"Lucky"
by Brandy Dewinter
(c 2000, All rights reserved)
Chapter 10
The walk to the powder room forced me to concentrate on my heels and
dress again, and as a result I was more or less under control by the time
we got there. I was definitely a mess, though, as I saw immediately in
the mirror. Lonna was still taking care of me even in absentia, and I
found what I needed for emergency repairs in the elegant little purse. I
suppose it wasn't up to Shannon's standards, but after a few minutes I was
back to something I wouldn't have thought possible just a few weeks
before.
Since I was there already, I decided I had better take advantage of
the facilities. Which were obviously designed by a man. Damn cubicle was
too small, even if it was bigger than any I had ever seen in a men's room
(and a lot cleaner). I started trying to wriggle that long gown up my
hips. And up. And up. And there was still more of it hanging down,
flipping around like it was positively anxious to trail in the water.
When I finally got the hem high enough, I had to hold it with one hand,
work my panties down with the other, and hold my purse with . . . See the
problem? Why couldn't they put a little shelf in there? And a little
more room. And a floor that wasn't so slick that I just knew I was only
an incautious breath away from having those spike heels slip out from
under me and dump ME in that water even if I kept the hem of the dress out
of it. Lord, at least I finally made it off my feet. Oh my, now *that*
was relief. I almost groaned out loud, then I heard some other women come
into the room.
At first, I froze. But their chatter went on without interruption.
I realized that if they saw my feet under the stall door there had better
be an understandable reason for it. So I continued taking care of
business, though quietly.
Apparently, they only wanted to use the mirror. Well, perhaps that
wasn't quite correct. Their words made it clear they also wanted a bit of
girls-only space to be catty.
"Did you see that . . person on the arm of that handsome lawyer?"
"How did you know he was a lawyer?"
"Oh, he's Weisenheimer, the guy who's going after that delivery
service. It was on TV. And he's married!"
"To that dark-haired girl he was with?"
"Does she look like a wife to you, with all that hair and those
killer heels? If she's married, I'm Liz Taylor."
"Well, this is just a fundraiser. The lawyer's wife might have been
busy, or maybe the woman is a writer."
"Oh, puhleeze. Women like that do not have time to write. They're
too busy . . . working."
"What do you mean?"
"Why, I should think it was obvious. That's a working girl if I ever
saw one. Not a cheap one, mind you. I'll bet she never takes money for
her 'services', but I'll bet she didn't buy those pearls herself."
The woman's voice dropped, as though she were letting the other one
in on a secret. "You can always tell their price, you know, by the cost
of their outfit. She'll need to get back at least the price of that
gown and she's only got one night to do it."
"Oh, I think you're just imagining things. She looked nice to me.
Very pretty, but that's not a crime."
"Listen, dear, if my husband is in the crowd, looking that good IS a
crime. Even if he never says anything directly about her, I'll bet I hear
about letting my hair grow longer. It's just unfair. No sugar daddy ever
bought me pearls like that, and if I spent as much in the beauty salon as
she obviously did, you can be sure I'd hear about that, too!"
"Well, you did cut your hair pretty short, when you got married.
I'll bet it was almost as long as hers must be before that."
"Of course it was. That's how you catch a man, but after that
there's no need to put up with the inconvenience. Real wives don't
bother."
That was the last straw. My hair, um, my wig was exactly like
Trish's had been, and for all that Katy almost always wore her red hair
in a ponytail, it was not much shorter. No one was going to put down my
Trish without an argument.
I was angrily straightening out my clothing, thinking about what
I was going to say to that sanctimonious bitch when I realized what
I was about to do. I could just see it now. I'd walk out of a stall
in the ladies powder room, dressed as a girl, and tell her that I had
been married to a beautiful woman who took pride in her long hair, and
who loved to look good for me even after we got married. Oh, and she
was dead and I just happened to look almost exactly like her. Right.
That would work well. It would be a race to see if they sent for the
cops first, or the men in the white coats.
Instead, before I opened the stall door I took a deep breath (all
right, as deep as I could in that corset), and calmed myself down.
Plastering smile number 14 on my face, I sauntered out to the vanity
counter and washed my hands. All the while, I acted as though I were the
only person in the room. I used one long-nailed finger to wipe a non-
existent smear of lipstick away, then smoothed my sleek dress, giving a
little shimmy as though I enjoyed the sight of my own body. Then I
started pulling on the long gloves.
The two women had stopped talking when they realized there was
someone else in the room, then their eyes had widened in shock when they
realized just *who* that person was. It was obvious which one had been
so adamant about my 'profession'. She wore her hair in a boy cut that was
shorter than mine had been in years, and when she had recognized me a
half-sneer, half-wince had settled on her face. The other woman was
sort of neutral in everything, and I have to admit I discounted her in my
mind almost as soon as I saw her.
By the time I started on my gloves they had recovered a bit from
their shock and were gathering up their own things. I didn't say anything
as they turned to go, until they were almost to the door. Only then did
I let my eyes look at them through the mirror.
"Actually, I *did* buy these pearls myself. And the dress." (True,
of course, though I had bought the pearls for Trish.)
I let my eyes roam up and down their own clothes, then - still
keeping smile number 14 firmly in place - said, "But it's nice that one
can still find such bargains at the Salvation Army."
To her credit, the neutral one looked a bit guilty. The other one,
Ms. Sanctimonious, sniffed as though she was above such pettiness, but
she continued her escape without another word.
I stayed a moment longer, trying to calm down from the tension of
an argument that hadn't really happened. My fingers were shaking so
badly I didn't have much choice on the delay. It took forever to get
my bracelet back around my wrist after I finally got the gloves smoothed
into position. In any event, when I left the powder room, I was cool and
calm and elegant again.
Not.
As soon as I was back in the main ballroom, my anger at the biddies
and their opinion of me - which was in fact an opinion of Trish as well
since we were so much alike in appearance - threatened to consume me
again. I saw the two women moving toward a couple of middle-aged men and
was seriously thinking about heading after them when Bud came up.
"Are you okay now?" he asked. It was only then that I remembered I
had been in tears when I went *into* the powder room.
"Dance with me," I ordered.
"What? Uh, okay," he said, raising an eyebrow in a question I wasn't
quite ready to answer. He parked his glass on a nearby table and led me
to the dance floor. There was a second of hesitation as I almost lifted
the wrong hand, but in another second we were moving in time to a
moderately-quick melody. Moderately-quick for a ballroom, of course. It
would still count as a 'slow' dance in most situations.
And the music was not too loud for conversation, so it wasn't long
before Bud started his interrogation.
"You want to tell me what went on in there?"
"Did you know you're stepping out on Katy, and with a high-priced
hooker?" I asked, still too angry to make it a joke.
"I'm what?"
"You'll understand if I'm a bit more put out by what they said *I*
was."
"Is that what they really said? I mean, is there any chance you
misunderstood?"
"Not much. It seems I am a 'working girl'. She even decided she
could estimate my price."
I was finally calming down a little. Music has charms to soothe the
savage breast and all that. I relaxed a bit - it wasn't really something
I did consciously but I could feel it happen - and sighed. "It's a good
think you're a rich lawyer. At least she didn't think I was cheap. Quite
the contrary, in fact."
"Who was it?"
"That overweight woman over there in the too-bright green and yellow
dress. The mousy woman in the black gown was with her."
"Ooh, they really did get your claws out. Meow, meow."
"I don't need that from you," I snapped.
"Why not? It's a sign you're succeeding."
"What?"
"Think about it. You're angry because a woman thought you were too
pretty for a 'nice' girl. And you're showing it with the sort of sniping
at her appearance that makes it clear she's not as attractive as you are.
Would *Tim* have even cared about the opinion of some old biddy?"
"Well, the way she said it, she was putting down Trish, too, and
Katy."
"Oh?"
"Yes. She was saying that real wives don't bother to look good. As
though Trish and Katy were still on the hunt or something."
"She's just justifying letting herself go, and cutting her hair," Bud
said, looking at the woman again.
"I figured that our for myself, counselor. But it still makes me
mad."
"So, you're mad because other women see you as a threat. That sounds
like a pretty close approximation to taking pleasure in looking pretty,
which was sort of the point of this evening, wasn't it?"
"Oh. Yes. Yes, it was, wasn't it? I still don't feel anything
special, nothing but embarrassment, when men come on to me, though."
Bud grinned and said, "Well, you'll understand if I don't find that
to be a big problem."
Just then the song ended and we broke to clap politely. Bud's
eyebrow was asking if I wanted to continue, when Jason Michaels appeared
out of the crowd.
"I hope you will show that you don't hold my tactless comment against
me by consenting to dance with me," he said.
"Oh, uh," I stammered, looking at Bud. But his grin was threatening
to do permanent damage to his cheek muscles and he was already stepping
away.
The music started and Jason lifted his hand. Manners took over and I
nodded, reaching toward him. In seconds, I discovered a very interesting
distinction that had never occurred to me before. There is a difference
between dancing well, and having fun dancing. Bud danced well. Jason had
fun. By their standards, Tim had done neither.
And Jason swept me up in the fun with him. We twirled and we swayed
and we paused for just a dramatic heartbeat before swooping off again. By
the time the dance was over he was guiding me through maneuvers more
intricate than any I had imagined trying, and yet I was able to comply
with his lead. It was his skill, not mine, but it was wonderful to be a
part of it. The only adulteration to the pleasure was when I happened to
see Bud dancing with that biddy from the powder room.
I felt a pang of real disappointment when the music ended, and I have
to admit my first glance was toward my dance partner, not a search for Bud.
"Am I forgiven?" Jason asked.
"For what?" I replied breathlessly.
"For causing you such distress earlier. I am truly sorry."
"Oh, um, you couldn't have known. There is no fault."
"Thank you," he said, now smiling.
He might have been about to ask me to dance again, but before he had
the chance, Bud was there. He took my hand without asking and swept me
once more into the music.
"It would seem you enjoyed your dance," he said.
"Indeed. Did you have as much fun with your own partner?"
"Oh, yes. Well, perhaps not *quite* as much fun as you were having,
but it was very rewarding."
I let an eyebrow arch up, while not offering a smile to go with it.
"That is Ms. - not Mrs. as she was quick to make clear to me - Angela
Boden. Married to a Mr. James Swanner. A woman taking her husband's last
name is so medieval, don't you know."
"Indeed. She sounds fascinating. Whatever did you find to talk
about?"
"You, actually."
"Me?"
Bud's grin was back to face-damaging width, and I was seriously
considering adding some additional damage from my fist when he continued.
"I told her the truth about you. That you were dear friends with my wife,
but closer than a sister to a woman who had recently been killed in an
accident. This was your first evening out since she died, and it had
been quite difficult to talk you into any sort of enjoyment of life
again. By the time we were done, she might have decided you were a
Lesbian, but not any longer a, um, 'working girl.'"
"A Lesbian?! Oh, um, you know, that might be about as close to
true as anything," I said, then a grin started to pull at my own lips.
"Gee, you'd make a good lawyer or something."
"Ya think?" he said, laughing.
"And what was her response?"
"Oh, she was quite contrite. Not. She said all the right words, of
course, but you could tell she didn't really feel any remorse. I guess
you're just too pretty."
"Ha!" I said, but the twinkle in his eyes was reflected in my own,
I'm sure. Then I got a positively evil idea.
"Bud, get her husband, what did you say his name was? Get him to
dance with me."
"Swanner," Bud repeated. "Why?"
"Do I have to have a reason?" I asked sweetly, just a li'l ol'
country gal askin' for an unimportant li'l ol' favor.
He laughed again, but he led us over toward the couples I had
decided I wanted to meet. His timing, as usual, was impeccable and
we arrived near them just as the dance ended. Dancing in that corset,
even with the more sedate style of Bud's lead, still left me a bit winded
and of course I couldn't get it back through expanding my abdomen. As a
result, it was simply expedience that caused my bosom to undulate slowly
up and down as I tried to catch my breath. No one noticed, I'm sure.
Bud nodded at the woman, *Ms.* Boden, but didn't say anything. At
least, nothing in words. His expression was most eloquent, however.
After a long, silent pause, she finally gave in.
"I'm sorry if you found anything I said unpleasant," she said to me.
"I meant nothing by it. And please accept my condolences on your loss."
"Thank you," I said magnanimously. "I'm sure I should have been more
respectful of your obvious expertise in such things."
So I was being nasty. Sue me.
Bud interrupted before things went any further with a blatant lie.
"I'm a bit winded, but Tami so enjoys dancing, perhaps your husband would
keep her happy while I rest."
"I'd be happy to, of course," he said, bowing slightly and holding
out his hand. James ("Call me Jim." "Oh, thank you, and I'm Tami.")
Swanner was not a very good dancer. Still he was a fascinating man.
Whatever he said as we danced was sure to cause me to laugh gaily and
smile brightly. Even when he stepped on my toes. Twice.
Eventually, though, all good things come to an end, and he was
leading me back to my official escort for the evening. Who had,
coincidentally, recovered and was ready to dance again.
"That was not nice," Bud said as we moved away, but his grin showed
no more regret than I felt.
"Well, I never said I was nice," I countered. "Just not for sale."
All that dancing really was killing my feet, though, so I asked if we
could sit out the rest of that dance. For a moment, I saw pure mischief
in his eyes and I thought he was going to refuse, but he led me to a table
and I was finally able to sit.
"Would you like something to drink?"
"Oh, yes, that would be heavenly," I sighed. "I think I'd even try a
glass of champagne."
"Coming right up," he promised, then moved off.
"Call the police!" I heard a falsely intense voice call out with no
real volume.
I turned toward the sound to see Johnathon Layton standing nearby.
When he knew he had my attention, he said, "It is surely a crime for such
a lovely lady to be all alone among so many men."
"Bud will be back shortly," I promised, hoping it would be true.
"But even a moment with you would seem like an eternity of bliss."
*Get the shovels, it's getting deep in here,* I thought. But I
didn't have to say anything since Bud rode to my rescue on cue.
"Here you go," he said, offering me my champagne.
I turned to face him, thereby closing down the angle of access for
Layton, and smiled my thanks. Bud continued to be my white knight for the
evening and spoke to Layton himself. "Let's see, you're um, Brenda
Carstairs, right?"
"Yes," Layton replied, tersely.
Bud and I looked blandly out over the dance floor, not complaining
about Layton's presence, but not offering an opening. After a moment, he
moved off, obviously in pursuit other prey.
"That was not fun," I sighed.
"All part of the package," Bud replied. For every, what was his
name? For every Jason Michaels there are probably a dozen Laytons."
"I expect you're right, but I wish they didn't all have to sniff
after me."
"Still not catching that 'enjoy the attention of men' thing, huh?"
"No, not really. I enjoyed dancing with Jason, but that was just
the fun of dancing, nothing more. And I'd like to flatten Layton. I
may just do it if he comes around again."
"You seemed to have fun when you were dancing with that Swanner
guy."
"Seemed is right," I said, rubbing my aching toes on my calf under
the table. "He was a terrible dancer."
"So what was all the laughing about?"
"Oh, nothing," I said quickly. Too quickly, really. I knew I had
given myself away as soon as the words were out of my mouth. Actually,
I suppose Bud knew all the time. He was a good judge of people,
especially when they were guilty.
"Okay, I did it to make her jealous."
"So you do enjoy looking pretty."
"Um, yes, now that you mention it, I do. It's not because I want
to attract men, but I did enjoy knowing that women found me attractive,
even if it was as a threat."
"Even if?"
"Well, maybe *because* they thought I was a threat," I admitted with
a grin.
Bud's expression changed like a curtain had been drawn. He said
silently for a long moment, then asked, "So, have you found out what you
needed to find out?"
"Good question. I wish I knew. But I think I may have. I don't
feel embarrassed or ashamed to dress this way. I enjoy the attention,
even if I don't think it's in the same way that Trish did. I'm certainly
having more fun as Tami than I was having as Tim, these last couple of
months."
"So, are you going to stay Tami?"
"Would it bother you if I did?"
He sat for another long moment, then nodded, "Yes. I'd miss Tim.
But I want you to be happy, and if that means you need to be Tami, I'll
be glad for you, and learn to live with it."
"Do you think I'm wrong to do this?"
"No, not really," he answered, and the calmness in his tone made me
believe him. "It was wrong for Trish to be taken from you. Two wrongs
don't make a right, and this seems to result in a right for you."
"Thanks, Bud. You're a real friend."
Bud took the last sip of his champagne and made an obvious transition
to get us off that track. "And you're a real beauty, which makes it
easier to enjoy having you around.
"Why thank you, kind sir. It's nice of you to notice. A girl likes
to be appreciated."
"Really? Gee, maybe I ought to call Layton back."
"You wouldn't dare," I said, laughing along with him. I finished off
my own champagne and reached for my purse. He helped me with my chair,
then helped me to stand when I almost fell.
"What's wrong?"
"These damn shoes," I said through gritted teeth. "They're killing
my feet. It was okay when I was moving, but now I can hardly walk."
"Maybe we should go."
"Please," I agreed.
Again, I needed his arm more than I wanted to admit as we made our
way off the floor. Going up the stairs was both easier and harder than
coming down had been. The heels were less of a problem, but the dress was
worse. With his help, I made it without any noticeable disasters and my
feet had gotten enough better that I could even stand by myself while he
fetched my wrap. Its warmth felt nice as we waited for the car to be
brought up, but I appreciated the softness of the car seat even more when
I got off my feet again.
