Chapter Fifteen
When life gives you lemons, you say screw it and drink coffee.
—Tensanne staring into her cup
Tensanne
“HEY, LEAH?” I ask, adding an espresso shot to the latte I’m making, “Have you ever been in that dress store downtown?”
“Mirage?” Leah asks,“The one that custom makes dresses?”
Nodding my head in confirmation, she continues, “Yes, they also sell on-the-rack dresses. I stopped in last year searching for a dress to wear to a dinner party. I was shocked when they were all a size two and less. I asked the clerk if they had anything in a larger size. She had the audacity to frown at me and inform me they can alter any dress. So, I picked one, she started the alterations and then told me it would be impossible to let the dress out far enough to fit me and maybe I should try a department store in the next town over,” she says her eyes wide in mock horror.
“I was mortified. I mean, I’m a size eight and she was implying that I was too fat for their dresses. I left and have never been back,” she finishes with a shrug. “Why do you ask?”
“Kohl bought me a gift certificate to have a dress made for New Year’s Eve. I’m a lot bigger than a size eight. I hope they can fit me,” I say handing the customer his coffee ignoring his “thank you” as he walks away. My mind fretting that the dress store will tell me I, too, am too fat.
“I wouldn’t stress about it. It is a custom-made dress. Surely they have clients who order dresses that are larger than a size two.”
With a forced smile, I turn to take an order from the next customer. “Hi, what can I get for you?”
“Did I hear you say Kohl bought you a dress from Mirage?” the sharp tongue she-beast says leering at me.
“That was a private conversation. What would you like to drink?” I ask trying to ignore her judging eyes raking me up and down.
“You’re lying,” she spews, spraying my face with spittle. “There is no way Kohl bought you a dress; or anything, for that matter. We all see you tagging along with him to the fitness center, helping him in the library. He pities you, ya know?” she pauses for her venom to settle into my head. “He was at a party hooking up with my friend Jill two weeks ago. You’re a charity case who can help him pass his classes. When your usefulness runs out you’ll see. Honestly, honey, you shouldn’t lie to people about mythical gifts. A fat ass like you could never attract a man like Kohl,” she finishes with a smug smile on her bitchy face.
“You need to leave. Now,” I hear from behind my shoulder, making me jump. Archer has once again come to my rescue. Though I appreciate it, I was ready to take care of this bitch myself.
“You’re kicking me out?” she bellows in disbelief, “But, but, I haven’t gotten my coffee yet,” she whines in a high-pitched howl.
“I suggest you find a new shop to get your coffee. You’re no longer welcome here,” he says pointing to the sign behind the counter that reads ‘We reserve the right to refuse service to any patron’.
Huffing, she slings her purse on her shoulder, mutters obscenities under her breath and stomps out of the shop.
“Archer, you have to quit kicking people out because of me. If you throw out every rude person on campus, there won’t be anyone left to buy coffee here,” I chuckle.
“I will continue to ban every person who wants to be an asshole. If people can’t be decent human beings, I don’t want them in my store. Prejudice is prejudice, no matter how it’s packaged. People judge you because they see you as a heavy person. Someone not as appealing to the eye as a thin person. That’s bullshit,” he bellows, his nostrils flaring.
“Rather than take the opportunity to get to know someone, they judge on sight alone. Honestly, it’s not even eyesight they’re judging on. Take you, for example,” he says waving his hand up and down toward me. “You’re a heart-stopping, young woman with rocking curves and curious eyes. Getting to know you is the icing on the cake. Jealousy is what’s fueling these people. You have something they want. Something they covet and it’s eating them up. These hateful people’s only response is to let venom spill from their mouths.”
Taking a big breath, I clarify, “They’re not jealous, Archer. Attraction is based on our senses. We must find something or someone physically enticing before we want to get to know them or want to buy it. Do they smell good? Are they appealing to the eyes? Do we feel a spark when we touch? It’s rare for people to get to know each other before seeing them. We see something we want, we pursue it. Simple as that. It’s kind of like trying a new food. When you first experience it, you will either love it or hate it. If you love it, you will love it always. If you hate it, you can learn to appreciate its taste but you will never love it.”
Grinning with his eyes lit with pride, “Spoken in true psychobabble; you will make a great psychologist,”, he states.
“I don’t want to be a shrink. I want to understand how the brain works. Study the factors that make us who we are. Thank you again for standing up for me,” I correct wrapping him in a hug.
“You’re a wonderful person. You need to see it and stand up for yourself,” he mumbles into my hair. “Haters are everywhere in this world. They will judge you for your race, your religion, your sexual preference—anything that makes you feel less than you are. Be stronger, be braver; don’t hide, don’t settle, be an Amazonian and make this world yours,” sighing sadly, he heads back to his office.
After my shift, I lay in my bed replaying everything in my head. My heart bleeds for Archer; he feels he must hide who he loves because he’s afraid of his family and friends. He’s unable to be openly gay, to embrace who he really is. Ironic that he wants me to stand up for myself when he can’t do it. Maybe helping me will help him see that he too needs to fight for what he wants.
My brain is consumed with the words of that venomous girl, the things she said about Kohl hooking up with her friend.
My head knows that we’re not together, that we’re only friends. My heart missed the memo and it’s wrenching me in half thinking he was with someone else. He’s a young, attractive man with sex being thrown at him all the time. Part of me secretly hoped he wasn’t screwing anyone, a small figment of me thought he might be starting to have feelings for me that extending beyond friendship. The sweltering kiss we shared on Christmas is on a constant loop in my head. The explosion of electricity when our mouths met, I can’t get the feeling of his warm lips pressed against mine, out of my thoughts.
Is he my friend or does he pity me, like she said? Jealousy over other girls, angry at myself for feeling something for someone like him, and hurt that he might not care consumes me until I fall into a fitful sleep. My dreams coming in like an episode of Cheaters.
I wake to the alarm on my phone, groggily I shuffle to get some coffee. The dreams from last night plaguing my mind. Picking up my potion bottle to add my daily dose, I glance to the second bottle. The one the lady said would show true intentions. Picking it up, I roll it around in my hand, an idea forming.
If I give this to Kohl, will he reveal why he’s really hanging out with me? Do I honestly want to know? Would he consider using this a violation?
Shaking my head, I set it back on my desk. I’m going to trust my instincts and trust that Kohl is legit. Plus, there is a little voice in the back of my head begging me to keep things as they are. Getting dressed quickly, I grab my purse and make my way, via Uber, downtown to Mirage.
The storefront is glitter and sparkles. The word Mirage over the door lit up with twinkles, shining in the sun. Headless mannequins in the window showcase glorious elegant dresses with jewels and trains. A jingle, announces my presence when I enter the door. A woman, maybe in her fifties, is behind the counter. She’s elegant in a cream-colored pencil skirt suit. Adorned with diamonds on her fingers, a Rolex watch on her wrist and expensive stilettos on her feet. I’m not knowing with fashion but this lady screams sophistication.
Her smile is warm when she greets me, “Hello, hello; you must be Tensanne.”
“Uh, yes. How did you know?”
“Your young man described you well,” she winks. “Come in, come in. I’m Mrs. Brandt. Let’s get started,” she beams, taking my hand, leading me back to a room full of mirrors.
“My young man?” I question, cringing at my reflection surrounding me.
“Yes, dear. The attractive young man who came to buy your dress said you were gorgeous, with amazing curves and wonderfully long legs. His exact words were “Baby’s got back.”
A laugh burst from my lips from his description and the elegant way Sir Mix-A-Lot’s lyrics come from her lips. Feeling my blushing from my head to my toes, “Kohl said that?” I ask.
“Yes, he’s very sweet on you. Now, do you know what kind of dress you would like?”
I stagger for a moment at her comment. Hope blooming inside that he might be ‘sweet on me’.
“I’ve never worn a real dress.”
“Never?” she gasps.
“I’m more of a yoga pants kind of person,” I shrug, fidgeting with the bottom of my t-shirt.
Crinkling her nose, “Those pants are the worst invention ever. Shapeless, stretchy, wastes of fabric. Now, what size are you?”
Shrugging off her assessment of yoga pants, I briefly study my body, “I’m not sure, maybe a size eighteen?”
Reaching for a tape measure, she wraps it around my waist then slides it down to my hips, “My darling girl you are way off. Your waist is a size twelve and your hips a size fourteen. What size jeans do you wear?”
“I don’t own a pair of jeans.”
Eyes wide. “No,” she huffs, “You’re joking? You wear these shapeless pants all the time? No wonder you don’t know what size you are. You must buy yourself a great pair of jeans. Jeans can accent your legs, your backside, and your small waste. You must get a good quality pair to fit correctly.”
Taking a step back, she analyzes me, walking around me. She completes the circle, beaming, “I know the perfect dress for you,” she gushes rushing through a door in the back of the room.
With mirrors surrounding me, I take stock of what I see. My shirt pulled up above my waist where she measured me. Peering very hard at the woman in the reflection. My eyes more judgmental than anyone else. I see, for the first time, a person that is not repulsive. I see the extensive length of my legs, long and quite toned from the hours I have spent on the elliptical. Glancing at the mirror behind me, I gaze over the shape of my butt. No longer sagging but round and perky. My waist is small and indented at the top of my hips, I still have a soft belly but it’s almost cute, I think. Up, my eyes move to my chest, it has decreased some in size but still a huge mountainous lump on my upper body. Though, with the right bra, I think I might like these huge twins.
What I see staring back at me, is me. All of me. I like what I see. The woman staring back at me is a person I’m learning to love. Lumps, bumps and all.
She returns with a template of sorts. It’s a rubberized mold of a dress, kind of like Polly Pocket’s clothes that I played with as a child. The mold opens in the back so it wraps around my body. Remember what Leah told me about their sizes? I wonder why she has a plus size mold.
As she is taking measurements and making notes, I must know how a dress store that caters to the small and petite has something just the right size for me. The non-small and petite. “Mrs. Brandt, are all your dresses out front a size two and below?”
“Yes, why do you ask?” she responds, distracted, busily making notes of dress specifics.
“I’m wondering why it is you only sell ‘on the rack’ dresses so small but you have a plus size mold to fit me. I don’t mean to be rude, but big girls like pretty dresses too,” I murmur picking at my nails.
“It’s true, we cater to smaller girls for the impulse sales,” stopping her ministrations her eyes thoughtful, “I have found, in my years of dress making, larger girls don’t often shop for elegant dresses. The customers I have who are bigger always custom order their gowns. A tailored dress fits so much better than one bought on a hanger, I encourage anyone curvy to have their dress made to fit,” hands on her hips, she takes a step back to evaluate the fit of the template. “Accentuating everyone’s best assets and beauty is key. As for having a mold in your size, the young man who came in, Kohl, told me all about you. I made sure I had a mold that would work perfectly for you since we are on a tight deadline. As I said, he is quite enamored with you. He spent fifteen minutes on the description of your chest. In all my years, I have never seen a young man light up so much when describing his girlfriend.”
Butterflies flutter in my stomach that Kohl described me in such a captivating way, “I’m not his girlfriend, traditionally speaking. I’m a girl who is his friend but there’s nothing more.”
“I’ve seen a lot with these old eyes and I know a man in love when I see him. You may consider yourselves friends but he’s vying for a whole lot more,” she nods with a knowing wink.
“Do you tan easily?”
Does he want more?
A person who knows nothing about either of us thinks he loves me. Why would he still be messing around with other women if he had feelings for me? I’m so consumed with questions filling my brain I forget she asked me about tanning.
With her questioning eyes still trained on me, waiting for my response, “Uh, I think I did as a kid. But my years spent inside, in books, have left me pale. Why?”
Clapping her hands in delight, “I’m thinking a coral color will be fabulous with your hair and eyes.”
Pondering for a second, I nod my head, “I guess I could get a spray tan.”
“Yes, that’s perfect. All the great tan color without all the skin cancer worries. I have everything I need. I will get started on this immediately. Can you come back for a final fitting on Tuesday? Oh, do you need shoes?”
“Yes, I can come back on Tuesday and yes, I need shoes or I could wear my Chucks with it. I don’t have any money to buy a nice pair of shoes.”
Blink. Blink. Blink.
Shaking her head, astonishment and slight revulsion in her eyes, “You will not wear Converse tennis shoes with this dress,” she snaps. “We will match you with some shoes when you come back to see how the dress fits.”
Staring at my Converse, I squeak, “Thank you, Mrs. Brandt. I will see you Tuesday.”
Wrapping me in a motherly hug, “You’re welcome, Tensanne. I can’t wait to see how this dress will turn out. You are going to be the Belle of the Ball.”