Smoke

I lay in bed, letting Jade enjoy her sniffing while I stroked her mane. Morning sunlight filtered in through the windows, forcing me to squint, and making Jade’s beautiful crystal coat sparkle as she moved around in her happy daze. I wondered for a moment how much sleep she actually ended up getting—she was always awake when I opened my eyes, or as awake as you could call anypony as out of it as Jade. Her smile was broad, though, always. It was the one time she seemed completely happy without doing anything for me, and I wasn’t in any hurry to tell her to stop. Besides, I needed the time to get my own head on straight.

The invitation I’d sent had been accepted promptly, much faster than I’d expected, in fact. Mr. Orange had always loved The Tall Tail, even before I’d polished the experience to one of the best shows in town. It’d actually been Mrs. Orange who’d brought him in one night, tired from a day long shopping spree and looking for a seat and a drink. She hadn’t realized what she’d walked into until it was too late, and let’s just say Mr. Orange enjoyed it a great deal more than the missus. For three years, they’d come back at least monthly, and I always made sure to take care of them personally. It was a miracle they came to a place like mine; I was going to give them the very best. Serving them had always been an honor for me as a young businesspony, but the real pleasure had been seeing Mrs. Orange, as beautiful as anypony on my stage herself, come to understand The Tall Tail: the dancers were there because they wanted to dance, they were safe, they were happy, they were well paid. We reached a point where the two of us would talk arts in the city while Mr. Orange… stared.

It was the staring that had been the beginning of the end. Once Mrs. Orange understood my business, her frowns had vanished, but after a year or two, they were back. She hadn’t had a problem with me, my girls, or my club. She still didn’t have any when she told me that they’d seen their last show, not with me. Her husband, however, had gone from staring at my girls and going home frisky to losing interest in mares not on my stage. When she’d put her hoof down and forbade any more trips, he’d had little choice but to accept; the money was actually on her side of the family. Staying away hadn’t helped. Word around town was that without the cabaret’s rules to keep him behaved, he’d grown flirty over the years since their last visit, always walking the line, never quite crossing it, and that Mrs. Orange was sick to death of the charade. She’d banned both herself and her husband from The Tall Tail to save their marriage. I was bringing them back to end it.

I stretched and tickled Jade’s ear, turning a sniff into a snort and chuckling as she looked up with her mane disheveled and eyes half closed, and blinked. “Take your time, Jade. It’s still early.” If she’d been alert, she’d have wanted to know why I was awake already, what was wrong, and how she could fix it for me. As she was, she just nodded and buried her nose in my belly. I had my own reasons for wanting Mrs. Orange free from her stallion of course, but she’d be a happier mare for it, and it’d been far too long since anypony had seen a smile other than a polite smile on that pretty muzzle. My plans aside, I wanted that, too.

I leaned back into my pillow as Jade wore a bright smile of her own at the smell of smoke on my body. It was going to be a good day.

* * * * *

The house lights had dimmed with no sign of the Oranges, and to be honest, I was beginning to get nervous. Bruises had very explicit instructions to escort them directly to me, even if it meant leaving the door for a moment and holding up the line, but at this point, with the show about to start, there was no line—anypony showing up after the show started was an oddity, not part of a queue. I took a sip of my cider and scanned the audience for any sign of a light orange mane in a classy updo, but came up empty. Despite the buzz of the crowd, there weren’t so many tables that I could miss noticing Manehattan’s most famous heiress. Swirling my cider restlessly, I began considering a plan B. Nopony would consider me a pauper, but the Oranges were the absolute upper crust; if they wouldn’t come to me, getting to them would be difficult.

“Boss? Hey, boss.” The audience’s noise had died and Bruises’ whisper carried farther than I’d have liked on any other night, but I was so lost in thought that it still barely reached me.

I turned with a frown, ready to chastise her, but on either side of Bruises, as if she were a convenient divider, stood Mr. and Mrs. Orange, the first all smiles, the second scowling darkly. I frowned, hoping I hadn’t misjudged. With them there, if I still needed a plan B, it was going to be even harder than if they’d never shown. I jumped to my hooves, but kept my voice low enough to avoid disturbing patrons—the show would start any moment. “Ah, Mr. and Mrs. Orange! I’m so glad you could make it. I was beginning to think it wouldn’t work out tonight.”

Mrs. Orange just sighed and looked toward the bar. Fatigued. More than any other word, that described her. She ought to have been radiant. Age had been kind to her, and despite being my age, not a trace of crow’s feet marred her eyes, and there was no tinge of grey in her mane. The light green sundress she wore was a perfect compliment to her still glossy coat, and her gold necklace was in perfect taste. And despite it all, beautiful, lovely, chic, all were distant runners up to “fatigued.” Mr. Orange, however, was animated as ever, and all smiles, aside from the glare he shot his wife, of course. His jacket may have been sporty, and his watch simple, but any pony who’d ever walked down Manehattan’s East Avenue and looked in the windows of the sparkling boutiques could tell you each cost more than most ponies made in years.

Mr. Orange offered an apologetic smile as he shook my hoof. “Terribly sorry about that, Done, dreadfully sorry in fact. My dear wife had a touch of the vapors at the last minute, you see. Could barely get her out the door, but she wouldn’t hear of staying home. And then when we got here… well. This was not what we were expecting to see!” He gestured toward Bruises, whose ears immediately drooped. “I must say though, she wears that tuxedo marvelously. She may be no dancer, but she looks every bit her part. Excellent hire, Done, excellent.” Bruises ears’ were back up long before my guest was finished speaking. I silently thanked Bruises for being so easily cheered up.

Less silently, I thanked Bruises for bringing the Oranges over, and sent her back to work before gesturing to the table. “Have a seat, please.” Mr. Orange sat, eyes turning to the stage as Pirouette came out to warm up the audience, and bit my tongue as I pulled out a chair for another stallion’s wife. Mrs. Orange sat, glancing again at the bar, and I gestured for Jade as I took my seat with the Oranges.

Before Jade could even get out from behind the bar, Mr. Orange had nudged me and gestured toward the stage. “Done, is she new? She looks a smidgeon older than most of your dancers, if I remember right, but she is a lovely one. Stern looking with that bun, but not unapproachable.” I was glad Mr. Orange had the sense to keep his voice to hushed whispers. His excitement was plain, and while I trusted him to behave, he’d never gotten so animated over my girls in the past, and Pirouette was still alone on stage, welcoming the audience. I glanced over at Mrs. Orange, whose lips were drawn tight, just shy of a grimace. I imagined the look on my face was little different, and was glad the house lights were down.

“That’s Pirouette. Last time you were here, she was managing and choreographing, but she made a return to the stage recently. She’s not as young as she looks, actually, but she’s an amazing dancer.” If Mr. Orange heard me, he gave no sign, and continued staring at the stage. This wasn’t how I remembered him, but it was explaining a lot about the rumors.

Jade finished weaving her way through the tables to mine in the back and stood beside me, her crystal coat refracting the room’s dim light. Quietly, she asked, “Sir? Drinks for everypony?”

Mrs. Orange looked relieved at last, but for alcohol to be such a relief to her was a new worry. Her mouth was open to order in a flash, but Mr. Orange cut her off with another appraisal. “Heavens, Done! Even your bar staff is lovely now! I’ve missed out on so much over the last several years!”

“Apfel schnapps.” Mrs. Orange’s tone was grim, and the relief she’d shown just a moment before was gone. Jade nodded cheerfully as I stifled a sigh. That was a hell of a strong drink for a mare Mrs. Orange’s size. I needed tonight to work. Her husband wasn’t the only thing ruining her life, I was afraid.

For the first time, Mr. Orange glanced his wife’s way—sidelong, and disapprovingly. “Don’t create a scene, dear. It’s been ages since we’ve gone anywhere so enjoyable. Don’t spoil it for me.” It was unmistakable: Mrs. Orange was doing everything in her power not to create a scene, and it meant grinding her molars to dust. I’d planned on getting her alone, but not so quickly. Mares had begun to twirl and leap to music on stage, which meant even more for Mr. Orange to gawk at. Change of plans.

“Mrs. Orange, would you rather join me in Primavera while your husband enjoys the show? I’ve really missed our conversations about the arts in Manehattan, and we can speak above a whisper there.”

Mr. Orange nodded enthusiastically. “Why don’t you, dear? The shows never were your favorite part of our trips here, and you were just complaining last week that the city’s museums were going downhill.”

Mrs. Orange looked between her husband and me with a frown on her muzzle, but as she made up her mind, she nodded firmly, and I got to see her old smile return—albeit with a vengeful twist I’d never seen before. I wondered if she’d go for my plan without the smoke. “You know, I think I would.” Mrs. Orange rose from her seat as I did and stood a little closer than appropriate. She turned toward Jade. “I’ll take my drink over there, miss.”

Not that I objected to the wealthiest mare in Manehattan practically leaning on me, but I didn’t need to become part of that rumor mill. “Just take Mr. Orange’s order, Jade, and have the apfel schnapps ready at the bar. I’ll send somepony to bring it to our table.”

With the decisions made, I gestured to the restaurant door at the back of the show floor and led Mrs. Orange through. The gentle lighting and quiet murmur of dinner conversation replaced the dark and music of my nightclub, and an exhausted expression replaced Mrs. Orange’s smile. Primavera’s maître d' was in front of us in a heartbeat, his tuxedo as perfect as the rest of the scenery.

“Mr. Deal! Always a pleasure, but during a—! Ah, but of course, with a guest of such importance, anypony would attend to her personally.” The maître d's shocked reaction lasted not even a half-second, and was neatly covered up. I grinned at the poor stallion’s shock, but Mrs. Orange looked like she just wanted a seat and her schnapps.

“That’s right, Tall Order. She’s had a difficult day, and would like to be seated immediately, and discreetly. She has a drink waiting for her at my bar, as well, which needs to be fetched equally discreetly. Primavera’s wine list doesn’t have what my guest wants.”

Tall Order practically stood at attention, straight as the bangs on his brown mane as I gave instructions. “Of course, sir, madam. Will your private table suffice, sir?”

“That’s perfect. I’ll seat us, handle the lady’s drink personally, would you? I don’t want to distract the staff with a celebrity, and Mrs. Orange is rather tired.”

With a sharp nod, the maître d' lit his horn and floated his guest list to another waiter before turning and heading past me, wasting no time at all. “If you’d follow me, Mrs. Orange.”

She nodded, and fell in behind me as we walked on soft carpet past candle-lit tables, set with silver and crystal, under gorgeous chandeliers. Whatever faults Primavera had, taste in decor was not one of them. My “private table” had been entirely her idea. She was getting better about it, but in her initial rush to ensure that I never so much as frowned at her again, she’d had dividers placed around a table in a corner, fit with one way mirrors, and a silk curtain to shut out unwanted glances while she… made up for whatever she’d done wrong. Plenty of room, too, just in case. I held the curtain open, and Mrs. Orange entered slowly, glancing around at the bare table a darkened view of the diners outside. She sat with a sigh.

As I took my place opposite her, she finally let go what she’d been stifling since she saw me. “Why, Done? You know why we stopped coming. And I know you pay enough attention to the rumors in town to realize I’m unhappy without adding this. So why? And don’t tell me you wanted to talk about art.”

The maître d’ poked his head in before I could answer, floating a crisp tablecloth and two settings onto the table between us before setting the apfel schnapps in front of Mrs. Orange without so much as disturbing the liquid. Turning to me Tall Order asked, “Will you have the pasta primavera tonight, sir? Primavera herself is eager to prepare your and Mrs. Orange’s orders tonight naturally, and I’ve taken the liberty of bringing the bottle back with me, should Mrs. Orange desire another glass.” Tactfully, he chose not to address just what Mrs. Orange was drinking—or the fact that her glass was already half empty. The bottle floated to the table gently.

“Thank you, Tall Order, I will. A glass of whichever white Primavera thinks suits it best, please.” I turned to Mrs. Orange. “Would you like to see a—”

“Just order for me.” I was cut off, and Mrs. Orange’s tone had turned hostile. I needed to turn this in my favor before any more interruptions.

Ignoring the tone of Mrs. Orange’s voice, I nodded to Tall Order. “Mrs. Orange will have the same. It’s Primavera’s signature dish for a reason. And… we need a few minutes to discuss certain matters, Tall. Tell Primavera not to rush. And to serve it personally, please.” If it came to smoke, Primavera was already in the know.

“Of course, Mr. Deal.” Wisely choosing not to address my guest, Tall Order offered her a nod and slipped out through the curtain again.

I looked toward Mrs. Orange who had at least slowed her drinking slightly. “I am aware, Mrs. Orange, and actually I would love to talk art with you, but first… if you could be free of your husband, without the rumors, the slander, and the… financial loss, would you want to?” I’d intended to be far, far more subtle in my approach, but with Mrs. Orange getting more irritated by the moment, and with her obviously disgusted with her husband, the direct approach seemed wiser. Smoke coiled around my hooves underneath the table, just in case.

The shock on Mrs. Orange’s face was actually a welcome change from the dour expression it replaced. “You can’t be serious! I’d be ruined in polite society; there’s no way around that! I’d lose a fortune settling a divorce, I’d—”

“—be free, Mrs. Orange. I have a way around all of those problems. Mr. Orange was a good customer to me, but five minutes tonight were all anypony needed to see that he’s a terrible husband to you.”

Mrs. Orange threw back the rest of her schnapps in one swallow. “Yes, Done, anypony can see that. Anypony does, and I hear about it often, sometimes in the pages of gossip columns. Thank you so very much for telling me!”

I kept the wince off of my muzzle, barely. I hadn’t thought she’d react so badly, and perhaps I’d have been right if she weren’t drinking alcohol I thought was too strong at breakneck speed.

“What’s your angle, Done? Swoop in and marry me, catapult yourself to Manehattan’s upper crust overnight? Bang Manehattan’s most desirable debutante? Fifteen years late, but maybe I’m just on your bucket list. Or maybe it’s not about me at all, and maybe you just want want Mosely back in your damn nightclub! Well? What is it, Done? I’ve heard them all!” Mrs. Orange slammed the glass to the table roughly, and I inched smoke to her hooves.

It took effort not to be angry. I did have an ulterior motive, absolutely, but there would be other ways to achieve those goals. I truly did want Mrs. Orange smiling again, dropping by to chat about the art scene in the city like she used to while her husband enjoyed the show. A sharp answer wasn’t going to help, though, and the truth… was just the thing to appeal to her.

“I want your help to restore the Celestia’s Light Theater, Mrs. Orange. I’ve got the ‘undesirables’ in that part of town convinced that going straight and running shops in the vicinity is worth more than their stupid gangs. I can clean up that street and at least a few blocks around it with a word. What I can’t do is buy the thing and restore it. We always talked about how the city’s artists need patrons. Real ones, who enable them, not just vain sacks of cash who want avant-garde portraits of their cats. We can make this happen, Mrs. Orange.” I refilled her glass while she tried to pick her jaw up off the floor.

Mrs. Orange was looking at her glass when she replied, not me, and her tone was soft, halting. “You’re insane. Mosely would never let me just give you that kind of money. The risk! He’d—”

“He’d be too busy with salvaging his reputation and with the mare who finally pushed him across the line, Mrs. Orange. The playboy survives scandal better than the faithless wife; you know that. He’s got enough money that’s entirely his to make a new fortune out of it; you know that, too. And it’ll be public enough he won’t have a chance at denial.”

“Y-you’re talking about ruining my husband, Done! I don’t know how you mean to do it, but I can’t just sit here and listen to… this…” Mrs. Orange’s objections quieted as the smoke that had crawled up her back wafted into her ears, causing them to sink. I kept it light. Her eyes had glossed over, and the lids sank a little anyway. I was sure it would be enough. Compared to snapping at me to order, her objections now were half-hearted. I only had one chance at this, though, and I couldn’t risk her walking out.

“What do you want, Mrs. Orange? Forget about your husband, high society, even me. What do you want most?”

Unfocused or not, Mrs. Orange’s eyes grew wet as she answered. “To be desired… again. Not a trophy. Not… a meal ticket. A mare… A friend.”

I knew it. It’d been a good guess from the rumors, but the fact that she came with her husband, the fact that she was suddenly all smiles—only around him—when it came to dinner with another stallion, and the fact that she was drinking herself into an early grave while still making herself beautiful every day spelled it out.

“You’re a beautiful mare, Mrs. Orange, with an eye for art and fashion that’s second to none. I always liked talking to you, when you were a customer and off-limits, and other ponies will too. If you let me set you free, you will find somepony who wants you for who you are.” Keeping my front hooves resting on the table, I gently slid a hoof up the inside of Mrs. Orange’s leg to the thigh. She gasped, but made way for it immediately, and I pushed farther. “And in the meantime, you just need to say the word, and I’ll “desire” you silly.”

Glossy eyed and slow, but aware, Mrs. Orange took a swallow of schnapps, hesitated, and with the most determined look she could manage in her state, pulled my hoof against her moist lips. “So… so long since Mosely t-ah-ouched me…”

I smiled and caressed Mrs. Orange’s cheek across the table. “As long as we don’t risk rumors that ruin it all, I’ll touch you all you like, Mrs. Orange. We need to make sure you’re getting the better side of this breakup, but that doesn’t mean I can’t make you feel like a fresh young mare again.”

Mrs. Orange sniffed and brushed away the tears that had been forming. She was using my hoof to rub her lips, and breathing heavily. The smoke had her moist and sensitive, and she was taking her time, enjoying pleasure she’d missed for years. I was happy to indulge her. Around my age, and looking five years younger, it was far, far too early for her to give up on the pleasures of the flesh. Reminding her of them was a privilege. I watched her as thin trails of smoke slipped into her ears, smiling at her unintentionally erotic expression. Between the smoke and my hoof slipping between her folds, she looked as lustful as any common mare, despite all the trappings of urban nobility. Just watching her pant, with one front leg under the table guiding my hoof, was more than enough to have my rod pressed against the bottom of the table.

I heard a cart outside my booth and quickly thickened the smoke. If Mrs. Orange was alert enough to take a drink, she might still react badly to a witness to our quiet debauchery. Primavera pulled open the curtain, caught a glimpse, and rushed through with the cart, hurriedly closing the curtain behind her. Understandably, she had more trouble recovering from her shock than Tall Order had. Primavera set the steaming plates of creamy pasta in front of each of us, but her eyes were locked on Mrs. Orange the whole time. As she set a wine glass in front of me and filled it, Mrs. Orange began to make the tiniest whimpers imaginable, and pulled as much of my hoof as she could fit in, getting what stimulation she could on her clitoris—for just a moment. The poor mare had been without so long she was denying herself climax to make it last.

I nodded at Primavera. “I’m sure she’ll have an excellent evening. Thank you, Primavera.”

Primavera glanced at me, then turned her eyes back to Mrs. Orange and whispered, “C-could you bring her here again?”

I couldn’t even be annoyed. Having an Orange dine at Primavera was a huge deal. “I’m sure she’ll be back. Oh, and Primavera? No interruptions unless I call for dessert. And… meet me in my office tonight.” Primavera nodded, smiling nervously. That wasn’t the way I spoke when she misstepped and she knew it. I was wasting a fierce erection while I watched Mrs. Orange; Primavera was going to help me unwind that night.

Primavera pushed the cart out of my booth, quickly closing the curtain behind her again. I heard her politely discourage a curious customer and turned back to Mrs. Orange and returned the smoke to the thin trickle it had been. My hoof was no doubt soaked; I could feel her juices on my fetlock. She pulled what she could into herself again. “You can… really reopen the theater?” Mrs. Orange, lover of the arts that she was, remembered that even through the smoke and lust clouding her mind. I couldn’t ask for anypony better to help bring Celestia’s Light back to life.

I nodded. “With your help, Mrs. Orange. We can renew the theater, and your life.”

Mrs. Orange shuddered and pushed my hoof nearly inside of her as she quietly climaxed with just a mirror separating her from unsuspecting diners.

Mrs. Orange slumped in her seat and panted, “I’ll… do it.”

I released the smoke and smiled warmly at her, my hoof still caught between her wet thighs. “I’m relieved. You won’t regret it, Mrs. Orange.”

After a brief struggle to pull herself out of her slouch, Mrs. Orange reached across the table and pulled me into a long, warm kiss. “Make sure I don’t. And call me Citrus Zest, Done. I never did want to take his name.”

With a friendly smile, I gestured to the plate in front of her. “Your pasta’s getting cold, Citrus. I guarantee you it’s delicious.”

Smiling back, Citrus grabbed her fork, and as she lifted the first bite to her lips, quipped, “I do seem to have built up an appetite.”

Being escorted back to her husband later that night put Citrus right back into the foul mood she’d had on arrival, but she understood the need to keep up appearances. We couldn’t very well risk being seen sneaking up to my apartment, or out to a waiting taxi, but we’d both gotten what we needed from the evening. For Citrus, a glimmer of hope, and for me, an invitation to the Oranges’ next private party. Mr. Orange had even placed a condition: that he and his wife visit the Tall Tail again soon. I didn’t mind that at all.

* * * * *

The Manehattan night was on the cool side, with a soft breeze blowing behind us as the unicorns made the rounds lighting old fashioned magical lanterns in the manor district. I was grateful for the chill—tonight was another huge gamble, and without the cool weather, the heavy tux I had on would’ve been stifling. If Shimmer felt anything but excitement as she walked beside me, she didn’t show it. At least, not until she blurted out, “I still wish I’d had more time! Just a little longer, and I’d have had it working!”

I took a deep breath to avoid snapping at her. I was pulled taut, and would be until the night’s escapade was over. Distractions were no help at all. “Shimmer, it’s a great idea. When you get it working, we’ll talk about it, make all kinds of plans, the works. But right now, we don’t need the champagne sealed. Your machine can wait. I do need you to focus, though. Can you please do that?”

I hadn’t quite avoided snapping after all, and Shimmer’s ears drooped for just a second before she gave me a determined nod. “Yes sir! Focus on tonight, play the servant, get in, set fireworks, get out! I just wish I could watch.” Her tone was more than a little wistful, and I sighed. On some level, I couldn’t blame her. At its heart, the plan was basically a prank, and what fun is a prank you don’t get to watch unfold? She was the one handling the champagne though, the one without an invitation—the one with her coat and mane dark, muddy red, to keep anypony from recognizing her if they met on the street. I could spend the night dancing and mingling if I wanted; every moment Shimmer was in the building was a risk. I’d wanted Amber’s acting skills, but Shimmer was right: Amber couldn’t handle it if she got thrown a curve. Shimmer could. Amber had not liked that decision.

“Sorry, Shimmer. Too risky. I guarantee you, though, it’ll be in every paper tomorrow.” With a final sigh and a nod, Shimmer picked up her pace. We parted company blocks away from the Oranges’ lavish apartment building. We couldn’t be seen together, and I couldn’t be seen arriving on hoof. Stopping at a restaurant that easily rivaled Primavera, I hailed a cab, and made the rest of the trip in silence.

At the base of a tall building, somehow both classic and avant-garde in its design, the cab came to a stop. The slight sneer of the doorstallion, nearly as fancy in his red and gold uniform as I was in my tux, told me plainly that a cab may have been better than arriving on hoof, but not by much. He gestured me through though, and once out of sight I tugged at my collar. Looking around at a gold-leaf lobby, lit by crystal chandeliers, with a half dozen uniformed staff scurrying to and from a stoic concierge, the collar suddenly felt awfully tight.

I took a deep breath that I hoped nopony noticed, and headed for the elevator. The more anxious I got, the more I felt the smoke churning inside of me. It was a distraction I didn’t need. I scarcely noticed the elevator attendant as I asked for the penthouse. I have no doubt that the elevator car was every bit as luxurious as the lobby had been, but my attention was gone, spent on tamping down smoke or reminding myself to stay cool. I wasn’t doing either very effectively. The cheerful ding of the elevator bell as the doors slid open sounded like a knell somehow. Taking Bruises to deal with the Maneys had been far less taxing. That could’ve gone right or wrong. There were a thousand ways to ruin myself in front of Manehattan’s wealthy, even if the plan went off perfectly, and if I did, well. I tried not to think about it.

The penthouse floor was as brilliantly lit and even better appointed than the lobby, if that was possible, with fine foreign objets d’art from Neighpon to Germaney in cases lining the walls on each side of the penthouse door. You couldn’t even enter the Oranges’ party without a clear, striking reminder that they were cut from other cloth entirely. I desperately wished I could just deal with them privately, without the nerve wracking of the eyes of dozens of other ponies who made me look like a pauper, but that wasn’t in the cards.

At the door itself was a butler whose own tuxedo probably cost twice what mine did, attempting to shoo away a pretty, pleading young mare. She was dressed in all the right ways—long silk gown, a rich purple in contrast to her bright yellow; wide-brimmed hat with a long, ornamental feather; and a beautiful silver necklace set with a large sapphire. All were in perfect taste, all suited her beautifully, and none if it did her any good without an invitation.

The yellow mare peeked up at the butler from under her hat as I approached, batting long, dark lashes and tried the flirtatious approach. “Pleeease? Surely an important pony like you could make one little exception, couldn’t you?”

I actually stopped my hoof from coming up to my face halfway. This mare would fit right in behind those doors, right up until she opened her mouth. Any mare who belonged in there would be outraged, threatening the butler and dropping names—names they could actually call on. Not even Bruises would fall for such obvious begging. Well, not anymore.

I approached the butler and mare, pulled my invitation from a pocket and tapped the brim of the mare’s hat with it while I offered the butler an apologetic grin. “Excuse us for just a moment, would you?” With a meaningful look at the mare, I jerked my head toward a room that had been set up for checking coats and hats and walked away, slipping from the butler’s view, my heart pounding and the smoke swirling. It was only seconds later before the out-of-place mare joined me.

She was all smiles from the very beginning. If I’d wanted her gone, I wouldn’t have bothered calling her away, and she knew it. We could both get what we needed with a little cooperation. “Darling, it’s so good of you to hear a poor girl out! That butler is being an absolute brute!”

Tense as I was, I couldn’t help but chuckle. The mare was playing far too nicely for who she was pretending to be. “Your hat’s crooked, dear. Allow me.” Without waiting for a response, I rocked back on my haunches, and reached each front hoof to either side of her head and lifted her hat just a bit. While her eyes were on me, I hurriedly released smoke, pouring it into the mare’s ears as quickly and as thickly as I could. I nearly sighed with relief as smoke billowed from my front legs, traveling only a short distance before disappearing into the suddenly slumping, quiet mare, and dwindling a bit in me.

“Tell me, miss. What’s your name?” Had to start somewhere.

“Lemony… gem.” Her eyes were still on mine, though as close to closed as they were, I wondered how much she actually saw. With more time, I wouldn’t have pushed the smoke so hard.

“Lemony, how badly do you want in there?” With her hat up, I could see her gorgeous light blue mane. Perhaps this wasn’t her scene, but with a little work, she could fit in as a model, easily.

Smoke still flooded Lemony’s ears and nose, and her head had begun to droop. “More than… anything… desperate.” If it hadn’t already been settled, it would’ve been there.

“My name is Done Deal. You’re going to join me at the party as my date. You want to make a good impression on everypony, and since I have an invitation and you don’t, that means making me look good. You want to be witty, charming. You’re not interested in flirting. Standing out too much would ruin your chances. Do you understand?”

Lemony nodded slowly, but without hesitation. “Yes… thank you. Really… owe you.”

I smiled. I always enjoyed it when a mare seemed to like her deal. Unfortunately, using the smoke had left me with an uncomfortable erection in plain sight that I didn’t have time to wait on. “You can pay me back a little right now. I can’t go in like this. Help me.” I put Lemony’s hat back on her head, and shoved a full coat rack into place, giving us a little privacy, as long as no pony left the party.

Lemony’s eyes cleared and she winked me before lowering her lips to my rod. In one smooth motion, she took me deep, to the back of her throat, and pressed my shaft head against it firmly, gagging slightly before she raised her head again. The wide brim of her hat brushed my stomach as she moved, blocking my view completely, and her hot breath tickled as she traced a vein the length of my shaft with her tongue. Her voice was breathy as she said, “Can’t spend too long in here, Done…” I agreed of course, but before I realized what she meant, her cool, hard hoof reached under my haunches where I sat, and prodded at my asshole gently.

I was a little shocked; no pony had touched that since Deep Tissue rimmed me out, but as that blue maned mare ran wet, pursed lips up and down the side of my shaft, I was reminded of Deep’s tongue where Lemony was gently kneading, and my cock twitched. I gasped, startled to be on the edge so quickly, and Lemony took the cue perfectly. Brushing her gown to either side, she wrapped herself around me, her dry, soft teats pressed against my shaft, and used the slight tug of her tiny swells to finish me off—grabbing a shawl from the coat rack as she did, to catch my jizz. I came hard, holding onto a wickedly grinning Lemony as I poured a massive load into the shawl. It was barely enough; Lemony snickered as the shawl ended up completely soaked, and stifled a laugh as she dropped it aside with a lewd splat. Grabbing the sleeve of some poor stallion’s dinner jacket, she wiped my cock down and milked out what was left over.

“That should do it, Done! And by Celestia you’re a messy one!” Lemony whispered, but it was clear that maintaining her composure was a real challenge. “I’d say you owe me now, but tell you what: we can find each other another day and settle up.” Another wink. She didn’t have Deep’s looks, but Lemony was just as happy to fool around, it seemed. I wondered if she’d have played along without the smoke.

“Sounds like a plan. For now, we have a party to attend.” I sorted out my clothing, and helped Lemony keep her dress from brushing the squishy shawl on the floor, then pushed aside the coat rack and led my newfound date to the door.

“Miss Gem will be accompanying me,” I informed the butler as I offered my invitation. His sigh was long-suffering, but he made no complaint, and simply let us in with a nod.

For all the opulence outside the Oranges’ penthouse, the inside was even more incredible. The greatroom-cum-ballroom we’d entered was probably worth more than the entire building The Tall Tail and Primavera shared. I knew they were the wealthiest couple in Manehattan, but it was hard to really understand just what that meant without actually seeing it. Dwarfed by columns in neat rows down each side of the room, I genuinely felt poor, and Lemony Gem’s jaw had actually dropped. Her own outfit was unquestionably expensive, but I suddenly wondered if she’d bet it all on this one evening. A mare who could afford the necklace she had on shouldn’t have been so stunned. I nudged her gently. “Poise, dear.”

To my relief, Lemony snapped out of it in an instant, without so much as a hint of a blush. “Of course. Be a sweetheart and help me break some ice, would you?”

I nodded. With the help behind us, for Lemony to act sweet was entirely fitting—with her feigned wealth, if not her name. “Of course. This way.”

The Oranges would normally have been the most out of reach at the party, the ones I’d least dare to approach. But as the hosts, and with one a co-conspirator, there was no such problem. Citrus was in the center of the room, graciously welcoming guests as they arrived. Off to one side, near a glass door to a balcony, stood Mr. Orange, graciously helping his wife by keeping a small crowd of young mares from bothering her. I forced myself not to roll my eyes, and led Lemony to Mrs. Orange.

Mrs. Orange clearly saw us approach, but to my relief just continued her conversation with the couple in front of us—a borough alderpony and his wife, if I wasn’t mistaken—her long tail had been a trademark look for years, a graying reminder of her youth. I waited patiently for them to walk away, then stepped forward. Citrus’ smile slipped just a bit at the sight of Lemony standing close enough to me for her dress to brush my legs. “Ah, Done. Good of you to come. My husband is on the other side of the room; do let him know you’ve arrived. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to make your friend’s acquaintance. There are a few ponies here I would like to discuss the new sculpture unveiled at the Metropolitan Museum of Art last week. Should you find yourself wanting a little company, do come find me.”

I nodded, and she turned to her next guests. The meaning was crystal clear: I was welcome, or as welcome as a less important guest could be, but Lemony was an eyesore. It certainly served to keep me from being conspicuous, though Lemony’s dejected expression stung a bit. Plans were shaping up, though, and if I could manage, Lemony would be a much happier mare by the end of the night, and Citrus Zest too—not that she’d be showing it right away. Lemony and I crossed the room, and I started to relax at last. Nothing had gone wrong, and nothing would. And then Lemony stepped right on the alderpony’s wife’s tail.

The older mare reared and let out a completely undignified whinny, drawing every eye in the room at once. Lemony jumped back immediately, getting the tail out from underhoof, sending her hat to the floor, and her plot right into my side. I staggered and caught myself just short of ramming some debutante with my own, earning a dirty look and an upturned nose. Lemony was getting far worse, though: a lesson in how the offended wealthy actually behave. I closed my eyes and grimaced as the old nag lit into Lemony about grace, common sense, and respect for her elders and betters, all while the whole room stared or snickered. Making a good impression was only ever a bonus for the night’s plan, but becoming a laughing stock in “polite society” was absolutely not on the agenda. As the screeching rant turned to threats of ruination in that same “polite” society, I took a deep breath and forced my eyes open, just in time to see Mr. Orange place himself between Lemony and the angry old mare.

“Come now, Mrs. Street, I’m sure it was an accident. It was, wasn’t it, miss?” Every bit the suave gentlecolt he liked to be seen as, Mr. Orange pulled strings I couldn’t even reach. Had I tried the same, I’d only have become another target. Lemony nodded vigorously, genuine tears in her eyes and ears flat against her head, a frightened innocent. “You see? She didn’t mean to, and she’s dreadfully sorry. Surely you can find it in your heart to forgive, Mrs. Street. A little tug on the tail never killed anypony.”

Mrs. Street, the alderpony’s wife, was neatly trapped. As a guest, and herself addressing “her betters” suddenly, arguing wasn’t an option. The entire room would turn on her in an instant. The glare she shot Lemony before responding to Mr. Orange gave away her truce as fake. “Of course, Mr. Orange. It would be callous of me to forget that we were all young once… and foolish.”

Lemony shrank from the barb, ears still flat against her head. Mr. Orange sighed and shook his head, allowing it. “Try to enjoy the rest of your evening, Mrs. Street. The hors d’oeuvres are especially delectable tonight, if I do say so myself.”

Mrs. Street nodded, regaining her composure at last. “I’m sure they’re divine, Mr. Orange. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go give them a try.” Wheeling abruptly gave away her actual sentiments, but the scene ended, and after another second or two of silence, conversation resumed. I patted Lemony on the withers. Whatever happened now happened, and I had nothing to gain from leaving her in the lurch. She smiled up at me nervously, tears still in the corners of her eyes. Before she tried to speak though, a hoof that wasn’t mine wiped away those tears.

“Done, lovely of you to come!” Mr. Orange addressed me while he stared straight at wide-eyed Lemony. “Your poor date. What an awful way to begin an evening.” Mr. Orange finally turned to me. “I’m sure you won’t mind if I give her a bit of my time this evening, will you?”

I blinked in surprise. I’d heard all the rumors of course, knew Citrus wanted out, but to be so blatant! It fit my plans perfectly, but to just walk up and call “dibs?” I tamped down my annoyance and picked up Lemony’s hat. “Of course not. She was so eager to come along. Who better to show her around than the host himself?” I set the hat on Lemony’s head gently. It wasn’t her fault I was irritated. Honestly, I didn’t understand myself.

“Marvelous, Done. Do enjoy yourself tonight!” With a wave, Mr. Orange wandered away, Lemony dazed and in tow. I felt my left ear twitch, and wished I had my hat on to hide it. I didn’t have the whole room’s attention, but those nearby were staring now with mixes of amusement, disdain, and even a bit of pity here and there. To the regulars of these parties, I doubted this was a wholly unfamiliar occurrence. I sighed, and scanned the room for Citrus or Shimmer. Shimmer should’ve gotten in by now, and suddenly schmoozing didn’t seem like it was worth the time. I couldn’t just vanish, either, though, and I wanted to be there when the trap sprung, more than ever. When I spotted Mrs. Orange, she was the one with the small crowd around her, mostly slightly over the hill mares consoling her on her cad of a husband. I gritted my teeth and made my way over. If Shimmer wasn’t around, my options were Mrs. Orange or standing around awkwardly—these ponies were the ones whose tails tickled my nose in the rat race; the poorest among them was clearly ahead of me.

I drew disapproving glances before I even reached the outside of the group, and one matronly mare openly challenged me. “Haven’t you made enough trouble for Mrs. Orange tonight? Who are you, anyway? I don’t recognize you, and I assure you, I recognize everypony worth knowing in Manehattan or Canterlot.” I felt the smoke kick back up inside me as my annoyance became harder to set aside.

I offered a bow to make clear that I at least knew my place. “Done Deal, madam, local businesspony, nothing more. Mrs. Orange saw fit to include me this evening, for which I’m quite grateful.” I turned to Mrs. Orange before the frowning old lady could reply. “My apologies for the commotion a moment ago, Mrs. Orange. I believe you told me to seek you out if I found myself unaccompanied.”

Aloof and a little fatigued, Citrus nodded. “Indeed. Ladies, I have high hopes for Mr. Deal here. I believe that with his help, I can revitalize the arts in Manehattan, bring back the the golden years our parents told us about as fillies. A stallion of modest means, but rather exceptional talents, I’m convinced.”

A younger, less cynical, and surprisingly beautiful mare in the group cocked her head, sending navy curls sliding across her azure withers. “Can you? The city’s really in a state these days. Practically every part of it is in need of… well, nothing short of a renaissance!” Her voice was high, girlish. No horn or wings on her, but something about the strange mix of presence and innocence made her stand out. In the group of mares surrounding Citrus, only this one seemed to be on the same level as the hostess. She was the one to win over.

“I could retire tomorrow if I wanted, not in opulence like this of course, after starting with nothing just a decade ago. With resources, I can do more. I’ve been pouring my own into groundwork, but with Mrs. Orange’s backing, the real work can begin.” It was a conversation, not a pitch, and if any pony in the room learned what I had in mind, I wasn’t even sure Mrs. Orange’s clout could’ve kept me from becoming a laughingstock.

The old crank snorted. “I very much doubt you will be the savior of this city’s art community, sir. I’d wager you don’t know the first thing about fine art.”

Citrus frowned slightly. “Hyacinth, honestly. Do remember that it’s my judgment you’re insulting as well. And Done, I believe I asked you to call me Citrus.”

The gasps were audible from every single mare present—except the mysterious blue one. She only raised an eyebrow, giving nothing away but… interest?

Hyacinth gave no ground, despite being admonished. “I am sorry, Mrs. Orange, but it’s no secret you’re going through,” she glared at Mr. Orange where he sat on the balcony with Lemony, “difficult times. I’m simply concerned that one of the city’s many leeches may have found its way to you.”

“A test then.” It was the blue mare again, staring directly at me, smiling mischievously. “Hyacinth, what’s your favorite contemporary artist displayed at the Metropolitan Museum?”

Hyacinth was visibly confused, but responded. “Brush Stroke. He did—”

The blue mare’s dark eyes were sparkling. “Ah, ah, ah! No! The rest is Mr. Deal’s job. Mr. Deal? What did he do, and what can you tell us about him?” Every other mare save Citrus practically leaned in, waiting for me to fail. Citrus smiled confidently, no doubt remembering our old chats. The blue mare’s anticipation was unbelievably intense. I felt like a toy in her hooves, but I was just as confident as our hostess.

“Brush Stroke has five pieces on display right now. ‘Equestrian Gothic,’ ‘The Shout,’ ‘Number 30,’ ‘Divergence,’ and ‘Whiner’ or ‘Outside the Candy Store.’ All five pieces were presented six months ago, and taken museum to museum, never staying in place for more than a day or two before finding a home here in the city. His styles are incredibly diverse, to the point that he’s attracted critics who insist he can’t possibly be a single artist, and demanding to know who’s doing the art he presents, but he hasn’t yet broken into the mainstream so the fuss just isn’t that big yet.” I was on a roll, and didn’t hold back. “Frankly, I think he’s a fraud. No pony does such good work without having some kind of trend in their style.” I’d minored in art before switching to theater, but it was Pirouette insisting I look at “something besides tail once in a while” to which I owed this. I made a note to do something very nice for her, and soon.

Hyacinth practically hissed, her eyes narrowing sharply, while the blue mare actually clapped her hooves and giggled. Hyacinth glared at her for an instant before marching into my personal space. “And that proves you’re unfit to restore the arts here or anywhere! Brush Stroke is a genius, unmatched in all of history!”

The blue mare’s tone was faux comforting. “Actually, Hyacinth… I came straight here from the museum. That’s why I was late, remember? They took down all of his work this afternoon. Apparently he had a nervous breakdown and admitted everything, right in the middle of an exhibit!” Comforting flipped to gloating. “How mortifying!”

Hyacinth staggered back as if I’d punched her, working her mouth like a goldfish. “Blue” ignored her, walking between us to Citrus. “Citrus, won’t you introduce me to your friend? I don’t think he’s nearly as boring as poor Hyacinth thought.”

Hyacinth excused herself before dashing away, obviously ready to cry. The other mares appeared to look at me with new eyes, and Hyacinth was ignored completely. No, not completely—Citrus’ mouth turned up just a hair at the corners. “Done, this is Platinum Pendant, heiress of—”

My shock overcame my good manners. “Of almost every jewelry business in Manehattan!”

Platinum laughed. “And growing fast in Canterlot, too. I think Citrus might just be right about you, Done. Something tells me you’re going to make this a much, much more interesting city. Oh, I’m excited.” Platinum offered me another smile, much like her first, but after the display with Hyacinth, it felt off. I returned it for a heartbeat before bowing to hide my expression. Platinum giggled.

Mrs. Orange glanced conspicuously to the side at a red colored servant entering the ballroom with a magically lifted tray. Shimmer, at last. “If you’ll excuse me, ladies, I’m a bit parched. Anything for either of you?”

Platinum shook her head.“Ah, I’ve had two flutes already this evening, but thank you.”

Citrus nodded. “I’m feeling unusually celebratory, Done. I’ll have a flute.”

With a nod to the ladies, I turned and caught up with Shimmer. As if she didn’t recognize me at all, she asked, “Sir? A refreshment? The champagne is excellent, I believe.”

I took a saucer from a nearby table and spoke around the plate. “Two please. Mrs. Orange’s throat is a bit dry as well.”

Shimmer’s eyes bulged for half a second. “Ah, of course! Would she prefer the… private label?”

I shook my head. “No, the usual will do nicely, miss.” I looked over my shoulder at the balcony, where Mr. Orange was still regaling my date. The plate hurt my mouth a bit as I scowled. “Mr. Orange and the young lady out there would enjoy it, though, I’m sure. Nothing but the finest.” Excitement showed on Shimmer’s face at the code word for serving the smoked champagne undiluted. “And do come over when you’ve served them—the ladies I’m with might want to send you for a snack.”

Shimmer’s excitement turned to glee at the invitation not to clear out after all. I could’ve sworn I actually heard her hooves tapping as she struggled to be still, but I cleared my throat and she regained her composure. “Of course, sir.” Two flutes floated to the saucer in my mouth, and Shimmer turned toward the balcony. Beneath her servant’s dress, where nopony could see it, the same deft magic that had manipulated her “tail” on Nightmare Night poured two flutes of a darker wine, which traded places with the normal stuff as she walked behind a column.

I turned toward Mrs. Orange and Platinum with the drinks, forcing myself to walk at a normal speed, and praying I didn’t look as nervous as I suddenly felt. Citrus took her drink with a nod and a smile, and I placed the saucer on a nearby table to claim my own, hoping the alcohol would calm my nerves just a bit as I watched Shimmer through the glass door offering the drinks to Lemony and Mr. Orange. Mr. Orange held his flute up in the sunlight, examining the color with confusion. I swallowed wrong, and ended up hacking up a lung.

“Come now, Done, you serve stronger stuff.” Citrus chided me.

Platinum giggled and thumped me on the back. “Poor old man.”

Before I could retort, Mr. Orange nodded at Shimmer and offered Lemony a toast. The flutes rose, kissed, and came back down to each pony’s lips. The dark amber liquid vanished.

Half a second of confusion showed on each pony’s face before the flutes were dropped, and the table was knocked aside. As ponies in the ballroom turned to watch, Mr. Orange pulled Lemony into a tight embrace and a deep kiss, which she did nothing to discourage. Moans could be heard through the glass of the balcony door in practically no time, but only for a moment before cries of “By Celestia!” “Good heavens!” and “I never!” drowned them out. For her part, Shimmer acted horrified and rushed back inside, clear across the room to stand only feet away from me.

At some point, it dawned on the sudden lovers that they were being watched, and Lemony burst through the balcony door, Mr. Orange right on her tail, to rush out the door through which we’d entered—and to the left, in the direction of the coat room.

I recovered from my non-existent surprise first. “Citrus, I’m so sorry.”

Citrus played her part well, head lowered, voice quiet. “I… excuse me!” Without another word, she broke for another door and out of sight.

Platinum waved Shimmer over and turned to me. “You know, I think I’ll have a little more after all. How exciting!” Her gaze turned piercing, and she finished too quietly for the other mares who’d been crowded around Citrus to hear. “I don’t think you’re going to be boring at all.”

* * * * *

It was all over the papers the next day. I sat at the breakfast table with Shimmer, looking over the society section, nervous while Strawberry happily prepared the fruit. The butler had insisted nopony else could’ve been responsible for Hyacinth’s soaked shawl, no doubt after a little instruction from Citrus. I sighed. That had been sloppy.

Shimmer was nearly vibrating in her seat, red washed out and scale-fur shining brightly. “Relax, Mr. Deal! I snatched the flutes they dropped, and even tossed some that had had normal champagne before I ran. There’s no way they noticed, and now no pony ever will! Not a drop of the special stuff left behind. It was a little messy, but our first real plot worked out fine! Oh, how exciting!”

I winced at the choice of words—the same as Platinum’s. She was sharp as a tack, and she suspected something. She couldn’t possibly know, but she’d want to change that. A mare like her…

My reverie was interrupted as Shimmer pointed at the paper and laughed. “Mr. Deal, listen to this! ‘When told of the soiled shawl, Mrs. Orange sighed, covered her eyes, and opined that Mr. Orange had always been a very potent stallion. Mr. Orange, present at the time, vehemently insisted he was quite impotent before groaning and muttering something we can’t print.’”

I couldn’t help but chuckle. Shimmer was right; it had worked out. And whatever Platinum meant for my plans, she was right too: With Citrus’ money behind me, things were about to get very exciting.