by Margot Fox
Grant… Did he ever show?
The thoughts just wouldn’t come together. Pieces floated to the surface like the shapes inside a Magic 8-Ball, only to sink again in the murk of her hangover.
Tesa groaned and resolved to think more later. This was exhausting, frustrating. Her body was screaming at her to just lie back down, but she didn’t even know what time it was. She didn’t want to waste a whole day, and eventually she would have to go back to work.
So where was that thong? Maybe just a skirt and shirt? Something to cover herself?
She wobbled her hips and butt against the sheets. They felt extraordinarily good, she had to admit. Smooth and slick, almost buttery like satin. Tesa smiled, despite herself.
Oooh, slippery sheets on my girl parts, yum, she thought. Whoo.
She stretched out her hands, sliding her fingers along the cool, luscious fabric. The deep pink nearly matched the color of her nail polish.
She jumped out of bed and spun around, panicked. Deep pink? Those weren’t the sheets on Grant’s bed. She shaded her eyes against the glare and looked around the room frantically. Nothing looked familiar. Not the enormous bed, the high ceilings, the luxe furnishings. This was not Grant’s room.
Suddenly filled with energy, Tesa searched for her missing things. She held her forehead with one hand as she leaned over carefully to scope around the bed. Nothing appeared on the expanse of luxurious, cream-colored shag.
“Hello?” she called out, to see if there was someone there with her.
No answer. Good. She was alone.
The adrenaline instantly cleared her head, though she could feel nausea rising in her throat as her heart pounded. She stood still and tried to breathe deeply, calmly. She counted to ten until her head started to clear and she could think.
Where the hell am I?
Her eyes swept from corner to corner, drinking in everything at once. The room was enormous, that was certain. This was definitely not Grant’s little apartment by the motor lodge. The windows reached up to the ceiling, which had to be fifteen feet high. The curtains were made of ornate gold brocade with white sheers cutting out much of the glaring sunlight.
The bed took up most of one side and a huge painting of a wooded scene decorated the wall behind it. There were doors on that side of the room, and another on the wall that faced it. A small, gleaming wooden table with a silver setting on it sat under the window, and a long velvet chaise decorated the other wall near a huge wardrobe and matching bureau.
Mirrors and paintings were densely hung, one over another all the way up to the ceiling, covering the smooth silk wallpaper. Small paintings, large portraits. Each looked older than the last.
The topper was a reclining… creature near the ceiling. A long, red form stretched out on a white bed, gazing over one shoulder. It looked like the usual sort of nude painting you would see in an art museum, but the figure’s skin was scaly, flayed. Crooked horns twisted back from its wrinkled forehead as it peered into the room where Tesa stood.
“Who designed this place,” she muttered aloud, “Morticia Addams?”
Dropping to her hands and knees, Tesa searched under the king-sized bed for her clothes, which is where she usually found them on mornings like this. No dice. She sat back on her heels and chewed her lip fretfully.
Across the room, she caught sight of herself in a full-length mirror in the corner. She looked tiny next to the four-poster canopied bed. Frail, skinny. Her hair stood out all over her head, making her look like the runaway she kept trying to pretend she wasn’t.
She stood and advanced to the mirror, standing up straight, trying to saunter like Bernie. Bernie was full and luscious, with a foul mouth and shoveled-on makeup. She was decadent in every way. Bossy. Self-assured. Tesa both admired her and felt like a runt in her presence.
“What are you lookin’ at?” she said with a sneer, to the mirror.
Her reflection stared back at her and said nothing. Long legs. Narrow waist. Tiny tits. She frowned.
She used to look so much better, back when Roger bought the groceries. She had the cutest little potbelly, he used to say. She had boobs back then too. Cleavage, even. Now she was like the peach you would skip at the fruit stand, she thought. Scrawny.
Roger . He shimmered in her memory like a reflection in a pool of water, disturbed by a rock thrown in. Roger. Roger that. Rodger dodger. He barely seemed real anymore.
She tried to remember the potbelly he had praised. Tried to remember his voice. It all seemed to warp and distort, replaced by the meager torso she saw in the mirror now, with blue veins and hipbones that thrust against her skin like submerged, angry thumbs.
Frustrated, she turned away. She didn’t want to look at the shifting imagery of her body or think about the past, the present, or the future. Everything felt untethered, like a bunch of balloons set afloat that couldn’t quite rise to the sky and had to drag along at hip-level instead.
What now? She asked herself. Sleep? Escape? Is someone else here?
Next to the mirror, a tall wooden wardrobe stood with carved pilasters and golden handles. It was as wide as her arms outstretched. She’d never send anything like it. A walk-in closet was the limit of luxury in her imagination, but this was something else entirely.
Tesa stared at it thoughtfully and dug her bare toes into the fluffy carpet. Should she?
Her fingers reached out to the handle, then withdrew. Even though she was fairly certain she was alone, it just seemed wrong to go poking through someone else’s things.
But what if my clothes are in there? a voice in her head asked.
Good point, another voice answered.
She grasped the gold handle and pulled… and gasped. The left side of the wardrobe was filled to bursting with a lush selection of dresses hanging from padded hangers. Patterns, florals, stripes. Velvet gowns and light-as-air swing dresses. Her fingers strummed the selection like a guitar.
Everything had a price tag on it. A few numbers caught her eye as the tags fluttered. $1,600… $2,300… $625… A low whistle escaped her lips.
The right side of the wardrobe was comprised of drawers of various sizes. She tentatively opened one — white silk nightgowns, a whole pile of them. Another, smaller drawer — a stack of panties in a rainbow of hues, arranged by colors. Another held brassieres, all size 32 A.
“Okay, that’s a little odd,” she mumbled. She riffled through the exposed tags again, checking for sizes. Size 2, size 4…
Whoever lived in this room was exactly her size. And female.
Tesa tried to turn her gaze back to the night before, but it felt like there was a brick wall installed in her brain, right where her memories should be. Could she have gone home with a woman?
Could this be Yvonne’s place? She had been showing up at the bar quite a lot, sitting near the taps, ordering whiskey upon whiskey, leaving $100 bills for $20 tabs. She wore several gold chains and had something done to her hair that just said money . Poor people do not have that kind of hair.
Tesa assumed Yvonne was looking for a biker to slum with, but she had always been partial to Bernie too. She’d seen them leave together at closing time more than once.
But no… Yvonne was about the same size as Bernie. Not a size two or a four…
Tesa stepped to the bureau, opening drawers that rolled smoothly on their tracks. The bottom drawer was neatly folded jeans, with shorts above that, and two drawers of t-shirts and tanks above that. Smiling in spite of herself, she took a salmon-colored silk tank that she’d just seen in a check-out aisle magazine article about What To Wear To Brunch . She held it up. She sighed. Whoever this was, she had great taste.
Finally, she looked around the room again. “Welp, it’s been fun touching all your stuff!” she said aloud, saluting the silent room. “Time to hit the road.”
She turned and stared at the tank, crumpled atop the open drawer. Nobody had even worn this stuff. It all still had prices on it.
And she couldn’t very
well walk out the front door naked, right?
Solemnly promising the ceiling that she would return the outfit, Tesa snatched the tank and a pair of jeans from the bottom drawer, then selected some violet panties from the wardrobe and padded barefoot back to the bed. No shoes but… she would live without them.
“I would prefer you didn’t,” came a low voice from the corner.
Tesa jumped and then crouched, crawling around the corner of the bed. Her hands flew up reflexively to her crotch and chest to cover herself.
“Ahhhhm!” she called out, cringing. “I’m sorry! I didn’t think anyone was home!”
“No one else is here,” the voice said smoothly.
She wracked her memory — was the voice familiar? She couldn’t be sure. The brick wall in her brain refused to budge.
She could hear him moving and stayed low, hiding behind the bed. Did she sleep with him?
Shit, girl, of course you did. Why else would you be here?
“I wasn’t going to take the clothes!” she called out defensively, still hiding and feeling ridiculous. “I just… um… Yeah, I’m having a little trouble getting my brain to work this morning.”
“Completely understandable,” she could hear him murmur. The sound carried right across the room and landed softly on her shoulder, as though he had sent it there specifically.
Okay, okay, hold it together! she scolded herself. This is not the first strange bedroom you’ve ever woken up in. Find your dignity and hit the road!
“Have you seen my clothes?” she asked hopefully, hiding from the man who strolled slowly along one wall.
No answer. Tesa reminded herself firmly to calm down and scooted to the end of the bed. A tall man was standing in front of the wardrobe with his hands on his hips. His weight was cast to one side like a Greek statue. His shirt stretched across broad shoulders, and Tesa could see the outlines of his muscles move as he reached out. The linen trousers he wore hugged his narrow hips and then draped elegantly to the floor.
Could I possibly have bagged a millionaire? Tesa thought breathlessly.
She glanced around the room. Everything said wealth . Old money. The paintings, the antiques, the enormous size of everything… Even the sheets that didn’t feel like they just came off a roll of paper towel.
She watched him run his fingers thoughtfully across the hanging garments. Were those his sister’s things? Girlfriend? Wife? Ex-wife? Deceased wife?
Millionaire seems too small for this kind of luxury. Could I possibly have bagged a billionaire? A widow billionaire?? her brain wondered, drunk with hope for a moment. Then the nausea returned in a sudden wave and she moaned quietly.
Oh, please don’t throw up. Please don’t throw up.
“Tesa?” the man asked, his voice full of concern. In a moment he was at her side, smoothing her hair. A chill racked her body and she shivered, crouched and shuddering.
She squeezed her eyes shut tightly and willed herself to get it together. How would this look? Some strange, naked girl throwing up behind some billionaire’s four-poster bed?
Please, Tesa, she begged herself, act like you have some class!
She fought the nausea back down and managed a weak smile. Squinting slightly, she tried to look up at him with her most endearing and apologetic smile.
“Good morning,” she said with a humble giggle, tugging at the corner of the duvet and trying to cover herself with it. “So, are my clothes… um… around here? Somewhere?”
He looked her over, concern knitting his brows. “Are you all right? Can I get you something?”
“Oh I’m okay!” she said with as much gusto as she could put together. “I’m just… Um… My clothes?”
He gave her a small smile and averted his eyes politely. “Well, they’re here somewhere, I’m sure. The housekeeper probably took them for cleaning. We arrived… late.”
Tesa rolled her eyes and looked away. Nice, she thought. Stay classy, girl.
“I just… Well, could I just borrow something? And what time is it? I should probably get going… I have errands… work…”
He rose again and walked to the wardrobe, pulling a long white gown from one of the drawers.
“You should probably eat something,” he murmured with concern. “Maybe coffee?”
He walked over and handed her the gown, then looked away discreetly as she stood and slipped it over her head. It fell smoothly over her naked body and hugged her in every place it should, like it was made just for her. She ran her hands over her waist and hips happily, amazed at the differences between the nylon gown she picked up at the thrift store and this.
This was… well, this was lush.
Tesa snuck a glance at herself in the mirror. No longer just a cornered alleycat, in her estimation. The gown seemed to transform her. Her curves looked more womanly. Her long legs looked stately. Her hair — oh God, that was still a tragedy.
“Um,” she said brightly, “coffee. Yes. Is there any way… ah… is there a bathroom? Maybe a toothbrush?”
The man chuckled and glanced at her. She felt his eyes flit over her body appreciatively, then he quickly looked away again. “Yes, of course,” he said. “There’s a bath just through that doorway.”
He raised an arm to gesture at one of the doors at the side of the bed. She followed the motion of his hand, enthralled by the elegance of his muscles.
“When you’re done, would you meet me at the bottom of the stairs?”
His voice sounded hopeful, and his eyes found hers for a moment. Copper-colored eyes, she saw, with thick lashes shadowing them. He still looked concerned, and her heart melted slightly. Something about the way he looked at her seemed… Familiar? But no. The thought evaporated like fog almost immediately.
“I’d love to,” she said shrugging off her confusion and nodding. Coffee might be just the thing. “Just give me a quick second.”
He smiled charmingly and left the room, leaving her to search out the bathroom. She spied the door he had indicated in the corner by the head of the bed. Her stomach rumbled ominously and she warned it silently, Do not screw this up.
In the bathroom — more miracles. For a few seconds she just stood in the doorway and stared at it. It was as big as Grant’s whole living room, but not carpeted in thread-worn shag and painted burnt orange…
The whole room was pale ivory marble from floor to ceiling. A crystal chandelier hung in the center over a sunken bathtub that was so big it had stairs on one end leading down into its depths. A slow drip of water was ringing out somewhere, echoing across the cool tiles.
Tesa stepped forward, her toes finding the fluffy white rug. Along one wall there was an antique bureau with a marble top. The sinks were two hammered silver bowls atop it. A huge mirror covered the wall behind it. Carved wooden cabinets stood on either side and she could see the vague outline of stacks of fluffy white towels behind the decoratively screened doors.
She stepped in front of the sink gingerly. She wanted to touch everything — to open every faucet, turn on every light. She wanted to run every towel across her naked skin.
Why did she feel like she had to hurry? She wanted to go downstairs and talk to that handsome man, but she reeeeeeally wanted to take a bath in that swimming pool-sized tub. Or take a shower in the glass enclosure in the corner? Maybe both?
Chewing her lip, Tesa began opening drawers under the sink. Each was stocked with more tubes, bottles, and handmade-paper-wrapped bars than the last. Each drawer opened with an invisible cloud of perfume and herb scents that wafted up to her nose like a cloud.
She couldn’t help but giggle with glee. All her life she had loved all the shiny, pretty things you found in a lady’s — a real lady’s — bathroom. Vials of magical potions. Tubes of secret scents. Tools to slough, scrub, and perfect every inch of a woman’s body.
But this place… It was like a whole department store whittled down to just the most exclusive, the most precious selection.
Another drawer held an ass
ortment of combs and brushes, and she grabbed a couple, thinking it was time to do war with whatever was happening with her hair. She laid them on the marble countertop and listened with delight to the sound as it echoed off of every surface.
There were two more drawers… should she save them for later? Well… what if she was never invited back?
Tesa stepped to the cabinet on the right, savoring the anticipation. She reached out to the handle — an apparently hand-crafted, wooden lion’s paw — and pulled gently. The drawer slid open soundlessly. It was lined in a white resin grid and filled with neat rows of every shade of lipstick she had ever seen. Round pots of eye liner cream and eye shadow, pencils, and brushes of all sorts.
The drawer above it held more of the same: tubes of mascara, arranged by color. Liner pencils, tubes of concealer creams… Every powder, cream, and lotion she had ever tried, or ached to try... Things she had stared at in the store, seething with desire to shoplift but afraid to get caught…
“It’s just makeup, calm down!” she scolded herself.
But the ache was real. These tiny magical tubes had held her in awe since she was a little girl. Watching her mother stare into the mirror, applying layer after thoughtful layer to her beautiful skin... The memory filled her with longing for her childhood home.
When she was very good, her mother would let her hold the fluffy brushes until they were needed. Tesa remembered her lining her lips with pencil, then filling the shapes with thick magenta gloss that looked like blood. She looked like a movie poster, Tesa always thought… So much larger than life…
She shook her head. That was then, she reminded herself. Whatever now was — whatever this house was — she had to get herself together in a hurry and make a good impression if she had any chance to be a part of it.
And she found she did really want to be a part of it. Irrationally, all these shiny baubles had her a little bit enchanted, if she was honest about it. It would be such a pity to never get to touch all these things again.
