ddmboss-d5rrvet_zps45140d81.jpg)</div>Victoria Partridge had risen much earlier than her family, as she was wont to do on most occasions to ensure that breakfast was prepared and her daughter was out the door to school in a timely fashion.  Today, however, had begun even earlier than most, as there were many preparations yet to organize for tomorrow’s celebration of the 16th anniversary of her daughter’s birth.  It had been during breakfast that Victoria had insisted her daughter go shopping for the perfect outfit for the occasion, practically shooing her out the door to spend time with her friends.  The matron had calls to make before she could step out of the house to run errands; she needed her darling daughter out of the house in order to begin.<br/><br/>Victoria noted through the window of the market that it was already evening, a ‘tsk’ of disapproval escaping plush and perfectly-lined red lips as she paused to check her shopping list.  The picture of a housewife from the 1950s, Victoria’s cat-like grace was displayed rather well in the blue floral-printed dress she’d drawn out of her closet for her daily tasks; the knee-length, flared skirt swayed in mirror of her hips as she pushed the cart forward to the next isle.  She was nearly out of flour, and that simply wouldn’t do if she were to bake a cake to put others to shame.<br/><br/>The top of her dress was remarkably tight-fitted—as it should be, since she made it herself—displaying the slightest peek at the cleavage of her ample breasts, yet never managed to pinch or fold in unladylike ways as she bent to retrieve the five pound bag and settle it in the cart.  The heels of her blue pumps—the same shade to match her dress, of course—clacked softly against the tiled floor as she slowly made her way forward, eyes locked on the list and running a mental check to ensure she had not forgotten anything.<br/><br/>“Victoria!”  As she heard her name called, the blonde turned toward the sound, the perfect curls of her hair bouncing lightly against rosy cheeks.  Amber eyes landed on the familiar image of Margaret Peabody—convenient, as Victoria had already been planning on paying her a house call after her grocery shopping.  “You look lovely, as usual.  Errand day today?”<br/><br/><div class="floatright">(http://i5.photobucket.com/albums/y173/SettyJenesequah/241330_la_zps7708baa5.jpg)</div>For a moment, she wondered if she should have run her errands in her brunette form.  She wouldn’t have been recognized and likely would have accomplished far more in the day, but her husband was first in her mind, and he deserved a little treat.  Victoria’s elegantly high cheekbones were even more defined as she offered a warm smile to the woman, setting her list down atop her Louis Vuitton handbag and abandoning her mental checklist altogether.  “Thank you, Margaret.  I had a few more loose ends to tie up since tomorrow is Allison’s 16th birthday—I hope you haven’t forgotten about the party.  Daniel and I would be thrilled to have you and John attend.  In fact, if you would like to come over earlier than five, I would<em>adore</em>some help cooking.  It’s quite the spread,” with that word, Victoria drifted to Margaret’s mind a healthy little image of what it may be like offering herself up—completely—to Daniel, “for one woman to handle all on her own.”<br/><br/>Mrs. Peabody was clearly startled by the sudden image, her eyes widening just slightly and her pulse quickening—Victoria could hear it.  She could feel the lust coming off the other female in waves.  It was delicious, and something that Victoria’s existence depended on.  Margaret’s voice wavered just slightly when she responded, “well, yes, of course we’ll be there.  We wouldn’t miss Allison’s party for the world.”  Still obviously shaking with desire, the woman flashed a smile despite her flushed state.<br/><br/>Victoria extended a hand, resting her palm gently atop the other woman’s shoulder.  “Are you alright, Margaret?  You look as though you may have a fever.”  Victoria was rather good at pretending concern, well-manicured brow furrowing as she leaned forward just so to get a better look.  “Perhaps you should go home and lie down.”<br/><br/>“Yes, perhaps I should.”  The woman was looking shakier by the moment, and Victoria didn’t help matters at all by tossing a few more sultry pictures in the woman’s direction.<br/><br/>The blonde glanced down at the slender, diamond-encrusted watch on her wrist, shaking her head, “oh my.  I need to be on my way home.  I have a delivery that’s scheduled to arrive in an hour.  Take care of yourself, dear.  I’ll see you tomorrow.  Drop by whenever.”  Victoria offered a sympathetic smile, while internally swelling with pride at having been so successful at getting the woman to swoon.  She’d played her part and she knew her loving husband was more than capable of playing his.<br/><br/>~~<br/><br/>Victoria was not a woman to carry bags into the house herself, especially after a $1000 grocery-shopping spree.  Parking her Mercedes in the garage, she stepped out daintily, hand lifting to shield her eyes from the headlights of the vehicle pulling up the drive.  The market’s delivery van was a convenience for her—especially since the driver was male and quite easily manipulated.  As the engine was killed, the man stepped down and pulled open the side doors.  “The door should be unlocked, Peter.  Would you be a dear and place them on the kitchen counter?  I need to see to a few things inside before I put them away.”<br/><br/>“Sure thing, Mrs. Partridge,” was all he offered before he began to scoop up bags and make his way toward the front door.  Victoria stepped into her home through the garage, pressing a button without thought to close the garage roller as she passed.<br/><br/>It was a short walk through the living room to the kitchen, and she just caught the tail-end of Allison’s comments about what to wear.  “Well, darling, you’ll simply have to model them for your father and me, so we can tell you which looks best.  I need to start preparing a few things for tomorrow,” as she made her way past, she planted a kiss on Allison’s cheek and paused to run her fingertips down the length of Daniel’s arm.  “Mr. and Mrs. Partridge will be in attendance tomorrow; I ran into Margaret at the store and reminded her that we hadn’t received her RSVP.  She’ll likely be here a bit early, to help set up.”  With her face turned toward her husband, she offered him a sultry smile, a bit more sway to her hips as she made her way into the kitchen and began emptying the bags Peter was still bringing in from the van.<br/><br/>“Also, Daniel, darling,” his name and the following word were nearly purred as she spoke, “I’m expecting a delivery of some decorations within the hour.  If you happen to intercept, could you tell them to put everything in the back yard?  They’ll be returning tomorrow to set everything up in the daylight.” While talking, she’d managed to empty several bags, tucking items away here and there throughout her beloved kitchen.  A few items remained on the counter, her skirt flaring as she spun to pull a mixing bowl from one of the cabinets.<br/><br/>“I would love to see what you picked out, Allison.  Why don’t you run and change while Dad tells me how his day was?”  Victoria turned to flash her daughter a loving smile as she settled the mixing bowl beside the ingredients, Peter moving past her with the last of the bags, wishing them all a good night, and excusing himself.  After a subtle, passionate gaze toward her husband, her lithe body twisted beneath the soft cotton of her dress as she spun to put away the last of her groceries.