Romance: Catching Helena Handbasket (14 page)

     “So from what I understand, Trey, you and Helena will be attending several formal functions while in London,” Arielle told him, adding as her delicate hand made another graceful flourish down the length of Helena’s voluptuous figure, “This gown should be perfect for these events.”

     Trey nodded.

     “You look ravishing, darling,” he told her, beaming with approval.

     Helena shrugged.

     “That is all Arielle’s doing,” she told him.  “Not only does she seem to know how to choose the perfect dress for any occasion, but she also does that ultra-cool wavy gesture with her hand.  I swear whenever she waves those manic pixie dream girl fingers toward any random victim, her target automatically becomes 15-25 percent more attractive, in just 15 minutes—give or take.”

     Arielle laughed.

     “You’re right, Trey,” she said over her shoulder, leading Helena back in the direction of their airy, spacious dressing room.  “This lady is a complete and absolute delight.  Captivating and magical, just as you described her.”

     Once they had closed the brass-handled door that separated them from their sole audience member, the demure, elegant fashion model of the day turned in a smooth flourish to her fashion consultant and said, “Are you royally shittin’ me?”

     Arielle blinked.  Hard.

     “Excuse me, darling?” she pursed her full red lips, bringing her perfectly manicured hand to her face in what seemed a gesture of astonishment.

     “A lot of people seem to make that very same gesture whenever they have a conversation with me.  Wonder why?”  Helena mused, adding aloud, “Sorry for my word choice, Arielle, but you just said that Trey Lawrence at some point referred to me as—what were those specific words?—delightful, captivating and magical.  True, this?”

     Planting her hands on her toned, narrow hips, Arielle arched her feathered eyebrows and said, “Do you want to hear the truth, Helena?  The complete and honest truth?”

     “Usually, my stock answer to the question is, ‘No.  Absolutely not.  I, much like 90s era Tom Cruise, pretty much can’t handle the truth.’” Helena allowed through gritted teeth, adding more seriously, “In this case, though, I’d really like to know.”

     Arielle grinned.

     “Well as it turns out, Helena, I’ve known our friend Trey for a long time,” she revealed, adding with the smooth toss of her golden blonde hair, “And what I can tell you, my dear, is this; that man is head over heels for you.  He mentions you every time we meet, and always with a boyish grin.  And, to answer your original question, he does indeed consider you delightful, captivating and magical—along with brilliant, kind, as cute as a proverbial button and absolutely hilarious.  I’ve never seen him like this, Helena—and I have the distinct feeling that he wants you in his life on a permanent basis.  Trey believes that he has found ‘the one’ Helena—and if you so happen to feel the same way, then I’m sure that he could make you a very happy woman.”

     Helena nodded.

     “If I so happen to feel the same way,” she repeated, adding as she stroked her chin in a show of mock contemplation, “Well let’s see here—Trey is intelligent, caring, sensitive, strong, and a darned sight more conventionally attractive than I am.  I do believe y’all would have to declare me clinically insane if I didn’t happen to feel the same way.  Just order me up a Saks Fifth Avenue straight jacket, no doubt embroidered, culled from the finest ivory velvet and accessorized with a matching pearl choker.”

     Arielle guffawed outright.

     “Trey was right, Helena—you are a riot,” she said with a chuckle, adding more seriously, “And, contrary to what you might believe, you do have a certain prettiness about you—you just need the right clothes to help bring it out.”

     Pausing here, Arielle turned to a dressing room chair layered with a pile of luxurious clothes; picking from the pile a flowing ivory kaftan embroidered at the side with scarlet rosettes.

     “I do believe that this frock, love, will do much to bring out ‘Belle Helena,’” Arielle asserted, tossing the dress in the direction of an awestruck Helena.

     Moments later an energized Helena emerged from the dressing room, her shoulders squared and her head held high as she posed and pivoted; her skirts flaring outward as she showed off her fresh new frock for the eyes of an admiring Trey.

     “Bella!”  Her lover applauded, adding as he let loose with a hearty wolf whistle, “You, my darling, are going to set London on its heel—and, in all likelihood, me on my…”

     “Oh be-have!”  Helena and Arielle exclaimed in flawless concert—next exchanging spirited high fives to celebrate their synchronicity.

     Trey expressed similar reactions to Helena’s next four outfits: a sea blue pant suit perfect for business meetings, a coat of faux fur that would serve his lady well on balmy London mornings, a well-tailored silk suit that shone in its shades of ivory and lavender, and a second formal—this one a gown of carnation pink that came embroidered with a lace collar and matching cuffs.

     “Perfect for my Victorian lady,” Trey praised, his admiring gem blue gaze caressing Helena from head to toe.

     While not a comparably classic example of haute couture fashion, the last outfit modelled—a pant suit that came emblazoned with kitschy cartoons that displayed 50s era women voicing comical phrases about the situation of women in today’s culture—also scored a hit with an enthusiastic Trey.

     “Perfect for Helena,” Trey assessed, gifting his lady with an affectionate wink.  “There’s my gal.”

     After selecting some baubles to accessorize her fashion finds—indeed, Helena was fairly certain that the diamond bracelet alone carried a price tag that roughly equaled, if not exceeded, three months’ rent on her modest flat, and the ruby bracelet wasn’t far behind in terms of its lovely, indulgent extravagance—Arielle presented Helena with a selection of shoes to compliment her luxurious new array of dresses and pantsuits.

     “Because as fetching as your signature lime green sneakers are, Helena, I daresay that they don’t really go with every outfit,” Arielle advised, all the while grinning through gritted teeth.

     Never a particular fan of high heels, Helena tumbled and stumbled a bit in her newly acquired pair of ruby red stilettos; and she felt like a sluttier version of Dorothy from “The Wizard of Oz” as she clicked her heels together three times and said, “There’s no place like…oh, blast it.  I can’t think of anything clever or witty to say right now, I’m about to fall over on my ever lovin’ face!”

     Under Arielle’s careful tutelage, Helena soon learned how to walk in heels; and she rather enjoyed the awestruck expression that crossed Trey’s flawless features as she swayed and sashayed before his admiring eyes; though, thanks to the fact that she was not yet ‘well heeled’ in the refined art of wearing high heels, she more swayed than sashayed.

     After also acquiring a pair of smart beige pumps to compliment her new wardrobe, Helena had one more request of her beaming personal shopper; one that made the openly feminist Arielle smile wider still.

     “Now I want to see a second fashion show,” Helena informed her personal shopper, “one that stars that hottie hot male model known as Mr. Trey Lawrence.”

     Soon Helena and Arielle had ousted Trey from his chair; with Arielle telling the confused man that he, too, was in need of a new wardrobe for their upcoming London excursion.

     Taking his place in the chair, a delighted Helena hooted, hollered and whistled as a smiling, abiding Trey put on a very sexy fashion show for her enjoyment.

     Dazzling her first in a crème colored silk suit that stole her breath, Trey seemed to recall his days as a male model as he flexed his muscles, shifted his hips and pouted profusely.

     “Sch-wing!”  A slightly feverish, definitely overwhelmed Helena exclaimed at one point, reciting a classic line from “Wayne’s World,” one of her favorite comedies.  “He’s a babe!”

     Her cheeky smile dissolved, and she took in her breath, as the gorgeous Trey came to stand stock still before her.

     “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” he purred with a wink.

     Trey more than lived up to this promise throughout the course of his impromptu fashion show; next appearing in a sleek black dinner suit perfect for a European cocktail party, and following up that exclusive number with a more casual—but very sexy—tennis suit that consisted of a translucent white net shirt and ultra-tight shorts.

     “Game on!” Helena growled, waggling her eyebrows to saucy effect.

     “At least!” Arielle agreed, adding as she wiped some telltale sweat from her brow, “Now this dude has me questioning—and that, loves, is an accomplishment!”

     Trey laughed.

     “Pleased to be of service to you ladies,” he winked, adding as he turned for the dressing room, “Of course, my European wardrobe would not be complete without some exotic French cut underwear—and, as it just so happens, I have a prime example of these undergarments awaiting me in my dressing room.”

     Helena nodded.

     “Well, if you like go ahead and try them on,” she encouraged him, reinforcing her words with a short, sharp nod.  “We’ll be sure to assess their fit and give you our objective—though very fair—opinion, in due time.”

     “Absolutely,” Arielle agreed, adding with a shrug, “As your personal shopper, Trey, I feel like I should have preapproval over all of your fashion choices.  And as your girlfriend, Helena also should have her say.  So then—proceed and flash us your tighty whiteys whenever ready.”

     A nodding Trey withdrew into his dressing room and closed the door behind him; mercifully withdrawing himself from the ladies’ earshot, so they could bark, wolf whistle and perform celebratory high fives to their hearts’ content.

     “You know Helena, you are simply too cool for words,” Arielle praised her, adding with eyebrows arched, “Most of Trey’s former girlfriends would have been more than pleased just to accept the free clothes from him—and, of course, to pout and pose in them for his pleasure.  You’re the first to insist that he dress up for your pleasure in return.”  She paused here, adding in a lower tone, “You’re also the first not to cringe at the idea of stepping into a small dressing room with a lesbian.”

     Helena sighed.

     “Arielle, you’re an amazing woman,” she praised her, leaning forward to clutch the hand of her newfound friend and fashion guru.  “I have every hope that we’ll become great friends.  And I also would have to be one arrogant wench to think that a babe as hot as you would advance on the likes of me anyway.”

     Arielle guffawed outright.

     “Don’t be ridiculous, darling,” she assured Helena, leaning forward to grace Helena’s cheek with a warm, sweet kiss.  “You, Helena Vance, are one of a kind.”

     “Moving in on my girl, are ya Arielle?”

     Helena grinned as she heard Trey’s deep, sonorous voice resound from just beside them.  Turning with a flourish in his direction, she opened her mouth to issue one of her usual clever retorts; snapping her jaw shut the moment she saw the ethereal, downright surreal spectacle of Trey in Undies.

     His flawless physique sinfully showcased in a pair of sleek, tight-fitting ivory underwear—a most appealing costume that showed off his ample endowments to glorious effect, as well as outlined his washboard abs, his massive muscled chest and his long, trim legs.

     “So Ladies,” he purred, turning slightly so his hard, firm behind was also placed on full—and, of course, very impressive—display.  “What do you think?”

     “Well I say you look gorgeous—and that you’ve been training up since I last saw you shirtless,” Arielle applauded, adding as she tore her gaze away from Trey and aimed it in Helena’s direction.  “What say you, Helena?”

     Helena opened her mouth to speak—emitting only a pathetic gurgle immediately followed by a high pitched wail.

     “I think you’ve overwhelmed Helena, Trey,” Arielle said with a smirk.  “You might even have killed her.”

     Leaning forward to fix his lady with a gaze of pensive concern, Trey waved his sturdy hands before bespectacled blue eyes that were terrifyingly wide.

     “You OK, hon?” he queried in a low, worried voice, adding with a shrug, “I didn’t think that the tighty whiteys would affect you any more drastically the sparkly red G-string that I wore when I gave you the lap dance.”

     Arielle had heard enough.

     “Hello!  There’s a third party present in this here convo!”  Arielle released through gritted teeth, adding as she slapped her hands over her delicate ears with no small degree of drama,  “La la la la la…”

     “Boss, we have got to stop meeting like this.”

     Helena jumped, but still managed not a whimper of audible sound, as she recognized an all too familiar face as it appeared at Trey’s shoulder.

     She did manage a faint smile as her agitated lover turned in full to face the person who likely qualified as his least favorite employee.

     “Irving, what are you doing here?” he demanded, fixing his hands on his rock hard, scantily clad hips.  “My administrative assistant e-mailed me this morning to tell me that you’d called in ill—and, in case I should clarify, physically ill, not just sick in the head, which is pretty much par for the course for you.”