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The slight, elegant woman bustles in with an armload of lingerie. All of it in pale pastel colors, predominantly shell pink. “You are like a young girl just coming into herself, chérie. You are not ready for the bold colors. You must know yourself first,” she announces in brisk Parisian French. Her words have me blinking, but her tone is not unkind. And I can see her point.
“What about this?” I ask, tugging on my hair as she lifts the first bra off the pile. It’s barely there lace and I’m not sure how it’s going to provide any support.
“We will address that abomination after we have you feeling better from the inside, chérie. Always work from the inside out.”
She straps me in without another word and I stare at my reflection in shock. My previously unremarkable B cup has lifted, giving me a perfect hour-glass shape. I stand a little straighter, turning to the side. Marie hides a smile.
“You see, much better,” she announces, briskly stilling my turn to remove the bra and replace it with an ivory number. I like this one too. Too much.
“Marie,” I start hesitantly. “These are so beautiful, but I know your shop is usually beyond my price range. Maybe we should stop at one for now?”
Marie looks absolutely appalled. “Nonsense! Anything worth doing is worth doing well,” she exclaims in equally perfect English. Her eyes twinkle at my shocked look. “I got that one from my father-in-law. It doesn’t sound the same in French,” she says, returning to her native language. “We will call this an investment in your future, little one. Plus, you are helping my brother, and that is more important than a few scraps of lingerie.”
“Pierre is your brother? Why didn’t he tell me?” I pout while smiling at the mint green lace currently cupping my breasts.
“He likes to think he doesn’t need anyone’s help. Particularly his older bossy sister’s. I think your hair broke through his defenses…” she remarks idly. “Now, which was your favorite?” I point mutely at the ivory and she carefully snips the tags off before putting it back on me. She hands me a matching pair of panties and I slip them carefully over my legs, pulling the lace in to place around my hips. I barely recognize the woman in the mirror, even though really not that much has changed. Marie carefully folds the remaining lingerie into an elegant cream bag and then passes me a lavender silk robe. “We will go for your hair next.”
“Oh, but…” I glance at the chair where my clothes are folded.
“No. Come, Olivier is waiting. Don’t let on I told you, but his real name is Sam.” She rolls her eyes, making me giggle.
In Marie’s presence, I don’t feel so strange walking through the mall in a silk bathrobe. And oddly, hardly anyone gives me a second glance. At the small salon next to Nordstrom’s, Marie hands me over to Olivier. His dramatic gasp has both of us rolling our eyes. “I will be back for you in one hour, chérie.”
It’s Olivier who rolls his eyes this time. “An hour? Marie, that is barely enough time to shave her head.”
Marie glares while my eyes ping-pong between them. “You asked for a project, Olivier, don’t scare the girl. Just fix it.”
Olivier mutters under his breath as he leads me past the five occupied salon chairs to a small space at the back. Picking up clumps of my multi-colored hair with a grimace, he says more quietly, “Darling, I would ask what you want, but there’s really only one solution here. We will finish removing all this color, cut it very short, and then I will give you some temporary color that you can apply until it regrows.”
I nod fervently until he adds, “I will expect you back here every two weeks.”
My eyes widen in dismay. “I can’t afford that.”
“Yes, you can. You’re our Cinderella project for the quarter. So you will keep returning until I say you’re done.”
I gulp. I think he’s saying I’m not paying? His attention is clearly elsewhere as he carefully rubs goop into my hair.
“Ten minutes,” he announces abruptly, then hands me a tablet. “Marie wants you to check the boxes next to the paintings you like.” The screen is displaying tiles of famous artworks. All kinds and all eras. There are little white checkboxes in the upper left corner of each. “Only the ones you really love and would hang on your own wall if you could,” Olivier cautions as he turns the chair away from the mirror before leaving.
I stare down at the pictures. I mean l like them but… I scroll down further and find one that matches my instructions. The colors are rich and jewel-like. The woman in the painting has joy shining in her dark eyes. I would love to have her on my wall, encouraging me to find that same satisfaction with life. I check the box and scroll some more.
4
Leanne
I’m exhausted when I leave the mall, my arms dragging with packages, but I can barely feel the weight. Feathery blonde curls dance over my eyes as the breeze picks up. Olivier gave me precise instructions on the color wash so I wouldn’t mess up his creation before Marie dragged me around the multi-storied pavilion to complete my new makeover wardrobe. Some of it was surprisingly affordable even before the Cinderella discount. Ordinary, not-designer jeans, but ones that fit well. If Marie hadn’t been standing guard, I’d have given up after the fifth pair instead of persevering for the tenth, which were the ones that fit like a dream. I’m planning to go back and buy three more of the same cut.
For work, I have comfortable outfits in rich jewel colors that are still easy to care for and don’t require ironing. They all have a certain style, a definite sexiness that I wouldn’t have dared attempt on my own. Or without the magic underwear. The turquoise dress I’m wearing now has ivory embroidery on the bodice that skims over my lace-bound curves. It’s not tight but isn’t trying to obscure anything either. I feel… I feel like a woman who knows her own worth.
Back at my little apartment over the ice-cream shop near the college, I cringe when I open my closet. What was I thinking? I pull all the black out and dump it on the bed and then carefully store my new wardrobe. I’m already trying to pick out what I’ll wear on Monday. I stare glumly at the collection of black piled on the duvet. My edgy phase was short-lived and definitely over. I stuff all of it in a box and slide it into the corner. I’ll figure out where and how to donate it when I’m not so tired.
Monday morning comes around before I’m ready. Mindful of Marie’s advice, I choose my underwear first. Opting for the pale pink silk with tiny little pleats as the only decoration. Then I pick my outfit. The subtle cinnamon of wide-legged trousers invites the coral knit tunic that clings lovingly to my curves. My smile when I check my reflection borders on a smirk of satisfaction. I slip on chocolate brown ankle boots and call it good.
When I walk into the lobby of Alpha Corps, I can feel the eyes on me as I cross to the elevators, carefully not glancing around. A long arm reaches around me to hold the elevator door open.
“Ma’am? I need to see your ID.” I glance back, startled to find one of the security staff scanning my face like he’s never seen me before. I hold my badge up for him to scrutinize with a frown.
“I work here. I come and go every day and I badged in like I’m supposed to.”
