Page 54 of Breaking from Frame
Swallowing hard, Claire starts from the top.
The clothes Jackie picked are all over the map. There are a few skirts, a dress or two, and four pairs of pants, two of them in men’s sizes. Jackie also chose two men’s shirts—a polo, and a button-down—with a selection of ascots.
She’s not sure why Jackie is having her try on men’s clothes, but Claire doesn’t see the harm. They’re in a private room. It’s a day out of the house. Nobody will see, and Jackie wouldn’t pull such a crude prank as to laugh at her. It could be fun.
She tries on the dresses and skirts first. They feel better than her own clothes, more modern and fitting more easily to the shape of her body, but they still give her the feeling she’s always had—that something isn’t quite right. She no longer feels sofrumpy, but she doesn’t feel at ease in herself the way Jackie always seems to be.
Jackie nods her approval of both looks, smiling over her magazine as Claire looks at herself in the big mirror, and finally when the ladies’ outfits are exhausted Claire picks up the corduroys.
“I’m still not sure why you got me things from the men’s section,” Claire calls over the privacy fan. “It’s not like they’ll…”
She says it just as she’s pulling the pants over her hips; to her shock, they fasten in a perfect fit. They’re snug on her narrow hips, and long enough for her spindly legs without being too big in the thigh. They fit every contour of her lower half effortlessly, ending in a gentle flare at her ankle.
“Just trust me on this. I have an instinct,” Jackie calls back.
Claire turns to the side, twisting and staring down in disbelief at the way the pants hug her bottom. They make it look more impressive, somehow, even from this angle. Less flat and more shapely. As she stands in her brassiere and looks down properly at the shape of her own legs for the first time in her life, she suspects that maybe what Jackie has is a superpower.
Claire chooses the button-down shirt, a light blue to match the dark blue of the pants and tucks it into the waistband with a growing sense of excitement. Maybe once she’s dressed, she’ll look in the mirror and see that she looks ridiculous, but something in her needs to see Jackie’s reaction to assure herself she’s not losing her mind.
With her shirt buttoned, Claire steps out from behind the fan.
Jackie goes still. She sets the magazine down, her eyes now raking up and down over Claire’s body instead in a way that makes goosebumps erupt all over her arms.
“What do you think?” Claire asks breathlessly, doing a little spin in her stockinged feet. She’s not quite prepared to look in the mirror yet, not quite ready to face what she might look like,but Jackie’s face is telling a story all its own. Claire just wishes she could read it.
Jackie wets her lips. She swallows, her throat gently bobbing. She rises from the bench, circling Claire with a strange look in her eyes.
“Jackie?” Claire says. Her voice is thin and nervous. “I look silly, don’t I? Should I change?”
Jackie has come around to stand in front of Claire, now. Slowly, silently, she eases the top button of Claire’s shirt open, leaving a gap at her throat. Her fingers momentarily brush Claire’s sternum, and Claire twitches. There’s some strange energy coursing through her. Chain-lightning, crackling through her veins.
Still silent, Jackie reaches behind Claire’s head to loosen the clip that holds her updo in place. Their faces are mere inches apart, and Claire is tempted to close her eyes as dull brown curls spill down across her shoulders. There’s a singular focus on Jackie’s face, and in her eyes. She runs her fingers through Claire’s hair, loosening the hold of the hairspray, and her short nails scratch lightly at Claire’s scalp.
Claire feels as if she might melt into the linoleum. Jackie’s nails send a shiver all through her. The touch is shockingly intimate, and it stirs in her a wave ofsomething—a surge, a driving force with no objective. She has no idea what it’s telling her to do, but it crashes through her nonetheless.
It’s the single strangest and most exciting moment of Claire’s life, and she can’t for the life of her articulatewhy.
“There,” Jackie whispers, her voice cracking slightly. Her pupils are wide; there’s a half-smile at the corner of her lips as she guides Claire by the hips to turn around. “Not so buttoned-up now, are you?”
A different person is staring back at Claire from the mirror.
Just like she thought, the pants fit her almost too well. They cling to every previously nonexistent curve, fitting perfectly to her too-long legs. She’s never felt so exposed, and yet so comfortable. The shirt is the same—the color makes her grey eyes seem brighter, and it feels tight on her arms and shoulders in a way that’s strangely satisfying. The buttons don’t even strain over her small breasts. She doesn’t feel like a badly-framed painting anymore, bulging at the edges and constantly threatening to burst out.
It all justfits.
For lack of anything better to do with her hands, Claire sets them on her hips just below Jackie’s—they’re still sitting lightly just where Claire’s pants meet her shirt.
Claire looks confident. Powerful. She looks like the woman in Jackie’s photograph.
Jackie’s head pokes around Claire’s shoulder. Her hands are as hot as an iron.
Claire is suddenly very aware of the fact that this shirt isn’t starched and stiff like her dresses. It’s a thin, light cotton. The heat of Jackie’s touch is more pronounced through it.
The goosebumps are everywhere, now.
“What do you think?” Jackie asks quietly.
“I think…” Claire exhales shakily, trailing off. What Claire thinks, deep down, is that this might be the first time she’s ever felt trulyherselfin her entire life.
