by Lily Flowers
Returning her gaze to the Saks show floor, Helena saw still more examples of the mystical wooden women; those pristine ivory-hued statuesque mannequins that together formed a seamless centerpiece of the Saks show floor.
One figure in particular seemed to catch Helena’s heed; this mannequin standing as a particular example of radiance and grace.
Standing tall and proud above the other figures, this spectacular example of feminine beauty boasted porcelain skin, crystal blue eyes, carved cheekbones, full, ruby-hued lips, and a lush head of silken gold hair.
This immaculate head sat atop a tall, slender body encased today in a red velvet dress that fell with grace to the mannequin’s knees; flattering and showcasing her sculpted figure as it added light and luminescence to her flawless visage.
“If she was human, I’d hate her,” Helena smirked, even as her feet carried her forward to take a closer look at the ‘woman of wood.’ “As it stands, she’s a work of art.”
“Helena, wait a minute,” Trey said at her shoulder, following close behind as Helena made fast tracks in the direction of the mannequin.
Helena would hear none of it.
“Shaddup, hon,” she snapped over her shoulder. “I’m fancifully swept away and artistically inspired. Whatever ish you happen to have right now, it will have to be dealt with in the wake of this burst of sterling wonder and stirred imagination.”
Finally coming face to face with the mystical mannequin, Helena impulsively returned her soft, serene beam; in the process reaching out to stroke the heather soft strands of the figure’s flawless flaxen hair.
“Wow,” she breathed, her fingers entangling with luxurious ease into the velvety depths of the mannequin’s thick, realistic looking wig. “Her hair feels so real, Trey. I wonder what shampoo they use on these lustrous locks.”
“Well personally I favor a robust brand of horsehair shampoo, tempered with a light scent of delicate lavender—you know, just to balance things out.”
This reply came—not from Trey, who stood straight and oddly silent at her side—but from the general direction of the mannequin whose hair she so lovingly stroked.
“Well isn’t that amazing?” Helena marveled, stepping back just far enough to stare into a mannequin’s face. “They even installed an interactive voice chip in this model—one that can actually respond to and carry on a conversation with passing shoppers. I think I saw a special about this phenomenon last week on the Discovery Channel.” She paused here, adding with a smirk, “So—um—let’s just call you Margo the Mannequin. Margo, who do you favor in the next presidential election?”
“Hillary Clinton,” the mannequin replied.
Helena nodded.
“Ah, beauty and brains! I’m impressed,” she applauded, adding as she narrowed her eyes in a show of contemplation, “Although I really must say, the voice they used for this model is just a touch too high pitched and artificial to belong to a real woman. And although it is impressive that they have layered those lovely lips with a coat of real lipstick, it has been applied just a touch crooked. Ah, but I can fix that in just a second here….”
Reaching her hand forward, Helena arched her fingers in the direction of the mannequin’s smiling lips; only to still them a moment later, as a booming voice erupted at her shoulder; one that shattered their surrounding peace as it resounded in her ear.
“For the love of all that is good and humane, Helena, would you stop it?!” The normally kind, subdued Trey Lawrence bellowed outright as he covered his face with his hands.
At once unimpressed with this abrupt shift in tone, Helena planted her hands on her voluptuous hips and turned with a flourish in the direction of the fuming Trey.
“And just give me one good reason why I should?” she demanded, eyebrows arched.
Trey let loose with an exasperated sigh that seemed to come straight from his eternal soul.
“Oh,” he moaned, parting his sturdy fingers on his face to take a brave, but perhaps ill-advised peak at the world around him, “Only because you’re inappropriately touching my personal shopper—and, as an added bonus, you’re strongly hinting that she doesn’t look or sound at all like a real human being.”
Freezing in her place, Helena looked at Trey for a mighty long moment before whimpering, “Well I guess that is a pretty damned good reason. After all.”
Turning slowly in the direction of her favorite ‘mannequin,’ who at this point looked as though she was about to bust a flawless, sculpted gut in a barely restrained fit of hysterical laughter, Helena inquired, “Um, Ms. Arielle is it? Is there any chance at all that the impeccable marble patterned floor beneath us will open up at any point to swallow me whole?”
Pitching her head back with a smooth flourish, the amused personal shopper let loose with a rain of rhythmic, twinkling laughter that released all tension in the atmosphere around them.
“No worries, love,” she assured Helena, offering her delicate hand in a gesture of greeting. “I do, in fact, have to thank you for all the kind compliments you’ve paid me today. You, my darling, have made my day!”
Helena nodded.
“Well here’s another,” she offered with a grin, “I’m wondering at this point if your lovely wife had a gay bone in her body when she met you, or maybe if she just had really, really good taste. I mean, I’m probably the most certifiably, painfully heterosexual female on the face of the earth and, heck, you have me questioning less than five minutes after our initial meeting…”
She broke off abruptly as she heard a strangulated moan erupt from the lips of her companion; turning, she saw a frenzied, near panicking Trey grabbing his stomach and doubling over to let loose with what appeared for all intents and purposes to be a groan of anguish.
“You OK, babe?” she asked with a frown.
Stepping between the couple with a single smooth flourish, a still laughing Arielle grabbed both their arms and made with quick steps toward the back of the store.
“Oh, darling, I’m sure he’ll be fine—we just need to get him some sparkling water and a snack to get his blood sugar up. And afterward, we need to get you a whole new, very beautiful and functional wardrobe,” she assured Helena, adding with a graceful gesture ahead of them, “Thankfully, I just happen to have all of that in the back of the store! Allons-y!”
Helena nodded.
“By the way, allons-y means ‘let’s go’ in French,” she told Trey, who managed a strangulated groan in response.
His condition seems to improve markedly moments later, as he reclined in a velvet-cushioned chair just outside a Saks dressing room; sipping his salvation in the form of sparkly water as he bore witness to a fashion show featuring his favorite model.
He gaped outright at the vision of Helena in a flowing scarlet red gown culled from the finest velvet; one that fell gracefully to feet that, in true Helena Vance style, were adorned with a sporty and most comfortable pair of lime green sneakers.
“So from what I understand, Trey, you and Helena will be attending several formal functions while in London,” Arielle told him, adding as her delicate hand made another graceful flourish down the length of Helena’s voluptuous figure, “This gown should be perfect for these events.”
Trey nodded.
“You look ravishing, darling,” he told her, beaming with approval.
Helena shrugged.
“That is all Arielle’s doing,” she told him. “Not only does she seem to know how to choose the perfect dress for any occasion, but she also does that ultra-cool wavy gesture with her hand. I swear whenever she waves those manic pixie dream girl fingers toward any random victim, her target automatically becomes 15-25 percent more attractive, in just 15 minutes—give or take.”
Arielle laughed.
“You’re right, Trey,” she said over her shoulder, leading Helena back in the direction of their airy, spacious dressing room. “This lady is a complete and absolute delight. Captivating and magical, just as you described her.”
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nbsp; Once they had closed the brass-handled door that separated them from their sole audience member, the demure, elegant fashion model of the day turned in a smooth flourish to her fashion consultant and said, “Are you royally shittin’ me?”
Arielle blinked. Hard.
“Excuse me, darling?” she pursed her full red lips, bringing her perfectly manicured hand to her face in what seemed a gesture of astonishment.
“A lot of people seem to make that very same gesture whenever they have a conversation with me. Wonder why?” Helena mused, adding aloud, “Sorry for my word choice, Arielle, but you just said that Trey Lawrence at some point referred to me as—what were those specific words?—delightful, captivating and magical. True, this?”
Planting her hands on her toned, narrow hips, Arielle arched her feathered eyebrows and said, “Do you want to hear the truth, Helena? The complete and honest truth?”
“Usually, my stock answer to the question is, ‘No. Absolutely not. I, much like 90s era Tom Cruise, pretty much can’t handle the truth.’” Helena allowed through gritted teeth, adding more seriously, “In this case, though, I’d really like to know.”
Arielle grinned.
“Well as it turns out, Helena, I’ve known our friend Trey for a long time,” she revealed, adding with the smooth toss of her golden blonde hair, “And what I can tell you, my dear, is this; that man is head over heels for you. He mentions you every time we meet, and always with a boyish grin. And, to answer your original question, he does indeed consider you delightful, captivating and magical—along with brilliant, kind, as cute as a proverbial button and absolutely hilarious. I’ve never seen him like this, Helena—and I have the distinct feeling that he wants you in his life on a permanent basis. Trey believes that he has found ‘the one’ Helena—and if you so happen to feel the same way, then I’m sure that he could make you a very happy woman.”
Helena nodded.
“If I so happen to feel the same way,” she repeated, adding as she stroked her chin in a show of mock contemplation, “Well let’s see here—Trey is intelligent, caring, sensitive, strong, and a darned sight more conventionally attractive than I am. I do believe y’all would have to declare me clinically insane if I didn’t happen to feel the same way. Just order me up a Saks Fifth Avenue straight jacket, no doubt embroidered, culled from the finest ivory velvet and accessorized with a matching pearl choker.”
Arielle guffawed outright.
“Trey was right, Helena—you are a riot,” she said with a chuckle, adding more seriously, “And, contrary to what you might believe, you do have a certain prettiness about you—you just need the right clothes to help bring it out.”
Pausing here, Arielle turned to a dressing room chair layered with a pile of luxurious clothes; picking from the pile a flowing ivory kaftan embroidered at the side with scarlet rosettes.
“I do believe that this frock, love, will do much to bring out ‘Belle Helena,’” Arielle asserted, tossing the dress in the direction of an awestruck Helena.
Moments later an energized Helena emerged from the dressing room, her shoulders squared and her head held high as she posed and pivoted; her skirts flaring outward as she showed off her fresh new frock for the eyes of an admiring Trey.
“Bella!” Her lover applauded, adding as he let loose with a hearty wolf whistle, “You, my darling, are going to set London on its heel—and, in all likelihood, me on my…”
“Oh be-have!” Helena and Arielle exclaimed in flawless concert—next exchanging spirited high fives to celebrate their synchronicity.
Trey expressed similar reactions to Helena’s next four outfits: a sea blue pant suit perfect for business meetings, a coat of faux fur that would serve his lady well on balmy London mornings, a well-tailored silk suit that shone in its shades of ivory and lavender, and a second formal—this one a gown of carnation pink that came embroidered with a lace collar and matching cuffs.
“Perfect for my Victorian lady,” Trey praised, his admiring gem blue gaze caressing Helena from head to toe.
While not a comparably classic example of haute couture fashion, the last outfit modelled—a pant suit that came emblazoned with kitschy cartoons that displayed 50s era women voicing comical phrases about the situation of women in today’s culture—also scored a hit with an enthusiastic Trey.
“Perfect for Helena,” Trey assessed, gifting his lady with an affectionate wink. “There’s my gal.”
After selecting some baubles to accessorize her fashion finds—indeed, Helena was fairly certain that the diamond bracelet alone carried a price tag that roughly equaled, if not exceeded, three months’ rent on her modest flat, and the ruby bracelet wasn’t far behind in terms of its lovely, indulgent extravagance—Arielle presented Helena with a selection of shoes to compliment her luxurious new array of dresses and pantsuits.
“Because as fetching as your signature lime green sneakers are, Helena, I daresay that they don’t really go with every outfit,” Arielle advised, all the while grinning through gritted teeth.
Never a particular fan of high heels, Helena tumbled and stumbled a bit in her newly acquired pair of ruby red stilettos; and she felt like a sluttier version of Dorothy from “The Wizard of Oz” as she clicked her heels together three times and said, “There’s no place like…oh, blast it. I can’t think of anything clever or witty to say right now, I’m about to fall over on my ever lovin’ face!”
Under Arielle’s careful tutelage, Helena soon learned how to walk in heels; and she rather enjoyed the awestruck expression that crossed Trey’s flawless features as she swayed and sashayed before his admiring eyes; though, thanks to the fact that she was not yet ‘well heeled’ in the refined art of wearing high heels, she more swayed than sashayed.
After also acquiring a pair of smart beige pumps to compliment her new wardrobe, Helena had one more request of her beaming personal shopper; one that made the openly feminist Arielle smile wider still.
“Now I want to see a second fashion show,” Helena informed her personal shopper, “one that stars that hottie hot male model known as Mr. Trey Lawrence.”
Soon Helena and Arielle had ousted Trey from his chair; with Arielle telling the confused man that he, too, was in need of a new wardrobe for their upcoming London excursion.
Taking his place in the chair, a delighted Helena hooted, hollered and whistled as a smiling, abiding Trey put on a very sexy fashion show for her enjoyment.
Dazzling her first in a crème colored silk suit that stole her breath, Trey seemed to recall his days as a male model as he flexed his muscles, shifted his hips and pouted profusely.
“Sch-wing!” A slightly feverish, definitely overwhelmed Helena exclaimed at one point, reciting a classic line from “Wayne’s World,” one of her favorite comedies. “He’s a babe!”
Her cheeky smile dissolved, and she took in her breath, as the gorgeous Trey came to stand stock still before her.
“You ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” he purred with a wink.
Trey more than lived up to this promise throughout the course of his impromptu fashion show; next appearing in a sleek black dinner suit perfect for a European cocktail party, and following up that exclusive number with a more casual—but very sexy—tennis suit that consisted of a translucent white net shirt and ultra-tight shorts.
“Game on!” Helena growled, waggling her eyebrows to saucy effect.
“At least!” Arielle agreed, adding as she wiped some telltale sweat from her brow, “Now this dude has me questioning—and that, loves, is an accomplishment!”
Trey laughed.
“Pleased to be of service to you ladies,” he winked, adding as he turned for the dressing room, “Of course, my European wardrobe would not be complete without some exotic French cut underwear—and, as it just so happens, I have a prime example of these undergarments awaiting me in my dressing room.”
Helena nodded.
“Well, if you like go ahead and try them on,” she encouraged him, reinforcing her
words with a short, sharp nod. “We’ll be sure to assess their fit and give you our objective—though very fair—opinion, in due time.”
“Absolutely,” Arielle agreed, adding with a shrug, “As your personal shopper, Trey, I feel like I should have preapproval over all of your fashion choices. And as your girlfriend, Helena also should have her say. So then—proceed and flash us your tighty whiteys whenever ready.”
A nodding Trey withdrew into his dressing room and closed the door behind him; mercifully withdrawing himself from the ladies’ earshot, so they could bark, wolf whistle and perform celebratory high fives to their hearts’ content.
“You know Helena, you are simply too cool for words,” Arielle praised her, adding with eyebrows arched, “Most of Trey’s former girlfriends would have been more than pleased just to accept the free clothes from him—and, of course, to pout and pose in them for his pleasure. You’re the first to insist that he dress up for your pleasure in return.” She paused here, adding in a lower tone, “You’re also the first not to cringe at the idea of stepping into a small dressing room with a lesbian.”
Helena sighed.
“Arielle, you’re an amazing woman,” she praised her, leaning forward to clutch the hand of her newfound friend and fashion guru. “I have every hope that we’ll become great friends. And I also would have to be one arrogant wench to think that a babe as hot as you would advance on the likes of me anyway.”
Arielle guffawed outright.
“Don’t be ridiculous, darling,” she assured Helena, leaning forward to grace Helena’s cheek with a warm, sweet kiss. “You, Helena Vance, are one of a kind.”
“Moving in on my girl, are ya Arielle?”
Helena grinned as she heard Trey’s deep, sonorous voice resound from just beside them. Turning with a flourish in his direction, she opened her mouth to issue one of her usual clever retorts; snapping her jaw shut the moment she saw the ethereal, downright surreal spectacle of Trey in Undies.
