If the Dress Fits

by Carla de Guzman

  God, even his name is so cool. He and I were orgmates in college, both of us sharing a passion for musical theatre. I was usually relegated to the chorus because there weren't a lot of characters for my body type, but Enzo was always, always cast as the leading man. He had the most handsome face, with a sharp angled chin and a straight, pointed nose. His eyes were on the small, chinky side, but his grin was so sexy I swear to God it made a girl faint once.

  Then there was his hair. It was always perfectly styled, like he had been cast in a shampoo commercial. He wasn’t the tallest guy in the room, but he just filled it with such energy that everyone was drawn to him like moons to a planet.

  Exhibit A, me, quite possibly the biggest moon there was.

  I took small, quick breaths as I neared the room. The clients were already starting to notice me, as people usually did from a mile away.

  Keep calm, keep calm. Martha Aguas, get your head together! It’s no big deal. It’s just Enzo. You haven’t spoken to him in years, and you haven’t heard from him since…since…

  "Hello," I managed to say, peeking into the conference room. I looked at Shelly, the finance officer, first. It was important that I recognized her as the one conducting the meeting. ”Hey Shell, I’m really sorry. Mindy asked me to step in. Is there anything I can do?”

  "Oh yes," Shelly said, and I could tell from the look she gave me that she actually meant to say "oh yes!" She immediately ushered me in, even when all I wanted to do was hide away and blush. My heart simply refused to calm down.

  "Martha," A familiar voice said from the opposite side of the room. "Nice to see you again."

  I refocused and smiled before I could register who it was. But when I saw her, my grin only got wider.

  "Ava!" I said, crossing the room to buss my friend's cheek. "You're back from Bali! Did you get to stay in that place in Seminyak?"

  Ava Bonifacio was one of my classmates in college, and one of the smartest people I knew. She was the lady with a plan, working as a paralegal for the law firm that referred clients to our company. About a week ago she'd called me in a panic, asking if I knew any decent place in Bali to stay. I hadn't even known that she was on vacation. I immediately noticed that she was much tanner now, and one of her buttons were undone. I had never seen her like that before.

  "Oh, no, I ended up staying in Sudamala," she said. Was she...oh my, she was actually blushing. What on earth happened to her in Bali?

  "We'll talk about it later," she said to me.

  "Gotcha," I said, winking at her. We sometimes met up for dinner when she was free, and I didn't mind that we talked mostly about work. Something was different now, though. I wondered what it was. I turned to the other people in the room.

  As with most business meetings, everyone stood up when I crossed the room to say hi to Ava. She took over the introductions as I shook hands and smiled at unfamiliar faces. Enzo was sitting at the back, so we weren’t introduced. But I did throw him a tiny, knowing smile. I wondered if he recognized me. Did he work with Ava? Was he the reason for her tan skin and undone button?

  I smiled at the group. I was practiced in the art of acting like I didn’t see him, and the practice was put to excellent use now. It was totally possible that he had no idea who I was--I mean, in every sense of the term, I was just a background character to him.

  "Gentlemen," Ava said, addressing the group. For the benefit of those who I hadn't met before, she must have felt an introduction was proper. "This is Martha Aguas.”

  Eyes widened at Ava's revelation. Interestingly enough, the company name was right behind my head, so the connection was quickly made. I worked at Aguas, Gatchalian & Partners, CPAs, which just so happened to be my father’s company.

  "Oh, you're Philip's daughter!" Frank, our client, exclaimed, extending his hand for me to shake again. I had already met him last week when he was first introduced to my father, and I actually arranged this meeting for him. "You introduced yourself as his assistant at the meeting last time, I had no idea."

  I smiled and got ready to launch into my usual joke. I liked diffusing my self-imposed tensions with a joke.

  "Well if he had his way he would introduce me as his little dumpling," I joked, chuckling.

  "Ah yes, of course of course!" Frank laughed, nodding his agreement. Then he looked me up and down, taking in every bit of me. I assumed that he was trying to find similarities between myself and my father, surprising everyone in the room when he exhaled and said. "You're such a…healthy young lady! Your father must work a lot to feed you, eh?"

  The room burst into polite laughter, and I tried, I really tried not to let it get to me. This wasn't exactly the first time a client made unsolicited comments about my weight. I was a professional, after all. I swallowed down the flash of annoyance, my embarrassment, and pride before I gave the richest, rudest man in the room a smile. I saw Ava flinch for me in the corner, but maintained the smile.

  “Hm. Is there anything I can help you with?" I asked instead, shrugging it off. I was under no illusion that I was the sexiest woman in the room, but that didn't give anyone the right to speak to me that way. Through experience, I’ve learned that these incidents were best swept under the rug before they became a big deal. While insensitive comments hurt, it was better not to say anything, just so the person who said them didn’t feel like I thought they were funny, clever, or cool.

  At least that was what I said when I was at work.

  "Yes, your retainer," Frank's assistant spoke up, brandishing the statement Shelley had my father approve yesterday. “Quite frankly, it’s a bit too expensive for us, if it’s just consulting and auditing. We’re getting our own accountants, our own books.”

  “Oh, of course,” I said. “May I see the retainer agreement?”

  The agreement was passed to me, and I quickly scanned the terms and fees Shelly prepared. I didn’t need to see it, really. I came here with the express purpose of explaining why we couldn't give them a discount. My father liked to think that once you gave in, they would always ask, and lower the value of our advice. It wasn’t because the guy basically made a sexist fat joke directed at me.

  “I’m really sorry, Frank,” I said with a tiny sigh. “This agreement is pretty standard for clients. I can assure you that the prices will be the same for any other firm of good standards. Now if you could excuse me, gentlemen, I need to go back to the office. Ava, I'll see you later?”

  "I'll text you," she said, already texting me an apology with her free hand.

  I walked out of the conference with a confident smile, almost completely forgetting that Enzo was there, and craving a large peppermint milk tea in the middle of my rage.

  Ava: I’m sorry about them. Let’s have dinner and I can charge it to them

  I snorted. Ava was so straight-laced, just the suggestion of her charging a client for a casual dinner was hilarious. I headed straight for the milk tea place downstairs while responding to her text and gave in, sipping boba from their largest cup like a vacuum. I tried calling Max, but all I got back was him yelling ‘OH GOD IS THAT THE LEGS’ before he accidentally hung up.

  Ava: Hope you're not too upset.

  Of course I was livid, and I was hurt. Sometimes people just say things to you without really thinking about how that affected you, and this was how Frank had affected me. The sweet, slightly minty milk tea filled something inside me that had been drained out at his little joke. Like I was building my bravery and confidence reserve again. It felt satisfying, even if at the back of my mind I knew that it was only temporary.

  “May I join you?” A voice asked.

  "Sure, whatever," I said dismissively, looking away.

  "Martha?"

  "What," I said, still not looking.

  "Ah. So it is you," the voice said, and realization slowly started to dawn on me. I turned my head, inch by inch, daring myself not to hope that I was right. "I wasn't sure, I didn’t think...You don't remember me, do you?"

  It was him, rea
lly him! All five feet six inches of him, with the same smile and the same floppy black hair. Enzo sat across from me, and if I was brave I could reach out with my hand and touch his with minimal effort. He'd loosened his tie at some point, which made him more real, and more like his old self. I smiled.

  “Oh come on, Enzo,” I said nonchalantly. “Would I forget you?”

  Saying his name felt special, like a secret that I'd been keeping to myself for so long. I didn't even realize how hard I had crushed on him until that moment. He smiled, and all was right in the world again. His hand, which was resting on the small linoleum table, flexed slightly. I had a sudden flash of memory about that hand on my body, its warmth making me shiver. I never forgot the way that hand molded my flesh beneath it, while his lips touched mine. It was ages ago, and I shouldn’t be having these hot memory flashes, but there they were, fresh like they were made yesterday.

  "Martha," He said, suddenly serious. "I'm really sorry about Frank. I don't exactly work for him because of his tact."

  "It's okay," I said, finally turning to face him, my milk tea cup completely empty. "I wouldn't last long in my job if I let things like that get to me." I guiltily tossed the cup to the trash can. If I was going to make polite conversation with an old crush (and I knew he was much more than that), I was going to do it right and take control of the conversation. "So you work with Ava?"

  He didn't miss a beat. "No, I'm Frank's local liaison, a fancy term for the guy that introduces him to other guys and makes things happen. I saw Ava's posts on Facebook and remembered she worked at a law firm, which led me here."

  "Ah," I said, not even asking how he knew Ava. We were all from the same university anyway, it was a small world. "So aside from working for a startup, how are you? I think the last time I saw you was..."

  I thought back to the last time I saw him, and my heart clenched involuntarily in my chest. The last time I saw him was at the cast party for the university production of Hairspray, the only play I was chosen to be principal in, because I was a senior and the only one that fit the big and beautiful Tracy Turnblad body type. Enzo was naturally cast as my Link Larkin.

  I didn't really approach him before, dismissing him as a handsome, douchebag type that boys from his high school usually were, but he proved me wrong. He started making jokes, singing really obscure theatre songs for sound check, running lines and steps with me, helping me out when I got lost.

  By opening night I was so in love with him that the director told me to “save my googley love eyes for the next show." Things didn't really escalate between us until the night of the cast party, when he announced he was flying to London to go to drama school.

  At the office cafeteria, I saw him swallow thickly, his other thumb tucked lightly into his belt to adjust it. I knew he was thinking about that night too.

  My friends had been getting boyfriends and losing their virginity left and right. He was leaving, I was probably never going to see him again, so I took a deep breath, looked at Enzo and said, "listen, everyone’s doing it, and I just want to get it over and done with, so can we?”

  Miraculously, he’d agreed. So while everyone got drunk at the cast party, he and I engaged in very awkward (and I’m talking teeth smashing, “where is that supposed to go” and a lot of drunk giggling) but very safe sex.

  It was my first, and his too. My desire to jump over this particular milestone was so insistent that I barely remembered how the act itself felt. I mostly remembered him, the way he wanted me to slow down, how his hands fumbled over the condom. I remembered him kissing me. Him smiling when I could not stop telling him how he was making me feel.

  Lying in his bed afterward, both of us wide-eyed and panting like we couldn’t believe it, I didn’t feel much of the satisfaction I hoped I would feel. I knew it wasn’t going to go beyond that night, and it broke my heart worse than his rejection would have.

  So while he was asleep, I kissed his cheek and wished him luck.

  Years later, he sat across me in a corporate building, looking so formal in his slacks and shirt, I wanted to take back asking him what happened.

  "The cast party for Hairspray," he suddenly said, like he didn’t remember what happened between us at all. "You were wearing a white dress with gold things on the sleeves," he demonstrated by waving his fingers over his taut shoulders.

  "You remember that?" I ask, taken aback.

  "Well...yeah," He said like it was no big deal at all. “I remember everything."

  For no apparent reason, my breath caught in my throat. I had no idea what to make of that, and for the second time that day, I was left reeling. His cell phone started to ring, and I didn't miss Frank's name flashing on the screen. He sighed and picked it up.

  "Hi, Frank," he said quickly, casting me a quick glance like I was being asked after. "I just stepped out. Yes I will meet you at the lobby. Five minutes? Okay."

  Then he hung up, his brows slightly furrowed in concern.

  "Trouble in paradise?" I asked, trying to be just a little bit more casual than I felt. Enzo gave a little laugh. You see, that was a casual office joke.

  "You could say that," He said. He reached over the table and looked right at my face. It was the same look he had on stage, when he was trying to make a girl fall in love with him. I wondered if he knew he was doing it.

  "Martha," he said, "I really want to catch up with you."

  I didn't know I was raising my eyebrows until he laughed.

  "I'm serious! Look, maybe we could exchange numbers?"

  A strange thrill ran through my body, from the tips of my toes to the ends of our almost touching fingers. Inside I was screaming, “Yes yes, a thousand times yes!” while my fingers were fumbling for my phone.

  We exchanged numbers, and he gave me a friendly kiss on the cheek.

  “You look fantastic by the way,” he said. “Did you lose weight?”

  “Ha-ha, very funny, Mister Charming,” I said, rolling my eyes at him. “Don’t you have a boss to attend to?”

  “Right, right. Sorry. Text me later?” He asked, and I nodded.

  A smile, a wave, a turn and then he was gone. I collapsed against the crappy plastic chair, almost forgetting to be careful in case it gave out. My cheeks were burning, my heart was hammering in my chest, and my fingers were shaking slightly. I felt like I'd swallowed a thousand butterflies brewing a storm in my sizeable stomach. I'd acted out this feeling so many times in college, but the actual emotion still caught me by surprise.

  It was plain, unadulterated kilig. It rose up like fizz in a soda can, the bubbles popping in my heart. But as soon as they did, my heart sank to the pit of my stomach.

  The last time I felt this way was years ago, when I lay in bed with Enzo and knew that I was in love with him, and he was never going to love me back.

  He was the last thing I needed right now, but I didn’t want to let him go.

  Three

  The next thing I knew, it was three weeks later, and the day of Tita Merry's screening for the Metropolitan Theatre. I skipped work that day to make sure everything was ready for the event.

  I had chosen Clue, an offbeat, slightly eccentric movie based on the board game, with a lot of fun alternate endings and a murder to boot. I'd spent the last three weeks getting costumes for Mrs. White, Miss Scarlett, Mrs. Peacock, Mr. Green, Colonel Mustard, etc., and picking out items that could have fit in scary old Boddy Mansion on a stormy night.

  We were holding the screening in one of the fancy theatres at one of the many malls in Manila. We built temporary dividers in the lobby to recreate the rooms in the game, and put in all the fun things in the room where people can play games, leave donations and generally have a great time.

  So I spent the last two nights making so much fake blood that my hands were still slightly red, even though I was not being paid for any of this. But anything for family, right?

  Before I descended into the chaos of the setup at the venue (I had to go earlier than planned because Tit
a Merry was incommunicado for some weird reason), I had breakfast at Max’s condo. As awesome as it was having him so close to my place, I hated going there. The buildings looked so alike I could hardly tell one apart from the other. And I say this only because I get lost each time I go. Sure he had all of these cool amenities and businesses close by and the lobby was worthy of a five-star hotel, but I just couldn’t imagine putting my life in a box that was exactly the same as everyone else’s.

  Plus, his hallway was just as impossible. The only way I knew which apartment was Max’s was because I tacked an old Grimace sticker to his door one day, and he never bothered to remove it. Thank god for purple amorphous beings from fast food joints.

  Max’s place had two main pieces of furniture. First was the floor to ceiling bookshelf he had specially made to house his collection. Second was his super cool, high tech sound system for all his music. Our best afternoons were spent in his house, listening to music with the dogs on our laps while Max read and I tripped over the books he forgot to put away.

  Like right now, when I knocked over a pile of books trying to get to his closet. He never seemed to mind, but I did. There’s nothing like having a 50-inch waist and having to wriggle through tight spaces to make you uncomfortable. We were listening to Trainman, which is at the top of Max’s favourite bands. He loved their music so much that we actually flew to Japan once for a music festival just to see them perform.

  “Max, how do you ever get girls in here?” I exclaimed, nearly tripping over one of the many piles of books on the floor while Nevermind, his current favorite, played.

  We had just had breakfast at a pie place downstairs, and now I was trying to find him a nice shirt for the screening tonight. I don’t usually choose his clothes for him, but if I was going to throw Max into the firing squad (aka Tita Merry), he might as well be prepared. “You have books on every empty space on the floor!”

  “The women I take back to my condo are only interested in one piece of furniture,” Max pointed out, sitting on the floor with Wookie sprawled over his legs. He pursed his lips towards the surprisingly neatly-made bed, which made me roll my eyes and resume my trudge towards his closet.