by Dara Girard
“Like what?”
“Like you want to bang your head against a desk.” Vivian crossed her legs. “You don’t need someone like her. Remember you had the infuriating client who gave you an ulcer?”
“Ulcers aren’t caused by stress. I think it’s a bacteria that—”
Vivian rolled her eyes and released a dramatic sigh. “You know what I mean.”
“It’s business.”
“Clients like her can ruin a business. I told you that.”
“I know. After her I won’t do it again.”
“Which you’ve said a hundred times.”
“I mean it this time.” Corinne picked up the box Phyllis had given her. “Besides, she baked me homemade muffins.”
Vivian took the box, lifted the lid then frowned. “I didn’t realize she worked for Dana’s Donuts and More.” She closed the box and set it on the desk.
“Excuse me while I swallow my pride and make some calls.”
“Aren’t you going to ask why I’m here?”
Corinne took out her cell phone. “Why are you here?”
Vivian snatched the phone before she could dial. “Because I have an opportunity for you. A chance to change everything.”
“Really?”
“Yes.” She placed the phone on the desk and clasped her hands together. “I was so excited that I left his place to come straight to you. This job will be perfect. At first I wasn’t sure of his idea and then I thought if anyone could make it work you could.”
Corinne frowned. “You’re not making any sense. What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about—” The musical ring tone from her cell phone stopped her. Vivian pulled it out of her pocket, looked at it and frowned. “Damn, I have to take this, how’s next Tuesday for you?”
“I don’t have anything planned.”
“Great. Promise to keep next Tuesday morning free. Nine o’clock.”
“Okay.”
She pointed at her. “Promise.”
“I promise.”
“Great. I’ll send you the details later. You’ll thank me.” She blew her a kiss then raced out the door. Corinne overheard her say, “Yes, yes I’m coming. Hold your horses.”
Corinne couldn’t stop a smile. She was used to Vivian's enthusiasm but she seemed extra excited. It made Corinne curious as to why she’d wanted her to keep the date free.
However, she didn’t have a lot of time to wonder about it as she busied herself for the rest of the day calling various vendors to meet Phyllis’ new demands before heading off to her second big assignment.
Chapter Seven
Corinne barely made it through her front door that evening. Exhaustion made every step an effort. She was so exhausted she nearly missed the elegant envelope stuck between the stack of mail she’d tossed on the kitchen counter.
Was she being invited to a wedding? Please God no.
She sighed and reluctantly ripped open the gold lined envelope not caring how she destroyed the carefully designed item leaving it with ragged edges. She’d recycle it anyway.
She paused before she pulled out a handwritten note on expensive parchment paper lined with finely woven lace.
“You have been personally selected to join The Black Stockings Society an elite, members-only club that will change your life and help you find the man of your dreams. Guaranteed.”
This had to be a mistake.
She checked the address and saw her full name: Charlotte “Corinne” Baylor. Nobody called her Charlotte. How had they known? This was for her? She’d been chosen? Really?
Things like this never happened to her. Was this some sort of scam? But even so there was no harm in reading more, right? What was the harm? Her life couldn’t sink any lower. If nothing happened so what? She read the rest of the note. Dumped, bored, tired of being single, ready to live dangerously?
Corinne sagged back against the counter and took a breath, her heart suddenly racing. It all felt too close to home and surreal. Like someone had been watching her. She read the sentence again.
Dumped? Hmm...did her son count? Jason wanting to live with his father instead of her felt like getting dumped.
Bored? Hmm. Not really. Most times she felt too tired to be bored. But she felt boring. Did that count? Boring compared to Vivian or Harrison’s new wife.
Tired of being single? Her heart again picked up speed. She was too afraid to answer that question. To let herself really imagine being in a relationship again.
Ready to live dangerously? Perhaps. Depends what dangerously meant. She wasn’t really one for reckless partying and climbing mountains. But she could add a little shake up to her routine.
If you said yes to any question, then this is the club for you.
She tapped the envelope. Vivian had said she needed to think bigger. So even if she wasn’t really ready to live dangerously, or cared about being single and was more boring than bored, she had been dumped. If there was a way to fix it she was eager to try.
Guaranteed results! Submit your application today.
Guaranteed? Really? She must be desperate to even consider falling for such a ploy. But her heart wouldn’t stop racing, her hands felt sweaty. She wanted this to be real. She needed it to be. She flipped the note over, but couldn’t find any more information. The Black Stockings Society? What exactly was it?
She grabbed a pen then pulled out the enclosed questionnaire, took a seat at her kitchen table and started to read.
But the questionnaire didn’t make any sense. The questions were ridiculous. They didn’t ask anything about her, about her goals or state of mind. How could someone be chosen as a potential candidate based on such flimsy questions?
Resigned and disappointed, Corinne stuck the pen in her hair and covered her eyes. Had her life been reduced to this? Reduced to believing in something that couldn’t possibly be real? It was stupid to believe such a club existed, even worse that they’d want to invite her. She crumbled up the questionnaire and stood ready to throw it away.
“I want to live with Dad.”
“You need to dream bigger.”
Jason and Vivian’s words gripped her.
She wanted things to be different. She wanted to attract better clients than Phyllis Lynde, she wanted her son to be proud of her, she wanted to be proud of herself. The questions were strange, but there weren’t many of them so she might as well get them over with.
She sat back down and smoothed out the questionnaire. She searched the page wondering if there was a website address where she could complete it online, but there was nothing. She took out her phone and typed in The Black Stockings Society. She found some brief sites that seemed promising but when two sent her to porn sites she stopped searching. Even the address where she was supposed to send the questionnaire didn’t reveal much more than it was a local PO Box.
She either had to accept that she’d gone crazy and fill out the form or forget the entire thing. She decided to be a little crazy. She swallowed before she reread the first question.
Pets or plants?
She frowned. That question truly didn’t make any sense. Why couldn’t she choose both? She looked around her kitchen and thought about the rest of the house. She had plenty of plants and had never owned a pet so maybe that was the right answer. Maybe they wanted to see if she was willing to try something new. She wrote down pets.
Dragons or lions?
Was this some psychological test to measure whether she was more interested in reality or fantasy? She tapped the pen against her bottom lip. What would be the best way to answer that? She did like fantasy. She did like the thought of dragons and warlocks but that was in fiction. But going after a fantasy had gotten her in trouble. Harrison and the life she thought she’d share with him had only been in her head. Maybe it was time to be grounded in reality. Lions scared her but they were real. She had to be real too and realize there was no fantasy for her to dream about. She wrote down lions.
Snow or rain?<
br />
Ooh that was a hard one, she really liked both. Couldn’t she choose both? Was that cheating? Okay, okay if she could only choose one…hmm…snow.
What is your ideal man like?
She paused before she wrote, I don’t have one anymore. I can’t pretend that I can imagine any man wanting me right now. I don’t see myself as a catch. I don’t see myself as desirable. I’m not sure I’d trust any man who could like me as I am. I don’t believe it anymore. There’s so much I have to change to be better. She paused. This response probably would disqualify her, but she wanted to be honest. As much as it hurt it also felt good. I just want to feel like me again. Whatever that used to feel like, I’m not sure I remember anymore. I guess the ideal guy for me would be anyone who can take me warts and all. I’m not sure a guy like that exists.
Corinne sat back and tucked the pen in her hair, her chest tight. She was being honest but she was also lying. Lying that she didn’t want to eventually meet someone and share her life with him. Someone who… She took out her pen and added. My ideal man is someone with a warm heart who could love my son as much as I do. She tucked the pen away knowing that was a tall order, but it felt right. She then looked at the following paragraph titled: Sworn Oath. Before signing the application please say the sworn oath aloud.
Corinne frowned. Aloud? Did it really matter? She looked around the empty room. No one would notice. But she was one who liked to follow rules so she cleared her throat and then did so.
As a member of The Black Stockings Society, I swear I will not reveal club secrets, I will accept nothing but the best and I will no longer…
She paused at the final three words. They got stuck in her throat. They wanted her to say “settle for less” but that was easier said than done. Sometimes settling was the only way to survive. To get what you wanted. To not feel like a failure.
She bit her lip. But they were in the oath. She could say those words without really believing them, right?
I will no longer settle for less. There, she’d said it.
She quickly signed the application, paid the nominal membership fee, grumbling as she wrote down her credit card information, that it would have been so much easier if they’d used the Internet or better yet, had installed a QR code that she could scan with her phone. Perhaps if she were accepted she could make that suggestion and offer other changes. She ran outside and popped the application in the mailbox before she changed her mind.
Unfortunately, she did.
Twice.
Twice she went to the mailbox and took out the application telling herself she was not being sensible. And twice she replaced it back.
It was the second journey to the mailbox when her mother saw her.
“Is something wrong?” she called out to her.
“Uh, no.”
“Come over. I know it’s always hard for you when Jason’s with his father.” She went inside before Corinne could argue. Corinne reluctantly followed feeling newly exhausted but resigned.
Chapter Eight
Her parent’s home always smelled liked spiced bun and limeaid. Her mother, perfectly dressed in a pair of black jeans and a maroon sweater set, pearl earrings that complemented her brown skin and her hair pulled back in a bun, had some waiting for her in the kitchen.
“You seem out of sorts,” her mother said when Corinne sat down at the kitchen table.
Had her mother been watching her? “I just forgot a few things.”
Her mother’s keen gaze held hers. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
She didn’t want to tell her. But she did with tears running down her face while her mother handed her tissues like she had when Corinne was five years old and hadn’t been chosen for the school play. Once she’d finish telling her about Jason’s request and her client’s last minute demands, her mother sat back and said, “Well that’s a right kerfuffle.”
She always said that. Corinne wasn’t sure her mother knew what the true meaning was, but she used the word constantly. Everything was a kerfuffle—an item sold out at the shops, a missed appointment, her daughter’s life. At times Corinne imagined her mother had popped out in a London hospital looked around her and said, “Well this is a right kerfuffle” and set to tell people how to fix it.
“But we’ll figure this out,” her mother continued in a soft voice.
Corinne wiped her eyes. “Do you think he’s right?”
“Right?”
“To want to leave me.”
“I don’t think it’s personal, love. I’m not sure it has much to do with you.”
She crumpled the tissue in her fist. “How can it not be personal? Of course it has to do with me. He wants to live with someone else.”
Her mother patted her hand. “I’m not saying this properly. I’m sorry.”
“Vivian and Bonnie think it might be good for him. What do you think?”
“I think we should ring your sisters.”
“No, please don’t. There’s no reason for them to know about this yet. I’m asking for your opinion. What do you think?”
“I think you need to have a nice shower and take care of yourself.”
“I’m trying.”
Her father came into the kitchen and kissed her on the forehead. “You need to freshen up.”
Corinne sniffed her sleeve. “Do I smell?”
“No,” her mother said.
“Yes,” her father countered. “Like burnt biscuits and peanut butter.”
Oh, yes, she’d forgotten about helping out that evening at the second major event that had a last minute emergency due to a vendor not turning up. Corinne had had to scramble but had managed to save the event from complete collapse. “Sorry, I’ll change.”
“Our daughter has a right kerfuffle.”
His brows shot up. “Really?”
“Our grandson wants to live with his father.”
Her father pulled out a chair and sat down. “Bloody ingrate.”
Her mother hit him.
He shrugged. “That’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it?”
“Actually no,” Corinne said. “I don’t know what to think.” Which is why I applied to become a member of a club that may or may not exist not even knowing what being a member might actually entail.
He squeezed her shoulder. “It will all work out in the end.”
That was his favorite saying. As if life were some fairy story that had a tidy ending waiting to come. For him perhaps, not her. She stood. “I should dash.”
“You should shower,” her father called after her.
“Leave her be,” her mother scolded. “She has plenty on her mind.”
“She’ll have a lot more on her mind if flies start following her.”
“I can still hear you,” Corinne called out as she opened the front door.
“If you need soap...”
“You’re incorrigible,” she heard her mother say with laughter in her voice.
“Or detergent,” he added.
To her surprise, Corinne had a smile on her face when she left. She may not have everything figured out, but at least she wasn’t alone.
That night she dreamed about dragons. At first she stood on the platform of the metro station and the silver body of the train slid to a stop in front of her then suddenly turned into a dragon. A large, beautiful but fierce beast that should have frightened her but only filled her with anticipation. And the dragon spoke and told her to get on board. She hesitated at first before she did, and then felt the scaled muscled back of the beast between her thighs and she rode it as it flew through the sky, taking her higher and higher.
Then she was floating and the dragon became a man. A big man with a voice like steel. She didn’t see his face at first. Two other dragons, smaller in size, circled around him and they seemed playful and not afraid. He trained the dragons and they followed his every command and she watched him from a distance. Then he called to her.
“That’s not a good idea,” he said. “Stand by my
side or you’ll get hurt.” She did as she was told and he finally turned to her with eyes like fire.
Her body felt hot, ablaze with heat—first fear then rage. It was him! That man from the metro! What was he doing in her dream? She shot awake. Her body sweaty, her breath coming out in gasps.
What an awful nightmare. How could she have been drawn to that voice? She pressed a hand against her cheek. What was wrong with her?
It was that stupid questionnaire. That’s why she’d thought of dragons. But why him? He was the last thing she wanted to dream about let alone...no what she’d felt was only fear, perhaps amazement at the sight of the beautiful creatures. It wasn’t attraction. She wasn’t that desperate.
Her son was away. She could self pleasure. Maybe that was what was wrong with her. Pent up passion. It had been a long time and Doris talking about an ideal man had made her start thinking about men when she hadn’t in years. That was it.
She fell back on her bed and squeezed her eyes shut.
It had to be.
Chapter Nine
She didn’t know what she was expecting the following day, but the medium sized package that arrived on her doorstep wasn’t it.
She didn’t remember ordering anything and the box didn’t have a distinctive logo to tell her who it was from. She looked at the address label and saw her name and a tiny stamp with the image of a stocking. Her heart began to pound. Could this be it? Had she been accepted into the Black Stockings Society? So quickly?
She hurried into the kitchen, sliced the seam of the box open with a pair of scissors and folded the panels back. Inside the box, encased in a purple satin cloth, were four pairs of different types of stockings, a membership card that read Charlotte “Corinne” Baylor, Member, The Black Stockings Society.
Her hands shook. She’d made it! They’d accepted her. She was a member. She was certain her replies on the questionnaire would have gotten her excluded but this was proof that she’d been right to follow her heart.
