by Pauline West
“Worry about what?”
“So let’s see… you’re built like a little minx, aren’t you? Long and lean. And what is the big event?” Chandler said, glancing over at Beren.
“The hottest date of her life,” Beren said.
“Oh, okay! That means we need you in something tight-tight, to bring out those curves.” Chandler headed smoothly towards a rack of dresses near the register, his glossy black jeans attractively tight against his long, coltish legs.
I trailed him shyly. “I don’t know if I have any- I mean, these? Are not curves. I’m hardly a B cup.”
“It’s all about the nipple and the shape, honey, not volume,” Chandler said, smiling over his narrow shoulder at me. “Just like a glass of champagne. Think of it like this: would you rather have the very best, or just a whole bunch of,” he waved his hand, “flippy-floppy, fizzless… volume?”
“Well, I never thought of it quite like… that…”
Like a couple of record aficionados, Beren and Chandler began carding through racks of clothes. It all would have looked right at home on somebody like Hazel. But clearly I was a lost cause- now and again they’d glance over at me, holding up a dress. Then they’d shake their head and put it back.
I was hopeless. Soccer mom for life.
I wandered over to the wall, admiring a display of tan dresses posed beautifully on mannikins. Each was accessorized with tortoiseshell sunglasses, a python purse, and strappy python heels.
I don’t like to feel vulnerable, so I’ve always been uncomfortable wearing tight dresses and high heels. But this color combination looked cool, ever so slightly bitchy, and effortless. I loved it in spite of my wallflower sensibilities, and tucked the color story away in my mind.
Wondering how Hazel was doing, I tugged out my phone and texted her.
“Hey bae,” I wrote, “how you feeling today?”
“so much better!” Hazel typed back instantly. “how was your shift?”
“hot ;)” I said, flushing a little. I could tell her the rest later.
“thought so… getting pretty hot over here too. that guy, Roger? we’re hanging out again. he said he’s sorry. he’s soo sexy, Lily!”
Right.
It’s her business, I thought, putting my phone back into my purse.
But then I heard my stepdad’s voice in my head. I knew just what Steve would say if he were here with me right now. “Lily, most people need acceptance more than they need advice.”
I tugged my phone out again. “Coffee tomorrow?” I wrote back. “Want to hear all about it!”
“Yes!” Hazel rounded off her text with a bunch of smilie kiss-faces, and then the ‘typing’ bubble disappeared from my phone.
Feeling better now that Hazel felt better, I dropped my phone back into my purse. I looked up and saw Beren and Chandler were laughing, having a ball. From the way Beren’s eyes lingered on Chandler’s face whenever he thought the younger man wasn’t looking, I realized why we’d come. Hmm. But it wasn’t like Beren to be shy...
I caught them glancing at me again. “You guys look at me like I’m raw material or something,” I said, smiling.
“Darlin, don’t take this the wrong way, but in the right hands everyone is just raw material,” Chandler said, happily. “There are cotton people and linen people and leather people and people who are just mud. But you, sweetheart, you are the finest velvet.” Realizing he’d been gushing, he peered down into the racks of clothing, embarrassed. “Anyone ever told you that?”
I warmed. “Thanks,” I said.
“Everything's already there,” Chandler murmured, almost as if he were talking to himself. “You’ve got the look, the walk, the coloring. My job is just to help you show it off.”
You could tell he was a true aesthetic. Chandler wasn’t out to please a soul. Anybody could see he thought of life itself as a work of art. Chandler would shudder at the very idea of saying anything he didn’t believe was true. His compliment meant so much to me that I glanced down at the floor.
“All right, honey, try these on,” Chandler said, handing me a small stack. Each dress was so tiny that the whole stack couldn’t have weighed much more than a sub sandwich. “And come out and show them to us!”
“Shake what your mama gave you!” Beren said.
“Yeah right,” I said. I slipped into the dressing room.
“What’s Lily’s heritage?” I heard Chandler say to Beren, quietly. “I can see the Japanese, maybe some Native American.”
“A little French Creole too, they think,” Beren said. “She’s adopted.”
“My, my. French velvet, to be sure,” Chandler said. Then their voices dropped, and I could only hear a soft murmuring. I took my time trying on the dresses.
The first dress was too tight. The second was too short.
But the third was perfect. I stood there stunned, as if my reflection had morphed into a stranger’s. It was the kind of dress I would never have picked out for myself, but I had to admit it looked as if it were tailor-made for me.
It was scandalously simple. The slinky ivory material cast a candle-lit quality over my tan, and the top half of the dress had criss-cross straps with an O-ring detail just above my breast bone. You couldn’t see any cleavage, because I didn’t have any, but that little glimpse of skin was better than jewelry.
Best of all, there was a cut out detail beneath the O-ring that showed off my waist, too. I’ve always had a skinny little-kid build, but The Dress gave me curves I didn’t know I even had.
Best of all, it felt wonderful. It was cool and light and silky against my skin, as if I were moving shoulder deep into a pool.
“Lily, what are you doing in there? Come on and show us, we’re dying!” Beren said.
I stepped out slowly and did an embarrassed whirl for them in front of the dressing room curtains. Beren and Chandler’s eyebrows shot up like roller coaster cars.
“Is it okay?” I said.
“Oh my god. Its destiny. I need a picture.” Chandler snapped a shot of me on his phone. “Okay, and you have a pair of stilettos? Red lipstick, your hair in a bun- and these-” he reached back to the counter and handed me a pair of heart-shaped aviator sunglasses. “Promise. Just try them on.”
“Oh, they’re cute!” I said. And they were. The dress was sizzlingly sexy, but matched with the carefree sunglasses, the outfit looked effortless.
“You’re adorable,” Chandler said. “Razor hot.” He smoothed my hair back behind my ear.
“This dress is incredible,” I marvelled. “I feel beautiful, but strong, too. Usually I don’t feel like myself in dresses, but it holds me in, and it still lets me move-”
“Have you ever modeled before?” he interrupted.
I shook my head. “Nah.”
“I think maybe I made that dress specifically for you,” Chandler said, suddenly shy.
I took off the sunglasses, amazed. “You made this? God, you’re talented. You’re incredible.”
“It’s one of a kind. Do you like it?” Chandler said, unblinking.
“I love it. I love it, love it, love it.”
“I still have a lot of work to do, but I’m putting a collection together. I’m going to need a model. I’ve been looking, but until now, nobody has seemed quite right. I’d love for you to have that dress, Lily. It belongs on you. Would you do some modeling for me in exchange for it? It would mean you’d have to do some runway work-”
“Oh gosh, a thousand times yes! Wait- a runway? As in, walk a runway? Um-”
“I know you can do it, Lily,” Chandler said. “You’re a natural.”
I met Beren’s eyes. “Maybe we can pull it off together,” I said. Beren beamed.
Just then, the bell on the front door rang. A group of women swinging designer bags stepped inside, taking off their shades. “Oh wow!” I heard them say.
Chandler slid the sunglasses back onto my face, smiled, and kissed my cheek. “Come by next week and let’s talk.”
&
nbsp; “Wait- I need to-”
“It’s on me.” Then Chandler pivoted on his heels, heading towards the new visitors. “Welcome to Aerie, may I pour y’all a glass of champagne?”
“I’ve never seen him warm up to anybody like that,” Beren said, as we walked back outside into the heat of the late afternoon.
“He likes you,” I said.
“I don’t know. He likes his work. But it’s sexy, isn’t it, how passionate he is?”
“Very. You should ask him out,” I said.
“I don’t know,” Beren said, distracted.
“Beren, are you actually intimidated?” I squeezed Beren’s arm. “I never thought I’d see the day!”
“He makes me feel high. You know? Just being around him is like, this drug,” Beren said, shyly.
“Come with me to see him next week,” I said. “Let’s do this together.”
“I’d love that, Lily,” Beren said. “Jesus, his ass, right?” He clutched his heart. “That ass is gonna be the death of me.” Giggling, we went back to my apartment and hung out while we got ready, cranking the radio up as loud as it could go without shaking my windows. Singing at the top of your lungs with your best friend is the best high in the world.
Then I drove to the Calhouns with my heart in my throat. What if Ry wasn’t home? Worse yet- what if he was?
And what if Madison was there with him?
========= Chapter ==============================================
But when I walked up, Ry was outside on the porch reading a book with a small peg of bourbon in the glass beside him. He looked up and watched me approach without a word. But as I drew closer I could see the smile beginning to play over his handsome face.
“Take me out,” I said.
“Is that an apology?” he said.
“No, I don’t think so. But I did want to see you again.”
Ry shook his head. “Lily, you amaze me. All right, just let me put on my shoes.”
But he didn’t move. He sat there just smiling up at me, as if dazed. I put my hands on the arms of his chair and leaned down to him, smiling slightly, and I knew he could smell my perfume.
“God, you’re beautiful,” he breathed. He was wearing pale seersucker shorts and an open necked polo; the hair on his bare legs and arms was bleached gold against his darkly tanned skin.
“You’re impossibly erotic,” I said, slowly, and then slunk back, grinning at him, lightly touching my hair. “Go get ready.”
“Yes ma’am.” Ry handed me his bourbon, and headed inside, glancing back at me with an admiring smile.
Ticking the crystal glass in my hand, I took the wicker chair he’d been sitting in and looked out at the emerald green lawn. Dusk was just falling, and the colored air was thick with heat. The sound of locusts swelled.
I glanced down at the book he’d been reading. It was blue and gold leather, a gorgeously bound copy of Tender is the Night, by F. Scott Fitzgerald.
Oo. One of my eternal favorites. Be still, my heart.
Calm down, Lily, I thought. He’s just a boy.
The porch door slapped again, and Ry stood there in a white linen suit. Dark caramel loafers, no socks; I could see the tanned insteps of his feet above his loafers. How could a man be so sexy that even his feet turned me on?
Ry held out his arm. “Ready, Lily?” he said.
We walked a few blocks to a private rooftop bar he’d heard about, and watched the stars slowly pop out over the harbor.
It was a side of the Charleston skyline that I’d never seen. A long time ago, a law called The Holy City Height Ordinance was passed, forbidding any buildings to be built downtown that were higher than the tallest church steeple. The silhouettes of churches dominated the skyline, catching the starlight like night-blooming flowers.
“It looks so different from up here,” I said, smitten, gazing out.
“Everything is about perspective, Lily,” Ry said. “We all bring our own personal kaleidoscopes to the party.” He looked at me seriously. “You never know what kind of lens someone else is looking through,” he said, more softly.
“Maybe I need to work on remembering that,” I said.
He squeezed me. “I like you just the way you are,” he said. “I’ll be right back. Are you okay here?”
Never better. “Yes,” I said.
He squeezed my hand and headed inside. I couldn’t resist watching him go. He was so sculpted. So… squeezable. I could see servers greeting him warmly as he passed through. Always a good sign. Allowing myself a tiny sigh, I turned back towards the beautiful view, fiddling with the straw in my drink.
Then this blonde kid slid into Ry’s chair. “What are you looking at?” he said. There’s something about him that instantly made me feel uneasy. The sneer on his face, his popped collar- the palpable sense of entitlement smearing off him. I could tell he’s never worked a day in his life.
"You know, that seat is taken," I said.
"It wasn't when I came in," he said, leaning forward.
"Hm."
A big guy walked out onto the patio, two drinks in his hands, looking around.
"Is that him? Nope, not your type," the frat boy said. Smarmy, that’s the word.
"What do you want?" I said. He was silent- he’d used up his lines- so I needled him.
“How old are you?" I said.
"Twenty-two," he said, with that smug frat asshole expression. I wanted to smack him.
"Twenty-two, and you don't know what you want. How does that happen?"
He reached out to try to touch my hair and I jerked back. "Why do you dye your hair black?" he said.
"Go away."
He just sat there, looking at me. I was about to jump up and leave, but then Ry came back. For a moment he just stood there politely. I could tell he wasn’t sure if was is a guy I knew, and he didn’t want to be rude, but-
The kid looked up at him, and his smile went all rubbery and weird and kind of flat. He wanted to get in a fight. He wasn’t out looking for girls- he was looking for a fight. He leered.
I stood abruptly, and went inside. Ry followed. We put our drinks down at the bar and stood close together, our hips nearly touching, grinning at each other.
“What was that?” he said, softly. He ran his hand through the underside of my hair, cupping my face.
I put my hand over his, pressing my cheek into his touch. His hand was so warm and firm. “That,” I said, “was a freak.”
“What’s the world coming to these days,” Ry said. But everything outside he and I had disappeared; the dimensions of the night and the bar and the room had all fallen away.
“You want to get out of here?” he said. His voice was low, deliciously scratchy.
He grabbed my hand. Suddenly, we were running, laughing hysterically. We were outside, the sound of our footsteps echoing all around us and I could see the flickering flames of gas lamps at the corners of my awareness like tiny fallen stars, and all at once we were back in the cobblestone alley outside his house where I’d stood just a few days before talking with Chef.
We stood there still giggling, catching our breath.
Then Ry pulled me close. He pressed his lips to mine, closing his eyes. I was spun up in his kiss like glitter whirling through a shook up snow-globe.
“You make my knees weak,” I murmured.
He dipped me back, laughing, and my body responded to his as naturally as if I’d been made just for him. Our kiss deepened; my hands tangled in his hair as I pulled him down to me, wanting more. He pressed me back against the stone wall, one of his hands at the side of my neck and the other at my waist, and then his touch began to drift down, his thumb pressing my hipbone.
I swooned into him. “God, I want you so much,” I said.
“You,” he said, caressing my cheek, “are the most captivating woman I have ever met.” He pressed his lips together a moment, studying me in the dark. Watching my expression hungrily as his hand stroked down over my ass, feeling the shape o
f me fill his palm and fingers. I couldn’t help but arch back into him, wanting his touch between my legs.
“Oh, Lily.”
I fitted my leg around Ry’s so that there was nothing between us but my thin panties and his linen pants. I pressed into him, keening with want, exposing my weakness to him. I could feel how swollen he was with desire, how huge and hard. As I felt the hot, hard length of him there in my most vulnerable place, Ry kissed me so savagely it sucked the air from my chest.
Oh, I wanted him deep, deep inside me. I needed him- badly- all my senses felt inflamed. Ry broke off his kisses to stroke over my earlobe roughly with his teeth.
“I want to get on my knees for you,” he murmured.
Everything in me tightened at the cultured, raspy purr of his voice.
“I think I’d like to see you on your knees,” I said, my voice made raw and strange.
Ry, paused, smiling, his eyes slitted with lust. “That oh just so slightly evil grin of yours, Lily, and the spark behind those pretty eyes tells me your intent may differ as to why…”
He kissed me differently then, with slow, lush slides of his tongue that made me ache to feel his expert mouth between my legs.
“Mm…”
His fingers curved roughly down around the front of my thigh, pushing the silky fabric of my dress up as they hunted towards my panties, lingering there at the hem teasingly. His eyes danced, watching mine, as I moaned for him. My hips curled towards his yearningly. I felt the tips of his fingers slip beneath my panties.
I was the wettest I’d been in all my life, as if the whole center of me had melted into hot, silky lava. I cried out, pressing into his touch, plunging Ry’s fingers deep inside me. He began to stroke my G-spot with searing accuracy, the expression on his face hot and tender.
“Ohhh,” I said, hanging from his sweet mouth. I stared up at the stars, crying out as their light slurred down over us.
I felt a fullness in me beginning to build, felt myself dizzily falling back, but Ry caught me in his other arm, propping me there against the wall as he drove his fingers into me again and again, rhythmic, relentless. His knuckles bit perfectly into my clit as he worked the tiny apple of sensitive flesh inside me. I almost screamed, feeling my orgasm flood forwards.
