Lila Singh

Lila was married, wealthy, deeply involved in the philanthropic calendar of their town, had learned that choosing was often the hardest part.

She wanted to convince the other three to donate for a life model art class. Auctioning off tickets to attend a life model class of one of the most respected men in the community, yet to be determined. She expected all the rich young women and even some of the older horny women to bid a lot of money.

It was so hard to take care of two daughters, and a large house, she for those old days of high school where she didn’t have to do anything except make up essay that would teachers proud. She to teachers.

Appearance: Lila was fit, 33, Auburn haired, green eyed beauty. 5‘4“ tall, full breasted, wide hipped. Layla‘s nipples were pink and large, small and shaved pussy and a wispy covering of hair over her labia and Long clitoris

They had chosen the Willowcrest Hotel for its quiet confidence. The place had the kind of carpet that hushed footsteps and the kind of service that anticipated needs before they were spoken. On a Tuesday morning in early spring, four women sat around a low oval table in a private meeting room, sunlight angling in through tall windows and laying bright stripes across leather portfolios and porcelain cups.

Marianne Caldwell presided at the head of the table, though no one had formally appointed her. She had the practiced posture of someone used to chairing boards—shoulders back, chin level, pen aligned with the legal pad as if the objects themselves had been trained. Her wedding band caught the light each time she turned a page. To her right sat Lila Singh, whose tailored navy blazer was as sharp as her humor; she had already made three notes in the margins and one wry comment about balloon arches. Across from them, Eleanor Brooks leaned forward, elbows on knees, her pearls clicking softly when she nodded, while Vivian Hart, the youngest by a decade and the only one still occasionally surprised by her own life, cradled a mug and listened more than she spoke.

They were there to decide a charity. Not just any charity, but the charity—local, worthy, photographable—that would anchor their annual fundraising event. The four of them, all married, all wealthy, all deeply involved in the philanthropic calendar of their town, had learned that choosing was often the hardest part.