Kathy and Sylvia Get Dressed Up
MERZ   mrmerz@yahoo
Satisfied Shoppers at Perfectly Fit 


If they let us donate blood, why can't we donate hormones? Surely there are
people in shorter supply than I am, and I want to help.

Petra Murcek brought her mother into my shop, Perfectly Fit, in the sleepy
time after the lunch hour browsers were gone. Betty had set up an appointment
for them. Petra had an unveiling of a major piece Betty's firm had
commissioned and wanted her mother to be there, dressed sharp for the big city
crowd. Apparently the mother lives up north, out in the country. She doesn't
have a lot to do with cities and hasn't paid attention to fashion in decades.
Petra is a hot, rising artist and Betty is one of her biggest fans. Betty
loves sculpture and Murcek does outstanding work in stone and metal, using
abstract and classical forms with equal impact. With what she was paid for her
new statue Peta could afford to outfit herself and her mother in great style.
Naturally I was flattered to get the reference and set aside time just for
these two.

I had no trouble identifying the two women the moment they walked in. Petra
was obviously an artist with definite ideas on how to present her artistic
vision and no ideas at all about presenting herself. Her mother just as
obviously thought clothes existed to keep her warm, dry and decent with little
purpose beyond that. Petra wore a turtleneck sweater in charcoal and blue
jeans. On her feet she wore heavy leather sandals. Mother had a nondescript,
checked shirt-waist dress and sensible shoes. Mother was a few inches taller
than her daughter, about my height at five feet nine inches and built on a
noticeably lighter frame than Petra. Their coloring was also distinct, mother
being weathered over fair skin with graying brown hair while Petra wore dark
hair braided down her back, framing a pale face with dark eyes and brows. I
had the sense that I was being visited by the original Mother Earth and her
daughter.

I brought them back to our seating area to talk about what exactly anyone had
in mind. As expected Petra knew what look she liked on others and was
confident about how to dress mom. I recognized that Petra dressed for
obscurity, which never has made sense to me, but she thought her mother ought
to dress in a way that gave the impression spotlights were shining on her. As
a way to get under Petra's wraps for her own fashion benefit as well as a
chance to make an additional sale myself I floated out the suggestion that the
two coordinate their outfits for the big event. Call me mercenary but I
practically lit up when Petra told me that it wasn't just one event but a
series of evening reception, small dinner and noontime unveiling the following
day. Three occasions has meant three costumes since I was old enough to dress
myself and I had hope for educating my new proteges in the same wisdom. The
women would be in town for a week, including a few days for Petra to supervise
the installation, with the unveiling on Saturday. My mental cash register was
clanging away figuring how many of their days and nights in town could I get
them into my clothes.

I began my attack on young Petra, innocently asking if she foresaw her mother
wearing the same clothes for the two days of her celebrity. Score one: with
only a bit of brow furrowing she acknowledged that the three events would each
have a separate tone and focus, so each deserved a different look. Step two
came when Petra admitted that she had one basic look herself, dark and heavy
on the natural fibers. Step three came when I had mother and daughter both
enlisted arguing for some variety in dress for the other, looking to me as a
friend who could lead her loved one to a better place in the fashion
firmament. God, I'm good. Sometimes I almost feel guilty when I steer a client
toward a sale. Almost.

We began with Petra who was in her middle or late twenties. She was still
susceptible to influence from dear old mom, while the matriarch would be proof
against any advice from her offspring. I led them back to the fitting area so
I could begin with measurements.

Here is where the fun began. I had taken Petra to be a stout woman based on
the breadth of her shoulders and hips as best I could judge under her
clothing. Like most women her age she had no shyness at shedding the outer
layers in our fitting area so I could begin matching her form with my stock on
hand. That's when I got my first surprise. She was nearly a duplicate of Betty
herself in size, with more emphasis in the upper body and less balance in her
legs. She looked like a series of triangles stacked point to point, widening
from her neck in straight lines to her shoulders, then tapering to a tight but
sturdy looking waist, expanding out again to the hips and dropping through her
legs. There wasn't Betty's definition, so it mostly looked like a sturdy
skeleton that had muscles trowelled on a couple inches thick, a streamlined
and powerful look to be sure.

"There's not much clothes can do for me," she commented as I scrutinized her
body while she stood in her underwear. "Your basic svelte linebacker. Might as
well try dressing up one of my stepfather's plow horses."

Her mother went immediately to stand behind and over her daughter, hands on
the younger woman's wide shoulders looking into the mirror Petra was standing
in front of. "Nonsense," she said with the universal assurance of a mother
convinced her daughter deserved to win Miss America. "You're a lovely girl.
You just need to pay more attention to your appearance."

I stepped up in front of Petra and felt over the solid shoulders and down to
where her triceps more than filled my hands with amazingly dense flesh. "Your
mother is right, of course. At the unveiling do you suppose everyone will say
that nothing could have been done with the stone you carved? It's your job to
find art in your sculpting material and mine to show you how to find it in
yourself. Two questions: are you so uncomfortable being the center of
attention that we should drape you in clothes that get the credit rather than
you making a statement about yourself, and will you need pants and long
skirts?"

"She means are you going to shave your legs, darling," mother helpfully
interpreted.

Petra showed no self-consciousness. "I suppose if you're willing to get done
up for this I can make the concession. If I sign this movie deal for Virgil's
book I'll probably have to make the Hollywood scene at some point. God, I just
want to get back to my work! Go ahead, I can show some flesh."

We talked some more and Petra made me very happy by agreeing to put that
splendid upper body on display for some of the time they would be in town. I
called Renee and Carmen back and laid out for them what we were up to. I began
the introductions with Petra and learned her mother's name was Sylvia Ragland.
My women made a good professional round of handshaking, then they set upon
Petra. Carmen took some measurements and they disappeared into the shop,
returning with a nice variety of things to show. Carmen had hit on some solid
color silk blouses that she correctly judged could be buttoned as high or as
low as this client wished, setting a different tone each way. Petra was young
and fit enough that she could go braless under the silk or not, leave the
neckline bare or dress it up with scarves or jewelry, and generally match the
blouses to a great number of moods and occasions. Carmen surprised me by
pairing the blouses with a range of skirts I don't usually expect from her.
One was short enough to demand some practice before one sat down in it in
public. However much I'm paying Carmen, I thought, she always makes me realize
she is worth more. She also offered up a couple pair of wool slacks that would
go with anything. Renee, bless her, had followed her instinct for
exhibitionism just as I expected. She put Petra into a pair of black leather
pants with a black halter that left exposed a well muscled back wide enough to
screen movies on. Whether or not Petra chose to put a razor to her underarms
the effect was of wildness and strength. Renee also produced a hip length
jacket that went with the outfit but would work equally well over Carmen's
blouses. Worn with the halter it would be removed with the same dramatic flair
as the wrapping coming off a statue and was perfect for the unveiling itself.
For the evening reception I sent Carmen for a black spaghetti strap sheath
with a daring cut to mid thigh.

"I like the blouses with the slacks and skirts," Sylvia concluded after we had
worked through the stack. "That thing with the leather might be a little much,
but I don't guess you're planning on wearing it back home in the village.
Although that would liven the place up like it hasn't been in years. And I may
be old fashioned but I'm not sure I like seeing my little girl showing her
legs like some of these do. Still, I hope Parker can make it for your show. I
think he would be so proud to see his little sister all dressed up, as well as
her statue."

Renee looked up. "Parker? You're Parker Ragland's mother? I just read his
article in the Journal of American Ecology and Natural Systems. You must be
very proud of both your children."

I had to do a double take at this. I know scattered bits about Renee's
background and knew she had some scientific education. Still, this sounded a
little more deep than I had guessed.

"Now, we don't carry shoes to go with these, but I can suggest a couple shops
in the area that will have just the thing. If you would like to browse there
while I work with your mother, you can let yourself be surprised by what we
come up with," I told Petra.

She readily agreed. "And mother, I expect you to buy a proper swim suit while
you're here. I want to see you out by the pool getting rid of your winter
pallor. We're paying for a hotel with a pool, you should enjoy it."

"I'm sure the rest of the guests would complain if I let my old bones be seen
in a swim suit, but you need to get rid of those gym shorts and sports bra you
wear to swim. It is a nice place and you should dress nicely as well."

With a little discussion they bargained to the conclusion that each would pick
a suit. That settled, Petra looked me in the eye and said, "And I insist she
get a two piece. She has a very trim figure and ought to be proud of it. If it
doesn't show enough of her, I will refuse to pay."

"Oh honey, you know I can't go showing myself like that. I'm over fifty and
have some modesty left."

"You're over fifty and look thirty. You look good enough to bring Charles to
attention. I've heard those old floorboards at home creaking at night often
enough. And in the middle of the day when he can get you away from your work.
This time, just do as I say." With that Petra went out to look at swimwear for
herself leaving her mother with a sizzling blush beneath her tan.

"I'm not sure I like the idea of Petra going outside on her own," Sylvia told
me in a confidential tone when the young woman had left the fitting area. "She
has had some threats. Including a note at our hotel. Frankly, I'm worried
about her safety."

I glanced at Carmen and Renee who were still with us and had heard the
comment. "Carmen, will you go with Ms Murcek for the afternoon? I think we can
get along here for a while. Renee, will you go show her some suits?" Carmen
gave one nod and went to get her purse and coat. Carmen is a solid,
middle-aged woman originally from Chile. One can easily overlook her unless
one looks her in the eyes, which are black magnets.

Renee protested. "I'd think I would make a better body guard," she said,
crossing her arms and squeezing her biceps, the show off.

I ran my hand through her short curls. Renee is immensely strong, even if she
stands only five feet tall. "Renee, dear, you certainly have the power to cope
with any emergency, but you're so sweet you would think twice about it. Carmen
won't, and she carries knives. Three or four that I know of and she is really
very good with them. And her maternal instincts are strong enough that Ms
Ragland should be very confident with Petra under her care. Please take this
as a compliment. Besides, you don't want to be in any situation that might
bring you to the attention of the police." Renee huffed out to help Petra with
her swim suit shopping and I turned my attention to Sylvia.

"Now, Ms Ragland," I began.

"Please, call me Sylvia. You're about to see more of me than anyone outside my
family has in thirty years. We had better be friends," she told me with a shy
smile.

"Very well, Sylvia, I'm Kathy. Did you have anything in mind, or would you
like us to work this out together?"

"Lord, I haven't thought about anything beyond work clothes and maybe
something for the Christmas dance since my second wedding. I don't know where
to begin. You'll see that I don't have what anyone would call a girlish figure
no matter what my daughter says. She's worked with stones for so long she
thinks her own shape is normal."

"In this shop she is perfectly normal. I promise we can do you both proud. May
we get started by having you slip out of the dress?" Sylvia blushed and
hesitated but finally began unbuttoning the front of her checked dress. That's
when I got my second surprise. Where Petra had a smoothness to her heavy
musculature, Sylvia had only whipcords and steel cables over small bones. As
the dress came off, I saw muscle stirring with every tiny move she made. There
wasn't a trace of excess flesh on the woman, with every muscle group seeming
chiseled into a pale block of solid wood. A trellis work of veins ran up her
arms and embroidered other body parts when she tensed anywhere. Petra said her
mother had the body of a thirty year old, but I didn't know of one who looked
nearly so formidable. Looking her over I regretfully said goodbye to eating
desserts for the foreseeable future. If Sylvia could keep herself this lean
and ripped I would just have to hit the weights a little harder myself.

"Sylvia, I've never met anyone who has built herself such an exceptional body
and didn't want to show it off to the world. This is no accident; you've
worked for a long time to create this. I'm much closer to your age than your
daughter's and I can't imagine why you don't flaunt yourself every chance you
get."

Sylvia looked directly into my eyes. "I had to make myself strong for the work
I've done on my land since I was a bride. I know I'm an ugly old stick. I got
my first husband's appraisal when he left me for his secretary. I became too
strong for a man to look at. You can't flatter me, but I wouldn't give up any
of it if it meant leaving my work in my trees."

"I take it you've remarried," I said casually as I began undoing my own
blouse. "Petra seems to think there's a spark between you and him. Certainly I
am in no position to criticize." I stripped down to my lacey camisole to show
my own assemblage of sinew and wiry strength. Sylvia and I could be sisters,
the same height and the same lean muscle. I reached up and gripped the top of
the frame on one of the dressing room doors. I had them built extra strong for
just this sort of stunt when I designed my shop. I strained and grunted and
got off my one-handed chin up, then flexed the pumped arm for Sylvia. "In this
shop, we don't flatter and there is no such thing as a woman being too strong.
We simply dress our clients so the world either knows we are strong or it
doesn't suspect the fact.

It's your choice, but I would definitely vote for strutting what you have
created. And I believe Petra feels the same way."

Sylvia reached out and felt my biceps, a gentle touch from a work-roughened
hand. She smiled and said, "Somehow I feel a little less alone in the city. I
believe we're going to have some fun. Wait until Charles sees me when I get
home! Can you do it with your other arm?" And sure enough, she gripped the top
of the door frame with her left hand and began levering herself upward. From
where I was standing my eyes became riveted on her butt, her glutes under her
cotton panties clenched so tightly I wondered if she would let me crack
walnuts on them. She lowered herself and repeated my bicep display with a
conspiratorial smile lighting her lined face. As I rubbed and fondled her
peaked arm I kept reminding myself she had a husband at home and should be off
limits for me.

After that breakthrough dressing Sylvia was no problem. Renee and I sold her a
cream linen suit to be worn over a beaded top that accented her bare arms and
shoulders when she removed the jacket. I tried for a mini-skirt but settled
for a culotte set with a cap sleeve top, and scored with a skirt slit up the
side to her hip so she could play peek-a-boo with the voyeurs at the
reception. We argued a bit over the bikini Petra had specified, but in the end
I set a record for the oldest woman I convinced to buy a thong. Actually she
was also the oldest I had considered trying to sell one to. I do have some
aesthetic standards, even where money is involved. Mother and daughter should
both be doing a little cosmetic razor work before they made the poolside
scene. Unless Sylvia was so tough she just plucked herself with a pair of
pliers rather than waxing.

Petra and Carmen returned on schedule to find Sylvia dressed in snug, smart
khakis and a lycra top. I had convinced her to make an appointment with a
stylist that evening who would work magic with her hair. Her leathery hands
and short nails made a manicure pointless beyond possibly filing down some
callus on her palms. Frankly, anyone who didn't cut Sylvia's hair with a
hatchet would be an improvement but her whole back-to-the-land style fit
together perfectly for her. She just happened to be away from the land at the
moment and another style struck me as more appropriate. Petra reported success
in her shoe shopping.

I followed Carmen to hang her coat and she muttered, "A man followed. I could
not leave Ms Murcek and deal with."

"What did he look like", I asked, not doubting for an instant that if Carmen
said they were being followed it was not a mistake and not a coincidence. With
my good visual imagination I felt a bit queasy when I thought about what
Carmen might imply by "deal with."

"Like Armani, 42 long. Gucci loafers. Violet with pearl gray." Carmen never
wastes words, and now she didn't bother with the appearance of the person
himself, just the clothing that indicated he had money and style and that
would make him easy to recognize.

I called Renee over and asked her to leave by the back door and find this
person. He would be somewhere nearby watching the shop. She should confront
him, urge him to leave Petra and Sylvia alone, find out anything else she
could and take no risks herself. Delighted with the prospect of bullying some
man she skipped out the back door of the shop.

With the items they could carry off mother and daughter were preparing to
leave ten minutes later. As they were going out the door I recommended a place
for cheesecake they would have to try a few times while they were in town,
hoping to tempt Sylvia into larding on a gram or two of body fat. Just then
Renee returned from the back of the shop and handed me the remnants of a suit
jacket. "He wanted to push me out of his way. I love it when they want to push
me out of their way," she said with an impish grin. She had ripped the
person's jacket up the middle so two halves dangled from the collar. "He
wouldn't tell me anything, but his wallet is in the pocket. He'll be sitting
there for a few minutes if you want to take a look before I return it."

I fished out the wallet and took a business card for Martin Crawford of a
California law firm. I copied his name, Los Angeles address, vital statistics
and ID number from a drivers license and a social security number. I
scrutinized the photo on the license. Looking on, Renee commented that with
those data she would learn the man's entire life history or could create a new
one if we wished, so I handed her my notes. In another pocket was a hotel key,
but no indication which hotel. Nothing else looked interesting so Renee dashed
back toward the rear door inside of a minute with the discards. I called to
her to take a bus home afterward, rather than chance being seen in her car or
in the shop, and to call me as soon as she got home.

When she was gone Carmen and I were faced with the rest of a quiet afternoon.
She logged the inventory we had sold Petra and Sylvia, and set about
restocking those items or other things on the same racks. I stewed a bit,
helped a stray customer who browsed through, then stewed some more. At five
o'clock I picked up the phone and called Betty at her office. She barely got
through hello when I demanded she meet me at the gym as soon as she could, and
not to bother bringing any of the dictation and taped transcripts she usually
listens to when she works out; we needed to talk. By luck she had been trapped
in court and in the office all day. She was eager to work up a sweat after
six. I hung up and the phone rang immediately. Renee was checking in from home
before she got on her computer to dig up dirt on the California fellow she had
confronted.

Before time to head for the gym I ate a whole-grain snack and some fruit.
Dinner would be after nine if I was going to be working out with Betty and I
would need plenty of fuel to get through it.

I left Carmen to close and found Renee's car in the lot. Using her spare key I
drove to the gym. Betty was skipping rope when I arrived. For once I was able
to walk up in front of her before she was aware I was there. I got my own rope
and she finally heard me when I started skipping a half beat behind her
cadence. She stopped immediately and gave me a big hug, which is a
breathtaking experience. We started gabbling gossip and pleasantries as she
removed her sweat pants. Working out with Betty always seems like a three hour
strip tease to me. She starts in full sweats and takes off one item at a time
until we finish with her drenched in her shorts and a sports bra in the weight
room. Then we move to the locker room and the showers or sauna where I really
get to ogle and stare. She gets her own back by giving me a thorough rub so
her hands tell her what her blind eyes can't. Working out with Betty keeps my
mind off the hunky men in the gym and leaves them all (falsely) thinking my
mind dwells on loftier levels than mere muscle lust. Actually I just don't
think most men measure up to Betty in that department, but it gives me an aura
of mystery and challenge that some of them try to pierce. It's much better for
my ego to have them captivated by me than when I need to go slavering after
one of them, although it all ends up pretty much in the same place. Now I
watched as her glistening legs emerged from the fleece but kept my hands to
myself as these pale columns came into view. Deep breath and back to the rope
skipping.

"I love your hair," I said as I watched her braids bouncing as she skipped.
"What made you go with that look?"

"Michael. He says there are some sisters who play tennis and wear theirs this
way. He says it's appropriate for us African Americans."

"Betty, you're a natural blonde. I've seen the proof. Your brother Ernie says
if your father knew you were dating a black man he would come roaring right
out of his grave. You aren't African American."

"Michael says I am. If I can't trust Michael who can I trust? He says my
friends and family have been lying to me about it my whole life. I was shocked
you would do that, Kathy." She was enjoying this immensely. "Besides, Daddy
wasn't a racist. He'd come back from the grave if he knew his little girl was
dating any man. Once he found out Michael was raised Catholic he'd probably
think everything was okay."

"Excuse me? If you can't trust Michael on questions of your appearance who can
you trust? I've been begging you to try different hair styles since I met you.
You always insisted your hair was the one part of your appearance you were
confident about because you can feel it. You've never met the Williams
sisters. Since when don't you trust me about what looks good on you? Wait
until I get Michael alone. I'll teach him about trespassing on my turf. He
should be arrested for giving fashion advice without a license."

"Not going to happen. Michael says anytime you're around him I'm to be there
as a chaperone. Apparently he's heard whenever you find a man the poor fellow
ends up injured or worn out."

"That is a complete exaggeration. They weren't badly injured. And they should
have been more honest about their fitness. Besides it will probably never
happen again. My body's deserting me. I met Sylvia."

"Your welcome for the reference. I knew you two would hit it off. What did you
think?"

"I think her ass is tighter than mine. How dare you send that creature to my
shop?"

"I'm an attorney, not a judge. I don't make that sort of comparison."

"But you HAVE felt it?"

"Yeah. When we met. Petra seems to think it's perfectly normal to exchange a
thorough feel. Maybe because she's a sculptor. Very tactile. Anyway, I took
the opportunity to go over Sylvia at the same time. Quite impressive."

I skipped in silence for a while. "Really tighter than mine?" I finally asked.

"I'm not a judge."

"She can do my one arm pull up with her left arm. You don't know if she's left
handed, do you?"

"Don't think so. I knew you two would hit it off."

"My abs are better. I couldn't figure a way to show her mine so she'd know."

"Not surprised. You have a very nice set."

"You mean you didn't check hers? You stood there feeling the woman's tusche
but didn't check her abs?"

"She was right up against me. I couldn't feel them except knowing they were
flat and solid. We're all lucky we have you to remind us how important the
superficial things can be in life."

"If you don't focus on the little things you might be dressed poorly when the
big things come along. You know all those clothes I ordered for you? I sold
them to Petra."

That finally stopped her skipping. "My leather pants and halter? You sold
them? You've been pushing those pants at me for months. I was going to wear
them for Michael at our next special occasion."

I kept skipping. "Actually, Renee sold them. Petra looks terrific in them.
We'll find something else for you."

"I want my leather pants." She started skipping again. "MY leather pants. And
my halter. Michael thinks my back is sexy. And my arms."

"Michael sometimes has good taste. What can you tell me about those two,
anyway? Is Murcek the first husband and Ragland the current one?"

"No, Ragland was the first one. Petra was married to Murcek. The writer. He
died about a year ago. You've read his novel haven't you? It made quite a
stir. It really was tragic he didn't live longer."

"Oh, that Virgil. Virgil Murcek. Petra mentioned selling the book to
Hollywood?"

"Right. I'm representing her in some negotiations this week. Anyway, Ragland
is in business and made a pile. In the divorce Sylvia got a lot of land she's
donating to a public trust for preservation. She'll live on the property as
long as she wishes but they have the title. She and her husband farm so she
raises her own food and doesn't need much money to get by on."

"Oh, God. So first she has the body I've been killing myself for and now she's
a saint as well? And it sounds like she shags the current husband as often as
she likes. I hate the woman."

"I knew you two would hit it off."

We skipped a total of twenty minutes. We followed that with ten minutes of
stretching. At least I'm more limber than Betty, and at least I got to run my
hands over her as I pushed her a bit further in some stretches. Betty pulled
off her sweat shirt to show her damp, extra large size t- shirt. Her shoulders
made it look like she wore shoulder pads underneath. After stretching Betty
always puts on her gloves and hits the speed bag for a while. I worked the
famous abs with crunches and with a medicine ball and leg raises. Then we
rejoined and I put on her padded leather targets with the little bells and let
her throw punches and combinations at the sounds. When my hands had been
sufficiently tenderized by the pounding I put on light gloves and we took
turns hammering each other's belly. We would each throw as many punches as we
could for ten seconds, then switch places. We each got in six sets in each
position. After that we rested for a few minutes before hitting the weights.

"These talks with Hollywood: is there a lot of money involved?"

"Not a lot. It's for the rights for someone to write a script based on the
novel. The book wasn't a best seller, just literary and brilliant. All very
speculative so not a lot of cash. The sticking point is the amount of control
Petra wants. She has a couple of actors bidding for the film rights, and she
wants the characters portrayed the way she sees them. One actor is old enough
to have been Virgil's father, and he would be all wrong for it. Another is an
action movie star looking for an artistic breakthrough and Petra can't stand
that idea either. The main character is based on Virgil and Petra says he
weighed under 120 pounds. She's considering letting a woman buy the rights and
play the part."

"Only 120 pounds? He must have been the size of one of Petra's legs."

"You read the book? The main character could be played by anyone who could
present intelligence and compassion. Getting that across is the main thing for
Petra. She doesn't expect great cinema."

"We all read the book. When it came out in Spanish Carmen missed two days of
work. One day finishing it and the next day crying over it. She hasn't cried
since she was a teenager in Chile and had electrodes attached to her. But a
woman playing a man in a movie - that's sort of a neat idea. All the women's
roles today are written as simps and wimps. If we can't play brainless action
heroes why not play people with minds?"

"Exactly. Michael took me to Lord of the Rings. He said the humans were all
played by us African Americans and white people played the other parts. I
wondered why they didn't have all the elves be played by women. It would have
made a nice twist."

"What an interesting pair you are. I really won't ever be alone in a room with
Michael, will I?"

"Nope. Another thing, Virgil left a draft for a second book. The main
character is based on Sylvia. Petra wants to sell that as part of the package,
sort of a tribute to her mother."

"Let me guess. They wanted Arnold Schwarzeneger to play Sylvia but he got too
old and flabby?"

"I knew you two would hit it off."

In the weight room we mostly used dumbbells. Betty is so much stronger than I
am that we would have wasted a lot of time putting plates on for her and
taking them off for me. The dumbbells are already set up so we can each use
the weight we want and then return them to the rack. I had to do biceps,
especially my left, and my upper back. It took me months to train myself to do
a one-arm pull up. It hadn't occurred to me I would want to do it with either
arm so I was starting all over. So curls and chins and French curls and cable
rowing. This was normally Betty's day to work legs and chest. I got to ride up
and down on the weight rack as she worked her quads, and I got to rub a hand
on her chest for her bench pressing. At the end of ninety minutes we stood
dripping. Betty was down to her shorts and sports bra and I had my soaked
t-shirt knotted at my stomach. I didn't think either of us was capable of
lifting our arms but across the room someone called out, "Hey, Betty how are
the guns?" My dear friend struck a pose I recognized from a Michelangelo
statue and called back, "What do you think, Bernie?" I nearly swooned seeing
all that power galloping across her body.

"You know that Bernie Steinmann is 65 and has three chins, don't you?" I asked
as we started toward the locker room.

"I know Bernie Steinmann is a promising junior welterweight whose father was
trained by my father. Sauna after the shower? Did you bring baby oil?"

"I'm never going to sleep with Bernie Steinmann, am I"

"Nope. He's friends with Ernie and Ernie talked."

"I never hurt Ernie."

"That's only because he broke your handcuffs. Kathy, that was on your first
date with him."

"Exactly. We had several months of safe sex. No injuries. I like to think I
helped him qualify for the Olympics."

"He agrees. He says when he left you and went off to training camp his
roommate heard him repeating, 'What doesn't kill me makes me stronger' in his
sleep. He says he got that from you. He says it was a near thing."

"I'm never going to sleep with Ernie again, am I?"

"Nope. When he turned thirty he said his insurance wouldn't cover him if he
went out with you again. And I think I need to take better care of my little
brother now that he's getting older."

I laid my arm across her shoulders as far as I could reach and kissed the top
of her head. "You take such good care of all of us. Why don't you marry me and
make an honest woman of me?"

"Would you sell me clothes at your cost?" she responded as she slipped a heavy
wet arm around my waist.

"I better just keep you as my best friend. I have Renee's car tonight. Want a
lift home?"

"Can we put the top down?"

"What's the point of having a roadster with the top up? I know a shortcut to
your place that should add twenty miles. Should we neck on the way or will you
invite me in for the night?"

"Michael's coming over. I have to get straight home. Straight. Another time?"

We shared a shower to save water but I spent so much time washing her body and
licking her nipples to be sure all the soap was off that we really didn't save
anything. She did oil me up in the sauna so when I dropped her off I was
tingling from head to toe and smelling like sweet innocence. I went by Renee's
to return her car and learn what she had dug up on her playmate from this
afternoon, as well as fish for an invitation to sleep over. She would have
enjoyed sniffing my innocent smell but she was off prowling and her apartment
was dark. I pushed her car key under the door and walked the mile to my place.
I stopped for a salad on the way. No dressing. Once I was inside I undressed,
pulled on a long flannel nightgown and curled under the covers. I wondered if
my best friend cried as often thinking about her blindness as I did.

The next morning I decided to lie in bed until I found one muscle that didn't
ache. Finally I realized I was blinking my eyes without pain so I forced
myself up. My nice baby oil scent was gone so I showered and found a cup of
yogurt in the fridge. I threw an old jumper on over a t-shirt and headed out
to work looking as frumpy as I ever have since I've been in the clothes
business. I would let the others mind the floor today while I hid in my office
and dwelled on grand business strategies. For once I got to the shop before
Carmen, but not before Sylvia. She was standing on the sidewalk in front of my
door looking at her watch. "I had forgotten how late things open in the city.
I couldn't help getting up at my usual time so I've just been wandering around
since 5:30. I found a lovely little café for breakfast, but I'm not used to
city prices either. You wouldn't believe what they charged for my crepes. I
haven't had any exercise in days and it felt good to walk."

I'm starving on yogurt while Sylvia eats crepes. I let us in and started the
coffee pot in my office. Sylvia was wearing a well-used gray warm up suit that
fit her beautifully. She unzipped the jacket and started fanning herself with
it, showing me pert nipples trying to punch their way out of her lyotard. This
was going to be a very long day. She stopped flapping the jacket and ran her
hands through her hair, which I noticed for the first time. My first take was
that the short layered look was very flattering and practical for an active
person. The stylist had done some neat things with highlighting that used her
gray for contrast with the darker hair rather than try to hide it. Then I
realized I was looking at the same cut I have, although whatever may have been
my natural color is a dim memory. I gritted my teeth and complimented her on
it. "Thanks," she said to me with a perfectly straight face. "And I love your
jumper. I have one just like it." I had just taken my first sip of hot coffee
and immediately spewed it out my nose. Carmen arrived and averted a bloodbath.

After letting me know she didn't drink caffeine anymore Sylvia came close.
"The threats I told you about yesterday? Petra got another. You and I are such
different people but I don't know anyone else in this city, and you seemed
sincerely concerned yesterday. Could you possibly come by our hotel later
today. I don't have anyone else I can talk to about this business." She told
me which hotel and the room number. I told her I would try to come by after
lunch when business was quiet. She looked at me with such pure gratitude I
almost wanted to like her. Fortunately she left so I could concentrate on
barking at Carmen and then at Renee when she came in.

At the first opportunity I hauled Renee into my office to suck out what she
had learned. She said our man Martin Crawford was a lawyer with a firm that
mostly represented actors, like talent agent work, and she had a list of
clients. Her playmate had gone to UCLA and Duke Law, no police record, no
military record and a lot of other things with no record to mark his passage.
A credit history told of much money coming in and at least equal amounts going
out each month. She told me at what hotel he was staying in town, and what
sort of car he had rented, with the license number. Using the room number from
the hotel key Martin Crawford was carrying she had traced which other rooms
had been reserved at the same time. Renee is a very spooky person sometimes.

I went through the motions of running a business for the morning. At lunch I
went to a natural foods restaurant and learned that rabbit food hasn't
improved since the last time I resolved to eat healthier. I called several
shops in the area. My one accomplishment was to find a pair of leather pants
that Betty ought to love even more than the ones we sold Petra, and asked the
shop that had them to rush them over. It would take time to persuade Betty,
but at least I was rebuilding an ensemble that Michael with a weakness for
broad backs and muscled arms would appreciate. Finally when I was convinced I
was only in the way I left the store to Carmen and Renee and went downtown to
Sylvia's hotel.

I knocked on the door. Sylvia asked who it was and unlocked several locks to
open the door after I identified myself. She was dressed for the pool in the
thong I had sold her. "I thought we might go sit by the pool and talk. Do you
mind? Just let me put on some sunscreen," she said holding up a bottle.

As she turned to walk back into the room I once more stared at that phenomenal
rear end and heard my own voice say, "Here, let me help." I took the sunscreen
and began rubbing it on, starting at her feet and working up. The wooden
muscles of her legs were sending electricity through my hands, making my heart
beat faster. I repaid the favor by accidentally rubbing my head into her
crotch a couple times. I rubbed those fabulous buns by reaching around her
while I knelt, then stepped behind her and continued up her back, then on to
the abs. Mine are better, but hers were pretty special. She was letting out
little sighs and moans to show my effort wasn't being wasted. I had my hands
inside her top, cradling the soft breasts on top of her hard pecs when we
heard Petra's key in the lock. I was finishing Sylvia's hard arms when her
daughter stepped into the room.

"Hi dear. We were just getting ready to go out by the pool. Would you like to
join us?"

"No thanks, mom. I have to check the installation and go meet Betty. Does
Kathy have a suit? She could borrow mine."

"That would be wonderful, thank you dear. Kathy, get undressed and I'll put
your sunscreen on."

My fingers were trembling as I started working the buttons of my jumper, then
I just snatched dress and shirt over my head in a wad. Sylvia didn't comment
on my lack of underwear, but her eyes gleamed. Petra stepped into the bathroom
to get ready to go out again as Sylvia went to work.

She copied me by starting at the bottom and was giving her fingers a good
workout as she came up my legs. When she was hip level she surprised me by
reaching up between my legs to do my butt. Then she began flexing her bicep
against my cunt and I thought I was going to feint. I bit my lip to contain a
loud shriek of pleasure and grabbed two handfuls of her hair. It felt like she
was fucking me with a cue ball as her hard muscle tightened and relaxed
against me. I looked down to see her smiling up wickedly. She stopped and came
up quickly to kiss me and push her tongue halfway down my throat. Then she
stepped behind and reached around for my abs where she spent more time than
sunscreen should require, up over my breasts to my shoulders. Still behind me
she turned us to face the big mirror in the room. "Show me," she whispered in
my ear.

I tensed my stomach, then my chest. I flexed my pecs to make my breasts ride
up and down, first together and then separately. I tightened my shoulders and
arms and raised them for a double biceps pose. Sylvia pressed herself tight
against me, her crotch rubbing my naked ass and her hands squeezing my biceps
and breasts. In the mirror I could see only slits where her eyes were. Petra
stepped out of the bathroom in new slacks with a silk blouse and Sylvia and I
both instantly dropped into innocent postures. Petra handed me her new suit.
"This will be a little large, but it should work." Then she went out the door.
Sylvia and I collapsed laughing on the bed like schoolgirls who just pulled a
fast one on our parents.

"I have got to get back to my husband before you city people corrupt me
completely. He will be happy that I learned some new things here, but I don't
know if he'll want to hear just where I got my education. And I sure don't
want him to meet you and find out," she said between uncontrollable waves of
laughter.

I pulled on the suit and we headed for the pool. So I was wearing a one-piece
several sizes too large, chosen to accent Petra's wide back but gapping out
around my narrower one, and pooching out over my stomach and butt because
Petra is wider than me there as well. And I'm taller by a few inches so the
crotch threatened to divide me in two if I stood up too straight. Sylvia,
meanwhile, looked absolutely mythic in a skimpy thong she would never have
dared try if I hadn't talked her into it. Twenty-four hours ago she was all
shyness and blushing about removing her dress in my fitting area and now she
was strutting her flesh like Eve before the fall.

"The suit looks very good on you. No razor burn?" I asked coyly.

"That was so special. Petra and I ordered champagne from room service and
drank wine and ate chocolate while we shaved each other. It was an incredible
bonding experience. Would you promise me one thing? Would you promise that
anytime you're in a room with my daughter, there be an adult present."

"Certainly. I do hope your son can make it to town for the ceremony. Did you
say he is older or younger than Petra?"

I heard her hissing but no words came out.

At the pool a number of heads snapped at our entrance. Sylvia was absolutely
in her glory. She did a big stretch and ran her hands through her hair, which
made her biceps mound up about twice as high as the job required. Her body
wasn't the curvaceous sort that men normally stare at. She was all knots and
balls of muscle, a jagged pillar of strength. I just wanted to slouch and
slink over to a chaise where I could let down the straps on Petra's suit.

"You are really enjoying yourself, aren't you?" I asked as we settled
ourselves in the sun.

"I haven't thought about my body being attractive to anyone since before Petra
was born. I had forgotten what it feels like to be proud of my appearance. I
guess I've taken my husband's interest for granted. How about yours? Did you
build yourself up because you thought it looks good?"

"I found things I wanted to do and I made my body do them. I think smart
people appreciate bodies that look like they can do things. Stupid people like
bodies for decoration. My clothes business is based on helping people show
what they can do. I dress smart women to look smart when brains matter, rather
than to look strong. Or to look strong when that's what matters. Mostly I
dress myself to have a good time. Tell me about these threats."

"Somebody is trying to influence Petra on who should get movie rights to the
book her husband wrote. Petra's first thought was to go the opposite direction
they seemed to be pushing her, but now she's not so sure. She was warned not
to let Todd Masters get the rights because he's just a pretty playboy and a
godless sinner. So when he expressed interest we immediately wanted to sell to
him. But when we looked into it a little bit it seems he is just a pretty
playboy, never mind about any sinning. Anyway, when I went out this morning,
before Petra was up, I found a note slipped under the door warning her that
I'd be harmed if she let Todd have the rights. I took the note and haven't
told her about it. I don't want to influence her decision."

"Todd Masters of the white teeth, tight butt and meager ability to recite a
line? What in the world would he want with rights to Virgil Murcek's novel?"

"We hear he thinks he could establish himself as a more multi-dimensional
actor if he played a part with some vulnerability. Like Tom Cruise in that
movie where he was in a wheel chair. We looked at a couple of Todd's films on
video and he seems about as multi-dimensional as the tape itself. Then he
started telling us he was our only hope to keep it away from Ward Fontaine,
who was a hearthrob when I was in college. That sounded pretty ridiculous
until we heard Fontaine has no intention of playing the lead, he has someone
else in mind. Anyway, I needed to talk with somebody about how to be sure
these threats don't affect the outcome of Petra's talks, and I didn't know
where else to turn. Do you have any ideas?"

I thought a minute and recalled Todd Masters was on the list of clients Renee
had found when she checked on the lawyer, Martin Crawford. "Is Todd Masters in
town now, do you know? Is he planning to meet with Petra personally?"

"I believe he does plan to talk with her. He and his lawyer. Fontaine won't be
here, he's sending someone else. Why?"

"Because I have a weakness for tight buns and want to meet Todd. If you want
protection, either Carmen or Renee would be a good person to have around. If
you stay close to Petra's lawyer, Betty, you would be safe. Any one of them
would probably be underestimated the first time there was any trouble, and
there wouldn't be much chance of trouble happening again. I also know a
martial artist, but she might be busier and harder to get hold of."

"Kathy, look at me. You talked about capable bodies. I don't need any help in
that department, and Petra certainly doesn't. I wish this person would show
himself so I could get my hands on him."

"Well, okay. You stay with Petra and just see what these negotiations bring
out. I can tell you that Carmen saw Todd Master's lawyer following them to
look at shoes yesterday. I expect he will keep his distance now, but that's
the direction my nose tells me the bad smell is coming from. I'll see if I can
confirm it. I don't know what else we can do, unless you want to talk to the
police about all this. It seems pretty vague for them to be able to help.
There's no way I'm getting in the pool in a suit that fits like this so shall
we go?"

"We might as well. I was just thinking how good a nice dish of ice cream would
taste after sitting in the sun like this. Would you like to join me?"

I watched muscles coil up all along Sylvia's arms as she raised herself off
the chaise, and I watched steel bands spring out along her legs as she stood
up. "Oh, no, I think I need to be getting back. But please promise you'll have
a scoop for me." I clambered up using one hand to keep the suit from falling
down and give even more of a show to the audience that had again snapped to
attention at Sylvia's rising. "Would you mind going ahead? I have an allergy
to being second best dressed in any group." She smiled and strode off as I
joined her poolside admirers watching her ripple away. Back in her room I
undressed quickly and felt a little better when she stopped her own dressing
to give me another good looking over.

On the way back to the shop I stopped at Martin Crawford's hotel to leave a
note reminding him of his conversation with Renee the previous day. Some
undefined "we" were unhappy that the negotiations were still being tampered
with. The consequences could be severe for both Mr. Crawford and Mr. Masters.
Answering threats with threats seemed pointless, but I had no better idea for
something to do. I left my lipstick print on the note as a signature.

The rest of the day in the shop I tried to stay out of the way and worked out
ways of meeting either the lawyer or Todd Masters. I called Betty but she had
been to the gym in the middle of the day with a lot of taped research she
needed to listen to as she exercised. I told her about Martin Crawford, which
she found more interesting that I would have guessed. As early as I could
justify it I went to the gym alone and worked myself to a sodden mess. I ate a
small healthy dinner again and went home. About an hour of my own company was
all I could stand so I carried my mountain bike down two flights of stairs,
hooked up the headlight battery and pedaled off into the gathering night.

Two hours later my mood was much better. I had bounced through alleys and
parks, climbed a couple parking garages then charged back down and generally
ridden the city into submission. My butt was sending messages of having been
worked hard so I crashed through the chains of comparison that had bound me
and stopped for pizza and beer as my bedtime snack.

I made it through the next day without seeing Sylvia. Betty called me at the
shop early to say she had talked a bit with the representative for Ward
Fontaine and mentioned the possibility of outside pressure being used to
influence Petra's decision. The representative, who turned out to be his grown
daughter, told Betty that Fontaine had received some messages indicating it
would not be wise for him or his daughter to pursue the book deal. First there
had been references to damage to Hollywood careers, and lately that had
escalated to imply the possibility of physical harm. As soon as I hung up from
Betty I called Martin Crawford's hotel and left a message suggesting he meet
me for lunch to discuss business ethics. He could bring Todd Masters if he
wished.

I recognized Martin Crawford as much by the elastic bandage wrapped around his
wrist as by the photo on his drivers license. I motioned him to my table and
extended my hand to shake. When he accepted I gripped his good hand hard
enough to bring tears to his eyes. "My name isn't important. You met my little
sister the other day but evidently failed to heed her wishes to let Petra
Murcek negotiate the sale of her book rights in a fair manner. Please, sit and
we can discuss this situation." I released his hand but kept his eyes locked
on mine until he sat. He began to launch a series of protests and legal
threats but I held up my hand to stop him. "Shall we have lunch? If so, we can
talk about pleasant topics for a while. If not, we can skip over all the
extraneous bits. If I hear about other actions to interfere with a
business-like negotiation to sell some movie rights you will learn my little
sister inherited all the charm and compassion in the family."

Crawford motioned back toward the entrance of the restaurant. Todd Masters
himself walked to our table and sat down. He showed me the smile that had made
a career for him. "I asked Marty to handle this if he could make any
unpleasantness go away. Apparently that isn't working. I'm Todd," and he
extended his hand. Rather than repeat my hand squeezing I just looked at his
palm until he put it back in his lap. "I want the rights to make this movie
and I intend to get them. I'm willing to pay a fair amount, but not an
excessive amount. This is worth millions to me. I could make it worth your
while to help me get what I want," and again his smile shone upon me.

"Please, Mr. Masters, this is a simple matter of Petra Murcek selecting
someone she trusts to make a serious attempt to film her husband's story.
These attempts to influence the decision away from the negotiations suggest
you aren't the proper person."

"But I have some ideas that could improve the whole deal. I understand the
main character is in a wheel chair. My movie will have the guy get better, be
able to walk around like a real person. I could offer a cut in the action
figures we'll license. See, there'd be two, one with the guy all wimpy in the
chair and one buffed looking like me."

"Oh dear, I seem to have lost my appetite for lunch. I promise I will share
your literary inventiveness with Ms Murcek. Good day." I stood and walked away
from the table as quickly as I could. I didn't know if I should laugh or cry
at Todd's suggestions. Maybe he was a better actor than he had been given
credit for and was having me on. I was out the entrance of the hotel when Todd
caught me, and caught me roughly. He seized my arm and spun me to face him.

"Say, you work out," he said as he felt the size and hardness of my arm in his
hand. "Not bad for an old broad. Are you one of the three women who roughed up
Marty the other day?"

"Mr. Crawford accosted a school girl who took exception. You are accosting
something else entirely who takes much more serious exception," I told him
slowly and evenly.

He smiled the white, even smile and maintained his grip until I reached over
with my other hand and grabbed his wrist. I tore it off my arm and twisted it,
forcing him to turn to face the hotel wall. Then I drove my shoulder against
his back, slamming him into the wall and smashed my knee against the back of
his thigh with all my strength. My legs are quite strong. I could have picked
other targets and I could have chosen much more damage to do, but this was
sufficient for now.

I released him and stepped back. Martin Crawford had followed us out and stood
by watching with a shocked look on his face. Todd came off the wall and took a
step toward me. The leg I had kneed wouldn't hold him and he fell at my feet.

"Mr. Crawford, you had better help him inside. Nothing is broken but I am
afraid his walking will be a bit painful for a while." And I left to catch a
bus back to my shop.

After I reported this conversation to Betty, Petra and Sylvia the negotiations
moved quickly the next day. Wade Fontaine's daughter bought the movie rights
to both stories. She is expected to make her acting debut playing the lead
male character in the novel. Wade Fontaine will have a major role in the other
script, possibly as Sylvia's second husband, and hopes that will revive his
own career. Should either movie actually get made, there will be no action
figures.

I was able to get back to selling clothes and working on one-arm pull ups. The
process is simple. Drape a rolled towel over a chinning bar. The arm you want
to be able to chin with grips the bar, the other holds the towel below the
bar. As you build strength the other hand holds lower and lower on the towel
so the arm pulling on the bar is forced to do more of the work. Eventually
that arm is doing it all and you have your parlor stunt mastered.

Betty and I had lunch with Petra once and with both Petra and Sylvia once. I
was civil and charming both times. Petra particularly seemed taken by some of
my attitudes and declarations about how unimportant to life the major
decisions actually are and how life-shaping the proper choice of shoes can be.
If one is unable to wear a pair of shoes for eight hours in comfort or unable
to run at full speed in any pair of shoes one owns, how can one even think
about other topics? Sylvia seemed less impressed and seemed to think
comfortable shoes just happened in ones life without need for research and
planning. Sylvia seemed more appreciative when I told them both that if they
really intended the evening wear for only the reception, never to emerge from
a closet again, I would take both dresses back with no charge.

Parker Ragland arrived Friday, the day before the unveiling. On their way to
the Betty's building where the reception and dinner were being held the family
stopped by the shop. Parker was tall and sandy haired, slender and rangy with
large hands and piercing eyes. Sylvia introduced him around, her famous
scholar son to go with her famous artist daughter. Carmen and I made some
polite noises of welcome, but even to spite Sylvia he wasn't my type. Renee,
on the other hand, would not release his hand once she had shaken it and
washed Parker away on conversations about speciation and co-evolution and
other tumbling multi-syllables that left the rest of us high and dry.

After about ten minutes of this Sylvia said they really had to be going.
Parker finally broke his gaze away from Renee and asked if there wasn't room
for one more at the reception. Petra jumped in to say she was certain there
would be no problem if Renee could get off work. One look at Sylvia's mouth
set like a knife cut assured me that I would much rather have Renee tormenting
her at Parker's side than in the shop. It took about five minutes to come up
with an outfit Renee could wear to supplement what she already had on to get
her through her reception and dinner with high society. Carmen and I watched
them troop off, Renee's head barely reaching Parker's elbow as he craned down
to compare insights into whatever in the world she was talking about.

My phone rang about midnight. Sylvia had got my home number from Betty and
wanted to know what Renee had done with her boy. Knowing Renee as I have done
I fell asleep in smiling contemplation of the possible answers to that
question.

The public unveiling the next day was just the sort of event I love: four of
us were dressed entirely in clothes from my shop and a couple other women from
Betty's firm wore bits and pieces I had sold them. I closed my eyes and
inhaled deeply the air that my taste in clothes was making so much sweeter.
Across the foyer I saw Todd and Martin walking toward me, engaged in intense
discussion. Todd walked with a noticeable limp. As they halted in front of me
Martin was saying, "I'm telling you man, the studio is pissed about having to
delay shooting this pilot. They've postponed the shoot for two weeks but I'm
telling you, if you aren't there healthy and ready to go they're done with
you. Then it's goodbye comeback cause you're gonna be diving in dumpsters
looking for a script to read. You can kiss television goodbye."

Todd handed me an envelope, then turned to Martin. "No, Marty, this is me
kissing you goodbye. You're fired." And he planted a noisy wet one on Martin's
cheek. As Martin stalked off Todd turned to me. "That's a round trip ticket to
LA leaving in ten days. The doc says this hamstring pull should be healed by
then. You're pretty hot for someone over forty. I think I deserve a rematch,
don't you agree?"

"Oh, I practically insist. You don't by any chance know anything about
mountain bike riding, do you?"

He smiled broadly with those pure white, even teeth. "Did you want to bring
your own or shall I arrange for a rental? I'll be happy to give you a lesson
on the bike after I teach you some new wrestling moves." He hobbled off to
take a seat watching the unveiling.

I figured a long session with Todd ought to put him out of commission for a
few months by which time his niche in Hollywood would be late night movies on
the independent stations. I wondered how Todd Masters would adapt to riding in
a wheelchair. Of course I would pack a supply of condoms for the trip and get
what pleasure I could from that tight butt first. Call me superficial.

The wraps came off the statue on schedule. We all listened to some inspiring
speeches about art and obligations to contribute to the culture of our cities.
The piece wasn't immediately to my taste, but as I see it more and more it's
growing on me. A little after the statue stood revealed Renee and Parker made
an appearance. He had an arm over her shoulders and she had an arm across his
hips. A second glance at her hand tightly gripping his belt told me she was
supporting about 80 percent of his weight and doing all the steering. She
looked very happy while he simply grinned with an otherworldly look in his
eyes. I don't know if others noticed, but Sylvia did. When they walked by her
she spun toward me and hissed.

The small crowd mingled a bit as champagne was popped. After a few minutes of
this Sylvia and Petra exchanged glances and both removed their jackets. The
polite group restrained gasps at the sight of female power parading bare of
arm and in Petra's case bare of back. I wanted to cheer but was constrained by
modesty. It would have seemed like boasting as it was my clothes that
spotlighted this display. I tried to convince Betty to remove the jacket she
was wearing over a sleeveless blouse, but she refused. To get revenge I linked
arms with Michael on the far side from her. I used Petra's example to begin
selling Michael on the concept of the new leather pants I had stocked for
Betty, if she would come back to try them on after losing out on the pair she
originally liked. He seemed to be softening on his resolution to never be
alone with me. After a couple moments of this I heard another hiss, this one
coming from Betty so I detached and drifted along.

The next day I stopped by their hotel to see Sylvia and Petra off as they
departed for the airport. I hugged Petra and then Sylvia. After a tight
embrace Sylvia and I leaned back, looking into one another's eyes for a long
moment as Petra snapped a photograph. With my permission she has since
published the photo as posters and in a greeting card, proceeds going to
Sylvia's land trust. At a glance it looks like two mature women forming the
letter Y, locked together from midriff to knees making a fond farewell. A
closer look at the cords standing out in our hands and the set of our jaw
lines suggests the truth. We stood there each trying to crush the hard upper
arms of the other woman until Petra peeled us apart. I had been working my
biceps all week and am convinced I wasn't as near collapse in her grip as it
seemed at the time.

The good news Monday was that Sylvia was safely out of town. The bad news was
that Renee gave notice saying she was going with Parker and asking if I could
sell her car for her.