Chapter 5: Toni

When the clock radio came on, Toni was deep in an erotic dream. The sound of the radio playing the waltz from Carrousel blended with her dream as she felt herself rise to a climax and fall into a sleepy orgasm. Part of her mind moaned in pleasure, part cried out, 'Not again!'. After a few moments, the music ended and the wave of unbidden pleasure passed. She roused, listening sleepily to the first news items, then swung her feet out of bed.

She checked to be sure the blinds were down before she turned on the light. She had, of course, closed them last night when she came into the room to go to bed; it was habit to check them in the morning. Her feet fell readily into the slippers on the floor where she had left them.

The early light crept through the slats, and Toni sat for a moment looking at the cool glow before she got up. She went to the window and closed it, peeking through the blinds at the sky, and went toward the door. She unlocked it and crossed the hall to her bathroom, reached in to turn on the light, entered and locked the door behind her.

The mirror showed her strong, regular features and warm, perfect skin tones. Her dark, short hair, tousled from the night, haloed her face. She looked at herself briefly, then turned her back and started the shower, using the toilet while the hot water came up.

Toni pulled off her plain flannel nightgown, hung it on the hook behind the door. She stepped into the spray and washed her body and her hair. When she had finished, she opened the curtain and dried herself with a towel from the bar.

In front of the mirror, she looked at her body, generous but trim. She brushed her half-dry hair, black and curly. She examined her face for a moment, ran her hands down her flanks and back up to cup her breasts. 'It's a really good body', she thought, with a wry smile. 'It really doesn't need a thing - just a different resident.'

She wrapped herself in her towel and, unlocking the bathroom door, hastily returned to her bedroom - again locking the door behind her. She looked in her dresser for a pair of concealing briefs, a bra that concealed and flattened her breasts and an opaque slip with no decoration.

Her closet was full of clothes, all well cut, colors that looked well on her, most of which she had made by hand. The dress she chose was a lovely print that fell to her ankles. The color and the pattern both complemented her good looks, but showed only the minimum of skin, de-emphasized her narrow waist and full breasts and covered her with long sleeves and a high neck. She put on earrings and half-stockings, then a pair of low shoes. Unlocking the bedroom door, she raised the blinds, made the bed. She hung the towel in the bathroom and went out through her living room and into the kitchen to make coffee and breakfast.

Toni lived alone. She made good money, but she had always lived alone, even when she could hardly afford it. The idea of sharing an apartment with anyone filled her with dread, and though she had endured it when she had had no choice, she did not plan to do it again if she could avoid it. When she had room-mates they had rarely commented on her habits of concealment, but she always felt they, somehow, were looking at her body - or would if they could. And the real trouble was that they frequently would appear hardly dressed at all; their young bodies revealed as flesh and hair and supple skin. Toni tried never to think - consciously - about those occasions.

The living room was well furnished, with taste. She had made all the curtains and coverings herself, as she had done for the accessories in her bedroom. Next to the bedroom was her workroom - her sewing machine, a dress form that was true to the shape of her body, racks and drawers of tools and notions and fabrics.

Her breakfast finished, she brushed her teeth, tidied the house and scampered down the stairs, walking along Pearl Street a few blocks toward the Mall. On the Mall, she noticed a truck with a cherry-picker in front of Melanie's store, hoisting a new sign into place. She walked over to look. The first half was already over the right side of the facade: Lacy Lingerie. The men were busy bolting on the left-hand section: Dirty Duds. An ampersand lay in the back of the truck, ready to fit between the two halves. Toni giggled, and walked past the display, waving at Melanie, who was bustling around the front of the store.

Melanie stuck her head out the door. "Hey!" she called. "Come by at lunch time."

"Okay," Toni replied. "Twelve-thirty," and swung back down the street, her long legs making her skirt sway and swirl, and around the corner toward her office. It was small, two rooms on the second floor of a modernized Victorian building at the corner of Broadway. The telephone showed messages, and when she turned on her computer, there was e-mail. She set to work, responding to mail, making phone calls.

Francisco Industrial Fashions was the title on the door. Toni designed uniforms and working clothes for a variety of industrial clients, often sending the accepted designs out to be manufactured by others - sometimes by large US manufacturers, more often to people she knew who sourced clothing from the Far East. She had a good list of customers and a good reputation for wearable, sensible work clothes that were still, somehow, fashionable. Her clients were mostly medium-sized companies, although she had had nibbles from large customers like Federal Express and one or two of the smaller airlines. Toni was happy with her work, comfortable with her income.

And lonely.

When lunch-time arrived, she set things aside, leaving a design to print on the plotter, and headed downstairs to the street. On the Mall, she pushed into Melanie's shop.