Real Women Don't Wear Size 2 (5 page)

Clarise sat in her car and scouted the trendy shop. It wasn’t nearly as classy an entrance as the one at Eubanks Elegant Apparel, but Clarise wasn’t looking for classy. She needed
sassy.
No, she wouldn’t have thought the vibrant colors in season, but she had to admit, they were attention grabbing.

The lanky mannequins, provocatively posed, flirted as though they weren’t inanimate objects. And in Clarise’s opinion, they weren’t. They bristled with a lust for life, raw sensuality and plain fun—everything she wanted.

Unfortunately, she suspected that the Body Boutique’s size range didn’t extend to double digits. Although Babette had purchased several items from the notable store, Clarise had never set foot in the place. True, the size factor was a major obstacle, but there was also the rule that she was only allowed to wear “Eubanks Apparel” to work. Preston Eubanks, and Ethan too, for that matter, didn’t believe in “advertising the competition.” Not that the Body Boutique could compete with Eubanks Elegant Apparel, which only sold the finest of women’s clothing. However, fine clothing wasn’t what she needed. On the contrary, Clarise’s plans for Gasparilla called for wild, attention-getting party clothes, like the ones displayed so prominently in Body Boutique’s windows. But could she find the nerve to go inside? A year ago, she’d have said no. But that was the old Clarise, the one who wasn’t planning to bare her goods at Gasparilla.

Clarise inhaled, held the breath a moment, then snarled it through her nose like a ferocious bull eyeing the target. Except her target wasn’t red; it was several shades of neon. Determined, she climbed out of the car and stomped toward the building. The windows pulsed from a mad rhythm beating inside. Clarise tried to put her finger on the tune. It was extremely familiar . . .

Blondie?

She opened the door. Sure enough, “One Way or Another” belted from every wall and the ceiling. And, judging from the tremble against the soles of her shoes, the floor. Clarise closed the door, stepped forward.
One way or another, I’m gonna find ya, I’m gonna getcha, getcha, getcha, getcha.
Each tiny scrap of fabric whispered and chanted along. “I’m gonna getcha, getcha, getcha, getcha . . .”

Tie-dyed. Had everything around her converted to a tie-dyed version, or was the room spinning? What had she been thinking coming here? With this huge amount of color and small amount of fabric? This was Babette’s kind of store, definitely not Clarise’s. She swallowed, bit her lip and turned to retreat. She’d taken the bull by the horns, and he had promptly speared her.

“Hi! I’m Shannon—Shannon Bainbridge! Welcome to Body Boutique!”

Clarise loosened her death grip on the door handle and swiveled toward the chirpy sound. An ebony-haired all-of-one-hundred-pounds-soaking-wet pixie grinned back. Yep, this confirmed it. She’d willingly stepped into her own personal hell, and everyone else was tiny. Super. “Hi,” Clarise managed, in spite of her sudden urge to hurl.

“Are you looking for something special?” too-perky-for-her-own-good asked.

“I was just leaving.”

The door burst forward and nearly slammed Clarise in the nose. She backed up and four teenage girls, ditto for tiny and perky, entered.

“Can you help us?” one asked. Evidently realizing Clarise couldn’t possibly work at a place like this, she directed the question toward Shannon. Go figure.

Blue glitter shadow circled the teen’s eyes and three round stones sparkled from her silver brow ring. “We’ve got a party tonight and need a megahot look,” she explained, smacking her gum—bright blue neon gum—between words.

“I’ve got a customer right now.” Shannon gave Clarise another excited grin. “But Jadelle will be happy to help.”

At that, another pixie appeared from behind a rack of clothes. She was blond and clad in a multicolored dress that could have totally served as shrink-wrap.

“Come on,” Jadelle said. “We’ve got some great new things!”

Cheerleaders. They all had to be cheerleaders, the way they pulsed each word as though chanting a fight song. The herd of teens followed their new leader to the back room, while Clarise was thrown headfirst back to high school. Specifically, the locker room. How many times had she watched the popular crowd come in chatting and giggling while they stripped down to bras and panties? Then they’d continue the gossip session, talking about boys and movies and boys and school and boys . . . while they wiggled their perfect little bodies into their perfect little gym uniforms. Shorts and a T-shirt. What could be so bad about that? Nothing, if your body actually fit into youth-sized apparel, but if your Robinson Treasures demanded adult proportions, larger adult proportions at that, everything about that blasted fourth period was horrifying.

Clarise still cringed at the memory. P.E. A high school requirement? Whose bright idea was that? And plain shorts with a plain T-shirt? She couldn’t even use color and accessories to play up her assets. Every year she prayed for a government law letting brainy, pleasantly plump teens forego school-induced sweat and take another English course. And she wouldn’t even think about the days around her time of the month. If she’d thought things couldn’t get worse than wearing standard school-issued shorts and a T-shirt in P.E., she’d been mistaken. Oh no, a day wearing shorts and a T-shirt while retaining enough water to fill Lake Martin—that was worse.

Clarise despised being late for any of her classes; nevertheless, she received more than her share of tardy slips for that one, because of her hide time. Each day, she’d stall in the locker room while the other girls primped. Then, when they finally left, she hustled into one of the two stalls and quickly change into her P.E. clothes. T-shirt, size adult large, and shorts, ditto for large. Sure, it’d taken less time simply to strip in the center of the big gray room. What if someone forgot something and came back? What if they walked in and saw her?
All
of her? She couldn’t—wouldn’t—take that chance. So, on many a day, when Mrs. Phillips blew her whistle to begin class, Clarise was missing in action. Then the tardy slip came home, and her mother signed it without question. Granny Gert had been more vocal, saying Clarise should be proud of her glory and flaunt it in front of all those “little squirts that lacked aplenty in the treasure department.” But Clarise didn’t see anything about her excess cargo as glorious. Torturous was more like it, particularly when everyone looked at her tiny wisp of a sister, merely two years younger, and wondered what was wrong with the gene pool.

“So, what are we looking for today? Got a special trip coming up? A cruise? Hot date?” Shannon asked, stealing Clarise’s attention from her miserable past.

She blinked, then eyed the female in front of her. Ebony spikes stuck out in all directions, with two pointed sections lining each jaw. Earrings ran around the entire shells of both ears, with silver elves suspended from the lowest circles. Funny, she’d never pictured elves in hell.

Perky’s fluorescent green sweater, tighter than a swimsuit, appeared to have been slashed through the middle, exposing abs of a gymnast and a diamond belly ring. Low-rise black jeans completed the ensemble . . . since there were no shoes on her tiny feet—feet that were probably size six, from Clarise’s guess, and nowhere near her size nine skis. Several rings sparkled from Shannon’s toes, as did brilliant blue polish on each nail.

She looked like a rainbow had thrown up all over her. Oddly enough, Clarise liked the look. She envied a person so willing to play with her appearance and have fun at the risk of criticism. While Clarise knew sophisticated fashion, this girl was fashionably exuberant, letting her carefree, funky spirit shine through in her choice of clothing.

Clarise couldn’t help but wonder . . . why couldn’t she be more like that? Lifting her eyes to Shannon’s wide smile, outlined in dark plum, she decided this little pixie wasn’t so bad. Maybe she wasn’t the enemy after all. Maybe, just maybe, she could be Clarise’s ally for this venture.

“I’m going on a trip,” Clarise informed.

“Cool! Where to?” Shannon asked, steering Clarise to one side of the store, then flipping through a circular rack.

“Tampa, for Gasparilla. It’s a festival where pirates take over the city. Have you heard of it?”

“Quit it. Really? Sure, I’ve heard of it. It’s like Mardi Gras, but with big swords and huge boats. Oh wow, I so want to go to Tampa for Gasparilla. Are you taking your hubby? Boyfriend? Or are ya gonna find one there?” Her grin intensified.

Clarise fought the urge to laugh out loud. Part of her wanted to confess her plan to bed her friend, maybe even convince him she was the love of his life in the process. Chances are she’d never see Shannon again, so what would it hurt? Yeah, right. As if Clarise would ever confess her secrets, particularly to a girl who’d probably have no trouble at all heading down to Gasparilla and grabbing her choice of hunky pirates. Nope, Clarise would keep that little tidbit to herself.

“It’s a company trip. Corporate bonding, you know.”

“Ooh, I’ve heard of those. What company?”

Clarise swallowed. How much should she tell this girl, a stranger, about who she was? Then, as Shannon’s genuine interest shone through emerald eyes, Clarise couldn’t resist. She wouldn’t lie. “I run the Women’s Department at Eubanks Elegant Apparel, but I’m wanting a different kind of look than what our clothing conveys.” Was that a decent explanation? Would Pixie understand what she was after?

“Eubanks! Wow, they’re really uptown!” She tilted her spiky head. “My mom shops there, and my older sister, but you were right to come here for what you need.”

“What I need?” Clarise asked. She hadn’t provided any specifics.

“You’re not looking to impress the guy with your business fashion, right? You’re looking to get him in bed,” Shannon said matter-of-factly, apparently unaware of the shock value in her remark.

Clarise whipped her head around and quickly realized that—thankfully—no one was within earshot, then she swallowed and attempted to force some of the excess blood to leave her face. “Yeah, that’s what I’m looking for,” she said.

“You go, girl,” Shannon said, nodding. “And with your awesome curves, you won’t have any trouble finding
exactly
what you’re looking for at the pirate festival.”

Clarise couldn’t stop her smile. Shannon was quickly crossing over into the new-and-very-best-friend category.

“Come on, I’ve got the perfect look for you,” Shannon said, excitement pulsing through every word. She grabbed Clarise’s hand and yanked her farther into the kaleidoscope store. An assorted collection of leather, beads and knotted string slid down Shannon’s arm to tickle Clarise’s wrist. Was there anything about this tiny person that didn’t scream fun? She headed directly for a rack of seminormal colors, not the fluorescent hues out front, but vivid just the same. “It’s a new line the owner is trying out, based on my recommendation. I absolutely love this designer’s work. The problem is, most of our customers can’t wear them,” Shannon said.

Excitement raced through Clarise’s veins. Finally, something the two of them could clearly connect on—discussing a new clothing line. Granted, it wasn’t like any line Clarise had viewed before, but it did have a fun and flirty manifestation that begged to be touched—and worn. “Why can’t your customers wear them?” she asked, fingering a lime green sweater dress. The soft texture caressed her palm, made her itch to try it on, but she didn’t dare. Clarise never tried on clothing in department stores, even at Eubanks. That was something she did in private, not in a dressing room where an attendant popped her head in and asked if she was “doing okay.” How could anyone “do okay” if there was always the potential for another human to see you naked? In fact, in her own department, she made sure never to invade a Eubanks customer’s privacy.

“The figures. They just don’t have them,” Shannon explained.

“Figures?” Clarise moved her attention to a black leather miniskirt.

“Curves. These babies are made for curvy women.” She waved her fingertips across several colorful sleeves on the rack. “I can’t wear them, and I’d love to, but not everyone is blessed like you,” she continued.

“Blessed?” Clarise blinked. She jerked her head around in a full surveillance move. Was Granny Gert hiding in the store, feeding Shannon lines of bull to convince her granddaughter the Robinson Treasures were the jewels she’d claimed?

“Of course. I can’t wait to see this on you. Oh man, those guys in Tampa are gonna absolutely die.” She held the green dress against Clarise and tilted her head to the side. “Really brings out the natural highlights in your hair. And your eyes, oh yeah, this shade complements mocha perfectly.”

Mocha?
Clarise classified them as brown, same color as her hair. Natural highlights? Talk about willing to go the distance for a sale.

“I could never wear that,” Clarise said, shaking her head for emphasis.
Uh-uh. No way.

“Sure you can. Matter of fact, I haven’t had another soul in here who could, except you. You’ve simply gotta try it on.”

“I don’t try things on,” Clarise explained. “I take them home, then if they don’t work, which they usually don’t, I bring them back.”

“You’re not going to let me see how good it looks?” Shannon’s green eyes did a little pop thing, where the iris seemed to increase in size and made her look like Yoda.

Do or do not. There is no try.

Dang, talk about pressure, but new best friend or not, Shannon, and Yoda, were going beyond Clarise’s limits. And unless the force was with this pixie—as in the force to physically haul Clarise into a dressing room and squeeze her unwilling body into these scraps of fabric—this request wouldn’t be granted. “Sorry, but nope. Never. No way. No how.”

Shannon laughed so hard she snorted. Her abs tightened with the action, showcasing an impressive six-pack and taking her right out of Yoda mode.

“Okay. But once you get a good view of your body in this dress, you’ll change your mind.”

“Don’t count on it, and I’m not certain I’m going to buy it. Are you sure there’s enough fabric here to cover all this?” She pointed down, but didn’t bother looking at what she saw in the mirror every day. “What’s the largest size?”