I rushed home early, by that I mean when normal people actually go home for work, and tried not to freak out about this mandatory company party that my boss had ordered me to have fun at. Strip out of my clothes, try not to trip on skirt—though breaking my neck would be an honest excuse to not got to the party, hop in the shower, wash hair, jump out of shower, towel dry hair and then swing wildly between hope and despair.

After getting some more great advice from Nico I had no problem choosing the dress I was going to borrow. I had a pair of shoes at home that went with it. I had stopped into Bloomingdale’s to buy a pair of stockings. I was looking for a pair of silk stockings with a seem up the back. I’ve never owned a pair, but this dress demanded them. Also, I’ve always wanted a pair.

The plan was simple. Go to the Intimates section and grab a pair of vintage stockings. Wow, they were expensive, but I just got paid and I’ve always wanted them. Then the sales clerk reminded me I’d need a garter belt. Well, I didn’t really need one, but they are kind of retro neat. To make a long story short the persuasive clerk convinced me to get matching bra, panties and garter belt. It was payday. It’s not like you spend $600 on underwear every day either. Sorry $650, forgot the stockings—the reason I came into the store in the first place. It’s OK, it’s not the first time I’ve ate Mr Noodles for two weeks.

It was strange. On my way back I was giddy and spending far too much money on underwear that if all went as planned would be seen by no one but me. But it made me feel powerful and sexy just holding it in the bag.

That evening I scurried into my room and assembled my costume. I traced the box the lingerie was contained in. The box itself was part of the experience. It had the same mystique that a fancy box of chocolate had when you were young—until you realized you could buy it at the drugstore anytime you wanted. I was somewhat disappointed rainbows didn’t shoot out of it when I lightly opened it. I carefully peeled away the tissue wrapping to get to even less material items that had cot me the better part of my pay cheque. I was picking up the suspender belt entranced by what it represented rather than its actual impractically when my door blew open.

“You want me to help you with your hair and make up? Neither of us has all night.”
I stood motionless a red belt with suspenders stretched between my hands, my towel abandoning me and lying around my feet.

“Ya, I’ll be right out.”

SLAM!

My face must have been on fire or at least as red as the underwear that was not one me was. Alicia is not a size 0 and couldn’t give a flying fig about what anyone thought of her. I’m not saying she’s fat, but rather that she’s comfortable in her body in a way I wish I was. And while she doesn’t wander around the apartment naked, she is never flustered if I run into her in the shower or some state of undress. I on the other hand have gone to great lengths to avoid being seen by my roommate in anything less than a burqa. It took me a year to run from the bathroom to my bedroom in a towel.

But what really upset me was the smile on her face. I felt like she had caught me with a sex toy in my hand. I hope to God she doesn’t know I have a sex toy! After being mortified having been caught fondling my own underwear I hastily put it on. Belt and panties, the bra would be unnecessary with this dress. That made me a bit sad to break up the set. It also made me a bit nervous. I caught myself in the full length mirror on the back of my door. Even with wet hair and no makeup, I looked like someone else. Someone far sexier than me. I put on my stockings and caught myself posing in the mirror and I clipped them into the suspenders. I got lots of time to pose in the mirror—it was harder to clip them in than I thought.

Next I put on my heeled boots. I had both them when I was in college. They had spoken to me. They said, you want to be a sexy librarian! I didn’t. I never wanted to be a librarian, but they were so cute that I bought them anyway. I never had a reason or anything to wear with them, until now. I sat on my bed in my sexy red underwear lacing up boots I had owned for years but never worn. And then he dress.

I had seen it during my first week in the Trou Noir de Couture. I had made a mental note. That note said Betsey Johnson. It had taken me less than five minutes to find it in the system I had created. Size 2, mid-thigh, black, deceptively simple. I remembered pulling it out and thinking it was a rather plain dress at first. A nice tight corset-like bodice and then a ruffled skirt. Half a row away I went back to it and pulled it out fully. I had walked over to a mirror and hung it in front of my current dress. It spoke to me in the same way the boots had. It said flirty gothic. It seemed like a dress you should read Poe or Irving in—with hopes of being stalked by a Cullen.

It was a bit tight and I had to call Alicia in to get the dress closed I think it was mislabeled—because I sure hadn’t gained any weight at my 9-9 job. The look on her face was quite this time. The dress made me feel like a princess—no a ballerina, albeit a dark one. The stockings looked exactly how I wanted them to look—awesome! Though later I wished I had got black under garments as the dress came dangerously close to flouncing up to the tops of the stockings as I walked.

Alicia helped me with my makeup. I forget she used to do it semi-professionally, probably because she rarely wore much make up at all. She put my hair in a ponytail and began to paint my face. Where I was sitting didn’t afford me a mirror so I had to trust her judgement. There was a part of me that still wanted her to make me look like a clown and I could just cancel the night right there. But there was a going part of me that wanted her to made me look like the girls on the covers of the magazines. I had the dress, the shoes and half the underwear—was it too much to ask for the rest to fall into place.

She played with my hair but refused to let me see what she had done with me face. I was imagining Wednesday Addams, the Christina Ricci version not the original. I was worried, it was nowhere near Halloween. My phone was ringing. It was the car service. I was late!

“They’re picking up a woman going to a party. They know they are too early.” Alicia cracks me up. She also does small miracles in a short amount of time. It had taken me over a week to get to be able to do 5 minute hairstyles in anything close to that time, without Jemma fixing it at work. By the time she let me up I was so full of hope and dread.

Alicia is like one of my most favourite person in the whole world. She was before that night, but she re-affirmed he place with a Herculean effort. The hair was in twin French braids. It was so simple, but playful and sophisticated when paired with the dress and make up. It was magazine worthy. I came to this conclusion after I stopped staring in the mirror.

I stopped for a second to stare into a face that was both familiar and strange. I mean I knew I was looking at myself. I also knew I didn’t know the face I was looking at. Not that I didn’t love it, or even that it wasn’t me—on some level. My skin was so even in tone, which I guess is why my eyes and lips popped. And those eyes! I totally could fall for that person in the mirror and I’m not even into girls. Smokey eyes, like from silent movie star. I had never attempted such a look, I thought it would only work on pale brunettes. And my lips… They were red, but not garish. The darkness was more an emotion than a pigment. It was me alright. Alicia had tapped into the well that had chosen the dress, chosen the boots and chosen the lingerie. It seems everyone else around me can see me better than I see myself. Seriously, where was she when I was practicing my 5 minute make up tutorial. Oh ya, she was sleeping.

My phone vibrated again. I gave my awesome friend a hug and thanked her so much grabbing my shall and clutch as I ran out of our apartment.

“I won’t wait up for you”, she punctuated it with a conspiratorial wink.

“You better. I’ll need help getting out of this dress. Besides I’ll be back before midnight.” One of us actually believed what I had said and I don’t know which one of us did. Alicia made a gesture brushing me off and closed the door as I strides to the elevator.

The driver was a nice looking guy. His mood seemed to change when I introduced myself and apologized for making him wait. Apparently now it was no problem I had made him wait. Go figure. He kept talking to me on one of the longest short rides I’ve ever had in a cab. I spent most of he 10 minutes in the back of the car acutely aware of him constantly checking the rearview mirror. I was fidgeting, with my legs closed. It’s not that the dress was that short so much as it was not a dress meant to sit in—at least politely. His banter was thinly veiled questioning that in a bar would probably end with “Do you have a boyfriend?” Thankfuly the destination arrived before that question did. He happily helped me out of he car and told me he’d wait to take me home. The girl who had picked the dress and spent a weeks worth of wages on underwear heard the innuendo is his statement. She also said, not a chance buddy.

I stumbled the first few steps out of the car and onto the sidewalk. New boots to a night club, I was just so smart. I wasn’t sure if they had some kind of list or I’d have to show employee ID or…

It turns out none of that was necessary. What I didn’t understand was that while we were all expected to go to mix at the club that clients, customers, former employees, fashionistas, bloggers and possibly the homeless could come too. As I stepped in the club I had to look behind me a couple of times before I realized they must have been looking at me. That was a new sensation, not sure how I really felt about it at the time. Actually at the time I was just trying to put one foot in front of the other and not fall flat on my face.

I saw my boss, Nico and someone else across the dance floor. Oh my God! It was Eva Wilder! Before I wasn’t sure if I should go up and say hello to my boss at this social. Now I was downright petrified. This was quickly remedied by the bass that shook through my very being. The lights violently moved and flashed in a show that seemed only to start epileptic seizures and I realized what I thought was music was actually the club equivalent to Muzak.

Despite turning heads and nasty looks, the evening turning into night seemed like it was either going to be very long or very short. Either way I decided I should say high to my boss, her business partner and my personal idol. I just had to find a way as a throng of people crashed the dance floor. Somewhere around the bar I lost sight of my boss and her friends. That’s when I saw Jemma.

She looked a bit different from the 12 hours that I spent with her. For starters and the least illuminating thing about her was that her hair was darker, chestnut though it was hard in the club light. It was up in a French twist. She was also wearing warpaint—as many of the women in the office were. And as severe as her makeup was, it was her dress that made me wonder how my coworker spent her time away from work. It was white with black polka dots, shiny and I’m pretty sure it was made of latex. It was a shoulderless pencil dress that stopped just below her knees. And by shoulder less I mean the shoulders were cut out. The sleeves when to her wrists. It must have been hot to wear. She had matching white patent leather pumps.

“It’s pretty loud in here.”

She smiled and nodded at me.

“Is it always this busy…and loud”, I yelled.

“I’m sorry I can’t hear”, she said or so I think. “I’m waiting for someone”, she said like she was brushing me off. I was really kind of hurt. I mean we seemed to have a really cool thing going on at work. And now I was wondering if it was all just an act. I definitely needed one of those two free complimentary drinks.

And then just as I ordered a Cosmopolitan—because I needed it—the world snapped into place.

“Alex?!? Holy $#!+ I didn’t recognize you!” She gave me a big hug, which was at the same time very comforting and far too sapphic at least in that dress. “My God you look…”, I was waiting to see what followed, “totally different—a ƒμ¢κing knock out.” Her choice of words were a bit odd, but I knew after a couple of weeks around her what she meant—not at all sapphic. She didn’t look bad either if you were looking for a dominatrix.

I was relieved to find out that I was the person she was waiting for. She couldn’t get over how I looked and kept teasing me asking if I was an alien replacement of her coworker or if I’d lost a bet. In between compliments and jibes she asked about the dress, the hair and the makeup. I gave the standard answer, “ancient Chinese secret”. The teasing then turned to who would ask to go home with me tonight which should have turned my face bright red. But thanks to lots of foundation and a martini was not seen at all. My teasing back at her didn’t not go so well. She’s just too tough a cookie to break.

Midway through the second drink I told her about me shoes. She thought it was cosmic that I had bought them without ever knowing what I would do with them and then, tonight happened. She also apologized for laughing when I told her I almost ripped and broke my neck getting out of the car. By that time it was funny. I was beginning to think I was going to get through the night much easier than I had thought.

But as the last drop of cocktail left the glass my work bestie grabbed my hand and dragged me to the dance floor. What part of almost tripped and killed myself had she not understood. After two drinks and much encouragement from Jemma I finally started to dance like no one was walking. Funny thing was, they were.

Jemma easily brushed off a couple of guys who clearly didn’t have the confidence to really get to us. They were cute though. Jemma though was my protector while I was freakin’ hot and somewhat inebriated. Either that or she was very particular. She didn’t just dismiss the lesser men, but also office girls wanting to bathe in a bit of her, err…our spotlight. It was kind of neat being the cool kid in school for once.

And then I saw him, less than ten feet away. Jemma would have to put front deflection shields to maximum. But I don’t think she saw him until her was practically on us. It didn’t help that I didn’t take my eyes off him from the second I saw him to the moment he cut in between Jemma and I.

Maybe it was the club—the pounding music and light, maybe it was the two Cosmopolitans or maybe it was that I hadn’t stop thinking about him since that rooftop meeting. Enrique looked especially fine tonight. His jacket was undone, he wasn’t wearing a tie and the top two buttons on his shirt were open. He was the most naked I had seen him outside my shower time. He had also isolated me from Jemma. It took him and his perfect smile no effort to push me in another direction.

He wrapped his arms around me as if it was the only natural thing to do. Not only did I let him, I was pleased he had. He leaned over and told me he liked my dress. Betsey Johnson suited me. He casual dropped his right arm to my lower back, very lower back. There is a borrowed word from French frisson. It literally means ‘shiver’, but it is meant as a reaction to a stimulus that is not cold. It’s an emotional response, not a physiological one.

He held me close as we slow danced. The smell of Chanel N°5 with a slight hint of sweat was intoxicating. His lips said nothing but his eyes betrayed everything. He was doing in his head what I had been doing in mine. The difference was that he was planning, not dreaming. I don’t know what I’d call our connection, but I know it existed from the first time on that terraced lunch. He ran his firm hand over my bottom and I nuzzled into his bare chest.

And I guess that’s how I ended up back at his apartment.

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