“I want stockings like this,” I said. “And if I get this stuff, I’m pulling a dress out of my mom’s closet, even if it’s boring.”
“Perfect. The more boring, the better. He’ll die when he sees this underneath.”
I filled my lungs with confidence. “He may or may not, but I’m pretty sure I will.”
Francine put her fists in front of her mouth to hide her smile, but she couldn’t stop herself from stamping a foot in glee. “Let’s go!”
She pulled me back to the salesgirl, and I gulped down all my shame and followed her. I was giving myself a ton of mixed messages about what I expected from this evening. Poor guy. If he thought he was confused, he should have tried living in my brain for a few hours.
nineteen
Vivian
I didn’t have long to get dressed. I ran past Dad, who was standing at the counter and cooking something that smelled wonderful, so he wouldn’t see the La Perla bag.
“Hey, peanut!”
“Hi, Dad!” I said as I walked by.
“You staying for dinner?”
“Um, no. I have a date,” I called from the den.
“What?”
Shit. I shouldn’t have told him. “A date, Dad!”
I rushed into Mom’s old room. I slipped into the closet and snapped the door shut.
A knock came soon after. “Vivian?”
“He’s coming at eight. I’m nervous. I’m going to have a stroke. Please don’t make it worse. Don’t even mention it. Just don’t even say anything.”
A moment of silence.
“All right. I’ll save you some dinner for later. Or tomorrow.”
“Thank you.”
He shuffled away. I heard the bedroom door click. Thank God. He was really leaving me alone.
I brought my stuff to Mom’s bathroom because it was next to the closet where my dress was. I always cleaned between my legs, but that night, I was extra thorough. I bent over to see my flattened blond hairs. Was I supposed to shave?
Of course I was supposed to shave. I soaped up and took my razor off the shelf. How old was it? Should I get a fresh one?
I was being silly. Razors didn’t have…
Expiration dates.
I had to stop myself to think about that. He’d agreed that we didn’t have an artificial end date. That worked for me. But why was I going into this with my legs open? If we were going into spring training and beyond, then there was no rush.
Right?
Could I trust him? Could I trust that he wasn’t going to use me and throw me away? Did it matter? I was a grown woman. Not terribly experienced, sure, but I was perfectly capable of enjoying sex when I wanted to. I didn’t need artificial timelines any more than he did.
I put down the razor.
I believed all of that, and I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t even ready for what we’d already done on the kitchen bar stool. I needed to get to know him better. I lacked a very basic trust in our relationship, in him, even in myself.
Right. Okay.
I shut off the water as if the decision had nothing to do with my hair care choices and everything to do with the shower itself. But it was a punctuation at the end of the process.
Deep breath.
I toweled off and peeked in the bag. My new underwear was wrapped in gold tissue paper. I undid it carefully and folded it up. It was too nice to just throw away.
I laid out the black stockings and lace panties on the bed. The bra was the same as the salesgirl’s but had a star in the center.
“You wear this when you want to get laid. Not when you don’t.” I said it to myself because I was the one who needed clarity.
I wanted to wear it because I’d just sold the farm to get it.
As long as the dress covered it, I was okay. That was what I told myself as I chose a bra-hiding burgundy dress with long sleeves and a flouncy knee-length skirt. It was so chaste I would have worn it to work if it wasn’t so expensive and rare.
Done.
“Here goes,” I exhaled.
I got the stockings, panties, and garter on, and I was hooking the bra when the bed buzzed. I rifled around for my phone.
I can’t wait to see you
I smiled to the phone. Another text came before I could reply.
Wear something comfortable
Now was the time. This moment. If I was going to prepare him to be refused for tonight, then now was the time to warn him.
About that
I want to take it slow
Slow is my middle name
That’s not true
My middle name is Beaumont, but that’s a secret. If you tell another soul I’ll deny it
Dashiell Beaumont Wallace
It had a terrible ring to it, and I laughed to myself.
LOL
Next week I’ll cook you Mom’s Scotts/Norman specialty. We’ll see who laughs then I bit my lip. He was planning something for next week. That was a good sign. I typed something polite into the phone then felt the skin of my hips goose-bump, and I looked down at my body. I was texting him in this getup, and I was going to see him in—
Wait. Are you driving? You shouldn’t text and drive
I’m out front. In the car. I got here early and didn’t want to crowd you I saw myself in the closet mirror. I looked like the mannequin. A little less waxen. A little more human. A little like a sex kitten.
Holy shit. Was that me?
It was, and I was pretty hot.
Come in. I’m ready