by Ashlee Price
I grabbed the broom and started to sweep up the clippings, but I kept one eye on Mrs. Brand. My stepmother’s mouth was agape as she watched the other woman leave the salon. She came toward me and bent her head low, holding out her hand. “She left you a tip, although I don’t understand why. You were lucky to get away with it this time.” She handed me a folded bill, and I turned my back to the salon as I opened it. It was a crisp one-hundred-dollar bill. I smiled. Generous as it was, the tip ’would hardly be enough to buy the right shoes, even if I had an invitation. I shrugged my shoulders, sighed, and headed into the center of the room where someone was shrieking my name once again.
Chapter 4
Lance
“How’s the guest list coming?” I asked Dane. I didn’t care whether I found a girl or not, but I did care about the reputation of my company. Anyone who made mattresses like mine needed to make a very good impression.
“Oh, just super,” he responded, enthusiasm in his voice. “Oh, that Brand woman agreed and said she’d love the opportunity to cross promote. So that’s taken care of.”
“I hope she doesn’t get overly-enthused and pick a dog,” I commented dryly, wishing that I’d never thought of the party in the first place. If it got my folks off my back for a while, I supposed it was worth it. “Okay, I’ve got to get off here. I’m doing a photo shoot for the centerfold. Keep me posted,” I said as I disconnected.
I turned my attention to the nude couple under the spotlight. One of my beds was sitting atop a dais, its inner light glow oscillating between red and deep gold, resembling flames. Our most popular attachment, the flexible dildo, was snapped into place and inserted in our actor’s ass while his penis was inside the actress. The mattress had been programmed so that the dildo vibrated while the actor penetrated her as the mattress moved her hips up and down. It was a programmer’s dream, and I’d heard that a cottage industry of Royal Mattress specialists was popping up across the country. Consultants would visit someone’s home, take measurements, test for optimal enjoyment, and create a macro that could be activated from within our app. One button, ultimate pleasure.
The director called for cameras to roll. We’d use the video for in-store demonstrations and isolate a few frames to be used for the centerfold. I was watching the actress, as would most of the potential customers. She’d had a boob job, and I wasn’t happy with the rigidity of her chest. However, there was a bigger problem. She was used to filming porn and reacting to cocks, but this shoot was supposed to highlight the mattress. She needed to “ride the wave” and not squirm around on her own so much.
I gave the director a throat-slash gesture, and he stopped the cameras. “Tell the girl to quit faking it and let the mattress and the actor do the work. Tell her to throw one arm over those fake boobs. They look like they belong to a corpse. I’m leaving. Tell your producer I want a shoot where the girl gets the dildo – for the single women out there.”
I had no idea what I was going to do with all that footage, but I’d leave that to my ad people. That stuff bugged me. I loved the technology of the mattress I’d created, but the customers were the ones who loved using it. I liked more natural, conventional lovemaking. In fact, I preferred the more natural woman; one who didn’t live for the latest fashion or calculate her self-worth by what others thought. Was such a woman possible?
Chapter 5
Sindy
Our house had become a Royal hell.
While I kept to my room in the basement, the main floor and upstairs were littered with boxes of rejected shoes, fabric, dresses, underthings and every face cream and under-eye concealer made. Unfortunately, my stepsisters had had the unfortunate luck of inheriting their mother’s eye bags, and no amount of concealer could make those eyes be anything other than watery blue orbs with permanent five-o’clock shadows.
The screaming began early in the morning as packages were opened and contents thrown. It became my job to gather up the discarded items, re-package them, and send back what wasn’t wanted. I had to fill in at the salon for Ethel twice when she got migraines from the stress.
On one of those days, Mrs. Brand showed up, unannounced as usual, and demanded that I do her hair. Clarabella was upset, but allowed it.
“I’m so glad you’re here today, honey,” Mrs. Brand told me, her hand over her mouth to discourage lip-readers. I wondered who she was worried about, but ignored it.
“I’m glad you’re here today, too,” I said in return.
“No, I really mean it. You get my hair washed and we’ll talk.”
I nodded and gave her an extra-long head massage at the washbowl. I’d wrapped the towel around her head and walked her over to my station, tapping the chair up so I could comfortably work on her.
She reached for her purse and opened it, pulling out a gold envelope which she held out in my direction.
“What’s that?”
“Open it.”
I set down the comb and did as she requested, using a nail file to neatly slice the edge. I read it and couldn’t believe my eyes. It was a personal invitation to the Royal birthday party, and my name was beautifully written on it in an elegant calligraphy.
“Oh! How did this happen?”
“Shhh…” she cautioned me. “This is our little secret. You can’t tell anyone, no one at all. Understand?”
“Oh, Mrs. Brand, I know you’re a very accomplished lady, but I wish you hadn’t gone to this trouble. I could never go to this.”
“Hush. Now listen.” She looked around to be sure we weren’t being overheard. “I’ve been asked to invite a young lady of my choice whom I think would make an appropriate guest. She is to be someone who might ordinarily not get an invitation or have the ability to attend, and she will be my personal protégé. I’ve chosen you!”
“Oh, no, Mrs. Brand, this isn’t right. Surely there are dozens of girls who would make a better candidate than me.”
“I told you to hush! Now… I’m sponsoring you entirely, it won’t cost you a thing. You are not to tell your stepmother or those horrid stepsisters of yours. Before I leave here today, we’re going to quickly take your measurements and shoe size. I’ll take the rest of it from there. Can you do your own hair and nails, or shall I find someone?”
“You are too generous. Yes, of course, I can do my hair and nails. But are you sure you want me?”
“I’m a woman who knows what she wants, Sindy. But remember, you aren’t to tell anyone. On the night of the party, just stay here at the salon and once everyone leaves, start on your hair and nails. I’ll come with the rest and knock at the back door. Got that?”
I nodded, and tears sparkled in my eyes at her generosity. When her hair was done, I didn’t want to take her money, but she insisted. “You think I want to attract Clarabella’s attention?”
I nodded, realizing she was right.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
“Don’t thank me. Thank Mr. Royal. Actually, he should be thanking me, because I’m bringing him a bride!”
She was off, and when I got home my head was spinning with dreams of dancing and sipping champagne, although I had no idea what it tasted like. I was a virgin, in more ways than one.
Chapter 6
Lance
I’d had all I could take with the party planning. I was glad I’d hired a group to deal with it. I grabbed my tablet and went in search of a coffee shop with as few people as possible. I remembered seeing one that looked interesting on Washington Street. Pulling up to the curb, I looked, but didn’t see it right away. There was a beauty salon in front of me, so I went in and saw a young woman sweeping up hair clippings. She came toward me, and I felt almost woozy as she looked at me. She was undoubtedly the sexiest, most organically beautiful creature I’d ever seen. I looked around, expecting that everyone would be staring at her, but they seemed oblivious.
“Sindy!” screeched a startlingly obnoxious woman to my right. “Get back there and fold the towels. We’re almost out!”
&nb
sp; The young woman’s head tipped upward for a fleeting moment, acknowledging the older woman’s orders. Sindy’s neck was swan-like, her cheekbones high and prominent. Her skin was flawless and tanned, emphasized by the blue of her eyes and a head full of blonde ringlets that dropped below her waist. Perfect white teeth smiled at me and she asked, “Can I help you? You look a little lost.” Her voice was like a spring wind, filled with chimes and birdsong. I knew I was being ridiculous, but that was the impression she left on me.
I felt mute and could only nod. “I spotted a coffee shop along here somewhere the other day, but now I can’t seem to find it again.”
She nodded and came forward, opening the door so I could pass through it. She raised her arm, and the curve of her breast was so inviting that I had to fight the impulse to pull her against me. “Just go down another two blocks. You’ll see it on the right. It’s called One More Cup. You can’t miss it.” She lowered her hand and wrapped her arms around herself.
What was wrong with me? I could tell she was shivering, and yet I didn’t want her to go back inside. “Would you like to have a cup with me?” I invited.
She smiled in that perfect way again, and I saw she had dimples. “Oh, I’d love to, believe me, but my stepmother has things for me to do, and it’s a work day, after all. I’m sorry.” She tilted her head in regret and then went inside, closing the door behind her, but lingering on the other side of the glass to give me a tiny wave before she disappeared from view.
I realized at that moment that my cock was so hard it was banging at my zipper to get out. I turned quickly and headed for the car, but not before I snapped a picture of the salon with my camera. There was no way I would miss finding that place again.
I found the coffee shop, but I couldn’t get the woman named Sindy off my mind. To me, she had floated about and sunshine followed her every step. Obsessed, I googled the salon but found little more than a business card page—nothing personal to cling to. I frowned at my own behavior. I was acting like a lovesick 14-year-old with his first boner.
I made up my mind right then. Unless someone else knocked me off my feet at the party, I was coming back for Sindy.
Chapter 7
Sindy
It could have been the party on the brain, but the guy who’d wandered in off the street made me feel hotter than usual. I could tell by the way he looked at me that he might have been a little impressed. I hated Clarabella for calling me away.
For now, though, the party was the thing. It was the next day, and already Ethel and Myrtle had taken the rest of the afternoon off and left me on my own with the shop. Clarabella followed them shortly, and that left me completely alone. I was so excited.
Mrs. Brand called to make sure all our plans were still on. “Absolutely! I can’t wait.”
“Good. Well, I’ll be there an hour before the party to get you, so be ready, you hear?”
“Yes, ma’am, I promise.” I locked the door early, turning the sign on the door, and went back to begin working on my nails. They needed a good soaking and moisturizing today so they’d be ready for polishing the day of the party.
I was slow in getting home. I couldn’t stand the clatter that came from the mouths of the other three females in the house. Clarabella had ordered a photographer so the girls could have portraits done before they left. They were to do one another’s hair. I’d offered, but they’d looked at me with horror. Fine, I though, let them screw each other up.
They were doing a dress rehearsal. I was supposed to sit on the sofa and admire them as each one descended the staircase, in stockings, heels and dress. Notice I say that I was supposed to admire them.
Ethel was first. Her dress had been made for her by a well-known local seamstress with an eye to the charms of southern belles of eras gone by. Ethel was as flat-chested as an ironing board, so the dress, which was sleeveless, struggled to find something to which to mold. The color was a wine red, far too dark for her complexion, and the ruffles that ran in rows around her broad hips accented her hideous red Mohawk hair. She was wearing five-inch stilettos that caused her to weave about on spindly ankles, making her look every bit a rooster. I had to pinch the flesh inside my hand to keep from laughing aloud. “I don’t think you could have found a dress that enhances your style more,” I said as kindly as I could.
Then it was Myrtle’s turn. She’d gone for an entirely different look. Wanting to look more youthful, she’d chosen a mid-calf dress with burgundy polka dots. Her pizza-pocked complexion seemed to carry the pattern right up to her black hair, which was now cut into a shaggy punk style. To accessorize, she carried a teacup poodle whose coat had been temporarily dyed a matching burgundy. Its poofy cut around the head, paws and tail added more polka dots, and the dog hated it. You could tell by its constant yipping as well as nipping at anyone who came close, including Myrtle. She kept slapping it lightly about the snout and barking, “Stop it! Stop it!”
“Myrtle, you look great, but you might want to muzzle that dog? People could get hurt.”
“Oh, what do you know? She’ll calm down; she’s just excited,” she argued, slapping the dog again.
I frowned and got up, crossing the room and taking the dog from her arms. “You’re not going to make a good impression slapping that poor puppy all night. I’ll keep her here,” I told her adamantly. I didn’t care what Clarabella had to say about that—dog abuse was just not taking place under my watch.
Myrtle turned around and nearly lost her balance as she stomped back up the stairs. “Mother! Sindy won’t let me take the puppy. That’s an important part of my presentation. I just know it will get me the attention I need.” Clarabella pounded down the stairs and grabbed the puppy from my arms. “Mind your own business.”
“But she’s slapping the poor thing.”
Clarabella turned around and handed the puppy back to Myrtle, telling her, “Don’t slap the damned puppy. It’s liable to bite you!” Myrtle pouted, but she retreated to put away her dress and get ready for bed. The next day was going to be a big one.
***
I left the house early the next morning, knowing that neither of my stepsisters would be coming into the salon and most likely my stepmother would stay home as well. I was so excited I could hardly stand it. There were very few customers on the books that day, although the phone rang off the hook with people wanting last-minute appointments. Every eligible girl in the city who had received an invitation was anxious to look her very best. I knew my stepmother would kill me, but I told the callers there were no available appointments and hung up.
As the day drew to a close, I locked the front door, turned out the lights and headed toward the back to begin my own hair and then nails. I was lucky that there was a tiny apartment left over from the remodel and there happened to be a shower where I could bathe properly.
I was wearing a robe when I heard the knock at the back door. I opened the door an inch and saw Mrs. Brand waiting to come in. She swept past me.
“Oh, my dear, wait until you see what I brought you,” she told me. Behind her came her driver, bearing a garment bag and a suitcase. “Douglas, you may go out to the street and wait for me. Tell Timothy to pull up to the back door and wait.” Douglas disappeared at her bidding, and she pointed to the garment bag. “Go ahead, open it,” she told me.
I pulled the long zipper and parted the fold slowly. Mrs. Brand was impatient, though, and pushed me aside, whipping off the bag and holding the dress up for me to see. It was stunning, and she could not have chosen a color any more appropriate for me. It was the color of a late summer sky when the clouds barely filtered the sun, leaving a light, misty blue. The dress was unadorned; a simple, one-shouldered sheath that hugged my figure. The neckline was open all the way to my ribcage, allowing my breasts to hug one another like the petals of a flower just before it bloomed. Its open neckline allowed it to be simply slipped over my head without any buttons or zippers to clutter the smooth fabric. I gasped as I took it from her, turning it ar
ound. “Mrs. Brand, I’ve never seen a more perfect dress. How can I ever thank you?”
“You could try opening that suitcase. There are a few more goodies in there to go with it,” she instructed me.
I re-hung the dress and stooped to open the suitcase. Inside, I found a pair of shoes that fit perfectly and matched the fabric of the dress. There was a square velvet box hiding behind the shoes. I pulled it out and slowly opened the lid. Inside lay a pendant: an emerald-cut, large aquamarine on a silver chain. The stone reflected the blue of the dress, and its facets reflected the lights from the room. I was speechless. Mrs. Brand nodded, understanding my excitement.
“Well, put it on,” she encouraged me. I went into the small apartment area where I could lay the things out on the bed. She had been thoughtful enough to bring satin underthings and hosiery. The dress’s skirt was slit nearly up to my hip. I let it slide down over my body and adjusted the neckline. It fit me like another layer of skin. Mrs. Brand came up behind me and fastened the aquamarine necklace. As she watched, I turned and looked into the full-length mirror. We gasped in unison.
I had French braided my long hair and wound it above my head into a sort of coronet. From her suitcase she produced a small tiara and I placed it within the braided hair. I’d kept my makeup minimal, not knowing what to anticipate. As it turned out, I looked quite virginal, and I believe that was exactly the impression that Mrs. Brand was after. She looked at her watch. “We’ve got to get going,” she told me, handing me a satin wrap to put about my shoulders. A small clutch completed the outfit. Before we left, she turned me around to face her.
“I need you to listen to me a moment,” she said. “There’s a car waiting outside with the driver. The party begins at eight this evening and is supposed to be over at midnight. At midnight, the driver will be at the party entrance. If you are not there, he will leave. I will take that as a sign that you decided to go home with Mr. Royal. You are not, under any circumstances, to flirt or leave with anyone else, most particularly a man. Do you understand?”
