by Dara Girard
Corinne briefly closed her eyes and released a deep breath. One hurdle over now what?
Now that she was in the club what did that mean? Were there meetings? Would she get a listing of other members? She read the attached letter eager to find out more.
Welcome to The Black Stockings Society. Your first assignment is to take your membership card to the Wildfire Spa, where you will receive the platinum plus. Your appointment for the platinum plus has already been reserved. Please arrive at this time.
Wildfire Spa? Her racing heart threatened to stop. She hadn’t gone there in months. Years. The last time she’d gone there she’d only been married to Harrison for six months! Jason hadn’t even been thought of. How could she go back there when she wasn’t that woman anymore? She’d let herself get so busy with marriage, motherhood and her new business that she’d neglected the one treat she used to give herself.
Perhaps she was over thinking things. Perhaps it was time to treat herself again. She hadn’t changed that much had she? If she wore something classy she could pass for who she used to be. She went into her bathroom to see what makeup she’d need to wear, but when she saw her face she knew that no amount of foundation or concealer would work. She could not go back.
No way! She pinched her cheeks. Who was that tired looking woman staring back at her? She couldn’t go back there. Nobody could see what she looked like now. Not like this. She’d been prettier back then, richer too. This sorry looking, divorced woman staring back at her was not the clientele Wildfire Spa was used to.
Corinne returned to the kitchen and frantically looked through the letter to see if there was someone she could contact. Couldn’t she go to another spa? Perhaps in another city? Hell, she’d cross state lines if she had to.
But she couldn’t find another option and the time she was supposed to go was...tomorrow! How was she supposed to go tomorrow? And how did they know she had nothing planned? If she missed this appointment would they take points away from her? Did the club even issue points?
But she didn’t have time to write them and try to change the spa location. She chewed her lip. However, if she called the spa directly, canceled and let them know there was an unforeseen emergency, perhaps that could help her get around the predicament.
Corinne picked up her cell phone and went to their website. Since she’d been to the Wildfire Spa before she knew they allowed people to chat online with the staff. She contacted the main hub and posted: Hello, I have an appointment scheduled for two-thirty tomorrow that I'll have to cancel. Corinne Baylor
One moment please.
Sure.
Corinne felt her tension ease. This was going to be so easy. They hadn’t even asked why she’d canceled and nobody had threatened to tell her that she’d have to pay for the missed appointment since it was at such short notice.
Ms. Baylor. Is there a reason for the cancellation?
A family emergency.
Do you wish to also cancel your membership?
Membership?
Yes, this is a special introductory offer. If you don’t wish to attend we will also cancel your membership. Please repackage the stockings and leave them on the doorstep for pickup tomorrow.
My stockings?
They’re part of the membership. Do you wish to proceed with the cancellation?
This was all wrong. Why were they being so strict?
Why can’t I cancel this appointment and still be a member?
Those are the rules. Do you wish to proceed?
She’d lose her membership before she’d even started? What kind of club was this? And what if she’d truly had an emergency? It was if they knew she didn’t.
Ms. Baylor do you wish to proceed?
She wondered if she were even talking to a human. She doubted it. No.
We look forward to seeing you.
Corinne set her phone down and sighed, feeling doomed.
Chapter Ten
Eight years was a long time.
Corinne sat in her ten year old Honda and stared at the impressive mansion, which housed the Wildfire Spa, trying to gather her courage. She had to go inside or she’d lose her membership. She’d have to walk through those large wooden doors with stain glass inlay and not look back.
A lot can happen in eight years. The spa could be under new management. Perhaps the people who used to work there had moved on. Perhaps no one would recognize her. That meant she was safe and there was nothing to worry about.
With that pep talk in the forefront of her mind, Corinne left her car and walked through the front door. Nothing much had changed inside the elegant lobby except the two clerks at the front desk. One was an older woman with fine model features and a streak of grey through her luxurious black hair; the other a young man of Asian descent with short blond hair and a black goatee. She hadn’t seen them before. She felt the tension within her ease. She was safe. Truly safe.
She walked up to the counter, gave her name then handed over The Black Stockings Society membership card, which the young man swiped then stopped. His eyes widened. He handed the card back to her. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
“I’m not?” Had she chosen the wrong spa? The wrong day? Had the chatbot canceled her appointment after all? Was she no longer a member? “What do you mean I—”
“I’m so sorry,” he said looking distressed. He hurried around the counter. “Follow me. You’re on the wrong floor.”
She knew the mansion had three levels but she always registered first on the main level.
Corinne followed the young man up the split staircase then down a gold and red carpeted corridor. She never even knew this part of the mansion existed and told the young man as much. “Few people know about the East Wing,” he said before he led her into an elegant room where a crystal bowl filled with fruit sat in the middle of a round table and a large window welcomed in rays of sunlight. He pointed to one of the plush seats. “Someone will attend to you shortly.”
The young man said the statement with such gravitas, as if she were royalty, that she wondered if he’d made a mistake. Confused her with someone else.
“Excuse me, what’s your name?” she asked him.
He winced. “You’re not going to make a complaint are you?”
“No, no I was just wondering if you’ve made a mistake.”
He frowned. “A mistake?”
She tapped her chest. “Are you sure that I’m supposed to be here? Corinne Baylor.”
“Charlotte “Corinne” Baylor, that’s you, correct?”
She bit the inside of her cheek, unused to hearing that name. “Yes.”
He grinned. “Then I’m very sure. We hope you enjoy your time with us.” He left and closed the door.
This was all so very strange. Like nothing she’d ever experienced before. But that was a good thing. If she was in a part of the mansion few people knew about then nobody would recognize her. She’d get the platinum plus, whatever that was, then leave.
She picked up a red grape and popped it in her mouth, delighted by how sweet it tasted and let her tension ebb. She picked up another one.
However, when the door swung open, the second grape stuck in her throat as she stared at a familiar face—Kathleen Lafell. Kathleen had done her makeup in the past. She knew Kathleen had invented her surname, she’d told Corinne so in the past (I had to. My real name is some typical one common in my New Jersey neighborhood), but everything else about her was all real from the curvaceous figure, to the thick, brunette hair, and diamond pendant around her neck.
“Corinne?” Kathleen said, her dark gaze measuring her from head to toe. “Oh my goodness did somebody die?”
Corinne grimaced. Did she really look that bad? “Uh...no.”
“That was a joke, sweetie. Don’t look so serious.”
Corinne plastered on a smile. Kathleen’s jokes had always been terrible.
Kathleen shook her head. “But truly, sweetie, a mortician could make you look more alive. You
look terrible. I’m so glad you came to see us again. How long has it been?”
“I don’t know.”
Kathleen looked down at her tablet. “Yes, I have your info right here and... Oh my God that long! No wonder. Okay, what are you in here for?” Before Corinne could reply Kathleen giggled to herself and said, “Oh yes, you’re a platinum plus client, just what you need. If you hadn’t been I would have argued for an upgrade.”
“What is platinum plus? How much—”
“As a club member it’s all taken care of, sweetie.”
“I hardly paid anything to apply. It certainly wasn’t enough for this.”
But Kathleen wasn’t listening, instead she quickly took a picture of Corinne then studied the image on her tablet. “You haven’t done your brows in a while.” She clicked her tongue and enlarged the image. “And when was the last time you conditioned your hair?”
“I don’t—”
“And that skin...” She touched a hand to her own cheek in dismay. “Did you take sandpaper to it or something?”
“It’s been—”
“Your skin is just screaming for care. I can hear your pathetic little pores weeping.”
“But I—”
“Never mind. That’s all in the past now. You came to us just in time.”
The cream mask felt heavenly. Like her skin was wrapped in silk. She felt the moisture coming back to her pores. She then had her hair washed and deep conditioned and the women were shocked at the amount of hair she had, but instead of feeling embarrassed, the way they handled her tight natural curls made her feel proud. They called her hair beautiful. The only embarrassing moment was when they found a wayward pencil stub.
“What on earth?” one of them said.
“When I’m working, it’s easy to get to,” Corinne explained.
“You stick pencils in your hair?”
“Pens too, sometimes.”
“Stop that and treat your hair with more respect.”
Once conditioned, her hair was generously oiled and moisturized before they put it in an up swept sculptured style that could be easily maintained with strategically placed hair pins. Corinne carefully watched them so that she would be able to achieve the same results at home.
After they did her eyebrows and added makeup, she stared at the mirror and could hardly recognize herself. It was as if time had been pulled back to uncover the woman she’d once been. Full of hope and expectation as if the world was hers to claim.
“Thank you for everything,” Corinne said in a choked voice.
Kathleen grinned. “We’re not finished yet. Now it’s time for your wardrobe.”
Chapter Eleven
Moments later Corinne stood in another elegant suite surrounded by racks of designer clothes. In the middle stood an attractive, full figured, dark skinned woman, wearing a red silk dress and dangling, designer gold earrings.
“Hello my name is Rania. If you have any questions, I’m happy to help.”
Corinne looked at the array of clothes amazed then noticed something troubling. “Why are there mostly skirts and dresses?”
“Each one has been chosen for your size and shape and will complement you beautifully.”
“But I don’t wear skirts or dresses.”
“You do now.”
“But—I don’t have to, right?” she said with a nervous laugh.
“Try them on.” Rania lifted a dark blue satin dress with a thigh high front slit. “Like this.”
“Unless you can find a dress or skirt with a hemline that reaches the floor I’m not interested.”
“You are now,” Rania said in a tone that challenged her to argue.
Corinne felt in the mood to. This woman had to be forced to understand. “No, I’m not. I don’t like them. Is this because of the stockings? I know I’m supposed to wear them and I will, just under a nice pair of trousers.”
Rania narrowed her eyes. “I thought you were ready to change things.”
“Not like this. Are you telling me that the stockings have to be seen? I mean someone could wear gorgeous lingerie just for herself not for anyone else.”
“That’s true. Do you wear lovely lingerie?”
No. “I haven’t had time.”
“You haven’t made time. Two skirts and a dress will do for now, the rest can be trousers. You don’t have to wear them all the time, but it’s important that you wear them at least three times.”
“Why?”
“Why not?”
Corinne shrugged finding no need to argue. She could manage three days. “Okay.”
“Each.”
“Each?”
She nodded.
Corinne fought for patience. This woman didn’t understand at all. “You might not know this, but I don’t have nice legs. Wearing anything with a short hemline is like someone with ugly feet wearing open toe sandals.”
“Prove it.”
“Prove it?”
She nodded. “Try one on and let’s see how hideous you are.”
“I didn’t say me, it’s my legs.”
She shrugged. “I don’t see the difference.”
Corinne gritted her teeth. Why was the woman being so obtuse? “Isn’t there any way I could—”
Rania took a seat. “Why did you want to become a member?”
“If you read my application—”
“Repeat why you joined.”
Corinne paused. There was something in the other woman’s tone that warned her that arguing with her wouldn’t work. “I want to do something new. Make my son proud, but I don’t think showing off my tree trunk legs in a skirt will do that.”
“Clothes are only an extension. There’s nothing wrong with your legs only the way you look at them. I’m hoping you’ll soon see that.”
Corinne resisted rolling her eyes. A curvy woman like Rania oozed confidence and beauty. She’d likely never had a doubt about her body in her life. “Right.”
Rania motioned to the dressing room. “Go on then.”
Corinne snatched a skirt and marched into the room. She’d prove her wrong, if that’s what she needed. She put on a checkered knee high skirt and red blouse. “I look like—” She stopped because she didn’t see them. She knew they were there, her horrible massive thighs, but oddly they didn’t look as gigantic as she remembered. She hadn’t worn a skirt since high school. But the memory of ‘thunder thighs’ still lingered even though that wasn’t how she felt. Instead She felt attractive. She liked the feel of the fabric against her skin, the soft curves of the hemline. That had to be it; the clothes were designed in a way to hide major flaws. It was all an illusion, but it worked. She didn’t have slender, elegant legs but they weren’t massive tree trunks either.
Perhaps this new change wouldn’t be so difficult after all.
“It’s perfect,” Rania said when she saw her and Corinne couldn’t argue. With less resistance than before, she let Rania help her select other items and started to have fun trying the different outfits on.
Rania motioned to a purple skirt and cream blouse. “This is what you’ll wear to your next client meeting.”
“With Phyllis?” Corinne scoffed. “She hates the color purple now, it would be a disaster.”
“I’m not talking about Phyllis. I’m talking about your new client.”
“I don’t have a new client.”
“You will,” Rania said with a knowing smile.
She hadn’t had a new client in months, recently her schedule had been filled by repeat clients, but it didn’t hurt to dream. “Right.”
“The clothes will be delivered to your house. It’s a pleasure meeting you.”
“So when do I get to meet the other members?”
“You don’t. Not formally at least. It’s not that kind of club.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve likely met another member without knowing it.”
“Why can’t we know about each other? Why all the secrecy?”
> Rania shrugged. “It’s just the way the club works. Plus, it removes any comparisons. Everyone experiences the club differently to suit the changes they need to make.”
“And I can’t tell anyone about it?”
“No. There can be power in silence. In focusing on yourself and not spreading your energy outward, but inward.”
“That’s fine, but I would like to make a suggestion. Can’t you set up something online or...”
“Who says we’re not?”
“I checked...wait are you part of the dark web?”
“No.”
“Then why can’t I—”
She paused when Rania shook her head. “Too many prying eyes. We use technology and a host of different resources but not the way most members would expect us to. Writing out the application is not convenient, but that’s on purpose. It lets us weed out those not willing to make an effort.” She held up a hand. “Now that’s enough questions. You are to follow the rest of your instructions. It’s time for your journey to really begin.”
Chapter Twelve
A great opportunity or a big mistake. Vivian wasn’t sure which as she thought about Corinne working with Brett. She sat in her office ruminating over the possibility that it could be a disaster. Corinne might not be ready and she didn’t exactly inspire confidence in people. Brett could be very perceptive in his analysis of people and wouldn’t take well to being part of a pity project. But she knew Corinne would be the perfect one to bring his idea to life if she believed in herself more.
Vivian lifted her gaze from her laptop screen when someone knocked on the door. “Come in.”
An attractive black woman with a beaming smile waltzed into the room. She wore a fitted plaid jacket and skirt with wool tights. She opened her arms wide and slowly spun around before stopping to face her. “What do you think?”
Vivian frowned. “What do I think about what?”
“The clothes. But mainly the skirt. I never thought I’d wear one again.”
Vivian frowned. Why was this woman acting as if she knew her? “Do we have an appointment?”
