Chapter 4: See You All Tuesday

“Wow, are you in pantyhose all the time?” she asked.

Jessica? I think that’s how she introduced herself. I was terrible with names.

“Uh, yeah,” I replied. “For work, sure. Kind of have to.” I added, “It’s hard to sell pantyhose if you’re not wearing them yourself.”

I gestured toward the aisle lined with stilettos.

“Same with those. Hard to convince someone to buy four- or five-inch heels if you’re not walking around in them yourself.”

“It’s just...” Bambi chimed in, “you were wearing them at the bookstore, too.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Susan and I wear hose, heels, dresses, skirts—all that kind of thing at the bookstore. Trying to keep the place looking nice. You know, more upscale. Downtown’s turning into this boutique district. A lot of high-end stuff moving in lately.”

I gestured behind me thinking I was in the bookstore. “That chocolate place you stepped into that night—the one on the corner? What was it, like twelve bucks for a single bar?”

She nodded. “I think so. They were expensive. I couldn’t really pick anything up, but my sister said they were kind of pricey.”

She smiled, a little sheepishly. “And we weren’t there long. The owner kind of ... wanted me—uh, us—out.”

The other girls giggled.

I glanced at the group, shifting the conversation. They were my age, more or less—but talking to them felt like talking to twelve-year-olds.

Twelve-year-olds who could drive, wear stockings, and heels.

And, more importantly, spend money.

“So—just you three tonight?”

They nodded, shrugged.

“Others might show up,” Bambi said.

Yeah. Bambi.

Her name I’d remember.

I mean, who names their kid Bambi?

That was her real name, too. Not Barbarella. Not Ambrosia. Not short for anything. Just Bambi.

I didn’t ask. She’d offered it up during introductions when they arrived a few minutes earlier.

“So, based on what we discussed—and the fact that everyone’s showing up in a dress, skirt, hose, heels,” I began, sounding like a functioning adult, “what do you all need?”

And that’s when it fell apart.

They all started talking. At once.

It was like throwing a hairdryer into a birdcage.

Trisha—or was it Trix?—the quiet one, had a dress but needed hose, maybe had heels, but wasn’t sure if they were the right height. I think she said three inches? Or four? Or maybe that was someone else’s GPA.

Jessica? Yeah, she had a leather skirt her boyfriend liked—which, apparently, was the official seal of “sexy”—and some wedding pantyhose she might still have ... or maybe she tossed them out. Hard to tell. And shoes? Nope. Absolutely none. Like she’d completely given up on the whole concept of footwear and decided to embrace barefoot rebellion instead.

And Bambi. Sweet, sweet chaos-in-human-form Bambi. She didn’t have anything. No heels. No hose. No skirt. Maybe a dress her friend could mail her? Possibly? From another state? With a carrier pigeon? Which was odd, because she was really attractive.

I stared at them. That’s when it hit me—here I was, standing in my hosiery aisle with three grown women who apparently hadn’t the faintest idea what it meant to dress up, let alone knowing anything about heels—or pantyhose.

Sighing, I reminded myself it wasn’t their fault. I’d started working here when I was sixteen—had no choice, really. Aunt needed the help bringing in money. So, I worked weekends and after school, learning everything I could about clothing, fashion, and heels. Well, as much as you could in a place like this. Yeah, it’s New York, but not like I’m in the city or anything.

Meanwhile, Susan held down the bookstore while Aunt lay in bed. I smiled softly to myself. We had to figure things out fast, especially Susan. I wanted so badly for her to go to college. She’s smart. She could do it. But ... we just couldn’t make it happen. Not then. Maybe not ever.

Maybe that’s why I want things to work with Bobby. He’s a good guy. A steady one. Comes from a nice family. Maybe with him, things could be different for Susan.

“So, what do you think?” Bambi’s voice cut through the quiet. I blinked, realizing I’d completely zoned out on them.

“Okay,” I said, forcing myself back to the moment. “Let’s start with dresses.” No clue what exactly they had in mind, but somehow, I guessed right.

I led them over to the section where we kept the more formal wear. Trix didn’t take her eyes off me the entire time. I think it was the heels—only four inches, but she seemed mesmerized by the height. She was the tiniest of the group, maybe five-one at most. Proportional, pretty, definitely petite. But short.

“Here’s more of the formal stuff,” I said, gesturing toward the racks. “Mostly dresses, actually,” I corrected myself. “We don’t really carry super formal wear, but there’s a lot here that’d work for a formal evening.”

I reached over and pulled a dress off the rack, something similar to what Susan was wearing with Bobby, but with half sleeves. Size 8, I saw on the tag. It looked like it might fit Jessica. When I looked up, the girls were clustered around the rack holding bodycon dresses. Bambi was holding up one of the shorter ones against herself—I knew it would ride up the moment she walked. She’d be tugging it down the whole time. I chuckled, imagining her trying to manage that in transport cuffs.

I closed my eyes briefly, shaking off the thought—no idea why I was even picturing her in restraints. Then I walked over to them.

“Okay,” I said again, “this is a kink club, right?” I asked, not really expecting an answer.

Bambi nodded all the same. I couldn’t help but smile—she actually thought I was asking.

“Well, part of kink is not showing everything, but being suggestive instead.”

They looked at me blankly, clearly not following.

“Okay,” I said again, then turned around, gesturing for them to follow, and put the dress back on the rack as I passed.

We moved over to the business section. I pulled out a black suit.

“Size 4,” I said. “It’s fitted—designed to hug your curves and show off that hourglass shape.”

I pulled back the jacket to reveal the skirt underneath.

“Pencil skirt. It should hit just above the knee on you.”

I paused, reconsidering. Given her height, I corrected myself, “Maybe just below.”

Then I turned it around.

“See? No slit. Gives you that sexy wiggle walk guys go crazy for.”

I held it up to Trix. “This should fit you. Screams professional, but sexy.” I smiled. “Pair it with five-inch heels and sexy seamed stockings, and you’ll look like a knockout secretary.” I grinned wider. “And hey, you can even wear this to interviews someday. So, it’s got plenty of use.”

Trix took the suit and smiled.

Then I grabbed a fitted white shirt—low cut, the kind that never sells because it’s too revealing for work. But it be perfect for a kink club. I handed it to her. “This will go perfectly with the suit. Not something for work, but for special date nights ... really sexy.”