“Moments. All gathering towards this one.”
-Jenny Downham
M r. Bolling had made himself scarce the rest of the weekend. When we returned from the beach, he’d excused himself to his home study on the second floor to get some work done. He ordered in dinner, which he came out briefly to eat while listening to Kyra rattle on about the beach, the parking, the sun-everything. He didn’t say much and he only looked at me a few times.
Sunday Kyra and I went to the mall because I needed a handful of outfits to wear to work.
“I really wish we didn’t have to work this summer,” she groaned, holding up a black pencil skirt to me then shaking her head no. “Too long.”
“It can’t be short! It’s an office!” I laugh, taking the skirt from her. The price tag was the scariest part of shopping. $48. Hmm. If I buy this skirt, I will have to wear it every day. Makes more sense to find two skirts that are half that price. Kyra watches me mulling over numbers in my head. This isn’t her first-time shopping with me. She knows I am frugal and more than that, she knows I will not accept anything from her. As it is, I plan on buying that black dress from her as soon as I get my first paycheck. The poor girl will not be a stereotypical charity case, I tell myself.
“Let’s look somewhere else,” I say, and she trails after me through the department store until we’re in the sticky, crowded mall.
There are hundreds of people wading through the place, seemingly moving in cohesive units. Packs of people leave one store and walk the main thoroughfare while packs of other people enter another store. I only started coming to shopping malls a couple of years ago when Kyra and I moved in together. That’s another thing you don’t have a need for when you’re poor: shopping or malls. This particular mall was only forty-five minutes from her Dad’s house and it was huge. Tons of people from the city, locals, and tourists. It smelled like cinnamon rolls and cheap plastic and truthfully, was pretty intimidating.
“I don’t think I like shopping,” I whisper to her, entering a women’s dress clothes boutique. There is a sign in the window declaring everything is 75% off because they are going out of business. Despite their inability to stay open, the saleswoman still gives me a smug, callous look as we pass her.
“Ladies,” she says over the tip of her nose.
I managed to find three blouses and two skirts and one pair of slacks. With the clearance sale, I get all of it for $106. So much money. I cringe as I peel the bills from my wallet and set them on the counter. The woman whisks them away and tucks them into the cash drawer, handing me a large paper bag of my new clothes. It is a lot of money. But it feels nice to buy nice clothes. This is the first time I’ve ever purchased anything brand new. Kyra knows it.
“Okay, this is like, really exciting. You look hot in these and… brand new clothes!”
This is why I love Kyra. She has a ton of brand-new clothes but it doesn’t stop her from seeing the significance and being excited for me.
WHEN WE GET BACK to the house, I wander upstairs and begin to hang the dress clothes in my temporary closet.
The first blouse is black, made of silk with satin trim running in stripes down the front. It has a crew neck with short sleeves that are adorned with eyelash lace. There is a keyhole in the button adorned with a small, pearl button. It is a beautiful blouse. Perhaps too beautiful for me. I run my fingers down the length of it, feeling the buttery soft material on my hand. I bought this! I try to not think of the cost. I had to have clothes to wear to this office job. And I imagine wearing this with jeans or a skirt, to get the use out of it later. Yes, it will work.
I slip the blouse on a hanger and pull the next out. It is satin, navy blue, crew neck with an elaborate tie on the side. The back falls into a shallow V shape and it is very elegant and classy. I hang it up, fondly remembering how it looked on me in the dressing room, accentuating my bust and tightening around my small waist. Kyra was always telling me how tiny my waist was, as if hers wasn’t tiny, too. Though she worked out all the time and mine was tiny from unintended caloric deficit. I refuse to say years of going hungry. Yes, unintended caloric deficit.
I slide the second blouse next to the first and pull the third from the paper bag.
It is a busy blouse, for me at least. Kyra talked me into it. It is black and white vertical stripes with butterfly ruffle sleeves and a large pussy bow at the high neck line. I wanted to get another solid color because it’s more versatile and damn it I want to get my money’s worth. But Kyra convinced me that it looked fantastic on me and it was a few dollars less than the other blouses so I pulled the trigger.
The skirts I’ve purchased are identical but for color. One is charcoal gray and the other is black. Basic. They fall just above my knee and are quite fitted-something that Kyra promises will not prohibit me from walking, though I don’t see how. There is a slit up the back that ends just under my rump and Kyra promises this is acceptable.
The last item is a simple pair of dress slacks, black with a very light white pinstripe. They are my favorite. They are tight around my thighs and fall loose from the knee down, almost completely covering my feet with their bell-bottom style. They are classy and look great with all three blouses. The clothes are a good start. I feel happy with the shopping trip, despite it costing me over $100.
“TAKE University and if you hit Shattuck you’ve gone too far,” I overhear Owen giving directions to Kyra.
It is Monday morning and it is our first day working in his office for the summer. I have chosen my brand-new slacks and my black blouse. Simple but quite professional. I am unsure of how office people style their hair so I braid my long hair and wrap it tightly in a bun at the base of my head. A little mascara, some Chapstick and I’m as ready as ever. I slip onto the barstool next to Kyra, and lean forward.
“Good morning Marie, how are you?” she sets a mug down in front of me and pours fresh, hot coffee. She slides me a plate. She has made silver dollar pancakes, eggs and sausage. Do they have whatever they want to eat all the time? I’m sure they do. I’m still in awe.
“It looks delicious,” I say, my eyes wide as I take in the contents of the plate. “Thank you so much.” Marie smiles warmly at me before turning to Kyra.
“Eat!” she barks, and Kyra grabs her fork and begins taking bites of pancake.
“Okay, okay!” she murmurs.
No one has to tell me to eat. Within a matter of minutes my plate is empty. I turn and see that Owen has been watching me. He gives me a small, impassive smile.
“You look very nice, Elizabeth,” he says.
Kyra is right there! My inner voice slaps me down. He’s not saying you look nice in a sexual way, Elizabeth. He’s simply telling you that your new clothes look nice.
“Doesn’t she!?” Kyra says in between bites of syrupy pancake. “I helped her pick it all out,” she says. Embarrassment settles comfortably into my cheeks.
“I didn’t have any office clothes,” I say shyly, sipping my coffee. “Turns out, a polo and shorts work just fine for scooping ice cream but maybe aren’t so great for an office.”
Kyra laughs loudly and Owen’s smile seems to fade away instantly. He is hard to read, isn’t he?
“Right,” his accent cuts through me and I find myself clenching my thighs to provide some relief to the pressure that is building within me. Even his curt attitude has me heated.
“Well, I’m going. I’ll see you both shortly. Ava will get you both set up. You’ll be sharing an office.”
He nods and I swear there is heat in his dark eyes when he glances at me.
“Perks of being the big shot’s daughter. Your own office,” she winks and stands, rubbing her flat stomach. “I’ve eaten too much, Marie. You’re going to make me fat!” I don’t see how Kyra would ever be fat, she runs so much. I wonder, then, if Owen runs, too. I remember her showing me their home gym somewhere in this house.
Owen was wearing a navy suit, slim fit, and a crisp white dress shirt. He had a brown leather belt which matched his brown leather shoes. The leather was smooth and shiny and looked expensive. He simply looked expensive. I could see in this suit that his body was lean with muscle in his torso. Yeah, he must work out. I wondered what sinewy heaven laid beneath that suit. Mmmm. He looked so painstakingly handsome that I only let myself look for a few brief moments. My body tingled as I watched him pull the back door closed behind him, the last traces of his cologne and body wash trailing out the door with him.
WE TAKE an elevator up to the top floor of a huge mirrored building. I can’t believe that Kyra has never visited her Dad at work before! I tell her that and she gives me a funny look, as if to say, ‘why would I?’
Ava sits perched behind a tall desk that faces the elevator doors. She is a beautiful woman, round glittering eyes and full lips. She smiles and exposes a mouth full of pearly whites. Her dark hair is tucked into a neat chignon behind her and she is wearing a smart looking suit, cream colored with a royal blue blouse. Pearls falls loosely around her collarbone and I see she is wearing matching earrings. Her eyes grow wide when she sees Kyra and she rushes around the desk and hugs her deeply.
“Kyra!” she cries out and I hear that she, too, is British. My eyes instinctively narrow at her. Is this Owen’s girlfriend? No, Kyra has said that Owen does not have a girlfriend. I am skeptical, though. She is his secretary after all.
Inner voice, where are you? Just because they’re both British doesn’t mean they’re dating.
I sigh with relief at this thought; yes, I am a bit ridiculous, aren’t I? I am lost in my thoughts as Ava catches up with Kyra, and am yanked back from them when Ava wraps her fingers around my elbow. “And this must be Elizabeth.”
She knows who I am. Hmm. Perhaps Owen has spoken of me?
Ha, cackles my inner voice. HR probably told her; she probably got the office ready!
“Mr. Bolling has assigned this back office to you both. You will be inputting client reports. It’s not glamorous but it’s perfect for the summer, isn’t it?” she scrunches her nose and smiles, kindly. She is non-threatening and gentle and I feel my shoulders relax a bit.
“Is he on this floor?” I say, before I can think it through. Kyra looks at me quizzically but before she can ask me why I’m asking where her Dad is, Ava releases a strained giggle.
“Dear, this is his floor. The floors below us are the rest of the company.”
Jesus, he’s got the entire top floor? I start scanning the area and the entire back corner is a massive office. There is a tall back black leather chair that is turned away from us, but it is moving ever so slightly.
“He’s on a call,” Ava says, following my eyes. I blush.
“Just figuring out the layout, is all,” I murmur, a bit mortified.