Operation: Satin
Copyright (c) 2025 Athene.D All Rights Reserved.
Gazing upward, I take in the beautifully scattered stars. It makes me think back to when I was a kid and all I wanted was to be an astronaut. Seriously, blasting off into space sounds way better than dealing with, well, everything down here. For months, my thoughts have been in a constant state of collision, like a demolition derby in my head. Trying to grab a single, coherent idea has been... well, let’s just say it’s exhausting
One last, lingering glance at the star-dusted sky, a sigh escaping my lips. Friday night. The call of a chilled glass of Malbec and the soothing sounds of a perfectly curated playlist was growing too strong to resist. Turning my back on the cosmos I headed indoors, fully prepared to unwind alone, of course. Unless, a handsome stranger is waiting inside with a second bottle, well, that would just be a ridiculously convenient coincidence, wouldn’t it? A girl could dream.
A fresh bottle of Malbec and a wine glass in hand, I begin to twist out the corkscrew. Just as the satisfying pop echoed through the comforting silence of my home, I looked up at the sound of my phone ringing. Seriously? Now? At this hour?
Clearly, someone had missed the “Do Not Disturb – Unless you’re Batman and coming to whisk me away to the batcave” memo.
Ignoring the ringing, I poured a generous glass of crimson temptation and, with the grace of a panda I made my way to my couch keeping a watchful eye on my glass making sure no drop of wine goes to waste on these floors.
My phone, undeterred by my previous annoyance, rang again. I sighed irritably. To prevent the caller from calling back and thus tempting me to chuck my perfectly innocent (but incredibly annoying) phone into the nearest river I answered it.
At this moment I regretted this decision. “Bia, you could have answered the first time,” my annoyingly persistent best friend, Chloe, grumbled through the phone. “Key word: could have,” I replied. ”But as you can see I chose not to. You’re lucky I answered the second call.”
I settled onto the couch, kicking my feet up and placing my wine glass on the coffee table. Remote in hand, I started browsing the movie options. “Bia, are you even listening to me?” Chloe’s voice came through the phone. I hadn’t been, but she didn’t need to know that. “Yes, I’m listening, Chloe. What do you want? I’m trying to pick a movie.”
“You weren’t listening at all,” she grumbled, frustrated by my inattention. “I asked if you wanted to go out tonight.” She paused. “That’s a hard no, and you know it.” The conversation had taken an unwelcome turn. While the idea of a night out held some appeal, my mind was a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts, and I doubted I’d be particularly good company.
“I know you’ve been wrestling with your book—basically single-handedly wrestling it into submission,” Chloe said, her voice dripping with the kind of upbeat cheer that usually grated on my nerves when I was in a mood. My masterpiece, a romance novel destined for the bestseller list, was currently stalled in a ditch on the side of the literary highway. It’s surprisingly hard to write about epic, soul-shattering love when your own romantic life has all the sizzle of a wet firecracker. I flopped backwards against the couch, the thought alone making my head spin.”
“But seriously, Bia, you have to cut yourself some slack. Come out with me! Fresh air! Maybe it’ll spark some inspiration. You never know,” she added, as if spontaneous combustion of creativity was a known side effect of leaving the house. “C’mon, you grump,” she continued, “it’ll be fun. Let’s be honest, a night out with me has never not been fun.” She delivered this last line with the self-assured humor of someone who knew they were usually right.
Begrudgingly, I had to admit, she kind of was. Even on my worst days, nights out with Chloe were usually a blast. It helped that we were both dance floor maniacs—the undisputed life of the party, if by “life” you meant “slightly chaotic whirlwind of questionable coordination.” Plus, who wouldn’t want to witness our breathtaking moves? Truly, a public service.
Slowly but surely I was warming up to the idea of going out just for one night. Maybe, just maybe, I did deserve a night of freedom. I took a much needed long sip of wine. Finally, I sighed, a sound of mild, theatrical defeat. She always managed to win me over. I guess that comes with the personality that Chloe had. It was her superpower. “Alright, you win,” I conceded, “what did you have in mind?”
She clapped her hands together with the unrestrained glee of a toddler who’d just discovered peek-a-boo. I rolled my eyes, but a smile crept onto my face anyway. “Okay,” she announced, “I’ve found a new lounge we haven’t terrorized yet. It’s called The Velvet Imperial.” The Velvet Imperial.
So fancy. I wondered if they served tiny cucumber sandwiches and judged your shoes. “Fancy,” I echoed. “What’s the dress code? Black tie? Formal pajamas?” “Sexy, sexy, and nothing but sexy,” she purred, adopting a voice that would have made Batman actually blush. It was so over-the-top, so utterly Chloe, that I couldn’t help but laugh.
“Well, looks like my highly anticipated solo movie night will have to be rescheduled,” I said, with a touch of mock disappointment. “That’s my girl! Tonight, we unleash chaos and watch the male population tremble in our wake,” she replied, and I could practically hear her rubbing her hands together in anticipation. Wine glass and remote abandoned on the coffee table, I gave Chloe a quick goodbye and confirmed our 10 pm rendezvous.
I launched myself off the couch, a woman on a mission. I made my way upstairs to my bedroom to find a very daring outfit to wear. The question was, do I go for the single and ready for you to rip my clothes off? Or I’m only here to dance the night away? My walk-in closet offered endless choices. My gaze snagged on a deep blue velvet number—skin-tight, and backless winked at me. Tempting, I thought, holding it up, but it felt a little too… cliché. My fingers drifted to a satin, deep burgundy dress, its hem kissing mid-thigh, a slit teasingly revealing my leg, and a back that plunged into darkness. Yes, I breathed, a smile playing on my lips. It was the kind of dress that commanded attention. Heads were going to turn.
One hour. That was all I had to transform from ordinary to extraordinary. The burgundy satin dress lay waiting on my bed, a whisper of what was to come. The shower was quick but thorough, every inch of skin prepped for the night. Moisturizing and slipping into my undergarments, I was ready for action. The dress slid on like a second skin, clinging in all the right places. Tonight, less was more: just mascara and a deep, glossy red lip. Gold jewelry shimmered against my skin, and a final flourish of perfume sealed the deal.
Heels. I needed heels. Gotta choose wisely. Too high, and I’d be spending the night clinging to furniture. My black strappy heels were the perfect compromise – stylish and functional. Phone? Check. ID? Check. Wallet? Attached to my phone, because who has time for a separate wallet these days? Wine glass emptied (priorities), keys grabbed, and I was out the door and into my car. A quick “I’m en route!” text to Chloe, and I was heading towards The Velvet Imperial.
Thirty minutes of a one-woman, off-key concert later, I pulled up to The Velvet Imperial. Oh dear. A line. A long, snaking, “I’m going to be old and gray before I get in” line. My inner diva was not amused. As I stepped out into the cool night air, the deep, thumping bass from inside was an instant invitation, vibrating right through the soles of my heels. ‘Chloe, you better have a plan for this,’ I muttered, locking the door. Just then, as if summoned by sheer force of will, a car horn blared, and just like that, there she was, pulling into a spot nearby.
Chloe emerged from her car, a vision in a skin-tight green dress with a plunging neckline. “Whoa!” I whistled. “Someone’s looking ready to conquer.” Even with my mind still racing, seeing her was a breath of fresh air. Maybe tonight wouldn’t be so bad after all. Maybe I would even get…lucky.
“Bia, Bia, Bia!” Chloe exclaimed, giving me a once-over that would have made anyone else blush. “Damn, girl, you’re playing for keeps tonight!”
“You’re not so bad yourself, Chloe,” I teased, returning her admiring gaze. “Looking absolutely lethal.” We embraced in a tight, but it was good to see her. Let the night begin.
