If Vic's smile got any broader, he'd have to become an Osmond and move to Branson.
"Shit, Bernie. Seriously?" he asked. He lifted the squished dress bag from the floor of the closet.
"I found it on Craigslist a couple of years ago," I said. "It didn't set me back that much." It was fifteen hundred dollars and I hadn't even tried it on. It was a copy of a dress that had been on Say Yes to the Dress. I planned to diet my way into it and then have someone really clever either find some cloth to add to the hem, the original bride was barely five foot two, or find some way to turn it into a cocktail dress. My eyes teared over. I'd been thinking all kinds of pie in the sky about a rosy future with Grady, bought a dress when a proposal never happened. At least I hadn't asked Grandma about her wedding ring and I hadn't ever done a lay away plan at the jewelry stores I liked. I had thought about it. I used to go in and try things on to see what looked good and see how it felt. I hadn't done it for over a year before the break up. When we were living in Seattle, I used to take long drives and look for great outdoor places to use as a venue. Every good restaurant review was clipped and held in abeyance for a potential engagement dinner celebration or possibly a rehearsal dinner.
"I'm surprised," Vic said. He brought me in for a hug. "Grady is an asshole who never did deserve you. Your prince will come, sweet pea. I promise."
I nodded my head into the crook of his shoulder. "I don't believe in fairy tales anymore." I gave up on them about the same time Grady looked like he wasn't going to finish law school and was going to go back to update his IT skills. I had a major melt down about the real world and creating your own challenges on the job. Because I was so close to a break, Grady was almost done with law school. whether or not he ever sat for the bar exam was up to him.
Louie's head came up from a pile of clothes and he gave a gentle woof my direction. Whenever I got overly excited or emotional, it through Louie's calm cool collected dispostion. He wanted me to be cool as a cucumber, easier to herd calm sheep, I guess.
"I'm fine, Lou. Thanks." I continued talking into Vic's shirt, "Is there anything worthy of even trying on?"
"Sure," he said, "there's a small pile at the end of the bed."
"I can't afford to get rid of everything," I said. "You've got to let me keep more than two pairs of sweats, one sweater, and a t-shirt that's a liquor ad."
"The pile on the chair is questionable. Time for a fashion show?"
"I'll go into the bathroom and come out with the first outfit," I said.
"You can change here as far as I'm concerned. Louie can have a belly rub and I'll have my back to you."
"What about him?"
"He'll probably sleep through it. His breathing hasn't changed since I got here. Doubtful that anything would wake him up."
"I don't want to risk it." Not that it would be much of a show. I hadn't shaved, had on my granny panties that could probably stand to be bleached and a bra that was supportive enough to keep my breasts in place for more than the standard eighteen hours.
"Spoil sport."
"Nothing you want to see, trust me," I said.
I came out of the bathroom in a black pencil skirt and a burgundy blouse. Neither one fitted quite right and I'd strained the seams long ago in the pencil skirt.
"The style is OK if you're going for stodgy," Vic said. "You need to go for playful."
I looked at everything on the bed. The only playful things I had were t-shirts with slogans on them but they were in off colors and didn't do anything for my shape. "I'm not the playful kind."
"You could be."
We argued for several minutes, during which time I tried on several pairs of my dress slacks and a couple of jackets I'd worn to work. Each time I came out, Vic wrinkled his nose at me and then curled his lip. Definitely not the response I was hoping for.
"We could alter a few of your things," Vic said. "Do you own a sewing machine?"
The last time I threaded a sewing machine I was in seventh grade and then I wound up sewing over my thumb. Not a lot of people can make that claim to fame. "Just a basket with a needle and some thread for buttons and stuff."
"Chris has to alter a lot of his things. He's not a typical size and so he alters his stuff so it fits him like a glove," Vic said. He looked a little dreamy. "If they let him alter the pants better, I'd love to take a bite out of crime."
"Thank you."
"Well, at least I can take a bite out of it when he comes home."
My daddy raised me not to shoot anyone the bird. Not ever. Instead I raised my pinky to him.
"What's that?" he asked.
"I don't want to send you the very best," I said. "How much do you think he'd charge to help with alterations?"
"For you, sweet pea, probably a few dinners and maybe dishes afterwards."
"Done and done." I said. "But there's still not a lot here. No jeans. Nothing comfortable. Nothing to wear when I watch Marcella's store."
"No more Grateful Dead t-shirts," Vic said with a sigh. "And no more tie dye. That's so 90s."
"Yes, dear."
All this time, Daniel snored on.
"What are we going to do about him?" I asked. "If I was in college, I'd find a way to keep his hands bound and do his hair and makeup."
"He's got great bones, he'd be really pretty in drag. I wonder if he can lip synch well."
"No, he can't." The voice was gruff and finally awake. "there are better things to do to a man when you've bound his hands, Bernie."
~~~
tbc
word count 1066
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