After ascertaining that she didn’t want lunch or anything to drink, Michael suggested that they move on to an expensive, upscale boutique. In very short order, Cathy was modeling dresses and gowns for him. She was uncomfortable at first. It felt awkward to walk out of the dressing room to pivot in front of him while his gaze slowly traveled over her. But his comments were never off-color or suggestive, so she was able to get over her stiffness.
The saleswoman who waited on Cathy was attentive, having already scented a good sale, and she scurried to pull another color or design as needed. Michael was particularly taken with a fern-green clingy jersey. “Try that one.”
Cathy nodded and took it back into the dressing room. As soon as she put it on, she knew that it complimented her. Her auburn hair was a beautiful contrast to the fern-green jersey. The halter neckline plunged deep, making it impossible to wear a bra with the gown. The gown hugged her curves, flaring at the hips and falling in graceful folds to her ankles. A slit from hem to high on her left thigh showed a good flash of leg when she moved. She exited the dressing room.
At sight of her, Michael straightened in his chair. His ice-blue eyes lingered on the exposed swell of her breasts. Her nipples involuntarily pebbled under the thin fabric. When he lifted his gaze to meet hers, there was banked heat in his eyes. “I think that’s the one.”
The smiling saleswoman preceded Cathy back to the dressing room. As she unlocked the dressing room again, she remarked, “Your husband has very good taste.”
“He’s not my husband,” Cathy blurted. She felt heat scorch her face. Ducking her head, she hurried into the dressing room and shut the door.
The saleswoman did not appear to notice her flush. “Oh, sorry. Your boyfriend. It’s obvious that he adores you. Just hand out the gown whenever you’re ready, and I’ll go ring it up.”
Cathy took off the gown and handed it over the door. The saleswoman’s tapping heels retreated. Cathy pulled on her street clothes, reflecting on the saleswoman’s assumption. It was foreign for her to think of Michael even as boyfriend material. It bothered her, more than she had been consciously aware of it, that she could not readily define their relationship.
However remote the possibility might be, she could run into an acquaintance and be placed in the position of having to introduce Michael. It would be so much better to say, “Oh, this is my boyfriend, Michael. So nice to see you. Sorry we have to run.” Instead of, “This is the man who is paying me to have sex with him.”
All right, she would call him her boyfriend. Whatever else she did, though, she must not forget that there were to be no emotional ties. Michael had emphasized that point that first evening when they had met for dinner and yet again in his emails. Theirs was to be a mutually beneficial arrangement and nothing more. But obviously one fraught with hazards, she reflected, not the least being her own conscience.
As Cathy left the dressing room, she averted her gaze away from the mirror. She preferred not to look at herself any more, too afraid that she would see the self-condemnation reflected in her own eyes.
When she emerged to rejoin Michael, she was determined never to let her mental guard down again. She had to become Winter. She needed to cultivate voluntary schizophrenia. At the silly thought, a wry smile curved her lips.
Michael noticed the slight smile on her face. “Having a good time?”
Cathy thought about it. Except for her faux pas with the saleswoman, she had actually enjoyed trying on all of the beautiful clothes. “Yes, I am.”