Chapter 4
Abigail
“I’m Madeline, from Bloomingdales. I’m told you need a gown for the Golden Ball event tonight?”
I shrugged. “Sure. I guess.” My eyes gave the other woman’s appearance a quick sweep. The young woman had her dark brown curly hair pinned up in a tight ponytail at the back of her head, and was dressed in a red printed blouse and short black skirt. Professional, but with a touch of sexy. Taking a step back, I motioned for her to enter.
She giggled, breezing past me and into the foyer. “Don’t worry, Mr. Townstead already told me what you need. All you have to do is sit back and enjoy. In a couple of hours, you’ll have a dress that will make every woman there envious.”
Considering there would likely be hundreds of socialites sporting thousands of dollars worth in boob jobs, butt lifts, and god only knew what else, I highly doubted I’d outshine them. Not with my bargain store make-up and ass whose only exercise was the everyday work of a maid.
“Don’t worry. You’ll be surprised what we can accomplish. You have an amazing body as a canvas, just consider me the painter.”
I raised an eyebrow at her, not entirely convinced.
My body. A canvas? What in the hell was she smoking to figure that?
“Do you mind if we take your measurements here? Or would you like to go somewhere a little more private?”
“Do I have to get naked?” I’m not sure how comfortable I was getting undressed in front of the stunning woman with the perfect size-four figure before me.
She shrugged. “Not if you don’t want to.”
“I’d rather not. So here would be fine, I guess.” Devon was gone for the afternoon with the promise of being home by five to get ready for the night’s event, while Isabella was at her gymnastics camp, so the place was empty. Apparently, Devon had arranged for her drop-off and pick-up from now on, so he’d really thought of everything. Al least it gave me time to get acquainted to my new temporary home. I was determined to give the hot tub in the master bedroom a try; each time I cleaned it, I’d always longed to get undressed and go for a soak. Bathing in that huge four-person hot tub, with some candles going and a good book in my hands – now that sounded like heaven to me.
Madeline pulled a pad of paper, a pen and a small measuring tape from her handbag. Opening the pad, I noticed there was a fair amount of information already recorded including my name and the event I was going to, along with a lot of blanks to be filled out.
“Okay, so, I just need you to stand up straight, head up and your arms raised parallel to the floor please. This will be over in a jiffy.”
In a jiffy, I silently repeated, raising my chin and arms to let her do her work.
~*~ TT ~*~
“These are the selections we’ve picked out for you to choose from.”
Madeline was back, this time with a rolling rack of a couple dozen dresses, most floor length and form fitting. I thumbed through the hangers, marvelling at the contents. Each dress was stunning in its own way. However, they were totally going to put my tummy roll on display. I thought she was supposed to be an expert?
“What’s wrong, hun?”
I was too embarrassed to give her my opinion so simply shrugged. Was money worth the humiliation I was going to have to endure over the next month?
“Why don’t you try them and then make a decision.”
That sounded fair. I had nothing better to do with my time, I guess.
“Where would you like to go to try these on?”
We couldn’t get the rack upstairs to the bedrooms, so I guided her to the living room area and had her place it by the door.
“Why don’t you try this one first? I love red on women with dark hair and eyes.” She pulled out a strapless red gown which was form fitting until it hit mid-thigh, where it burst out in ruffles upon ruffles of red and silver lace frills. It was stunning, but I couldn’t imagine it looking good on me.
“Trust me and try it,” she added when I hesitated.
Taking the dress from her, I exited the room and entered the washroom down the hall. I quickly shed my jeans and pulled my t-shirt up over my head. Folding my clothing, I placed them on the long two-sink vanity and gave the dress a look of both longing and apprehension before stepping into it and pulling it up my body. As I zipped it up, the garment tightened around my hips, waist, and lower torso, and this is where I started to have issues. No matter how much wiggled and squirmed, grunted and groaned, I couldn’t get the fucker up any further. It was taking me minutes, minutes I tell you, which is a long time to pull up a dress.
There was a light knock on the door. “Do you need some help, Abigail?”
You better believe I did. How in the name of god did people pull up these zippers on their own? With a loud groan of frustration, I opened the door and stepped out. “I’d love some, I’m having an issue with a zipper in here.”
“Oh dear, I forgot to give you these first.” She handed me a pair of Spanx that ran from the thighs right up to under the boobs. “Trust me, it’ll make you feel like a million bucks.”
It was as if she read my mind. “Okay. I’ll be right back.”
Taking the Spanx, I returned to the bathroom and carefully removed the dress, then began the agony of pulling on the Spanx. I usually hated this type of garment; they made using the restroom a hassle that I had no desire to put myself through. If I’d thought that the dress gave me an issue, this garment was ten times worse. But after more than a little frustration, it was on and I sighed, grinning triumphantly as I turned to the mirror.
Giving myself a once over, I had to admit the result looked pretty damned good. The tummy I was always so self-conscious over had virtually disappeared. My gaze dropped to the dress on the counter. Part two of this ordeal. This time though, the dress seemed to go on easier. The zipper, however, did not.
Exiting the bathroom, I shrugged. “The best I could do.”
“Not a problem, pulling up zippers is part of my job.” Making a swirling motion with her index finger, she motioned for me to turn my back to her. I obliged, lifting my hair up and bundling it at the top of my head while she did the blasted zipper.
I inhaled as the bodice of the dress tightened around my torso. It fit though, if only to say the zipper went up all the way and I didn’t bust a seam. Thank god for small miracles. Looking at myself in the mirror, I had to admit, I liked the image reflecting back at me. I’d never worn anything like this before, not even to my senior prom. Just fingering the material, I could tell it was high quality even though I had no idea what the fabric was.
“Can I have a peek when you’re dressed?”
“Sure.” Time for the second opinion. Opening the door, I stepped out of the bathroom and waited for her opinion.
She made a little “squee” noise and clapped her hands together, like an overzealous teenager. Her enthusiasm was contagious; my smile widened, and like magic I could feel my mood and apprehension lift. “I knew it would look amazing on you. Just knew it. Come back out to the living room, I have some mirrors set up for you to use.” She gave me another smile and walked back to the living room, expecting me to follow.
I did, as best I could anyway. The dress was quite narrow at the bottom, forcing me to take small strides. The price of beauty, I suppose.
Entering the living room, I noticed a portable three-way mirror beside the rack. Stepping up to the mirror, I examined every angle of my figure. I felt my confidence growing each second I looked at myself. It was amazing how something as simple as a dress could make a person feel like a super model… Okay, perhaps not a super model, but damned good.
“I think dress one is a winner,” she announced, “but you can never say for sure. We have lots more to go through.”
My attention shifted from my reflection to the row of dresses I still had to try on. The rack looked daunting, but I’d give it a go. For the first time in a very long time, I was feeling really good about clothes shopping. I could get used to this type of life.
“Once we’re done making the final decision on the dress, we’re going to need to get started on the shoes and accessories. Mr. Thompson also has a make-up and hair stylist waiting for phase one to complete so phase two can begin.”
Cocking a brow up at her, I asked, “Phase two?”
“Of your make-over day, of course. You’re so lucky, I’d kill for this, myself.”
It would appear that I was more than just a bet. I was his pet project as well. Like a Barbie doll to be dressed up. A touch of anger interrupted my good mood, but I pushed it down. It wasn’t fair to make assumptions about his intentions, at least when it came to this topic anyhow, and I wasn’t going to let that ruin one of the best days I’d had in a long time.