Page 50 of Dirty Husband
Maybe there's something to the whole season thing. Or maybe Shep wants me in something demure and subservient.
Okay, a dress can't really be subservient. But the wholeI'm going to have final say over what you wear thing?
That's weird. Even for him. He doesn't care about clothes. His mother picked his out when he was a kid. And now?
I'd bet good money he has someone craft his entire wardrobe. I bet he has someone in charge of laundry, socks, goddamn hair styles.
If I was a less stubborn woman, I'd admit he always looks put togetherandsexy as hell. I'd admit that whoever it is who curates his appearance is a genius.
But I'm not a less stubborn woman. And, besides, I'm not willing to give up this way of expressing myself. We've never had much money for clothes, but I always found a way to show a little flair.
"I'm trying this one," I say.
"Of course." She doesn't lead me to a dressing room. She motions to the podium in the center of the room. "Do you need a longline bra? That dress has a fitted bodice. You don't need one. But some women prefer it."
I'm going to change right here, in the middle of the room, on an actual podium.
"Don't worry, Mr. Oza is going to stay in the office until I call him in." She holds her hand over her mouth and stage whispers. "When I first met him, I assumed he preferred men. Since most men who come in here willingly do."
Is running an errand for Shep really coming here willingly? I'm not so sure. But I'm not going to correct her.
Her voice raises to a tone that can only meanwhat I'm about to tell you is so scandalous you have to prepare yourself."It turns out he prefers anyone." She motionsonly in New York.
"I'm from the Bay." There are clothing optional parties in Golden Gate Park once a month, at least. New York may be a bigger city with more people, but it can't compare to San Francisco in terms of Queer Community.
She laughsso you know.
Not exactly. But I catch her meaning.
I'm trying on this dress. In front of her. I can do that.
She wheels over a rack. Takes the three gowns from my hands. Slides one off the hanger. "Whenever you're ready, dear." She motions to the podium. Then to a chair where I can set my clothes.
Okay, I suppose there's no waiting. I step out of my shoes. Unbutton my blouse. Then the skirt. The bra.
My underwear is a cheap cotton in a practical black. Not a fit for the luxurious atmosphere. But I'm sure Shep will change that soon.
I hate to give him credit, but, God, the thought of silk and lace. Of his hands on my panties. His fingers running over my sex, pressing the smooth fabric—
Shit. Not the time. Even if I'm buzzing with desire. Again.
I try to focus as Alexa helps me into the dress. It's a bit of a procedure, between the boned bodice and the fitted skirt.
She zips. Adjusts the top. Turns me to the three-panel mirror. "What do you think, darling?" She motionsone moment. Moves to a rack of shoes. "What size?"
"Seven and a half."
She nodssureand picks up a pair of silver sandals with red soles. Louboutins. Those run in the hundreds of dollars. Sometimes closer to a thousand. "These might not be ideal for the outfit, but they'll give us an idea of the drape."
"Sure."
"For the next one." She sets them in front of me. Stands next to me. Even though she's on the ground and I'm on the podium, she's nearly at my height. She's taller than I am and she's wearing heels. "What do you think?"
"It's fun."
"Yes, it is fun."
I stare at my reflection. The dress is beautiful. And my boobs actually look like they exist. The pink fabric hugs them just so. Makes my figure look hourglass.
