You might want to read The Spot before you start this one.

---

"Yes, April?"

I'm afraid I was rather abrupt with my very efficient secretary. I was deep in creative fog and I'm always a little grumpy when I get interrupted when things are going well.

"Hi Marcie, Sorry to interrupt but I think you have a call you don't want to miss."

"Sorry!" I barked. "Who wants a piece of my life this time?"

"Maria Cardini."

"As in Cardini foods? That Cardini?"

"The very one. She's asking to talk to the Boss Babe."

"Damn!"

"Hey, with all their money the Cardinis want only the best and you're it."

"I won't argue, but I'm gonna kill Carol for saddling me with 'Boss Babe'.

"Yeah, right! You keep bitchin' like a Boss Babe. Publicity, boss. It's great publicity. If you didn't keep wearing those dresses it might have gone away, but you don't look like a Mac any more."

"I don't feel like one, either, but I still don't like the nickname."

"You gonna bitch all morning or talk to the lady?"

"Put her on, Marcie. I'll talk already!"

"Good morning, this is Marcie speaking."

"Well, good morning to you, too. What a pleasure to speak to the Boss Babe herself!"

"Just Marcie, please. How can I help you?"

"You could start by making our new line of olive oil as famous as Fresh Scent."

"Your wish is our command, Maria. I'm afraid we can't really use the whole 'whisk her away to exotic locales' idea, but I'm sure we can find something that will grab the public's imagination."

"Naturally. We want to emphasize the real Italian nature of the product, the purity, value and such. Your job will be to make it irresistible."

"All in a day's work, Maria. We need to get together soon and talk. We'll need to go over exactly what you're looking for and how we can achieve it."

"I can tell you up front that there is one thing we absolutely want, and that's you. My father is getting a bit older and has retired from actively running the company, but he still has, shall we say, some influence. He spends much of his time watching the television and he loves the Fresh Scent Lady. He wants to have her as our spokesperson."

"I'm flattered, Maria, but with so much business these days I'm trying to keep to the management side as much as I can and leave the acting to the professionals."

"Understandable, Marcie, but Poppa Giuseppe is almost as stubborn as I am, and he wants you. I'm not sure he understands that you are not the woman you seem, but that's beside the point."

"So if you grease the path with extra virgin olive oil I just might be persuaded to slide down a slippery slope to represent another product."

"That and some money, Marcie. Don't forget the money."

"Maria, my dear, I never forget the money. Let me check my calendar and we can set a date. Not to be trite, but your place or mine?"

"Mine, Poppa Giuseppe would never forgive me if he didn't get to meet you."

"Then I shall be delighted to come for a visit. I think I can re-arrange things to make it out there late a week from Thursday or Friday. Would that work?"

"Certainly. If you have the weekend open, I think the expense account would stretch far enough to show you the glories of California. Poppa Giuseppe will be in heaven if he could escort you to dinner."

"You do understand that despite being the Boss Babe I'm not a woman – I only play one on TV?"

"And quite a few other places, if my sources are correct."

"They are, I do enjoy being Marcie."

"Then what Poppa doesn't know won't be a problem. Just be your gracious self and we should all get along fine."

"Then let me pass you back to April to make the arrangements. I'm not allowed to mess with my calendar on the computer – technical things are not my domain."

"Of course. And Marcie?"

"Yes?"

"Poppa isn't the only one looking forward to meeting you."

I looked it up and their pasta business alone is worth about 50 million. Put some sauce on the pasta and you're talking over a hundred million. We could be in for a lifetime supply of pasta primavera if their olive oil business takes off!

There were lots of loose ends to tie up before I could leave, but somehow I ended up talking with Maria a couple of times a day. She filled me in on what their business objectives were, what they wanted from the campaign, what kind of budget they had, that sort of thing.

Somehow amid the business talk we got to be friends, trading jokes and stories as well as creative ideas. At first it was standard 'jolly the customer' stuff, but Maria and I shared a quirky sense of humor that overcame the strictly business nature of most of my calls.

She was also fascinated by the Boss Babe. The whole story of Spot the Cat had pretty much made the rounds, after all it was pretty funny, and I had told it so many times I had it down to a well polished routine. I had even consulted with a standup comic I knew to spruce it up, it had become a unconventional sales tool.

Maria was interested in the person behind the Boss Babe legend as well. Even though it took time away from the things I needed to finish before the trip, I found myself telling her the whole story. The hard part of that telling was why I kept wearing dresses after Spot had destroyed the competitor's presentation.

That one I hadn't figured out yet, other than I liked doing it. Sure, it lost me a couple of clients, but in this business setting yourself apart from the competition counts for a lot. Quite a few clients were fascinated with the Boss Babe; I only wish Carol had stuck me with a better name!

Even with all the craziness in preparing to be gone for a couple of weeks I was always glad to take Maria's calls. It wasn't long before I was sure she was flirting with me. It wasn't much longer before I was sure I was flirting with her. Do you realize how strange it was to be flirting with a woman while I was trying to be a woman? April began to smirk every time she put Maria's calls through; sometimes having a smart personal assistant could be annoying. I gave Maria my cell phone but April still smirked whenever it rang.

In packing for the trip I ran into an unexpected problem. This was the first time the Boss Babe was going to be away from home for an extended stay. She had flown to nearby cities a few times; enough to have learned how to handle the TSA, anyway, but not for enough time to need a change of clothes.

Mac never had a problem when packing; a couple of suits, some socks, underwear and pajamas, maybe a pair of jeans and sport shirt for after hours and I was set. These days I had a hard time finding my suits; I realized I hadn't worn a suit in months! Men's suits, that is - I had several skirted suits that I wore for meeting clients. Even if some clients are skittish about the Boss Babe - especially if some clients are skittish about the Boss Babe - a good looking suit will calm their fears. I may be weird but I do look professional.

So I packed a couple of skirted suits, but Maria had made clear that she would be showing me around the sights, playing tourist as well as thinking professionally. So that meant selecting several casual outfits. Not that this was a problem, Marcie had filled up the closets and dressers so much that Mac had had to put some of his clothes in boxes in the spare room. The problem was fitting all the clothes in one fifty-pound-or-less suitcase, one carryon and one personal item.

One of the unexpected pleasures of becoming the Boss Babe was being able to carry a purse, so the personal item was taken care of. I simply loved having the space to carry all the little odds-and-ends that men can't fit into their pockets. My go-to purse even had a dedicated pocket for my cell phone; that made life much easier. No more nerd-pouch on my belt!

I would have loved to take a small suitcase as my carryon, but the bag for the suits took precedence - wrinkled was not an option. Thus I dithered and sorted until my bag was practically groaning with the load. No matter what I did it weighed in at 53.4 pounds.

I hate to pay for an extra bag for a lousy 3.4 pounds! I finally realized that my jewelry, a couple pairs of shoes and a few blouses would fit in the suit hanger - 49.8 pounds! Just hope that their scale reads like mine, I didn't want to be stuffing lingerie in my pockets in front of the ticket clerk to make the weight!

Thursday came and I stopped in to the office to make sure my partner Carol was ready for my absence. I found her in her lair, doing something creative with one of her many panels and keyboards.

"I'm off to sunny California to frolic amongst the olive groves and grease our way to fame and fortune with a bottle of olive oil and a plate of pasta. You have everything under control?"

"Chico, where I come from we don't do no stinkin' pasta! Give me a taco and lots of beans and I'm happy. On the other hand, I don't care if the dough gets ground from wheat stalks or cornstalks as long as we keep the lettuce."

"Wait a minute, I need to parse that, Carol."

"Screw parsing, Marcie. Take off that dress, get out there and let Mac show that chickie what's Italian for Oh-la-la!"

"Sorry partner, but the chickie has specifically invited Marcie. Seems her Poppa has a crush on the Fresh Scent lady."

"Marcie, you could get into a lot of trouble like that. I know you've gone loco with the girly thing and it doesn't seem to have hurt business, but are you out of your mind?"

"Carol, Marcie and Fresh Scent are the reason we have a dozen new employees and more work than we can handle. I like being Marcie and so do the customers, partner."

"You keep calling me partner and people will think we're shacking up. I'm a married woman, you're a single whatever."

"Strictly business, business partner. No way I want to take care of all those kids you have running around."

"Chicken. I'll watch the furniture and make sure the place doesn't burn down."

"You'll feed my cat while I'm gone? Wouldn't want our good luck charm to get upset."

"Sure. Come back with a nice barrel of olive oil, OK?"

"Olive oil comes in virgin and extra virgin. What makes you think you can use any of it?"

As an independent business person I don't like the government sticking its nose into my business, but as a citizen I realize that one of the things we need government to do is set reasonable limits. The problem is who gets to define 'reasonable'.

I may be known as the Boss Babe around the shop, but in an airport my name might as well be Mud. Flying for a crossdresser is always an interesting experience. There is nothing illegal about a man wearing women's clothes in public, but since 9/11 anything hinting at a disguise causes the TSA to get suspicious.

The way I see it, the extra half an hour it takes to convince the TSA that I'm not carrying a bomb in my bra is worth it if I don't have to take two sets of clothing along. My face hasn't changed since I had my driver's license photo taken, but with makeup and a new feminine hairstyle most people have a hard time seeing the similarity between the photo and the real thing. Distract them with a dress and a pair of boobs and they just don't believe I'm me.

Knowing what would happen I handed the TSA woman my license and boarding pass.

"Menachem Lehrer? Is this your license?"

"Absolutely, but I go by Marcie these days."

"You don't look like a Menachem."

"I don't look very Jewish either, but that's what my mother named me."

"Well, you look about 5'8" and you have hazel eyes, but you sure don't look like you're male."

"Thank you. I'm a crossdresser and I appreciate the compliment."

"It takes all kinds. Follow the path to the screening device."

"Thank you, have a nice day, ma'am"

She handed me back my license with an odd look on her face. I was now past the first obstacle, but wasn't home free yet. I went over to the table and took off my heels, put them and my purse into a tray, then opened my laptop and put it into another tray. I had made sure I wasn't wearing a wired bra, the buckle on my belt was plastic and I had no metallic jewelry.

I had nothing liquid in my carry on, but I was technically in violation of the three ounce rule since I had a lot more than three ounces of silicone jell in my breast forms. So far no one had twigged to that fact whenever I flew, but someday I might run into a crossdressing inspector or one who had a mastectomy of her own. I wonder what would happen then? If I ever got up the nerve to have implants, would the three ounce rule apply to liquid under your skin?

I stood still so they could take my picture with their fancy scanning device. I always wondered if the machine could tell I was wearing breast forms or if they looked the same as the rest of my body. As usual, I was politely asked to step aside for additional inspection. This is the point where they run into a problem. Being open about my crossdressing they damn well knew I was male, but I looked like a female. So do they call a man or a woman to do the patdown? Maybe the TSA should hire a crossdresser for these situations.

There was a hurried conference among the inspectors and I knew just what was happening. Nobody wanted to be responsible for making the wrong decision. Eventually a female inspector approached me, but at least she was no longer waving an obsolete magic wand. I let her get personal with me for a little while and she reluctantly decided I wasn't a terrorist and let me into the airport.

Total time: twenty three minutes. I keep track. My personal best (or should it be worst?) was forty seven minutes from handing in my license to putting my shoes back on again. The plane trip was a plane trip, the stopovers the usual drama to see if the incoming delays meshed with the outgoing delays so you actually got to your destination while you were still young enough to enjoy it. The airport food was airport food - unspeakable and overpriced.

I beat the odds and my luggage was actually waiting for me, having made it through two stopovers, a good omen. Someone from Cardini's was going to pick me up, but I wasn't sure who. I was standing around hoping someone would recognize me when a striking woman with long dark hair in a vivid red pantsuit approached me.

"Hi Marcie, I'm Maria"

Well, well! Not a flunkie but the Boss Babe of Cardini's Foods came to greet me. They must really want us to do their publicity.

"Maria, so nice to meet you. I feel like a star being met by the Queen of Cardini's.

"That has a nice ring to it, Marcie. 'The Queen of Cardini's'. I should have them put it on my office door."

"Where you reign from the Olive Throne, holding a scepter in one hand and an olive branch in the other?"

"Cute! If Poppa didn't want you to be the star of the ads that might make a great hook."

"Cut that out! If you have too many creative ideas I'll be out of a job."

"I'll try to keep it down. Don't you have more than that one bag?"

"I try to travel light, you know."

"I guess it's true you've only been a woman for a year. Marcie, you need a wardrobe! Especially since Poppa plans to take you out to dinner so everyone can see him with his dream woman."

"Just what I need - a sugar daddy!"

"In this case a pasta daddy, but I get the idea. Don't worry, he's a pussy cat but he gets carried away sometimes."

"Well, I owe a lot to my own cat, so I'll play along. Do remind him I'm here for business, though."

"Of course! No matter how carried away Poppa gets he always takes the business seriously. I may run things day-to-day, but Poppa is still the guiding force behind our success."

"Then I hope we can add to that success. I've been studying up on olive oil since you called."

"I hope you didn't fall asleep while you were reading."

"It wasn't that bad. At least I now what 'extra virgin' means. And, no, I will not repeat any of the thousands of bad jokes that came up when I looked. I now know that extra virgin olive oil has no more than 0.8% acidity, and is judged to have a superior taste."

"Not unlike some human virgins, I suppose."

"You had to go and say it, didn't you?"

"Of course! Not that it applies to me any more, but…"

"Please don't start! I've read too many of them."

"So why did you keep reading if you think they're so bad?"

"Masochism, pure and simple."

"Then you're my kind of girl."

The Cardini place was a Italian-style hacienda. Hey - we were in the olive groves of California. The Italians and the Spanish grow olives, so do the Californians, so what the heck. Calling it The Cardini Place doesn't quite do it justice. The Cardini Mansion or gives you a better idea. It stood at the top of a low hill surrounded by olive trees and grape vines as far as the eye could see. Maria pulled her Corvette to the front door and parked.

"Welcome to the old homestead, Marcie. As you might have guessed, we have plenty of bedrooms so you're welcome to stay with us."

I stopped dead in the entrance hall. It was bigger than my apartment. You could have dropped our offices in the middle and still had room to reach the marble staircases to the upper levels.

"You want me to stay here? I'd need a compass and a map to find the toilet!"

"We generally use a ball of twine. We used to use breadcrumbs but once we had a dog that didn't work so well."

"How am I ever going to go back to my loft in the city after this?"

"You can just stay on - the place is so big it might take a couple of months to find out we had an extra guest." She went over to one wall and pushed a button. "Poppa, I'm back, and I bring company."

A few seconds later the wall talked back. "Maria! You've brought our guest?"

"Of course. She looks a little different without the wig she uses for the commercials, but she's the one."

"I'll be right up!"

"Daddy is going to be so thrilled. I think he has a crush on you."

"Isn't he a few decades too old to have a crush?"

"Daddy is the youngest old man I know. Be careful or he'll talk you into bed with him before dinner is over."

"He really doesn't know?"

"I don't think so, he doesn't follow the trade news like I do. I have to say you are quite delectable in person. Maybe I'll have to talk you into bed myself."

"I'm afraid that would be unprofessional."

"Oh, you've got the contract right now, Daddy would have fits if you didn't do our spots. He's in love with the Fresh Scent girl. We'll talk once the contract is signed."

"I guess I should have put on my wig, but I had enough trouble with the TSA flying here without adding a wig to the whole identity thing."

"Coffee, tea or me?"

"My flight attendant was male and about sixty. That line is decades out of date. Besides, you can't bring more than three ounces of liquid with you. Half a cup of coffee is pretty useless."

"Three ounces of whiskey might do the trick."

"I thought we were talking olive oil here?"

"Do they put olive oil in those little airline bottles?"

"Hmmm. Perhaps a new product line for Cardini Brand Olive Oil."

"Oil and water don't mix - certainly not as well as whiskey and water. Not so great for cocktails."

"But great when you have a sudden urge for pasta primavera at ten thousand feet."

"You couldn't heat the water for pasta at ten thousand feet. It won't get warm enough."

"The cabin is pressurized, but I don't suppose they would let you use a hotplate on the plane."

"Too bad. Airport takeout on a plane sucks."

"Tell me! Ever tried to eat a sub in an airline seat and not spill it on your blouse?"

"So that was why you had lettuce on your tits at the airport."

"They do get in the way sometimes, one of the few downsides of being Marcie."

"They look perfectly natural. You look perfectly natural."

"Thanks, I try hard to…"

Just then Poppa Giuseppe came down the stairs, a dapper man in his late seventies with a wide grin on his face."

"Welcome, madam! Welcome to our home! I can't tell you how much I've wanted to meet you since seeing you on TV."

"I'm flattered, sir! I just wish Fresh Scent had whisked me away to this glorious place. I wouldn't have wanted to come back again!"

"Then stay and enjoy yourself as long as you want. Seldom has my home been graced with such charm and beauty."

"Maria? When was the last time your father had his glasses checked?"

"Why just last month."

"You do realize that my partner Carol makes with the virtual reality so I look good in the commercials?"

"If Poppa has a problem then I must have inherited it as well, you look pretty good to me, Marcie."

"I'm going to start blushing if you keep it up!"

"So rare these days for a lovely young woman to blush. If only my dear Lucrezia were still with us to meet you. You make me wish I were twenty years older, my dear."

"Older?"

"Of course! A dirty old man can get away with so much more!"

"I would be willing to wait for such a gentleman as yourself to become old. Do you have anything in mind?"

"A picnic in the moonlight among the olives, beautiful music, fine wine and you. What more could I ask?"

"Do you have a particular vintage in mind?"

"Well, it so happens I have a bottle from our own vineyards just waiting to be sampled."

"Poppa, you're going to need your heart medicine if you keep this up!"

"My heart is beating strongly, daughter. How could it not in the presence of such beauty?"

"Mr. Cardini, I don't know if I could survive being too long in the presence of such a man as yourself. I'm just a poor, fragile woman."

"That's it! Let me show you to your room before my reprobate of a father has you barefoot and pregnant, picking olives in the orchard!"

"I'll have you know that I'm a modern girl, there is no chance I could become pregnant no mater the obvious virility of such a gentleman as your father."

That did it, she lost it completely! Speechless, she proceeded to beat my shoulders with her fists. I could enjoy a back rub from this woman!

"I count myself a modern woman, too, but I believe I use a different method of protection. I'll explain it when I take you upstairs. Go take your heart medicine, Poppa, in case she gets away and takes you to the orchards."

Maria took me upstairs to a chamber just short of the Taj Mahal. Releasing my suitcase she grabbed me and gave me a kiss. "You wouldn't get pregnant! Marcie, you are a genius at giving words a new meaning!"

"It's how I make my living. Even before Marcie came along I was pretty good at illusion. Your father really does have a crush on me, doesn't he?"

"And you simply made his day with that repartee. It's too bad he would be disappointed if he did get you in his bed."

"What is behind the illusion is often disappointing."

"I don't think I would be disappointed."

"Can you up the offer a little? If you know where he keeps the wine I'll swipe the bedspread and meet you in the olive grove after dark."

"Sounds like a plan. Poppa retires early these days, he won't notice."

"Are you serious?"

"I think so. You fascinate me, Marcie."

"The feeling is mutual. I've never picnicked with a client in the moonlight before."

"Can I up the offer a little? How would you like to frolic with a client in the moonlight?"

There's an expression that gets tossed around when a bunch of us creative types get together to compare notes, say at a nice little bar around the corner with a few beers. Well, these days Marcie tends to have white wine, but that's neither here nor there. There's a lot of (mostly) good natured competition for business, but when one particular shop has a lock on a particular client the sore losers tend to say the winner is 'in bed with the client.' It's tinged with more than a little bit of envy, but the sexual origin of the phrase is of minor import.

The next morning, for the first time in my life, I woke up in bed with my client and there was absolutely no doubt of the sexual nature of the whole situation.

Oy vey, was it sexual.

Funny how in times of great emotion you go back to your roots. I'm technically Jewish because my mother is Jewish, but I haven't been in a synagogue since I left home.

Funny how 'oy vey' was all I could think about after last night. Mom tells me it's Yiddish for 'Oh Woe' but woeful I wasn't. Actually, with a very warm breast under my hand, woe was certainly not on my agenda.

"Oy vey!"

"What did you say?" came a muffled voice.

"I'm reverting to my childhood roots."

"Well, I hope you won't stay there very long, I much prefer having an adult in bed with me."

"It would save lengthy explanations to the Department of Social Services."

"Your services were quite satisfactory, darling. No explanations needed. What time is it?" Maria queried.

"A little before nine."

"Damn! I was hoping we had time for a service appointment, but the meeting is at eleven."

"We can make an appointment for later in the day."

"We'd better get washed up. We can both fit in the shower. Good thing I made you bring your suitcase over for your fashion show, you won't have to run naked through the halls to get dressed."

"I congratulate you on your forethought."

"Hell, I just wanted to see you naked before I got you into bed."

"I was not naked. You wouldn't let me take off my bra."

"I let you take off mine, wasn't that satisfactory?"

"Very. I apologize for bouncing my boob off your back when things got frenetic."

"Really? I never noticed."

"I'll glue them on tonight, safety first."

"Shower first. We have to get going or Poppa will come knocking."

The meeting was difficult, not because of the contract or the creative part, but mainly because Maria and I had to keep from behaving like giddy kids racing for the sack.

Eventually I found my professional center and we threw ideas around. Poppa's idea for the label on the bottle was to have some Italian women picking olives in an orchard. The mockup was OK, but I suggested that the women needed to be close enough to see their faces, not small bodies amongst the trees. I gave our artists a call and told them what I wanted, then went back to thrashing out the details.

One of my ideas for a spot was to have a close-up of the label which would fade into actual women picking olives, maybe carrying wicker baskets of them to the barn or whatever Italian olives groves used to store the little buggers. We fade into a kitchen where the woman is liberally dousing something Italian with olive oil and then to an ornate dining room where the family is scarfing up pasta with lots of fresh, colorful vegetables while a warm, patriarchal voice extols the virtues of Cardini Brand Extra Virgin Olive Oil.

Poppa Giuseppe loved it and was all ready to start shooting after lunch. I had to explain that you needed to write a script, hire a film crew, makeup artists, costumers, directors and lots of other people before you could start shooting.

"Then do it, Marcie!" was his response.

Maria rolled her eyes comically and told her Poppa that she would personally consult with me this afternoon to work out the details. There was a twinkle in her eye as she volunteered her services.

We worked through lunch with all those who were involved in the project (deli called in - no spaghetti with Cardini sauce!) until everyone was satisfied, then Maria and I went to her office to brainstorm a few more ideas. This was pretty unusual, normally my group does the brainstorming and presents a finished presentation to the client; having the client so intimately involved in the creative work just wasn't the way we did things. Then again, I've never been so intimately involved with a client.

We were just about done when an urgent e-mail popped up on my computer.

"Maria, you have got to see this! I'm going to strangle somebody back at the office!"

"What?"

"Just look!"

She did. There before us were of two women picking olives in the foreground of a verdant orchard with several younger women in the background. The two women were clearly Marcie and Maria.

"How the devil did they know what you looked like?"

"My picture is on the web site," Maria replied. You look really cute as an Italian peasant girl."

"You don't look so bad yourself. I'd nibble on your olives anytime."

"After dinner. Poppa wants to escort us for a night on the town. You know, I'm tempted to use this. You may have smart asses working for you but it's just the kind of image we're looking for."

"Oy vey!"

"You said that earlier. Try 'oh dolore,' we're thinking Italian here. What's the matter?"

"This whole Boss Babe thing is getting out of hand. Bad enough I have groupies for Fresh Scent, now this! I didn't want to be famous."

"I have no doubt that you'll make Cardini Brand Extra Virgin Olive Oil famous, why shouldn't you share in the fame?"

"I'd rather be behind the camera," I replied.

"You should have thought of that before you started dressing up."

"It wasn't my idea!"

"So why did you keep doing it?"

"Because I like it."

"Good enough for me. I like it, too. I never thought I'd be turned on by a man in a dress."

"I never thought wearing a bra would turn on a sexy woman. I leave the virtual reality stuff to Carol."

"You're cute when you get exasperated."

"Cute? Oh dolore!"

So I e-mailed them back and gave them the go-ahead to do a high resolution version, giving them the dimensions of the label, and passing on the font Maria wanted to use. I shut down the computer and we did a little snogging until Poppa was ready to leave. Nice to have an office without any windows to the inside!

So Poppa Giuseppe took us out for dinner, beaming as he walked along the pier with one of us on each arm. We ate seafood with silly little plastic bibs keeping my power suit protected, flirted, walked along the shops, flirted, watched people, flirted, ate ice cream and flirted some more. Poppa Giuseppe was the nicest dirty old man I've ever met. It was easy to see how he ended up the father of seven children. His wife must have been happy to spend all her time in bed with the man.

Poppa watched benevolently while his daughter and I perused the many boutiques along the strip. I paused to examine a gorgeous necklace at one shop and before I knew it Poppa had his wallet out and it was around my neck.

"Oh Poppa Guiseppe, I've never had a sugar daddy before!"

"The old man beamed, "I don't do sugar, I do pasta."

"Pasta daddy? Won't you get fat?"

"Never! I work it off in bed."

"Uh-oh! Should I worry about your heart?"

"It's not my heart I exercise in bed. The only virgin in my house is my olive oil."

"You are a dirty old man!"

"I need my exercise, fitness centers are boring."

"You could go jogging."

"I prefer marathons under the covers."

"Sir, do you have designs on my virtue?

"Of course!"

"Maria, your father is a dirty old man."

"A slander! I even washed behind my ears."

"Poppa, don't grope Marcie here in public."

"I shall call a taxi. Marcie, we can share the back seat and my daughter can find something to amuse herself."

"A taxi? Surely my sugar daddy has a limo waiting."

"Marcie! Stop encouraging this old reprobate. I'm not done shopping. I want to check out that place over there."

"Then I shall wait, alone and bereft until my true loves return."

"Poppa!"

For all the fun I was having flirting with Poppa Giuseppe, I had wanted to check out that shop. The mannequin in the window was dressed much like I pictured our ladies on the olive oil label.

"Maria! That's just what we need to pick some olives!"

The mannequin wore a medium blue jumper in some heavy material with a square corset laced neckline that stopped just below the breasts. Neckline? Maybe it was a breastline - underbreastline? - I still don't know the right words to describe fashion. White blouse with gathered sleeves with ruffled cuffs at the wrist and a patterned scarf over her hair. The costume houses I normally worked with couldn't have done better. Mac approved, Marcie wanted to cavort through the olive groves wearing that outfit!

"C'mon on!" I took Maria by the arm and dragged her into the shop. "Let's play dressup!"

Poppa Giuseppe settled himself on a convenient bench and pulled out his cell phone. We left him happily playing some game while we played our own games.

Shopping! What is it in putting on a dress that allows me to enjoy shopping? No, requires me to enjoy shopping. They had the jumpers in the right size for both of us, no problem, but it took trying on many, many blouses to decide on the right one to compliment the jumper. Then there was the headscarf - details, details, details! One can agonize over such petty details when you are a woman. No - that's not true! The details are not petty!

We rather surprised the clerk by wearing our new outfits and putting or regular clothes in one of their distinctively emblazoned bags. Actually our regular clothes had to share accommodations with several newer acquisitions, you didn't think we could resist, did you?

Eventually we emerged from the store to find Poppa Giuseppe in earnest conversation with a young woman sharing his bench. The old dog!

"Maria? How does he do that?"

"I don't know, but wherever Poppa goes he finds a way to meet the ladies."

"Then follow my lead, I have and idea."

Gathering my skirts I took off, arriving breathlessly before Poppa Giuseppe. Falling artfully to one knee I artistically draped my skirts and took hold of his hands while Maria settled in beside me. Poppa's companion was taken aback but Poppa simply gazed beatifically at the two peasant girls before him as if such behavior was simply his due as Lord of the Manor.

"Patrizio," I cried, "We are but two simple orphan girls making our way in the cruel world. We beg you, signore, to allow us to dedicate our lives to plucking the ripe fruit from your verdant olive orchards that you may obtain only the finest of fruit for your Cardini Brand Extra Virgin Olive Oil. We would gladly live in your humble abode so that we might rise with the sun to harvest the bounty of your orchards, asking for only enough of your Cardini Brand Extra Virgin Olive Oil to drizzle upon our bruschetta for our meager sustenance. Patrizio, we are at your mercy."

Our little scene was somewhat marred by Maria, who was cracking up at my overblown prose. Hey, I told you I made my living by writing advertising copy! Maria was not the only one amused, we had gathered an audience. Not every day you see two Italian peasant girls kneeling on the street in a very yuppified shopping district.

"Dear child," Poppa answered, "I hear your plea and am moved. How could I refuse such an heartfelt entreaty? But tell me, child, how comes a poor orphan by a bag stuffed to overflowing from such an expensive shop?"

"Good signore, 'tis but a last gift from my brother Benedetto before he left for the cruel wars in a land far away. I shall recline bereft and treasure his memory as I lie awake on my pallet before I rise to a new dawn of labor on your lands."

"Dear child, how could I allow one such as you to lie bereft in a lonely bed when you have pledged your service to me? Surely there is room in my bed for one as loyal and true as yourself. I think I could even find enough room for your sister to join us and I would pledge to service you both."

Wait a minute. He just rewrote my script, the dirty old man!

"Oh signore, your generosity knows no bounds. My sister and I would be satisfied to burn the cuttings from your orchards to keep us warm in our rude hut on the cold nights. Such a generous offer will keep us warm without adding to the burden of carbon pollution on our planet."

"Ah, I have always been an enthusiastic ecologist. However, I fear there might be one untoward effect of this pollution abatement plan."

"Patrezio, how could receiving the warmth of such a man as yourself have a downside?"

"I fear that I might be responsible for adding to the global population, dear one. Please, dear ladies, do not tell my daughter that your charms have driven me to this madness!"

"Wait a minute!" The woman sharing Poppa's bench had finally found her voice. "Are you guys nuts? You're filming this, right? Where's the camera?"

"I fear there is no camera, dear lady," Replied Poppa. "May I introduce my daughter Maria and her friend Marcie? It would seem my daughter's friend harbors a secret desire to partake in street theatre. A bravura performance, Marcie. Bravissima!"

Darned if our audience didn't give us a round of applause before Maria and I strolled off arm in arm with Poppa Giuseppe.

Being a long way from the office, Maria, Poppa and I spent the weekend enjoying the area; it had been a long time since I had taken an entire weekend for enjoyment alone; Poppa insisted that work would wait for Monday.

And the work was waiting for us on Monday. And Tuesday. And so on. Poppa Giuseppe may have wanted us to do his commercials, but he wasn't going to leave anything to chance, and neither was Maria. We may have developed an intense personal connection but she was going to be damn sure her company got a good deal.

If I wasn't in a meeting I was on the phone to the office. If I wasn't on the phone to my office I was on the phone to set up Poppa's commercial shoot before I left. There were enough details to wrangle when you're home with all your connections, it rises to a whole new level of complexity when you are working with people you've never met before.

The details took all week, but we would be ready to shoot the next Monday. Makeup, cameras, director, caterers, extras, the whole works. I was going to miss Jerry, the makeup genius that helped Marcie become a real person. At least we didn't have to worry about sound because it was all to be done with voiceover.

The first part of the commercial was Maria and me picking olives.

Since the Cardini place had an olive grove surrounding a Italian-style hacienda, we shot it at Maria's home. If you've ever been involved in a location shoot, you know that the actors spend an inordinate amount of time waiting. Waiting for makeup, waiting for lighting, waiting for other people to do something technical, waiting for someone else to finish waiting.

Since I had been appointed the star, I had hired a director for the shoot. (Please… shoot me now before Poppa Cardini twigs!) As usual on an outdoor set, people were running around in circles and trying to get set up. I had finished making last minute changes to the script.

So while the technical types were doing whatever the technical types do, Maria and I sat with our newly hired 'daughters,' waiting for our cue. Leaning against a couple of olive trees we were idly conversing among ourselves, killing time. So what did we talk about? What did we have in common with a couple of twenty-something women anyway?

What else? Sex. Lord preserve the mothers of those two vixen. After a while one of my 'daughters' looked at me with a gleam in her eye. "Why Mommy," said my 'daughter' in an elaborately innocent tone, "you're looking very satisfied this morning. Daddy must have done you right last night. It sounded like you were being split right open!"

So, we were going to play a game here. Well I wasn't going to let these girls run a con on me!

"Oh no Carlotta, that was Aunt Maria you heard. Daddy wasn't home last night. We had a lovely time but I'm afraid she did get rather loud, she always does when I lick her properly. You wouldn't believe how horny she gets when Uncle Benigno isn't around."

I saw I had scored the first point, or maybe two as Maria was looking at me with a grin, so I continued "Why I simply coat her beautiful curls with Cardini Brand Extra Virgin Olive Oil before I start and she is simply delicious. When your daddy is in the mood he can fuck like a man possessed, but sometimes it takes another woman to really please me. Besides, she tastes so much better than any man with Cardini Brand Extra Virgin Olive Oil. I use it myself, I just love it when she spreads my legs and takes that first, long lick. She has such a long tongue, you know, it's almost like having a man."

There was a strangled groan from Maria's direction, but I was studying my victim closely and didn't look. My daughter had recovered nicely by this time.

"Surely no matter how good Aunt Maria may be she can't compare to a man. I would miss being able to take my boyfriend's lovely hard tool in my hands. I just love to play with it, it's so long and soft to touch, it just slides so smoothly through my fingers when they are coated with Cardini Brand Extra Virgin Olive Oil."

Ah, she had gotten with the program!

"I love to watch him as I play with the tip, he really goes wild when I squeeze him. There's no feeling like having him fountain up as I stroke him, when his lovely white juices dribble down he gets so slippery, he coats my hands almost as well as Cardini Brand Extra Virgin Olive Oil and I can squeeze so tight. I just love to watch him, his whole body shakes and he makes the funniest noises. I'm not sure I could give that up!"

"My daughter, where have I failed you! Haven't I taught you anything? You don't have to give up your boyfriend, no more than I would give up your father or Cardini Brand Extra Virgin Olive Oil! But haven't you ever tasted your sister Renata? You know she has no boyfriend and she would need you to make her happy."

'Renata', who had been following our conversation with great interest, was suddenly overcome with one of the most guilty looks I have ever seen in my life. Looks like I had scored another point in our little game.

"Renata, my child, am I wrong? Have you been letting some man spread your pretty little legs when your mamma wasn't looking? Do you know the pleasure of a man thrusting himself into your rosy little bush when you use Cardini Brand Extra Virgin Olive Oil? Tell me, daughter, tell you mother all about it!"

Guilt gave way to panic and then resolve.

"No, mamma, I have never known a man, but Luisa has the most wonderful black dildo you have ever seen. You are so right, sometimes only a woman can satisfy me. Luisa knows just where to lick me, her tongue is so soft and warm when she kisses me. I get so wet when she eats me, I must run like the fountain in the courtyard.

"I especially love it when she pours the Cardini Brand Extra Virgin Olive Oil and slowly puts in her finger. They are so long and slim and I have so much juice she can enter me with ease. She always makes me cum twice before she slides her black tool into me. She is so sexy when she dips that that long black thing into the Cardini Brand Extra Virgin Olive Oil and straps it around her.

"Her breasts are very small, hardly bigger than a man's, and seeing that shiny dildo swinging from her hips makes me so hot! She lifts my legs and drives it deep into me all at once. It is heavenly, so big and fat but the Cardini Brand Extra Virgin Olive Oil makes it such a pleasure that I feel myself gushing as she pumps in and out. I have never known a man, but I am sure I shall enjoy a real man when the time comes, as long as he uses Cardini Brand Extra Virgin Olive Oil."

What the devil had I started? These little vixen would make a marine blush! Good thing I hadn't been a marine, but I think I was blushing. There was no way these two were going to get the best of the Boss Babe!

"Oh, my daughter, you make you mamma proud! Such exploits for one so young! Perhaps you could let me borrow your toy the next time Aunt Maria is over, we have never been so adventurous. We have always kidded your Aunt Maria about the pretty black curls she got from her Gypsy mother (not a bad impromptu invention, that Gypsy mother), but they are nothing compared to the lustrous curls she has between her legs. Every time I see them I am aflame! When she knows we will be together she brings the Cardini Brand Extra Virgin Olive Oil and becomes very wet. I can see the little drops of her moisture and her fragrance is only to be found in the most verdant olive orchards in Eden.

"I love to slowly spread her thick curls, brushing them with Cardini Brand Extra Virgin Olive Oil before I discover the secrets inside. When at last I can see them I play with her, she always begins to pump her hips as I stroke, trying to bring my finger deeper, but I do not let her do that, not too soon anyway."

There! A distinct moan from beside me. My 'daughter's' eyes were riveted on me as I spoke.

"At last I spread her open, and gaze at her convoluted beauty. I lower my face and gently slide my tongue along her moistness, tasting the sweetness of Cardini Brand Extra Virgin Olive Oil. By now she is whimpering in pleasure, and when I play my tongue over her she starts to moan with pleasure, the deep, full throated cries of an uninhibited woman in intense bliss.

"Suddenly I feel a gush and taste the sharp tang of her orgasm mixing with the Cardini Brand Extra Virgin Olive Oil, but I will not stop now. My tongue keeps lashing her exquisite nub as I bring one finger to her opening. It slides in effortlessly and I began to probe for the sweet spot within. I soon find it and she comes again, covering my hand with her juices as she cries out. I coat my hand with Cardini Brand Extra Virgin Olive Oil and I insert a second finger, plunging deep into her, her juice flying as I fill her."

An inarticulate cry came from beside me and something sharp jabbed my ribs. I didn't look as my eyes were locked on my 'daughter.'

"She is crooning like a cat and I feel like a machine pumping my hand into her, until at last she screams once more and I feel her thighs close tightly on my hand. She clamps me inside her and I wiggle my fingers deep within her while the she cries out. Again and again she grips my hand with her powerful muscles as each wave of pleasure washes over her. This is what you must have heard last night, my daughters."

Game, set and match! Never try to outdo someone who makes their living writing ad copy! The director was standing there with a very strange look on his face and Maria was staring at me with undisguised lust. What had I done?

"Ladies," the director said, "I think we are ready to shoot, but after that little bit of impromptu theatre I'll be damned if I remember what we should be shooting."

"Why sir, we are but a family of chaste and pure women, as pure and fresh as Cardini Brand Extra Virgin Olive Oil!"

"I think the Food and Drug people might want to analyze that statement, not to mention the olive oil."

"They would find nothing but the purest of thoughts and ingredients. Daughters, we must go to work now for the nice man. Are you ready?"

"I'm ready, but I'm not saying for what!"

"I knew I raised some wise daughters. Please proceed, Signor director."

It sounded so simple, pick a couple of olives and smile at the camera. It took forever, the wind blew the leaves in front of Maria's face, an olive went down someone's décolletage, a bird dive bombed the cameraman; you wouldn't believe how many things can go wrong with twenty seconds of olive picking on camera.

The second part was a big Italian family eating. Not too hard to find a dozen extras willing to get paid for eating! The dining room in the mansion was perfect for that scene, so while we were fooling around in the olive grove the extras were getting ready and the cooks were preparing dinner. Yes, we used real food and pretty much all we had to do is leave the cameras running while we ate. Carol would edit the necessary footage when she got the video. Nice work if you can get it. Maria and I got it, we changed into something more sumptuous and did our share to make sure there were no leftovers while Poppa Giuseppi beamed at the head of the table.

The scene drizzling the olive oil over a plate of food was being shot back home in our studio.

At last everyone was packed up and gone, leaving us alone. Poppa had gone to take a nap, he was very pleased, but he was still an old man and it took a lot out of him. Maria closed the door behind him and whirled around to face me. "You bastard! You utter bastard!"

"Please, I am a properly a bitch, not a bastard."

"I'll bitch about you being a bastard any time I want. 'Big black dildo' indeed. I damn near wet my pants out there, and what would we have done then?"

"Nothing that I wanted to, my dear. You did notice that I remained seated for some time after our little conversation with my daughters. You wouldn't happen to have any Cardini Brand Extra Virgin Olive Oil around, would you?"