by Alice Bello
Wasn’t that a kick in the teeth? I’d never look as good as a stupid mannequin.
A woman in her early forties, dressed in a simple, casual ivory suit, her salt and pepper hair long and twisted in a knot on top of her head, strolled out from the back and shot us a sweet, lovely smile. But that smile turned downright delighted when she saw Bette.
“Good god, girl,” the woman said, advancing on us. “You were in just yesterday! I don’t have anything new yet.”
Bette gave the woman a sisterly hug.
What the…
Did she hug everyone? Was I the only friend she didn’t hug?
Miserable, I stood there and waited for them to disengage, and to stop giggling like school girls.
Was it me, or had everyone fallen back into puberty?
“It’s not for me,” Bette explained as she turned and looked to me. The woman turned and gazed at me too.
Oh no, not again…
I closed my eyes, not wanting to see a reenactment of the looks she and Darla had given me only minutes before.
“I see,” the woman said gravely.
“And Mona,” Bette said conspiratorially, “she has to be jaw dropping in three days.”
Jaw dropping? No matter what they did to me, I didn’t think they’d ever get “jaw dropping” out of me.
“I was thinking maybe that little Prada dress you had in the back,” Bette said.
“Ah… the black one with the beaded bodice?” Mona replied.
“That’s the one.”
I heard her tsk tsk. “Maybe, maybe… but I have a few other dresses you might want to see her in as well. I’m just not sure the color will go with her complexion, and I think the effect to her figure would be… unfortunate.”
Unfortunate? Dear god in heaven, get me though this.
Just then Darla came in, a bottle of ginger ale in her hand. I took it gratefully and twisted off the cap, chugging three mouthfuls before Bette admonished, “Sip it sweetie, we don’t want to reenact that scene from Bridesmaids.
The three women chuckled. I glared at them and took another sip.
What happened next was a whirlwind of motion, pulling, yelping (on my part) and the stripping off of my clothes. Between Bette and Darla being in the changing room with me, and Mona passing dress after dress over the door, it felt like I was a car in a NASCAR pit, getting my wheels and oil changed, my windows cleaned, and my gas tank filled.
I freaking hated it.
I would no sooner get a glimpse of the dress I was about to try on when they’d fling it on over my head, or make me jump into it like some sort of trained dog. Then the two would take all of five seconds to appraise me in the new frock before declaring “All wrong for you,” “Too long,” “I can almost see her va-jay-jay,” “She doesn’t have enough up top to hold it up,” or “Makes her look jaundiced.”
The little black number Bette had asked for came over the door. Bette and Darla just looked down at my hips, grabbed hold of me and started stripping it off. “You don’t want to know,” was all Bette said.
When a red velvet number came over the rampart I got excited. I loved red, and always equate red velvet gowns with Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman.
Unfortunately, when I was finally pushed and jerked and zipped into the thing Bette’s eyes flared to life, but Darla shook her head.
Indecision?
“She looks fantastic,” Bette stage whispered.
“She looks like a big ‘ho,” Darla said flatly.
Oh boy, I had to see this. I’d never came close to looking like a ‘ho before, not to mention a big one.
I pushed past them and out the door to the mirrored area. Why they didn’t have a mirror in the dressing rooms was beyond me. Maybe in boutiques they wanted to sell you on how you looked before you could decide for yourself?
I didn’t get more than a couple steps out of the stall when I got a long, really good look at myself in the mirror.
Mary, mother of god. I really did look like a ‘ho. A saloon prostitute ready to pour you a drink while we haggled over my price.
I turned and stepped back into the stall.
“Told you,” Darla said.
“I still like it on her.”
I closed my eyes and wished to god, the Virgin Mary, and Saint Jude, the patron saint of lost causes, to let the next dress be the one, so I could get the hell out of there!
“Just get the thing off me, please!”
There was a moment of hushed silence, and then their indelicate hands were on me once more, and within seconds I was out of the dress.
There was a long pause before Mona cleared her throat and handed over a long, silky brown dress. Bette and Darla ooohed and ahhed.
“I hate brown,” I said. I’d hated brown since I was a little girl. My mother read somewhere that brown matched absolutely everything… so she bought me only brown clothing for nearly three years.
“This isn’t just brown!” Bette held the slinky gown up to the light.
Darla sighed. “This is a mix of dark and light chocolate with caramel threading.”
Sounded like a candy bar… which reminded me that I was hungry. I’d only eaten the zucchini bread Raphael had made. I’d eaten the entire loaf myself, but that had been hours ago.
I shook my head as my stomach growled and rumbled. “Fine, fine… get the damn thing on me so you can tell me how bad it looks!”
Darla pursed her pretty, unadorned lips. Bette tilted her head and shot me a Get a hold of yourself look.
“Sorry,” I mumbled.
Bette started taking the thing off the hanger, and Darla leaned in and whispered, “It’s fine. Shopping just isn’t your thing. We’ll try and get through this as fast as we can.”
That made my eyes bug out. Any faster and they might rip me out of my skin along with the next dress.
I tried to stay calm, to breathe slowly as they helped me step on into the surprisingly lightweight gown. And it did feel like heaven getting into it, all that silk sliding over my body.
It fit pretty well too, because I didn’t even have to exhale all my air out just to get the zipper to go up.
I turned around to the two women and they both had a quizzical look on their faces.
“Mona, darling…” Bette chimed.
The door to the changing room opened and Mona walked in. “Yes.”
“What is all of that?” Bette pointed up at my chest.
Mona leaned in and gently told Bette, “It comes with a built in bra.”
“Oh,” Bette and Darla said at once, and then reached out for me.
“Wait!” I screeched, holding out my hands to fend them off. “I can get it myself.”
I’d be damned if I was going to let them strip my bra off too. The way they whipped clothes on and off me I’d find out I was missing a nipple when I got home.
I turned around and reached back to unzipped the back of the dress, slid the silky straps off and let the dress slink down to my hips. Then I undid my front-loading, boring white bra and took it off. It was weird being naked on top, especially in front of other women. Even with my back to them.
Felt like freshman PE all over again.
I pulled the dress back up, slipping the straps onto my shoulders, and then zipped the dress up again.
I turned and held out my arms.
“Well?”
Darla gulped and held a hand over her mouth, holding back a laugh.
Bette just rolled her eyes and walked over, taking hold of the straps and brusquely rearranging my boobs.
“For crying out loud, Hope… you’d think you’ve never played with these suckers before!”
Played with them? I felt the blood rush to my face as I was sure I changed all kinds of shades of red.
Bette gave the straps another jiggle, and then, tongue bit between her teeth, she smooshed them up and together with her hands.
Oh god, she was playing with my boobs now…
Bette backed up and all three wo
men’s jaws dropped, expressions of awe and delight making their faces glow.
Okay, I had to see this.
I shouldered past them and out into the mirror room. I halted and stared at myself.
Wow…
I turned.
And wow…
I looked freaking gorgeous. The brown and caramel silk made my skin look cool and creamy, and the length made my hips look good, and my legs look long and elegant. Actually, the whole dress practically glistened with elegance.
And, oh jeez, look at my girls! They were lifted up and bunched into an alluring, creamy looking display of cleavage… that I never knew I had.
Bette whistled low. “I think I might just rethink my strictly dick-ly policy.”
I looked back at her, aghast.
She smiled wickedly. “Just kidding. I have my eye on a new prospect already.”
“You do look amazing,” Darla said, coming forward and giving my nearly bare shoulders a friendly squeeze, and then gave me a stern look. “Just don’t wear this get up anywhere near Drew. I don’t want him getting any ideas.”
“What?”
Darla’s smile matched Bette perfectly. She was messing with me.
I smiled back and then looked back to the looking glass.
“Girls, I can’t make any promises.”
They even scowled at me in unison.
“In this dress, men might just start following me around.” I tossed my head like a super model at a Sports Illustrated photo shoot. “I can’t be held accountable for what might happen.”
Bette caught on first and sneered at me. Darla glared and was about to say something when Bette reached over and touched her arm, and then rolled her eyes at me.
We all broke out into giggles and laughter as they helped me out of the dress. Modesty still made me turn my back until I had my bra on, but this time I wasn’t really nervous. I was giggling too much to be nervous.
Before we left we stopped and tried on a couple pairs of high heels, and found a pair that looked good, matched the dress, and didn’t make my feet feel like they were being bound like in imperialistic China.
The instant we walked out of the boutique and the afternoon baked San Antonio air hit us, my stomach roared like a caged beast ready to rip its way out of me to pounce on the next edible thing passing by.
“I’m starving!”
“Me too,” Darla cooed.
Bette shook her head. “That’s all you two do is eat. I have never seen two grown women put away as much food as you two.”
Darla raised an eyebrow. Damn, I wished I could do that!
“So you won’t be joining us as we raid the Sheetz Made to Order shop two blocks over?”
Bette eyed us for a beat. “I could eat a little something.”
Darla held up her hands in triumph—I snatched the car keys out of her hand.
“I’m driving.”
Chapter 11
Driving Bette’s luxury liner of a car was a new experience. It rode so smooth, its high horse power engine growled gamely as I took it up to the speed limit… and stayed there. But good god the bucket seats were comfy. It was way, way more comfortable than my couch.
Maybe I’d could troll a junk yard and find a Cadillac bucket seat and install it in my living room?
I ignored both Bette and Darla’s grousing that I drove like a grandma and that we were going to get pulled over by the police for GOING TOO SLOW!
I didn’t care. I’d driven all over San Antonio with these two speed demons driving me to nausea, it was my turn to drive!
We pulled into the Sheetz parking lot and the girls fell in behind me as I led the way in the building and up to the ordering stations. I knew exactly what I wanted and raced through the touch-screen menu.
Thirty seconds later I had an order slip for a six inch turkey sub with all the trimmings, an order of cheese sticks, and a medium frozen strawberry lemonade smoothie. I left Bette and Darla in the dust and headed for the registers to pay. There I hit traffic of the human variety: a line long enough to stretch to the doors.
The girls fell in behind me about thirty seconds later.
Drat…
We got through line without adding too much more to our orders… okay, I got a Milky Way and some gum. After the chocolate dress, who could blame me?
We swung around the corner to grab our hopefully not cold already bags of greasy, deliciousness and came right up behind a tall, dark, broad shouldered hunk-a-hunk of burning manhood standing at the pick-up counter.
I stopped to eye up the long lean, jean clad legs, and a wondrously firm butt. But then I noticed he had some tattoos on his arm… familiar tattoos…
Raphael Morales turned around with a frozen drink in his hand.
Oh crap!
He smiled down at me evilly, as if he knew exactly what I’d been doing and the lusty thoughts that had been going through my mind.
I looked down at the drink in his hand. Large, swirled with pink and orange and white, and topped off with whipped cream and… and sprinkles!
“Sprinkles?” I chided, and then fell into a slow belly laugh. Behind me Bette and Darla started to snicker and giggle along with me.
Raphael scowled, his dark eyes turning stormy. “It’s Birthday Cake.”
I couldn’t stop laughing long enough to say anything else.
Raphael’s broad shoulders tensed, as did his beautifully muscled arms, and he stalked on around us as we erupted into even louder peals of laughter.
It was just too damn funny.
That was until my gaze followed him out the front doors and to his shiny red sports car—a Barracuda… and one of his sisters sitting in the passenger seat. Stiffly he handed her the drink, which she immediately started to suck down.
He turned and glared at me, and I shrugged my shoulders.
Oops.
I turned back to the girls. They had already grabbed our bags of goodies and we headed out the doors to park our rumps at one of the little round metal tables with matching metal umbrellas over them. We made it outside just in time to wave goodbye to Raphael and his sister, and then to burst into even more laughter when Raphael shook his head and gunned his shiny sports car out of the parking lot.
Now that was worth all the trouble this day had wrought.
Then something occurred to me. What if I couldn’t find a date for the party?
After “Sprinkles” it might be kind of hard to get him to do anything for me.
And what about more zucchini bread? Or the banana nut bread he was baking for tomorrow?
Drat, drat, double drat.
***
Bette and Darla insisted we take a detour and make a quick stop at the Yanni-Fell Mall, right off the Route 88 expressway. They said I needed some nylons and sexy panties (I said I had plenty of panties, and they crooned in chorus, “Yeah, we saw!”) and some “natural looking cosmetics.
Since Bette’s last foray into “making me up” I wasn’t at all gung ho at the prospect. But Darla had said she’d apply the makeup. I wasn’t sure she even knew how to use make up. The teenaged beauty queen never wore any… didn’t need any.
The mall was packed; all those who didn’t want to melt from the heat were out at the mall. I didn’t care if my central air didn’t work, I’d rather be at home. We went in the west entrance, by the movie theater. It was the least packed parking lot, seeing as matinees weren’t all that popular on a weekday.
Bette and Darla took off at a manic pace—I guess the thrill of so many shopping potentials gave them a boost of adrenaline. Me, I barely kept up. Thank god Victoria’s Secret was so close to that entrance, or I might’ve pulled something keeping up.
I’d never been in a Victoria’s Secret store before. I didn’t know what I had expected, but what I got was this: perfume and body washes displayed in front, on the back walls, on the counters, in the front windows, on the registers, and hanging from the sales racks. Oh, and there were flimsy little silk and velvet and lace doohick
eys suspended from tiny little plastic hangers on those sales racks.
I blinked a few times before I realized it was all lingerie. Every stinking bit off it was sexy barely-there teddies, barely there undies, almost nonexistent bras, and itty-bitty lace garter belts and… even less there thongs…
Oh, and toward the back were some super short silk and lace robes that didn’t really cover anything up. But I guess if you were going to put on a little show for whoever it was you were buying the miniscule outfit for, you’d want some kind of opening act.
Lord almighty, I was so never going to buy any of this stuff. I was ready to die from embarrassment just standing there.
“Hope!” Bette called out over the racks of lace doilies. She waved a hand at me to catch up. They were back by one of the checkout counters. I gulped and looked around. The place was teeming with shoppers… and not all of them were women. There were about a half dozen red faced men angling uncomfortably through the racks of stripper wear.
I moved stiffly through the crowd to the back where Bette and Darla stood staring down at what was in the glass countered case.
“There are a lot of men in here,” I whispered to Bette.
“Yeah, they’re a bunch of dopes,” Bette chortled.
Darla giggled.
“What do you mean?” I said.
She looked up and around at the scattered men. “These men don’t get it. You don’t buy a woman lingerie as a present. You let a woman buy her own.”
“Yep,” Darla intoned. “When a guy buys you something slutty to wear, it’s a present for him, not you.”
Oh-h-h-h…
I turned and looked down at what was in the glass case… and blinked.
Okay, granted I’m not the most sexually daring woman on the planet, or the most worldly of shoppers, but I just didn’t get it. There were some almost there panties (that vibrated, or so it said on the box); a pink something or other that looked like it had rabbit ears (that guaranteed a woman’s pleasure); and some “self heating” lubricants (to enhance your lovemaking).
I felt the blood flood to my face.
“What do ya say,” Bette said, nudging me with an elbow. “Maybe you would be a little more relaxed if you got yourself one of those?”
