We started with underwear. Curtis and Mitch had no interest in me as anything but a friend, and yes, they picked out my underwear. Gone were the days of Hanes purchased at the supermarket, I noted as the boys chose my panties in shades of lavender and rose and black. Matching bras! Thankfully, the boys let me try those on all by myself, and once I found a model that was both comfortable and made the twins look perky, the boys went to town.
Next was pants. I hated pants. Not only was I short, but I had no waist to speak of, and pants were always a challenge.
“No pleats,” Curtis stated, looking at me scientifically.
“Absolutely not,” Mitch agreed. My opinion, clearly, was not required.
“Nothing flared.”
“Dear heavens, no! And let’s not even consider those ghastly low-risers….”
“Classic, tailored, clean lines.”
“You’re so right.”
As the boys scoured the department store, I wandered around, fingering the sleeveless blouses, wondering if I could get away with showing my plump arms, deeply grateful to have friends who loved both me and the challenge of clothing me. I pulled a bright green top with a square neckline from a rack. “How about this?” I called to my boys.
“Put that down!” Curtis ordered sharply.
“My dear girl, how could you? Green!” Mitch murmured, in shock.
“Honey, just go sit and wait for us, okay?” Curtis said, trying to recover from the obvious horror I’d presented. “We’ll call you if we need you.”
I found a chair and waited, occasionally hearing Mitch or Curtis exclaim over some item of clothing, some accessory. As this was an alien world, I passed the time with my favorite hobby: daydreaming about Joe Carpenter.
The last time I had seen him was a week ago. Another wave and “Hey, Millie!” from the rooftop, like some demigod calling from the heavens. My thoughts drifted….
I am walking into the senior center, wearing tailored, classic pants with no flares and a sleeveless, non-green blouse that shows off my contoured but feminine arms. Great shoes, great purse (though I couldn’t picture either). Joe leaps off the ladder as I cross the parking lot.
“Whoa, Millie!” he says, giving me the once-over.
“Hi, Joe!” I respond.
“You doing anything this weekend?” he asks, staring at me, his dimples just showing.
“This weekend?” I reply. “Well, I have plans for Friday, but…what did you have in mind?” (I know better than to be immediately available…it’s in all the books).
“Maybe we could go out or something.” He smiles.
My reveries about Joe were not that, well, imaginative. I was a realist, I liked to think. I had no illusions about Joe; I loved him for who he was, a blue-collar kind of guy with a heart of gold. And I never had silly, overly romantic dreams about him rescuing me from muggers or anything like that. Just his noticing me would be more than enough.
“Come, child.” Curtis interrupted my thoughts with a wave of his manicured hand. “Time to try these on.” He had a pile of clothes draped over his arm. Mitchell had a similar load. Each item was either beige, black, ivory, red or royal blue.
I took the heavy piles from them. The fabrics felt great, silky and cool over my arm. “Are these my colors?” I asked.
“Yes, precious. You’re a winter,” Mitchell explained, striding into the ladies’ dressing room without hesitation. Good thing there was never any help around in a department store.
The boys waited outside the stall as I tried on the clothes, instructing me through the slatted door.
“Everything is mix-and-match, Millie,” Curtis informed me. “That way you don’t have to worry about what goes with what.”
“I know what it means, Curtis,” I said. “I’m not stupid.”
“Only when it comes to fashion!” Mitchell said.
I stuck my head out of the dressing stall. “Be nice!” I ordered. “Or I won’t buy you lunch.” But it was impossible to be mad at these two, and truthfully, I loved being Eliza to their Henry Higginses. And, hell, they knew what they were doing. My God, I thought as I surveyed myself. I looked great!
The boys had chosen lovely, nondramatic pieces, all of which could be, in those complicated fashion terms, mixed and matched. Three shirts, two short-sleeved sweaters, four pairs of pants and a long skirt. Tailored, professional, classic. I couldn’t believe how I looked. Of course, my hair would have to be worked on and I wasn’t wearing any makeup, but still…I actually looked the part of confident, smart, well-dressed doctor.
“Guys,” I said, coming out garbed in the long black skirt and red sweater. “Guys…” My throat closed with sappy gratitude.
“Ooh! Honey, you’re so pretty!” Curtis exclaimed, darting in to adjust a shoulder pad.
“I always knew a beautiful woman was hiding in there,” Mitch added, kissing my cheek. I grinned wetly back.
But they weren’t finished. “The outfits are just the foundation,” Mitchell pronounced, leading me to the shoe department. To save time, Curtis went to the jewelry counter. One hour and $775.39 later, we were done. I was a well-dressed woman. I weighed 134 pounds. I was a size eight. I had a decent haircut. I owned makeup.
It was time.
CHAPTER EIGHT
IT WAS ALL VERY WELL TO PLOT and stalk and plan about getting Joe, but it was another thing altogether to go out and start doing it. What exactly should I do? What was the first step? I needed input, so I called Katie. I could hear crashing and shrieks in the background as she answered the phone. “Hi, it’s me,” I said brightly. “Bad time?”
“No, it’s fine,” she answered blithely. “Hold on, I’m going in the closet.”
I waited as she hid herself away from her sons. There was a sharp scream from one of them, followed by another crash.
“Do you need to go?” I asked, envisioning one of my godsons with blood streaming down his face.
“No, no, they’re just playing,” she answered. “What’s up?”
“Well, a couple of things,” I said, stretching luxuriously on my couch. There were fringe benefits to being single and childless, and talking uninterrupted on the phone was one of them. “Sam was here the other day, and I thought we really should take him out some night. He’s still a little glum.” Actually, Sam had seemed just fine to me, but I sensed he was only happy when he was doing stuff with Danny.
“Sure,” Katie said. “Just give me a couple days’ notice.”
“Great. The other thing is…well, it’s about Joe.”
“So what’s going on?”
“Well, I’m kind of ready. To make my move.”
“Good for you!” Katie said cheerfully.
“So can I run the plan by you?” I asked, feeling very eighth grade.
Katie laughed. “Sure. Go for it.”
“I was thinking maybe I could have him see me out running, so he could notice that I’m, uh, in shape or whatever. And he’d see Digger and then he’d realize that we’re both dog lovers. And then we could talk about that when we saw each other next.”
“That sounds great. Very well thought out.” Katie’s voice became muffled. “Michael, if you do that one more time, I’m taking