Page 40 of Pity Present
When Melissa comes back to inquire how I’m doing, I ask her, “Do you carry any shapeware?”
“That sounds promising,” she says. “Let me see you and then I’ll try to find something that will work.”
I open the door, and the shopkeeper lets out a low whistle. “Girl, you’re on fire!”
While I appreciate the props, I tell her, “I’m about an inch and a half away from being on fire. That’s why I need some help.”
Melissa eyes me closely. “The problem is the back dips so lowif you wear a support garment, the waistline will show. In fact,” she adds, “this is really a no underwear kind of dress.”
I stare at her like she just suggested I walk into tonight’s event stark naked. “That’s not an option.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t fly commando,” I tell her prudishly.
She laughs. “The dress is long enough that you won’t flash anyone.”
“That’s not the point. I like underwear.”
“Molly,” she says. “This dress fits you like a glove. As such, you can’t wear underwear, or you’ll have lines.”
“Then I’ll find another dress.”
“Or,” she suggests, “you can put your fears aside and wear this one. You’re a total smoke show in it.”
Turning back toward the mirror, I move from side to side. I suppose if I suck my stomach in like I’m preparing to take a punch, it might work. “I’m not sure I can sit in it.”
“Let’s try.” She leads the way out of the dressing room and gestures to a pin cushion stool. “That’s pretty low so if you can sit on that, you should be fine with any kind of chair.”
Walking over to the stool, I turn my knees to the side before lowering myself. So far, so good. Once I’m settled, I tell Melissa, “If the seams didn’t rip doing that, I might just be okay.”
She points to the mirror in front of me. “Look at yourself.”
I follow the direction of her finger and gasp. If that’s me, and I’m having a hard time believing that it is, Iama smoke show! “Wow.”
“Right? You look amazing!”
I wiggle around a little and check for signs of anything inappropriate hanging out, but she’s right, this dress looks like it was sewn right onto me. It’s perfect. “No underwear, huh?”
She shakes her head. “No way.”
Standing up, I approach the three-way mirror to get a look at the back. I’d whistle at myself if I didn’t think it would beconceited. “And a size eight to boot.” Running my hands down the sides of the material, I tell her, “It feels amazing on.”
“It looks stunning. Listen, Molly, I’m not just saying this, but you look like a sexy queen in this dress.”
“I’ll take it,” I tell her before asking, “Is there someplace in town where I can get my hair styled?”
“You bet there is!” she says with a huge smile on her face. “In fact, I’ll make a call and see if I can get you in right away.”
She hurries over to the counter while I take another minute to enjoy the view. I feel so confident in this dress, I decide to be brave and trust that I’ll survive a night without undies.
Once I’m back in my street clothes, I meet Melissa at the cash register. “My friend, Fernando, made a call and moved his next appointment. He can see you right away.”
“Fernando, huh? That sounds exotic for a small town in Wisconsin.”
“You think his name sounds exotic, wait until you meet him.” Her tone suggests I’m in for a real treat. “Leave your dress here and pick it up after your hair is done,” she says. “I want to see what he does to you.” Pointing out the window, she adds, “He’s three doors down in a shop called Caliente.”
Giving Melissa my credit card, I nervously ask, “He’s good though, right?”
